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... AS SEEN ON TV: THE EFFECT OF MEDIA REPRESENTATIONS ON PROFESSIONAL AFRICAN AMERICAN WOMEN Kimberly Janeece Woods Thesis Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree Master of Arts in Applied Sociology Department of Sociology University of Indianapolis April 17, 2020 _________________________________________ Colleen E. Wynn, Ph.D. Assistant Professor, Advisor _________________________________________ Elizabeth Ziff, Ph.D. Assistant Professor of Sociology, Reader Abstract My research project aims to study how professional African American women perceive the influence of popular culture media representations on their workplace environment. I explored if and how the stigmas of representations in the media are similar to what African American women are experiencing in their professional lives by conducting in-depth interviews with professional African American women. I asked the participants in my study about their views of media depictions of African American women and the role they think these depictions may have played in their professional lives. I conducted personal interviews with thirteen participants, with each interview lasting approximately thirty five minutes to two hours. I found that professional African American women are still susceptible to experiencing discriminatory treatment influenced by mainstream media tropes inaccurately depicting Black women. Despite the strict restraints these women put on themselves to contradict the stereotypes, their cautious behavior, style of professional attire, and their resumes do not exempt them from being treated like the popularized stereotype of the Angry Black Woman. On the contrary, I found that these professional women try to be the exact opposite of this caricature, they are slow to anger, patient, and empathizing even when being antagonized and regarded as an Angry Black Woman. Reflective Statement I am an African American woman and was compelled to study this topic based on my own personal experiences and those of people around me. As a part of this group, I have been able to participate in deeply personal conversations with other African American women my whole life. Conducting interviews as an African American woman likely allowed my participants to feel more comfortable sharing their experiences with me. Hearing troubling accounts of workplace racism was not a new experience for me, I recall being in elementary 2 school when my mother worked her way up from the factory assembly line to her first management position in the factorys office. Upon introducing herself to her new office mate, she was interrupted by her coworker who expressed surprise that my mom was married with one child. The woman told my mother that she had assumed she must be a single mother with five or so children and this job had gotten her off welfare. Not only was this offensive and alienating but it triggers a list of questions as to why someone would have these assumptions. When I searched for myself through the media I was hard pressed to find anything that resembles me, the Black women I knew, or my real life. I saw these caricatures of Black women, these obtuse, unrealistic, one dimensional portrayals of women that react in impractical yet, predictable ways. I realized that how we are treated is based more on them than ourselves. As I began in the workforce and started to have my own experiences, I realized not much had changed from my mothers experiences in a couple decades worth of time. I have had many impressionable events of racism and discrimination on a micro and macro level however, I have attributed it to not having reached enough success to yet garner a level of respect. If time had not changed the treatment then surely, education and achievement will. I turned to the highly educated and accomplished Black women wondering if they were beyond the reproach of the tropes. I sought to hear their stories and learn from the incredible Black woman what it is like for those who achieve success. For better or worse I found myself in their stories and realized society is not changing much to reflect us beyond a monolith. I am encouraged by their optimism and commitment to change their communities and society as a whole. I hope my project, the furtherance of it, and ones like it will transcend representation beyond the physical appearance of a Black woman on screen but a greater representation of who we are. Introduction and Literature Review 3 African American women have played a pivotal role in advancement throughout our nations history from civil rights, to academics, to the arts and culture (Harris 2015). African American women have had huge impacts on the cultural trends and public discourse but often these impacts are presented in the media only as isolated occurrences and anomalies (Cartier 2014; Hook 1989; Ladner 1971). Maligning Black women, regardless of their personal or collective truth, is part of Americas DNA; seeds for negative perceptions planted centuries ago, when Black women were chattel (Harris 2015). Despite the important contributions of African American women, their representation in the media lags behind, with caricatures of outdated tropes rather than fully realized human beings (Cartier 2014). These media representations have real world implications when they affect how Black women are treated especially in public spaces like their work environments (Jones and Norwood 2017). In their careers, many Black women find it challenging to combat stereotypical personas placed on them by White peers and to be taken seriously as individuals; receiving recognition for their achievements (Collins 1999; Jones and Norwood 2017). African American women in professional fields historically dominated by White people, including law, medicine and politics, say the pressure affects how they dress, what they carry in their wallets, and how they behave (Hauser 2018). Their authentic collective and individual selves are usually hidden by racist and sexist stereotypes that we cannot seem to shake- or rather, images that others will not let us shake (Harris 2015). The stereotypes have had an unyielding durability that has not only dominated media representations but also popular thought (Pellerin 2012). Therefore, people whose interactions with Black women are only relegated to limiting public circumstances like work, rely on these representations to dictate social behavior (Weaver Jr. 2016). Black media stereotypes are nothing new; Weaver Jr. (2016) traces them as far back as Harriet Beecher Stowes novel Uncle Toms Cabin (1852). When the book began to be adapted 4 into film, the narrative was manipulated to make the Uncle Tom character submissive and meek to appeal to White audiences in the Reconstruction era (Weaver Jr. 2016). Theatre entrepreneurs were able to dilute the horrors of slavery and make a profit by creating a nostalgic version of it (Weaver Jr. 2016). Moreover, it is important to mention the roles of enslaved African Americans in these theatre productions were played by White actors in black face, not by African Americans themselves (Versluys 2014). Therefore, from the beginning of narrations on Black lives in the media, American culture became accustomed to depictions of African Americans from an inauthentic voice and representation that showed no true representation at all (Versluys 2014). Hattie McDaniels character in the 1939 film, Gone With the Wind, was such a poignant representation and reflection of Hollywoods relationship with African American women (Carter 2011). Respectable Black women had to serve white families loyally as domestics, with little reference to their own families, and were often cast as asexual, unattractive, and plump (Carter 2011). Hattie played the character simply referenced as Mammy, the house slave of Vivien Leighs character Scarlett OHara (Carter 2011). It is interesting where even today Black actors are still fighting for acknowledgments, McDaniel received the Academy Award for best supporting actress in 1940 for her role as Mammy. Those who dismiss criticisms of that award decision ignore a long-established and troublesome Hollywood practice of rewarding talented African Americans for playing roles meant to be subservient and demeaning and punishing those who protest against those types of roles (Carter 2011). These examples show the powerful role the media has played in directing the response of and creating lasting impressions for its audience. African Americans have a relationship to American history that cannot be replicated by any other minority group (Weaver Jr. 2016). The reality of slavery and the Jim Crow Era that followed, placed the African American community subject to misrepresentation in mainstream American culture even before the modern idea of media started (Weaver Jr. 2016). 5 The literature raises points about the media as a tool in creating the narrative for African Americans, women in particular, and the control it has in the perceptions of them. Weaver Jr. (2016) introduces cultivation theory, postulating that since television occupies a central role in American culture, it is more influential to the discussion than other forms of media. Further, it posits that television shapes peoples attitudes and beliefs rather than directly affecting behavior (Gerber and Gross, 2002). This theory uses qualitative and quantitative content analysis, with early studies coding parameters that classified characters as good and bad (Weaver Jr., 2016). Of the twelve dominant African American stereotypes found in media that Weaver Jr. (2016) defines in the literature, he highlights five that are specifically directed at African American women. However, the tropes of Black women in the media go beyond these five, some have evolved and branched into new stereotypes all together (Collins 1999). The Mammy stereotype is the depiction of a Black woman who works as a nanny or housekeeper (West 1995). It is rooted in the real-life experiences of female slaves who were domestic workers in White households, where they cooked, cleaned, and were responsible for taking care of the masters children. Generally, the mammy was portrayed as an old, overweight, dark-skinned woman (Weaver Jr. 2016). It seems this image was popularized as a tool to control the narrative, suggesting it was impossible for African American women to be victimized sexually in these domestic roles because of their unattractiveness (Harris 2015). Confining the Black woman to an isolated one-dimensional portion of experience occurs in a systematic cycle, leaving the African American woman seen without being heard (hooks 1989). A subset of the Mammy is the Matriarch; she is defined by her failure to be submissive to a man/husband causing the breakdown of the Black family (Harris 2015). Unlike the typical jovial Mammy, the Matriarch is sassy and domineering. She is portrayed as unattractive and not having her own life, so she focuses all her energy on meddling in and controlling the lives of her 6 family; especially her sons (Collins 1999). She is usually divorced, bitter and intimidating to both men and women (Cartier 2014). The Independent Black Woman is an archetype of a Black woman that is depicted as being narcissistic and emasculating to men in her life (Harris 2015). This stereotype has evolved in modern times often to symbolize a Black woman who cannot find or keep a male partner because of her emasculating ways (Collins 1989). Her successes are meant to be perceived in a negative connotation, keeping her at odds with men and most others (Beauboeuf-Lafontant 2009). The Jezebel stereotype presents Black women as sexually promiscuous seductresses (Mitchell and Herring 1998). This stereotype was meant to be the antithesis of the submissive and pure elements associated with the ideal (White) Victorian woman (Weaver Jr. 2016). It in turn, also supports the narrative that Black women cannot be victimized sexually, as they are already over-sexed or asking for it (Harris 2015). The Jezebel is often characterized by her flashy, skimpy style of dress and street lingo; she is often portrayed as not very intelligent but the one thing that is definitely on her mind is sex (Brooks and Hebert 2006). The next trope is the Ghetto Queen, she is the Black woman characterized for being loud and uncouth; she can take many forms and go by several different names; to the millennial she may be called ratchet (Brown and Chaney 2016). This trope shows Black women as inherently blatant whether shes educated or not; whether shes got money in her pocket or begging for a handout (e.g., Brown and Chaney 2016; Collins 2000; Harris 2015). When she is being portrayed as being financially needy, she is often called the Welfare Queen (Weaver Jr. 2016). When unchecked baby making and constantly seeking handouts from men are added to the trope, shes often referred to as a Baby Mama (Harris 2015). This image is largely shaped by the racial and political agendas aimed to decrease support for single Black mothers and framed into the Baby Mama trope (Brown and Chaney 2016). However in either case, she is not just branded as being 7 in need of assistance; she is characterized as abusing it. The Baby Mama is often portrayed as over-sexed and unintelligent like the Jezebel but she is still smart enough to cheat the system and profit from her promiscuity through having many children (Harris 2015). Studies show that the medias overuse of these types of portrayals lead to a dramatic overestimation of African Americans living under the poverty line (Levin 2013). Perhaps one of the most popular tropes explored is the Angry Black Woman, derivative of the Sapphire character from the 1930s Amos n Andy radio show, who was known for nagging and emasculating her husband (Weaver Jr. 2016). While sometimes grouped with the Independent Black Woman stereotype, the Angry Black Woman differs somewhat in Weavers (2016) typology. The Angry Black Woman is considered angry for no reason, just a cantankerous human being. The modern Angry Black Woman is always equipped with a sharp reply for anyone who crosses her path, not usually limited to just emasculating men, unlike the independent Black woman. However, like the Independent Black Woman, the Angry Black Woman is hard pressed to find and keep a man to tolerate her strong will and emasculating ways (Harris 2015). It is postulated that the Angry Black Woman stereotype is often used as a tool to shutdown conversations of racism (Jones and Norwood 2017). The Black woman who stands up for herself is often painted as the Angry Black Woman. It is remarkable how a stereotype functions as an actual trap; how Angry Black Women have been caught in the circular logic of that phrase. When you are not listened to, of course you would get louder, Michelle Obama (2018). Criminality has always been an element in these misrepresentations and historically cited as one of the excuses for Blacks needing to be enslaved because of their inherent rage, they needed to be controlled by masters (Weaver Jr. 2016). The literature identifies that these tropes present themselves through daily interactions and occurrences of a Black womans life, including the professional workplace (Jones and 8 Norwood 2017). Black women are immediately familiar with aggressive encounters because their daily lives are filled with opportunities for emotionally draining interactions Jones and Norwood (2017:2031). This means that these occurrences can range from assuming a Black woman holds a lesser position than the high status position she actually does, to full blown altercations targeting her. Oftentimes, race and gender outweigh all other indicators of professional status in the refusal to see Black women as professionals regardless of how they dress or activities in which they are engaged (Jones and Norwood 2017). Examples include Black female doctors being mistaken for nurses or being there to clean the hospital rooms and security guards refusing to believe Black women were seeking entrance into courtrooms were in fact the lawyers or judges working the cases (Jones and Norwood 2017). These instances are usually brief; the intensive confrontations of race and gender that Black women face come from their encounters with colleagues and coworkers (Jones and Norwood 2017). The more Americans consume stereotypes of Black women in the media, the more they are triggered where real Black women are concerned and this subconscious activation affects in particular the way Black women are seen by potential employers (Harris 2015). This project uses interviews with professional African American women to understand their perceptions of media depictions of African American women and their experiences with these tropes in the workplace. I use the media tropes of African American women as a lens through which to understand the experiences of professional African American women who may be one of the only or the only African American women at her level in her company. Because many of the coworkers of these women may not know many other African American women, their perceptions of their African American coworkers may be limited to media depictions and stereotypes. American society is racially and ethnically segregated not only in terms of employment (e.g., Mintz and Krymkowski 2010; Tomaskovic-Devey et al. 2006), but also housing (e.g., Logan and Stults 2011; Massey and Denton 1993; Wynn and Friedman 2018), and 9 religion (see Edwards, Christerson, and Emerson 2013 for review). Most people still predominantly interact with people who are racially and ethnically similar to them and therefore rely on their stereotypes to predict behavior of those they consider others in professional interactions. Method This study uses in-depth interviews with 13 African American women to explore their perceptions of media depictions of African American women as well as how these media depictions have impacted their professional lives. The interviews lasted between roughly 35 minutes and 2 hours and took place in the participants' offices, homes, restaurants, or in an office, or other location selected by the participant. I sought to make sure my participants were in a space that was comfortable to them. My participants were African American women aged approximately between thirty five to seventy and who held a range of professional positions such as, Executive Directors, managers, teachers, professors, government and elected officials. Most women currently live in the Midwest, though one participant currently lives in the South. To recruit my participants, I used my own professional networks through my sorority alumni chapter, church, and other professional and volunteer experiences. I also used snowball sampling to find additional participants. 1 Results & Conclusion Through my interviews with these highly credentialed professional women it became clear that regardless of their varied career backgrounds, tropes of African American women have haunted them throughout their careers. The lasting effects of these tropes were clear throughout our conversations. How these women conduct business is molded by a constant awareness of the 1 In order to protect their identities I have given each interviewee a pseudonym based off of the 2020 list of popular baby girl names. 10 negative stereotypes of their existence, especially when they are trying to exist within positions of power. Setting the Stage and Deflecting Stigma Madison who has been a business owner, author, and a life coach. She appears to be the picture of confidence but, Madison admitted to feeling trapped by the urge to dress in certain ways to counteract negative stereotypes being projected onto her. Madison recounted a conversation with her husband: I would downplay myself and my husband finally asked why, because I didnt want anyone to look at me in a certain way. You can be misjudged without someone ever really knowing you as a person. Madison realized that just being a Black woman would invoke reactions and assumptions from her colleagues; that she must actively work even harder to break the stigma. Madison did not want to trigger confirmation of their presumptions through her wardrobe. Emma, a well educated woman with a diverse employment background inside and outside of state government. She currently is a trainer and unfortunately has trouble hearing. She has to give a disclaimer at the beginning of her training sessions to thwart off negative stereotypes such as the Angry Black Woman and the Jezebel by her stern or uncouth facial expressions. Emma tells me: So right up front because I know people will perceive me that way, as I frown when Im struggling to hear. I say, oh ok, Ill make a joke out of it because Im trying to process and I know there are some individuals that will judge me as angry and even though theyre here for the training; all they are going to see is my face. Theyre not hearing what Im saying, or anything like that and theyre looking for a reason to discount whatever Im saying. Black women like Emma can not even afford to have physical challenges without having to be conscientious of the lurking Angry Black Woman trope. Amelia, an older woman who earned both her Masters and JD and has had several successful careers, was raised in the iconic backdrop of the Civil Rights movement and has experienced first-hand blatant and more subtle 11 discrimination in the most tense of circumstances. Despite her credentials and her professional success, she still has to be constantly aware of how shes seen. Amelia said: I probably hold myself very formally because I had to when I started. It was a totally different kind of situation. Where dress mattered. You had to be what you had to be; in order to be perceived in a particular way and so, professional representation means a lot to me. I do not deviate to the left or to the right because I couldnt. Amelia spoke with a solemn reservation thinking back on societal pressures in the workforce when she began decades ago. Yet, speaking with women much younger than Ameila still feel those same pressures now. Evelyn, a highly intelligent scholar and educator, finds that in the world of statistical mathematics people still fall into judging people by stereotypes. Evelyn said: I have been more thoughtful of what I wear to the workplace. I cant wear the same thing my White friends wear to work, for some reason it looks more sexual on a Black woman versus on a White woman. I am very thoughtful about what I wear to work; because it could influence how Im viewed at work as a professional. Amelia and Evelyn are at each end of the age spectrum of interviewed participants but have such similar trope/behavior experiences. It goes to show that stagnate media representations of Black women are just as unyielding in the workplace as well (Collins 1999). The Angry Black Woman While poignant themes sprang forth through my interview coding process, the Angry Black Woman trope was dominant throughout my preliminary? research and the most commonly used media stereotype for African American women. Therefore, I was interested to know how the professional women I interviewed would relate or not to this trope. There was a significant relationship between the women and the trope however, it differed from the one I assumed. The fear of the stigma from this trope causes many of the women I interviewed to move with extreme caution as to not give anyone a reason to direct that label towards themselves and take much more than they should. Amelia told me: 12 Just get yourself together and dont cry. And if you do cry; I got eye drops in my drawer. You put eye drops in and get your eyes cleared up and you open that door and walk out of there with confidence! Smile at everybody. You better not let them know. My mother would always say, never let them see you sweat. And thats how we live. It was heartbreaking to hear the unchecked poor treatment that Amelia swallowed over the years. I asked her if she felt drained, she expressed how draining it is to be a Black woman; she said; Id be lying if I said it wasnt draining, Im drained right now. Charlotte is an academic, an author, educator, researcher and her credentials are a mile long with diverse and interesting background yet, she also experiences the dread of trying to bystep this trope that has shut down so many Black women time and time again. Charlotte speaks to that feeling when she says: Nobody wants to be the Angry Black woman, this is the number one; I would say, trope that I try to fight. The Angry Black woman has been the number one trope I feel is relevant to my professional employment. Its the way we make the Black perception always seem angry, negative, hostile, aggressive; that really does a disservice to African American women and to foster their inclusion in our world. I hate being an Angry Black woman, but if I dont get passionate; if I dont speak up to prove my point then oftentimes my point is discounted. And so, its a double edged sword; you shy away from the thing that gets you the most attention; when the thing that gets you the most attention shouldnt be the way you act, but it should be; the content and the way its delivered. Sophia, the street smart academic and self proclaimed Boss, even identified to fighting against the stereotypes by her approach to her work ethic. Sophia commented: We as Black women we always have to play a part; right? If you werent invited to hangout with the men, you have to sacrifice so they want you to invest all your time at the worksite. When you dont do that, when you have to juggle your time; you cant be 100% committed then, it was also a thing. Not even emasculating men but, for you to not be good enough to fill his shoes and so, theyre always judging you. So I just think, you always have to be on point, no days off. The constant professional and successful elected official, Emily too works hard to prove herself in hopes of dispelling the tropes about Black women. She says: I feel that being an African American woman, there is always going to be some adversity to you until you actually are able to prove that you are a professional woman; I work at carrying myself as a professional because I want to be treated as a professional. 13 Of course, Charlotte, Sophia, and Emily try as much as they can to prevent having this trope applied to them however the stigma is attached to them before they even say a word. This creates a common inward trepidation for expressing themselves for fear of being labeled an Angry Black Woman and other tropes. It is almost as if Black women are trained to have robotic responses and mask emotions. I identified this type of behavior as internalized/apologetic; finding that these successful women are characterized more by keeping composure and suppressing the natural desire to defend themselves when wronged. Not only does a failure to respond in a way deemed appropriate have personal consequences but have a lasting effect on their careers. Acting with Deference: Apologetic Tendencies Rather than women who are quick tempered and boisterously belligerent, as the Angry Black Woman trope would imply, I met African American women whose success was dependent in part on being the exact opposite. Also deeply enmeshed within this finding is the fact that these women were apologetic, nearly every moment of discrimination or disrespect the interviewees discussed was followed by a remark to soften the blow or minimize the incident. The tone and mood of the interviews would change when the women told me a story of being wronged or about a time they experienced discrminiation. Their demeanor would often change, eyes would turn from me to the device I was using to record. Although I assured my interviewees their identities will remain protected and the recording would only be heard by me, Ava pointed to my device saying, I dont know who all is going to hear this before her answer. Our interview had been very relaxed with Ava just as with Emma as well but, she looked at the device every time she had to attest to facing racial issues at work. Amelia spoke with such eloquence and her descriptors painted picture while she told a story however, she would suddenly become very vague in describing certain unpleasant circumstances she faced. 14 As almost a reflex, they underrate the infraction and humanize the perpetrator to give them the benefit of the doubt. Olivia is a highly motivated school teacher with degrees behind her name and still pursuing more; as driven as she is, Olivia speaks with reservations facing racial challenges at work and often takes it in without response. Olivia seems to reflect inwardly when she says: I do notice sometimes I have to question whether its paranoia, because it does happen quite frequently. It kind of bothers me but then, you know me Im really trying to not cause any controversy; I kind of let it go. Olivia reflected on a time when a colleague used the term you people in a meeting, when she just asked the woman did she mean people of color; the woman burst out of the meeting in tears. Her colleague made a scene and ran down her resume of working with minority communities. By the end of her rant she had made herself the victim somehow and it was Olivia who was asked to apologize by her supervisor. Isabella, attended a prestigious university and entered the ranks of corporate leadership at a young age; supervising those much older than herself. When asked about racial stereotyping in the office, she immediately started her answer saying it hasnt been bad for her. However, she then began to explain being judged for the styles of music she listened to and her hairstyles, and recoiling from statements like being too Black. It is telling that Isabella did not rate these experiences as bad treatment; as to what Black women are made to internalize and accept as the cost of doing business. Harper is a poised and polished professional with over 30 years experience working for the federal government. I was stunned to hear how she kept her composure with a coworker who said the unthinkable to her. Harper told me that as she advanced in the ranks and gained a prestigious position, a White female coworker was giving her such a hard time. When she was asked why are you treating me this way, the woman told Harper that she was offended by the level of success that Harper had reached and that she outranked even herself. The lady went so 15 far as to quote the King James bible scripture Ephesians 6:5 to Harper, Slaves, obey your earthly masters. Even when these successful women want to react, respond, and defend themselves from the treatment they receive, the internal struggle is further complicated by the burden of representation successful African American women feel. They dont want to speak up and give the majority validation to believe what they already assume is true nor give those in power a reason to never give another Black woman a chance in the future by enhancing the sigma. The weight of representation of every Black woman everywhere is a heavy load that was easily sensed among the interviewees; not only do they have to consider how their choices will affect their careers but, the careers of every woman that looks like them. Paving the Path Abigail explained to me her unique career opportunities and the rewarding experiences of inclusivity. Abigail was one the many PhDs that I interviewed and has spent much of her career in positions related to diversity and inclusion. Despite this, she has often been the first African American woman to hold many of her positions and stepping into those roles initially brought pressure. Abigail told me that she worried if she were to speak up or defend herself every time she faced adversity, that she would be not only the first but also the last Black woman in that particular position. Amelia recognizes the weight of the burden in her own experiences: Having to hold yourself in a particular way. Inside that culture; because you had to represent. But sometimes we put things on ourselves. More things on ourselves, because we do have to represent. And so even through that; looking at ourselves, even viewing ourselves, having to do it better. Making sure it comes in on time, in time. Yeah, and it has to be not just good, but the best. And thats a lot of pressure to be under; and to put yourself under. But thats what were taught. Madison in the same way sees her experiences as paving a way for those who follow: 16 Hopefully not what I went through but even if you have a similar situation that you can survive and you can stand. We have come a long way to go in having to dispel the myths about us; we are phenomenal in whatever role we operate in and we can do anything. The beauty of the struggle that these amazing women have gone and continue to go through; is that it creates a spirit of sisterhood and comradery. They are internally and outright advocates for women and especially women of color. Charlotte spoke passionately about this idea, of making things easier for someone else, It would be nice if my students didnt have to have that struggle; because I made it a slight bit easier for them. My mom always says, we must lift as we climb. That same spirit and sentiment was evident in each of the women interviewed. Harper explained giving back to young people and imparting wisdom to women just beginning their careers is the best part of her job. The pressure and isolating feeling of constantly living confined by parameters of others makes the network of support so imperative to success. All the women brought up the importance of mentors and the importance of counsel from wise women to navigate the workforce. Concluding Remarks: My data shows that high achieving African American women cannot escape the tropes of Black women perpetuated by the media (Collins 2000; Harris 2015; Crenshaw 2016). Yet, their level of success often requires them to be the exact opposite of how these tropes portray African American. Amelia told me: Successful Black women are not mean insecure ladies; that need help. Usually you have had to navigate and forge your way through a process in a way others have not had to do and it doesnt look like this! We cant, not real jobs! If there is someone who has ascended to this kind of level; even if it is that kind of demeanor, thats there many times, theyre not going to stay very long. Charlotte expounded on this further saying: 17 I realize that our culture as African American women is not monolithic, there are poor, there are rich, and somewhere in that spectrum I reside. I have more access to resources than some, but not as many resources as Beyonc. I see African American women portrayed in the media, no matter what their level of income or education is; its very rarely positive and not a reflection of who I am. My findings show African American professional women are acutely aware of the stereotypes and are still susceptible racist treatment because of the tropes. The general perceptions of professional Black women in the media are incorrect. In most cases these women must be polar opposite of these representations to be successful. They are not brash or quick to react in anger but must become skilled in keeping their composure. Even as African American women go to great lengths to govern themselves accordingly to avoid trope relevant accusations; my research identifies that they still face stigma and negative treatment associated with the stereotypes. The harsh reality is that educated and accomplished Black women can be and in many cases are the picture of poise and self-control are still treated like the Angry Black Woman, the Jezebel, and other negative stereotypes. The common denominator of the treatment is not for being treated that way is not their behavior it is the color of their skin and their relations to portrayals of women that look like them in the media. African American women ask themselves, If they dont see me act this way, what gave them the impression that I would? This study exhibits that people are bringing preconceived assumptions many taken directly from the media to form opinions of African American women who are using everything at their disposal to debunk these stereotypes. Many of these women were complete strangers to me, but were so eager to participate in my research, moving their schedules, and offering further support. As an attempt to not influence my research I was advised to keep a distance between myself and the interviewee but am eager to engage with them after this process. The interviewees were all intelligent, hard working, self possessed women. At same time they are humble, collaborative, and accommodative women seeking to help others with no excuses. I did not interview a victim even when they had every 18 right to feel victimized. I am reminded once again of Tamara Winfrey Harriss (2015) work, The Sisters Are Alright, it is not the women that have it wrong. It is the representations that are not alright; it is not just entertainment but a tool to make African American women unhirable and silence their voices. 19 References Alfred, Mary V. 2001. Expanding Theories of Career Development: Adding the Voices of African American Women in the White Academy. SAGE Journals. Benard, Akeia. Colonizing Black Female Bodies Within Patriarchal Capitalism: Feminist and Human Rights Perspectives. (2016, October-Decemember). Sexualiztion, Media, & Sociology SAGE Journal. 1-11. Brown, Arielle and Cassandra Chaney. (2016, Summer). Representations and Discourse of Black Motherhood in Hip Hop and R&B over Time. 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The Urgency of Intersectionality Ted Talk, 7 Dec. 2016. 20 http://youtu.be/akOe5-UsQ2o Crenshaw, Kimberl. (2012, August). From Private Violence to Mass Incarceration: Thinking Intersectionally about Women, Race, and Social Control, UCLA Law Review 59 (6) 1418-1473. Black Women in Alabama Realize the Power of Their Voice - CNN Video. CNN, Cable News Network, 2 Sept. 2018, www.cnn.com/videos/politics/2018/ 09/02/american-woman-in-politics-the-roy-moore-effect.cnn. Dong, Q., & Murillo, A. (2007). The Impact of Television Viewing on Young Adults Stereotypes Towards Hispanic Americans. Human Communications, 10, 33-34. DuBois, W.E.B. 1903. The Souls of Black Folk. Edwards, Korie L., Brad Christerson, and Michael O. Emerson. 2013. "Race, Religious Organizations, and Integration." Annual Review of Sociology 39: 211-228. Gerbner, G., Gross, L., Morgan, M., Signorielli, N., & Shanahan, J. (2002). Growing up with television: Cultivation processes. In J. Bryant & D. Zillmann (Eds.), LEA's communication series. Media effects: Advances in theory and research (pp. 43-67). Harris, Winfrey Tamara. (2015, July 3). Oh, girl, get up. You got this: Why the Strong Black Woman Stereotype is an Albatross. Retrieved September 2016, from http://www.salon.com/2015/07/03/oh_girl_get_up_you_got_this_why_ the_strong_black_woman_stereotype_is_an_albatross/. Harris, Winfrey Tamara. 2015. The Sisters Are Alright. Oakland, CA: BERRETTKOEHLER PUBLISHERS INC. Hauser, Christine. How Professionals of Color Say They Counter Bias at Work New York Times. 16 December 2018. 21 http://www.nytimes.com/2018/12/12us/racial-bias-work.html. hooks, bell. 2015. Feminist Theory from Margin to Center. New York, NY: Routledge Taylor & Francis Group. Jones, Trina, and Kimberly Jade Norwood. Aggressive Encounters & White Fragility: Deconstructing the Trope of the Angry Black Woman. Iowa Law Review 102, no. 5 (July 2017): 201769. http://search.ebscohost.com.ezproxy.uindy.edu/login.aspx?direct=true& db=a9h&AN=124842614&site=ehost-live. Kaleem, Jaweed and Ann M. Simmons. A Founder of Black Lives Matter answers A Question on Many Minds: Where Did it Go? LA Times. http://www. Latimes.com/nation/la-na-patrisse-cullors-black-lives-matter-2017Htmlstory.html. Ladner, Joyce A. Tomorrows Tomorrow: The Black Woman Lafontant, Beauboeuf- Tamara. 2009. Behind the Mask of the Strong Black Woman. Philadelphia, PA. Temple University Press. Lauzen, Martha M. 2018. Boxed-In 2017-2018: Women on Screen and Behind the Scenes in Television. San Diego, CA: The Center for The Study of Women in Television and Film, San Diego State University. Retrieved March 13, 2019, from http://womenintvfilm.sdsu.edu/wp-content/uploads/2018/0 9/2017-18_Boxed_In_Report.pdf. Levin, J. (2013, December 19). The welfare queen. Slate. Retrieved September 21, 2016, from http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/history/ 2013/12/india_taylor_welfare_queen_ronald_reagan_made_her_a_ Nortorious_american_villain_villain.html. 22 Lockhart, R. P. (2017, December 13). The Alabama Election is the latest example Of the Political Power of Black Women. https://www.vox.com/indentities/2017/12/13/16772012/alabamaelections-black-women. Logan, John and Brian J. Stults. 2011. The Persistence of Segregation in the Metropolis: New Findings from the 2010 Census. Census Brief prepared for Project US2010. http://www.s4.brown.edu/us2010. Massey, Douglas S. and Nancy A. Denton. 1993. American Apartheid: Segregation and the Making of the Underclass. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Mintz, Beth, and Daniel H. Krymkowski. 2010. "The Intersection of Race/Ethnicity and Gender in Occupational Segregation: Changes Over Time in the Contemporary United States." International Journal of Sociology 40(4): 31-58. Mitchell, A., & Herring, K. (1998). What the blues is all about: Black women Overcoming stress and depression. New York: Berkeley Pub. Group. Obama, Michelle. Becoming. Crown, an Imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, 2018 Pellerin, Marquita. 2012. Defining Africana Womanhood: Developing an Africana Womanism Methodology. The Western Journal of Black Studies. Vol. 36. Punyanunt-Carter, Narissra M. 2008. The Perceived Realism of African American Portrayals on Television. The Howard Journal of Communications 19. 241257. Settles, Isis H. 2006. Use of Intersectional Framework to Understand Black Womens Racial and Gender Identities. Spring Science + Business Media, Inc 589-601. 23 Tomaskovic-Devey, Donald, Catherine Zimmer, Kevin Stainback, Corre Robinson, Tiffany Taylor, and Tricia McTague. 2006. "Documenting Desegregation: Segregation in American Workplaces by Race, Ethnicity, and Sex, 19662003." American Sociological Review 71(4): 565-588. Versluys. Eveline. 2014. Stereotypes of African American Women in US Television. https://lib.ugent.be/fulltxt/RUG01/002/162/804/RUG01002162804_2014_0001_AC.pdf. Weaver, Tony Jr. 2016. Analysis of Representations of African Americans in Non-linear Streaming Media Content. Elon Journal of Undergraduate Research in Communications 7(2). 57-67. West, C. M. (1995). Mammy, Sapphire, and Jezebel: Historical images of Black Women and their implications for psychotherapy. Psychotherapy: Theory, Research, Practice, Training, 32(3), 458-466. Woodson, Kevin. 2011Fairness and Opportunity in the Twenty-First Century Corporate Workplace: The Perspectives of Young Black Professionals. Wynn, Colleen E. and Samantha Friedman. 2018. Assessing the Role of Family Structure in Residential Isolation. Social Sciences 7:160. https://doi.org/10.3390/socsci7090160. 24 Appendix Interview Questions for Professional African American Women 1. Can you tell me the story of how you ended up in your current career? a. How long have you been in your current position? b. Approximately how many people work under you? c. What do you spend most of your time doing? 2. What percentage of your workplace is female? a. What percentage is non-White? 3. What are the best parts of being in a leadership role? a. How do your subordinates treat you? b. How do other leaders treat you? i. Was it always this way? 4. Can you describe the importance of reputation and perception of yourself in the workplace? a. Have there been any memorable moments where reputation and perceptions about you came into play, positively? b. Have there been any memorable moments where negative perceptions about you came into play? 5. Has there ever been a time your tone or demeanor was questioned? a. Do you feel that negative stereotypes of African American women played a role? 6. Talk to me about how the media stereotypes about African American women show up in your workplace. a. Has this changed over time? b. Do you think these stereotypes impact how people view you as a leader? 25 7. I have provided a handout referencing the five common representations of African American women in media. Have you ever experienced a workplace interaction where you saw the Mammy/Matriarch stereotype directed at you? a. The Jezebel? b. The Ghetto Queen/Baby Mama/Welfare Queen? c. The Independent Black Woman? d. The Angry Black Woman? 26 Common Stereotypical Depictions of African American Women 1. The Mammy - the mammy/servant stereotype is the depiction of a Black woman who works as a nanny or housekeeper (West, 1995). Examples: Viola Daviss character Aibileen in the 2011 film The Help. Nell Carters character in the 80s classic TV show Gimme a Break! Betty Gabriels character in the 2017 film Get Out 2. The Matriarch She is defined by her brash attitude and failure to be submissive to a man/husband, with mom in charge of everyones lives in the family and not having one of her own. Examples: Loretta Devines character in the 2011 film Jumping the Broom. Kim Whitleys character on the FreeForm series Young & Hungry. Jenifer Lewiss character Ruby on the current ABC sitcom Blackish. 3. The Jezebel the Black woman who is (not always) dim-witted but is always sexually promiscuous and a seductress (Mitchell & Herring, 1998). Examples: Tiffany Haddishs character in the 2017 film Girls Trip 28 Meagan Goods character in the 2011 film Jumping the Broom Shar Jacksons character in the 90s sitcom Moesha. 4. Welfare Queen- financially needy Black woman shes not just in need of assistance but, she is characterized as abusing it. Examples: Kia Stevens character on the Netflix original series, Glow 29 Moniques character in the 2009 film Precious. 5. The Ghetto Queen - Loud, unprofessional, uneducated, can also be characterized as abusing the system and sexually forward. Examples: Terri Vaughs character on the 90s sitcom The Steve Harvey Show. 30 Countess Vaughns character Kim Parker on the 90s sitcoms Moesha and the spin-off The Parkers. Queen Latifahs character in the 2003 film Bringing Down the House 6. The Baby Mama - She is the angry single mother harassing the father of her children and always after money or a handout; she often is characterized by impeding the mans happiness. Examples: Teyana Taylors character Sabrina in the 2011 Film, Madeas Big Happy Family. 31 Lisa Rayes character in the 2003 television series All of Us. 7. The Angry Black Woman is derivative of the Sapphire character, from the 1930s Amos n Andy radio show, who was known for nagging and emasculating her husband (Weaver Jr., 2016). Shes considered perpetually angry, loud and often uncouth, and her quick wit is only used to make biting remarks. Examples: Taraji P. Hensons character Cookie Lyon on the Fox television series Empire 32 LaWanda Pages character on the classic 70s sitcom Sandford And Son Tichina Arnolds Character Pam on the 90s hit sitcom Martin 8. The Independent Black Woman - is depicted attaining success only through as being narcissistic and emasculating to men (Harris, 2015). Examples: Chandra Wilsons character on ABC television series Greys Anatomy 33 Sanaa Lathams character in the 2008 film A Family That Preys Gabrielle Unions character in the 2003 film Deliver Us From Eva. 34  ...

... NOT LEBANESE BLANCHE. LESBIAN. AN EXAMINATION OF COMING OUT NARRATIVES IN SCRIPTED TELEVISION A Thesis Presented to The Faculty of the Department of English University of Indianapolis In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Master of Arts by Alison Kaye Sigman December 2022 Copyright 2022 Alison Kaye Sigman 2 NOT LEBANESE BLANCHE. LESBIAN. AN EXAMINATION OF COMING OUT NARRATIVES IN SCRIPTED TELEVISION by Alison Kaye Sigman APPROVED BY THE DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH UNIVERSITY OF INDIANAPOLIS December 2022 __________________________________ Dr. Molly Martin, Department of English ____________________________________ Dr, Jennifer Camden, Department of English 3 ABSTRACT NOT LEBANESE BLANCHE. LESBIAN. AN EXAMINATION OF COMING OUT NARRATIVES IN SCRIPTED TELEVISION by Alison Kaye Sigman Since its creation, the medium of television has been used to showcase broad points of view and different cultures. With a country as large as the United States, the identities and lifestyles change drastically from coast-to-coast. Television helps to bridge this gap in cultural differences, but also brings to light experiences not well known or shared. This project examines coming out narratives in scripted television. Beginning with the 1980s television landscape, we track the acceptance level of characters based on frequency of their airtime. We see that the 1997 coming out of Ellen lead, Ellen Morgan had a cultural shift, with more characters coming out, many of them being series leads. By 2010 when Glee is on the air, many characters are written as LGBTQ+, with no need to create a coming out narrative. Yet, when looking deeper into the coming out narrative, an interesting revelation occurred. Prior to characters being accepted and written as such, we find a queering of this standard coming out narrative. Whereas a character does not come out on the LGBTQ+ spectrum, but instead comes out as other. Taking the plot points from the coming out tropes and skewing them to make a broader statement on LGBTQ+ society. 4 ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Thank you to my parents, friends, and all others who pushed and supported me to achieve this major accomplishment. 6 TABLE OF CONTENTS Preface .... 8 Introduction .. 10 1). The Path to Ellen .. 11 The Golden Girls .. 18 Roseanne .. 34 Ellen 45 2). The Post Ellen Society 71 Will & Grace 71 Buffy the Vampire Slayer . 88 Glee 100 Conclusion ..... 114 Friends ... 114 Buffy the Vampire Slayer ... 118 That 70s Show 122 Bibliography .. 126 7 PREFACE In the summer of 2003, my older brother came out to my parents. For many years leading up to this revelation, I had asked my brother to just come out already. We werent close, thanks to our four year age difference, but I knew he was hiding something, and made a guess. When he turned twenty-one he took my parents to their favorite local bar, bought them shots, and he told them his most intimate truth. My mother spent the rest of the night asking the local patrons if they could believe that her son was gay. Though I had been right for many years about my brothers identity, this moment proved to be a crucial step in my life. Looking at my mothers indignity at her sons true identity, I became my brothers first ally. After this night, I began to notice how different his life as an out gay man differed from his life as a closeted gay man. The injustices he suffered and the oppression he experienced all had an effect on me. Ten years later, he sat me down, much like he had done with our parents, to tell me he had contracted HIV, further putting up blockades in his life. Again, I did not hesitate to become my brothers biggest ally. But, as a cis-gendered, white, female, I felt limited on what I could do for the community. When I went to college, I realized I had much more to offer other than just my support. This proposed paper came to fruition because I wondered if my brother would have felt more comfortable coming out sooner if he saw himself represented on television to the amount that exists in todays media. His hesitation came from a place of fear. What would happen after he told his truth? Who would he be able to be once he told his truth? My parents were accepting and open to this change in their sons life. My brother has since gotten married, and had my mother acknowledge this relationship in my small town at many public events. Yet, this is not the case for all coming out stories. This is why I began to study coming-out narratives found in 8 scripted television. Had my brother been exposed to more coming out narratives in his life, would he have been more apt to come out earlier? 9 INTRODUCTION We encounter different truths every day. Sometimes they are about others, sometimes they are about ourselves. There are some in the world who feel the need to shut themselves off and hide part of their truth from the world. This happens most commonly in the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (LGBTQ+) community. Here, individuals hide their sexual orientation from coworkers, friends, and even family for years of their life. This denial of life can have profound effects on ones psyche, but to embrace truth and identity, and open up or come out to first themselves, and then others can have far reaching impacts on their life. Yet, knowing how or when to come out has been a life decision many LGBTQ+ members struggle to make. The uncertainty of how this news will be taken, how it will impact relationships with friends and family members is one of many factors they must consider, yet there is no guide on how to navigate this time in their life. Thankfully, scripted television has been able to provide narratives on the coming out process. Though most end on a positive note not all see in real life, the fact remains that exposure gives not only the LGBTQ+ community representation and a how-to guide, it also allows non-LGBTQ+ society to understand the struggles one goes through when coming out. Many scholars have examined the process known as coming out. In a paper titled Homosexual Identity: Coming Out and Other Developmental Events, Gonsiorek and Rudolph discuss the origins, and its impact on the individual. They traced the phrase to 1970s counseling sessions with lesbian and gay therapy patients. Here they began to notice patterning to these struggles and to describe a development process of coming to terms with homosexuality, labeled the coming out process (Gonsiorek 164). They go on to state that [t]his coming out process represents a shift in the persons core sexual identity and may be accompanied by dramatic levels 10 of emotional distress (Gonsiorek 165). This emotional distress first occurs when they come out to themselves. The distress builds as they realize that in order to live their most authentic lives, they would have to tell others of their sexual orientation. This distress and fear is at the core of the coming-out process and overcoming it seems to be the first step. By understanding this, those who counsel LGBTQ+ patients are able to do so more effectively. As Gonsiorek and Rudolph explain: Many of the ideas about the coming out process identity development, and internalized homophobia however, stand apart as theoretical conceptions not tied into the main body of psychological theory (Gonsiorek 169). Anthony DAugelli, in Coming Out in Community Psychology: Personal Narrative and Disciplinary Change, further studies this practice of coming out believing that to come out is for one to drop their heterosexual covers, LGB people come-out (DAugelli, 343). Positing coming out as being non-heterosexual others the LGBTQ+ society. This effect is compounded in minority members of the LGBTQ+ community, where cultural traditions are unwelcoming to non-heteronormative lifestyles. Yet the ramifications of this othering extends further than to just cultural traditions, as it subtly suggests that the LGBTQ+ community should be or can be marginalized just based on sexual preference. This is why it is important to highlight LGBTQ+ narratives so that the heteronormative community understands that these differences arent really different at all. If accepting ones sexuality is the first step in embracing an LGBTQ+ identity, then coming out to others is the second. Once someone can admit their identity to themselves, they can begin to speak out freely and openly with others. This is the most vulnerable time in the life of an LGBTQ+ member, as they are not able to dictate the reactions that may occur in the conversation. At best, they will be met with open and loving arms of acceptance. At worst, they 11 face being disowned by their friends and family. Gonsiorek and Rudolph speak of a narcissistic injury in relation to the worst one faces when coming out; they describe this as, a profound blow to ones self-esteem (Gonsiorek 170). This blow of becoming aware of ones homosexuality is a wounding both by commission and omission. The gay or lesbian youth, upon discovering that his or her sexuality is devalued and rejected by society generally and personally by parents, peers, and teachers, suffers a clear and explicit narcissistic injury (Gonsiorek 170). Members of the LGBTQ+ community must navigate an entire new world after they come out, sometimes multiple worlds, as they navigate coming out across the entirety of their life. And if they suffer any form of narcissistic injury, they may be navigating this alone without any help or guidance. This is why scholars tout the idea of finding or creating a support network. Gonsiorek and Rudolph believe that [t]he support network establishes a somewhat less precise but analogous relationship of consistent empathic intuneness with the gay and lesbian youth. The support network is experienced by the youth as benevolent and willing and able to meet his or her needs (Gonsiorek 174), while DAugelli recognizes this socialization with strangers as the first step for an LGBTQ+ member to feel accepted (DAugelli 343). These relationships forged with persons in the community differ from those of accepting family members and friends in part because strangers in the community have already faced the discrimination and prejudice the person coming out will eventually face in their lifetime. Even the most supportive ally will not ever experience the same consequences of life. For many that means putting happiness and trust into the hands of complete strangers. However, in the LGBTQ+ community, this trust comes from an understanding that those who are sharing this social space have already gone through this process, and are now welcomed into the community. This is why the idea of community is so important. 12 Yet, not all who come out have access to an LGBTQ+ community. This is where representations of LGBTQ+ life are important on a myriad of platforms but most notably television, which culturally in the United States has always been accessible in ways that movies, print, and other media have not always been. As DAugelli believes that LGBTQ+ members proceed to tell their coming-out stories for many years, both as a prompt for professional consolidation and as a bridge to others who have undergone similar transformations (DAugelli, 343). The aforementioned accessibility is why some have taken this prompt choosing to use television to build this important bridge. Gonsiorek and Rudolph say that, It is clear that a supportive environment, self-acceptance, and good role models in the gay and lesbian community facilitate positive mental health. Gay men and lesbians experience additional development events as they negotiate the emergence of positive identity in a context of external oppression (Gonsiorek 176). For those without access to a personal support network, LGBTQ+ members turn to the images they see in popular culture in order to find themselves and feel connected to the community they are missing. This is where the importance of coming out narratives on television come into play. This medium allows isolated members of the LGBTQ+ community to find and understand acceptance, as well as give exposure of LGBTQ+ society to the heteronormative society. As the exposure is furthered, the acceptance is more widely understood, and helps remove the otherness from the LGBTQ+ community. Normalization is the key for not only building LGBTQ+ communities, but also ensuring acceptance among nonLGBTQ+ communities. Additionally, these narratives are also important for those members of the LGBTQ+ community who have yet to come out, to understand what obstacles they face when they finally do so. 13 When trying to understand how important LGBTQ+ representation is for both the heteronormative community and nonheteronormative community, one must look at how they are written and received on television. In her book Ethereal Queer: Television, Historicity, Desire, Amy Villarejo looks at this representation of LGBTQ+ on television and its impact on societys acceptance. She states that television reflects its viewers; that television ought to do so, that it has an obligation toward diversity of representation; or that diverse representation leads to political change (Villarejo 3). By keeping with heteronormative narratives, television producers are not only ignoring part of their audience but theyre also keeping these audience members marginalized as well. According to Villarejo, the presence of queer characters began to be seen on television in the 1970s as one-off characters (Villarejo 84). Many times these characters were very special characters brought on to teach a very special lesson, usually about equality or acceptance, to the main characters. Other times, they were seen as the bad guy, not to be trusted. This dichotomy of representation sent mixed signals to the standard viewer. Eventually, the negative representations lessened and the idea to present positive representations of LGBTQ+ characters was clearly the intended goal for television producers, but this did not come without a price. Bryan McLaughlin wrote in his 2016 article, Identifying with a Stereotype: The Divergent Effects of Exposure to Homosexual TV Characters, that the implications of homosexual television characters has typically come to one of two conclusions: either exposure to homosexual characters can lead to increased acceptance, or homosexual characters are typically caricaturized and serve only to reaffirm negative stereotypes (1206). In trying to create more exposure, writers unfamiliar with the nuances of LGBTQ+ life often wrote characters that were one dimensional, but that does not mean these characters did not serve a purpose. As explained by MS Reddy in their 2014 article, The Rainbow Effect: Exploring the 14 Implications of Queer Representation in Film and Television on Social Change, viewers become invested in characters and narratives regardless of sexual orientation: We use film and television as a place to escape from the real world, where we can invest ourselves in the slightly more dramatic, glamorous, and exciting lives of our fictional counterparts (5). They go on to clarify that, [t]he exposure to realistic, relatable, and dynamic representations of queer individuals and their stories that narrative film and television offer viewers has made an important step forward for the acceptance of the queer community (Reddy 60). So, while LGBTQ+ characters or caricatures are often helpful to the exposure and acceptance of the LGBTQ+ community, the impact is seen in representations of relatable experiences and characters. At some point, these characters are given their own storyline detailing their coming out. In The Study of Identity as Cultural, Institutional, Organizational, and Personal Narratives: Theoretical and Empirical Integrations, by Donileen Loseke, this narrative is seen as a simple story with stock characters and clear moral evaluations as read through existing symbolic codes appealing to target audiences. Socially circulating formula stories are useful precisely because they simplify the complex world (674). This simplification allows the audience to relate at an arms length and receive exposure of what it is like to come out without having to actually engage with any persons from the LGBTQ+ community or do so themselves. Much of this paper will examine, in depth, the coming out narratives beginning in the 1980s ending in the 2010s with Glee. Though there are still coming out narratives that are written to this day, LGBTQ+ acceptance is as such that characters are now written as being gay, having come out off camera and it is just accepted and written into the storyline that the characters are gay. I believe that this change is due to the groundwork done in the examples which we will cover in this paper, in 15 which we as a society can now accept LGBT+ characters without needing to expose their entire story for our entertainment. As we move through the paper, looking at different examples of coming out, it will become easy to see moments of repetition in the narrative. These moments become the building blocks of the narrative which can be moved around and switched out. As writers play with the coming out formula, realizing that in the end, the narrative remains intact even with subversion, it helps further its impact on popular culture, and its ability to help others access LGBTQ+ storylines. Additionally, this subversion of the narrative helps shed a new light on coming out in a way that makes us wonder as a society why we must have such narratives to begin with. 16 CHAPTER ONE The Path to Ellen The standard coming out narrative is one that proliferates the television narrative landscape. In the pre-Ellen era, it was rare that a series regular was revealed to be gay, or even assumed to be gay. Thus, almost all of the coming out narratives discussed in the beginning of this chapter are represented as guest stars, whose only purpose was to feature a gay storyline. Though television shows may feature a gay character, the purpose of this paper is to examine the specific narrative in which the exchange of truth and power exist between characters. That is to say, the truth of each gay characters true identity as being gay, in exchange for the power given to the person in which they reveal this truth to, and how each acts as a result of such an exchange. These examinations are key to understanding the exchanges of power, and how these differ from subsequent types of narratives we will cover. Many shows used the guest character to be the chosen gay character. As Ron Becker points out in his chapter, Gay Material and Prime-Time Network Television in the 1990s, In the standard coming-out episode, for example, a series regular finds out that a guest star -perhaps an old friend or a never-before-seen-and-never-to-be-seen-again coworker or neighbor -is gay (182). This was a common practice for a multitude of reasons, but primarily to limit the reactions from conservative family groups, who believed that these narratives were detrimental to the moral health of the country. As gay guest stars became more commonplace, shows were able to feature long-term queer characters, and as we will see later in Roseanne, well known and established characters come out as gay and are still featured. By examining the differences in the ways these storylines are handled, we can see a progression in the way in which gay and queer characters are perceived and accepted by those main characters whose storylines are affected by their coming out, but also by the audience at 17 large. In the 1980s, The Golden Girls tested these waters with a fully one-off character, Jean, whom we never hear from again. They then try again with a character who proves to be a more substantial presence in the characters lives, Blanches brother Clayton, who depending on reception, the writers could or could not use as a future character. As it stands, he comes back for several episodes, including to get married. From here, we move into the 1990s and see Leon, Roseannes boss who, again, could have been written off for a multitude of reasons. Yet, the second character to come out in Roseanne was a well-established character, Roseanne and Jackies best friend, Nancy. Here, the implication can be seen that she is harder to write away, although not impossible. Yet, by the character namesake on Ellen comes out, there is no easy way to write off the main character and namesake. 1 THE GOLDEN GIRLS (1985 - 1992) The Golden Girls, created by Susan Harris and airing from 1985 to 1992, prominently features the aforementioned very special guest star although neither character creates a huge impact on the overall series to warrant any noticeable long-term change in the lives of the main characters. The first comes during season two: episode five, Isnt It Romantic, where Dorothys college friend Jean comes to visit following the death of her partner Pat. Jeans presence in the Miami house, as well as on television, helps to identify terminology and understanding for lesbians. The next season, Claytons arrival brings the coming out narrative closer to home, as it is the direct relative of someone in the house. He has been married and is visiting after his divorce, so his coming out is seen as a late-in-life realization, a man finally 1 Note: this is not impossible, as evident with Roseanne reboot The Conners, which did kill off Roseanne when her off-screen political antics proved to be a possible liability for the show. Not only was she written off, many of the plotlines developed in the last three seasons are no longer canon. 18 coming to terms with his sexuality; a common practice even now. Blanches incredulousness to Claytons truth showcases the worry and fear that many queer individuals experience as they come out to friends and family. In episode 2.5, as Dorothy and Sophia await Jeans arrival, it becomes clear that Dorothy feels guilty for not letting her roommates know previously that Pat was in fact a woman and not a man. As the conversation progresses, the audience learns that the two were together for some time prior to Pats death. This helps establish the fact that queerness exists and is not a new social fad, but one in which some lived with for several years. It also establishes that Jean is primarily out in her homelife. The ambiguousness of Pat and Jean helps to soften the idea of a gay character not only to the audience, but to the other housemates as well. Yet Dorothy clearly has anxiety about the entire situation, which can be seen in the costuming of the character: a mix of patterns and colors can be seen in her sweater. Her inner anguish is visible for the world to see. Prior to Jeans arrival, Dorothy and her mother Sophia have a conversation about how Jean will be welcomed in the house. Dorothy: Im a little nervous about Jean. I mean, shes a very special person and I dont know if shes going to get along with Blanche and Rose. Sophia: You mean because shes a lesbian? D: Ma, shes not a lesbian, I mean what an absurdhow did you know? S: Ive known since you two were in college together. D: She didnt even know in college. How did you know? S: A mother knows. 2 2 Duteil, Jeffery. Isn't It Romantic. The Golden Girls, created by Susan Harris, season two, episode five, 8 Nov. 1986. 19 It is important to note that Sophia was aware of Jeans sexual preference before Dorothy told her the truth, and this will come up again with Sophia. Jean, who is "out" in her own life back home, must now possibly navigate life back in the closet at the behest of her oldest friend, an uncomfortable proposition, but also readily navigated for the sake of the comfort of her friends roommates. Upon Jeans arrival, the audience can see how welcome Jean feels being in the house, as reflected in the colors she wears in soft pinks, shades of blue, and ivory. These match the colors found in the couch and surrounding the rest of the living room, yet the print of the jacket is an indication of the unease of the three discussing how to approach Jeans orientation: S: The lesbian thing. Do you keep it under your hat or what? Jean: You didnt tell your roommates that Pat was a woman did you? D: No, they just assumed Pat was your husband and I wanted to make sure it was okay with you before I told them. J: Oh, listen Dorothy. Im not embarrassed or ashamed of who I am, and you know your friends better than I do. If they are the kind people who can handle it, Id prefer to tell them. [Rose enters with her clown sundaes] Itll be our little secret. Within this conversation, Dorothy indicates the crux of coming out: that it is up to the person coming out to decide when and where, an understanding we will understand in the next chapter. It isnt Dorothys truth that she is sharing and she knows that. She is sharing the most intimate truth of a lifelong friend, and would have been a huge betrayal for Jean. Dorothy believes it should always be on the person coming out to bear these truths, as it is ultimately their decision whether or not people know and understand their life and how they live in it. Dorothy cant and shouldnt control the narrative of someone else, as Jean doesnt know if it is the right time for the 20 rest of the house to know about her, if they are trustworthy to know, and most importantly: how they will take the information once they learn the truth. Rose's entry, with a tray full of clown sundaes, cheerful Midwest demeanor, and overall known naivetyto the audience at leastmake Jean believe immediately that Rose does not have the capacity to understand what Jean in going through, as a lesbian in the 1980s. I believe Dorothy knew this about Rose, and that she was the main reason she never corrected anyone as to Pats true identity. The fact that she chose ice cream sundaes is further indication that she may not be as mature or worldly as Dorothy and Sophia, who come from New York City. And yet, maturity and worldliness are not indications of ones ability to accept this information, as we see later with Blanche and Clayton. The best indication is having a kind soul such as the one apparent with Rose. As the episode progresses, Jean and Rose begin to spend a lot of time together, and Jean finds herself falling in love with Rose. Afraid of creating a conflict in the house, she confides in Dorothy her intentions to leave early from her trip to Miami. Jean is once again dressed in colors to match her surroundings, but this time she is dressed in a sweater with a bold pattern, again a visual representation of the anguish she is feeling. These colors are later reflected over night as Dorothy in pink, Sophia in blue, and Blanche in peach discuss the situation: Blanche: Whats so funny? Sophia: For starters, Jean is a lesbian. B: Well whats funny about that? S: So youre not surprised? B: Of course not. I mean Ive never known any personally, but isnt Danny Thomas one? 21 Dorothy: Not Lebanese Blanche. Lesbian. B: Lesbian. Lesbian? Lesbian! Isnt that where one woman and another woman-D: We already know what it means. B: But Jean is a very attractive woman. She could have any man she wants. D: She doesnt want them. B: Well, why not. A man has so much more to offer, you know what I mean... Though this moment could be seen as an outing narrative, the fact Dorothy confided in her closest friend about another dear friend in an act of love and concern and not a malicious manner shows this to not be the same as an outing. Additionally, it does not create a situation where Jean will be demeaned as a person. Blanches preference of men is overt in the entire series, so her questioning Jeans sexual preference is one that comes from a selfish place, not a place of judgment toward Jean. She believes that her sexual history, being prolific as it is, means that she has the authority on sexual proclivities and is blind to the other sexual desires. This is further apparent later in the scene: Blanche: Well, Ill never understand what Jean doesnt see in the opposite sex, but hey. If thats what makes her happy, thats fine by me. Dorothy: Theres one other thing. S: Jean thinks shes in love with Rose. B: Jean has the hots for Rose? I dont believe it. I do not believe it. D: I was pretty surprised myself. B: Well Ill bet! To think, Jean would prefer Rose over me. Thats ridiculous! Here the narrative form of The Golden Girls being a sitcom lends itself to be able to out Jean in a 22 respectful way. As John Mundy and Glyn White write in their book Laughing Matters, Both at the level of performance and at the level of narrative, the sitcom can flirt with the artificiality of its constraints if only to embed them with a realistic, plausible, socially recognisible frame (106). Because the show is dealing with this balance of realism and artificiality, it can dance with the dramatics of the responses given to the news that Jean is gay. This is why Blanches indignation doesnt come from the fact that Jean is lesbian, but from learning of Jeans preference for Rose over her. Blanche believes that she is the premier sexual target, and even though she has no desire herself to engage in sexual relations with another female, the idea that she is not the most sexually desirable in the house causes her to hold a lot of contention toward Rose. The true coming out moment in this episode comes during two conversations between Jean and Rose. The first happens when Jean tells Rose of her true feelings flat-out one evening when Rose invites Jean to stay in her room after the two stay up late talking. It is interesting to note that while Jean is once again dressed to match the house in pinks, Rose is dressed in a juvenile sweater featuring primary colors and teddy bears. The costumers here emphasize the innocence of Rose visually before the following interaction takes place: Jean: Rose, I just want to tell you something. If I dont say it Ill never get to sleep. I like you very much Rose. Rose: (Sleepily) I like you too Jean. J: I think youre very special. R: I think youre special too. J: What I really want to say is, Im quite fond of you. R: Im fond of you too [realizes what she said] 23 Rose, while dozing off, is immediately jolted awake as the words leave her mouth, and she pretends to be fast asleep and snoring to keep Jean from continuing her conversation. Rose, now in lavender and Jean in light blue both match Roses bed sheet, also more juvenile than the sedate comforter which puts a physical barrier between her and Jean. This setting indicates their connection, but because the two colors do not touch in the sheets, it also indicates the separateness that exists in their friendship. After hearing Jeans confession, Roses reactions are certainly confused, and yet almost cowardly. This is a far cry from the Rose that fans know and love. The second conversation comes the next day as Rose confronts Dorothy about the situation she believes she should have warned her about: Rose: Its about Jean. Dorothy: What about Jean? R: I dont want to shock you but Jean-D: I know. Jean is gay. R: You know already? What about Blanche? D: No, Blanche is not gay. R: I dont mean that, I mean. She knows? D: And Ma. R: You told everybody but me? D: Honey, I didnt even know if youd know what a lesbian was. R: I could have looked it up! D: Oh, honey. Im sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. I guess I underestimated you. R: Well, thats not important. Ive got a bigger problem. I like Jean. I like her a lot. But 24 I think shes in love with me. D: She told you? R: Well, not in so many words, but I know what she meant. Unless Im wrong. Dorothy, you know Im wrong about so many things. D: No honey, youre not wrong about this. R: Well Dorothy, what am I going to do? Rose begins this conversation wearing pink, the main color Jean had worn for much of her stay. Dorothy is quick to bring the conversation to Jeans sexual orientation when Rose approaches. Though Rose readily admits that she reads situations wrong, and I believe at her core, she doesnt want to be caught off guard because Jean is gay. She instinctively knows how sensitive a subject this is for Jean, and wants to be respectful as well as supportive. When Jean enters the room, she is once again wearing her traveling outfit from the beginning of the episode, a suit of pink floral with a lavender shell top, which is an inversion of Roses outfit. Jean is surprised to find Dorothy and Rose in the same room and quickly becomes flustered, but Rose takes charge\ and comes to her senses about her actions and treatment of Jean, while feeling bad for offending her friend: Rose: But you only said what you were feeling. Jean: Well, its just that this last year has been so difficult for me. Pat was the person I planned to spend the rest of my life with. And when she died, I just felt so terribly alone. Empty. I thought I could never care for anyone ever again. Til I met you. I just got very confused. I hope I didnt make you feel uncomfortable. R: Well, I have to admit. I dont understand these kinds of feelings, but if I did understand, if I were, you know, like you. I think Id be very flattered and proud that 25 you thought of me that way. Here, Roses reactions are poignant and honest. A reaction that can only come from a character as sheltered, yet open-hearted as Rose. However, the writers still seem to put most of the blame on the gay character, as it was Jean who came on to an unassuming Rose. Additionally, Jean is the character who is confused about the situation and not her sexual preference, the implication has still been made. The second narrative from this series comes during season four, episode nine; Scared Straight. This episode posits Blanches reactions as her brother, Clayton, comes to visit following the divorce of his wife. As discussed in his chapter Gay Material and Prime-Time Network Television in the 1990s, from the book, Gay TV and Straight America, Ron Becker states, Through various manipulations of narrative, shot selections, casting and acting styles, some shows worked to reinforce the assumption that gays and lesbians were identifiably different than straights while others worked to reinforce the assumption that they were essentially the same (185). Clayton, the dapper, southern, gentleman dressed conservatively in slacks and a linen button up, is defined in his blandness and seeming straightness. After much prodding from Blanche, Clayton agrees to go on a date with one of her single friends. However, Clayton cuts the date short and runs into Rose in the park where the date was to take place. It is here he discloses his sexuality to Rose, after she tries to find his type among the passersby. As the scene is set, it directs Rose, who knew Clayton was out on a date with a woman, to believe she should be looking at women as a suitor: Rose: But what are you doing here? Blanche told me she was sending you out on a date. Clayton: Oh, she did. R: Didnt it work out? 26 C: Well, lets just say Blanche has it in her head what type is right for me, but shes way off. R: I bet I could sit here for a minute and tell you what your type is. Im good at this. Gosh. Im stuck. C: You havent even started. R: No, Im stuck on gum somebody left on this bench. Okay, now you just give me your honest reactions when people go by. Thats how Ill tell. C: Okay. R: Here comes one. Go. No? Too thin. Here comes one. Too short. Next. (Clayton stares down the man.) Clayton youre not playing fair! Thats a man! Thats a man and youre a man. Youre both men! Clayton youre the thing that everyone said Uncle Agroons nephew was because he wore paisley clogs and gave out puff pastry for Halloween. C: Ive been called a lot of things in my time, but thats a first for that one. Yeah, Im gay Rose. 3 It is interesting to note that this is the second involvement with Rose and a character coming out in the show, where she is the catalyst in some way. With Jean, she was the object of affection; with Clayton, she is the confidant. In both cases, each person feels comfortable enough with Rose to be their authentic self, without masks or pretense; the only difference is that Jean didnt realize that was how her relationship with Rose was progressing. Clayton, on the other hand, uses Roses inherent goodness as a barometer to gauge how the rest of the household will react to the news. He is looking primarily for insight on how Blanche will react, but because Rose believes the best in everyone, wants to push Clayton into telling his sister. The writers once again 3 Lloyd, Christopher. Scared Straight. The Golden Girls, created by Susan Harris, season four, episode nine, 10 Dec. 1988. 27 use Rose's endearing childlike nature to break the ice and give the audience time to develop the situation before Clayton actually comes out and says the words to his sister. However, Roses implication about her relative paints a picture about effeminate men being the only gay men who exist. Though she now knows and is friends with a lesbian, she still relies on stereotypes to qualify gay men. That the only gay men are the ones who are obvious in their predilections. Yet, here is Clayton, who was married to a woman and doesn't appear to own paisley clogs. He defies what it means to be gay, not only to Rose, but the audience at home too. This is an important distinction, as it forces the audience to pause and think about the homosexuals who may be living among them. As Villarejo states, Television lodges itself in the spectator, confusing the destination between what is imaginary and what is real; identification is a process that, strictly speaking, happens with television not with its contents, yet who can tell the one from the other ( 55). This distinction between imaginary and real becomes more nuanced as caricatures of gay people, like wearing paisley clogs, break way to more realistic portrayals of people. When Rose and Clayton return to the house later that night, Blanche is surprised to find them together. As Rose prods Clayton to tell the truth of his homosexuality, he instead announces that he and Rose slept together. This sends Blanche into a feud with one of her best friends, as it is Rose, and not Clayton who gets the force of Blanche's anger. The most important note is that Rose refuses to tell Blanche the truth, even as she bears the weight of Claytons betrayal to their friendship. She would rather have one of her best friends hate her, than to tell this important truth, because like Dorothy before her, she knows it is not her truth to reveal. Clayton disrupted the stoic life in Miami, and yet, because he is the very special character of the episode, gets no blame. Rose finally confides Claytons revelation to Dorothy not for malicious 28 intent but because she knows Dorothy would understand her position. Once again, it is the ever astute Sophia who is aware of the conversation being had without being a part of it as evident in this exchange: Rose: Hi girls. I need to talk. Dorothy: Oh, honey, what is it? R: All day long Blanche has been giving me looks. I think shes really mad. D: Look Rose, what happened between you and Clayton last night is YOUR business. Not Blanches. R: But thats just the point Dorothy! Nothing happened between Clayton and me! Nothing physical anyway. D: Why did Clayton say the two of you slept together if you hadnt? R: Because hes trying to hide something about himself from Blanche. And I dont even feel right saying it out loud. Maybe if I just whispered it. D: Clayton is a hobo? R: No, Dorothy! D: Oh! Oh! Now! Now I get it! R: Oh good! I thought I was going to have to draw you a picture! And to be honest, Im not sure I know how. Sophia: Hey! I dont get to know? D: No Ma. S: Okay have it your way, but nobody can keep a secret from Sophia Petrillo. Whatever this guy is hiding, I can smoke it out of him in three or four quick questions. [Clayton 29 enters.] Perfect timing. Clayton: Hello ladies. S: So Clayton, uh. What do you think of this Miami weather so far? C: Oh its lovely. S: I see. Have you ever been to Europe? C: No, but its always been a dream of mine. S: Interesting. How many fingers am I holding up? C: Two. S: Fine. You can go back in the living room now. [Clayton exits.] The mans as gay as a picnic basket! D: Ma! That. That is incredible! How did you know? S: I heard him singing in the shower. Hes the only man I ever knew who knows all the words to Send in the Clowns. Sophia is quick to point out that even though she couldn't tell through physical characteristics, the gay man has a tell. This leads to a stereotyped personality trait of gay men enjoying musical theatre in ways straight men cannot. Bryan McLaughlin brings this up in his article, Identifying with a Stereotype: The Divergent Effects of Exposure to Homosexual Television Characters in which he discusses the concept of stereotyped identification which helps us understand the unique pathway through which being exposed to fictional television characters can help increase acceptance of minorities, while also fostering implicit stereotypes (1211). Though Clayton is written as being the antithesis of a gay male in the minds of the 1980s American public, the writers are quick to write in certain characteristics which ensure the viewing public that he is in fact, a gay man. 30 Clayton finally admits to Blanche the truth, showcasing one of the first moments of disbelief to a character coming out on prime-time television. This moment comes after Blanche calls Rose a slut in the presence of her brother. At this moment, Clayton realizes that it is unfair to both Rose and Blanche for keeping his truth from his sister. Clayton: I wish you hadnt done that Blanche. Blanche: Oh hush up. It was for your own good. C: Theres something you just dont understand. B: Oh I understand perfectly. I pushed you into meeting all those women. Thats why this happened. But, that is over. Rose will be just fine. C: Blanche, its not that simple. B: Clayton leave it alone. C: Blanche, listen, nothing happened between me and Rose. Just like nothing ever happens between me and any of the women you set me up with. Theres a reason. B: What are you saying? C: Im saying Im gay Blanche. B: Oh, haha Clayton. Please be serious. Youre just saying that so I wont set you up with any more women. C: No Blanche. B: Well, then youre saying it because youre trying to get back at me for something. C: Blanche! B: I know you too well for this! After all I know it cant be true, youre my brother. C: Its true. Blanche. Maybe I outta just leave you alone for a while. 31 B: Clayton Hollinswoth. You look at me in the face and tell me you really are what you just said you are. C: I think you heard me the first time Blanche. Though Blanche finally comes to terms with her brothers truth, her initial reactions resemble the fear many have when they come out to family and friends. It is why the episode is centered around Blanches response to Claytons truth. As Becker points out, gay characters, despite their increasing numbers, continued to exist solely for the straight to react to (182). The world looks to see how Blanche will react to the news that her brother is a gay male, in the 1980s with the AIDs crisis at its peak. Here, the entire purpose of Clayton coming out is to teach Blanche a lesson about her own prejudices. When dealing with Jean previously, she applauded her own level-headedness at the entire thing. That she was so open to the possibility, only to get mad that she was not the focus of the attraction. Yet, with her own brother the stakes are different and she is cognizant of all the consequences that having a gay man in the family can do to a familys reputation, which matters a lot to Blanche, as indicated throughout the series. Blanche later finds Clayton out at a bar when she finally realizes shes at risk of losing her brother. Their conversation further highlights the idea that the entire episode is centered around Blanches acceptance and understanding, and not in fact, Claytons reveal of his truth. B: OH! Im having a little trouble putting all of this together Clayton. I just feel like I dont know you anymore. C: Im the same person I always was. B: No youre not. You used to be just like me. C: What? Great looking? B: Yes. 32 C: Charming? B: Yes. C: Irresistible to men? B: My god Clayton, you are me! But I still just cant. C: Blanche, I spent a long time lying to myself. It felt a lot better when I stopped. I just feel better being honest with you too. And Id hate to think that this is going to keep us from being friends. B: Well, honey of course it isnt. Oh no. Ill get used to this, I will. I mean, look at me already. Im practically comfortable in a gay bar. C: Blanche this isnt a gay bar. B: Clayton, now we did say we were going to be honest with each other. Alright, I can do my part, now just watch this. You all over there at the bar. I just want to say that I would be very proud to have any one of you date my brother. Patron: Id rather date you lady. B: Sweet Jesus! Ive just done the impossible! Ive converted one! Like most straights in a queer narrative, they inevitably make things about them. Blanche goes to make amends with Clayton, and then when she disbelieves that gay men frequent straight bars, believing that the gay population must have its own space for a reasoni. Yet, Blanche through narcissism or just the heteronormative view, ended up with the focus at the end of the conversation with the belief that she could convert one which would be the height of Blanches ego to have accomplished such a thing. It also represents the belief that members of the LGBTQ+ community could, in fact be converted, positing to audiences that it is indeed a choice to be queer. 33 ROSEANNE (1988 - 1997) The Matt Williams and Roseanne Barr blue-collar sitcom Roseanne, debuting in October of 1988, similarly included multiple coming out scenes. Head writer and star Roseanne Barr has always been a strong advocate for the LGBTQ+ community, and the inclusion of representative characters was important to her at the time. According to Becker, As the powerful star and producer of the most successful sitcom on television at the time, Roseanne Barr was able to demand the inclusion of gay characters on her show even at a time when resistance was strongest (150). The two narratives show the progression of moving from rarely seen one-off characters to moving into characters who are more than the very special guest stars. They are known, but still on the periphery of the show. The first character to come out, Leon, has an arc that, like Clayton, helps dispel the stereotype of the overt, gay male, always looking to hit on and convert straight men into being gay. He is rooted in reality, which translates this reality to the audience. The crux of Leons narrative is to show that gay men and straight men can interact without an awkward interaction. The second coming out, Nancy, continues this dispelling of stereotypes with her girlfriend Marla, a far cry from the butch lesbian culturally known to society. Roseanne shows that sometimes, those we know best are waiting to tell us their biggest truth, and these narratives help spur these conversations in society. Leons initial coming out occurs during sweeps week of the third season; episode twentythree. Though the reveal does not come until the end of the episode, the costuming choices indicate much to the audience. At the beginning of the episode, Leon is seen wearing a blue shirt with his suit, when he announces that corporate is sending someone to check over the diner in which he manages, and where Roseanne is an employee. They send a woman by the name of 34 Linda. Leon and Linda are constantly seen wearing complementary colors. Leon sees their relationship as professional, while Linda admits to Roseanne that she is attracted to Leon. Yet, when confronted with the opportunity to take Linda on a date, and forego work, Leon declines: Linda (Li): Why dont the two of us find a nice little Italian restaurant. Order a bottle of chianti and get to know each other. Leon (Le): Woah, woah, woah, woah. Way too much information in that sentence. Li: These evaluations are just so dull. I thought we could find something more exciting to do. Le: Youre coming on to me right? Li: Im trying Le: Linda, I really appreciate your offer. Its uh, very flattering but uh, Im already seeing somebody else. R: YOU ARE NOT! Le: AM TOO! Li: Leon, dont worry. Its okay. But it could have been fun. Okay, lets talk about this restaurant. 4 Roseanne is annoyed because she wanted Leon to leave early so that she could as well in order to have time to get daughter Darlene ready to go to her first big dance. She believes that his comment about being in a relationship is a lie in order to protect both his career and his dignity. However, a couple of days later, Roseanne learns the truth when Leons friend arrives to collect him for dinner: Jerry: Hello Leon. You ready? 4 Williams. Matt. Dances with Darlene. Roseanne, created by Roseanne Barr, season three, episode twenty-three, 30 April. 1991. 35 Leon: Yeah almost. Oh, theres my blue shirt. I was looking all over for that this morning. Oh, sorry. Roseanne. Bonnie. This is my friend Jerry. J: Nice to meet you. Leon has told me so much about you both. So, Leon, we have a 7 oclock dinner reservation and Im sure Phil and Tony are already there so. Le: Yes. Well do it all again tomorrow shall we? R: Definitely. [Shares knowing look with Bonnie.] Ohhhhh. Though Leon doesnt explicitly say to his colleagues that he is gay, he is aware of the information put forth in the conversation and assumed that the ladies present would be able to extrapolate the information. His interaction with his partner Jerry also indicates their relationship from the acknowledgement of his shirt and the gentle touch of his arm. It is also reflected in the way that Jerry talks about the friends that are waiting on them for dinner, as an exasperated spouse. Roseanne and Bonnie are both married, so they understand the nuance of this conversation, in ways that a single person might not be able to do. This conversation relies on the understanding of give and take in a relationship in a heteronormative understanding. Yet, it is subverted here with two men talking in this way. However, this is not the end of Leons coming out narrative. The next season during episode three, Why Jackie Becomes a Trucker, Leon is invited to play poker with Dan and his friends at the last minute when another of Dans friends backs out. Though Roseanne expresses her displeasure at Leon being in her house, she relents and plans a night out with her own friends. While at the Conner household, the dichotomy of the players is apparent. Leon arrives to play cards in khakis and a red button up. He matches the color scheme kitchen and the rest of the home, more than he does the other players. This color matching is indicative of his connection to Roseanne more than the other males in the room. It may also be a subtle tell to the stereotype 36 about LGBTQ+ males being more effeminate than straight males. Hes also more put together, clothing wise, than the other players, who are dressed more casually, and what the audience would see as blue collar. During the game, Arnie goes on and on about a girl he hooked up with the night before, who turns out to be Jackie, Roseannes sister. At one point he begins to ask Leon, the only other single player at the table hypothetical questions: Arnie: Hey, Leon. Youre not married here. Help me out. Lets say Melanie Griffith wants you really bad. Are you going to tell her no? Leon: Actually, I would say no. A: The hell you would! All Guys: You lying dog. L: Guys, Im serious. Dan: Sure you are Leon. L: Didnt Roseanne tell you? D: Tell me what? L: That Im gay. [Guys all clam up and nervously laugh.] D: Yeah, right. L: Jesus, I thought you knew. D: No. No, I mean. Its okay. It happens. L: Yeah, it did. 5 Leon walks into this situation with the understanding that Dan knows he is out, yet when it turns out that he is not, he handles the situation in stride. He does not hide the fact that he's gay, nor 5 Williams. Matt. Why Jackie Becomes a Trucker. Roseanne, created by Roseanne Barr, season four, episode three, 1 Oct. 1991. 37 does he try to play it straight. He instead tackles the situation head on telling a room full of straight men his most ultimate truths. This is done to show the audience an absolutely safe situation where one could have this conversation. This is well defined in Reddy: "The ultimate goal of narrative film and television is to create engaging and entertaining stories and characters, a task that cannot be done without drawing a strong connection between the characters and the narratives audience" (43). The audience is aware of the tension in the room, and Chuckie, the only other minority in the room is quick to try and break the tension by engaging in conversation with Leon: C: Well, you know I know a gay guy. His name is Bill. He lives in Chicago. Maybe you know him. L: Yeah, Sure I know him. From Chicago. Gay Bill. D: Smooth Chuckie. C: What? D: Say, I got an idea. Lets play cards. L: Thank you! Though he means well, Chuckies attempts at engaging with the newly outed gay, reinforces the idea that all gays know each other. McLaughlin explains, Having direct interaction with homosexuals, rather than relying on unfounded assumptions, can promote understanding, alleviate perceived differences, and lead to more positive attitudes (1198). In this moment, Chuckieand therefore the rest of the audiencerealizes that some stereotypes about gay males are unfounded. The irony of this situation comes from the fact that Chuckie is a Black man, and these same stereotypes are also made against those in the Black community. That all Blacks 38 know each other. Yet, these stereotypes are well known for the audience to understand coming from the Black community, so they can identify the similarities to the two communities. The final coming out narrative is the most straight-forward of the shows run, happens during season five, episode eights Ladies Choice. At the beginning of the episode, we see Nancy, Roseanne and Jackies friend and business partner, as well as Roseanne and Jackie working on renovations to their diner As they are working, Roseanne drops hints to Nancy that she should not be alone any longer and needs a man in her life. After telling Roseanne that she is not interested, Nancy finally admits that shes seeing someone. Roseanne and Jackie, her two closest friends, are intrigued and demand to know who their friend is seeing: Jackie: So. Come on! Tell us about the guy! Roseanne: Yeah come on! J: Whats his name? R: Why dont you tell us? Were just going to bug you til you do! Nancy: No. Its too soon. Its too soon! J & R: Come on! Come on! N: Alright. Her name is Marla. Im seeing a woman. 6 Immediately, Jackie and Roseanne laugh nervously and do not know how to take the news they just heard. Because they are unable to cope, they automatically assume that Nancy is playing a prank on them: Jackie: What? Roseanne: No you arent! Nancy: Im serious. Im gay. 6 Williams. Matt. Ladies Choice. Roseanne, created by Roseanne Barr, season five, episode eight, 10 Nov. 1992. 39 J & R: laugh again. R: Youre just screwing with us right? N: No. So, what do you think? R: Well, its really surprising? I mean, when did this happen? J: Wait a minute! You and I used to go out looking for guys all the time! We went to all those singles dances together! N: Singles dances? I thought we were dating! JOKE! Joke. Just kidding. Nancy uses her humor as a deflection from the clear hurt she is feeling. As Roseanne and Jackie prod Nancy for more information, they too are feeling betrayed by their friend. However, the conversation moves to Nancy questioning the acceptance of her friends. Jackie: Why didnt you tell us about it before? Nancy: I dont know. I was scared. I didnt know how youd react. R: Well, wed react the same when you tell us anything personal. Make fun of you until it gets old and then we move on. N: I can feel the love. J: Its just so strange. R: So weird. I mean, so. When did you start liking women? You were married to Arnie! Oh! Arnie turned her gay! J: Well, sleeping with Arnie would turn any woman gay. --Some women. Jackie and Roseanne continually try to find when Nancy turned gay without listening to Nancys responses on the situation. They believe that some event, or someone must have done this to her, instead of believing that Nancy was actually this way the entire time. The fact that Jackie, who slept with Arnie at the beginning of Why Jackie Becomes a Trucker, points to him 40 as a catalyst is ironic. As Gonsiorek has argued, Children who will eventually be bisexual or homosexual often develop an awareness of being different at an early age. They may not understand the sexual nature or precise meaning of their differentness, but they soon learn it is negatively regarded (166). Nancy understood her true identity and nature early on, but kept it hidden until she was sure she could trust her friends not to abandon her after hearing this information. Throughout this scene the audience is able to pick up on the connection between Jackie and Roseanne, not just because they know theyre sisters, but it comes through in their wardrobe, as they are dressed similarly. However, Jackie and Nancy are both in reds and blues showcasing their connection through Arnie. The busy pattern of the two also showcase their anxiety in this situationJackies due to her inability to believe what she is hearing, and Nancys in her worry of telling her friends her truth. Upon leaving Nancy, the two sisters retreat to Roseannes house to discuss what theyve just been told. Once Nancy is no longer in the room, the focus no longer is on Nancys story, but their reaction to it; specifically, Jackie, who is unsure how to act around Nancy now that she knows the truth. Roseanne on the other hand, takes it with stride, sure that her friend is the same as she was before. This entire scene reinforces what Becker says: Being forced to serve as heterosexuals sounding boards placed perhaps the most significant limits on how gay and lesbian characters were represented (18384). Yet, because Barr was vocal about representation and the inclusion of gay characters, Nancy is only seen as a sounding board in this episode, and this representation is important to showcase the fallout that coming out creates. Roseannes daughter, Darlene enters the room and questions the conversation, believing that the two are speaking of Roseannes gynecologist. To prove the hypocrisy, Jackie repeats the 41 same phrase Roseanne told her moments before, Hey, shes still your gynecologist. She just happens to be a lesbian. It becomes clear to Roseanne that she needs to share the news of Nancys seemingly new identity with Darlene. Jackie: Roseanne, come on. Shes going to find out about it somehow. Wouldnt you rather it come from her mother with a little explanation? Roseanne: No, not really. I hate this. Alright. Well, before I tell you. Lemme ask you a question. Uh. Do you ever watch Sally Jesse? Darlene: Mom, I pretty much already know all about lesbians. And what I dont, youd be too embarrassed to tell me. R: Yeah, right. Well, its Nancy. D: Woah! Howd you find out? Did she tell you? R: No. We saw the Im a big ole dyke bumper sticker on her car. The usage of dyke was and continues to be problematic, even though the line garnered laughs during the airing. This line additionally calls into question the way in which people come out, as if to say they will blindly reveal their truth to strangers before telling their friends. We have already discussed how this could be rooted in truth, as the likelihood of abandonment by a stranger would hurt less than the abandonment by friends or family. Additionally, most members of the queer community end up finding their community to tell their truth first. As Augelli says, The first part of a social process that hinges upon finding other LGB people and developing a feeling of community with people who are often complete strangers (345). By the end of the scene Jackie is still confused about how, as Nancys two best friends, they missed this major revelation in their friends life. Though it is apparent that her confusion 42 comes from a place of trepidation, Roseanne takes this moment to showcase Jackies prejudice about the subject: Jackie: I still dont see how we could have missed it, Roseanne. How could we not have known that Nancy is a lesbian? Roseanne: Well, she doesnt look like a lesbian, you know? I mean lesbians are big old truck drivers that wear flannel shirts and faded jeans. (Both laugh.) The joke comes from the fact that this is the exact way in which Jackie dresses, as well as her current livelihood. Once Jackie is aware that her outward appearance could be taken to be seen as a butch lesbian, she cowers at the thought of others mistaking her for a lesbian, as well as Nancy further mistaking her for one, taking the joke from earlier as truth. As we understand the ideas of straight versus gay, we can further understand Beckers idea of imbalance in that, this imbalance was particularly true on special gay-themed episodes where the conventions of episodic series meant that viewer identification and narrative structure would almost always be centered on the programs continuing heterosexual characters (182). The episode has nothing to do with Nancys news and how she lives her life, but ends up being Jackies responses and prejudices. Once Roseanne makes the connection to Jackies dress and the stereotypical lesbian, the audience meets Nancys girlfriend Marla. Every time Marla is shown on screen she is done up in the latest feminine styles. Shes impeccably dressed, hair and makeup done, and always wearing heels. Through this, Roseanne makes a statement about the nature of stereotypes, in that they are problematic, and most of the time wrong. Though, McLaughlin believes that Constantly viewing stereotypical television portrayals of a social group, therefore, makes those stereotypes chronically accessible (1201), the portrayal on Roseanne and previously The Golden Girls 43 diverts the known stereotypes, causing the audience to question who they might know to affix the LGBTQ+ label. No one person can embody the ideas of a category of people, which is why stereotypes are problematic at best. Twice during the episode, Roseanne and Jackies mother, Bev, comes to visit the restaurant at the same time in which Marla and Nancy are visiting. The last time however, Bev comments on this relationship: Beverly: Nancy is a very lovely girl, but if she doesnt stop spending her time with Marla, shes never going to find a man. Roseanne: Mom. Jackie: Roseanne. Ixne on the esbianle. R: Well, shes going to find out sooner or later. Okay, Im just going to come out and tell ya this, alright? Okay, Marla and Nancy are lesbians. B: Of course they are. Any fool can see that. So now, I guess Im supposed to walk up and say oh, hello you nice lesbians! or something equally embarrassing and then everyone gets a good laugh at the expense of the stupid old lady? Sure. Theyre lesbians! Im a lesbian. Youre a lesbian. Were all lesbians! Im not falling for it, Roseanne. Though Roseanne and Jackie have a long history of putting Beverly in uncomfortable situations, Beverly clearly sees this as a boy who cried wolf moment, and believes that they are trying to trap her into a corner in order for her to be caught saying something inappropriate to Nancy. Bevs inability to believe is further reinforces Beckers ideas, in which he says, Gay characters and themes often reinforced the confounding contradictions at play beneath the eras multicultural liberalism. Through various manipulations of narrative, shot selections, casting, and acting styles, some shows worked to reinforce the assumption that gays and lesbians were identifiably different than straights, while others worked to reinforce the assumption that they were essential the same (Becker 185). 44 Part of Beverlys misunderstanding with Nancys new life could be because she knew Nancy to be married previously, and has always known her to date men. Yet, in the writers are showing that even if the straight community fails to believe that gays and lesbians exist, they will regardless. There is a moment in the ninth season of Roseanne where Beverly Harris does come out of the closet, and tells her daughters that she is a lesbian. It comes as a great shock to the family, and it is part of the focal point for the rest of the season. Though this could easily be seen as an addition to this paper, I have chosen not to add it due to the fact that in the series finale as Roseanne is finishing the book on her life, she says it was not really true. This makes the storyline seem more like a grab for viewership than to be a genuine representation of a coming out narrative. This storyline highlights the fact that, The general conservatism of the television medium has been damaging to its critical credibility, and televisions availability and appeal to the mainstream have further contributed to its low critical status: familiarity breeds contempt (Mundy and White 102). When Barr ended the series with the realization that it was actually Jackie who came out, no one knew what to believe. When the series was rebooted as The Conners in 2018, many of the storylines from season six and onward were written out of existence, including the revelation of Jackies lesbianism. ELLEN (1994 - 1998) As the culmination of this television narrative development in this chapter, Ellen shows that it was time for America to see a queer main character. Ellens narrative helps show all reactions one can have when they come out. We see Ellens friends accept her automatically, pushback from her parents, and then utter devastation to her life in relation to her job. These 45 three perspectives give the most detailed view of coming out. The show is also the most wellknown and culturally significant coming out narrative. Premiering in the fall of 1994, the show ran until 1998. Many scholars believe that the shows demise was primarily due to blow back from the character Ellen Morgan coming out, as well as the coming out of Ellen DeGeneres in real life. Becker believes that, The desire to target the slumpy audience was most certainly a factor in Disney/ABCs eventual decision to allow Ellen Morgan out of the closet Opening the closet door for the lead character was a logical step in revamping the program (165). Leading up to the premier of The Puppy Episode, a media blitz of Ellen DeGeneres own coming out narrative took the world by storm. On April 17, 1997, she appeared on the cover of Time magazine with the headline Yep, Im Gay. Following this up, she appeared on Oprah in an exclusive television interview. At the same time, Oprah Winfrey has a guest role as Ellen Morgans psychiatrist during the two-part coming out episode. The teaser opener starts with all of Ellens friends gathered around while she gets ready for a date with a former college boyfriend, Richard: Paige: Ellen are you going to come out or what? Joe: Yeah, Ellen! Quit jerkin us around and come out already! Ellen: Whats the big deal? Ive got a whole hour! 7 This set-up wouldnt work without the media blitz leading up to the episode. Because Ellen DeGeneres, the person, came out prior to Ellen Morgan, the character, the writers were able to incorporate these layers of added humor to the episode. The episode itself was split into two separate parts. The first covers Ellen with her realization that she is gay, while the subsequent episode deals with her struggles to tell her friends. The following two episodes deal with Ellen 7 Driscoll, Mark. The Puppy Episode. Ellen, created by Neal Marlens, Carol Black, and David S. Rosenthal, season four, episode twenty-two, 30 Apr. 1997. 46 Morgan telling her parents, and then her boss about her sexuality and the subsequent repercussions from the news. This is where Ellen separates from its predecessors, as Ellen DeGeneres found it important to tell not just a broad very special episode narrative, but one which shows all facets that a newly outed person must face in their life. As Donileen Loseke states in The Study of Identity as Cultural, Institutional, Organizational, and Personal Narratives: Theoretical and Empirical Integrations states, [W]e would expect that formula stories and their characters would not offer adequate descriptions of the practical experiences or the unique characteristics of embodied people (666). Because of the parallel between DeGeneres and Morgan, and the fact that Morgan was a lead character, this narrative had the chance, and the duty to explore further reactions happen to the character who has come out, and not just the emotions, perspectives, and experiences of straight characters over their gay counterparts (Becker 182). As we will learn, Ellen Morgan had to deal with an upheaval of reaction and emotions in response to her coming out. This was not something that had been seen on television. As the episode gets underway, and Ellens date with Richard is interrupted by his colleague, Susan Richardson, the attraction and flirtation between Ellen and Susan is apparent. This flirtation has a lasting effect on Ellen, who continues to recall the dinner when she and Richard move to his hotel room. When Richard begins to reveal his attraction to Ellen, she resists and hastily leaves his room but not before running into Susan in the hall. Ellen: Nope. Not awkward at all. Susan: Who are you talking to? E: Uh, you? S: Well, did we just finish up this conversation, or did you want to continue it in my 47 room? E: Oh, alright then. As they move to Susans room, the two soon begin to understand they have a lot in common with each other, from taste in music, to events theyve both gone to. It becomes increasingly obvious that they have the same sense of humor. Ellen eventually brings up that Richard came on to her just prior to Susan finding her in the hallway. During this exchange, Ellen wonders if Susan and Richard ever dated, before backing off because of the inappropriateness of the situation. Susan immediately tells Ellen that shes gay, and thought that Ellen was too. Susan: Im gay. Ellen: Youre gay? Oh. How about that. Gay. Good. I didnt I didnt. Thats good for you cause. Why wouldnt you be gay? S: Wow, I thought you knew. E: No. Didnt know. S: In fact, I thought you were gay too. E: You thought I was gay? S: OH Im really sorry. I just kind of got that vibe. E: Vibe? Like a gay vibe? Like GAYYYYY No. No, no. What I think youre sensing is a very strong I like men vibe. And its throwing you a bit and maybe youre confused about that. Because Ellen isnt sure about her own feelings she becomes contrary to Susan before feeling the need to prove herself. As Gonsoriek discusses, The concept of internalized homophobia and analogous forms that may be developed for other minority groups may be more useful in explaining the tendency for minority groups to discharge their frustration primarily against each 48 other instead of the majority of culture (176). Ellens hostility towards Susan comes from a place of internalized homophobia. She is not sure what she feels, but this idea of otherness scares her. As with many who come out, the need to control the narrative, including their hesitation to the fact, leads Ellen to retreat back into Richards hotel room before declaring Ill show you whos gay. The next day, her coworkers and friends are waiting with baited breath to hear about her date with Richard. Ellen proceeds to give her friends all the details of her sexual encounter from the night before. What is interesting about these scenes, is that While the networks pushed boundaries in their depictions of heterosexual sex with frank dialogue and steamy sex sex scenes, the vast majority of gay and lesbian characters had no sex life-- at least not one that viewers got to see (Becker 179). Had Ellen kept talking explicitly about her sexual encounter with Richard, the network could have easily shown the sexual interaction, as they had previously with multiple times NYPD Blue. However, we learn what she says and what actually happened are two different things. Furthermore her language queues, while used for comedy, also inform of Ellen's now uncomfortable aspect of intimacy in her life. This is noticeable as she tells her friends about her date: Ellen: Anyway, so we go back to his room and uh *flashback* Men. Men men men why do I love men so much? Paige: You said that? E: Yeah. Because I was just so turned on by him being a man and me not being one. E: *flashback* Show me the money baby. Joe: Show me the money? E: Id seen Jerry Maguire the night before. Anyway, stop interrupting. About 2 hours 49 later were lying in bed and enjoying a well earned smoke. Audrey: Ellen, you dont smoke. E: All right we were chewing gum. Richard: Ellen, that was incredible. Your passion knows no bounds, what's your secret? E: I guess Im just a sucker for man-woman sex. Even Joe recognizes this as a jump break shows him saying man-woman sex? altering the others to the absurdity of the situation Ellen presents her friends. When Ellen recalls her date to the therapist character portrayed by Oprah, the flashback is an inverted take on the trope of premature ejaculation. This is a further exploration of Ellens locker-room talk that she started with her friends: Ellen: Well, uh okay cut to 15 minutes later. -- Im sorry Richard. This has never happened to me before. Richard: Its okay. It happens. Youre probably just tired. These inversions are all a further queering of the coming out narrative which posits Ellens lesbianism as being the masculine figure of this relationship, and possibly all future relationships. As previously mentioned, it was Ellen who initiated the sexual act with Richard, putting her as the alpha in the relationship. This masculine interaction is further seen when Ellen reveals to her therapist that she didnt actually ever sleep with him, though she told her friends that she did. Here, she is continuing to masculinize her experience with Richard, queering the events from a normal heteronormative interaction to something different. Ellen essentially participates in the boys club idea of exaggeration. Yet, for Ellen, it is deeper than that as she is using her lies to deflect against what she is truly feeling. This is a fact she brings up when asked to describe the vibe she is giving off when recalling the conversation with Susan. This is the 50 moment when Ellen begins to question her feelings and though she talks about previous male paramours, and evades with jokes, the television audience can see the revelation reach Ellen. She speaks of being choosy with men, but then drops pronouns altogether and says she needs to click with someone. This subtle change in Ellens vocabulary is her first realization at the change in her outward sexual interests. It is later in the episode where Ellen continues her journey of self-discovery by following Susan to the airport, thinking she would miss out on talking to Susan forever. It is this vulnerability that allows for Ellen to open up; thinking that Susan would leave her behind and never be seen again. This means Ellen might never have to tell anyone else her truth, while simultaneously being vulnerable enough to allow her to come out. Susan: So, are you saying whatI think youre trying to say? Ellen: What do you think Im trying to say? S: Oh, Im not going to say it again and be wrong. E: No, youre not wrong. Youre right. Uh, this is. Ugh. This is so hard but I think Ive realized that I am. I cant even say the word. I mean, why cant I say it? I mean, what is wrong? Why do I have to be so ashamed? Why cant I just say the truth and by who I am. Im 35 years old. Im so afraid to tell people. Susan [speaks into the mic] Im gay. This was the cultural cornerstone, and GLAAD organized national Come Out with Ellen parties underwritten by Absolut Vodka (Becker 165). Furthermore, the anticipation of the episode led to a bankroll of advertisement payout during the episode. Becker explains that Anticipating that the unprecedented media buzz surrounding the show would draw a huge audience, companies were willing to pay as much as $330,000 for a 30-second spot -- nearly twice what ABC had been charging for the series (166). This payout puts this single moment of 51 television on par with some of the biggest events of the year, including the Superbowl. Unlike with previous episodes dealing with queer content, advertisers were cashing in instead of shying away. What enhances this situation is the duality that happens as Ellen makes the decision to say the words and officially come out. She is saying this privately to a fellow lesbian, someone who can understand what she is going through, yet as she speaks the words, she does so into a microphone over the P.A. system at the airport. A secret she wanted one person to know, ended up being announced to a multitude of people. This was, in effect, how Ellen DeGeneres came out as well. First privately, then to the world in a very public way. This also is the difference from the other coming out narratives we have seen, as the public was never a part of the narratives because Ellen shows all sides of the experience and not just the straight world view. Yet, to the conservative sect of American life, they saw both very public displays of coming out, as yet one more example of the networks pandering to a very small, militant community in Hollywood against the wishes of Americas once-again abused moral majority (Becker 166). They believed the entire premise of coming out to be against what the overall majority of the population believed. This may be true, but as McLauglin points out: Acceptance may take several forms. This includes a reduction in prejudice, which in the context of homosexuals has largely been operationalized as moral judgements (e.g. same-sex marriages are morally offensive). The other potential benefit is increased support for legal rights (e.g. homosexuals should be allowed to adopt children). We therefore predict that the more television shows an individual watches featuring homosexual characters, the more likely they will be to see the world through their eyes and, subsequently, to demonstrate more acceptances for homosexuals (McLaughlin 1199). Visibility increases acceptance, and acceptance is achieved when barriers are broken down, and authentic stories are told, Ellen and the writers knew this would be the path to acceptance. 52 The show cuts to Ellen visiting her therapist right after her very public proclamation. As Gonsiorek relates, This coming out process represents a shift in the persons core sexual identity and may be accompanied by dramatic levels of emotional distress (165). Ellens constant visits to therapists helps to destigmatize mental health issues, as early as 1997. Although her visit is played for laughs, it still helps show the need to speak to a mental health professional when coming to terms with coming out. During this session, she realizes that though Susan may have been the first adult woman she had feelings for, she may have known her true identity for years, recalling girls she was attracted to growing up, but always suppressing her feelings: Oprah: Never acted on it. And why do you think that is? Ellen: I dont know. I guess I just thought if I ignored it, itll all go away and I could just live a normal life. O: And what is a normal life Ellen? E: I dont know. Normal. Same thing everybody wants. I want a house. A picket fence. A dog. A cat. Sunday barbecues. Someone to love. Someone that loves me. Someone I can build a life with. I just want to be happy. O: And you think you cant have these things with a woman? E: Well, society has a pretty big problem with it, you know. There are a lot of people out there who think people like me are sick. The idea of a normal life is what many in the LGBTQ+ community want but feel punished in society if they try to achieve these goals. Through this exchange, the show hopes that their audience sees [t]he concept of identification articulates the process through which media consumers lose awareness of their own world and take on the perspective of fictional characters 53 (McLaughlin 1198-1199). The LGBTQ+ community is inherently the same as the heteronormative community when it comes to wants, needs, and dreams. Then Ellen goes on: Ellen: You dont understand. Do you think I want to be discriminated against? Do you think I want people calling me names to my face? Oprah: Have people commit hate crimes against you because youre not like them? E: Thank you! O: Have to use separate bathrooms and separate water fountains and sit in the back of the bus? E: OH, man we have to use separate water fountains? Joke, I know. When Ellen brings up being discriminated against to her therapist, played by Oprah Winfrey, the parallels of the discrimination the Black community faces in America, and the LGBTQ+ community can be seen. During this therapy session, Ellen is encouraged to tell her friends. In the steps to coming out, this is usually the second step; first to come out to oneself, then to friends,and finally those on the outside of their life. While preparing a party for friends with her openly gay friend Patrick, she quickly tells him she is gay, unaware she did until it comes out of her mouth. To her surprise, this was a topic Patrick and his boyfriend had discussed previously. This is the first indication that Ellens secret isnt really a secret. Furthermore, the fact that she chose to tell Patrick first, as well as expressing her desire to know earlier, is the visualization of the LGBTQ+ community on television for the first time. This feeds into Gonsioreks thoughts that, The research data on the positive relationships between self-esteem, involvement in community, and acceptance of self in lesbians and gay men is in line with this self-psychology perspective (17374). Ellens need to tell Patrick first, comes from the need to become a part of a 54 community. She told Susan, who is a lesbian, but she needs an ally in her own personal community. Over the next two episodes, Ellen completes the coming out cycle, telling her family and then her outside circle. The next episode, Hello Mudda, Hello Fadda,'' centers on Ellen telling her parents, and the resulting fallout. As the episode starts, Ellens anxiety is apparent when she details her elaborate plan on how she will tell her parents that shes gay over dinner. As Augelli explains, Dropping their heterosexual covers, LGB people come-out, and then proceed to tell their coming-out stories for many years, both as a prompt for professional consolidation and as a bridge to others who have undergone similar transformations (Augelli, 343). Ellens decision to tell her parents in public shows a desire to control the fallout, as she was not sure of their reaction. This differs from when she told her friends in the comfort of her own home, where she felt the safest. Yet, Ellens elaborate plan is continually thwarted and her parents steer the conversation in differing directions when she is trying to ask how her parents feel about gay people. Again, she just ends up blurting out her most intimate truth in an act of desperation. Ellen: But still. Hes your child and hes gay. What would you think if your child was gay. Ellens Dad: Our child is not gay. E: Yes she is. ED and Ellens Mom: What? E: Im gay. ED: OH My god. 8 8 Nash, Jan. Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah Ellen, created by Neal Marlens, Carol Black, and David S. Rosenthal, season four, episode twenty-three, 7 May 1997. 55 As weve seen from each of the other coming out narratives, initial reactions differ from narrative to narrative. Yet, the underlying emotions in each of these narratives discussed in this chapter, save for Roseanne learning about Leon, are disbelief and confusion. This is important to the understanding of what the person who is coming out is facing and dealing with every time they tell their truth. As McLaughlin states, Because identification requires emotional and cognitive immersion, if the characters people connect with are portrayed in a caricatured manner, then identification should serve to reaffirm, rather than challenge, their mental schemas about homosexuals (1197). Ellens parents react much the same and begin to ask a barrage of questions: Ellens Mom: Just because you havent found the right man doesnt mean youre gay. I mean youre just very choosy and theres nothing wrong with that. E: Im not attracted to any men. EM: No, thats too choosy. Ellens Dad: Well, you werent gay yesterday. E: Actually, yes I was. EM: Oh my god its the separation isnt it? E: No, it was not the separation. EM: Did I push you too hard to wear dresses? E: Yes, yes but thats not why Im gay. ED: Was I too macho? It was the damn coast guard in me. EM: I dont understand youve always liked boys. E: I still like boys. I just dont like them the way other women like them. 56 EM: Honey, if you still like men, dont give up so easily. You know you should talk to someone. E: I have talked to someone. ED: Well, maybe you should talk to somebody else. Her parents insist that she seek counseling, believing that her new identity might be a mental health disorder that can be cured. This is seen in Avila-Saavedras research in which they state, [t]he debate over essentialism and constructionism is central to studies of human gender and sexuality. Essentialists believe that homosexuality is innate or biological and that gay identities can be traced back in history, while constructionists believe that a homosexual identity is a cultural product and a social construction (6). Except the cultural product, being the other, is inherently wrong and can be and should be cured. Though the show glosses over this mental health debate for the rest of the episode, the fact that the writers were willing to bring it up, says a lot about the commonality of the premise in terms of its relation to the coming-out narrative. Yet, Ellens parents do not stop at the idea of mental health when it comes to acting incredulous and disrespectful toward their daughter as noted in the following exchange: Ellens Mom: Well, this just wasnt what we expected at dinner tonight. E: No, its not, I know, but please understand that for the first time I am really, really happy. Ellens Dad: Oh, so youre saying you had a lousy childhood? Your brother Stevie had exactly the same childhood and he turned out perfectly normal. Ellen: I am normal, Dad. ED: Im sorry I dont know what Im sayin. E: You know. You always want me to be open and honest with you. 57 EM: Oh honey, thats what you wanted. We were always very happy to keep things bottled up. E: Well, you know, I dont want to keep things bottled up any more. And youre my parents and I just wanted to tell you and I guess somehow, I thought you already knew. ED: Already knew? Oh yeah, yeah. Thats right Ellen. Weve known all along and were just pretending to feel shocked and upset and disappointed. EM: So, do you have a special friend? E: No, Im not seeing anyone. ED: Well what does that mean? Can you be gay by yourself? E: Yes. ED: Okay. Then Im gay. Im sorry Ellen, does that shock you. I thought you knew all along. Her parents cannot separate her identity with her ability to live her life, and mock her for her truth. Yet, this episode helps dispel the misconception that one must engage in homonormative 9 activities in order to actually be one. This is a hard rhetorical huddle one must cross when coming out, if they are doing so without any previous experience. Identity can be secured without actually entering into a relationship. Yet, Ellens parents are intent on dismantling her identity because it doesnt align with their traditional heteronormative process of life, as mentioned by Audrey the next day: Ellen, your parents are from a different era. I mean they expected you to be the prom queen, marry your high school sweetheart and live happily ever after. I mean what were they thinking? Audrey says this to point out that as Ellens parents, they 9 According to Pride.com, homonormativity is a set of rules used to decide which people in the queer community are the best. It is the idea that the gay community needs to take the rules of the straight community and apply them to their own way of life. 58 should have known their daughter better. The aforementioned comment on dresses shows that Ellen never wanted to be prom queen. Avila-Saacedra notes this when they say, After all, heteronormativity is about the maintenance of the status quo, with all its elements of gender, class and race in addition to sexuality (13). Ellens parents had plans and ideas for their daughter that did not include a lifestyle adjustment for them to contend with when she became an adult. Their inability to change their perception of their daughter in their minds is the most common reaction to someone coming out. Throughout the episode it is revealed that Ellens mom is more accepting of the concept of Ellens sexuality than her father; which prompts Ellen to confront him. This is a feat most would not attempt in the same situation, but thanks to this narrative it helps show the ways to navigate such a conversation to those at home who are contending with the same situation. The conversation between Ellen and her father is powerful because it empowers others to speak to the hesitant party and further explain not only their position, but call the loved one out on their cowardice: Ellen: When you left the restaurant the other night, I thought you might still be upset when I told you that I was-Ellens Dad: You already told us and now we all know and theres no reason to discuss it ever again. Uh, can I have my cattle car? Thank you. E: We dont have to discuss it but you know that part of the point why I told you. I mean, its. If were not going to discuss it, I could have kept it to myself. ED: Well fine, why dont we just do that? E: You know what dad? Real life is not Morganville. You know when a tree falls down, you cant just glue it back. And when your daughter tells you shes gay you cant just put 59 her on the first train out of town. And you know why dad? The train doesnt go out of town. The train just goes around and around in circles. ED: Ellie, Im really trying here. Uh, I dont know. I mean I just dont feel comfortable. I dont know any gay people. E: Yes you do. You know me. Here, Ellen pleads with her dad to acknowledge not only her new identity, but her identity as his daughter again as well. His need to compartmentalize Ellens identity is apparent in his need to hide in Morganville, his model train village. Yet, Ellen confronts his prejudices and his feelings when she once again states plainly to her father that she is gay. Ellen has finally moved from what Augelli states is [t]he coming-out narrative involved moving from guilt/shame to positive self-esteem (350) from internalized homophobia to acceptance. Her need to confront her loved ones from what they fear about her is her greatest strength throughout all of this. The other positive thing about this episode is that it establishes the use of resources for post-coming out. First suggested by Audrey, and later mentioned to Ellens father during their conversation, Ellen and her mother go to a support group for family members to discuss issues surrounding newly outed individuals. This roundtable discussion, led by a character portrayed by Chaz Bono, son of Cher and Sonny Bono, helps to facilitate the conversation between Ellen and her mother, as well as the others present: Ellens Mom: Well sweetheart, I just worry about you. I mean, life is going to be so hard for you now. Chaz Bono: Lois, its harder to live a lie than it is to live your life openly and honestly. But keep going. 60 EM: Okay, well. Im just so confused you know. I mean like, um what do two women do in bed together? Ellen: Okay, thats enough time. We dont need to hog the floor, who else wants to talk? EM: Oh, honey, this just isnt what I wanted for you. I wanted you to find someone. Someone nice. E: I want to find someone nice too. Its just not going to be a man. EM: Well, I dont understand. Who will take care of you? E: Im not a plant. I can take care of myself. EM: You know Im looking at you right now, and I really feel like I dont even know you anymore. I miss the old Ellen. E: Which Ellen is that? The Ellen that used to keep her feelings bottled up? The Ellen that used to lie to herself and everybody else? The Ellen that could have spent the rest of her life alone? EM: Yep. Thats the one. E: Well, shes gone. But you know who is here? The Ellen thats a good daughter. The Ellen thats always trying to do the right thing. The Ellen that speaks about herself in the third person. The Ellen that just wants you to accept her for who she is. Random Dad: Okay, thats it. Im out of here. The only reason I came here tonight is because I promised your mother I would. And you: why should your mother accept this? Its wrong. Its sick and youre sick. EM: Oh, now dont you talk to my daughter that way. She is not sick. And Im sure not happy about this, but I love her and I dont want to lose her. 61 [bursting in] Ellens Dad: You tell him Lois! Shes here! Shes queer! Get used to it! I read that on a bumper sticker. The conversation leading up to the outburst by the other father present was Ellens mothers plea for her daughter to find a life in which agrees with her own beliefs. She cannot imagine a life in which a lesbian can lead a life as fulfilled as that of a straight person. The fact that Ellens dad came into the room with full acceptance says a lot about his evolution throughout this process. Though he quotes a random bumper sticker, he still implies he is trying to accept the new life of his daughter. By latching onto catch phrases, he shows he is trying to understand Ellens new culture. The final episode of the Ellen coming out trilogy is Moving On, which premiered May 14, 1997. The episode begins with Ellen, manager of the bookstore Buy the Book questioning Audrey and Joes addition of a lesbian book corner on display and a lesbo-licious titled coffee in their coffeeshop. When the owner of the store, Mr. Bink, comes into work he immediately questions the lesbian corner, which Audrey proudly put together in solidarity for Ellens new identity, although Mr. Bink is unaware of this: Mr. Bink (MB): Woah, woah woah. Whats this sisterhood corner? Audrey: Well, Mr. Bink, thank you for asking. Its a display to showcase the issues important to lesbian Americans today. MB: Well, thats very nice. Could you take it down please? E: Any particular reason why? MB: Well, this is a family bookstore and Im afraid our customers might find it offensive. 10 10 Flebbotte, David and Herschlag, Alex. Moving On. Ellen, created by Neal Marlens, Carol Black, and David S. Rosenthal, season four, episode twenty-four, 14 May 1997. 62 Mr. Binks comments immediately point to the idea that LGBTQ+ individuals are not family friendly, even though Ellen herself expressed the idea of having a family in the last episode. Even Audreys decision to call it a sisterhood corner is a comment on the inclusivity of the display, not suggesting that the contents on the table lead the public to a lifestyle of depravity in any way. To add to this the fact that the store has these books in stock, means that Mr. Bink cannot completely complain about their content, just the display of their existence and knowledge of their content. Ellen realizes her bosss discomfort and goes and confronts his apparent prejudices in an attempt to understand where he is coming from on the issues: Ellen: I just wanted to talk to you about the sisterhood display outside. Mr. Bink: Oh, the lesbian books, why? E: Because Audrey spent a lot of time on it, and you know shes so sensitive. Lets not forget how crushed she was when you took down her Americas Funniest Feline table. MB: Well, it wasnt the display so much as that stupid cat outfit she was insisting on. E: Yeah, Joe did look ridiculous. This isnt the same thing. MB: No, it isnt but lets face it, if we created a special section for those kind of books, it wont be long before this place is crawling with the you know whos E: Who? MB: You know, your tootie fruities. E: Yeah, that uh. Boy, thats uh, you know while certainly very clever, its kind of insensitive, dont you think? MB: Why are you taking this so seriously? I mean, come on, that was not your normal book display. 63 E: Normal. Huh. Normal. Well, some people wouldnt think its normal to cover their desk with a stuffed racoon and squirrel in mock battle. You know, its possible that we have a lot of gay customers. MB: laughs. I dont think so, Ellen. I happen to be very observant. Thats the hunter in me. E: Okay, now youre going to have to help me out here Ed because I dont hunt. If uh, if Im trying to spot one, what am I looking for? Stripes or hooves? Or maybe a yellowish underbelly? MB: Ellen, come on. You know what Im talking about. They are just different. E: Ah! So, if one were standing right in front of you, youd be able to tell. MB: Ellen, do I look like an idiot? E: Yeah, but well get to that in a minute. You could really tell? MB: Of course I could. And you could too because theyre not the same as you and me. E: Oh well, actually, them they may be kind of like me. MB: Like you? No, I dont think so. Nothing like it. Trust me. E: No Ed. Trust me. MB: Ellen! What are you trying to say? That youre gay? Ha! I mean come on. This is how those rumors get started. He he he. *Begins to freak out* Oh. I had no idea. I am so sorry. E: Ed, Im gay. I dont have cancer. So, is this going to be a problem? MB: Huh? Oh, uh no. No. E: Okay, good. Then we understand each other. MB: Yeah. I just dont understand why youd do this though. Youre so pretty. 64 E: Maybe we dont understand each other. Mr. Bink hides his fears behind stereotypes and the belief that members of the LGBTQ+ community are a different type of human being. That individuals who are gay are almost another species from heteronormative humans. His ending comment about Ellen being too pretty to be gay, is a further comment to the idea that lesbians choose this lifestyle because they have not found the right man. These two ideas together, that LGBTQ+ are sub-human as well as having given up on being a (re)productive member of society, were persuasive arguments at the time, and still linger today when speaking of transgender persons. As Mr. Binks discomfort toward Ellen compounds throughout the episode, it is clear that he refuses to come to terms with Ellens identity instead of how he knows her. Before she came out, Ellen was asked by Mrs. Bink to take over during the career fair, and as she was being introduced, the daughter, Willa Bink, made a comment about her parents calling Ellen a lesbian. Though Ellen jokingly said, I didnt expect to be outed at show and tell, the underlying issue for Ellen was that her sexuality was being discussed openly by her boss. Prior to this incident, Ellen was asked to babysit Willa and her younger sister, yet at the last minute the Binks canceled, stating that Willa is sick. Ellen then invites Paige and Audrey to a girls night; a situation which causes further discomfort for Ellen which we will discuss shortly. Ellen happens to see the Binks at the movies, and the next day she must once again confront him about his actions: Ellen: Great. I feel better about that. Knowing that Good. Boy that was an exciting movie wasnt it? Oh, one more thing, and I feel silly for asking, but I know if I dont itll bother me all day long. Ah, Nevermind. If Willa got better, why did you just tell Joe that shes still sick? 65 Mr. Bink: Oh. Umm. I lied. E: Okay, glad we cleared that up. I told them wed have a good excuse. Why did you lie? MB: Because I didnt want you to babysit my kids. E: Why? MB: Ellen. I have two very impressionable young girls at home and I think I have a right to know a little about the person whos taking care of them. Like, do they take drugs? Do they drink? E: Wait a minute, youre confusing me with an alcoholic or a drug addict because you know being gay doesnt impair my driving or the ability to play Chutes and Ladders. MB: Look, I dont want to get into a big argument here. Im just protecting my kids. E: From me? MB: From things I think are wrong. E: And you think who I am is wrong? MB: I think homosexuality is wrong, yeah. E: I think I liked it better when you were lying to me. Ed, let me ask you a question, what if it turned out that your kids was gay? MB: My kids are not going to be gay. Were bringing them up right. E: My parents brought me up beautifully. As beautifully as two insane people can. You know, you cant control whether your kids is going to be be gay or not. MB: No, but I can control who they are exposed to. E: What does that mean? Am I supposed to hide in the office when they come to the bookstore? MB: No, Ive asked Sarah not to bring the kids here anymore. 66 E: Ed, when you look at me, do you see someone so evil that you have to keep your children away from me? MB: Ive got to do what I think is right. E: Okay, if thats how you feel, I dont know that I can work for you. Again, Mr. Bink links instances of Ellens lesbianism to that of depravity, comparing Ellen to someone addicted to drugs and alcohol. Additionally, he believes that his girls exposure to a lesbian will turn them into one. Though the show made that joke in the The Puppy Episode, its serious presence in this episode brings this three-part narrative full circle. It is easy to make jokes about indoctrination when someone is not at all practicing in the act of indoctrination, but to actually come up against such prejudice in the workplace cements this narrative in reality; showcasing true and harmful comments shared by masses. Ellen then makes the hasty decision to quit her job, showing she has the security and autonomy over her life to do so. She is not forced to stay in this situation. Though Mr. Bink attempted, knowingly or unknowingly, to make Ellens job an unhealthy work environment, she was able to walk away from such treatment. Reception to this moment saw this as Ellens character flaunting her privilege, that she had a savings, and other means to not live paycheck to paycheck, Yet the show did this more a moment to put the happy ending sitcom bow on the episode and give hope to the audience struggling through discrimination in the workplace. This is one of the most pivotal scenes from Ellens trio of coming out episodes. The moment her boss begins to compare Ellens lesbianism with alcoholism and drug addiction, it exposes ignorant scare tactics that sadly, are the same fears that many viewers were probably feeling thanks to the media blitz about homosexuality at the time. The underlying comment of drug addiction is the sharing of dirty needles, and unsafe sexual practices in exchange for 67 product. Mr. Binks comments compare his knowingly reliable employee, someone whom he trusted with his children, to someone he believes would do anything to get a fix. Furthermore, Mr. Bink believes that exposure equates adoption of the same acts which was popular at the time. As Becker points out, throughout much of the 1980s and further on, homosexuality was firmly linked to the dominant discourses surrounding the AIDS epidemic (to disease, death, and promiscuity), and a renewed conservative climate fanned the flames of antigay rhetoric ( 140). For Mr. Bink, whoever Ellen was to him previously, is now tainted. He cannot look past her sexuality, and the belief that she is something dirty and tarnished. Ellens issues with Mr. Bink are not the only things she must contend with during this episode. Throughout this three-part narrative, Ellens best friend Paige has shown her unease and discomfort at Ellens outing. Paige is constantly shown trying to talk Ellen out of telling her parents her truth, getting mad when people stop listening to her story to discuss Ellen, and then it finally comes to a head in this episode when Ellen and Paige go shopping, and Paige realizes she no longer feels comfortable changing in front of Ellen. This is a mirror of Jackies reaction to Nancys outing, where Paige questions Ellens actions prior to the outing and every one after finding out the truth. Though Ellenlike Nancy in Roseanne before herdoes not see a change in the relationship other than the fact that the person theyre apt to hit on is different, the reactionary women feel victimized and internally sexualized by their friend, even though neither woman who came out showed this to be the case. Paige realizes that the dynamics of her relationship with Ellen should change due to this new information, which the audience can clearly see in every interaction she has with Ellen after hearing about Ellens outing. Later, when Ellen and Paige go see a movie together, and Paige feels like she is being trapped into going on a date with Ellen, due to her only getting one drink and paying for everything. Paiges inability to 68 handle the change in dynamics reflects real-life struggles many deal with after one comes out. Reddy states that, representation matters because it gives an outlet of identification and reassurance to viewers who may not have that outlet in their immediate demographic areas. It allows viewers to experience the lives of people that they may never have the chance to interact with in real life. Representation connects us all to essentially human stories (4). That is to say that Paiges response to Ellens coming out is a known fear that many members of the queer community have, but to still have the courage to tell their truth and hope for a reciprocal outcome is something that is still on the minds of many, if not all who come out under these circumstances. By the end of the episode Ellen and Paige have patched up their relationship. As with most sitcoms, there is always a happy ending, and Ellens three-part narrative is no different. Though Ellen ends this season without having a job, her interpersonal relationships remain intact, and she seems to be in a good place financially and the audience is left with a resilient, confident, woman at the helm of the show. While Ellen would continue on for one more season after these coming out episodes, its viewership fell off, never finding the footing as it navigated Ellens out life. Some critics say that the writing suffered after Ellen came out, while those working on the show say the network put so many rules in place for how they could write Ellens lesbian life that they eventually were written into a corner. Becker goes on to write about this decline, Ellen was of course, the highest-profile gay-themed program. Ellens post-coming-out honeymoon with the network, advertisers and viewers, however, didnt last long (169). ABC was quick to blame sharply declining ratings, while the showrunners were quick to point at their inability to depict Ellen in an actual relationship, complete with physical intimacy, 69 Throughout all these narratives, one thing was certain: up until Ellen the narrative, the characters presented were special characters who stayed for a moment in time, but later lasted longer as shows took established characters and folded their sexuality into the shows narrative. All of those character arcs were created to teach the main characters a special lesson about their own prejudices, as they had to come to terms with and create a new understanding of their relationship with the characters who came out. By the time Ellen Morgan came out, it was no longer about how the characters were to navigate this knowledge, but it was a spotlight on how difficult it is to come out, facing the unknown and dealing with the fallout. 70 CHAPTER TWO Post Ellen Society, the Featured Players Both Ellen DeGeneress public coming out alongside her onscreen counterpart and the continued rate of success of characters on Roseanne helped pave the way for more gay characters on screen. In the wake of this, Will & Grace came onto the scene immediately featuring two gay characters; Buffy the Vampire Slayer began with a reoccurring gay character before having a main character come out; and finally, Glee aired with multiple story arcs surrounding various queer characters. These characters had depth and history which those from Golden Girls and even Roseanne did not have. Their continued appearance and acceptance on these popular shows helped create a sense of normalcy and balance when featuring a queer character. Although these were not the only shows in this post-Ellen era to feature queer characters either in a guest capacity, or even as a series regular, it is these shows and these episodes in which we saw that these characters lives were much more than the sum of their coming out narratives. WILL & GRACE (1998 - 2020) The fall following the cancellation of Ellen, NBC waded into the LGBTQ+ waters, making a big splash with Will & Grace. For the first time, two of four main characters were gay, out and proud men Will Truman and Jack McFarland, and the show began with the two men already out. As Becker writes, Coming as it did so quickly on the heels of Ellens cancellation, the success of Will & Grace helped counteract the negative perceptions of gay material Ellens troubled final season may have created among network executives, advertisers, and affiliates (174). From the pilot episode, their sexual identities are known to the audience based on contextual clues in dialogue, as well as Jacks over-the-top flamboyance, especially compared to Will, a gay man who can pass as a straight man. Though Will and Jack are already out and 71 seen as gay when the show begins, writers and creators still felt the coming out narrative important enough for each gay character to be showcased. Jacks story highlights the importance of authenticity of self as an adult to oneself and others. Wills narrative explores the dynamics of relationships and friendships when the show uses a flashback to tell the story of how he was dating Grace at the same time he realizes he is gay. As we will see, Jack uses Grace as a shield against his mother, while Will is not fully aware or at least, not fully ready to speak of his attraction to men. Both narratives help show that there is no perfect time to come out, and that the process is often difficult and confusing. Jacks coming out is the first one, taking place during the episode Homo for the Holidays, which aired on November 25, 1999, the seventh episode of the second season. It is interesting to note that the show went an entire season without discussing how either man came out, making these narratives all the more impactful. Jack is incensed to find out that Will invited his mother, Judith, over for Thanksgiving dinner. Will and Grace are confused by his overreaction at the gesture, until they meet Judith, who comes by the apartment the day before. As they as show Judith out, it seems that Judith is not only unaware that her son is gay, but believes Grace to be his ex-girlfriend: Judith: No, he said you were sort of funny. Youre a cutie. I can see why Jack wooed you. Bet you made an adorable couple. Come on, come on, come on. Grace: Woah! Adorable couple? Ju: Yeah, and I think its terrific that you and Jack stayed friends even after he dumped you. Bye Bye! G: Dumped me? What are you talking about? Jacks a ho-my gosh she has no idea! 11 11 Herschlag, Alex. Homo for the Holidays. Will & Grace, created by David Kohan and Max Mutchnick, season two, episode seven, 25 Nov. 1999. 72 The elevators close as Grace begins to use the word homosexual, but instead it comes closer to the derogatory term, homo. Yet, the writers employed a way to make a joke, instead of having Grace continue to out Jack, as well as reclaim the use of the word. When Jack arrives on Thanksgiving Day with a pre-concocted plan to take his mother to the Russian Tea Room to save Will and Grace from having to put up with her, Will wastes no time calling Jack out about lying to his mother about his sexuality. Wills biggest issue is that he came out, at Jacks urging, under the pretense that Jack was out to his family as well: Will: You told me you took an oath before God and your mother that you would never deny who you are. Jack: I lied! W: You forced me to come out to my own mother. You teased me and you pressured me and you even left me a copy of the Sensuous Gay Man on her washing machine. J: I lied! Im a bad man! Now leave me alone with my shame! W: How could you not tell her? J: Well, I tried to. I had so many chances, you know. When she caught GI Joe and Big Jim shackin up in the Big Jim sports camper. She caught me in bed with Steven and a dirt devil. But I dont know, shes not the easiest woman to talk to, you know? Shes the most self-involved person I know. W: Well, the fruit didnt fall from that tree. Heres a thought, why dont you try telling her directly you hypocrite! J: Stop badgering me with your ten dollar words! They sit and list numerous reasons why they believe Judith should have figured it out on her own that her son is gay, using stereotypical and inflammatory examples. Yet, the writers wrote Jack 73 as a stereotypical, over-the-top, drama-queen, so it is no surprise they wrote Jacks backstory as such as well. McLaughlin says, Recent scholarship examining the implications of homosexual television characters has typically come to one of two conclusions: either exposure to homosexual characters can lead to increased acceptance, or homosexual characters are typically caricaturized and serve only to reaffirm negative stereotypes (1206). Though the characters of Jack and Will are written to represent the polarities of queer representation, one is written to increase acceptance, in the form of Will, while Jack is clearly written to reaffirm stereotypes. Jack worries about his looks past the edge of vanity, he sings show tunes at random, he is highly effeminate. Will on the other hand, still struggles with coming off too gay at times. Each further the ideas that there are inherent gay and straight qualities that exist, and that it is the responsibility of the queer to perform the straight qualities over the gay ones. Yet, Jacks life tells us that he never tried to hide being gay, he just talked those around him into not believing the truth. As Gonsiorek states, Much theorizing about personality structure assumes that personal characteristics are laid down relatively early in life, and that events in later childhood, adolescence, and adulthood more or less represent an unfolding of these characteristics over time (162). Jacks personality shows inherent traits of his queerness have always been a part of his being. Upon arrival at Will's apartment, Grace makes a suggestive comment to Jack about their fake relationship. Jack runs to find a way out of the conversation with both Will and Grace, when Will quips, Wrong way, the closets in there. This is one of the first acknowledgements of the metaphorical closet in which all characters find themselves in, whether hiding from their true selves, or hiding their true selves from others. Not long after Jack agrees to stay with the expressed purpose of telling his mom at dinner. At this time, Graces employee and Jacks best 74 friend, Karen Walker, arrives. At first, everyone is confused by her presence, but then Grace relays that its a good night to watch the events unfold. Again, the two share a list of obvious reasons as to why Judith should have known that Jack was gay: G: Well, youve come on a good night. Jacks mother is going to be joining us and she doesnt know Jacks gay. Karen: How could she not know? What, is she headless? G: Guess you believe what you chose to believe. One time Judith caught him in bed with a guy and Jack convinced her they were doing a school check for lice. K: *nods* oh. G: And she caught him wearing her high heels and he said it was because they helped him with an inner ear problem. K: Oh, yeah. G: And he also told her that I am his ex-girlfriend. K: And she bought that?! It is this last point that leads to Karens outrage. It doesnt come from any of the many reasons Judith should have recognized her sons sexuality, but rather from the fact that Grace would be a suitable fake partner for Jack and not herself, even though when Jack told his mother this lie, he didnt know Karen at the time. Karen spends the rest of the night undermining the point of the gathering: to get Jack to confess to his mother, and instead creates a narrative about an affair she and Jack had while Grace and Jack were still together. Karens involvement throughout this episode is extremely problematic as it asserts her straight, white, privilege into a situation that has nothing to do with her other than her desire to be involved. Although it is clearly written for laughs, as this is the nature of Karens character throughout the series, her selfishness creates a 75 doubt in the viewer at home struggling to understand if they should come out, as well as to wonder if there is someone in their own life that would try and take away this moment and their truth. At the same time as Karens arrival, Will announced Jack was looking for his perfect coming-outfit in order to talk to his mom. When Jack first arrived, he was in khakis and a button down plaid shirt. These browns allow Jack to recede into the background, and present an overtly straight and traditionally manly image. He doesnt stand out, because for once, he doesnt want to. Yet, when he comes back from choosing an outfit from Wills closet, he comes out in a bright blue V-neck sweater. This sweater is almost identical to the one seen on Ellen in both The Puppy Episode and Hello Mudda, Hello Fadda. This costuming moment helps bridge the recent past, to the present, as well as emphasizing not only how important those scenes from Ellen were, but how much stock the show is putting into their own narrative. Its not just a callback or homageits the next chapter. Yet, Jack is not the only character in blue. Will is also in a blue sweater, thereby tying the two together as homonormative beings. Additionally, Judith is seen in blue, tied to her son, showcasing that though she has not been told, she still has a deep connection to Jack. As the episode moves forward, Will continues to pressure Jack to come out to his mom, first by subverting the holiday tradition of saying what one is thankful for, but then adding a caveat that everyone should reveal a secret. While Will thinks this is the perfect opportunity, Jack is not ready, and then the moment is hijacked by Karen: Will: Before we eat, my family has this tradition where we go around the table and we each say the thing were most thankful for. But this year, I thought wed add a tradition. Everybody has to tell a secret about themselves that theyve been too COWARDLY to 76 reveal. Jack, why dont you start. *Jack drinks water.* Grace? What are you most thankful for? Grace: What? Wait, Im not ready. Give me a second. I want mine to rhyme. W: Karen? Karen: Oh, okay. Im thankful that I found a pharmacologist whos as dumb as a box of hair. And my secret is: Jack and I were doing the dirty-dirty while you two were still together! G: What?! K: Yeah, sorry honey. I guess you werent woman enough for him. W: Jack back to you. Jack: Alright, what am I thankful for? So many things really. The smell of jasmine. Kittens purr. InStyle magazine. Telemundo. W: Jack! J: I know. I know. My secret is there are things you want to say sometimes but you just never do. You want to say them but. Damn you just cant. *leaves the room* Ju: Im pretty sure I know what this is about. G: You do? Judith: Umm humm. He just cant stand you two fighting over him. K: You are one sharp tack Judith. As mentioned, Karens outbursts are constant throughout the episode, and are supposed to be seen as comedic relief to the stressful tension caused by Jacks inability to talk to his mother. When he is finally unable to keep Karen at bay with her interjections, and to begin to tell the truth, he gives way to his fears and leaves the room. This scene highlights that even someone 77 who is as sure of themselves as Jack can still have trouble being truthful to those he loves most, a common thread in many real-life coming out stories. Gonsiorek believes that a supportive environment, self-acceptance, and good role models in the gay and lesbian community facilitate positive mental health. Gay men and lesbians experience additional developmental events as they negotiate the emergence of positive identity in a context of external oppression (176). Jack, though full of self-acceptance and seemingly good role models, is in a position at this time to not have a supportive environment and is confronted with this in the form of Karen. It could also be said that Will and Graces pushing of Jack to come out to his mother also creates a hostile environment as he navigates this identity revelation with his mother. Will and Jack have a heart-to-heart in which Jack gets encouragement from Will, in a conversation that resonates with anyone struggling to come out: Will: Remember that time at Matt Stokes party where we met for the first time and I was in such deep denial about being gay I think I was 20 pounds overweight? Jack: 30. W: Well, maybe 25. J: Well, maybe 35. W: Anyway, you came up to me. We didnt know each other that well. You pulled me aside and you said, Arent you tired yet? And I was tired. Tired of actually reading Playboy for the articles. Tired of keeping my Bette Midler albums in my Led Zeppelin sleeves. You took me to clubs and introduced me to people, and made me realize what I had been missing by not being myself. And Im thankful for that. J: I also taught you how to dance without pointing all the time. 78 W: And Im thankful for that. And heres my secret. I admire you Jack because you are more yourself than anyone I have ever known. J: Will, look I appreciate what youre trying to do but this is different. My mother will fall apart. Shes -W: Jack. Arent you tired yet? [Jack nods] Itll be fine. When Will and Jack return, they find Grace and Karen each discussing their relationship with Jack to Judith. Before Judith arrived, Karen and Grace gave Jack their encouragement and promise to be there for him. Instead, they let their straight privilege blind them into being the center of the evening, removing the real Jack from the equation entirely. This idea of straight privilege taking over queer moments was something we also saw in The Golden Girls when Blanche became the center of her brothers storyline. However, Jack dismisses the conversation at hand, and deftly changes it toward the real Jack McFarland: Judith: Jack! Honey, Im worried. You havent said a thing about my bangs. Jack: Theyre a little short, but theyll grow in. Mom. I uh, have something I want to say to you. Um. Ive kept this from you for a long time, and thats wrong because it makes it seem like Im ashamed of something Im not ashamed of. I want you to know who I am because Im proud of who I am. Mom, are you wearing Chloe? Will: Jack! J: Mom, Im gay. Ju: Oh. Grace: Judith. Its okay. So hes gay. Hes still the same little boy who gave you highlights for the first time. 79 Karen: Honey. I think youre missing the silver lining here. When youre old and in diapers, a gay son will know how to keep you away from chiffon and back lighting. J: Mom. Im sorry to disappoint you, but this is who I am. Ju: You could never disappoint me. I just want you to be happy. Looking back on it, there may have been clues. When you were a child you were overly fond of the nursery rhyme Rub a Dub Dub Three Men in a Tub. And you do have a lot of flamboyantly gay friends. I mean, look at Will. Know what Jack, youre what Im most thankful for in the world. Immediately, Karen and Grace drop their charade and go to Judiths side for encouragement, with Karen dropping lines as if Judith should have known that Jack ia gay prior to him actually saying the words. This too devalues his confession by predicating the idea of what constitutes gay behavior or straight behavior are largely based on the presumption that everyone is straight until they are not. Doty comments on this as, a necessary construct by which to define the heterosexual and the straight (as not queer) and as a position that can be and is occupied in various ways by otherwise heterosexual and straight-identifying people (473). This means, that just as queer people are taught to occupy straight space growing up, it is not out of the realm of possibility to have straight people occupy queer space, as seen when straight males attend drag shows, or even perform in them 12. The point here is the confession of Jacks words solidifying his truth. Judith cannot say for certain who Jack is until she hears him say the words, and in effect, Jack cannot be secure in his identity until he says the words himself. The show however, continues to devalue confession when it shows Wills aforementioned coming out narrative. The two-part special Lows in the Mid-80s is again set during Thanksgiving, and details how Will came out to Grace, thus ending their dating 12 In December 2021 the drag competition RuPauls Drag Race announced that it would be featuring its first straight male contest (Lavietes). 80 relationship during their freshman year of college. At the start of the flashback, we see Will and Grace each talking to their best friends, Gary and Ellen, having the same yet very different conversations: Gary: You have nailed her, havent you? Will: Oh please! Ive not only nailed her, I sanded, buffed, stained, and spackled her. Ellen: What do you mean you and Will have never done it? Grace: Well, he wants to take it slow, and I see his point. I mean were soul mates. So theres no rush. W: Yeah I taught her a few things. And let me tell you my friend, shes an excellent student. G: Yeah, like he taught me how to scrunch my hair to keep the curl. W: You know me. Nothing I love more than sex. With-with a woman. G: And hes so handsome. He reminds me of those old Hollywood movie stars like Rock Hudson or Montgomery Clift. 13 Here, we see Will being over assertive in his male bravado, while Grace reveals things that are seemingly obvious to the audience that Will is gay, yet she remains clueless. Even her choice of actors in which she compares to Will, though unknown in the 1980s, are now widely known to have been closeted gay males during their on-screen careers. Later, during this same conversation, Ellen berates Grace for saying make love instead of have sex because it sounds totally gay. While this was a common phrase at the time of the flashback, and even still commonplace during the airing twenty years ago in 2000, such terminology would spark a social media uproar today. Yet, the implication that Ellen is making, 13 Greenstein, Jeff. Low in the Mid-Eighties. Will & Grace, created by David Kohan and Max Mutchnick, season three, episode eight, 23 Nov. 2000. 81 to say that a close connection between two people is effeminate, therefore gay, like men who participate in such acts of homosexuality, actually gives the act of making love more weight. That only people who are certain of themselves, are capable of loving each other. At the end of this scene is when Will meets Jack for the second time. Immediately, Jack comes for Will and his apparently, closeted self: Jack: Well, I prefer the college parties cause the fellas tend to be less uptight with their homosexuality. Will: Oh yeah, now I remember you. Youre the one going around telling everybody you were in Duran Duran. J: Yeah, thats right. W: Oh, and you think everybodys gay. J: Not everybody. Just me. And you. And a dog named Boo. W: Hey, hey. Im not gay. J: This well worn copy of the Dreamgirls soundtrack begs to differ. Here, Jack is reveling in college parties, able to be his authentic self, because the audience is aware that hes still playing straight at home, thanks to Homo for the Holidays. But, hes still able to zero in on seemingly obvious tells to confirm his theory about Will, while Will is distraught either because he has been found out, or because he believes he is giving off gay vibes, much like we saw previously in Ellen. Distraught by his conversation with Jack, Will travels to Graces childhood home for Thanksgiving with her family. He is relieved to find out that he and Grace will be staying in separate rooms, yet Grace is upset, believing that this is the only chance she will get to have sex 82 with Will. Because of this, Grace sneaks into his room after everyone has gone to sleep in order to initiate their love making. Will, mortified, runs to the bathroom and immediately calls Jack: Will: Hi, Jack, its Will Truman. Jack: Oh right, from Queens College? W: You know, yeah. Thats why I called. What you said really bugged me. I am not gay. J: *laughs* W: Im saying you know nothing about me. Because if you did know me you would know Im not gay. J: Oh yeah, I get it. Youre in stage three, youve bought the short shorts but youre afraid to put them on. Yeah. Put them on Will! Youre gayer than the day is long! Youre Marvin Gaye! And let me tell you something. Aint no closet big enough! W: This is ludicrous. We spent a whole four minutes together. J: And in the first nine seconds I could tell you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders and about 20 extra pounds in your hips. Why wouldnt you? Its a drag pretending to be something youre not. W: If Im pretending, then why cant I wait to get back in there and have sex with my girlfriend? J: Yeah, well if you cant wait to have muskrat love with your girlfriend, then why are you on the phone with me? Yeah. Thats what I thought. Youre my new best friend. Call me every five minutes. Jacks ability to observe, hone in, and categorize Will works to his benefit and his detriment. Jack knows he is right about Will, and Will knows this as well, but he still feels the need to prove that hes not gay, and the only way he can do that is by having sex with a woman, which is why 83 he goes back into the bedroom to sleep with Grace. As the two begin to get physical, Will continues to get distracted by a Kevin Bacon poster on the wall. Each time he notices himself getting turned on because of it, he acts freaked out, not just by the fact that hes getting turned on by a man, but also because on the physical side, there is a woman in the room who is benefiting from it. To end this first part of this two-part episode, Will asks Grace to marry him in a desperate attempt to stop the sex and wait until theyre married. Here, Will would rather have Grace as a beard 14 than accept to himself, and by extension to her, that he is gay. After he proposes, he runs and hides in the bathroom, a move Grace, found incredibly romantic because my father did the exact same thing after he proposed to my mom. Will then goes on to confess his love for Grace, but with a caveat she did not see coming, considering she woke up the entire family to celebrate, and they were singing Getting Married in the Morning when Will emerged from the bathroom. As he tries to tell Grace, she talks over him the entire time, leading to a bumbling confession from him. Will: Yeah, um. I dont know how to tell you this, so Im just going to tell you. Um. Before, you know when I said I loved you, I really, really meant that. Youre the best. I cant imagine my life without you. Grace: Well, now you never have to worry about that. W: Well, honestly Im feeling a little lightheaded. Um, see theres this one teensy little complication. Actually, not so teensy. [Same Time] G: Are you hungry? W: Im gay? [Same Time] Both: What? 14 A beard is a term used throughout the LGBTQ+ community as a partner used to throw off suspicions of one being gay. Stemming from the age of the lavender marriage, the beard was usually a straight woman, to a gay man, although instances of gay males and lesbian females using each other for the sake of convenience and masking. 84 [Same Time] G: Are you hungry? W: Im gay? [Same Time] Both: What? [Will covers Graces mouth] W: Im gay. G: Laughs W: Grace. Okay. Not the reaction I was expecting. G: You kill me. Oh my god. W: Grace. I-G: Oh my god! W: Grace. G: Oh my god! When did you--- Were getting married! W: Yeah, I dont think I can go through with that either. G: I cant believe, I dont even know! How long have you known? W: I think on some level Ive always known. You know, I mean the guy toweling himself in the Zest commercial always did a little too much for me. G: Oh great! Great! The Zest guy knew before me! W: No! Thats not what Im saying. I dont think I really knew for sure until we were in bed together and I took one look at you and your sexy underwear and I just went, yeah. Im gay! You know? I mean, you know what I mean? Will tries to downplay the situation further, by letting Grace know what a big deal it is for him to tell someone, and Grace be that person in his life, but instead she turns the entire thing as an insult against her. There must be something wrong with her, if a man would rather come out as gay than to be with her. Instead of celebrating his own courage to be himself, he must console Grace, until he is kicked out of the house. This is the continuation of the shows penchant for 85 putting the straight characters reactions and needs first over the news and revelations of the gay. This also continues the preference of heteronormativity, as Avila-Saavefra writes, After all, heteronormativity is about the maintenance of the status quo, with all its elements of gender, class and race in addition to sexuality (Avila-Saavedra 13). The writers at Will & Grace are inadvertently holding up the status quo while also shedding light on the nuances of emotions of coming out. Later, after Will leaves Graces house, he then goes on to tell his other best friend Gary, that he is gay. Just like Grace, Gary doesnt take it well and questions their entire friendship as if hes been on the losing end of a sick joke. We see this exchange reminiscent of Jackie and Roseanne talking to Nancy in Roseanne: Gary: So uh, have you been gay this whole time? Will: Pretty much. G: Were you gay when you put that Coppertone on me in Ft. Lauderdale? W: Yeah. Gary: Huh. W: I know what youre thinking, but I dont want you to worry. You know last night when you passed out and I made love to you, I was totally straight. Again, like Roseanne, the joke of the other infiltrating, disrupting, and literally queering the straight character is made. As Will and Gary are talking, Ellen and Grace are at a bar getting drunk and wallowing in Graces loss of a boyfriend. As they do, the writers return to the well of pointing out gay generalizations that should have made Grace realize that she was dating a homosexual male in the first place: 86 Grace: How could I have not known? He was Boy George for Halloween. He has a diffuser on his blow dryer. And! Hes prettier than me! Ellen: Oh baby! This must be so hard for you. G: It is. I knew youd understand. E: For a guy to do that to you. Its humiliating. I would die. I would just die. You must not feel sexual or pretty. Theres that gnawing question, god did I turn him gay? I mean, am I so gross-Again, this conversation removes Will from the narrative, making it all about Grace, and her place in someone elses coming out narrative. Villarejo would posit this as producing generic and constrained readings of the world (55). Leaning on stereotypes to describe Will, the gay man, as well as put the focus Grace and her need to categorize him as such, to define his gayness in her terms, and not his. Because the show relies on stereotypes it ultimately reinforces their ideas in our society. The entire time, Will and Grace are telling this story to Jack, Karen, and a random girl at a bar who got broken up with her boyfriend, who they believe is gay. When they continue to tell their story, we then learn that after their break-up Will and Grace didnt speak for a year. They eventually run into each other at a grocery store in New York City, and though Will tries to brush off the memory as its being told, Grace distinctly remembers a woman Will hid from. It turns out that this woman was the woman whom Will dated, and ultimately slept with, after Grace in order to confirm his homosexuality. Grace, being the selfish character she is, always thought it was her female form which repulsed Will into his admission of being gay and feels betrayed at this revelation. Though the episode is truly about Wills coming out, once again it is hijacked by the straight, female counterpart to the gay male, and ends focusing on her reaction to 87 Wills coming out. Her pain that Will slept with a woman after not sleeping with her, and her thinking it was her body and mind that allowed him to come out, creates a very selfish narrative; as if, without her, Will would still be straight. Reddy offers an explanation why this show in particular leans heavy on the reaction of the straight characters. As viewers, the more invested we are in these narratives, the more we are entertained by them. We use film and television as a place to escape from the real world, where we can invest ourselves in the slightly more dramatic, glamorous, and exciting lives of our fictional counterparts (Reddy 5). These shows expect the majority of their audience to be straight; therefore, it is easier to center the reactions and feelings around their primary audience in order to draw viewers into their world. Critics believe that the ratings for Ellen fell when storylines were centered around her lesbianism, because this is something the primary audience of the show couldn't relate to in their own day-to-day lives even though they were still largely based on common place ideas like dating. Will & Grace circumvents this by having their gay characters, though they are the main characters, still be second to the straight ones in these crucial coming out scenes. BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER (1997 - 2004) In 1992, the comedic film Buffy the Vampire Slayer was released to audiences. Primarily penned by Joss Whedon, the studios changed his dark drama to become a more lighthearted teen flick. Five years later, Whedon took back control of his favorite character, creating the WB television drama of the same name. Here, the pretty blonde doesnt run away from the danger in the night, shes the one with the power to defeat it, but the show goes deeper than that. Teens deal with actual life problems, at least in terms of the mouth of Hell they live on: being ignored means becoming invisible, a possessive boyfriend is actually a Jekyll-and-Hyde-type monster, 88 and bodily teen hormones changing your body equates to becoming a werewolf and dealing with the added pressures of that lifestyle. Throughout the show, Whedon incorporated three coming out narratives; we will talk about two of them in this chapter 15. The first coming out storyline occurs during season two, episode fifteen called Phases. The Scooby Gang, composed of Buffy and her two best friends, Willow and Xander, are on the lookout for a werewolf terrorizing the town, and want to get to him or her before a werewolf hunter comes and kills the person for their wolf pelt. At first, the description of aggressive wolf behavior perfectly encapsulates Buffy but they clearly need to look elsewhere. Xander is quick to point out Larry, a major bully who constantly shows sexual aggression against women, and was seen threatening Xander earlier in the season, before Buffy intervened. He offers to question Larry, believing that he has insight to the werewolf, on account that you were changed into a hyena one time as noted by Willow, in an incident that occurred in season one. When he does confront Larry, he is comforting, and relatable. Larry can believe hes not alone in the world with his secret: Xander: Hurting me isnt going to make this go away. People are still going to find out. Larry: Alright what do you want? Hush money, is that what youre after. X: I dont want anything. I just want to help! L: What? You think you have a cure? X: No, I know what youre going through because Ive been there. Thats why I know you should talk about it. L: Thats easy for you to say. Youre a nobody. Ive got a reputation here. X: Larry, please before someone else gets hurt. 15 The third we will visit in the next section. 89 L: Look, if this gets out, its over for me. Forget about playing football, theyll run me out of this town. I mean, come on. How are people going to look at me when they find out that Im gay? I said it, and it felt okay. Im gay. L: I cant believe it, it was almost easy. I never felt I could tell anyone, and then you. You of all people, you bring it out of me. X: It probably would have slipped out even if I wasnt here. L: No, no. Knowing you went through the same thing made it easier for me to admit. X: The same thing? L: I mean, its ironic. All those times I beat the crap out of you, it must have been because I recognized something in you that I didnt want to believe about myself. X: Larry, no I am not. L: Of course not, dont worry, I wouldnt do that to you. Your secret is safe with me 16. Though it is hard to discern from the words, Xanders physical reaction is problematic, as he immediately begins to back away from Larry, distancing himself from the thing that is now Larry. His facial expression twists in revulsion. He cannot wait to leave the situation. This unsettled aspect of Xanders character continues to be apparent throughout the rest of the episode, as if somehow Larrys confession rubbed off on him because Larry believes that Xander is gay as well. When Xander runs into Buffy and Willow after questioning Larry, he deflects about his conversation and time spent with him, finally exclaiming, hes not the werewolf, so cant we just leave it at that? Must you continue to push and push? before hurriedly running off. Xanders awkwardness comes from his paranoia that someone might take him to be gay if he is 16 Batali, Dean and DesHotel, Rob. Phases Buffy the Vampire Slayer, created by Joss Whedon, season two, episode fifteen, 27 Jan, 1998. 90 seen talking to Larry, whom he now knows to be gay. Yet Larry is helping to break the stereotype of who is and should be gay, as we know that this character is a star of the football team, and overall a bully. Yet, for Larry, the opposite has happened. He is able to take Xanders confession and use it as a tool that the world is, in fact, a safe place where one can be themselves. Gonsorek speaks of this stating, Becoming aware of ones homosexuality is a wounding by commission and omission. The gay and lesbian youth, upon discovering that his or her sexuality is devalued and rejected by society generally, and more personally by parents, peers, and teachers, suffers a clear and explicit narcissistic injury (Gonsiorek 170). Larry is able to avoid this injury because he believes he is coming out to someone who understands this injury first hand. Unlike other shows we have covered where, for the most part, the person coming out is doing this to a friend or loved one, in Buffy Larry and Xander are on opposite ends of the social hierarchy, but Xanders words help create a bond with Larry helping him to feel more comfortable coming out. At the end of the episode, as it is revealed that Willows boyfriend, Oz is actually the werewolf, Buffy and Xander go over the events of the week: Xander: Its all so weird. I mean, how are we supposed to act when we see him? Buffy: Its got to be weird for him too, now that we know so much. X: All I know is that Ill never be able to look at him the same way again. B: Hes still a human being --most of the time. X: Who are we talking about? B: Oz. Who are you talking about? X: No one. Larry: Hey, Xander about what you did, thank you. 91 B: What did you do? X: Its nothing we should talk aboutEver. L: I know, I know. Its just. Well, thanks. B: Whats up with him? This mirrored conversation happens a lot in coming out narratives, but essentially, these two believe they are having the same conversation, but cant because they havent gone through the same experiences. Larry believes that he and Xander have experienced the same thing but cannot talk openly because Xander is still closeted among his friends, yet this was the push that Larry needed to be true to himself. Larrys sincerity is almost lost in Xanders callousness to the situation. Xander cannot bring himself to correct Larry that he is, in fact straight, because by doing so Xander would have to acknowledge that Larry is gay, and possibly even out him to Buffy, which Xander is sensitive enough to acknowledge. However, this episode was seen as groundbreaking at the time, as it showed the power of relation in terms of coming out. Having someone who went through the same experience to find strength within yourself. Ultimately, that is what all these shows do for the queer audiences at home: gave them someone to mirror their experiences off of. Larry may be a minor character on the show, whom we see only when the narrative needs him, but we see him again in season three, episode eighteen, in which he rejoices to Xander that hes officially out, so out I even have my grandma setting me up on dates 17. This cements the idea that coming out might not be the worst thing to happen in life. This last line a season later also helps showcase that at home, Larry was able to come out off screen and not suffer any consequences. Proving Gonsioreks theory that the support network helps to heal the narcissistically injured gay or lesbian youth (173). 17 Espenson, Jane. Earshot. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, created by Joss Whedon, season three, episode eighteen, 28 September, 1999. 92 The second coming out narrative on Buffy involves a major character on the show. At the time, producers toyed with the idea of having Xander finally come out, since the set up was already written, thanks to his interaction with Larry. However, after Seth Green, who played Oz, werewolf and boyfriend to Buffys best friend Willow, decided to leave the series, the writers saw an opening to create a strong lesbian character instead. By this time Will and Grace had been on the air for a couple of years, and the writers didnt want their token gay character to be just another male gay character, changing their course of having Xander come out, to having Willow come out. This narrative also stays on Buffys theme of strong female characters taking ownership of their own lives. Willows coming out was a slow build-up as Willow found new friends and interests in college, outside of her friends from high school. The introduction of Tara was the catalyst for this change, and before Willow ever explicitly said she was gay, the audience knew there was a connection between the two women as seen in season four, episode 10, titled Hush, where unable to talk, the strength of Willow and Taras magic was greater together than separate. When Oz finally returns twelve episodes and seven months after abruptly leaving, having found the power to control the werewolf, he is looking to reconnect with Willow. When he and Willow first meet up after his initial appearance to the Scooby Gang, he says he talked to Xander. And he said you didnt have a new guy. Immediately, Willow responds, No. No new guy. 18 It is the truth, but that doesnt mean that there isnt another option for her. The two talk all night about his journey to Tibet to release the werewolf and be fully human again, as he is no longer 18 Nixon, Marti. New Moon Rising Buffy the Vampire Slayer, created by Joss Whedon, season two, episode nineteen, 2 May, 2000. 93 controlled by the full moon. 19 Oz believes through meditation and some select herbs'' he can control the wolf inside of him, which he did while in seclusion in Tibet. During this conversation, Willow is aware shes holding back her feelings, as she tells him, Youve been all around the world. Youve had this whole complete mind/body transformation. Ive just been here. Same ole Sunnydale. Yet, Willow knows shes on the precipice of a whole transformation herself, and I believe that it is only through this conversation with Oz, she begins to understand this change, as she doesnt say she is the same ole Willow. She knows that Sunnydale is anything but normal, although battling evil weekly does seem a likely scenario for the gang. As Willow and Oz were catching up on their lives, Buffy and her current boyfriend Riley talk about unconventional relationships in light of Rileys finding out about Ozs wolfness. Riley has clearly drawn a line about good and evil, and has trouble grappling with the idea of Willow dating someone who occasionally wants to eat her three nights out of the month. Buffy, on the other hand, dated a vampire with a soul for the first three seasons of the show. She doesnt see things as black and white as Riley does, and knows Oz as a human to counteract any ideas she has about him as a werewolf. Yet, Riley makes a broad statement about Willow, being that type of girl, and Buffy immediately comes to her defense. Buffy: What kind of girl? Riley: Into dangerous guys. She seemed smarter than that. B: Oz is not dangerous. Something happened to him that wasnt his fault. God, I never knew you were such a bigot. 19 Because Oz came out as a werewolf in the same episode as Larrys actual confession, this idea of gaining control over a seemingly unacceptable part of ones self, and needing others to teach you how, alludes to evangelical conversion camps. The idea that you can pray the gay away has long been held in religion, and these camps use extreme physical and mental measures to rehabilitate the LGBTQ+ community. 94 R: Woah. Hey, how did we get to bigot? Im just saying its a little weird to date someone who tried to eat you once a month. B: Yeah, well love isnt logical Riley. Its not like you can be Mr. Joe Sensible about it all the time. God knows I havent been. At this moment, Buffy is on Willows side. She understands the unconventional nature of the relationship between Willow and Oz, as it parallels Buffys last relationship with her vampire boyfriend, Angel. When Buffy comes back to the dorm they share to get the details about Willows night with Oz, the conversation doesnt go as Buffy expects. Buffy is expecting to hear a heteronormative love story about reconnection. Instead, she learns the new truth of her best friends life. Buffy: Im all with the woohoo here and youre not. Willow: No theres woo and hoo, theres woah and why now and its complicated. B: Why complicated? W: Its complicated. Because of Tara. B: You mean Tara has a crush on Oz? No youoh. Oh. um. Well. Thats great. I mean, I think Taras a really great girl Wil. W: She is and theres something between us. It wasnt something I was looking for, it's just powerful and its totally different from what Oz and I have. B: Well, there you go. You have to follow your heart Will. Thats whats important Wil. W: Why do you keep saying my name like that? B: Like what Wil? W: Are you freaked? 95 B: What? No, Wil. No. No. Absolutely no to that question. Im glad you told me. What did you say to Oz? W: I was going to tell him, but then we started hanging out and I could just feel everything coming back. Hes Oz ya know? B: Yeah, I know. W: I dont want to hurt anyone Buffy. B: No matter what, someone is going to get hurt. And the important thing is you just have to be honest or its going to be a lot worse. It is clear that Buffy is now grappling between showing support for Willow and the idea that she not only knows someone who is gay, but lives with them. She stumbles over her words as she shuffles uncomfortably on the bed as she sits and talks with Willow. Comparing this with her earlier conversation with Riley, she now realizes that even her unconventional relationship with a vampire was still highly conventional in many ways. Buffys reaction to Willows relationship with Tara feels natural and realistic to someone in the real world. As Reddy puts it, The exposure to realistic, relatable, and dynamic representations of queer individuals and their stories that narrative film and television offer viewers has made an important step forward for the acceptance of the queer community (60). Though Buffy and Willow have been friends for years, and live in seemingly progressive California, learning a new truth about someone, especially a roommate, is always jarring. Being able to have an image of two close friends redefining their relationship in this way, is needed for acceptance. When we look at Buffys last quote about honesty, on the surface shes talking about Oz, she could more broadly be talking about Willow herself. If she truly has feelings for Tara, as she says, to further deny them would be a disservice to herself and Tara. However, I believe it goes 96 even deeper than that; for Willow to deny that she has feelings that go against societal norms, or worry about what others may think, or to lie to herself that she truly has feelings for Tara in the long run, because a heteronormative relationship is the easier pathway, is hurting herself. These are the moments many queer individuals struggle with when they finally decide to share themselves with others, and to see such feelings represented on television, especially for a show which targeted teens to begin with, helps relay the message that they are not alone. We next see Willow going to Taras dorm room to discuss the upheaval in her life and how her night went with Oz: Willow: We were just talking. Nothing happened. Tara: Oh, Really? W: But you know, it was intense just talking. We have a lot to talk about. I kind of feel like my heads going to explode. T: Whatever, you know, happens. Ill still be here. Ill still be your friend. W: Of course well be friends, thats not even a question. T: But Im saying. I know what Oz means to you. W: How can you? When Im not even sure. I mean I know what he meant to me, but he left and everything changed and I changed. Then we T: What? W: I dont know. Life was starting to get so good again and youre a big part of that and here comes the thing I wanted most of all. I dont know what to do. I wanna know, but I dont. T: Do what makes you happy. 97 Just as Buffys underlying message was for Willow to be truthful to herself, Taras selfless plea is for Willow to be happy, knowing that that happiness may not include her. Yet, happy does not always mean following the easiest path, as alluded to the double meaning of Willows notion that I wanna know, but I dont. She both doesnt know what she will do, while also not wanting to know because it might be a choice that upends her life. Coming out does not always guarantee that life will go on as it did, as many learn when they are turned out by their family and friends. Her hesitation about the future is keeping her from being honest with herself while simultaneously keeping her from being happy. Later, Tara runs into Oz while she is wearing Willows sweater. Oz stops her by saying, Willow? Oh I thought I smheard Willow. He clearly meant to say smell, which is a residual effect of his wolfness manifested into human form, a trait we saw in season three when Willow and Xander were abducted and hidden, and Oz was able to track their whereabouts through smell. As he talks more to Tara, he realizes that he doesnt just smell Willow in the sweater, but she is all over you. Do you know that? This subtle scene implies that Willow and Tara did more than just talk in the previous scene, and had an active physical connection, and that this was the writers way to signify that without blatantly displaying it on screen. By this point, the audience has developed a connection with Tara, and Ozs reactions of getting angered and ultimately turning into a werewolf in said anger in order to attack Tara, are written as such to make Oz the big bad in this episode. The costuming in this episode says a lot about the underlying dynamics found in this tight-knit group. When Oz first walks into Rupert Giless house at the beginning of the episode Willow, Xander, and Buffy are all wearing blue to indicate their connection as the original trio of friends. Oz, Anya, and Tara are wearing pinks to show connections as significant others. Yet, 98 Taras patterns in this shirt, and others she will wear, show her quiet character dealing with a mass of emotions. Later when defending Willows relationship with Oz, Buffy is seen in a furry orange coat. Orange was yet another color Willow was wearing when Oz walked in, and the furriness ties Buffy to his wolfness. The color connection ties Buffy and Willow together as best friends, while Buffy is tied to Oz via their supernatural connection. When Willow and Oz walk around talking, both are seen wearing fur lining in their coats, to represent their connection as former lovers, as well as the fact that Willow was the first person to find out that Oz was a werewolf. Yet, under this connection, as we look closer at Ozs shirt, we see that he's wearing all the same colors as Willow, though in a more muted palette, a sign that their ties are not as strong as they once were. Later, when Buffy returns to the dorm room to talk to Willow, and ultimately learns about Tara, she sheds her orange coat and thus her connection to Willow. She no longer understands her best friend. By the end of the episode, this still isnt resolved. However Willow has made her choice, defining herself as a lesbian, showing up to Taras in the same shades of pink she wore at the beginning of the episode. Compared to the overall excitement of both of these episodes, the coming out narratives in Buffy serve as background realism to the mayhem going on around the central characters. And while both episodes take place during the exploration of Ozs werewolf character, the duality of his being is not the exacting theme. When Larry comes out, we understand that the life of those on the periphery can be just as deep and meaningful as any main character. When a main character does come out, her story becomes one of personal growth and understanding. They continue to show that rooted in the magical reality of Buffy the Vampire Slayer are still stories of truth and self. 99 GLEE (2009-2015) The final show to examine in the coming out narrative is Ryan Murphys 2009 hour-long dramedy musical, Glee, which follows members of the Lima, Ohio, high school glee club as well as other students who attend McKinley High. This lends itself to a wide array of characters, including those who identify as queer. The show was groundbreaking for its portrayal of these themes, showing one of the first openly gay couples in a high school television show, and yet still found it necessary to showcase coming out narratives to its viewers. The first, cherublooking Kurt Hummels coming out story, seems to mimic Jack McFarlands from Will & Grace, but allows for the writers to explore further the idea of parental response. The second is found in Santana Lopezs storyline; a popular girl who doesnt wish to be labeled but suffers the consequences after being outed. Both include nuances of self-acceptance as well as the importance and need of community. This makes Glee a fundamental show in the fight for LGBTQ+ acceptance. From the first episode, Kurt is written to be stereotypical in his effeminate gayness. As McLaughlin states, Identification with homosexual characters can activate a specific process, which we label stereotyped identification, that promotes increased acceptance, while reinforcing stereotypes about how homosexuals are supposed to look, act, and talk (1200). This identification helps the audience see Kurt for who he truly is; however, it doesnt stop fellow glee club member Mercedes Jones from developing a crush on him. Though Mercedes is the first person Kurt actually tells in the season one episode Acafellas (season one, episode three), it is the next episode, Preggers (season one episode four), that we will discuss here. This episode begins with Kurt recreating singer Beyonces music video to Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It) in his room before his dad catches him with his two fellow glee club ladies, Tina and Brittany. 100 After being caught Brittany makes up the excuse that Kurt is training to try out to be the kicker on the football team because theyre the smallest player on the team 20. Kurts father, Burt, a manly man who owns the local body shop, is excited at the prospect of finally having something to talk about with his son. Meanwhile, Kurt realizes that being on the team will get him closer to Finn, the boy he likes. At his audition, he makes the goal, and Coach Tannaka says, Can you do that with the game on the line and ten gorillas bearing down on you who want nothing more than to taste your sweet virgin blood? To which Kurt replies, Sounds like fun. Even when hes trying to use football as a beard to his actual lifestyle, he cant hide his true nature from himself. Little bits always come out. He is trying to act the part of a gruff footballer, but when given the proposition of close contact with men, he entices the idea. Kurts teammates, who already torment him mercilessly, dont trust him, and still believe that hes gay. Kurt is unable to admit this truth to himself, and uses Mercedes as an actual beard to deter the relentless torment from his teammates. This doesnt change when Coach Tannaka asks the entire team to learn the Single Ladies dance in a team building effort to welcome Kurt, and create a trick play. Though they begrudgingly go along with learning it, they are not pleased, as one player quips, So were taking coaching advice from Lance Bass? (Bass being a former member of the band N Sync who famously came out in 2005). When the team captain and fellow glee club member, Finn, the aforementioned crush, suggests that they do the trick play in an actual game, the others are quick to dismiss the idea: Finn: Well, I think we really came together this week as a team. Puck: Yeah, a gay team. A big gay team of dancing gays. 20 Faulk, Brad. Preggers. Glee, created by Ryan Murphy, season one, episode four, 23 Sept, 2009. 101 Footballer1: Seriously Finn, it was fun in practice, but we cant do that out here in front of everyone. It will make us even more of a joke. When not around Kurt, they are all quick to label the dance as ridiculously gay and therefore believe it will diminish their manliness if they are seen dancing on the field. They not only see being gay as being a lesser human being; they additionally believe that being associated with a gay person will diminish not only their manliness, but also the respect they receive from others as human beings. It is doubtful that this conversation would have been much different had Kurt been present. If anything, his presence would have incited his teammates to say more hurtful things. In the end, the team goes forward with the play, followed by the game winning kick by Kurt in the following play. What Murphy is trying to show is that gay and different can actually lead to life wins. As Reddy states, Creating a strong audience identification plays a crucial role in creating an entertaining narrative. Queer characters are an especially interesting phenomenon in the way that a quality representation of such characters creates an incredibly strong connection and a passionate community of fans who are invested in the prosperity of the characters on screen (43). We see this progression of Kurt from being the show choir queer, to the hero of the overtly heteronormative space of football. This journey helps to showcase that sexual orientation is just one of many facets of a person that makes them valuable. By positing the other football players in a bullying light, it continues to shine Kurt into the role of a hero. After the game Kurts dad comes to congratulate his son on his win, yet the conversation takes a turn, when Kurt uses his fathers good feelings toward him to his advantage. Burt: Im really proud of you tonight. 102 Kurt: I have something that I want to say. Im glad that youre proud of me, but I dont want to lie anymore. Being a part of glee club and football had shown me that I can be anything, and what I am is Im gay. B: I know. K: Really? B: Ive known since you were three. All you wanted for your birthday was a pair of sensible heels. I guess Im not totally in love with the idea, but if thats what you are, theres nothing I can do about it. And I love you just as much, okay? Thanks for telling me. Kurt. [starts walking away] Youre sure? [Kurt nods] Just checking. Being the campus hero and making his dad proud of him, gave Kurt the confidence he needed to tell his truth. He does this in his stark, minimalist solitude of his bedroom, which he matches in his black and white bed clothes. Here is the space in which he lives his most authentic site and here is where he decides to tell his dad. Without a distracting background, the audience is forced to pay attention to the words between father and son, and allows for a more genuine reaction from Burt. In later seasons, Burt will go on to give one of the biggest defenses for his own son after he catches Finn saying the word faggy 21. From the beginning of the series, Burt Hummel again and again was written to be the parent any kid at home watching would love to have, not just a queer one. The show made sure to showcase the growth that comes not only from coming out, but what it means to have acceptance and as well as a community. This representation, coming from a widely popular network television show goes to show that Exposure to lesbians and gays may trigger feelings of empathy and increase positive emotions Positive interactions also 21 Murphy, Ryan. Theatricality. Glee, created by Ryan Murphy, season one, episode twenty, 25 May, 2010. 103 reduce negative anxiety toward out groups by reducing any anxiety that may be felt involving an uncertainty surrounding how future interactions without group members may go (Garretson 50 51). Every time Burt was showcased defending his son, the overall love for the character increased. Glee showed a truly caring coming out narrative between Kurt and Burt Hummel, yet its treatment of Santana Lopez showcases an unwelcoming atmosphere. From the beginning Santana was written as a polarizing figure and this was pushed to the limits as her character developed. It could be said that her harsh outing was supposed to be a grounding event for her, yet the writers did not follow through. Instead, a young girl in high school was subjected to a long period of ridicule and was the subject of the high school gossip for the rest of her high school tenure. It was revealed that best friends Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce are more than friends in Sexy 22, the fifteenth episode of season two. Santana invited Brittany to get their cuddle on after school one day. While this could be a platonic request, Brittany responds that she would love to get her sweet lady kisses on but has reasons why she cannot. When the two best friends do connect, Santana is quick to take control of the conversation: Brittany: I really like when we make out and stuff. Santana: Which isnt cheating because? B: Because the plumbing is different. I just dont know how I feel about us. S: Lets be clear here, Im not interested in labels unless its something I can shoplift. B: I dont know. I think we should talk to someone. Like an adult. This relationship, it is really confusing to me. 22 Faulk, Brad. Sexy. Glee, created by Ryan Murphy, season two, episode fifteen, 8 Mar, 2010. 104 Santana isnt only remarking on their queerness, but also the morality of their relationship, as Brittany is in a relationship with fellow glee club member Arnie at this time. This moment and this scene is just a moment for the audience to know the underlying nature of the dynamics of their friendship. As the episode progresses, Santana and Brittany are both feeling pressure to qualify their relationship, thanks in part to sex education teacher Holly Holiday. The two finally ask for her help understanding their situation. Often, queer women are not given as much airtime as males, and if they are they are usually seen as confused bisexuals trying out lesbianism until going back to being straight. Thanks to these two characters, bisexuality was explored in full, with the help of their teacher: Holly: I want to thank you guys for confiding in me because I know this is tough, and I want to ask both of you if either one of you thinks you might be a lesbian? Brittany: I dont know. Santana: Yeah, I mean. Im attracted to girls, but Im also attracted to guys. H: Its not about who youre attracted to. Ultimately, its about who you fall in love with. Here, Holly is using more pansexual language than bisexual, but it is Santanas line which calls for bisexual. For the show, this scene was Santanas coming out narrative. However, she only comes out to Brittany and Holly. She still refuses to come out to the rest of her friends. By the end of the episode Santana taps into her anger about her situation when describing it to Brittany: S: What I realized is why Im a bitch all the time. Im a bitch because Im angry. Im angry because I have all of these feelings. Feelings for you that Im afraid of dealing with because Im afraid of dealing with the consequences. I cant go to an Indigo Girls concert I want to be with you, but Im afraid of the talks and the looks. Im afraid of what everyone will say behind my back. 105 Santanas true issue isnt being gay, but it is how she will react when everyone finds out she is gay. Santanas whole persona is built on the reaction she gets from her peers. They are intimidated by her. They are scared of her. Santana believes that to come out she will be seen as more vulnerable and lose some of her reputation she has carefully created. This is seen in the costuming, too. Holly, Santana, and Brittany are all wearing black and white. Holly is dressed only in black and white to indicate her guidance of the girls. Santana is in many layers showing her need to armor herself against the world. Brittany is literally wearing her heart on her chest. This is further shown when Brittany is quicker to announce her feelings for Santana than Santana is for Brittany. Santana has a reputation to protect; both as a bully and a diva. This relationship comes up again later in the season as Rumours 23. The episode begins with the high school gossip, Jacob Ben Israel, commenting on McKinley High rumors, with Santanas sexuality being the hottest topic. The scene cuts to Brittanys web talk show Fondue for Two in which she says, I heard a rumor that Santana plays for both teams, and I can confirm. Its totally true. Brittany defends herself saying that she was talking about the glee club and the cheerleading squad, the Cheerios who are supposed to be high school enemies. Yet, this does not stop everyone in the school from spreading rumors about Santana. Later in the episode, Santana sings Songbird by Fleetwood Mac to Brittany alone, stating that it says everything she wants to say to Brittany. The end of the chorus ends, And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before. At the end of the song Brittany is mad at Santana for choosing her reputation over their relationship. Over the course of the rest of the season, the relationship between Brittany and Santana is hinted at, but ever talked about explicitly again until the following season during episode six, 23 Murphy, Ryan. Rumours. Glee, created by Ryan Murphy, season two, episode nineteen, 3 May, 2011. 106 titled, Mash Off 24, the relationship comes to the surface again. The more people question Santana, the angrier she gets. When she, Brittany and fellow New Directions member Mercedes Jones break off to start an all female glee club, the Treble Tones, we see tensions rise between the rival clubs. It comes to fruition when the two clubs decide to have a sing-off with the winner taking lead at the show choir competition. As the two clubs partake in trash talking, Santana manifests her anger at her sexuality in the New Directions constantly bullying them, but Finn in particular. After a particularly gruesome beatdown, Finn comes back with the most scathing thing he can say in a crowded hallway: Hey Santana, why dont you just come out of the closet already? As he says this, the hall stops moving and looks at the two of them, and he continues: Finn: You know I think I know why youre so good at tearing everybody else down. Its because youre constantly tearing yourself down because you cant admit to everybody that youre in love with Brittany and she might not love you back. That must hurt not to be able to admit to everyone how you really feel. You know what I think you are? A coward. The scene ends with the bell ringing for the next period and everyone begins to move on to their next class, though clearly witnessing the entire scene. This instance of Finn essentially outing Santana is a triggering point for her. Finn channeling Will as he confronts Jack to coax him to come out, gets to the heart of her resistance to be her authentic self, a continuous theme of the Glee Club. Yet, his timing, tone, and manner creates a volatile situation instead of one of peace and truth. He means well, but once again he is a straight figure inserting himself into a situation he can never truly understand. 24 Hitchcock, Michael. Mash Off. Glee, created by Ryan Murphy, season three, episode six, 15 Nov, 2011. 107 Throughout the episode, Cheerios coach Sue Sylvester is running for a congressional seat against Burt Hummel. She is shown airing defamatory ads blaming Burt for having a baboon heart after a heart attack, as well as being married to a donkey. The third opponent, Reggie the Sauce Salazar, puts out his own campaign against Sue, making Santana the target of his ad campaign: If Sue Sylvester is into family values, why did she promote a lesbian student to head cheerleader? At the end of the ad, Santana leaves the room crying while exclaiming, I havent even told my parents yet. The next scene is the Treble Tones performing Adeles Rumour Has It and Someone Like You mashed together to form one song. It is hinted that Santana and Mercedes chose the song together, as a testament to Santanas desire to come out. The ensemble sings Rumour Has It, by Adele with Mercedes singing the lead: She, she ain't real She ain't gonna be able to love you like I will Sure, she's got it all But, baby, is that really what you want. 25 Mercedes takes the lead on the song to indicate she is in Santanas corner on her desire to come out. Her look to Santana, shows she knows this performance will solidify Santana s sexual preference to those in the room, her closest friends, but that she cant guarantee that it wont get out to the rest of the school. But the song goes on, and Santana takes center stage with her solo from Someone Like You: I heard that you're settled down That you found a girl and you're married now I heard that your dreams came true 25 Adkins, Adele and Tedder, Ryan. Rumor Has It. 21, by Adele. Columbia, 2011. 108 Guess she gave you things, I didn't give to you 26. Throughout this sequence she stares at Brittany, knowing that if she does not come out, she will lose the love of her life. It is a visual and lyrical representation of Santanas life as it is unfolding before her where the rumors about her flood the school and are colliding with her feelings for Brittany. The mash-up on the song is the mash-up of Santanas life. Santana is now feeling the pressure to come out, even though she is not actually ready to do so. At the end of the performance and episode, Santana sees Finn laugh with Rachel, and Santana immediately thinks theyre laughing about her. S: Did you tell her too? Everyone is going to know now because of you. F: The whole school already knows. And you know what? They dont care. S: Not just the school you idiot. Everyone. Santanas reaction comes from Finns declaration in the hallway. She blames him for Salazars ad campaign against Sue. It was his declaration in the hall which someone else heard. Because everyone in the school supposedly knows, it was easy to prove as fact. Brittany and Santana hang out a lot because theyre best friends, but are they more? Its not a stretch, and its not hard to prove. Finn outed Santana to the school, and therefore the world. The next episode, I Kissed A Girl 27, Finn does his best to make Santana feel loved and included. He gets to the root of her insecurities when he tells her, I think youre awesome, and when you hide who you are, I think you hide part of that awesomeness with it. Thats why you act out. Because you hurt inside everyday. At this point, the whole school knows that Santana is a lesbian, but Finn is pressuring for Santana to come out before Salazars ad runs for all of Lima, Ohio. Finn asks the glee club to come together to perform songs to show their support and 26 27 Adkins, Adele and Wilson, Dan. Someone Like You. 21, by Adele. Columbia, 2011. Hodgson, Matthew. I Kissed a Girl. Glee, created by Ryan Murphy, season three, episode seven, 29 Nov, 2011. 109 encouragement for Santana, but she finds it offensive and sees it as forcing her out of the closet. However, Finn believes that fast-tracking Santanas outing will help create acceptance for herself. Having previously discussed Karens outbursts during Jacks coming out in Will & Grace, Finns are a continued visualization of unwanted involvement in the deeply personal act of coming out. It is not up to someone else to out the gay individual. It is up to the individual to first accept it themselves, before opening themselves up to the possibility of ridicule and judgment that comes with coming out: Finn: So what do you think of the assignment? Its pretty sweet right? Santana: Do you realize youre basically forcing me out of the closet? F: Salazars ad is going to run. Thats whats going to force you to deal with this. S: Why are you getting so worked up about this? F: Cause I dont want you to die. A few weeks ago, some kid who made one of those It Gets Better videos killed himself. You deal with your anxiety surrounding this stuff by attacking other people and someday that might not be enough and youre going to start attacking yourself. Finns bigger point is to show Santana that she has a support system in both the Treble Tones and New Directions, so that when she does come out, shes not alone. In Finns eyes, Santanas coming out is better than trying to play Salazars ad off as a fabrication. However, it becomes apparent that even if Santana does come out, it wont make her life any better at McKinley High, thanks to the students who are aware: Sophomore Rugby Player: Saw the commercial. Girls like you are a challenge and you just need the right guy to straighten you out and Im just the man to do it. Mercedes: Move your busted creeper ass. 110 SRP: Easy girls, Im just trying to make her normal. All Girls: She is normal. Its not her choice, but even if it were youd be our last choice. SRP: Oh I get it, youre all a bunch of lesbos. Rachel: So what if we are? You dont stand a chance either way. This interaction implies that only did the commercial run already, but it had an instant reaction in the community. It seems that Santanas fears about her reputation and how it would change if she were to come out were proven right. She feels that her queerness has made her less of a person to those around her. Moreover, she is now facing more straight intervention thrust upon her as this boy believes he can cure a lesbian woman with heterosexual sex. There is an instance of problematic reaction from the show in this scene. After the ambush by the rugby player, all the female glee club members sing I Kissed A Girl by Katy Perry. This song is an anthem for straight girls, as they kiss other straight girls thinking theyre sexually promiscuous and adventurous. This diminishes the validity of Santanas coming out, as all of the girls arent singing in solidarity with Santana as queer women. To the LGBTQ+ community, this song makes their life seem like a lifestyle choice, and to sing this as encouragement for Santana and for her to actively participate, adds to the idea that she came out because she wanted to, not because she was outed. Yet, thanks to this camaraderie, she was able to come out to her parents. She tells the group, Okay update yall. I told my parents last night and they were actually okay with it! I just have to tell my Abuela before she sees that stupid commercial. But luckily she only watches Univision. The time comes for Santana to talk with her grandmother. At first, abuelita believes that Santana is pregnant and the fact that this is preferred to the actual outcome of this conversation, says a lot about LGBTQ+ beliefs in America. As she continues the conversation and begins to 111 pour her heart out to the one woman she loves the most, it is clear that the conversation is taking a turn: Santana: Abuelita . I love girls the way Im supposed to feel about boys. Its just something thats always been inside of me and I really want to share it with you because I love you so much. I want you to know me. Who I really am. When Im with Brittany I finally understand what people are talking about when they talk about love. And Ive tried so hard to push this feeling away and keep it locked inside but everyday just feels like a war. I walk around so mad at the world but Im really just fighting with myself. I dont want to fight anymore. Im just too tired. I have to just be me. Say something. Please. It is interesting to note that Santana is only able to define her queerness in terms of juxtaposing it against being straight. Santana has to posit her queerness as an actual queering of being straight. She is supposed to feel this way about boys, but she knows that she does not. After a long silence, her grandmother finally responds: Abuelita: Everyone has secrets Santana. Theyre called secrets for a reason. I want you to leave this house. I dont want to see you ever again. S: You dont mean A: Go. Now. S: Im the same person I was a minute ago. A: You have made your choice. Now I have made mine. S: Why? 112 A: Its selfish of you to make me uncomfortable. The sin isnt in the thing. Its in the scandal when people talk about it aloud. S: So youre saying it would have been better if I kept this a secret? A: [Leaves the room.] This is one of the most direct abandonment scenes of an LGBTQ+ youth on television. Her grandmother goes from a loving and caring woman, to one who would rather walk away from her granddaughter instead of due to personal convictions. Worst of all, she puts the blame on Santana for wanting to live her life unencumbered by secrets, when it is her own prejudice that is causing the rift. Although Kurt and Santana arent the only gay characters 28 to be featured on the show, their storylines were pivotal for a moment of the mid 2010s, giving space for high school students to see representation of coming out. Up until this point, with the exception of Larry, all the instances discussed were adults and because Larry is such an ancillary character, his personal story isnt as well documented as Kurt and Santana, as they are leads of the show. Additionally, it says a lot about how far societal acceptance has come if children are seeing moments of representation, and can find encouragement to come out and be their authentic selves sooner. As we can see, the post-Ellen world was built upon the work previously done. As Ellen came out, she was a leading queer character in television. The following season, we found ourselves with a popular program featuring not one, but two queer characters. This road is further paved for character development to allow for character changes and growth, and the 28 A storyline involving Dave Karofsky, a football teammate of Finn, being gay takes place throughout the series. He bullies Kurt and threatens to kill Kurt if anyone finds out he is gay. Eventually they both go to different schools, and Karaofsky is outed and bullied to the point of trying to kill himself, before eventually finding acceptance. 113 knowledge that gay women could be represented on television as well. Finally, we see that self acceptance doesnt have to wait until adulthood, and can begin as soon as one is ready. Without the visibility of these narratives, coming into homes across the United States every night, this acceptance wouldnt have been possible. 114 Conclusion As we examine all that weve already discussed, we can see a progression to the coming out narrative. Gay characters who were seen once or twice paved the way for recurring gay characters to thrive, before we have entire series dedicated to the lives of gay characters. The frequency of these characters entering into storylines also increases, becoming commonplace in a post-Ellen world. We find a rhythm and a formula in the coming out narrative, centering on truth and acceptance, often in an environment that is not as welcoming. When we put these thread lines together we see that the pieces can then be transformed and used for other purposes. When we queer, or rather challenge and question, the traditional coming out narrative, we understand that the narrative itself has become a trope. At its core, the trope is just a narrative device many stories employ. According to tvtropes.org, Tropes are not the same thing as cliches. They may be brand new but seem trite and hackneyed; they may be thousands of years old but seem fresh and new. They are not bad, they are not good; tropes are tools that the creator of a work of art uses to express their ideas to the audience. It's pretty much impossible to create a story without tropes. The website catalogs every conceivable trope as well as their offshoots, and inverses. Being able to track the original trope, we can see and understand the ways in which the offshoots and inverses exist furthering and deepening our knowledge overall. The first example I want to explore is from the 1994 comedy, Friends, which offers a complete inversion of the coming out narrative. Season two, episode four, titled The One with Phoebes Husband 29, first aired October 12, 1995. The scene begins with Chandler and Ross hanging out in Rosss sister Monicas apartment, when a gentleman stops by looking for Phoebe, 29 Junge, Alexa. The One with Phoebes Husband. Friends, created by David Crane and Marta Kauffman, season two, episode four, 12 Oct. 1995. 115 who used to live there. Not finding her, he leaves a message, just tell her her husband stopped by (cite). When Phoebe gets the message later at the coffee shop, everyone seems confused, but Phoebe comes to her own defense justifying that shes not married married, you know. He was just a friend and hes gay and hes from Canada and he just needed a green card (Junge). This information comes as a shock to the viewers, as weve never known Phoebe to be married, yet throughout the series Phoebe has been shown to be a selfless character, willing to do anything at all for her friends. As Phoebe gets ready, Monica lambasts Phoebe for marrying Duncan, not because it was a sham, but because Phoebe was actually in love with him, problematic for the both of them because they both understood that his feelings would never be reciprocated because he was gay. The show is quick to mention several times that Duncan is gay, going as far as to have Phoebe quip that it's nice to look nice for your gay husband. This mention of Duncans gayness is brought up again and again when Phoebe goes to visit him after his performance in the Ice Capades, which is shown to be an inherently gay career choice by the writers of Friends. In stark contrast to coming out narratives, where being straight is presumed, it is imperative to understand who Duncan is in Phoebes eyes. Because we do not know of him prior to his showing up at Monicas doorstep, we cannot fully understand who he is or what his personality traits are, which may indicate that he is or is not a gay male. To clarify this character development, the writers did the work for us, outing him as a gay male. After his show, Duncan and Phoebe discuss his real need to see her: he is getting married and needs a divorce. This is our first clue to Duncans true nature. In 1995, legal marriages between members of the same sex were not recognized by the government, and even though in seven episodes Friends will air an episode called The One with the Lesbian Wedding for Duncan to need a divorce because he is getting remarried. At this time in society, 116 many gay couples were choosing to have secular or even religious, commitment-style wedding ceremonies, even though legal protections and other governmental benefits associated with marriage were not afforded to these couples, and therefore couples technically could not always say they were getting married. Though it would be morally and personally understandable for Duncan to get a divorce from Phoebe before committing himself to his new partner, it would not change the value of his relationship if he did not obtain one. This however, is not the case. Duncan finally has his moment to come out to Phoebe: Duncan: Oh god, I dont know how to tell you this. Im straight. Phoebe: [gasp] D: Yeah, I know. P: I dont understand. I dont understand. How can you be straight? Youre so smart and funny and you throw such great Academy Award parties! D: I know! I know! Thats what I kept telling myself! But you just reach a point where you cant live a lie anymore. P: So, how long have you known? D: Well, I guess on some level I always knew I was straight. I thought I was supposed to be something else! You know?! Im an ice dancer! All my friends are gay! I was just trying to fit in! P: And, umm theres actually a woman? D: Her name is Debra. P: Oh! Well is she the first that youve been with? 117 D: Well, Ive never told you this but there were one or two times back in college when Id get really drunk, go to a straight bar and wake up with a woman next to me. But I told myself it was the liquor! And everyone experiments in college. P: Sure. D: But now I know I dont have a choice in this. I was born this way. P: I dont know what to say. I mean youre married to someone for six years, and you think you know him, and then one day he says, Im not gay. D: Im still me. P: Why couldnt you have figured this out 6 years ago? So have you told your parents? D: No, but itll be okay. Theyre pretty cool. My brother is straight, so. If this exchange between Duncan and Phoebe feels familiar, it is because it directly lines up with a standard coming out as gay trope. As Phoebe describes Duncan out loud during the conversation, we see reflections in the conversation between Jack and Will, in the way Sophia spoke of Clayton, the ways in which Grace spoke about Will, the ways in which Kurt is set up in comparison to those around him. Because the show is able to condense all of these arguments into a short two minute back and forth between two characters, they posit the argument that Phoebe cannot believe that Duncan is straightafter all, what is the big deal about being straight? This is the exact message the show is trying to get across in terms of coming out as being gay. Yukari Ishii states, As social categories, self-images become more labile and variable, releasing their hold on identification processes: people become more sensitive to their emotions and desires in each situation, and their identity labels may change from one moment to another (75). This changing identification process is most likely what led to Duncan finding himself while in the Ice Capades. 118 This episode of Friends is an important marker for LGBTQ+ representation on television because it helps us understand the duality of stereotypes. Reddy states that The power of identification holds even more importance in the public policy sphere By allowing the other to become familiar both visually and emotionally, narrative film and television are able to highlight the effects of social policy discrimination on this othered community (57). We are told that Duncan is a stereotypical gay male, yet ultimately, he inverses his desires, and therefore inverses the preconception about what makes a queer man or a straight man. The show is mostly known for its positive representation, introducing that Rosss wife is leaving him for a woman in the first episode, yet the sour note of Chandlers father, a crossdressing cabaret entertaining being played by cis-woman, Kathleen Turner. But more than representation, it shows the idiocrasy of being shocked when someone tells their own truth. To this end, it makes as much sense to have to come out as straight as it does to have to come out as gay. As Gonsiorek states, The coming out models are an important theoretical development. They essentially describe an additional developmental effect unique to the lives of lesbians and gays (Gonsiorek 166). When Duncan comes out as straight, he does so to Phoebe, who knew his most inherent truth as he knew it, to add this additional layer of truth is his way of fully being himself. The standard coming out narrative does this same thing. As we further explore the idea of subversion, we instead look at the reactionary perspective that is subverted. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which included the coming out of Larry and Willow previously as discussed above, brought emotional upheaval to its heroine in season two. Buffy lost her virginity to her boyfriend, Angel, a vampire cursed with a mortal soul. However, the moment he experienced true happiness with her a clear euphemism for orgasm to viewers, he lost his soul and reverted back to his sadistic vampire ways. Giving up something 119 so precious to someone, only to have them immediately change once they receive it is yet another euphemism for life the show sets up to explain situations in their own, supernatural way. In the two-part season finale, a fight breaks out at the high school and a band of vampires attack her friends, and fellow slayer, Kendra. When police arrive and find Buffy hovering over Kendras dead body, she is wanted for murder and is immediately expelled from high school by the principal, who was called to the scene. Buffy flees the scene and the cops immediately contact Joyce for help in finding her daughter, altering them that she is wanted for murder. When Buffy arrives home with Spike, Buffys nemesis up to this point in the season, Buffys mom Joyce is confused and angry. She just wants to have a conversation with her daughter to get her side of the story, yet Buffys priority is to stop Angels plan of evil to have the entire world swallowed up into a hell dimension by a demon. knowing that the police are looking for her and demands to know whats going on, as Buffy tells her that she is in fact a vampire slayer. Buffy and Spike discuss details of the plan to take down Angel, while Joyce keeps interjecting about the news shes been given: Joyce: Like what you are? Honey, are you sure youre a vampire slayer? I mean have you tried not being a slayer? Its because you dont have a strong father figure isnt it? Buffy: Its fate mom. Im the slayer. Accept it 30. Joyce, refusing to listen to Buffy, keeps trying to find reasons to justify her daughters differentness. Shes also trying to justify it in a way so that shes not to blame. The incredulous questions she asks Buffy are the same ones that get asked to members of the LGBTQ+Q community each time they come out. Many times in personal narratives, someone asks, Have you tried not being gay? We saw subtleties of this in both The Golden Girls as well as Ellen. In 30 Whedon, Joss. Becoming: Part 2. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, created by Joss Whedon, season two, episode twenty-two, 19 May, 1998. 120 fact, this storyline falls into the Have You Tried Not Being a Monster on tvtropes.org. They describe this trope as following a certain group of people who, have normal lives to an extent, but somehow they're different. Not like other people. They're something unusual. Something that means they can never fit in. If it's at all possible, they hide their differences away from everyone else to fit in. They live in secret, ostracized from society. A subculture, upholding a masquerade of being normal by day but living out a secret lifestyle out-of-view. Chances are that if they ever tell anyone, they'll inevitably be asked, Have you tried... not being a monster? (tvtropes.com). The idea of a secret identity which will remove them from society if it is revealed, is exactly the type of life many queer individuals go through prior to coming out. Joyce continues to question what is happening in her life, as well as continues to question not only her role in Buffys life, but her role in the creation of this identity. At one point she states, Its because you didnt have a strong father figure, as if to say that the absence of a parent is the single moment Joyce failed to stop her daughters destiny. Furthermore, this idea creates the idea that a two gender, parental household perpetuates and instills an idea of heteronormativity into children. That this is the standard of living to create a quality life. Additionally, these questions pin the blame on the person coming out by trying to find an excuse or reason to explain that there is something inherently wrong with them; that they are made differently, and therefore wrongly. This exchange is followed by Joyce wanting to call the police to tell them that Buffy is innocent of the murder of Kendra, but Buffy stops her stating that the police will not be able to help, and will actually be put in harms way. Finally, Joyce, unable to comprehend everything shes been told, loses her cool: J: Buffy, what is happening? You dont get to just dump something like this on me and then pretend its nothing. 121 B: Im sorry I dont have time for this. J: No! Im tired of I dont have time for you or you wouldnt understand. I am your mother and you will make the time to explain yourself. B: I told you. Im a vampire slayer. J: Well, I just dont accept that. B: Open your eyes mom. What do you think has been going on these last two years? J: Well it stops now! B: No, it doesnt stop. It never stops. Do you think I chose to be like this? Do you have any idea how lonely, how dangerous? J: Buffy, this is insane. You need help. B: Im not crazy! What I need for you is to chill. J: You walk out of this house, dont even think about coming back. Her demands that Buffy stop being a vampire slayer, and her refusal to believe what shes told, causes her to throw Buffy out because she doesnt like the choices shes making. However, Joyce refuses to see that Buffy didnt make the choice to be a vampire slayer. Buffy did not choose her fate or how she feels about it. This trope is known as the I Have No Son! in which a parent is dissatisfied with how their child, usually a son, is living their life outside of the ideas of the home. Joyce throwing Buffy out of the house because she doesnt like, and doesnt understand her daughter being a vampire slayer, is the same as a parent who throws their own children out of the house because they cant or do not want to understand what their child is going through. The idea that a parent can abandon their child in favor of their own ideals is something is still very prevalent in todays society, as many children were thrown out of their homes at the start of the worldwide pandemic in 2020 when they were forced into constant 122 isolation with their families, and could no longer keep their truths secret. According to a June 2020 report by the National Library of Medicine for the United States Department of Health and Human Services, Stay-at-home orders further reduce access to social and community support resources in schools, such as gender and sexualities alliances; other affirming student organizations; and supportive teachers, professors, coaches, counselors, and peers, all of which serve as buffers that protect LGBTQ+ youth against mental health burden due to social isolation and psychological trauma (Salerno). Buffy is shocked at her mothers betrayal, and yet members of the LGBTQ+ society at home watching this scene may have seen themselves in it. Would they be kicked out if they came out to their parents? Would their loving parents, who so resembled loving and understanding Joyce act the same way? The uncertainty of the reaction of the news is what kept so many in the closet until after they became adults and left their homes to become self-sufficient. Throughout its run, Buffy the Vampire Slayer used metaphors and euphemisms to describe real life and all its complexities. From abusive relationships, to men changing after sex, to werewolves being akin to females with PMS, the show used demons and fantasy to talk about real problems that teeangers face. Once we can understand the tropes of coming out, and the additional ways they are used, we can see how they are queered. This is done in the comedy That 70s Show. The show originally centered on the day to day happenings of high school teen Eric Foreman and his friends, but as the shows popularity grew, his parents, Red and Kitty, began to have airtime to themselves. Season eights We Will Rock You is one such example. In this episode Red and Kitty have a side adventure of meeting the new neighbors, while the teens are busy recreating a Disco Sux party, popular in the late 70s. When the door knocks, alerting the two to their neighbors arrival, Kitty prefaces their hosting of the neighbors by telling Red, I havent met the 123 wife yet but the husband named Josh is very sweet 31. When she opens the door she is confused to see two men standing in front of her. Josh: Hi Kitty! Good to see you again. This is Jeff. Kitty: Hi Jeff, wheres your wife? Jeff: Youre lookin at her. Jo: The only lady in my life is my little Pomeranian Tina Louise. Kitty doesnt quite understand, especially when she only saw the movers bring in one bed but it suddenly dawns on her as she introduces Red, who is still in the dark. Red: Wait a sec. You guys live together? Jo: Yep. R: Without any wives or girlfriends? Je: Yep. R: You know what I call guys like you? K: Oh dear. R: Lucky bastards! As the men laugh nervously, they are invited in to watch the football game playing. Slowly the men feel more comfortable with the Foremans, as the conversation flows freely. This interaction causes Red to proclaim that they dont need wives. You bicker like an old married couple. Kitty then has an urgent need to disclose to Red what shes already discovered and calls him into the kitchen. As Red continues on about his wish for spaces where no wives, or women at all were available to them, Josh says he knows of some. Kitty pulls Red into the other room to discuss the 31 Moore, Bryan and Peterson, Chris. We Will Rock You. That 70s Show, created by Mark Brazill, Bonnie Turner, and Terry Turner, season eight, episode eighteen, 4 May, 2006. 124 fact that their neighbors are in a relationship with each other, Red is more concerned with the game, and is annoyed when he misses a touchdown. Red moves quickly back into the living room only to discover Jeff and Josh on the couch kissing. He pops back into the kitchen telling Kitty, I think those guys are gay! Red goes from completely comfortable around these men, to disbelief that he knows men who are gay, let alone that they are in his house. Instead of talking to them any further for the night, he says good night to them, and hides upstairs until they leave. Red is seen as a mans man, his interaction is reminiscent of the poker game in the Conner household in the episode of Roseanne previously discussed. As Leon sits, secure in his truth, so do Jeff and Josh when greeting the Foremans. Dan and his fellow poker players are able to shake the stigma of the gay man in the room. Most likely because they were bonding over a common activity. Red does not have this interaction when first meeting his neighbors, but when they come over a couple of days later to thank Red, they find something to bond over. Jeff says, its not that easy for two gays like us to just move into a new neighborhood and make friends. But you welcomed us into your home with open arms. Red then must confront his own issues, and says that theyre a couple of decent guys and find common ground by inviting them in to watch the Green Bay Packers take on the Minnesota Vikings. Jeff and Josh are eager to join, not just because they enjoy the Foremans company, but they like the Vikings. Red, a diehard Green Bay fan, immediately kicks the couple out of his house, never to see them again. It is clear that Red was able to look past his own issues concerning sexual orientation, but he was unable to stand the thought of being friends with someone who likes a team he despises. Though this could be seen as a take on the I Have No Son! trope, it is not, and not just because they are not in a parent/child relationship. We know this because Kitty expected Red to be prejudicial toward them from the moment she realized they were gay. From the moment she realized, she kept 125 waiting for Red to kick them out, but instead he was more uncomfortable with how to interact with them. Instead, the prejudicial and angered interaction came when Red found out they were fans of the Minnesota Vikings. Once again we have a program equating the absurdity of cutting off someone for being gay, instead by showing the absurdity of cutting them off for liking the wrong team. Neither has anything to do inherently with who they are as people, and instead shows the values that others foist upon their neighbors and other members of society due to their own personal belief systems. These final examples are not seen as traditional coming out narratives, yet they are categorically in tune with the overall theme as we have discussed in previous chapters. Duncans declaration of being straight follows mostly closely to a traditional coming out narrative; Joyces reaction to Buffys true identity mimics reactions of family members who have trouble grasping what they have been told; Josh and Jeff are presented to the audience from their first moments as a couple and yet it is a later revelation that causes Red to have them removed from his house. All of these narratives center on the understanding of truth and our reaction to it. That is exactly what the process of coming out is at its core, and because of these examples, the narrative has become so well known that it has penetrated our popular culture in the United States. More people felt comfortable coming out in society, and more experiences of coming out have made their way to television audiences. We saw one off characters with a very special storyline come out, paving the way for peripheral characters to come out. Their narratives, first coming out, and then staying on these shows as queer characters until there were just queer characters on television, who didnt require a coming out narrative at all. Television shows are full of characters who are now known to be told by inferences in conversation. We now live in an era where characters are no longer written straight, only to come out later. They are just written as 126 human beings, who happen to be queer. 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... MAGICAL GUIDANCE: FINDING ETHICAL FUTURES IN ASIAN AMERICAN ENVIRONMENTAL LITERATURE A Thesis Presented to The Faculty of the Department of English University of Indianapolis In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Master of Arts by Julia Rose ONeil Harvey May 2022 Copyright 2022 Julia Rose ONeil Harvey MAGICAL GUIDANCE: FINDING ETHICAL FUTURES IN ASIAN AMERICAN ENVIRONMENTAL LITERATURE by Julia Rose ONeil Harvey APPROVED BY THE DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH UNIVERSITY OF INDIANAPOLIS May 2022 _________________________________________ Dr. Leah Milne, Department of English _____________ ____ Professor Kevin McKelvey, Department of English ABSTRACT MAGICAL GUIDANCE: FINDING ETHICAL FUTURES IN ASIAN AMERICAN ENVIRONMENTAL LITERATURE by Julia Rose ONeil Harvey Emerging as a relatively new field in the late twentieth century, environmental criticism continues to evolve as the field expands. Second-wave ecocriticism emphases the consideration of environmental justice and the enduring effects of interdisciplinary topics such as the legacy of colonialism and racism on the environment, yet environmental literary criticism is slow to incorporate literature by people of color into the conversation. Similarly, while contemporary authors are consistently utilizing magical realism in literature to engage with environmental and social issues, there is a gap in environmental literary criticism related to magical realism. My research demonstrates how Asian American authors employ various magical realist characters to serve as guides to a more ethical future by engaging with environmental criticism. In Tropic of Orange, Karen Tei Yamashita creates Manzanar Murakami and Arcangel function as guides to more positive results for laborers and people of color. Ruth Ozeki employs crows and the fictional character Jiko Yasutani, 104-year-old Buddhist nun, to serve as guides to more equitable outcomes in A Tale for the Time Being. Though the definition of an ethical future may vary between individuals, both novels suggest the interwoven topics of ethics and environmental justice as essential to advance a more favorable tomorrow. My paper examines how the topics presented through Yamashitas and Ozekis guides are relevant in the larger interdisciplinary discussions of environmentalism and deep ecology and how their use of magical realism allows for a consideration of prospective futures that stress the equitable treatment of all beings. VITA Julia Harvey was born in Indianapolis, Indiana and currently resides in Pendleton, Indiana. She received her Bachelor of Science in Information Technology from Indiana State University in Terre Haute, Indiana in May 2011. She graduated cum laude and received minors English, Art History, and Computer Art. She is a member of the Air National Guard, serving since May 2005. After completing her Master of Arts degree, she intends to pursue her PhD in English. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS First, I would like to thank my third reader, Dr. Edward Vargo, my great uncle. You provided endless encouragement throughout this project, continually taking time to review my drafts, and offering much appreciated insightful advice. I am so thankful we were able to collaborate on this project across generations and time zones. Thank you so much to my patient husband, Ryan Harvey, and my mother, Mary ONeil. You both provided me with time and space to work through every stage this project, gracefully tolerating my frustration and lack of emotional energy. Also, thank you to Lucy, Charlie, Layla, and Cecilia, who always offer me their unconditional love and cuddles. Finally, I extend my thanks to the English department faculty and fellow students of the University of Indianapolis that guided me through this program during a pandemic that challenged us all in ways we never would have imagined. Dr. Leah Milne, I cannot express how deeply you have influenced my love of literature and broadened my horizons. You never stopped pushing me to improve my work and patiently spent countless hours on Zoom answering my questions. Professor Kevin McKelvey, you went out of your way to accommodate my investigation of multicultural contemporary environmental literature, squeezing yet another course into your busy semester. Thank you for all your guidance on environmental criticism and feedback through every stage of this project. Char Everett, thank you for always quietly checking up on me to make sure I was still writing! vi TABLE OF CONTENTS Introduction 1. 1 Is it a Crime to be Poor?: Subaltern Labor and Ethical Universalism in Karen Tei Yamashitas Tropic of Orange 14 Manzanar Murakami: A Guide to Elevated Ethics and Ideal Universalism 17 Arcangel: Conquistador of the North and the Allegory of Labor 30 Conclusion: Walking the Path of Ethical Universalism 44 2. Not-one, Not-two. Not Same. Not Different.: Buddhist Philosophy and Rejection of an Anthropocentric Ecology in Ruth Ozekis A Tale for the Time Being 45 Corvid Conductors: Indigeneity, Ecological Destruction, and Magical Crossings 48 Jiko Yasutani: Buddhist Guide to the Not-Two Nature of Existence 64 Conclusion: Leading Readers Toward Equity for All Beings 76 Bibliography 78 vii Introduction In January 2020, I began the journey that would take me through the process of writing this project, unaware of the impending significance of the first few months of 2020 on the world. By March, classes moved online as businesses and schools went virtual due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Over the next two years, Americans watched as the U.S. government struggled to address unemployment and the necessity for increased assistance to those affected by COVID19. The pandemic starkly highlighted class divisions as employers expanded the definition of essential workers to incorporate retail and foodservice laborers and others compelled to work in unsafe conditions to continue to receive a paycheck. While many communities pulled together to provide for their unemployed neighbors, celebrate the sacrifices of medical workers, and form study groups for children learning remotely, some groups viewed the pandemic as an opportunity to foment hate for Asians and Asian Americans. Hate crimes against Asian Americans is not new and Asian American and Pacific Islander activist organizations existed decades before COVID19but the pandemic increased the occurrences of racist incidents as early rhetoric surrounding COVID-19 emphasized the presumed origin of the virus, subjecting Asians in general to increased scrutiny, harassment, and violence. Violence against Asian Americans due to COVID-19 illuminated the need for additional emphasis on the more deliberate incorporation of Asian American voices in the social and environmental justice movements. Stereotyping of Asian Americans often focuses on the model minority myth and transforms the immensely diverse group into a faceless, middle-class Other, privileged above other communities of color as doctors, business owners, and tech workers and ignores the realities of social and environmental injustice experienced by Asian Americans today. Largely excluded from the discourse of early environmental criticism, Asian Americans 1 initiated their own conversations about environmental issues and environmental justice. Groups like Chicago Asian Americans for Environmental Justice (CAAEJ) have stepped forward to resolve issues like lead poisoning from gardens grown in contaminated soil and Oakland-based Asian Pacific Environmental Network (APEN) is tackling renewable energy and affordable housing for Asian American families. Likewise, Asian American authors began incorporating implicit environmental criticism into their texts, addressing systemic injustice, racism, sexism, and the interconnectedness of all life regardless of place. In recent decades, environmental criticism broadened the field by including more postcolonial and international perspectives from authors and scholars of color. Asian Americans literature that speak to the principles of deep ecology and ethical environmentalism are entering the discourse of ecocriticism and contributing unique perspectives other than predominantly White American or European. I undertook this project with the desire to examine contemporary Asian American novels that deliberately engage with environmental criticism. Countless canonical Asian American texts can and should be viewed through an ecocritical lens, as Begoa Simal-Gonzlez does in her book Ecocriticisms and Asian American Literature: Gold Mountains, Weedflowers, and Murky Globes, but I wanted to focus on those authors who intentionally centered their narratives on environmental issues and proposed viable solutions. Climate issues often generate a sense of helplessness in the average citizen, much like COVID-19, and in this moment of compounding crises it is paramount that we seize opportunities to participate in the changes we can affect. Karen Tei Yamashitas Tropic of Orange and Ruth Ozekis A Tale for the Time Being both place environmental issues at the center of their narratives and employ magical realism to create guides that illuminate paths toward more ethical and equitable futures for the characters and the cultures they represent as well as the reader. While their utilization of magical realism to engage with 2 environmental criticism is not unique to Asian American literature, their inclusion of other people of color, for example Latinx or Indigenous communities, and general positive attitude toward change stood out against increasingly negative views of ecological prospects, as found in popular dystopian climate fiction. Yamashitas and Ozekis novels avoid pessimistic outlooks and doomsday prophesizing, instead encouraging hope and potential solutions to the climate crisis and escalating social and environmental justice issues. Ultimately, these two novels offer hopeful guidance for readers to engage with environmental issues in constructive and positive ways. Environmental Criticism: Reviewing the Scholarship Emerging as a relatively new field in the late twentieth century, environmental criticism continues to evolve as the field expands. According to Lawrence Buell, environmental criticism, or ecocriticism might succinctly be defined as study of the relation between literature and environment conducted in a spirit of commitment to environmental praxis (The Environmental 430). While Rachel Carsons 1962 text Silent Spring shocked the world by revealing the dangers of pesticides and negligent corporate behavior and influenced a generation of environmentalism, ecocriticism did not emerge as a field within literary discourse until the establishment of academic institutions such as the Association for the Study of Literature and the Environment (ASLE) in 1992 (Simal-Gonzlez 3). ASLEs journal, Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and the Environment (ISLE), commenced in 1993, provided a central platform for discourse in environmental criticism that fueled growth within the field. Lawrence Buells The Environmental Imagination and Cheryll Glotfelty and Harold Fromms The Ecocriticism Reader were published in the mid-1990s, serving as seminal works in the field of environmental criticism. 3 In the 1990s, critics began to contest the terminology used in environmental discourse, including the definition of nature itself. The essence of nature continues to be debated among scholarssome subscribing to a view of nature as all life beyond humanity and others using the term to encompass all life. Recognizing changes in the field, Buell transitioned from ecocriticism to the use of environmental criticism, citing that the term better reflects the tendency to broaden the notion of environment to include not only the more or less unspoiled nature and wilderness of canonical nature writing, but also urban settings and degraded nature landscapes, a shift that, as we shall see, has been matched by a slow but inexorable accompanying effort to complement the traditional local perspective with a global, transnational one (Simal-Gonzlez 4). For those participating in first-wave ecocriticism, nature and environment were distinctly separate from humans and their practice was generally considered synchronous with the aims of earthcare (The Future 21). Second-wave environmental criticism questions the separation of humans and nature, stressing the interconnectedness of humans and nature as humans have irreversibly altered the environment (22). Critics acknowledge the built environment and its inhabitants as a site of nature that cannot be ignored in favor of pristine wilderness. Second-wave environmentalism provides a space for the examination of environmental justice and power structures that plague marginalized populations. The concept of place is often utilized in conjunction with distinctions imposed on humans and nature in traditional nature writing and early environmental criticism in a way that emphasizes the importance of the local and declines to engage with the realities of globalization on marginalized groups. Nixon explains that environmental literary studies tended to give priority to the literature of place, delving into bioregional specificity and focusing on solitary moments of communion with nature (236). Environmental criticism itself developed in the 4 United States analyzing primarily American authors such as Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, and John Muir, who emphasized place as a source of identity for authors, while incorporating imperialism, majority culture, patriarchy, and spiritualism into the tone of their works (234). While finding importance and identity in place is not intrinsically problematic, this narrow focus on literature and scholarship on 19th century writers who were predominantly white often prevents the consideration of concerns beyond the local in a globalized society. Due to this limited scope, first-wave environmental criticism largely ignored concerns of environmental justice associated with colonialism and globalization. Early environmentalism shared a similar outlook that emphasized a biocentric worldview of preservation and conservation without considering the impact on all beings. Scholars and activists from other disciplines, such as postcolonial studies, show scant interest in environmental concerns, regarding them (whether explicitly or implicitly) as at best irrelevant and elitist, at worst as sullied by green imperialism (236). In short, the narrow focus of environmentalists and environmental criticism lead to distrust by those representing marginalized groups. Second-wave environmental criticism attempts to consider environmental issues and literature more broadly, questioning structures that reinforce hegemony and arguing for a revised environmental ethics that includes the vexed issue of environmental justice, while steadily incorporating the voices of authors of color (Ecocriticism 5). Environmental criticism intersects with and generates additional theories, including anthropocentrism, deep ecology, and critical posthumanism, which in turn are found in Asian American ecocritical literature. Anthropocentrism, often an element of early American nature writing, constructs human as a privileged category, thereby establishing a hierarchical opposition between Man, and Nature (Girshin 151). Anthropocentrism removes humans 5 from the environment, creating a binary that is used to justify environmental destruction. The deep ecology movement seeks to destabilize anthropocentrism, undermining humans as a privileged and separate category of life in favor of a worldview that recognizes the interconnectedness of all life forms regardless of place. Deep ecology opposes the use-value paradigm, arguing that all beings have intrinsic value that is not dependent on their use to society or capitalism. The use-value paradigm is destructive and justif[ies] the infliction of suffering or physical damage on those entities that are perceived to be resources (152). Critical posthumanism builds on these concepts, furthering deep ecology by interrogating human interrelation with technology. Pramod K. Nayar defines posthumanism as the inseparable connection between humans and technology, while rejecting human exceptionalism and human instrumentalism (17). Posthumanism spans the incorporation of technology into our daily lives from the earliest tools to cell phones and satellites. Nayar summaries the theory of critical posthumanism as humans co-evolving, sharing ecosystems, life processes, genetic material, which animals and other life forms; and technology not as a mere prosthesis to human identity but as integral to it (17). These theories build on each other, guiding the field of second-wave environmental criticism toward a more inclusive worldview that undermines the binaries of human versus nature and recognizes structurally inequities. Eco-Justice, Colonialism, and Magical Realism Michael Bennetts 1998 ISLE article Urban Nature: Teaching Tinker Creek by the East River exemplifies the shift from first- to second-wave environmental criticism. He argues for the reconsideration of places we think of as natural, encompassing forests and deserts as well as skyscrapers and wastedumps to better interrogate who is affected by negative 6 environmental impacts (49). Bennett recognized disparities between traditional environmental literature and the experiences of his inner-city students, touching on the environmental violence perpetrated against those deemed of lower use-value. In this way, the lasting legacies of colonialism are seen through environmental injustice in communities of color or lower socioeconomic status. Nixon argues in his book Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor environmental advocacy focused on place-based ethics often transforms into resentment or aggression toward outsiders, as witnessed in the Sierra Clubs history of anti-immigration lobbying (239). Furthermore, the local and the global are no longer separate concepts, but inexorably enmeshed by politics, pollution, ideologies, and migration. The globalization of human life continues to alter the environment and further destabilizes the glorification of placebased ethics touted by first-wave environmental criticism. Nixon states, To observe all this is not to dismiss ethics-of-place environmentalism out of hand, but rather to render visible a particular lineage of variously misanthropic, jingoistic, xenophobic, racially blinkered, gender entitled, and amnesiac celebrations of wilderness that mark an imaginative failure while masquerading as elevated imaginings (241-242). In short, environmentalism without the consideration of environmental justice reinforces inequal power structures and endangers the environment, suggesting the necessity for guidance toward more equitable outcomes. Similarly, environmental criticism has been slow to incorporate literature by authors of color into the field. Since the early 2000s, the presence of ethnoracial issues in environmental criticism has become more visible, while scholars in ethnic studies have likewise started to pay more attention to environmental matters (Ecocriticism 11). In Beyond Walden Pond, Robert T. Hayashi argues for the consideration of nonwhite views of nature, specifically calling for the extension of the canon of environmental literature to deepen our understanding of the 7 environment (61). Journals such as Multi-Ethnic Literature of the United States (MELUS) are intentionally incorporating environmental criticism in conjunction with literature by people of color in the United States (11). Asian American literature specifically only recently garnered recognition in environmental criticism with the 2015 collection of articles titled Asian American Literature and the Environment, edited by Lorna Fitzsimmons, Youngsuk Chae, and Bella Adams, and Begoa Simal-Gonzlezs 2020 book Ecocriticism and Asian American Literature. These texts follow the throughlines of colonialism, capitalism, labor, and depictions of the environment found in Asian American Literature, examining texts ranging from Maxine Hong Kingstons China Men to Cynthia Kadohatas Weedflower. These critical texts are admittedly limited in scope but provide a starting point for the consideration of Asian American literatures through an ecocritical lens. Contemporary literature that actively engages with second-wave environmental criticism and other intertwined fields such as critical race or postcolonial studies often utilize magical realism as a means for writers to express a non-dominant or marginal position (Fachinger 4). Magical realism is a key element in postcolonial literature and literature that engages with the legacy of colonialism or imperialism more broadly. Homi Bhabha comments in Nation and Narration that magical realism is the literary language of the emergent postcolonial world (7). As discussed by Graham Huggan and Helen Tiffin in Postcolonial Ecocriticism, European colonists permanently altered the environment of colonized nations through exploitative and extractive capitalist practices and caused cultural derangement on a vast scale by imposing ontological and epistemological notions about what it means to be human or animal on indigenous populations (11). While Yamashita and Ozeki are not traditionally considered postcolonial writers, they engage with the legacy of colonialism through magical realism which 8 provides the means to defamiliarize events or objects so the reader views them in a new light, distancing the reader from the culturally destructive ideas imposed by repressive systems and refocusing on environmental injustice and marginalized groups (Holgate 3). It can be employed to create space in the often-polarizing conversations of race, globalization, and climate change, encouraging readers to consider these issues from alternate perspectives. These texts harbor a political potential in that they heighten the perception of usually obscured, or even indiscernible, links between phenomena of a different nature that turn out to be problematically interrelated (Of a Magical 203). Magical realism can be used to emphasize the effects of globalization on the local or underscore the absurdity of legislation that privileges corporations at the expense of the subaltern. However, while contemporary authors are consistently utilizing magical realism in literature to engage with environmental and social issues, there is a gap in environmental criticism related to magical realism. Rarely do critics who study magical realism endeavor to discuss the intersections between magical realism and environmental criticism and little (if any) research has been devoted to exploring the precise interconnections between ecocritical writings and magical realist motifs (Of a Magical 195). Likely this scarcity of scholarship between environmental literature and magical realism is related to the relatively short history of environmental criticism, particularly second-wave criticism, allowing critics like Begoa SimalGonzlez to expand the field (Holgate 4). Simal-Gonzlez acknowledges the near complete lack of scholarship pertaining to magical realist narratives in literature by people of color, identifying a growing genre of literature that requires further study and analysis (Of a Magical 195). According to Simal-Gonzlez, authors of color write from the margins and often experiment with alternative narrative devices, such as magical realism, blending multiple cultural perspectives 9 and contradictory worldviews (Of a Magical 204). Asian American writers, such as Yamashita and Ozeki, often have firsthand knowledge of the skewed distribution of environmental risks, as well as a heightened sense of capitalist exploitation of human beings and specific communities and employ magical realism to unearth the environmental unconscious (Of a Magical 204). Yamashita and Ozeki push beyond mere engagement with environmental issues through magical realism and create texts that spark the interest of readers to affect positive change beyond literature. Literature Guiding Literature I selected Karen Tei Yamashitas Tropic of Orange and Ruth Ozekis A Tale for the Time Being due to their clear contributions to environmental literature, their concerns pertaining to environmental justice, and their employment of magical realism, which, as I stated above, helps us understand environmentalism by defamiliarizing the reader and allowing us to view environmental issues from different perspectives. Second-wave environmental criticism in literature remains relevant by expanding to include issues like social justice and postcolonial issues, yet not enough emphasis is placed on the incorporation of texts by individuals of color to expand the perspectives of environmental criticism. The compounding factors that impact Asian American communities are uniquely challenging and often overlooked by scholars and environmental critics. The varied intersectionality of Asian American authors allows for perspectives that integrate historical contexts such as repeated restrictions to American immigration, colonial and military occupation, Japanese incarceration during World War II, and the model minority myth into the practice of environmental criticism. These narratives explore the effects of Asian diaspora and globalization through characters whose lives often straddle the 10 Pacific Ocean. Many Asian American authors choose to engage with the systemic injustice faced by other marginalized groups, as Yamashita does by incorporating her experiences living in Brazil to discuss the ecological effects of capitalism on the Latinx Third World. By analyzing texts by Asian American authors that discuss environmental issues as a facet of systemic injustice, we add a depth of experience to environmental criticism that revives underrepresented histories and suggests a path to achieve more equitable outcomes. By selecting Tropic of Orange and A Tale for the Time Being, I excluded countless other Asian American texts that would also yield valuable insights read through an ecocritical lens in favor of two texts that modeled environmentally conscious behaviors through magical guides that encourage the pursuit of more ethical futures for the subaltern. In Tropic of Orange, Manzanar and Arcangel serve as guides for the characters and the reader to achieve more ethical futures for the subaltern and Yamashita employs magical realism to engage with environmental issues and systemic injustice. Ozeki presents a series of magical guides in the form of crows and a 104-year-old Buddhist nun named Jiko Yasutani to lead the characters and the reader toward futures that encompass equity for all beings. Yamashita and Ozeki provide strategies for change through their guides by creating narratives that emphasize the perils of unchecked capitalism and the lasting effects of colonialism across the globe yet decline to engage in the sort of fatalist or dystopian speculative climate fiction that suggests humanity has irreparably damaged the environment. They present the unpleasant realities of so many that suffer due to racism, sexism, and environmental injustice, yet present possible paths for change. Likewise, Contemporary Asian American texts are not crafted in a vacuumauthors constantly speak to one another through their writings. Yamashitas and Ozekis novels serve as guides for Asian American authors to interrogate environmental issues in their own works. Yamashitas 1990 novel Through 11 the Arc of the Rainforest was a marked shift in Asian American literature, starting a pointed conversation of environmental issues within the field. My Year of Meats, released by Ozeki in 1998 confronts the connections between patriarchal systems and the dangers of the corporate meat industry, while her 2003 novel All Over Creation expounds on the dangers of agrobusiness and the need for biodiversity in modern farming. Many other Asian American authors elected to continue the dialogue of second-wave environmental criticism, interrogating the connections between environmental degradation and social justice. Yamashitas and Ozekis influence on Asian American authors is evident in contemporary literature, guiding writers to utilize environmental issues and magical realism in their novels and poetry. Julie Otsukas 2011 novel The Buddha in the Attic speaks to the Japanese immigrant laborers who struggled to build lives for themselves as farmers while facing racially motivated prejudice and violence. Otsuka employs a first-person plural narrative voice to emphasize the universal experience of immigrant workers, echoing Arcangels Latinx followers. Jung Yun presents an enlightening tale about North Dakotas Bakken oil boom, following the unexpected streams of destruction caused by unsafe drilling practices and rampant nationalism and racism through small midwestern communities in her 2021 novel O Beautiful. Elinor, the novels protagonist, uncovers the disturbing realities of ground water contamination and violence against women, paralleling Ruths concerns in A Tale for the Time Being about nuclear contamination following the Fukushima disaster. Magical realism is used in many contemporary Asian American novels to approach the deep ecological dysfunction in American trade policies, infrastructure, and treatment of the subaltern. Another novel, Ling Mas speculative Severance (2018), engages with the ways Western capitalism physically affects the health and safety of professional workers in the United States and laborers who manufacture goods abroad, 12 specifically in China. Mas novel reflects Yamashitas concerns about the long-term effects of globalization on workers and Manzanars musings on industrial pollution reaching Eastern shores. Meanwhile, Franny Chois poetry collection Soft Science employs magical realist tropes such as cyborgs and shapeshifters to explore the queer female Asian American experience, engaging with environmental issues through critical posthumanism and cyberfeminism. Chois collection employs many of the same principles of environmental criticism found in A Tale for the Time Being to describe and interpret the lives of Asian American women across the world. Through their novels, Yamashita and Ozeki serve as guides to Asian American authors, encouraging the continued interrogation of second-wave environmental criticism and the use of magical realism to advocate for a more ethical future for all beings. 13 Chapter 1 Is it a Crime to be Poor?: Subaltern Labor and Ethical Universalism in Karen Tei Yamashitas Tropic of Orange In Chapter 1, I examine how Manzanar Murakami and Arcangel function as guides to a more ethical future for people of color and the subaltern in Karen Yamashitas 1997 novel Tropic of Orange. Manzanar and Arcangel represent the struggles of their respective underrepresented groups, providing a comprehensive understanding of problematic American views of Asian and Latinx Americans while presenting possible paths to change. Yamashita employs Manzanar Murakami, a Japanese American living in Los Angeles, to reflect on the historical treatment of Asian Americans, including racially prejudiced immigration laws, Japanese internment camps during World War II, and the creation of the model minority myth. Manzanars experiences and associations create a character who intends to lead the residents of Los Angeles to a mindset of elevated ethics and ideal universalism, free from bigotry and oppression. Meanwhile, Arcangel, a 500-year-old performance artist, embodies Latinx communities that transcend the United States-Mexico border. Throughout the novel Arcangel traverses Mexico, amassing a following of individuals seeking futures free of exploitation and questioning the precepts of capitalism that legislation such as NAFTA allegedly intended to create balance between the United States and Mexico. Arcangel symbolizes the history of colonization across North and South America and defies the hegemonic rules associated with maps, borders, and ownership as he transports the Tropic of Cancer to Los Angeles. Together, Manzanar and Arcangel provide a path for all humanity to seek a more ethical future. Yamashita engages with environmental criticism throughout the novel, using guides equipped with magical realism to disassociate and refocus readers on deep ecology. Arne Naess 14 devised the phrase deep ecology to separate environmentalism into two groupsthe traditional form of environmental which supports anthropocentrism and contemporary outlooks that discard the man-in-environment image in favor of the relational total-field image (Stark 260). Deep ecology emphasises all life as intrinsically valuable, discarding the use-value paradigm that only privileges life deemed valuable through capitalism or other means of valuation. Environmentalist such as David Foreman and Robert Paehlke propose that all beings have value for their own sake (Girshin 161). By adopting the ethos that all life is valuable, one is less likely to view another creature as a resource (161). Similarly, anthropocentrism, or a human-centered point of view, has detrimental effects upon the quality of life of humans themselves and inhibits individuals from forming the deep pleasure and satisfaction we receive from close partnership[s] with other forms of life (Stark 260). Deep ecology affords opportunities to observe the connectedness of all beings and the universal impacts of racial injustice, systemic violence, and environmental destruction. These concepts of environmental criticism come together in Tropic of Orange through Yamashitas use of magical realism. In Climate and Crises: Magical Realism as Environmental Discourse, Ben Holgate explains the easy relationship between environmental criticism and magical realism in literature, stating, a nonrealistic mode like magical realism helps environmental criticism deconstruct assumed, normative conventions due to its fluidity of realms and capacity to break down boundaries (Holgate 4). Magical realism enables Manzanar and Arcangel to function as guides to explore environmental criticism and deep ecology. Many multicultural contemporary American authors, specifically Latinx and Asian authors, engage with the ideas Yamashita addresses in Tropic of Orange, including migrant labor and the ecological effects of globalization. Yamashitas experiences residing in Brazil provide 15 her with a unique perspective on the diaspora of Japanese immigrants to the Americas and the lives of Latinx peoples outside the United States. Her writing is heavily influenced by Latinx voices such as Gabriel Garca Mrquez, basing some aspects of Arcangel on Mrquezs short story A Very Old Man with Enormous Wings. The old man in the story is caged and treated as a sideshow because of his magical deformity; Yamashita recreates a similar scene with Arcangel performing in a cage for a martini drinking Mrquez. References to Guillermo Gmez-Peas work as a performance artist and writer permeate the novel, influencing Arcangels creative endeavors and his walk to Los Angeles. In GiLArex, a musical first performed in1989, also sometimes titled Godzilla Comes to Little Tokyo, Yamashita explores environmental issues in southern California and Japanese identity and depicts the first iterations of Manzanar and Emi, later revived in Tropic of Orange. GiLArex, a revamped depiction of Godzilla as a dinosaur, erupts from the Manzanar concentration camp and wreaks havoc all over L.A. until Manzanar conducts the monster back to the camp, destroying an aqueduct in the process and returning water to the desert (Sheffer 88). Yamashitas work is in conversation with many contemporary American authors of color approaching social and environmental issues in their works including Cherre Moragas 1994 play Heroes and Saints, which confronts the dangers and injustices migrant laborers face in the United States through magical realism, utilizing an impossibly disabled protagonist to interrogate agricultural practices and guide her community to stand against big agro-business. Though the play is a work of fiction, it responds to the United Farm Workers grape boycott to protest the poisoning of agricultural laborers by pesticides, a sentiment echoed through Arcangel as the allegory of labor and guide to subaltern workers (Moraga 89). Yamashitas guides speak to various contemporary topics in multicultural American literature, including the enduring effects of colonialism and racism, criticism of 16 American capitalism, and environmental justice. She employs a magical realist style that allows the characters to transcend boundaries as they direct their communities beyond their limitations. My research will examine how Manzanars and Arcangels goals are situated in the larger interdisciplinary conversations of colonialism, racism, capitalism, and environmental justice and how Yamashitas literary style allows for an exploration of potential futures that broadly demand the ethical treatment of all persons, regardless of race, socioeconomic status, or nationality. Manzanar Murakami: A Guide to Elevated Ethics and Ideal Universalism Manzanar is a Japanese American man who casts off the stress and trauma of skilled labor and intentionally experiences homelessness on the streets of Los Angeles to engage in the creative pursuit of transforming the noise and movement of the interstate into a great society, an entire civilization of sound (Yamashita 33). Conducting traffic, symbolically and progressively literally, is how Manzanar serves as a guide toward a more ethical future for Los Angelenos and readers. He perceives his labors as a symphony of which he is both composer and conductor, compelling the commuters of Los Angeles to seek more universally beneficial outcomes by recognizing systems of oppression that damage the greater ecology. Manzanar is a guide both individual and universalthrough his personal experiences and his magical realist perspective he influences Angelenos and readers. As a character, Yamashita employs Manzanar to introduce commentary about identity, place, systemic racism, skilled and creative labor, and social justice as an individual practice. Manzanars magical labors as a conductor guide the reader and the city to engage with deep ecology and environmental justice concerns through his ideal universalism, focusing on the interconnectedness of life along the Pacific Rim, special segregation, and inequities created by urban infrastructure. 17 Yamashita employs naming as a cue to historical events, compelling the reader to examine how names and language serve as markers of individual identity, hybridity, cultural fluidity, and place. Gabriel comments that Manzanar crafted his name from the internment camp where he was allegedly born, Manzanar Concentration Camp in Owen Valley (95). By changing his name, he removes his individuality, directing anyone who inquiries about him to confront the historical realities of the American treatment of Japanese immigrants. In John Blair Gambers book Positive Pollutions and Cultural Toxins: Waste and Contamination in Contemporary U.S. Ethnic Literatures, he analyzes the importance of Manzanars name to understanding his identity. As a person experiencing homelessness, Manzanar reflects the loss of home suffered by interned Japanese Americans, though his name provides additional cultural references for the reader to unravel (Gamber 123). Gamber states: It is difficult to ascertain the truth of Manzanars naming Nonetheless, his name speaks to a critical element about him. He is born of the cultural toxins of forced relocation, internment, and dispossession, in a site of prior relocations and dispossession (of indigenous people by Mexican and later U.S. settler colonists, of Mexican Californios by Anglo squatters, of family farmers by superwealthy urbanites, and of Japanese Americans by a xenophobic and racist federal government). Manzanars name speaks to a liquidity of identity that belies the administrative containment ideology that led to its generation. (123-124) In GiLArex, Manzanar returns to his site of incarceration to put to rest the monster created in part by the cultural loses caused by Japanese internment (Sheffer 87). Manzanars identity is irrevocably linked to the violence against Japanese Americans and serves as a touchstone for readers, but his identity remains fluid as he transitions from prisoner, to student, to doctor, to 18 homeless conductor. Yamashita represents other Asian characters as equally culturally fluid, particularly Bobby Ngu, who falsely creates his name to invoke the Vietnamese boat people, disguising his Chinese heritage (15). Bobbys identity is altered by his lexical disguise and is further complicated by his fluency in Spanish, allowing him to capably participate in the multicultural environment of Southern California. Both Manzanar and Bobbys names represent a loss of place, each expelled from home due to U.S. military and economic forces, underscoring the mechanisms that forced them to adopt fluid identities to survive (Gamber 124). Through his name, Manzanar refuses to permit Los Angelenos to forget the treatment of Japanese Americans during his lifetime and leads the reader to create a more constructive future through memory. Manzanars decision to abandon his family and his profession as a surgeon to live as a creative experiencing homelessness serves to question the model minority myth and systemic racism to exemplify a difficult yet rewarding path for Asian Americans that overcomes the expectations of white Americans. After Manzanars break from his family, the Japanese American community of Los Angeles continues to ensure he is clothed and fed while apologizing profusely for this blight on their image as the Model Minority (Yamashita 34). After WWII and various changes to immigration laws, Asian immigrants and Asian Americans were touted to achieve higher standards of academic and employment status than other racial groups, attempting to disguise racial inequality in the United States with additional prejudice (Hsu 21). Manzanars life spans the history of white Americans believing ethnic Asians []as essentially foreign, inassimilable, and therefore probably threats to national security to Asian Americans being glorified as superior to other minority groups (Hsu 5). His identity shifted from prisoner to renowned surgeon to someone intentionally experiencing homelessness from the 19 1940s to the 1990s, an irreconcilable path influenced by race-based discrimination. Despite his complicated relationship with the Japanese Americans as a community, Manzanar represents the shifting and fluid identities of Asian Americans and functions as a guide to the reader to question the problematic treatment of Asian immigrants by American citizens and the federal government. While Yamashita examines the realities and inequities of labor among the working class through Arcangels struggles, she utilizes Manzanar to explore professional labor, interrogating the trauma and stress associated with participating in a profit driven enterprise like the American healthcare system. Manzanar was a skilled surgeon before he walked away from his life and declined to continue to labor in corporate medicine and capitalism at large, establishing a path for him to work outside the system to provide guidance toward a more favorable path. Manzanar participated in Americas system of higher education, overcoming racism and prejudice that imprisoned him as a child, providing him access to gainful employment within a for-profit medical system that favors those of higher socioeconomic status while leaving more vulnerable populations without sufficient healthcare options. The commodification of healthcare in America damages the greater ecology by devaluing the poor and marketing the labor of healthcare workers as a product, rather than a public service. Though Yamashita never clearly articulates why he walked away from his family and career, Manzanar expresses anxiety about the physical reality of humans independent of machines, implying an inability to reconcile his experiences as a medical practitioner. When faced with humans outside their vehicles, Manzanar recognizes the relative defenselessness of the human form with surprise and disgust and recalled intimately the geography of the human body and cutting through soft tissue, suggesting his surgical career traumatized him (Yamashita 177). His labor-induced distress caused him to reject his professional career and filial commitments and seek a life of artistic expression: 20 His work had entailed careful incisions through layers of living tissue, excising tumors, inserting implants, facilitating transplants. At what point the baton replaced the knife, he could no longer remember. Perhaps the skill had never left his fingers, but the will had. He could as easily have translated his talents to that of a sculptor in clay, wood, or even marbleany sort of inanimate substance, but strangely, it was the abstraction of music that engulfed his being (51). Music transformed his life and provided him with a new form of service outside the bounds of skilled professional labor. Manzanars trauma forced him to separate himself from the people he dedicated his life to serving and directed him to his new form of service in the abstract. Regardless of his trauma, he is determined to track and influence the movements and lives of the humans in Los Angeles through art, leading them toward a more equitable tomorrow free of suffering for skilled professional laborers. Manzanar becomes a personal, if somewhat unenthusiastic, guide to Gabriel in The Tropic of Orange, revealing how Manzanar can function beyond his role as conductor to guide individuals toward more constructive outcomes as Gabriel transitions from unbiased reporter to investigative journalist and change agent in Latin America. Manzanars reluctance to communicate directly with Gabriel leads Buzzworm to stand in as the interviewer for Gabriels meeting, injecting his own agenda (Yamashita 95). Buzzworm intends to leverage Gabriels position of power to discuss social issues and encourage the development of programs to support the subaltern residents of LA, and while Gabriel does not disagree with Buzzworms motives for this story he believes that Manzanar has more to offer than simply representing the homeless population of LA. Gabriel is preoccupied with the feeling that there was something I had to learn from this man, something I needed him to impart to me, not as the subject of an interview 21 or an investigation, but something he could teach me, as if he were some sort of conducting shaman, as if he held a great secret, as if he knew the way (96). Gabriels observations and desire to seek Manzanars guidance foreshadow the events on the freeway and help to refocus Gabriel on altering the lives of those affected by systemic violence and disenfranchisement. By observing Manzanars efforts to improve the lives of Angelenos, Gabriel pursues opportunities to assist Subcomandante Marcos in his fight to protect Chiapas villages and disrupt international organ smuggling by creating online news forums to spread information. Gabriels humanitarian efforts aim to positively affect the environment and draw attention to the problematic application of use-value against communities and individuals of the Third World. Manzanars example as an agent of positive change influences Gabriel to seek opportunities utilize his talents as an investigator and writer to create more equitable and constructive futures for the subaltern and positively impact the greater ecology. Manzanar believes in a secular, ideal universalism that encompasses all human life indiscriminately and pursues this ethic to influence Los Angelenos to constantly strive for more beneficial futures en masse. Sue-Im Lee explains that Manzanars intention as a conductor is to pronounce the absolute interconnectedness of humans (Lee 513). Universalism, especially in a political setting, leverages the status quo and the ideal to determine a baseline that can encompass all individuals. As a political instrument, universalism smooths over differences, erasing identities and unequal power dynamics in the name of order. Political universalism fosters binaries, creating an environment for continued exploitation of marginalized groups. Lee explains that the history of universalism is a history of a tool of oppressionthe discursive and material coerciveness of a few who presume to speak for all (Lee 504). However, Manzanar envisions a world striving to realize a more dynamic universalism, as an antifoundational, 22 nonnormative force of political necessity, the ideal and the impossible dimension are crucial universalism as an ideal that cannot be achieved and as a perennial ingredient in all human struggles for hegemony (Lee 513). Ideal universalism is ultimately impossible and Manzanars endeavor to instill an ethic of equity and cooperation between all humans requires constant effort. Manzanar conducts to guide all populations of Los Angeles toward a more ethical future while understanding that the pursuit, not the result, is imperative. Yamashita further hones Manzanars ideal universalism through environmental critique, engaging with the interconnectedness of East and West and ultimately leading the interstate dwellers to realize his ambition of a more ethical future. As Manzanar remembers his life prior to his calling to conduct traffic, he is overcome with a vision of the Pacific Ocean (Yamashita 146). He envisions the Pacific brimming over long coastal shores from one hemisphere to the other (146). He recalls the names of places he has never visited and looked out on this strange end and beginning: the very last point West, and after that it was all East (146). Manzanar connects the manmade and naturally occurring, declining to separate the two into distinct categories, emphasizing the principles of deep ecology present in his concept of universalism. While other characters in the novel clearly engage with environmental degradation and the long-term effects of globalization, Manzanar focuses on the ways that humans are an integral part of the greater ecology while avoiding overt criticism. During his reverie about the Pacific, Manzanar notes the existence of garbage jettisoned back prohibiting further progress, recognizing the pollution created by Western capitalism that is carried out on Eastern shores (146). Environmental injustice in Asian countries continues to directly affect those of lower socioeconomic status, though Yamashita takes this opportunity to identify the consequences through the greater worldwide ecology. The crescendo of Manzanars great effort to conduct the inhabitants of the 23 interstate toward a more ethical future occurs as his estranged granddaughter Emi dies at the hands of the police, forcing Manzanar to drop his arms and observe the ocean beyond the rim. He witnesses waves of natural and human garbage thrown back again and again, again drawing attention to the waste created by capitalist globalization as it turns up on the coastline of California (219). His mention of human garbage conjures additional meanings, correlating globalization and the subaltern who are treated as garbage due to use-valuation present in Western capitalism (219). Though Manzanar ceases to conduct the symphony of Los Angeles, the grassroots conductors take up his lead and the baton to end the violence on the interstate, realizing a future where human life is not discarded like refuse. Yamashita counters the traditional binaries of environmental criticism through Manzanars engagement with magical realism, allowing him to literally control freeway traffic, achieve a near omniscient view of the city, and positively alter the lives of the underprivileged. Magical realism is an effective method for exploring environmental criticism in fiction as it presents the magical or the unreal in an ordinary, everyday manner, such that the real and the unreal are juxtaposed, allowing readers to become defamiliarized with the objects or events and view them in a new light (Holgate 3). Through magical realism, the binaries of human versus nature and non-human or nature versus culture are challenged and ultimately revealed to be social constructs. In Of a Magical Nature: The Environmental Unconscious Begoa Simal argues, environmentality is also encoded in magical realism through both literal and metaphorical renditions of the frictions between the capitalist notion of progress and the survival of the earth as we know it (Simal 194). In this way, Yamashita utilizes deep ecology to undermine capitalism through Manzanars fantastical oversight of Los Angeles. When Manzanar ceased to perform his roles as a father and surgeon, he followed an ancient tortoise out into a 24 deep place in his brain, allowing him to function as a character that transcends the constraints of the realities of human capabilities and consciousness (Yamashita 218). Manzanars unique perspective permits him to recognize Los Angeles as a complete ecology, acknowledging the inextricable connection between the man-made and the naturally occurring. He is prone to classifying vehicles and other man-made constructs as blurred with the humans that occupy them, identifying a car as a thing with intelligence. He envisioned the person within as the pulpy brain of each vehicle, a defenseless human body within each protective vehicle shell (177). Large vehicles are described as autonomous and animate, suggesting agency in great land-roving semis which lay immobile and formidable red fire trucks, poising themselves defensively around the victims, underscoring the ways man-made objects affect the greater ecology in unintentional ways (104). Manzanars magical perception becomes a way of observing reality beyond the constraints of human understanding of deep ecology. He observes a blending of the borders between naturally occurring and man-made objects, allowing the reader to achieve a new perspective on routine interactions such as between a vehicle and a person and reflect on the impact of man-made objects on the living. Likewise, naturally occurring land features in Tropic of Orange are forever altered by man-made infrastructure, creating a new, complex global ecology that Manzanar can interpret and influence as he leads the residents toward more constructive outcomes. Manzanar is unencumbered by personal affairs, allowing him to examine the urban ecology of Los Angeles through his seemingly omniscient perspective powered by magical realism: For Manzanar they began within the very geology of the land, the artesian rivers running beneath the surface, connected and divergent, shifting and swelling. There was the complex and normal silent web of faultscracking like mud flats baking under a desert 25 sun, like the crevices in aging hands and faces. Yet, below the surface, there was the manmade grid of civil utilities On the surface, the complexity of layers should drown an ordinary person, but ordinary persons never bother to notice, never bother to notice the prehistoric grid of plant and fauna and human behavior, nor the historic grid of land usage and property, the great overlays of transportsidewalks, bicycle paths, roads, freeways, systems of transit both ground and air, a thousand natural and manmade divisions, variations both dynamic and stagnant, patterns and connection by every conceivable definition from the distribution of wealth to race, from patterns of climate to the curious blueprint of the skies (52). The ecology is indelibly transformed by man-made infrastructure, altering the movements, habits, and health of the human and non-human. In large urban spaces such as Los Angeles, infrastructure creates physical boundaries to perpetuate social boundaries, such as socioeconomic status. Buzzworm does not own a vehicle and spends most of his time in Los Angeles on foot, creating a routine perspective that is defined by his ability to move within the space (i.e., his neighborhood and adjacent neighborhoods). Buzzworms entrenched perception shifts when he is given a ride on the interstate, realizing that the interstate functions as a bridge that avoids his urban spaces and allowed drivers to skip out over his house, his streets, his part of time. You never had to see it ever. Only thing you could see that anybody might take notice of were the palm trees (31). Interstates forcibly edit the perception of motorists, not only removing undesirable neighborhoods from their view but also their consciousness. Spaces below the interstate melt away into urban sprawl and divide humanity by class. The residents of such urban landscapes often suffer from educational and infrastructure inequities due to a decreased tax base, they have diminished access to healthful food, such as fresh produce, and are more likely to 26 be exposed to various forms of pollution, such as air and noise. Manzanars ruminations about inequity serve to guide the reader to a better understanding of influences on the greater ecology and to encourage the pursuit of more equitable futures for the subaltern. Manzanars unique perspective of Los Angeles and his status as a person of color experiencing homelessness interrogates the segregation inherent in the design of the city and how systemic spatial segregation transforms the ecology of a given area. As a component of ecology, the wellbeing of humans must be considered when applying environmental criticism. Physical urban segregation functions to guarantee communities of color remain segregated by perpetuating a system that restricts their access to power. Nationally about one-third of African Americans live under conditions of hypersegregation-conditions of extreme spatial isolation that make it very unlikely that they would have encounters with whites in the course of everyday life The material construction of the ghetto shapes political possibility in a very direct way, for this residential isolation has precluded the emergence of cross-racial political coalitions (Bickford 360). Often these neighborhoods are in physically undesirable areas, adjacent to industry or impacted by other sources of pollution and may be more exposed to the aftermath of natural disasters, such as flooding. Racially and socioeconomically mixed communities could potentially wield greater political power, preventing inequities experienced currently in segregated communities. In their book Uneven Urbanscape: Spatial Structures and Ethnoracial Inequality, Paul Ong and Silvia Gonzalez explain that the freeway system of Los Angeles itself has had a profound impact on communities of color as Los Angeles is designed to favor individuals with a personal vehicle and remains car-dependent despite a substantial increase in its rail system (Ong 109). Far fewer people of color own vehicles in Los Angeles than whites, forcing them to rely on outdated and insufficient mass transit, such as bus or rail, and restricting 27 their access to higher-paying employment. Vehicle ownership in densely populated urban areas is less likely for those of a lower socioeconomic status due to the cost of payments and repairs. Additionally, higher insurance rates often plague those who reside in less desirable neighborhoods due to segregation (113). While the construction of infrastructure such as interstates in segregated neighborhoods devalues communities, Manzanars perspective allows the reader an opportunity for deeper analysis of the structures that allow the continued segregation and exploitation of urban communities to seek more equitable outcomes for those affected by such practices. Constraints to educational opportunities are another consequence of spatial segregation exposed by Manzanars understanding of Los Angeles, providing additional opportunities for readers to recognize systemic injustice and seek positive change to the greater ecology. Urban educational systems are place-based, relying on the local tax base to fund schools and placing children of color at a disadvantage. Manzanars status as a highly educated surgeon suggests he was privileged enough to access better than average education, yet his magical near-omniscient perspective allows him to recognize educational inequities on those of lesser means and communities of color. During Manzanars first chapter, he reflects on the ways that education utilizes the interstate, noting the absence of school buses, teacher vehicles, and minivans typical of the middle class as summer break alleviates traffic congestion (Yamashita 33). Students from more affluent areas can attend schools outside their local area, such as charter or private schools, that place the burden of transportation on individual families, represented by the mothers and their early-morning Chrysler and Previa vanpools traversing the freeways of Los Angeles (33). Ong and Gonzalez explain, within the educational sphere [of Los Angeles], the urban spatial structure defines how resources are allocated among neighborhoods, the way negative and 28 positive externalities are concentrated by locations, and the level of accessibility to educational enriching opportunities scattered throughout the region (148). Interstates facilitate the education of individuals who have access to reliable transportation, relegating those of lower socioeconomic status to local schools. American elementary schools are anchored to the immediate neighborhood, creating educational segregation that not only isolates students of color, but also confines them to the disadvantages of the immediate environment (146). The lack of accessible public transportation within Los Angeles further restricts the educational mobility of students. Ultimately, children of color are the victims of a system that perpetuates separate and unfair structures that contribute to an intergenerational reproduction of ethnoracial stratification (Ong 146). Spatial segregation of urban spaces perpetuates continued stress on communities due to a lack of sufficient access to education, damaging the greater ecology by the continued exploitation of the subaltern. Manzanars observations guide the reader to examine transportation infrastructure and place-based education, uncovering another layer of systemic injustice imposed against communities of color and seek possible avenues for change. Conducting traffic, figuratively and gradually literally, is the way that Manzanar intends to act as a guide toward a more ethical future. He, both as composer and conductor, directs the drivers of Los Angeles to acknowledge systems of oppression that harm the greater ecology and pursue more universally favorable outcomes. Throughout the novel Yamashita employs mounting magical realism as his performance becomes increasingly impactful to the inhabitants of Los Angeles, generating auditory hallucinations in individuals and several massive accidents. His actions create a temporary utopia of overlooked and oppressed Los Angeles residents, growing vegetables, providing sanitation, and producing television shows that humanize the usually subaltern residents. The infrastructure that once functioned as a barrier between 29 socioeconomic groups and concealed the subaltern from public view became a stage, lifting the interstates residents into the national consciousness. By the end of the novel, Arcangels followers mingle with Manzanars, creating countless grassroots conductors (218) and a melody that everyone could sing the words in their own language (222). Manzanar retires from his role as conductor and guide having led his followers to a mindset that could create a more ethical future, demonstrated by the orchestrated explosion of airbags across the city (218). The airbag deployment effectively ends the violence against the unarmed residents of the freeway, creating the opportunity for people of all walks of life to reconcile their trauma together. Arcangel: Conquistador of the North and the Allegory of Labor Arcangel embodies Latinx communities across North and South America, regardless of borders. Arcangel represents those effected by European colonization of the Americas and confronts the hegemony of maps, borders, and ownership as he conveys the Tropic of Cancer toward southern California. His path crosses Mexico, accumulating a congregation of subaltern individuals pursuing outcomes free of exploitation. As the Conquistador of the North, Arcangels crusade of laborers seeks the establishment of a New World Border and the conversion of capitalism and unequal power structures to systems that prioritize the needs of the workers and the greater ecology (170). Yamashita continues to employ the principles of contemporary environmental criticism, including deep ecology and the use-value paradigm, through Arcangels quest to improve outcomes for subaltern laborers. While they travel north, Arcangel presses his followers to question the principles of First World capitalism, including trade agreements like NAFTA and other legislation that claims equality between the United States and Mexico while simultaneously creating structural inequity and endangering the lives of 30 workers through violence, pollution, and insufficient access to healthful foods. Mirroring Manzanars secular universalism, Arcangel advances a universal ethic that prioritizes the equity and inclusion of workers. Additionally, he becomes an allegory of labor, critiquing the subjugation of unskilled and creative labor by American capitalism. Ultimately, Arcangel leads his followers beyond the limitations established by colonizing governments and American capitalism and presents them the opportunity to construct more equitable futures for themselves in the North of his dreams. Yamashita prefaces The Tropic of Orange with an epigraph from Freefalling Toward a Borderless Future by Guillermo Gomez-Pea: standing on the map of my political desires/ I toast to a borderless future (2). Pea envisions a future where all parts of the Americas are acknowledged as one, incorporated entity; a future where one unified body is formed from Alaskan hair to Antarctic feet that defies predetermined political borders (2). Yamashita recognizes that the invented borders drawn between the First and the Third World sustain hegemony and imagines a world where borders become permeable. In a 2005 interview with Jean Vengua Gier and Carla Alicia Tejeda, Yamashita explains that Arcangel is a literary interpretation of Pea, incorporating Peas politically charged poetry and garish performance art (Gier). Yamashita continues, Arcangel's performance is grotesque, freakish, yet Christ-like, accounting for 500 years of history in the Americas He takes the poetry, and also the political conscience and history across the border (Gier). To achieve Peas borderless future Arcangel displaces the Tropic of Cancer, guiding his fellow subaltern Latinx laborers to disrupt the power structures between the Third and First World. Though the Tropic of Cancer is a celestial phenomenon, Arcangel considers it a manmade border with ancient Western connotations. In a dream, Arcangel observes the Tropic of Cancer, a border made plain by the sun itself, a border 31 one can easily recognize (64). The orange on Gabriels property that is entangled with the Tropic of Cancer is the vehicle for Arcangels rejection of the hegemonic rules associated with maps and borders. He slowly migrates the Tropic of Cancer to Los Angeles, shortening the distance between the two points, and creating a path for Third World laborers to safely traverse the boundaries of the First World. By displacing the Tropic of Cancer, Arcangel disrupts the status quo and begins to guide his followers to achieve more ethical futures beyond the confines of imaginary borders. The improbable out-of-season orange growing on Gabriels property defies borders and serves as an example of colonization in agriculture that alters ecosystems and the lives of indigenous peoples. Arcangel observes an orange rolling away to a space between ownership and the highway, highlighting the futility of owned property (64). The mobility of the orange undermines structures of property and indigeneity as it rolls beyond the bounds of Gabriels land. The history of oranges in the Americas is one of colonization beginning with Columbus and orange trees being transported to California in the 1800s (Gamber 140). The navel variety was then grafted from Brazilian trees onto existing root systems in California (140). Gabriel transplanted the navel orange tree that bore the enchanted fruit from Riverside, California, romanticizing his attempt to repatriate the navel orange, undeterred by the hybridity of the tree (Yamashita 13). The orange, along with the Tropic of Cancer, is transported to the market by the woman with the cart of cactus leaves. The unnamed market vendor is afforded the power to alter the structure of observed reality by carrying the orange, beginning the refutation of maps and borders by the subaltern. Upon meeting Arcangel, she declares the orange worthless as it is not imported, applying the relationship between perceived value and national origin associated with humans throughout the novel to goods. Regardless, Arcangel recognizes the intrinsic value of the 32 orange as the physical embodiment of the Tropic of Cancer and adds it to his collection of possessions contained in his suitcase (67). The orange tangled with the Tropic of Cancer is a product of multiple importations and migrations as humans transplanted orange trees across the Americas, establishing hybrids that flourished in the various climates and soils where they were planted, suggesting a path for Latinx immigrants to seek more favorable prospects for themselves regardless of borders. The colonization metaphor of the orange continues throughout the novel as a shipment of oranges from Brazil are found to contain highly concentrated levels of cocaine, emphasizing the rhetoric of fear American media outlets utilize to other Latinx communities (120). As Buzzworm listens to the radio news updates every twenty-two minutes, the language used to describe the oranges emphasizes their toxicity as a direct result of their foreignness. Initially, the media reports the incident as a spiked orange alert, (119) suggesting an intentional act by someone, but the event itself is merely an alert, something to be considered as a standalone crime, invoking caution, not panic (Gamber 142). During subsequent radio news reports, the language shifts toward xenophobia and fear, labeling the incident as an illegal orange scare, (120) then an illegal alien orange scare, and finally death oranges (121). Gamber comments, Each of these terms, of course, alludes to immigration, inciting panic and resentment that reflects the alarm generally associated with the federal governments rhetoric toward immigrants, specifically those from Latin America (142). Oranges become a symbol of foreignness, serving as a proxy for immigrants from Mexico and South America, allowing Americans to exert their anger and fears on the inanimate oranges. The oranges come to represent the subaltern, often exploited as migrant farm labor, manipulated by drug cartels, and condemned by the American 33 government; the subaltern that Arcangel intends to lead to a more equitable futures by disregarding borders that perpetuate hegemony. By intertwining oranges and the drug trade, Yamashita provides Arcangel the opportunity to lead laborers trapped within the employment of cartels to a more ethical future while allowing the reader to consider the ways the American government unfairly targets those of lower socioeconomic status rather than the powerful who fuel demand. The oranges are used as a vessel to smuggle cocaine to the United States to satisfy the demands of American consumers for illegal drugs, pointing to the violent and exploitative nature of the drug industry in Latin America that Arcangel and Rodriguez posit is chiefly driven by the demand in the United States. The American War on Drugs destabilized governments across Latin America and the implementation of NAFTA all but destroyed Mexican agriculture, exposing workers across the region to poverty. While many fled Latin America and immigrated to the United States, other faced exploitation by drug cartels to provide for their families. Rodriguezs son was the victim of violence for his involvement in the drug trade while attempting to improve the lives of his family through a product that continues to find its way across the border to the United States despite the American governments constant attempts to thwart drug trafficking by cartels (Yamashita 127). Rodriguezs son asserted that drugs have come to kill our poverty and marry our politics. Its a very powerful marriage. Join the honeymoon while it lasts (126). Arcangel recollects his experience burying the bodies of six hundred anonymous victims of a drug war over the innocent indigenous [coca] plant (126). Rodriguez comments that all the drug traffic goes north to the gringos. If they want it so much, why dont they plant it in their own backyards? Make it in their own factories? (126). Drug production and trafficking involve the exploitation and endangerment of countless individuals at every level of the process, from the farm laborers 34 growing the marijuana and coca plants, to the individuals coerced to transport drugs across the border, to the dealers distributing products in the United States. The drug trade is driven by American demand, yet the American government wages covert wars against the cartels on foreign soil and American laws overwhelmingly criminalize the dealers, smugglers, and users who are people of color or lower socioeconomic status. Yamashitas use of oranges as the vessel of drug trade encourages readers to interrogate how American legislation and law enforcement unfairly target the subaltern associated with the drug trade and affords Arcangel the opportunity to spread his universalist ethic by leading individuals caught in the employ of the cartels toward more constructive outcomes. Arcangel develops a universalist ethic that runs parallel to Manzanars ideal universalism, focusing on correcting the balance of power between the First and Third World as he heads north, of course searching for his manifest destiny of pursuing an ethical universalism and encouraging his followers to do the same (114). His ethical universalism is rooted in the principles of deep ecology, exhibiting social injustice as damaging to the greater ecology. Arcangel serves as an allegory of labor and seeks to claim the rights and privileges of the First World for the Third World, destroying the colonial structures of racism that view Third World workers as expendable and infinitely exploitable. This model of universalism Arcangel desires to achieve acknowledges the contradiction of universalism as the site of an impossible/necessary dialectic which reject[s] the unidirectional, imperialist deployments of universalism without rejecting the concept itself (Lee 505). Sue-Im Lee argues that The globalist we, indeed, is a central protagonist in the First World's discourses of politics, commerce, and culture, crucial to its narrative of progress and development (502). Yamashita engages with the idea of the global village, another form of universalism that is 35 unidirectional, driven by the imperialist few who presume to speak for all through Arcangel and his group of Latinx followers (503). The crowd that quickly develops around Arcangel as he begins in earnest to reach the United States manifests as an anonymous group of Latinx workers, finding their voice as a chorus of we, comprised of the imagined community of the overworked global village (507). Together the crowd labors to surge the bus across the New World Border [which] waited for him with the anticipation of five centuries imagining himself to be the great Conquistador of the North, claiming the rights enjoyed by the First World for the Third (170). The universalism proposed by Arcangel, depicted by the seemingly anonymous workers traveling with him across the United States border, is a method of guiding his followers in the novel and the reader to pursue more constructive tomorrows. The homogeneity of the group emphases the subaltern and impoverished nature of all Third World laborers, regardless of profession, and their desire to enter the United States to improve their lives. He leads hundreds of thousands of the unemployed across the border, all entering the United States with nothing in their hands (171). As Arcangel leads the laborers toward Los Angeles, the antagonistic American crowds accuse the immigrants of being illegal, prompting Arcangel to ask, Is it a crime to be poor? Can it be illegal to be a human being? (181). In response, the laborers chanted, Is it a crime to be poor? Is it a crime to be poor? (181). This question introduces the idea of intrinsic value into Arcangels universalism, rejecting the insistence by the First World that the lives of Third World immigrants be judged based on their use-value. The use-value paradigm is a concept raised within the deep ecology movement of environmental criticism. David Foreman explains the use-value paradigm states simply and essentially that all living creatures and communities possess intrinsic value, inherent worth. Natural things live for their 36 own sake, which is another way of saying they have value (Girshin 152). Placing value exclusively on the usefulness of a being is problematic as it justifies the inhumane treatment of those who are viewed as resources rather than individuals that have value regardless of utility. Thomas Girshin explains that one of the primary arguments in favor of the use-value paradigm is the idea that all entities are valuable in and of themselves is that nothing exists in isolation, suggesting that the unequal treatment of an individual or group harms all living beings (152). The use-value paradigm is essential to Arcangels attempt to lead Latinx laborers to a more ethical future, as it disregards the perceived differences between the First and Third Worlds and demands equity for the subaltern. The use-value paradigm submits that the exploitation of Latinx labor by the First World is not a unidirectional act of injustice but damages the First World as well. Arcangels vision of universalism seeks to achieve the rights and privileges of the First World for Latinx workers, allowing both groups to benefit from the equitable exchange he proposes while improving the greater ecology. By leading the migration of workers to the United States to create improved prospects for themselves, Arcangel serves as an allegory of labor, critiquing the oppression of workers by American capitalism. Yamashita constructs the 500-year-old man who journeys from Tierra del Fuego across the many geological and archeological wonders of South and Central America and who claims to have witnessed countless historic events to embody the spirit of Latinx laborers through a single character whose existence is a work of magical realism. Lee explains that Arcangel is allegorical of labors movement from the south to the north, from the Third World to the First World, the shift literally destabilizes the topography of the land (504). The movement of the Tropic of Orange creates a fantastical shift of South to North that blends both spaces, destabilizing the power of the First World by disregarding their illusory boundaries. He 37 performs isolated acts of physical labor throughout the novel: clearing the street of the truck carrying oranges, assisting Rodrigues to construct a brick wall on Gabriels property on the Tropic of Cancer, hauling the bus carrying Sol and the orange, and finally combatting SUPERNAFTA. These seemingly mundane tasks become increasingly consequential to the futures of the migrants as he guides them single-handedly across the border into Los Angeles and attempts to defeat the capitalist structures that maintain their oppression. Arcangels representation of labor is not restricted to physical labor, but ventures into the creative, suggesting the potential for Third World creative labor to gain the level of respect as a profession enjoyed by creatives in the First World. Like Manzanar, Arcangel personifies creative labor through his performance art and poetry. Arcangel continuously embodies a character of his own design: He was actor and prankster, mimic and comic, freak, a one-man circus act. He did it all himselfthe animals, the scenery, the contraptions, the music, the sound effects, all the characters, the narration, advertising, and tickets (Yamashita 43) He combines a variety of languages and dialects, both Western and Indigenous, generating great confusion discernible to all and to none at all (43). Yamashitas novel acknowledges the disparity between physical (or so-called unskilled) labor, creative labor, and professional labor in the United States: across the border, they had a name for such multiple types: they would call him a performance artist. This designation would entitle him to local, state, federal, and private funding (43). Through a capitalist lens, creative labor is often considered less valuable than professional labor unless it elevates the artist to the level of the elite. As a creative in the Third World Arcangel does not have access to monetize his art on that scale, forcing him to survive on the charity of his audiences and the occasional job as a day laborer. Likewise, creative skill alone is not recognized as a desirable factor in immigration to the United States unless it is accompanied by notoriety 38 and access to capital; only affluent or famous creatives can hope to immigrate to the United States for their talents. Arcangels status as a creative in the Third World further interrogates how hegemonic power structures diminish labor that does not focus on utility and incorporates creatives into his vision for a more prosperous future. Through Arcangels pilgrimage across Mexico, Yamashita provides ample opportunities for the reader to examine the undesirable effects of NAFTA on the greater ecology, including Mexican workers. Arcangels wrestling persona, El Gran Mojado, intends to battle SUPERNAFTA, a wrestling giant of legend, allegedly dressed in titanium, self-replicating, and at least twice the size of El Gran Mojado, though no one has seen him personally to validate these fantastic claims (Yamashita 114-115). SUPERNAFTA is touted to be a future champion based strictly on rhetoric, parodying the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), a deal that principally benefitted American companies and further threatened the Mexican poor. In her book Eating NAFTA: Trade, Food Policies, and the Destruction of Mexico, Alyshia Glevzs explains that over two decades after the implementation of NAFTA, the educational level, income, and labor force participation of Mexicans rose and the country established itself as a world leader in automotive and aviation manufacturing, though these statistics gloss over the impact of the trade agreement on individuals (9). NAFTA radically changed the labor force in Mexico as inexpensive American corn flooded the market and paved way for large-scale agrobusiness, shifting from small-scale agricultural labor to manufacturing or migrant labor. As Arcangel travels north, he dines at the Cantina de Miseria y Hambre and encounters a young man who recalls his childhood in San Cristobal de las Casas where his family worked an ejido there for three generations (Yamashita 113). Ejido plots were an attempt by the Mexican government to mitigate inequalities in resources by providing communal agricultural land owned by the 39 federal government, like commons land in Europe (Perramond 356). This program was established in 1917 and ended in 1992, as Mexico sought to integrate aspects of governance in line with their NAFTA partners opening up the land markets it held captive (359). Ejido land use today remains less dramatically influenced by the market-led agrarian reforms than many (likely including Yamashita) anticipated but does not provide the same level of benefit to individuals and families nationwide. The young man in the cantina no longer works his familys assigned ejido land because the program was dissolved, presumably forcing him to find employment in the restaurant industry. NAFTA further shifted labor from subsistence agriculture, forcing workers to seek employment in other industries and sustenance from American corporations. Arcangels encounter with the cantina employee introduces the NAFTAinduced labor changes for workers residing in Mexico and underscores the need for Arcangels guidance toward a more equitable path for Mexican laborers. Arcangels mission to overthrow the lingering effects of colonialism on Latinx laborers extends to American imperialism and NAFTA, as the legislation negatively impacts the health of Mexicans by irreversibly shifting their diets by restricting methods of food production. Until recently, milpa-based cuisine was practiced widely across Mexico and varying regionally in ingredients and techniques (Glvez 2). A milpa-based diet is characterized by corn and fresh vegetables, often grown, processed, and consumed locally (2). As a result of NAFTA, traditional Mexican food systems have largely been replaced with hyperpalatable, ultraprocessed foods that are engineered to activate cravings and override cues of satiety (12). After NAFTAs passage, Mexican obesity and diabetes rose to historic levels as individuals began to rely on foodstuffs imported from the United States, reaching almost 16 percent of the population by 2017 (9). Glvez argues that NAFTA paved the way for American companies to flood Mexican 40 markets with foods that lead to the development of chronic diseases and should be considered a kind of structural violencea result of policy decisions and priorities (6). Disasters such as earthquakes and hurricanes affect individuals of varying socioeconomic levels differently and chronic diseases should be considered through a similar lens. Arcangel recognizes the shift in diet for Mexicans as all customers at The Cantina of Misery & Hunger dine on hamburgers, Fritos, catsup and American beers while he alone eats the more traditional nopales (Yamashita 114). Glvez pointedly states, the methodical, aggressive, and intentional reorienting of Mexicos economy away from small-scale agriculture and toward foreign direct investment and global trade as had worrisome consequences: the sickening of the population and the neutralization of demands they can makeon their political leaders and the economy (7). NAFTAs influences on the health and welfare of Mexicans negatively impacts the greater ecology, further preventing the subaltern from shifting the balance of power in their favor. As Arcangel compels his followers to Los Angeles, he empowers them to break free of constraints placed on them by imperialism and NAFTA and achieve more equitable outcomes through his universalist ideal. Yamashita introduces the fashionable rise of ethnic cuisine in Tropic of Orange by juxtaposing Arcangels and Emis experiences with food in their respective countries to explore the First World appropriation of culture as a site of violence that harms the greater ecology. While healthful food became economically impossible for laborers to grow locally or purchase worldwide and milpa-based cuisine became less common in the daily diets of Mexicans, the First World adopted traditional foods of the Third World, treating culture as a high-value, high-status commodity to be elevated and reinterpreted by global elite chefs (4). Emi, Gabriels long-time girlfriend and Manzanars estranged granddaughter, is suspicious of the concept of 41 multiculturalism, drawing attention to the hypocritical white patrons of the sushi restaurant where she and Gabriel are dining. After Emis outburst to Gabriel about cultural diversity, a patronizing middle-aged white woman seated next to Emi at the bar exclaims, cant you calm down? (111). The woman claims to adore different cultures and has traveled all over the world but does not understand the inappropriateness of using Asian eating utensils as hairpins (111). This woman represents Western appropriation in the name of multicultural appreciation. Arcangel experiences the shift in Mexican cuisine after NAFTA in the Cantina de Miseria y Hambre. Much to Arcangels disgust, when he enters the cantina, they are only serving hamburgers, Fritos, catsup and American beer (113). As a favor, the chef agrees to cook the nopales Arcangel brought from the market, representing the traditional foods displaced in the average Mexican diet by NAFTA. Arcangel witnesses the casting off of nutrition-less American food onto Mexicans who cannot afford to seek other options, while Emi experiences the careless appropriation of culture by white Americans. Arcangels journey uncovers many detrimental consequences of NAFTA on the Mexican people, underscoring the necessity for El Gran Mojado to lead his followers to Los Angeles to battle SUPERNAFTA and establish beneficial futures for themselves. Arcangel leverages his talents as a performance artist and his mythical status as the allegory of labor to create the wrestler persona El Gran Mojado to act as the champion of the Mexican/Third World labor against the US/First World industry, leading his followers to create more favorable outcomes for themselves by casting off the constraints American capitalism and legislation places on the Third World (Lee 511). While Yamashita employs magical realism to depict Arcangels extreme age and previous physical acts of strength, El Gran Mojados battle with SUPERNAFTA mimics the drama and excitement of Hollywood. SUPERNAFTA begins 42 his performance with a capitalist soliloquy, proclaiming NAFTAs benefits to the crowd. He argues that NAFTA represents progress and Arcangel doesnt want progress. He doesnt care about the future of all your wonderful kids. He thinks you ought to run across the border and pick grapes (Yamashita 220). Arcangel contends with SUPERNAFTAs claims by detailing his view of the conflict between the First World and the Third World, debating The myth of the first world is that development is wealth and technology progress. It is all rubbish. It means that you are no longer human beings but only labor. It means that the land you live on is not earth but only property. It means that what you produce with your hands is not yours to eat or wear or shelter you if you cannot buy it. (222) El Gran Mojado carries out a battle against the representation of the First World and NAFTA that the subaltern Third World cannot truly perform. The mutual destruction between the two contenders signifies the futility of the First and Third Worlds competing against each other; even if the subaltern laborers affected by legislation like NAFTA can defend themselves, the battle would still prove pointless. However, Arcangels attempt to vanquish SUPERNAFTA is crucial to his followers as it suggests a path to a more equitable tomorrow based on cooperation between the First and Third Worlds that benefits both groups and the greater ecology without exploiting the subaltern. 43 Conclusion: Walking the Path of Ethical Universalism In a world increasingly flooded with negative predictions about climate change and environmental degradation, Yamashita employs guides to empower readers to positively affect change where possible. As Yamashitas guides in Tropic of Orange direct the characters within the novel to pursue more beneficial outcomes that positively affect the greater ecology, the reader becomes the crucial beneficiary of Manzanars and Arcangels direction as they reflect on the perspectives shared by the guides. Yamashitas novel speaks to themes widely addressed in contemporary multicultural American literature through the lens of environmental criticism, including the persistent consequences of settler colonialism, racism, and criticism of American imperialism and capitalism. Her use of magical realism through Manzanars conducting and Arcangels transportation of the orange permits the guides to transcend the boundaries and limitations imposed on their respective communities as they guide them toward more ethical futures and challenge the reader to reevaluate their position within systems that perpetuate exploitation of the subaltern. Both guides propose a universalist ethic that stresses the interconnectedness and intrinsic value of all human life and the importance of relentlessly pursing a universalist ideal that can never be fully attained. Manzanar proposes an ideal universalism that is intentionally unattainable, yet readers are encouraged to adopt an ethic of constant striving toward equity and cooperation between all beings. As the allegory of labor, Arcangels ethical universalism intends to lift subaltern workers to the level of privilege enjoyed by the First World and compels readers to embrace this ethic. Tropic of Orange itself is a magical guide for the reader to follow as they strive to improve the greater ecology through the ethical and equitable treatment of people of color and the subaltern. 44 Chapter 2 Not-one, Not-two. Not Same. Not Different.: Buddhist Philosophy and Rejection of an Anthropocentric Ecology in Ruth Ozekis A Tale for the Time Being In Shbgenz, Dgen Zenji writes, For the time being, standing on the tallest mountain top/ For the time being, moving on the deepest ocean floor For the time being, any Dick or Jane/ For the time being, the entire earth and the boundless sky (Ozeki 1). No beings are prioritized above any others in Dgen Zenjis verses, and he evokes connection between all beings, regardless of place, time, or form. Ruth Ozeki translates these words from the original Japanese and places them on the first page of A Tale for the Time Being, introducing readers to her novel through Dgen Zenjis thirteenth century Buddhist philosophy. While Dgen Zenji could not have predicted the climate crises we experience today, his text provides guidance for contemporary readers on rejecting binaries and respecting all life that if followed would alter our approach to environmental issues. These verses inform Ozekis environmental ethic and serve as a touchstone for readers to reflect on throughout the novel. In this chapter, I discuss how Ruth Ozeki employs crows and the fictional character Jiko Yasutani, 104-year-old Buddhist nun, to serve as guides to a more ethical future in her third novel, A Tale for the Time Being. Though the definition of an ethical future may vary between individuals, Ozekis novel suggests the interwoven topics of ethics and environmental justice as essential to advance a more favorable tomorrow. Ethical futures can be more broadly defined as outcomes that are beneficial to the greater ecology or more constructive results for an individual. Ethical futures in the context of this argument imply the incorporation of honest and equitable prospects for the implied recipient, whether that be an individual character, the reader, or all present and future beings on this planet, without causing determent to others. In most cases, the 45 futures Ozeki creates are individual, reflecting the Buddhist intent to save all beings, though when applied broadly and ecologically, the consequences transcend the individual. To direct the novels characters toward more equitable and constructive outcomes, Ozeki presents a series of guides that surpass the boundaries of time and language to ensure their charges are set on the proper path. In this chapter, I argue that Ozeki uses environmental criticism, magical realism, and critical posthumanist theory to create guides for the characters and reader to follow toward a more ethical future for themselves and all beings. Crows appear repeatedly throughout Ozekis novel as characters from oral traditions or novels, as physical beings, and within dreams. TEts, or Grandmother Crow deriving from the prehistoric creation stories of the Sliammon peoples, sets a precedent for crows as guides and Miyazawa Kenjis 20th century Crow Captain character influences Haruki #1 to behave ethically despite his circumstances, and the Jungle Crow guides Ruth to assisting Nao and Haruki #2 in creating more beneficial outcomes for themselves and others. Similarly, Jiko Yasutani, a 104-year-old Buddhist nun and Naos great grandmother, functions as the embodiment of many of the Buddhist principles addressed by the novel. Jiko specifically guides Nao through her challenging teenage trials, instilling in Nao a broader understanding of the greater ecology and a universalist ideal that encompasses all beings, while providing an opportunity for the reader to create their own more constructive tomorrow based on these sentiments. (Note: To avoid confusion, in this article I will refer to the author as Ozeki and the character in A Tale for the Time Being as Ruth.) According to Ben Holgate, magical realism and environmental literature share a transgressive nature that dismantles binaries, such as human and non-human, and animate and inanimate (3). Ozeki deploys the tools of magical realism to outline the posthuman and environmental questions presented by the text, creating a path for a more ethical future beyond 46 the novels fictional characters. Ozekis guides speak to several contemporary topics in multicultural American literatureparticularly that which engages with ecocritical themes, including posthumanism and deep ecology. Ozeki further incorporates quantum theory into the novels magical realism to allow Ruth to interact with Nao, Jiko, and Haruki #2 in real time. My research examines how the topics presented through Ozekis guides are relevant in the larger interdisciplinary discussions of environmentalism and critical posthumanism and how Ozekis use of magical realism allows for a consideration of prospective futures that stress the equitable treatment of all beings. By incorporating the various crow guides presented in the text, Ozeki nods to the use-value paradigm central to contemporary environmental criticism that aims to unravel anthropocentrism. She explores the concepts central to deep ecology and critical posthumanism through the teachings of Indigenous creation stories and the consequences of settler colonialism. Magical guides, such as the Jungle Crow and dream sequence Jiko, allow Ozeki to further dismantle the binaries of anthropocentrism and apply those concepts to the lives of the characters. Jikos guidance largely engages with similar concepts of environmental criticism as she influences Nao and the reader to resist the pull of a binary mindset that endangers the greater ecology by employing mindfulness and gratitude. Furthermore, she models resistance to binaries through her feminist principles and engages with principles of critical posthumanism and cyberfeminism that permeate the novel through Naos experiences. Broadly, the crow figures and Jiko challenge the central characters and the reader to reevaluate their interactions with the greater ecology and steer them toward paths that will lead to constructive and equitable futures. 47 Corvid Conductors: Indigeneity, Ecological Destruction, and Magical Crossings Crows serve as unconventional guides throughout the novel, taking the shape in Indigenous creation stories, a Japanese novel, and the migrant Jungle Crow that appears on Cortez Island. Crows lead the characters and the reader toward more beneficial outcomes without the advantage of directly communicating with the individuals they influence. Often considered a nuisance or a bad omen, Ozeki explores the mischievous, intelligent, and creative aspects of corvids, allowing their lore and physical presence to guide the characters toward their intended path. The Jungle Crow mystically directs Ruth through the dream sequences toward Jiko, Haruki, and Nao, but also assists with the practical matter of locating Pesto. The interactions between Ruth and the Jungle Crow present an opportunity to reevaluate the binaries of human versus animal through the lens of magical realism, where the crow guide occupies a position of power and wisdom beyond the grasp of the human characters. In Ozekis latest novel, The Book of Form and Emptiness, she again utilizes crows as guides and protectors to the Oh family. The Ohs feed the crows and in return they leave gifts and use their bodies to protect Kenji and Annabelle from the elements when each of them is rendered unconscious on the property. By bestowing the responsibility of guide on an animal, Ozeki succinctly builds the foundation for a discussion of topics central to environmental criticism, such as anthropocentrism and the use-value paradigm. Ozeki employs the crow character trope to establish a precedent and ultimately guide the characters of A Tale for the Time Being toward more ethical futures, beginning with the appearance of crows and ravens in Indigenous stories. Upon sighting the Jungle Crow, the First Nations character Muriel recalls the Sliammon traditional narrative of TEts, or Grandmother Crow. According to Sliammon folk traditions, TEts is one of the magical ancestors who can shape-shift and take animal or human form, often presenting as a crow (96). When TEtss 48 granddaughter became pregnant, she was banished from the community, but TEts placed a hot coal in a shell to guide her granddaughter, saving her life (96). TEts refused to abandon her granddaughter, who finally gave birth to the Sliammon people, vindicating TEts merciful act. Muriels story demonstrates the use of animals as guides in traditional stories and suggests to Ruth the possibility of seeking guidance from the mysterious, displaced Jungle Crow inhabiting Ruth and Olivers property. It also presents an opportunity for the reader to consider the ecological damage created by colonization, including the destruction of Indigenous traditions and food sources, pollution, and the introduction of invasive species to recognize the role of the individual within those systems and seek more principled options. Contemporary environmental criticism concepts such as deep ecology echo the messages of Indigenous storieslike Sliammon talewhich emphasize a near-posthuman morality that rejects anthropocentrism and does not privilege humans above other beings, underlining the interconnectedness of lifeforms through shapeshifting magical ancestors. Arne Naess coined the phrase deep ecology to separate environmentalism from that which reinforces anthropocentrism and perspectives that reject the man-in-environment image in favor of the relational total-field image; instead, deep ecology encourages viewing all life as intrinsically valuable regardless of use-value (Stark 260). Jerry Stark explains that anthropocentrism has detrimental effects upon the quality of life of humans themselves, preventing humans from attaining the deep pleasure and satisfaction we receive from close partnership[s] with other forms of life (260). Deep ecology provides an opportunity to examine the interdependencies of all lifeforms and the global effects of racial injustice, systemic violence, and environmental destruction. Critical posthumanism furthers the elements of deep ecology to incorporate human interaction with technology. It is defined as the indivisible relationship between humans and 49 technology, while denying human exceptionalism and human instrumentalism (Nayar 17). Nayar outlines the theory of critical posthumanism as humans co-evolving, sharing ecosystems, life processes, genetic material, which animals and other life forms; and technology not as a mere prosthesis to human identity but as integral to it (17). Deep ecology and critical posthumanism are integral to interpreting the environmental criticism embedded within Ozekis novel, as they allow the reader to interrogate the greater impacts of systemic oppression and environmental devastation. Muriels telling the story of TEts presents opportunities for Ruth and the reader to interrogate the legacy of settler colonialism on Indigenous peoples and the ecological ramifications of physical and cultural violence on disadvantaged groups. The colonization of North America by Europeans destroyed Indigenous groups through mass slaughter, disease, forced relocation, famine, and the intentional annihilation of Indigenous culture. In her article Writing the Canadian Pacific Northwest Ecocritically: The Dynamics of Local and Global in Ruth Ozekis A Tale for the Time Being Petra Fachinger states, The novel de-romanticizes and decolonizes Indigenous reality by portraying the novels sole Indigenous character, Muriel, as a down-to-earth retired anthropologist who repeatedly reminds the other characters that they live on unceded Coast Salish territory (Fachinger 2). Ruth reflects on the official and unofficial names of that unceded territory, Cortes Island and Island of the Dead, and the enduring effects of colonization suggested by both. While Ozeki never explicitly identifies Ruth and Olivers home as Cortes Island, she strongly suggests it by stating it was named for a famous Spanish conquistador, who overthrew the Aztec empire (141). Likewise, the name Island of the Dead potentially derives from the smallpox epidemic of 1862 that killed off most of the indigenous Coast Salish population, underscoring the complicated and calamitous relationship between the 50 settler colonial Canadian government and First Nations peoples (142). Historically, the Canadian government has participated in the genocide of First Nations peoples through physical violence, removal from ancestral lands, and the suppression of traditional practices and culture. By destroying much of the population and stripping the remaining Indigenous people of their ancestral knowledge, the colonizers have radically and irreversibly altered the ecology of British Columbia. TEts and the Jungle Crow serve as guides for Ruth and the reader to reflect on the history and legacy of settler colonialism in the Americas and worldwide as the novel discusses the transnational nature of our contemporary greater ecology. The discussion of the Indigenous peoples of Canada provides Ozeki a framework to briefly review the legacy of colonialism in Japan, address the complicated relationship between Japanese immigrants and the Canadian government, and suggest the global nature of these seemingly local occurrences. Fachinger succinctly explains, Ozekis novel questions the isolation of local political and ecological phenomena by connecting the colonization of British Columbia with that of the Miyagi prefecture (2). Ozeki does not dwell on the history of the imperialism in Japan, but mentions Miyagi prefecture as one of the last pieces of tribal land to be taken from the indigenous Emishi, descendants of the Jmon people, who had lived there from prehistoric times until they were defeated by the Japanese Imperial Army in the eighth century (141). Across the ocean in the twentieth century, Japanese immigrants living in British Columbia were subject to incarceration by the Canadian government after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor during World War II, stripping them of their land, possessions, and livelihoods, echoing the relocation of First Nations peoples. Residents of Cortes Island were incarcerated and forced to sell their homestead, which the locals continue to call it Jap Ranch (32). After learning of the nickname, Ruth insists on using it regardless of Olivers objections. Ruth believes 51 as a person of Japanese ancestry, she said, she had the right, and it was important not to let New Age correctness erase the history of the island (32). She views the land as stolen from the incarcerated Japanese immigrants, though the land was stolen from the Coastal Salish before the Japanese ever arrived in Canada. The historically-compounded ecological damage experienced by the forcibly removed Indigenous peoples and Japanese Americans becomes part of the fabric of the lives lived on the island. The complicated histories of the Japanese island and Cortez Island overlap figuratively in circumstance and literally as individuals migrate and seemingly separate bioregions coalesce. Muriels retelling of TEtss tale guides Ruth and the reader to reflect on the colonization that destroyed TEts descendants civilization and the global ecological ramifications of exploiting the disadvantaged. Ecological destruction resulting from colonization extends beyond the devastation of humans, disrupting ecosystems and traditional food sources, often in the name of profit. Ancient trees once sheltered Cortes Island, the waters flush with salmon, native oysters, and clams. Off the coast, whales traversed the waters of the island, prompting Europeans to christen the village Whaletown. In Ruths time, the island is vastly altered, the once plentiful salmon runs overfished to ecological devastation. Ruth laments, oyster farming was the closest thing they had to an industry, now that the salmon run was depleted and the big trees had been cut (Ozeki 187). Similarly, on nearby Vancouver Island, acts by colonizers such as coal mining and the overfishing of salmon, forever altered the ecology. Akira, the owner of the Campbell River sushi restaurant Arigato, brought his family to coastal B.C. for the world-class salmon fishing, before the runs went dry (233). With no salmon to fish, his family intended to repatriate to their home province of Fukushima prefecture, though their plans were thwarted by the tsunami and subsequent meltdown of the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Plant (233). Due to European settlers 52 opportunistic destruction to the ecosystem of Cortes Island, contemporary residents intentionally guard their local food sources against outsiders. Ruth muses on the natural secrets kept by the island residents to safeguard their environment, noting secret clam gardens and oyster beds, secret pine mushroom and chanterelle patches, secret underwater rocks where sea urchins grew (186). The residents have also set a limit to individuals daily harvest of clams and oysters to encourage the replenishment of shellfish without destroying the population. These measures to protect the current ecology present an opportunity for readers to reflect on the damage caused by colonization and the conservation of natural resources. Much like the overfished salmon runs, whaling by European settlers decimated the whale population near Cortes Island. Indigenous groups of the Pacific Northwest practiced whaling to some extent; ethnographers began to collect oral histories of Indigenous groups in the 1930s though by then whale stocks had been seriously depleted [and] disease and warfare had drastically reduced Aboriginal populations limiting the information obtained (Monks 191). The specifics of how Indigenous populations of the Pacific Northwest hunted whales pre-contact have essentially been lost and whale products discovered at ancient sites create questions for archeologists (188). Prior to the discovery of fossil fuels, whale blubber was the primary source of oil for much of the world (Ozeki 57). Ruth recounts the story of Scotsman James Dawson who, with business partner Abel Douglass, began the wholesale destruction of the whale population with the assistance of a new weapon called a bomb lance (57). By 1870, Dawson and Douglass sold more than 20,000 gallons of whale oil to the United States and the last whales in the area either had been slaughtered or had fled, forcing them to abandon the island (57). Ruth hypothesizes that the whales communicated the dangers of the waters surrounding the island, chirping and cooing to each other in their beautiful subaquatic voices [to] Stay away!, thereby 53 discouraging habitation by future whales (58). However, the intricacies of ecological dependences play a role in the disappearance of whales from Cortes Island as well. According to a 2014 National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) report generated after 10 years of research conducted by NOAA and Fisheries and Oceans Canada (DFO), orcas subsist primarily on Pacific salmon throughout the spring, summer, and fall months (8). Pollution, contaminates, vessels, and noise are also noted as major threats to the repopulation of whales in the Pacific Northwest (9-10). Ultimately, the disappearance of whales from Whaletown is a result of compounding disregard for multiple ecosystem dependencies in favor of monetary gain. By implementing unsustainable capitalist-driven harvesting practices, European settlers and their descendants overtaxed the salmon and whale populations beyond repair without intervention of the United States and Canada governments. Ozekis recitation of the history of Whaletown encourages the reader to examine the long-term ecological damage generated by colonization and consider their place within the systems that continue to disregard the greater ecology. Ozeki skillfully interweaves the science of oceanic patterns into the fabric of Ruths present, outlining the movement of waste across the world, as ecological destruction is not limited to the effects of capitalist actors in the distant past; damage continues today through the movement of waste via oceans. Early in the novel, Oliver provides Ruth and the reader a lesson about gyres, or ocean currents, and how debris is carried across the ocean by gyres (Ozeki 13). Ozeki bases the premise of the novel on the movement of currents and the objects they carryin this case, a freezer bag containing Naos lunchbox. Muriel, an anthropologist who studied middens, treasures many of the objects that wash up on Cortes Island, including First Nations objects and a collection of antique Japanese fishing floats (33). Ruth describes the floats as the size of large beach balls, murky globes blown from thick tinted glass. They were beautiful, like 54 escaped worlds (33). Ruth seems to refrain from judgement about the arrival of the Japanese fishing floats on her home shore, appreciating their beauty and durability rather than condemning them as litter. Ruth and Muriel recognize the interconnectedness of cultures despite distances and treasure the accidentally cast-off items. For Ruth and Muriel, trash is not intrinsically bad or undesirable, but can serve as a window into the lives of others across space and time, as the journal connects Ruth to Nao. Ozekis discussion of waste shifts when considering the types of waste that are driven by consumerism and capitalism and the long-term effects these items have on the environment. Through Manzanar, Yamashita provided commentary on the pollution of the Eastern Third World by the Western First World in Tropic of Orange, but in A Tale for the Time Being the reader witnesses how developed nations, regardless of place, endanger the world at large indiscriminately. Ozekis interrogation of transpacific literary, political, and ecological relations [in] A Tale for the Time Being presents ecological issues as having transnational relevance remind[ing] us, social and environmental injustice is hardly ever contained within national borders (Fachinger 1). Ozeki resists the urge the blame the average consumer for the waste they create, instead focusing on the global and insidiously industrial nature of plastic pollution. Oliver explains to Ruth how plastic trash is pushed by ocean gyres into large, floating masses of pollution, including two in the Pacific Ocean known as the Great Eastern and Great Western Garbage Patches (36). These garbage patches are a direct result of an increasingly global culture of plastic. Manufacturers create plastic products or sell products in plastic containers without regard to how they will be disposed or if they can be recycled. Many plastic items, whether responsibly dropped off at a local recycling center or hastily thrown out a car window, end up sloshing around in the ocean, ground into particles for the fish and zooplankton to eat, 55 contaminating ecosystems worldwide (36). Similarly, energy companies disregard ecological dangers in favor of profit. During the Fukushima reactor meltdown crisis, Tepco flooded the reactor with water, creating 500 tons of highly radioactive water each day that was then pumped into containment pits which leaked into the Pacific Ocean, contaminating fish and seaweed (196). Tepco and the Japanese government denied the danger the leak posed to humans and didnt estimate the consequences to the fish (197). After the arrival of the freezer bag and other contemporary Japanese items on Cortes Island, the residents began to consider the potential for radiation contamination to their food sources if in fact the drift arrived in British Columbia sooner than expected. Ozeki largely dispels this idea through Oliver and Muriel, but it underscores the interconnectedness of ecosystems regardless of distance. Through the discussion of the Pacific garbage patches and the secondary effects of nuclear contamination, Ozeki challenges the reader to contemplate the ways their participation in a waste generating society impacts the greater ecology beyond their front door and modify their choices to generate lasting change. Western settler colonialism and imperialism creates irreversible ecological damage through the inadvertent and intentional introduction of non-native or invasive species, much to the frustration of contemporary environmentalists, though the introduction of non-native species to an ecosystem does not necessarily warrant panic and immediate remedial action. The appearance of the Jungle Crow, a species of crow native to Japan, on Ruth and Olivers property is a mystery and possibly a coincidence. Oliver speculates, The only thing I can think of is that it rode over on the flotsam. That its part of the drift Anythings possible. People made it here in hollowed-out logs. Why not crows? (Ozeki 55). Many of the fictional residents of Cortes Island are environmentally conscious and vigilant against the establishment of additional non- 56 native and invasive species to their home. Callie, a marine biologist Ruth enlists to identify the barnacles attached to Naos freezer bag, comments that the local nativists already have their knickers in a twist after sighting the Jungle Crow on the island (120). Callie advises that the island is currently home to several invasive species, including black slugs, Scotch broom, and Himalayan blackberries and the introduction of another species of crow is concerning (120). However, Ozeki repeatedly undermines the environmentalist kneejerk reaction to the introduction of non-native species by presenting examples of organisms that solve or mitigate an ecological deficiency created by colonialism. Humans created environmental damage, but we have the power to alter the outcomes of that damage by thoughtfully introducing non-native species or species previously native to the area. Additionally, as Fachinger aptly states, The texts focus on the importance of species in defining place emphasizes the interconnectedness between the local and the global (Fachinger 3). While environmentalists obsess about the importance of keeping ecosystems pure and free of outside influences, Ozeki proposes a more inclusive and wholistic approach to ecological change that acknowledges and leverages the connection between geographically separated locations and their lifeforms. Ozeki discusses the Pacific or Miyagi oyster (Crassostrea gigas) as an example of the targeted implementation of a foreign organism used to solve a manmade ecological problem to highlight the ways ecosystems can be restored when the concept of environmental purity does not constrain progress. In the novel, Oliver explains, The Pacific oyster isnt native They were introduced in 1912 or 13 but didnt really acclimate until the thirties. But once they did, they took over. Crowded out the smaller native species (Ozeki 187). However, Olivers explanation is somewhat misleading. Along the Pacific Coast of Canada, oyster farming of the native oyster species became popular in the 1880s (Lavoie 2). By the 1930s, the native oyster 57 populations declined due to overexploitation and deleterious environmental factors (2). To replenish the oyster populations to avoid the deterioration of industry and traditional food sources, the Pacific oyster was introduced to the Canadian Pacific Coast in 1912-13. This process was repeated along the coasts of the United States and Mexico after the Pacific oyster proved to gradually adapt to variations in environmental conditions. Had the Pacific oyster not been introduced and painstakingly cultivated in British Columbia, it is unlikely that oysters of any variety would exist on the Canadian Pacific Coast today. By including the history of the native and Pacific oysters on Cortes Island, Ozeki introduces the difficulties of classifying species as non-native and indiscriminately preventing their addition into new bioregions in the face of environmental damage caused by humans and naturally shifting ecological change. Ozeki complicates the concept of nativity, suggesting the introduction of a species, or more abstractly, an idea, can benefit the existing structures, as Ruth and Nao ultimately alter the others life through their reciprocal interventions. Like the oyster farmers, Ozeki introduces Olivers attempts to combat the detrimental effects of humans on the environment through his art installations and complicates native-ness temporally. When Ruth met him, Oliver was already an accomplished environmental artist, creating botanical interventions into urban landscapes (Ozeki 56). He created an urban forest in Vancouver titled Means of Production that provided materials for local artists and artisans such as wood, willow, and fiber (296). While living on Cortes Island he began a rural project he calls the NeoEocene: Anticipating the effects of global warming on the native trees, he was working to create a climate-change forest on a hundred acres of clear-cut, owned by a botanist friend. He planted groves of ancient nativesmetasequoia, giant sequoia, coast redwoods, Juglans, 58 Ulmus, and ginkgospecies that had been indigenous to the area during the Eocene Thermal Maximum, some 55 million years ago (60). This project encounters an obstacle when the covenant holder on the property identifies the trees Oliver is planting as non-native to the area. As the environment changes, trees native to British Columbia during the Anthropocene will likely struggle to adapt to increased temperatures and shifting weather patterns; trees provide shade, moisture management, and air filtration and a decrease in their already greatly diminished population due to logging will further exacerbate the effects of climate change. Oliver argues that given the rapid onset of climate change, we need to radically redefine the term native and expand it to include formerly, and even prehistorically, native species (120). Throughout the novel, Oliver defends his choice to include trees that will thrive on Cortes Island as the climate shifts, as the selected trees will provide an ecological advantage to the region. In frustration, Oliver explains to Ruth, Ive got a whole flat of baby ginkgos, ready to be planted, but the covenant holder wont let me. Theyre saying the ginkgos are potentially invasive Its insane. That tree is a living fossil. It survived major extinction events over hundreds of millions of years (312). The Jungle Crow, the Pacific oysters, and Olivers climate change forest all serve to complicate our traditional scientific notions of native purity and interrogate how contemporary scientists and environmentally conscious individuals can creatively thwart some aspects of ecological destruction through the introduction of entirely non-native or prehistorically native species to a bioregion. Ozeki challenges readers to reevaluate their closely held environmentalist beliefs and consider possibilities beyond convention that may combat changes to the environment and seek outcomes driven by the conscientious application of practical innovations. 59 The Jungle Crow appears to Ruth several times in her mysterious and vivid dreams, leading her to help Nao, Haruki #2, and the reader to create more beneficial outcomes for themselves. Ozekis implementation of magical realism entwined with quantum physics alters the time and space of two worlds, allowing for an exchange of information and meaning. Ben Holgate states, A key characteristic of magical realist fiction is to disrupt perceived ideas about time and space. This is one of the core reasons why the narrative mode is so useful in colluding with environmental literature to depict the long duration of environmental degradation caused by industrialisation" (Holgate 7). Nao introduces the idea of magic and the complexities of time in the opening pages of her journal, exclaiming, But if you do decide to read on, then guess what? Youre my kind of time being and together well make magic! (3). Those opening pages also contain her desire to drop out of time Exit my existence by committing suicide, a fate she expects her father to also achieve in the immediate future (6). After Ruth explains her various dream experiences to Muriel, Muriel theorizes that the Jungle Crow of Ruths dream came from Naos world to enable Ruth to divert the course of Naos future toward more favorable prospects (376). Muriel hypothesizes, her story was about to end one way, and you intervened, which set up the conditions for a different outcome (376). Oliver concurs with the supposition that the Jungle Crow led Ruth back in time, averting Haruki #2s suicide and allowing Nao to discover the truth about her great-uncle and her father. By learning the truth of her family history and the deeply moral behavior of both Harukis, Nao can envision more constructive prospects for her future. Ruth exerts the power given her by the Jungle Crow to guide Nao and the reader to discover, retell, and remember stories that lead to equitable results. Memory is used various ways throughout the novel, not least of which to emphasize Ruths fears of developing Alzheimers 60 like her mother. Ozeki plays with the concept of memory through magical realism, allowing Ruth to discover and remember stories she could not have accessed normally. As an avid and impulsive researcher, Ruth desires to uncover the stories of Jiko and Nao beyond the extent of the journal, searching the internet for traces of their fates. While reading about the tsunami, she discovers the existence of ancient stone markers warning residents not to build their homes below the indicated location and a quote from the mayor of a Japanese town, commenting that the stones are the voices of our ancestors They were speaking to us across time, but we didnt listen (114). Ruth muses, Does the half-life of information correlate with the decay of our attention? Is the Internet a kind of temporal gyre, sucking up stories, like geodrift, into its orbit? What is its gyre memory? How do we measure the half-life of its drift? (114). In this way memories and stories are shifting, yet permanent; they may be forgotten or trapped in the amber of cyberspace to be unearthed decades later. Ruth empowers them both to create their own realities by remembering and exploring Naos stories, regardless of the pain or shame associated with Naos memories. Leah Milne relates Ruths exercise in remembrance to that of Sethes in Toni Morrisons Beloved, emphasizing the importance of remembering despite discomfort Much like the drift floating in oceanic gyres, memories become agents, objects willfully persisting against the human tendency to disremember even the most shameful public and personal histories. Beloveds polysemic closing refrain, It was not a story to pass on, exposes the difficulty in facing events such as slavery or Haruki #1s perils during World War II. We cannot disremember, or pass on, these stories but must instead share them and pass them on. While Ruth never learns the exact circumstances under which the lunchbox and its contents appear on her shore, she nonetheless recognizes their storytelling powers, 61 teaching her about herself and helping her overcome the physical and metaphysical isolation of her remote island to share responsibility for the fate of another (Milne 135). By remembering and recounting stories, Ruth, Nao, and the reader all participate in a system of preserving the past to guide the future. Ruth refuses to forget about the injustice against Japanese Canadians and Americans during World War II and that act of memory and reframing of history creates her reality. Muriel remembers and shares Indigenous creation stories, altering Ruths and Olivers perceptions about the appearance of the Jungle Crow, therefore shapinging their reality. The act of recounting stories and the remembrance of history alters the fabric of Ruths and Naos present and future, allowing both characters to create more equitable outcomes for themselves and those they influence with their stories. Ruth serves as the reader of Naos journal, but we, the audience, serve as Ruths reader. Nao views herself as creating her imagined reader, her one special person, insisting that she is reaching forward through time to touch her reader who then reaches back to touch her (Ozeki 26). In this way, Ozeki creates the possibility for a reader to influence a text as the text influences the reader. When Ruth finally decides she can no longer be a passive reader of Naos journal, she actively follows her Jungle Crow guide and intervenes to save Haruki #2 and Nao from suicide and direct them toward a different path (Milne 134). The decisions Haruki #2 and Nao make after their last encounter with Ruth then shape Ruths reality and future. Kit Dobson observes that Ruths actions in Naos reality influence events enough to generate some resolution in her present, but not so much resolution that the future too is not opened up as a space for further ethical acts. Everything is never quite solved, but events are set sufficiently to right so that Ruth will be able to go forward, and so too might Nao and her father (Dobson 132). The magical nature of the novel allows the reader to reflect on the interconnectedness of texts 62 and their readers. In this way, every writer of every text becomes implicated in that text, and every reader and witness shares responsibility for the tale that follows (Milne 133). If the reader rejects the role of a passive reader and engages with the novel, they can create more equitable outcomes beyond literature. The ethical paths Ozeki presents for readers to follow are myriad, from engaging with difficult stories to seeking environmental justice for the subaltern. Haruki #2 is empowered by Ruths crossings to create more constructive prospects for himself, Nao, and perspective clients by engaging with critical posthumanist discourse and challenging the permanence of stories on the internet. The Jungle Crow leads Ruth back in time, she approaches Haruki #2 in the park, compelling him to reconsider his intention to commit suicide and intercept Nao on her way to Jikos temple. As Haruki #2s suicide is averted, he is directed on a path that allows him to assist Nao and countless others by inventing the cyberspider, Mu-Mu the Obliterator. Haruki #2 explains in a letter to a former colleague that he developed Mu-Mu to sanitize search engine databases and remove all instances of my daughters name and personal information, as well as all the pictures and nasty videos allowing her to live her life without the reminders and shame associated with her time as the victim of bullying (Ozeki 382). The Q-Mu version of Mu-Mu is itself a work of magical realist quantum physics, shifting between worlds to remove undesirable information from the greater Internet that extends across realities. Mu-Mu allows the reader to interrogate how the internet has become a part of our greater ecology, directly affecting how humans interact, attain information, and ultimately function within society. Search engines and social media algorithms dictate the content we experience, influencing how we determine what is important and relevant to our lives, in effect merging our consciousness with technology. Ozekis discourse of critical posthumanism and the internet allows Haruki #2 to beneficially alter his and Naos prospects and 63 the encourage reader to consider how to create a more ethical future that embraces all beings, regardless of medium. Jiko Yasutani: Buddhist Guide to the Not-Two Nature of Existence As a Buddhist nun, Jiko Yasutani vows to become a bosatsu, a Buddhist saint or awakened being, and abstain from reaching enlightenment until all beings attain enlightenment, serving as a guide for Nao and many others to achieve a more ethical future (18). Buddhism asserts that in every being there is the possibility of enlightenment, and in everything that seems ugly there is beauty. In everything that seems temporal, there is timelessness (Humphries xix). Furthermore, Buddhist enlightenment teaches the opening of ones mind to dispel suffering by ceasing to deny its existence (xix). Jiko does not avoid the suffering of others, as would be easy to accomplish from her mountain temple but seeks to ease the suffering of others through acknowledgement and prayer. Nao understands Jikos vow as an occupation and frequently provides Jiko upsetting occurrences plucked from news headlines for Jikos prayers. She muses, sometimes I think the main reason shes still alive is because of all the stuff I give her to pray about (Ozeki 18). As Jiko guides Nao, Ruth and the reader discover that Naos assessment may contain a grain of truth, though Jiko seems more concerned with unburdening her greatgranddaughter than focusing exclusively on those poor high school girls and the perverts and all the being who are suffering in the world (18). During Naos going-away party before she leaves the temple to return to school, Jiko selects a song titled Impossible Dream to sing for karaoke. Nao reflects that Jiko sings the sentimental song with genuine feeling and explains that the lyrics discuss how its okay to have impossible goals, because if you follow your unreachable star no matter how hopeless or far, your heart will be peaceful when youre dead, and directly 64 associates the song with Jikos vow to save all beings (243). Upon Jikos death, Nao understands that Jiko surrendered her life to become a nun for the wellbeing of others, including Nao. Jikos intention to save all beings, not all humans, suggests a universalist principle that rejects anthropocentric and hegemonic beliefs, creating a unifying worldview that encompasses and values all life. Jikos teachings guide Nao to reconcile her relationship with Haruki #2, help her create a space of security and wellbeing through zazen, a form of Buddhist meditation, and encourage her to behave more ethically toward the beings around her and herself. Jikos performance of Buddhist principles exposes opportunities for environmental critique throughout the novel and leads Nao to pursue a mindset that rejects the binaries of anthropocentrism. The novel opens with a passage from Dgen Zenjis Shbgenz, or The Treasury of the True Dharma Eye that contains the refrain for the time being, introducing the reader to the concept of the term time being encompassing all things that do or have occupied time (Ozeki 1). Dgens text emphasizes the sameness of all things in relation to time: A pine tree is time, Dgen had written, and bamboo is time. Mountains are time. Oceans are time (30). Jikos notion of time beings is clearly shaped by Dgens influential Buddhist text along with her practice of zazen, a moment-by-moment observation of the self that apparently led to enlightenment (398). Jiko incorporated the ideologies and practices of Dgens teachings into her own practice of Buddhism and uses them to guide Nao and Ruth. Nao spends the summer with Jiko at her temple, learning the precepts of Buddhism organically. Jiko also instills an ethic that rejects anthropocentrism and embraces all lifenot just human lifeas equally important. Nao describes Jikos theory of reality as the not-two nature of existence that denies binaries, including those of human versus nature or nature versus culture (Ozeki 194). One visible example of how Nao adopts Jikos principles is how Nao lives in harmony with mosquitos, 65 respecting the insects as living beings. She reflects in her diary: And soon there was no difference between me and the mosquitos. My skin was no longer a wall that separated us, and my blood was their blood (204). Nao believes her new relationship with mosquitos is a result of her cultivation of her supapawa (or superpower), which later helps her endure bullying and assault at school. She is no longer a being separate from nature, but a part of the world she inhabits. By recognizing her impact on other creatures, even those as small and abhorred as mosquitos, Nao creates an equitable outcome for herself and other beings that is less influenced by the binaries of anthropocentrism that dominate modern culture. Jikos resistance to binaries is exemplified through her understanding of time as another site of deep ecology which she considers through a practice of mindfulness. In the opening line of the novel, Nao defines a time being as someone who lives in time, and that means you, and me, and every one of us who is, or was or ever will be (Ozeki 3). In this way time is another sort of greater ecology that encompasses all life. She views Jiko as a deeply conscientious time being who does everything really really slowly to live mindfully and purposefully (25). According to Dgen, if we are not ourselves being mindful, we neglect other beings, we leave them out of our present and as a result we lose our own presence, our own being unto ourselves as time beings (Dobson 129). Mindfulness is an essential practice for time beings to recognize their place within the greater ecology. Jikos not-two nature of existence continues through her understanding of time, equating her place within time with the same gravity as a mountains: Jiko, mountain, same thing. The mountain is tall and will live a long time. Jiko is small and will not live much longer. Thats all (Ozeki 194). Though the mountain will occupy far more linear time than Jiko and an anthropocentric viewpoint would prioritize human life above the existence of a mountain, Jiko insists they each hold unique but equal status within time. For Jiko, all things 66 that exist within our environment are time beings. When considering the concept of discovering lost time, Jiko writes, For the time being/ Words scatter/ Are they fallen leaves? causing Nao to recall the large, old ginkgo tree on the temple grounds (24). Nao recognizes the tree as a time being, surviving through generations of human-experienced time. As Oliver indicates later in the novel, the ginkgo tree as a species has survived millennia, endured natural climate events, and reestablished its population worldwide through human intervention. Jiko does not address environmental issues specifically to Nao in the novel, but Jikos interpretation of Buddhism that deemphasizes an anthropocentric worldview and her incorporation of enduring life forms, such as the gingko tree, influences Nao to recenter her perspective on the greater ecology rather than herself. Contemporary Buddhism and environmentalism presumably go hand-in-hand, but many criticize the surge of Green Buddhism. Skeptical scholars discount the existence of anything akin to contemporary ecological ethics in early Buddhism (Holder 114). Holder argues, The typical study of Buddhist environmentalism is methodologically flawed because both the skeptics and the proponents of Buddhist environmentalism start with a contemporary way of framing environmental ethics and try to match that particular approach to environmental ethics with the ancient texts, doctrines, and practices of early Buddhism (115). The ecological challenges we experience today, such as global warming, water pollution, deforestation, and human overpopulation simply did not exist in the time of the Buddha and therefore were not considered in early Buddhism (115). Additionally, early skeptics of Green Buddhism were troubled by an ethos of environmentalism that involved preserving nature or restoring it to pristine wilderness void of human influence, which is largely outdated and inconsistent with contemporary environmentalism in the twenty first century. Regardless of the skepticism 67 surrounding environmental ethics and early Buddhism, many contemporary Buddhists are actively practicing socially engaged Buddhism, which refers to the active use of the religion and its teachings to address social issues, such as violence and war, economic development and inequalities, gender issues, and environmental degradation (Darlington 5). In Thailand, environmental destruction created by urban pollution and resource depletion generated some localized interest in environmentalism (2). Many Thai Buddhist monks, concerned with the negative impacts of environmental damage on the subaltern, began to participate in acts of environmental conservation. Initially, Buddhist-framed activism focused on the local, then globalization not only brought capitalism and multinational business to Buddhist countries but also introduced alternative ideas intended to help people oppose dominant concepts of largescale economic development and rapid growth (7). As a lived religion, Buddhism is subject to change based on the needs of the moment and while environmentalism may not have been a consideration for early Buddhists, the goals of environmental Buddhism, based on both the ecological concept of interconnectedness found in deep ecology and the Buddhist concept of dependent co-arising, emphasize modern, scientific methods and ancient religious principles (8). Ozeki, a practicing Zen Buddhist priest, does not specifically create Jiko to represent or participate in Green Buddhism, but by juxtaposing Ruth and Olivers environmental concerns with Jikos not-two Buddhist principles, the two concepts naturally become entangled for the reader, offering a path forward to create equitable tomorrows for Nao, Ruth, and the reader. Naos Buddhist approach to considering time beings, directly influenced by Jiko, simultaneously minimizes the stress placed on individual beings to exist by recognizing our small places within the environment while respecting the importance of all time beings individually. Ozekis integration of the materiality through environmental criticism is entwined 68 with more intangible concerns (Simal-Gonzlez 237). Naos existential dilemmas derive from personal situations, such as bullying and family struggles, but additionally reflect issues of an immaterial, philosophical, or eschatological nature, including the anxiety of living in a postmodern, globalized world (237). After returning from her summer with Jiko, Nao becomes obsessed with evolutionary biology and species extinction. Nao dramatically writes in her diary, please dont get me going on the topic of species extinction because its totally depressing, and Ill have to commit suicide right this second (Ozeki 25). As a form of stress relief and meditation, she began to memorize the Latin names of extinct species: Jiko had given me a bracelet of pretty pink juzu beads, kind of a starter set, and for every dead species I would move a bead around, whispering their beautiful names to myself during recess, or walking home from school, or lying in my bed at night. I felt a sense of calm, knowing that all these creatures had lived and died before me, leaving almost no trace (265). Contemplating the existence and disappearance of time beings that came before her becomes a necessary form of solace for Nao as she navigates the complications of young adulthood. Her memorization of names and the use of juzu beads serves as a form of mindfulness for Nao. She feels released from her existential dread and the responsibility for her fathers safety by reflecting about the inevitable passing of all individual things and species. As Dgen writes in the Shbgenz, if you understand time as only passing, then you do not understand the time being (260). Understanding time in relation strictly to the self or humanity disregards the existence of time in relation to all things and prevents a holistic understanding of time. By engaging with the history of extinct species as time beings, Nao is better able to understand her place as a time being. According to Dobson, Jiko plays a role in separating Naos understanding 69 from the present and from modernity, simultaneously delinking the two termsmodernity and the presentso that she becomes more able to determine her own values and concerns and assess herself in relation to other time beings (128). Jiko guides her great-granddaughter on the path to a more ethical future through mindfulness and a broader understanding of individuals as time beings within a greater ecology that contains all time beings. Throughout the novel, Jiko guides Nao to recognize her identity as an individual and develop a self-care regimen comprised of mindfulness and gratitude that allows her to cope with stress. Nao is shocked and amused with the habits of the Buddhist nuns as they act out ritual gratitude while completing daily tasks, such as washing their faces or brushing their teeth, or spitting out their toothpaste, or even going for a crap. Im not kidding. They bowed and thanked the toilet and offered a prayer to save all beings (Ozeki 166). Initially, Nao views the practice as silly and irrelevant, but finds herself offering thanks while performing everyday tasks. Similarly, bathing at the temple involves rituals beyond the behaviors typical of those associated with public baths Nao was used to in Tokyo. The nuns prefer not to speak while in the bathhouse, though sometimes Jiko broke the rule and then it was ok for us to have a quiet conversation, which felt really peaceful (166). Simply by participating in the ritual of bathing, Nao achieves a state of comfort that can be replicated through continued practice. By modeling the practice of rituals that encourage gratitude and mindfulness, Jiko is able shift Naos perceptions to allow her to create a more beneficial mindset for herself that enables her to better consider her place in the world and how she can more effectively practice resiliency and her supapawa. Jikos guidance allows Nao to develop the mental resiliency to withstand her often unsatisfactory circumstances and a deep sense of empathy for the suffering of others, shifting her focus to creating a more favorable path for herself. Nao spends the summer with Jiko largely 70 because of the ijime (bullying) she experiences at her Japanese school. Initially, Nao is subjected to teasing by her classmates who mockingly call her Transfer Student Yasutani, though they quickly began to physically attack her with pinches and small cuts to her skin and tearing her school uniform with nail scissors (Ozeki 48). Eventually the children and facility begin to ignore Nao in the classrooms and hallways, leading to a mock funeral for Nao who has apparently disappeared. A video of the funeral titled The Tragic and Untimely Death of Transfer Student Nao Yasutani is posted online and received thousands of hits. At the temple, Jiko notices Naos scars from the bullying and encourages Nao to express her anger and pain. Jiko resolves to assist Nao in developing a superpower, or supapawa, to protect Nao from the violence she experiences at school. The development of Naos supapawa draws on her participation in rituals of gratitude and mindfulness. Nao recalls, Jiko was helping me cultivate my supapawa! by encouraging me to sit zazen for many hours without moving, and showing me how not to kill anything (204). Nao can find peace and strength in the practice of zazen, writing that it feels like coming home (182). Unfortunately, after the summer break the bullying intensifies into sexual violence as a group of bullies knocks Nao to the ground in the school restroom and threatens to rape her. Nao recalls, I just lay there, perfectly still. It was pointless to struggle or scream they could break my body but they wouldnt break my spirit. They were only shadows, and as I listened to them arguing, I felt my face relax into a gentle smile. I had summoned up my supapawa (277). While she cannot physically overpower the bullies, she now has the mental resilience to withstand their attacks. Jiko cannot protect Nao from the dangers of everyday life, but Jiko provides her with the tools to resist nonviolently while remaining mentally resilient. Additionally, Nao develops a deep compassion and empathy that allows her to finally communicate effectively with her father, creating the opportunity for a more beneficial future for them both. 71 Jiko often serves as a guide by example, displaying her deeply held feminist views and sense of ethics to those around her, including Nao. Nao describes Jiko as an anarchist-feministnovelist-turned-Buddhist-nun of the Taisho era (Ozeki 19), who had plenty of lovers, both males and females, introducing feminist and queer critique to the novel (6). Nao refers to her great-grandmother as a New Woman, a Japanese phrase from the early 1900s used to describe progressive, educated women who rejected the limitations of traditional gender-assigned roles (6). Raich Hiratsuka, a co-founder of the early twentieth century Japanese feminist magazine Bluestocking stated, I am a new woman. As new women we have always insisted that women are also human beings. It is common knowledge that we have opposed the existing morality, and have maintained that women have the right to express themselves as individuals and to be respected as individuals, a sentiment Jiko clearly believes as well (Sato 14). Jiko named her daughters after the feminist icons Emma Goldman and Kanno Sugako, substantiating Jikos commitment to gender equality and incorporating instances of Eastern and Western attempts to overthrow patriarchy (69). Jiko transcends socially constructed boundaries of association and models this behavior for her relations. Marlo Starr explains, Jiko has the ability to straddle multiple identities. Her presence raises questions about the fixity of individual identity because she simultaneously transgresses multiple categories and classifications (Starr 101-102). Jiko embodies the ideals she dedicated her life to pursuing and Nao becomes enthralled with her great-grandmothers accomplishments and persona, even dedicating the journal to cataloguing the life of Jiko for posterity. Ruth becomes similarly enthralled with the nuns life, dedicating many hours to research Jikos I-novel which has seemingly disappeared from existence as the only trace of the novel is in an article abstract that disappears when Ruth attempts to read it. Both women intentionally and unintentionally emulate Jikos behaviors, which assists them in seeking 72 more equitable outcomes for themselves by questioning societal pressures to conform to predetermined binaries and identities. Buddhism and feminism have overlapping principles that reject binaries and emphasize the fluidity of identity as a product of individual and collective experience. As a New Woman, Jiko resists the binaries of gender traditionally forced on Japanese men and women and continues her practice of resistance as a Buddhist nun. In her article Beyond Machine Dreams: Zen, Cyber-, and Transnational Feminisms in Ruth Ozekis A Tale for the Time Being Marlo Starr explains, Buddhist philosophy is also appealing to feminists because of its emphasis on nondualistic thinking. The idea that the self is unitary and separate from others is illusory in Buddhist thought, and therefore, perceived differences between the self and others and between races and genders are also deemed illusory (101). Jikos Buddhist and feminist teachings influence her great-granddaughter, encouraging Nao to consider the world through a nondualistic perspective that will allow for broader understanding of circumstances beyond herself. Nao observes Jikos body as a form that resists the rigidity of binary or classification, simultaneously transgress[ing] multiple categories and classifications (102). Nao perceives Jiko as part ghost, part child, part young girl, part sexy woman, part yamamaba [mountain witch, mountain hag], all at once, representing every stage of her existence through one corporeal form (Ozeki 166). The overall impression of Jiko described by Nao was developed over several weeks as Nao progressed in her acceptance of practices such as mindfulness and gratitude and as she witnessed her great-grandmothers behaviors. Nao beings to adapt Jikos not-two way of thinking as an approach to considering alternate possibilities, such as the real reason why her family relocated to Tokyo from California or Haruki #1s idealistic sacrifice. Nao overcomes her closemindedness and her own pain to seek a greater understanding of her 73 fathers choices and circumstances, ultimately closing the widening rift between father and daughter. Through Jikos teachings, Nao is better able to open her understanding to additional perspectives and create more constructive prospects for her family that transcend the individual and positively influence their interactions with other beings. Jikos feminist and Buddhist teachings also influence Naos interactions in cyberspace, allowing her to communicate with Jiko and withstand repeated online bullying. The increased interaction of humans on the internet has allowed for the progression of modern feminism and the deconstruction of gender and other norms in online spaces, extending the greater ecology beyond the traditional confines of the physical. Participating in online discourse allows the human mind to merge with technology, collapsing traditional binaries between mind and machine, and Buddhist practice seeks to reveal the connection between self and others (Starr 101). Critical posthumanism addresses the inseparable relationship between humans and technology, while rejecting human exceptionalism (the idea that humans are unique creatures) and human instrumentalism (that humans have a right to control the natural world) (Nayar 17). Technology, from the rudimentary tools created by early humans to cell phones and airplanes, is inexorably linked to our existence and development. Humans are evolving alongside all other lifeforms and technology, creating an ecology that incorporates cyberspace. Starr discusses how Donna Haraway invokes the image of the cyborg as a postcorporeal amalgamation, blending human and machine to undermine traditional ways of perceiving and categorizing human bodies. Rather than seeing the body as a natural formation, this hybrid image shows that the human body is historically and culturally constituted. The cyborg does not reinforce 74 binaries like man/machine, mind/body, and male/female but instead exposes how these dualisms are constructed through cultural ideology. (Starr 101) The invocation of the cyborg allows for the deconstruction of limiting social norms established through systems of oppression and provides a means for individuals to forge an identity free of restrictive binaries. Haraways cyborg analogy reflects Naos description of Jikos classificationless body that resembles components of herself historically and culturally. Jiko physically and ideologically resists labels and while Jiko exists largely in the physical world, she defies expectations when she utilizes cyberspace to communicate with her great-granddaughter and continue to guide her toward a more ethical future. As she leaves Sunnyvale, Nao imagines cyberspace will be a way for her to maintain transnational relationships with her childhood friends via email and her blog. The internet provides the possibility to transcend boundaries, as Haraways cyborg does, and to facilitate gender and racial equality (Starr 103). Individual identity can become untethered to physical reality, allowing those who have been habitually affected by systems of oppression to escape those systems. The internet can be a way for people to connect without being hindered by biases and participate in discourse their physical situation may not permit. However, this initial cyberfeminist theory is considered blindly optimistic as cyberspace is often employed to exploit vulnerable groups, such as the exploitation of women and children through pornography or trafficking with minimal accountability for perpetrators. While Nao experiences bullying and both physical and sexual abuse by her peers in person, cyberspace becomes another venue for her harassment. When she discovers her classmates intention to hold a funeral for Transfer Student Yasutani, she skips class to avoid the humiliating experience, only to have a link to a video of the funeral emailed to her afterward. The evening after her classmates assaulted her in the school 75 restroom, a classmate emails her another link to a video of that horrific scene and a link to a burusera [schoolgirl uniform] fetish site where hentais [pervert, a sexual deviant] could bid on my blood-stained panties (Ozeki 278). Naos cyberbullying situation is an example of how cyberspace can negatively alter the greater ecology by ostracizing and harming individuals through compounding means. Naos experience is not a single moment in her life to be compartmentalized and forgotten, but published to the Internet, this moment of sexual abuse is frozen in timedisseminated to a wider audience, with the potential to be looped, rewatched, and re-experienced over again and cannot be easily erased or forgotten (Starr 106). The internet is not a place of fluidity and easily altered identitycontent is static and even if the individual initiating a post removes it, likely someone else shared or captured the post, ensuring its eternal posterity. Ozeki challenges the ability to escape to cyberspace and emphasizes the inseverable connection between reality and cyberspacecyberspace is an extension of the greater ecology and is no more or less ethical or equitable than the physical world. The solution to unethical behavior in cyberspace proposed by the novel is the fantastical application Mu-Mu the Obliterator, created by Haruki #2 to expunge undesirable content from the internet, such as the videos of Nao. Jikos feminist paradigms permeate the entire Yasutani family, and Ruth by association, to generate a favorable solution by individuals dedicated to equitable behavior. Conclusion: Leading Readers Toward Equity for All Beings A Tale for the Time Beings various guides serve to propel the characters on more equitable routes; however, the reader is the ultimate recipient of knowledge presented by the crows and Jiko. Nao and Ruth model the act of pursuing the guides, offering an example for the reader to follow. Ozeki does not suggest that the path will be free from complications or travails, 76 yet the reader must consider the benefits of discarding a mindset that does not actively engage with the greater ecology and seek out a more constructive path. Though readers likely will not have a guide at the ready to propel them in the most favorable direction, they may reflect on Jikos teachings to improve their mindset through mindfulness and gratitude and shape their choices by rejecting predetermined binaries and seeking equity for all beings. Readers may apply the crows philosophies to question nativity and the interconnectedness of deep ecology while not disremembering stories to create change in their lives and futures. Ozeki weaves contemporary topics in environmental criticism, such as the use-value paradigm and critical posthumanism, with feminist theory to underline the connections between all beings, regardless of status or classification, allowing her guides to step the characters and the reader through to a more ethical future informed by their collective wisdom. 77 Bibliography 2014 Southern Resident Killer Whales: 10 Years of Research & Conservation Report. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, U.S. Department of Commerce, 2014. Bennett, Michael. Urban Nature: Teaching Tinker Creek by the East River. Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment, vol. 5, no. 1, 1998, pp. 4959. Bhabha, Homi K. Introduction: Narrating the Nation. Nation and Narration. Routledge, 1990. Buell, Lawrence. 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... NOT BY SIGHT: FLANNERY OCONNOR AND THE SALVIFIC UNSEEN IN WISE BLOOD A Thesis Presented to The Faculty of the Department of English University of Indianapolis In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Master of Arts by Kaleb Richard Schlatter May 2021 Copyright 2021 Kaleb Richard Schlatter NOT BY SIGHT: FLANNERY OCONNOR AND THE SALVIFIC UNSEEN IN WISE BLOOD by Kaleb Richard Schlatter APPPROVED BY THE DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH UNIVERITY OF INDIANAPOLIS May 2021 Advisors name, Department of English Second Readers name, Department of English ABSTRACT NOT BY SIGHT: FLANNERY OCONNOR AND THE SALVIFIC UNSEEN IN WISE BLOOD by Kaleb Richard Schlatter While much is known about Flannery OConnors life and work, scholars remain confounded at the elements that constitute her artistic, avowedly grotesque vision. With depictions that are heavily impregnated with prejudice, violence, and death, OConnors writing seems contradictory to what many would perceive as concomitant of a Catholic worldview, thus making the leitmotif of sight--that is, what OConnor sees and what her readers are, therein, obliged to see--a fundamental discussion in OConnorian criticism. Most of OConnors work illustrates a characters substantial, sometimes shocking, convergence with a grace that fosters salvific revelation. In the 1952 publication of Wise Blood, OConnors first novel, readers are presented with Hazel Motes, whose encounter with grace does not result in sight, but in blindness. It is in his blindness and eventual death that his spiritual rebellion and iniquity are redressed. In the novel, blindness works to recast emphasis to an inward, bottomless vision that is effectuated through cogitative self-criticism and asceticism, as opposed to an outward, interpretive vision. This treatise will discourse on elements of inward and anagogical vision that are manifest in OConnors writing at large yet are culminated in the divine drama of Wise Blood--a vision predicated on the notion of Christ as the all-seeing judge and blinding light of the world. VITA Kaleb Schlatter was born in Fort Wayne, Indiana and currently resides in Indianapolis, Indiana. He received his Bachelor of Science in Secondary English Education from Huntington University in Huntington, Indiana in May 2017. He graduated cum laude and minored in TESOL Studies. He is a member of Sigma Tau Delta (Nu Xi chapter) and served as the University of Indianapolis English Departments Carmony Fellow during the 2020-2021 academic year. After completing his Master of Arts, he will continue serving as a Secondary English Language Arts instructor in Central Indiana with aspirations to engage in further postgraduate study and to eventually teach at the collegiate level. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS My deep gratitude goes to those who have contributed to my academic success at the University of Indianapolis. I am grateful to my advisor Dr. Leah Milne for her guidance, patience, and affability through the development of this thesis. I also want to thank Prof. Rebecca McKanna for serving as the second reader for this thesis and the other faculty members in the English Department who made my graduate studies worthwhile. Additionally, my gratitude goes out to the faculty members within the Huntington University English Department who saw me through my formative years as a scholar and lover of language and whose coursework sufficiently prepared me for my graduate studies. I also want to thank Mr. Travis Fisher for introducing me to Flannery OConnors short stories in the fall of 2012 and for inspiring me to teach others through the analysis and appreciation of literature. I am grateful to my family, who continues to nurture and support me through prayer and friendship. Most of all, I am indebted to my wife Audrey for the love she shows me every day and strength that she exhibited throughout my graduate studies. To God be the glory for what this thesis is and what it means to those who read it. vi TABLE OF CONTENTS Preface1-14 Chapter One..15-37 Chapter Two.38-69 Conclusion70-74 Bibliography.75-76 vii 1 Preface Seeing is believing. This proverbial adage speaks not only to the salience of faith and vision, but to their mutual inclusivity. In coupling the two, it is implied that what one sees in the world will evidence what one believes about it. It also obscures the differences between vision and belief, conflating the terms into a singular concept by association. The juxtaposition of the terms provokes important questions, as wellones pertaining to the architecture and consequentiality of belief and how a persons beliefs thereby determine, or otherwise shape, their perception. Matters of faith and vision prove especially salient in the field of literary criticism, as arguments are consistently put forth regarding what an author allegedly believed upon the surveyance and analysis of their literary works. If literary content is an instantiation of what an author saw in the world, then stylistic and thematic nuances can be plausibly perceived as emulations of how they viewed the world, themselves, others, or whatever else upon which they happened to focalize. While no authorand no person, for that matteris exempt from the faculties of belief and perception, as they are both intrinsic to human experience, only some are decidedly overt about what they personally believed, how those beliefs influenced their creative vision, and what readers are, therefore, invited to see upon contact with their work. Among contemporary American authors, perhaps no one was as forthright as Flannery OConnor (19251964) in this regard. As a devout Catholic, OConnor was steadfast in her religious beliefs, recognizing them to be more than constituents of her worldview, but a comprehensive lens through which all could be envisioned and understood. In OConnors case, the fruit of her devotedness is fiction and prose fervid with religious imagery, connotation, and subtext, offering readers an invaluable glance and a thought-provoking message of how faith and vision coalesce. 2 OConnors fiction, fecund with violence, bigotry, and grotesque character depictions, has been deemed affronting and unpalatable by many, though OConnor remains as one of the most prominently anthologized and most beloved contemporary American authors. She is often regarded as a Southern Gothic writer and a master of the grotesque, as one who unveiled the darkest, most repulsive aspects of humanity as she saw them in the American South through fictitious representation. OConnor refuted this notion, though, clarifying that her intent was to portray the world honestly and realistically, as opposed to grotesquely, through her fiction. OConnor suggests this in her essay The Grotesque in Southern Fiction where she writes that, When we look at a good deal of serious modern fiction, and particularly Southern fiction, we find this quality about it that is generally described, in a pejorative sense, as grotesque. Of course, I have found that anything that comes out of the South is going to be called grotesque by the Northern reader, unless it is grotesque, in which case it is going to be called realistic (M&M, 40). In saying this, OConnor concedes to her writing being perceivably, or even provably, grotesque, yet she also alludes to her conviction that her fiction ought to be grounded in reality above all else. Whats more, this passage evokes OConnors stance that fiction is, or ought to be, reflective of what is observed in the real world, even if what is seen suggests personal and/or religious belief. For OConnor, then, in her God-fearing religiosity, to creatively project vision was to devise fictional worlds that were rife with human depravity yet profoundly, mysteriously governed by the grace of God. OConnors first novel Wise Blood (1952) explores the inextricable relationship between faith and vision through the protagonist Hazel Motes. As one who OConnor depicts as morally depraved, yet redeemable through Gods grace, Hazels is the primary perspective through which readers can interpret the divine drama of Wise Blood and intuit the spiritual significance of what 3 transpires in the physical realm of the story. In other words, OConnors Hazel is a testament to the physical and spiritual realities that can be encapsulated in ones purviewan example of embodiable, actionable anagogical vision. Consequently, Hazels character incites inquiry surrounding the anagogical vision that OConnor embodiesthat is, vision that [has] to do with the Divine life and our participation in it (M&M, 72)and reifies through her fiction. In the novel, Hazel is plagued by a recurring inward vision of Jesus, where He move[s] from tree to tree in the back of his mind, [as] a wild ragged figure motioning him to turn around and come off in the dark where he was not sure of his footing, where he might be walking on the water and not know it and suddenly know it and drown (WB, 16). This sort of vision speaks to Hazels belief in Jesus, the One who, in OConnors mind, longs to redeem him and have him in the end! (WB, 16). Nevertheless, Hazel spends the majority of the novel reluctant of his inward vision because of the divinity and mystery it emanates. Attempting to spare himself of encroaching spiritual realities, Hazel reasons that the way to avoid Jesus [is] to avoid sin (WB, 16) and that, Where he wanted to stay was in Eastrod with his two eyes open, and his hands always handling the familiar thing, his feet on track, and his tongue not too loose (WB, 16). Growing increasingly weary of his inward vision of Christ, Hazel travels to Taulkinham where instead of avoiding Jesus through avoiding sin, he engages in what he knows to be sinful to prove to himself (and others) that he does not believe in Jesus. In this way, OConnor marks vision as that which a person embodies and exerts to achieve a certain end, making vision, by extension, an expression of ones spiritual condition. The irony of Hazels rebellion is manifest in his establishment of The Church Without Christ, which also speaks to his spiritually complex inner life. Even in his rebellion, Hazel shows a propensity for what is spiritual and unseen by creating a church, standing as its preacher, 4 preaching of a new jesus, and all the while professing that what you couldnt see or hold in your hands or test with your teeth (WB, 208) is not worth believing in or acting upon. However, Hazel cannot, and does not, maintain this disposition for long. Realizing spiritual reality to be fundamental and inescapable, Hazel forfeits the Church Without Christ and then morbidly proceeds to blind himself with lime. In doing so, Hazel renounces his former perception of the physical world that he had previously considered paramount and embraces the spiritual unseen that beckons his attention. Through Hazel, OConnor illustrates how faith and vision operate in conjunction with one another, as Hazels redemption in Christ is indicated by the sort of vision that he assumes and embraces unto death. In her prose, OConnor discusses faith and vision in ways that can help readers comprehend the true nature of Hazels rebellion and redemption. For instance, in Writing Short Stories, OConnor notes that, Your beliefs will be the light by which you see, but they will not be what you see and they will not be a substitute for seeing (M&M, 91). In this passage, OConnor presents faith as that which allows a person to see; however, faith is not, in itself, the act of seeing, nor does ones faith ultimately comprise what is seen. Instead, for OConnor, what isthat is, what is real and true, whether in the physical or the spiritualexists axiomatically and independent of ones perception. In consequence, to know what is true and be in closer contact with reality, one must fix their eyes accordingly, and, for OConnor, this means that one must fixate on GodHe who exists in spirit yet is also knowable through the incarnation of spiritual realities in the physical world. Recent scholarship has discussed the OConnorian notion of vision, though not extensively apropos to Wise Blood. For example, Cassandra Nelsons Seeing is Believing: What 5 Flannery OConnor Meant by Vision, conveys the invaluable inference that when OConnor refers to vision, she is not denoting physical sight exclusively; rather, and more prominently, she is referring to that which can be detected in the minds eye. Nelson expounds on this further, explaining that for the first two hundred years of its existence, the word vision referred exclusively to sight with the minds eye, whether in the form of a prophetic or mystical revelation, or simply the contemplation of a thing not actually present . . . [and that only] later, in the late 1400s, did it come to mean bodily sight (14). Though her article gives no mention of Hazel nor Wise Blood, Nelsons insight regarding OConnors conception of vision could certainly complement the reading and analysis of the vision-oriented, spiritual phenomena that are presented in the text. There has also been recent scholarship surrounding the nature of Hazels redemption, though there seems to be a lack of substantial discourse on the significance of vision in the grand scheme of the divine drama of Wise Blood. While it may be common knowledge among OConnorian scholars that Hazels redemption in Christ is signified in his self-blinding, the notion that Hazel himself is the literary corporealization of OConnors concept of vision seems to be overlooked, thus warranting further analysis. Scholars such as Marcel Decoste and Michial Farmer have also discussed the significance of Hazels physical body in his redemption narrative. Decoste, for example, writes of how Hazels mutilated body, as a result of his self-blinding and ascesis, is reminiscent to that of Christs, asserting that just as it is Christs scourged, slain, and resurrected body which constitutes the foundational sacrament of Christianity, so must Hazes body, hungry for salvation, experience the keen pangs of judgment and atonement (71). By extension, the spiritual significance of Hazels mutilated body could prove relevant in disability studies that concentrate on OConnors work, for OConnor does not portray Hazels disability as 6 disadvantageous, but as profitable in a more salient and spiritual sense. The integral role that Hazels physical body plays in his spiritual redemption is also analyzed by Farmer, who, quoting OConnor, describes heresy as the notion that you can worship in pure spirit (qtd. in Farmer 87). While, indeed, attention needs to be brought to the physical aspects of Hazels redemption narrativethe implications of Hazels blindness, namelyit is imperative that OConnors subtextual analysis of the profound nature and eternal implications of vision not be lost in interpretation. Furthermore, because it is common knowledge among OConnorian scholars that OConnor was a devout Catholic woman, there is ample scholarship detailing the religious elements of her fiction. Like her short stories, OConnors Wise Blood has been analyzed in this right; however, more recent publications have worked to explore the aspects of OConnors fiction that are ostensibly un-Christian (i.e., depictions that seem contrary to what is commonly known and accepted concerning the Christian message). Among these is Michael Mears Bruners A Subversive Gospel: Flannery OConnor and the Reimagining of Beauty, Goodness, and Truth. Expanding on the titular subversive gospel manifest in OConnors writing, Bruner asserts that although OConnors fiction is pronouncedly Christian, it dramatically portrays the grace of God in a manner that deviates from what is archetypal and widely accepted concerning Gods character. For instance, Bruner explains that, OConnors God was mainline liberal Christianitys worst nightmare, a God you could not control, one who was neither respectable nor tame. This was a ferocious deity to match OConnors ferocious stories (though I suspect the pairing ran in the opposite direction for OConnor) (76). Though this is but one inference that Bruner makes concerning OConnors subversive approach to the gospel, the grander notion is substantiated in OConnors fiction at large, particularly in Wise Blood. While Gods grace could 7 be more palatably conveyed in the alleviation of Hazels self-inflicted suffering and the restoration of physical sight, OConnor subverts expectations by transforming Hazel into a selfblinded, self-harming ascetic in Jesus name. In this way, Bruners notion of a subversive gospel in OConnors work is substantiated, though it should also be noted that the subversive gospel in OConnors writing does not imply a subversion of the gospel message itself (and in my estimation, perhaps Bruner would concur); rather it is a subversion of what people expect from the gospel message. Such expectations, however, can be revised and refined through a survey and exegesis of the scripture that may have shaped OConnors creative and moral vision. What follows is a two-part thesis on the prominence of vision in Hazels redemption arc. Throughout her Mystery and Manners collection, OConnor intermittently expounds upon the salience of vision, emphasizing its integrality in life and art and denoting it as the faculty by which a person (a novelist, in particular) should be characterized (M&M, 47). Throughout the entirety of Wise Blood, OConnor does exactly this, characterizing Hazel in accordance with the sort of vision that he embodies and proceeds to exert, though she also depicts him as one in desperate need of Christs redemption. In doing so, OConnor illustrates Hazels faith and vision as being inextricably linked. Before Hazel blinds himself, he is hell-bent, and arguably hellbound, in finding solace in a church without Christ and an indisputably (though not strictly) physical worldone he is determined to navigate and understand by his own wisdom and perception. After Hazel blinds himself, however, he is presented before readers and characters alike as the honest-to-Jesus blind man (WB, 219)the one who responds to the inescapable presence of Christ without reservation until his soul is laid to rest. In this way, the details of Hazels spiritual condition (i.e., what marks him as depraved and then as redeemed in OConnors view) are inferable through what he chooses to fixate upon and the disposition and 8 actions engendered therefrom. It is, therefore, crucial that Hazels redemption arc be analyzed in view of OConnors vision-oriented discourse so that the nature of Hazels redemption can be more thoroughly realized and recognized for the distinctly Christian message that OConnor conveys through Wise Blood. The purpose of the first chapter is to delineate the nature of Hazels moral predicament. As a Christian writer, OConnor often wrote stories that involved characters encountering Gods grace in unexpected ways. However, in her dark sensibilities as a Southern Gothic writer, OConnor only knew of Gods grace as it was manifested in what she knew to be a fallen, depraved world. In Catholic Novelists, OConnor speaks of three fundamental truths that can most simply synopsize the foundations of her Catholic worldview: the Fall, the Redemption, and the Judgment (M&M, 185). In Wise Blood, Hazels pursuit of redemption in Christ predicates on the notion that he has fallen from Gods grace, yet OConnor did not expect her audiences to intuit Hazels fallenness, much less conceive the nature of it, as it would require the revelatory knowledge of that from which he fell. In this way, OConnor bears in mind the fallenness of those in her audienceto those who may agree with Hazel when he preaches that there was no Fall because there was nothing to fall from and no Redemption because there was no Fall (WB, 101). Hazels inattention toward the Divine is not due to a lack of vision, given his inward vision of Christ; rather, it is his unwillingness to follow Jesus into the dark where he was not sure of his footing, where he might be walking on the water and not know it and suddenly know it and drown (WB, 16). This inward vision of Jesus speaks not only to Hazels belief in Jesus, but his dread of the uncertainty and self-sacrifice that he knows following Jesus may entail. That said, it will be argued in Chapter One that Hazels rebellion against God is rooted in his determination to be rid of his inward vision and to cling to that which he can 9 perceive through outward vision and engage in the physical world, thus espousing a secularist worldview that renders him nihilistic, solipsistic, and resentful. The chapter will then conclude with the assertion that Hazels spiritual self-awareness is catalyzed via spiritual, unseen realities incarnating into the physical world, thus bringing the truth of his inward vision and the essence of OConnors ultimate reality to the foreground. Thereafter, the purpose of the second chapter is to explore the nature of Hazels redemption. Most notably, it will address the peculiarity and profoundness of Hazels blindness. While blindness may be more archetypically associated with sin and spiritual lostness, given the darkness that is implicit to physical blindness, it is, in Hazels case, indicative of redemption in Christ. Intriguingly, OConnors vision-oriented discourse offers insight on blindness just as it does sight, and the thoughts she presents on blindness are often associated with ones belief, as opposed to unbelief. OConnors notion of blindness, and the implicit darkness, also aligns with her convictions surrounding mysterymystery that Hazel obstinately avoids through fixating on the physical world yet is immersed in through blindness. For OConnor, mystery is the anomalous grace of God that is relentlessly imposed upon humanity, and it was her hope that her fiction would leave readers with a deepened sense of that mystery. For Hazel, a deepened sense of mysterythat is, a cognizance and pursuit of the Holy--is perpetuated by blindness, and, in this way, OConnor is likely to subvert the expectations of readers who only know Jesus as a restorer of physical sight. Chapter Two, however, will also include a survey of other passages in scripture where genuine faith in Christ is exemplified through ones blindness or otherwise through ones walking in the darkness. By extension, readers will become acquainted with biblical notions of blindness and darkness that are indicative of righteousness and belief, as opposed to sin and unbelief. Each biblical passage will be derived from the King James Version 10 of the Christian Bible so as to present the passages as OConnor may have read them verbatim. The chapter will then conclude with an explanation of how Hazels blindness and ascesis allow him to achieve a kind of sainthood in OConnors estimation. Standing alone, each chapter aligns the divine drama of Wise Blood with OConnors insights surrounding vision and analyzes how OConnors vision-oriented discourse becomes literarily corporealized through Hazels character. Cohesively, however, the two chapters emphasize the centrality of vision in Hazels redemption arc, each delineating the mutual inclusivity of faith and vision in OConnors writing. It should be noted, though, that the terms are not equivocal in OConnors view. As Edward Kessler writes in Flannery OConnor and the Language of Apocalypse, Seeing is believing [for OConnor], but believing is not necessarily seeing (84). Hazel has a spiritually rich and complex inner life; however, as a Christian malgr lui (i.e., a Christian in spite of himself), he consciously repudiates his inward vision of Christ by fixating on the physical world exclusively. In doing this, Hazel gives one form of vision precedence over another, although he is unable to rid himself of spiritual perceptiveness altogether. Through Hazel, then, OConnor depicts moral vision as intrinsic to the human conditionas the faculty through which all can know God but also as that which can be used to reject Him. In this way, OConnor emphasizes the consequentiality of vision, speaking not only to its psychophysiological expensiveness, but the spiritual costs of ideologically misguided vision. By portraying Hazels redemption as a matter of vision, though, OConnor alludes to the spiritual enlightenment and eternal reward that she believes a Christ-centered vision will yield. Furthermore, the arguments presented in this thesis are intended to disrupt common interpretations of thematic binaries that are prevalent throughout older and contemporary literary 11 works. For example, the sight-blind binary dichotomizes the seeing and unseeing, namely those who can see physically and those who cannot. While the notion of physical sight and physical blindness may often transmute into a discussion of spiritual sight and spiritual blindness, the implicature of sight is typically a clear sense of direction and an ensuant state of enlightenment, alluding to something perceivably commendable, desirable, and righteous. The implicature of blindness, on the other hand, is typically lostness, oblivion, and depravity something undesirable and ultimately immoral. This is frequently so with the sight-blind binary because of the light-dark binary upon which it predicates, as light is commonly associated with clarity, direction, and an ensuant sense of hope, thereby alluding to the emanations of a deity or greater good that nullifies evil. Conversely, darkness is commonly depicted as the absence of said deity or greater goodas the presence and essence of evil. This thesis will explore the semantic range of these thematic binaries, though, thereby opposing the notion that the associated terms (i.e., sight, blind, light, and dark) and their linguistic variants are connotatively univocal. OConnor disrupts commonly preconceived notions around these ideas through Hazels redemption in Wise Blood, for Hazel does not achieve any sort of enlightenment until he is blinded and is without any relishable sense of direction or deity until he is immersed into darkness. It should be noted, once again, that OConnor crafts Hazels redemption narrative in concordance with what is taught in scripture, thus further substantiating the notion that Wise Blood conveys a distinctly Christian message. Through this thesis, readers are also invited to reassess their conception of vision altogether by acquainting themselves with OConnors faith and the scripture that informed it. Thematically, this thesis suggests that those who analyze the religious aspects of OConnors fiction are mistaken to surmise that OConnor had a dark take on the gospel message, given 12 her dark sensibilities as a Southern Gothic writer. However, it would be more plausible to suggest that OConnors dark sensibilities afforded her keen insight into the darkness that has always been scripturally embedded throughout the gospel message. Spiritually and creatively bold in the face of darkness, OConnor artfully portrayed the grace of the God who, through the prophet Isaiah, proclaimed, I am the Lord, and there is none else. I form the light, and create darkness . . . I the Lord do all these things (Isa. 45:6-7, KJV; emphasis added). In this way, OConnor offers solace to those, characters and readers alike, who are surrounded by or otherwise characterized by spiritual darkness, for the following is also said of God in the Davidic psalm: If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee (Ps. 139:11-12, KJV). In this passage, the psalmist speaks of how Gods perception of light and dark (and sight and blindness, by extension) differ from his own, confessing his perceptual finitude unto the Lord. In this way, OConnors fiction projects a Christian reality that does not adhere to what readers may desire or expect from a Christian worldview; rather, it prompts readers to reassess their perspective on the gospel and exchange it for the sort of holistic perspective that OConnors devotion eventuated. Similar to how, Wise Blood prepares the reader for a simple truth . . . : Do not trust in your own righteousness (Giannone 52), it additionally prompts readers to not strictly rely on their own wisdom when developing a embodiable, actionable vision of the world. OConnor understood her Christian faith to be that which granted her the vision that she is both criticized and revered for having, and this goes to show how personally she understood the vision-oriented themes that she implements in Wise Blood. In Catholic Novelists, 13 OConnor writes that faith [itself] is a walking in the darkness and not a theological solution to mystery (M&M, 184). She goes on to say: The poet is traditionally a blind man, but the Christian poet, and storyteller as well, is like the blind man whom Christ touched, who looked then and saw men as if they were trees, but walking. This is the beginning of vision, and it is an invitation to deeper and stranger visions that we shall have to learn to accept if we want to realize a truly Christian literature. (M&M, 184-185) Through this comparison, OConnor credits Christ as a source of unorthodox patterns of vision, referencing Jesus encounter with a blind man in the eighth chapter of the Gospel of Mark that reads as follows: And he took the blind man by the hand, and led him out of the town; and when he had spit on his eyes, and put his hands upon him, he asked him if he saw ought. And he looked up, and said, I see men as trees, walking. After that he put his hands again upon his eyes, and made him look up: and he was restored, and saw every man clearly. (Mark 8:23-25, KJV). Though the mans physical sight is fully restored by Christ in this passage, his moment of distorted, illustrative vision should not be overlooked, for this is the moment with which OConnor identifies and the position from which she claims to write. This being the case, OConnorian scholars should not only expect perplexingly nuanced illustrations of spiritual truth in OConnors fiction; rather, they should expect literary projections of vision that can only be explained through scriptural depictions of God. Indeed, the spiritual truths exhibited through the vision-oriented dialogue and circumstances in Wise Blood are no exception. Overall, this thesis is for any literary scholar or layperson who is interested in how the nature of ones religious, or otherwise personal, beliefs can be artfully and effectively conveyed 14 through literature. Flannery OConnor was, indeed, among the most fervent in presenting readers with fiction that emulated the real world and did so by illustratively detailing what she knew to be the most salient matters in her purview. For OConnor, this often involved bringing spiritual realities to the forefront by depicting characters for their depravity and their need for redemption, and then by orchestrating an encounter between them and what she knew to be the mysterious, relentless grace of God. This thesis would also prove useful to those who are concerned with the spiritual and psychophysiological importance of visionthe bearing it has on belief and how belief is, then, carried out through vision either to the benefit or the detriment of the individual. Through Hazel, OConnor portrays vision as an unquestionably spiritual facultyas a testament to ones spiritual condition and an indication of how they have chosen to respond. While what follows is a discussion of Hazels moral visionwhat it entails and how he responds to itthere lies the implicit invitation for readers to contemplate the nature and repercussions of their own. 15 Chapter One Introduction Among the most salient subjects in critical studies of Flannery OConnor is that of vision. For decades, the Southern gothic grotesquerie of OConnors writing, exhibited through certain characters unsavory appearances, certain characters scandalousness, and ominous landscapes, has bemused and daunted readers. For such reasons, the inscape of OConnors fiction has repeatedly been called into question, as readers have taken what is commonly known about OConnor and have attempted to harmonize it with what they are ushered into seeing through her writing. Among the most noteworthy elements of OConnors life is her devotedness to her Christian faith. Like her Georgian roots, her lupus diagnosis in 1949, her monasterial existence as a writer due to her disease, and her unseasonable death at the age of thirty-nine in 1964, OConnors identity as a woman of faith proves to be one of the most compelling characteristics of her life story. As an unabashedly devout Catholic, OConnor wrote and testified as one who viewed the world in a particular way, not despite her being Catholic, but because she was Catholic, and it is this very notion that engenders an air of mystery while interpreting her work. If OConnor wrote from a Christian perspective, why does she unceasingly present readers with literary narratives, characters, and worlds that are so extensively depraved without also consistently presenting them with instances of forthright, Spirit-wrought, redemptive change? OConnors discourse on her own writing addresses such concerns by redirecting readers attention to the concept of visionwhat it means to see and how the manner in which one sees is what will determine their disposition and conduct toward a subject or circumstance. Intriguingly, OConnors insights concerning the dynamics and salience of vision is not limited 16 to her personal letters and essays that address her fiction directly, for it is the fiction itself that dramatically elaborates on how ones vision defines their literary, and cumulatively human, experience. Flannery OConnors Wise Blood (1952) is a work of fiction that subtextually explores vision at considerable length. Like many other works of OConnors fiction, Wise Blood presents readers with unseemly character depictions and unnerving plot points, which readers are still left to contend with, yet it is through the storys protagonist Hazel Motes that OConnors fundamental propositions concerning vision are literarily corporealized and implemented. As the main protagonist, Hazel is the one through whom readers are invited to focalize and interpret the literary world of Wise Blood. A distinguishing quality of Hazels, however, is not his physical sight, but his self-assuredness that he can see the world clearly. When Hazel speaks of vision, he speaks of his ability to know what is true and to not be hindered by forces seeking to deprive him of the enlightenment he believes to have obtained on his own accord. In her authors note to the second edition of Wise Blood, OConnor describes Hazel as a Christian malgr lui--that is, a Christian in spite of himselfone whose many wills conflict within him as he strives to abandon and discredit a Christian faith that he cannot seem to escape. In this way, Hazel is a strong-willed, doggedly rebellious character, and although he is also one who OConnor, with all things considered, regards as a kind of saint, he is also a man marked by a profane faith that renders him increasingly solipsistic and nihilistic throughout the novel. Hazel is insistent that his sight is what gives him truth, makes him free, and advantageously distinguishes him from the people of Taulkinham. OConnor, however, portrays him as one whose sight is fixated on, and thus confined to, that which is outward and physical, as opposed to spiritual and of utmost salience. The aim of this chapter is to delineate the nature of Hazel Motess moral dilemma by 17 analyzing the kind of outward vision that he exalts, acts upon, and thus allows to take precedence in his worldview. Moreover, Hazels kind of outward vision is employed to diminish any woeful cognizance that he has of unseen, spiritual realitiesthose that, in OConnors view, comprise ultimate reality and determine ones fate. Clarifying Vision To explicate the nature of Hazel Motess moral dilemma, vision must be discussed and understood in accordance with OConnors personal convictions surrounding vision, which she explains in significant detail with her proseparticularly in her Mystery and Manners collection. Scholars analyze and discuss OConnors view of religious and anagogical vision, largely because this is what she writes about when she speaks of the sort of vision that one ought to exert. For instance, in The Fiction Writer and His Country, OConnor states that, . . . I am no disbeliever in spiritual purpose and no vague believer. I see from the standpoint of Christian orthodoxy. This means that for me the meaning of life is centered in our Redemption by Christ and what I see in the world I see in its relation to that (M&M, 32). With this, OConnor does not clarify her conceptual sense of vision by detailing what she sees when she looks at the world, but rather how she sees. Such a statement also evidences how thoroughly OConnors faith, and the meaning it imbued into all matters of life, was incorporated into her perspectivehow she both viewed and received the world that she sought to portray through fiction. However, OConnor also conveys that neither her Christian faith nor her writing of fiction are means of escaping, or otherwise dismissing, reality. For example, in Writing Short Stories, she specifies that, Your beliefs will be the light by which you see, but they will not be what you see and they will not be 18 a substitute for seeing (M&M, 91). Further, regarding her fiction-writing in The Nature and Aim of Fiction, she admits to feeling irritated by people who imply that fiction is an escape from reality. It is a plunge into reality, and its very shocking to the system (M&M, 77-78). In this way, yet again, OConnor suggests that belief is what constitutes the means and the byproduct of ones vision. Thus, the discussion of vision in OConnors writing predicates on the notion that what is seen is contingent upon the sort of vision one embodies. OConnors notion of vision is complexified through her discourse on the kinds of vision that one can have. Often, when OConnor speaks of vision, she is writing of the kind of vision a writer needs to have if they are to write with what is her estimation of quality. In The Nature and Aim of Fiction, OConnor speaks of three types of meaning that Medieval commentators would observe in their literal reading and exegesis of scripture: allegorical meaning, tropological (moral) meaning, and, namely, anagogical meaning. Of the three kinds of vision, OConnor gives the notion of anagogical meaningthat is, meaning that had to do with the Divine life and our participation in it (M&M, 72)precedence, asserting it is not only a kind of meaning that can be perceived through Scriptural exegesis, but a kind of vision that one can embody. Therefore, she synonymizes the kind of vision one has with the kind of meaning they contemplate and pursue. OConnor notes that anagogical vision is the kind of vision that the fiction writer needs to have, or to develop, in order to increase the meaning of his story . . . [for it] is the kind of vision that is able to see different levels of reality in one image or one situation (M&M, 72). Thusly, OConnor establishes vision as something that is dynamically and inextricably linked to the meaning that one seeks, finds, and is, then, able to artfully and authentically portrayboth in real life and in fiction. 19 In Seeing is Believing: What Flannery OConnor Meant by Vision, Cassandra Nelson notes that OConnor was attempting to rehabilitate the word vision," with O'Connor emphasizing the inner world that is implicated through the existence of the minds eye. After noting that for the first two hundred years of its existence, the word vision referred exclusively to sight with the minds eye, whether in the form of a prophetic or mystical revelation, or simply the contemplation of a thing not actually present . . . [and that only] later, in the late 1400s, did it come to mean bodily sight (14), Nelson directs readers to OConnors insights concerning the inner world that is implicated through the existence of the minds eye. Most notably, she recalls OConnors claim that, When the inner world is sentiment, impure, or simply barren . . . it will not reflect an outer world that is different from itself, no matter how rich the life outside may be (qtd. in Nelson 16). In this way, OConnors concept of vision is one with inward and outward dimensions. It is not confined to what things are perceived nor how things are perceived, for it is also an element and indication of ones inward condition. Therefore, to understand OConnors take on visionhow it is employed to create fiction and the role that it plays throughout her fictionone must conceive it holistically, in view of its outward, physical aspects, its inward, spiritual aspects, and their consequential concomitance. Additionally, vision is central to OConnors convictions surrounding a persons spiritual welfare. In Catholic Novelists, OConnor details the plight of writers who feel they must divorce their beliefs from what they see if they are to see clearly and to then write quality fiction. Such a plight may be the response to the worldly notion that an extension of sight is . . . a peculiar and arrogant blindness (M&M, 180). After criticizing the Catholic novelist who conversely closes their eyes to the world and tries to see with the eyes of the Church, only to then contribute to a large body of pious trash for which OConnor thinks Catholics to be infamous, 20 she asserts that to try to disconnect faith from vision is to do violence to the whole personality (M&M, 181). OConnors convictions surrounding vision are not simply those that seek to preserve and promote the clarity and authenticity of vision within the individual; they are those that effectively modulate and cultivate the soul of the individual. For OConnor, it is the aggrandizement of outward vision (i.e., what can be observed and engaged in the physical world) over inward vision (i.e., what is seen in the minds eye and realized on a spiritual level) that incites tribulation and warrants redemptive correction. OConnors cognizance of the holistic, consequential nature of vision is important to keep in mind as we refocus the discussion to Hazel Motess character and moral dilemma. Introducing Hazel Wise Blood begins with 22-year-old Hazel Motes on a train destined for the city of Taulkinham. In the novels opening line, Hazel is looking one minute at the window as if he might want to jump out of it, and the next down the aisle at the other end of the car (WB, 3). Even in the depiction of one looking out a window or looking about a train, OConnors introduction of Hazel presents readers, first and foremost, not with what Hazel sees, but the manner in which he sees. He is looking out the window with eyes the color of pecan shells and set in deep sockets (WB, 4), but he is leaning forward as if he will jump out that one window or another further down the aisle. Although the passage does not specify what Hazel is fixated upon, readers are met with a character whose act of vision is characterized by vaguely noticeable demeanor and desire. 21 In the first chapter alone, much is revealed about Hazel, such as his origins in Eastrod, Tennessee, his time in the army, and even his original intent to become a preacher like his grandfather. More prominently, though, Hazel is described so as to depict the nature of his inner life. In his sporadic conversations with Mrs. Wally Bee Hitchcock, Hazel conjectures, I reckon you think you been redeemed (WB, 8), only to mention that, If youve been redeemed . . . I wouldnt want to be (WB, 10). He later asks, Do you think I believe in Jesus? . . . Well I wouldnt even if He existed. Even if He was on this train (WB, 10). In view of these statements, it would be plausible to suggest that Hazel is just an unbelieving person whose unbelief is rooted in his animosity toward God. But the essence of Hazels avowed unbelief is substantiated through OConnors delineation of his inner life. Hazel has a peculiar cognizance of Jesus, as he not only knows Jesus to be one who redeems, but the one who would never let him forget that he was redeemed . . . [and as one who would] have him in the end! (WB, 16). After an evocative portrayal of (Hazels) Jesus, OConnor reveals that, There was already a deep black wordless conviction in him that the way to avoid Jesus was to avoid sin (WB, 16) and that, shortly before the army released him, He had all the time he could want to study his soul in and assure himself that it was not there . . . [and that] he saw that this was something that he had always known (WB, 18). Hazels inner life is marked by avoidance and ensuant voidnessa soul that yearns to avoid Jesus by avoiding sin and to be liberated altogether through the disowning of his soul. At the same time, however, readers are introduced to a character who, albeit soulless, continues to see Jesus move from tree to tree in the back of his mind, a wild ragged figure motioning him to turn around and come off into the dark . . . (WB, 16). In all of this, OConnor portrays Hazel as one who has a complex, spiritualized inner life one that he is aware of, yet determined to repudiate. 22 In his transition to Taulkinham, Hazel takes certain measures to ensure his concept of life is not disrupted by his Christ-haunted inward vision. To do this, Hazel engages the physical world to renounce whatever awareness of Christ and inner life he does have. Namely, upon his arrival in Taulkinham, he seizes the opportunity to visit Mrs. Leora Watts, a prostitute with the friendliest bed in town (WB, 26), after finding her information inscribed on the wall of a mens bathroom stall. During his taxi ride, Hazels driver tells him he looks like a preacher, after the driver references the preacher-like hat and a look on his face, to which Hazel retorts by denying that he is a preacher and firmly professing, I dont believe in anything (WB, 28). After being dropped off at Mrs. Wattss house, she acknowledges Hazel with a bold steady penetrating stare (WB, 29) as he peers through a crack in the door and is, then, met with questions upon entering: You huntin something? . . . Something on your mind? (WB, 30). Interestingly, both of Mrs. Wattss questions have little, if any, relevance to her business or the carnality that is bound to transpire, yet such questions are directed toward the condition of Hazels inner self, such as his variegated thoughts, ambitions, and desires. Of course, Hazel could respond to such questions at length, but he overlooks them altogether, effectively rejecting the opportunity to look within himself and respond accordingly. Instead, Hazel replies with, I come for the usual business . . . What I mean to have you know is: Im no goddam preacher (WB, 30). From this exchange, it is inferable that Hazels business with Mrs. Watts is not merely to quell sexual frustration nor to otherwise seek sexual pleasure; rather, it is to prove to himself, to her, and the world by extension that he is not the reflective preacher, or religious person, that people may think him to be. The conscious pursuit of sexual immorality as a means of avoiding his inner life evinces a redaction in Hazels original scheme to avoid Jesus by avoiding sin, as he now chooses 23 to pursue sin to, thereby, prove that Jesus does not exist at all, for the avoidance of sin implies the belief that Jesus is reala belief that Hazel has resolved to subdue. Hazels proclivity for what he can see and engage physically evidences his qualms with his own spirituality, and a look into his past offers readers an explanation for why this is so. In the third chapter of Wise Blood, Hazel visits Mrs. Watts a second time, and as he lays with her, the narration flashes back to a ten-year old Hazel at a carnival with his father. There, Hazel discreetly follows his father into a tent with an age requirement of fifteen for entry. Once inside, Hazel gets a glimpse of something squirming in a box lined with black fabric: For a second he thought it was a skinned animal and then he saw it was a woman. She was fat and she had a face like an ordinary woman except there was a mole on the corner of her lip, that moved when she grinned, and one on her side (WB, 58). Upon hearing his fathers voice, he scrambles out of the tent and heads home to his mother and her cross-shaped face (WB, 59). Seeing Hazel behind a tree, she approaches and catechizes him with a stick in hand, repeatedly asking, What you seen? (WB, 59; emphasis added) and reminds him that Jesus died to redeem you (WB, 59). From there, Hazels guilt about what he saw in the tent transmutes into a nameless unplaced guilt (WB, 59). Responding to this guilt, he fills the bottoms of his shoes with stones and walks a considerable distance which he thought ought to satisfy Him (WB, 59-60). In this encounter with his mother, Hazel is led to believe that what will defile him and render him unredeemed by Christ (i.e., the sight of the presumably near-naked woman) is what he can see and engage in the physical. Accordingly, in his scheme to nullify the need for redemption through unbelief in Christ, Hazel is adamant to embrace the physical and allow it to achieve ascendancy in his worldview. 24 Hazel prides himself in his ability to seeto see clearly and to see the truthbut his notion of what it means to see goes unquestioned until his encounter with Asa Hawks and his daughter Sabbath Lily Hawks. Following the two of them as they walk down a street in Taulkinham, as they are preaching and passing out tracts, Hazel is intrigued by Asas ostensible blindness and eventually stops so that he can stare through his black glasses. Asa and Sabbath are quick to preach to Hazel, though, informing him that . . . you cant run away from Jesus. Jesus is a fact, theres nothing for your pain but Jesus, [and that] Jesus loves you, Jesus loves you (WB, 47, 49). Hazel counters their sentiment by saying, Nothing matters but that Jesus dont exist . . . Ill take them [tracts] up there and throw them into the bushes! . . . You be watching and see can you see (WB, 50), to which Asa, in his ostensible blindness, replies with I can see more than you! . . . You got eyes and see not . . . but youll have to see some time (WB, 50). In that moment, Hazel resolves to override Asa and Sabbath Lillys preaching with his own preaching, during which he calls out to the crowd and credits himself based on his professed ability to see: I want to tell you people something . . . Listenhere, Im a preacher myself and I preach the truth . . . Dont I know what exists and what dont? . . . Dont I have eyes in my head? Am I a blind man? (WB, 51; emphasis added). Here, it is Hazels self-assuredness in his ability to see that gives him a sense of validation and authority; however, Hazels sense of what is true (and thus what is salient) is limited to what verifiably exists in the physical, hence his remark, What do I need with Jesus? I got Leora Watts (WB, 52). Hazels conviction that his perception of the physical world is paramountthat what he sees in the physical is the final say in what exists and what is true--engenders his ultimate dilemma. Additionally, it is the provenance from which The Church Without Christ is born. However, at the same time, Hazel is continually portrayed as one who not only has a spiritualized inner life, but as one who sees 25 beyond the physical world that he deems preeminent, as Sabbath Lilly later comments: I like his eyes . . . They dont look like they see what hes looking at but they keep on looking (WB, 105). Modernist Motes OConnors Hazel Motes is an inquirer of ultimate reality. In his establishment of The Church Without Christ, Hazel seeks to elucidate the invention of Christianity and chastise what his audiences may believe, and what he himself once believed, concerning the person of Jesus and their need for salvation through Him. Hazel thinks his perception and engagement of physical reality is what will reprieve him from his inward vision of spiritual reality of which he is reluctantly cognizant. That said, it is the kind of vision that Hazel assumes and that then determines what he will acknowledge or reject as fact. By depicting Hazel as one whose individual depravity is a matter of vision, OConnor, by extension, commentates on depravity altogether and how it was manifested in her context. OConnor was not only a devout Catholic in her observance of sacraments within the church, for she was also erudite in the realm of antiquitous Christian thought, being especially inspired by the insights of the Italian philosopher Saint Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274). OConnors portrayal of Hazel encapsulates her attitude apropos to the zeitgeist of her time, American modernism, which she found to be obscenely problematic. Namely, her disfavor with modernist philosophy was found in its tendency to avert peoples minds from the verisimilitude of Thomistic philosophy, which deduced spiritual matters to be more pertinent than physical matters. As Hazels vision-oriented dilemma unfolds 26 throughout the novel, OConnor simultaneously conveys the dubious nature of the modernist philosophy he embodies. As a self-described hillbilly Thomist, OConnor believed the most rational and profound truths of the Christian faith to be manifest in the philosophy of Saint Thomas Aquinas, indicating a markedly Thomistic worldview on her part. In Flannery OConnor and the Vision of Grace, Jennifer Frey expounds upon OConnors perception of ultimate reality and how it conflicted with prominent secularist notions embedded in twentieth-century modernity. As a devout Catholic, OConnor saw the physical world in relation to the spiritual realities it emulateda form of vision that Hazel, too, seems to possess, yet persistently denies. Frey describes OConnors conception of ultimate reality by recounting the contention between OConnor and one of her professors while she was an undergraduate student at Georgia State College for Women (which is now Georgia College & State University). She tells the story of OConnors dissension in a Modern Philosophy course with a professor who she found exceedingly unimpressive--a secular humanist, fascinated with Cartesian philosophy, along with other renditions of modernist philosophy. Frey describes how OConnor publicly debated her professor on numerous occasions, refuting arguments with Thomistic philosophy, for OConnor had reasoned it was modernism that had blinded the Western mind to the most central features of reality via the modernist insistence that the most salient matters in life are both material and quantifiable. Contrarily, OConnor, in her palpably Thomistic religiosity, believed the most salient matters are neither material nor quantifiable (Frey, 00:09:50 00:11:07). OConnor and Aquinass shared vision of ultimate reality starkly contradicts the prominence of secularism in modernist thought. Therefore, in his attempt to suppress religious belief and achieve enlightenment through knowledge and engagement of the physical world, Hazel embodies the 27 secularist perspective propelled by modernist philosophy that OConnor sought to artistically, effectively invalidate. Hazels Church Without Christ is a campaign to rid himself of the Jesus that he senses lurking about his mind, but it does not prove to be an effort to get rid of Jesus altogether. In the seventh chapter of Wise Blood, Hazel mentions a new kind of jesus when he is resting under a tree alongside Sabbath Lilly, explaining that, I believe in a new kind of jesus . . . one that cant waste his blood redeeming people with it, because hes all man and aint got any God in him (WB, 119). By saying this, Hazel appeals to the notion of an inconsequential jesus, with no godhood intact and no power to redeem. Prior to this, while he is preaching on the street, Hazel proclaims that: Im a member and preacher to that church where the blind dont see and the lame dont walk and whats dead stays that way . . . [and] its the church that the blood of Jesus dont foul with redemption . . . Im going to preach there was no Fall because there was nothing to fall from and no Redemption because there was no Fall and no Judgement because there wasnt the first two. (WB, 101) Hazels aim in his preaching is to call for a new rendition of Jesusone that is stripped of His divinity, innocuous to the secularist postulations germane to modernist thought, and complementary to Hazels deophobic mind. According to Hazels criteria, the new jesus may exist physically but must be spiritually inconsequential. By portraying Hazel as one who wants a Jesus-less church and a Godless jesus, however, OConnor presents readers with a character whose philosophy of life is fraught with inconsistency, self-contradiction, and denial. Nevertheless, as Hazel continues to preach, his call for a new jesus becomes more fervent, 28 even to the point of (perhaps, sarcastically) suggesting that the new jesus be brought forth so that people may be saved by the sight of him (WB, 14; emphasis added): What you need is something to take the place of Jesus, something that would speak plain. The Church Without Christ dont have a Jesus but it needs one! It needs a new jesus! . . . Show me where this new jesus is . . . and Ill set him up in the Church Without Christ and then youll see the truth . . . Give me this new jesus, somebody, so well all be saved by the sight of him! (WB, 140-141) Even when Hazel is calling a new jesus forth, he gives his outward perception of the physical precedence, as he preaches that those in the Church Without Christ can be saved by the sight of the new jesus and, later on, that it was not right to believe in anything you couldnt see or hold in your hands or test with your teeth (WB, 208). All in all, Hazel denies inward religiosity by guising it as a secular, modernist ideologyone that, in OConnors view, will ultimately torment and impair the individual. While Wise Blood evokes OConnors disesteem for secularism in its displaying of the contradiction that is manifest in Hazels preaching, OConnor discourses further through Hazels dissatisfaction and his churchs collapse. Looking back, the beginning of Hazels rebellious affair with the physical, and concurrent repudiation of the spiritual, is marked by his first night with Mrs. Watts. By engaging in sexually immoral activity, Hazel seeks to be free from any spiritual conviction; however, the text reveals that his fornicating with Mrs. Watts did not bring him any real gratification: 29 Since the night before was the first time he had slept with any woman, he had not been very successful with Mrs. Watts. When he finished, he was like something washed ashore on her, and she had made obscene comments about him, which he remembered off and on during the day. He was uneasy in the thought of going to her again. He didnt know what she would say when he opened the door and she saw him there. (WB, 55) More than a testament to Hazels sexual stamina, this description exhibits the dissatisfaction and insecurity that has resulted from Hazels night with Mrs. Watts. Although he proceeds to visit her another time, the text does not convey a deep sense of fulfillment on Hazels part; instead, it exudes Hazels inner turmoil and the unease Hazels lifestyle is bound to eventuate. Similarly, after Hazel takes a young man to a brothel and invites him to join his church, it is revealed that, Haze had not enjoyed the whorehouse anywhere near as much as the boy had and he had wasted half the evening (WB, 147). OConnor also portrays Hazels worldview as unstably changeable, and thus insufficient, particularly when it comes to what he believes about the new jesus. While Hazel spends a fair amount of time preaching about the new jesus, he later tells Hoover Shoats, a fellow preacher, that, Theres no such thing as any new jesus. That aint anything but a way to say something . . . theres no such thing or person (WB, 158). By depicting Hazel as ungratified in carrying out his beliefs and as self-refuting when he explains them, OConnor invites readers to see them for their invalidity and unsustainability. Whats more, when Sabbath Lily presents Hazel with the new jesus, which is a mummified dwarf that Enoch thieved from a museum, Hazel reacts aggressively. He snatched the shriveled body and threw it against the wall. The head popped and the trash inside sprayed out in a cloud of dust . . . Haze snatched the skin off the floor. He opened the outside door where 30 the landlady thought there had once been a fire-escape, and flung out what he had in his hand (WB, 188). The mutilation and defenestration of the new jesus speaks not only to the insufficiency of the new jesus in essence, although it did meet Hazels criteria of being a Godless entity with no blood to waste for the redemption of sinners, but it also brings Hazels disgust for his own teachings to the foreground. In the grand scheme, Hazels desires and expectations implode under the weight of his changeable, self-contradictory beliefs and his excessive fixation on what can be perceived and obtained in the physical world, rendering him uninfluential, unsuccessful, and alone, for, Nothing was working the way Haze had expected it to. He had spent every evening preaching, but the membership of the Church Without Christ was still only one person: himself (WB, 146). Hazels solitary status within his own church speaks volumes to the churchs feeble doctrine and the fallacious disposition from which it spawns, therefore equating the Church Without Christs inadequacies with Hazels own. OConnors refutation of secular modernity culminates in the desecration of Hazels character. In his over-reliance on his outward vision and his striving to be free from the vision he has of his spiritualized inner life, Hazel is nihilistic in his perspective and conduct, but this is not a condition that edifies nor liberates him; rather, it renders him solipsistic and self-abhorrent. Hazels solipsism is evidenced in his profession that nothing is significant or verifiable outside of oneself, leaving him without any sense of truth or place. In the tenth chapter, he proclaims the following to a crowd in front of the Odeon Theater: I preach there are all kinds of truth, your truth and somebody elses, but behind all of them, theres only one truth and that is that theres no truth . . . No truth behind all truths is what I and this church preach! Where you come from is gone, where you thought 31 you were going to never was there, and where you are is no good unless you can get away from it. Where is there a place for you to be? No place. Nothing outside you can give you any place . . . In yourself right now is all the place youve got. (WB, 165-166) Hazels solipsistic emphasis of self is intensified in his assertion that it is not any kind of truth that sets him free, but the powers within himself: Look at me! Hazel Motes cried, with a tare in his throat, and you look at a peaceful man! Peaceful because my blood has set me free (WB, 141). By professing it is his own blood that set him free, as opposed to the redeeming blood of Christ, Hazel emanates an air of confidence and assuredness. However, he dismantles this as he continues to preach the need for a new jesus and later exclaims to Sabbath Lilly that, I dont want nothing but the truth! . . .[and] Ive seen the only truth there is! (WB, 188-189), even though he has also reasoned that there is no such thing as truth. The spiritually starved, logically incoherent features of Hazels professed beliefs amalgamate throughout the novel and come to a head in Hazels murder of Solace Layfield, the hired Prophet for Hoover Shoatss deviation of The Church Without Christ, the Holy Church of Christ Without Christ. Suspecting Solace to be one who has genuine faith in Jesus, Hazel hunts him down to question his faith and accuse him of insincerity. After noticing a resemblance in their clothes and possibly in their faces (WB, 204), Hazel accosts Solace, saying, You aint true . . . You believe in Jesus (WB, 205), and Solace confirms his belief. Hazel responds to this confession aggressively, causing Solace to flee before Hazel runs him over with his Essex. Standing over Solaces moribund body, Hazel declares that there are, Two things I cant stand . . . a man that aint true and one that mocks what is (WB, 206). Shortly thereafter, though, it is Hazel who must contend with the truth that, when he says this, he just as well refers to himself--that he is the one who is not true, that he is 32 the one who mocks what he knows to be true on an inward, spiritual level, and, therefore, he is the one that he cannot stand. Physically Divine While discussing the vision-oriented nature of Hazel Motess moral dilemma, it is plausible that Hazels exaltation of the physical world and his self-assuredness in his sight evinces and perpetuates his depravity. It would be implausible, however, to suggest that OConnors impetus in crafting Hazels dilemma was to pontificate a sort of contemptus mundithat is, a moral disdain for the physical worldand behoove readers to only know and love what exists spiritually. For OConnor, one of Hazels most dire mistakes is that he tries to divorce his knowledge of Christ (and his inward vision of Christ) from what he perceives in the physical world, and, according to OConnor, to try to disconnect faith from vision is to do violence to the whole personality (M&M, 181). However, in saying this, she refrains from demonizing or otherwise belittling what one perceives in the physical world. In The Nature and Aim of Fiction, OConnor describes how stories must pour forth from the author in a manner that appeals to the human senses native to the author and readers alike, stating that, We will be concerned in this with the reader in his fundamental human sense, because the nature of fiction is in large measure determined by the nature of our perceptive apparatus. The beginning of human knowledge is through the senses, and the fiction writer begins where human perception begins. He appeals through the senses (M&M, 67). When OConnor speaks of the senses, though, she does not speak of phenomena that exist unfettered from abstraction; in fact, she goes on to mention that you cannot appeal to the senses without abstractions . . . [for] strict naturalism is a 33 dead end in fiction . . . we can be extremely literal, without being in the least naturalistic (M&M, 67, 70). Intriguingly, OConnors commentary on fiction-writing parallels, and thus complements, her conception of what it means to see, and this is especially the case when she testifies of Gods grace and how it is literally and metaphorically manifest in the world. OConnors conception of grace has some semantic range, given her various and notoriously uncanny depictions of grace that play a significant role in her characters lives and her stories at large. However, in Flannery OConnor and the Language of Apocalypse, Edward Kessler notes that, The original meaning of the Greek word for grace, charis (), is "the release of beauty (102). From this, it is inferable that OConnors understanding of grace has much to do with what God, in His beauty, may release, or unleash, upon the Earth. In The Fiction Writer and His Country, OConnor shares that, for her, the meaning of life is centered in our Redemption by Christ and what I see in the world I see in its relation to that (M&M, 32). In saying this, OConnor suggests that what propels people toward redemption in Christ is an experienceable and, by extension, visible grace. OConnors Catholic worldview, however, is not limited to the Redemption made possible by Gods grace; it also consists of the Fall and the Judgment. In Catholic Novelists, OConnor discusses how: The universe of the Catholic fiction writer is one that is founded on the theological truths of the Faith, but particularly on three of them which are basicthe Fall, the Redemption, and the Judgment . . . These are doctrines that the modern secular world does not believe in. It does not believe in sin, or in the value that suffering can have, or in eternal responsibility, and since we live in a world that since the sixteenth century has been 34 increasingly dominated by secular thought, the Catholic writer often finds himself writing in and for a world that is unprepared and unwilling to see the meaning of life as he sees it. (M&M, 185) In this discussion of the Fall, the Redemption, and the Judgment, OConnor alludes to the overarching biblical narrative that delineates humankinds fall from grace through sin, the redemption that can be found exclusively in and because of Christ, and the impending judgement that awaits all who ever lived. By seeing the world in light of such things, OConnors worldview is framed within a literal, albeit invisible, metaphorone that imbues life with texture and meaning. In Wise Blood, Hazel is hell-bent to be free of the spiritual reality that infringes upon his dealings with the physical world. In the sixth chapter, he goes as far as denying the Fall, the Redemption, and the Judgment altogether, thereby attempting to subvert the spiritual underpinnings of the physical world, and it is this sort of denial that encourages and exemplifies ones human depravity. Kessler further commentates on the sort of violence that OConnor refers to when she speaks of the violence one does unto themselves when their vision is devoid of faith, explaining that: For OConnor, seeing without metaphor is a kind of death, making us blind to the life behind or within phenomena . . . O'Connor's good appears to be that power working in or behind phenomena but also within us, recreating the self, uniting man and nature in a spiritual evolution that language cannot explain, only indirectly point toward. Evil, on the other hand, either denies or arrests that process. (Kessler 96-97) 35 In other words, the evil at work in Hazel is that which hinders him from assuming anagogical vision, which would allow him to perceive physical reality in its synchronicity with the spiritual reality of the Incarnation of Christ and the Gospel as a wholeto see how his life operates in conjunction with the Divine life and how the Divine is participating in his. The physical worlds in OConnors stories are fecund with spiritual references and nuances, and Wise Blood is no exception. For instance, shortly after Hazel acquires the Essex automobile in the fourth chapter, readers are presented with a hellish highway, ragged with filling stations and trailer camps and roadhouses, red gulleys, patches of field buttoned together with 666 posts, lingering pigs, and a boulder that reads WOE TO THE BLASPHEMER AND WHOREMONGER! WILL HELL SWALLOW YOU UP? (WB, 70). Readers are later presented with more heavenly imagery in the seventh chapterthat of a blinding white cloud (WB, 118) that hovers over Hazel and Sabbath Lilly as they converse and later rest under a tree. Come the end of the chapter, when Hazel is driving away in the Essex, after having it fixed, the blinding white cloud had turned into a bird with long thin wings and was disappearing in the opposite direction (WB 125). In view of such passages, it is clear that OConnors literary world is one that emulates spiritual realities through natural means. In this way, spiritual reality, for OConnor, is not confined to that which is inward and unseen, lest it be reduced to mere metaphor or sentiment, but it is that which imposes itself on the physical world so as to make spiritual reality known and all the more inescapable. The spiritual realities that are evidently manifest in Wise Blood both in the physical world and the world of Hazels mind do torment Hazel throughout the novel, but they also incline his heart toward redemption. Upon Hazels arrival into Taulkinham, people make spiritual 36 inferences as they encounter him, such as his taxi drivers thinking that he is a preacher, Asa Hawks being able to smell the sin in his breath and hear the urge for Jesus in his voice, and Enoch mentioning, I knew when I first seen you you didnt have nobody nor nothing but Jesus. I seen you and I knew it (WB, 54). Hazel actively rejects these notions, but there is something to be said of a man whose view of himself differs so starkly from others view of himeither that he is right, and they are wrong or that they are right, and he does not want them to be. This is not to suggest that the people of Taulkinham are shrewder in their perception or more spiritually aware than Hazel, but it does speak to how much more spiritually sympathetic they are compared to him. In this way, Hazels outward vision benumbs and embitters him to whatever spiritual realities the people of Taulkinham are either consciously or unconsciously privy to, especially if the spiritual realities pertain to who he is and what he needs. Hazels vision-oriented dilemma is not just a matter of how he sees the world in general. In the grand scheme, it is a matter of how he responds to his vision of Jesus. Hazels honest, albeit reluctant, understanding of Jesus is best encapsulated in the vision that he has of Him as a boyJesus as a ragged figure in the back of his mind, moving from tree to tree, motioning him to turn around and come off into the dark where he will not be sure of his footing (WB, 16). This is the sort of vision that Hazel has exercised. Or, perhaps more accurately, this is the sort of vision that he has been given. Nevertheless, this vision of Jesus is the one the Hazel wishes to unsee, be rid of, and replace with the new jesus, but like other spiritual affairs that OConnor sees as manifest in and through the physical world, this inward vision of Jesus is also one that incarnates and pursues Hazel further. Near the end of the seventh chapter, while Hazel is reclining under a tree, Sabbath Lilly leans down and looks into his eyes: I see you, she said in a playful voice . . . I see you, a voice said behind the tree. He walked off quickly in the 37 opposite direction toward the car . . . A panic took him and he began to pound the starter (WB, 121-122; emphasis added). In this physical manifestation of spiritual reality, Hazel is situated not as one who sees, but as one who is seen, and not just by Sabbath Lilly, but by God Himself, for Hazels name ( /aza'l) in ancient Hebrew translates as one whom God sees. In view of this, Hazel must also realize that neither his fervent exaltation of his outward vision nor his conscious suppression of his inward vision will spare him of the Jesus that longs to have him in the end. 38 Chapter Two Introduction Flannery OConnors fiction testifies of the depravity that OConnor saw in the world, yet it also exudes the divine grace she saw relentlessly imposed upon it. As a devout Catholic woman, OConnor maintained a worldview that was thoroughly saturated with the teachings of the Christian faith, namely those that pertain to the Fall, the Redemption, and the final Judgment. Each of these dictums has to do with where one stands in their relation to Godin their fallenness because of sin and in their redeemability because of Gods grace, even amid His judgment. In her Mystery and Manners collection, OConnor credits this triadic doctrine as the fundamental basis of the Catholic worldview, in that it composes the comprehensive lens through which a believer, such as herself, perceives all earthly phenomena. OConnor openly states the most salient aspects of her faith-based worldview in her prose; however, it is her fiction that more provokingly elicits questions concerning said worldview. Perhaps most notably, OConnors fiction dramatically provokes questions concerning what constitutes and perpetuates a quotidian fall from grace and what is, then, in OConnors mind, necessary for one to be redeemed in Christ. The provocation of such questions, therefore, suggests that OConnors fiction is not as much religious allegory as it is a literary corporealization of the spiritual truths that OConnor perceived as alive and well in the real world. OConnor is also noteworthy in her artistic portrayal of the Incarnation (i.e., the doctrine of God becoming flesh and dwelling on the earth), specifically in how it is not confined to the person of Jesus, as she also believed in the Incarnation in principlethat the spiritual can, and will, manifest itself in the physical. In this way, OConnor exhibits a propensity to show, rather than tell, readers the nature of spiritual 39 truths that she herself had realized. Accordingly, then, when engaging OConnors fiction, readers are confronted with characters and circumstances of a supernatural subtextone that warrants attention and necessitates vision if one is to conceive the theological and literary dimensions of OConnors work more fully. OConnors discourse on religious faith operates in conjunction with her discourse on vision. In her Mystery and Manners collection, OConnor also delineates the mutual inclusivity of faith and vision, asserting that ones beliefs constitute the light by which they see, although they are not the things that are seen when one takes an honest look at the world (M&M, 91). OConnors discussion of sight is not limited, however, to what one may be able to see physically. On the contrary, OConnor conceived vision as more of an inward, spiritual complexsomething that took place in and through the minds eye, rather than just ones physiology. In this way, matters relative to ones fall from grace and their journey toward redemption are evoked in the sort of vision that they embody and exert. Therefore, if readers are to extrapolate OConnors dramatic portrayal of sin and salvation in her fiction, it is imperative that literary manifestations of vision be synchronously analyzed. This correlation between faith and vision is thoroughly expounded upon in Wise Blood (1952), OConnors first novel, through the protagonist Hazel Motes. Hazel, like many of OConnors characters, is marked with depravity and an ensuant encounter with Gods grace, but he is particularly unique in his professed ability to see clearly amid his depravity, convinced that he knows what is true because he is not blinded by belief in Jesus. Ironically, though, an inward vision of Jesus beckoning his attention as He moves from tree to tree in the back of his mind (WB, 16) is a prevailing, and thus defining, element of Hazels spiritually complex inner 40 life. Whereas Chapter One focused on how Hazels aversion to his inward vision of Christ evinces and incites his depravity, Chapter Two will focus on the bittersweet surrender to the truth of his inward vision that evinces and effectuates redemption. Throughout the novel, Hazels depraved state is exemplified in his passionate striving to be rid of his inward vision of Christ, renouncing the spiritual through dogged fixation of the physical and remaining self-assured that what you couldnt see or hold in your hands or test with your teeth (WB, 208) is not worth believing in or acting upon. Come the end of the novel, though, Hazel fathoms his rebellious machinations to have been in vain, becoming contrite and adopting a new way of life. Perplexingly, however, Hazels redemption in Christ is brought to the forefront through his selfinflicted blindnessa physical portrayal that may seem contradictory to what one would expect for those that are redeemed in Christ. Hereafter, this chapter will address the soteriological (i.e., salvatory) significance of Hazel Motess blindness, particularly in how the literary depiction of blindness suggests that which constitutes, or is otherwise indicative of, redemption in Christ in OConnors view. The illustrative metaphor of blindness may connote hamartiological (i.e., sinful) undertones when it is situated in a Christian perspective or narrative, yet OConnors vision-oriented insights invite readers to conceive Hazels physical blindness not as a loss of vision altogether, but as a means of achieving new depths of vision. Through his self-inflicted blindness, and other forms of ascesis, Hazels focus is redirected toward the unseen realities that he had previously ignored but are of utmost salience in OConnors mind. Therein, readers are offered an alternative understanding of (spiritual) darkness via the notion that the darkness in which Hazel immerses himself is the same darkness that Jesus motions him into-- the dark where he was not sure of his footing, where he might be walking on the water and not know it and then suddenly know it and 41 drown (WB, 16). Hazels self-inflicted blindness, serving as a means of following Jesus into the darkness, alludes to OConnors concept of mystery, for OConnor also believed that true insight is not marked by ones attempt to minimize or eliminate mystery from their view. Conversely, for OConnor, insight is gained by first conceding to mysterys existential prominence and, then, coming to know it as Gods grace. In this way, OConnors portrayal of blindness and darkness warrants readers attention, as they do not denote Hazels depravity or rebellion against what he knows to be true as much as it accentuates his surrender to Gods grace and the kind of vision that develops therefrom. It will be argued, therefore, that Hazels redemption in Christ is exhibited through his surrendering of his physical sight, offering it as penance, and his ensuant resolve to accept mystery as reality and yield to spiritual truth, even unto death. Willful Blindness Hazels self-inflicted blinding is preceded by the desolation of all that he had committed to and obtained throughout the course of the novel. Early on, Hazel embarks to be rid of his belief in Jesus by establishing the Church Without Christ and preaching about the worlds need for a new jesus, using his Essex as a pulpit. It is only a matter of time, however, that Hazel disposes of the new jesus when he is presented with him, witnesses the destruction of his Essex, and realizes that his Church Without Christ is no more. After resolving to take the Church Without Christ to a new city, of which he does not specify, Hazel is pulled over by a patrolman who has Hazel step out of the Essex and then proceeds to push the Essex over the embankment. Gazing upon the rat-colored carcass, His [Hazels] face seemed to reflect the entire distance across the clearing and beyond, the entire distance that extended from his eyes to the blank gray 42 sky that went on, depth after depth, into space. His knees bent under him and he sat down on the edge of the embankment with his feet hanging over (WB, 211). In this passage, Hazel is awoken to his own defeat, as his organization and all that he had sought to do lays before him in shambles. The patrolman, then, asks Hazel if he was going anywhere, to which Hazel replies with, No. . . . [And] Haze shook his head. His face didnt change and he didnt turn it toward the patrolman. It seemed to be concentrated on space (WB, 212). Essentially, Hazel admits to be going nowhere, and this is literally and figuratively accurate. For one, although Hazel is planning on taking his church to another unspecified city, OConnor notes that, He had known all along that there was no more country but he didnt know that there was not another city (WB, 209). Further, Hazels admittance that he was not going anywhere may mean that he was not going anywhere effectively or meaningfully with his life and ministry, for his motivation to take his church outside of Taulkinham is largely because his ministry had not gained any traction while he was there, as Hazel remained the only member of his own church, even after all of his street preaching and efforts toward recruiting other members. After all of this, as he walks back into town, Hazel stops at a supply store to purchase quicklime, only to blind himself when he gets home. Readers are invited focalize Hazels self-blinding through his landlady Mrs. Flood, who was so clear-sighted (WB, 213). While Sabbath Lily responds to this self-blinding with frantic devastation, Mrs. Flood is deeply bemused at the mere thought of Hazel blinding himself to begin with. After Hazel informs her of what he is about to do, it is mentioned that, Perhaps Mr. Motes was only being ugly, for what possible reason could a person have for wanting to destroy their sight? (WB, 213). In a discussion on OConnorian vision, this proves to be a fundamental question, and a prevailing one, for in the opening of the final chapter, OConnor states that the 43 sight of him presented her with the [same] question (WB, 217). Later in the chapter, the question of, Why had he destroyed his eyes and saved himself unless he had some plan, unless he saw something he couldnt get without being blind to everything else? (WB, 220) resounds in Mrs. Floods mind. Mrs. Floods confusion at the thought of Hazel blinding himself may prove to be mutual confusion between her and OConnors readers, as the answer may not seem obvious or accessible to either parties. The remainder of the novel, however, consists of conversations between Hazel and Mrs. Flood, during which Hazel expands on his experience as a man whos blind, thus offering insight to Mrs. Flood and readers alike concerning the reasons a person would have for destroying their sight. Although the opposite of physical sight is physical blindness, this dichotomy does not completely encapsulate the sort of vision that Hazel is depicted to bear before he blinds himself. Early in the novel, Hazel is described having a deeply spiritual inner life, but this quality is not limited to the inward vision he has of Jesus motioning him into the dark. For instance, in the sixth chapter, Sabbath Lily mentions the following concerning Hazels eyes: I like his eyes . . . They dont look like they see what hes looking at but they keep on looking (WB, 105). Similarly, after the destruction of his Essex, Hazels face is said to reflect the blank gray sky that went on, depth after depth, into space (WB, 212), which parallels with an observation that Mrs. Flood makes after he had blinded himself, for, To her, the blind man had the look of seeing something. His face had a peculiar pushing look, as if it were going forward after something it could just distinguish in the distance (WB, 218). Such descriptions evoke a sort of distant vision, or depth of vision, that OConnor allows Hazel to embody. Though Hazel selfidentifies as one who is exclusively concerned with the physical world, as opposed to that which you couldnt see or hold in your hands or test with your teeth (WB, 208), he is inclined 44 toward what exists beyond his immediate view. In this way, OConnor marks Hazel with a spiritual perceptivenessone that plagues him amid his rebellion but sustains him in his redemption. At one point, after Mrs. Flood asks Hazel if the dead are also blind, Hazel replies with, I hope so . . . If theres no bottom in your eyes, they hold more (WB, 226), implying that blindness offers a sort of bottomless vision and that this, in turn, allows one to obtain what they could not otherwise, thus also attending to Mrs. Floods inquiry of what Hazel sought to gain that he only could while blind. Granted, Hazel does not explicitly state what there is to gain through his blindness, but his aspiration for bottomless vision alludes to OConnors disposition on the implicit value of achieving new depths of vision. Darkness and Divinity Hazels spiritual perceptiveness evidences his depth of inward vision. Depth, in this case, suggests Hazels ability to see the physical world yet sense a greater spiritual significance beyond it; although, in his rebellion, Hazel contends with a physical world he does not wish to see beyond. In his blindness, however, Hazel forfeits his ability to visually experience the physical world, yet his depth of vision remains intact as he channels his focus toward the unseen, spiritual realities of which he was reluctantly aware. To exist in the physical world while also perceiving its spiritual truths is to have what OConnor would call anagogical vision. In The Nature and Aim of Fiction, OConnor describes anagogical vision as that which had to do with the Divine life and our participation in it (M&M, 72). In Hazels case, the Divine life that he participates in is that which exists not only around him, but within him. Depth of vision is the means through which Hazel cognizes and responds to the spiritual realities that linger in the 45 depths of his mind. That said, depth can also be interpreted as the depths of oneself, meaning that ones depth of vision can be the means through which one looks within oneself and perceives the spiritual forces at work in their conscience and flesh. In his blindness, Hazel sacrifices his outward, physical vision to deepen his inward vision of the spiritually salient that beckons his attention and seeks to redeem him. Although OConnor believed that the spiritual unseen can, and will, manifest itself in the physicalboth in circumstances and in the depths of ones mind, as it does Hazelsshe did not claim to understand the spiritual nature of things comprehensively. On the contrary, OConnor was quick to attest to the prominence of mystery, for she acknowledged the spiritual unseen to be divine and, therefore, beyond mortal comprehension. In her fiction, OConnor emphasizes the presence of spiritual realities, but she primarily does so through her depiction of the physical world. Addressing the two domains in Writing Short Stories, OConnor states, There are two qualities that make fiction. One is the sense of mystery and the other is the sense of manners. You get manners from the texture of existence that surrounds you (M&M, 103), then continuing in The Church and the Fiction Writer by saying, The fiction writer presents mystery through manners, grace through nature, but when he finishes, there always has to be left over that sense of Mystery which cannot be accounted for by any human formula (M&M, 153). In OConnorian terms, mystery refers to what is spiritual and unseenGods grace, namelywhile manners refer to what exists evidently and abundantly in the landscape and culture of ones region. Of the two, however, it is the substance and significance of mystery that is more greatly accented in OConnors fiction. 46 OConnors desire to leave readers with an enduring sense of mystery speaks to the need she detected in her audience for a deepened sense of mystery, as the reduction of mystery in ones view would inevitably result in the reduction of vision altogether. In The Church and the Fiction Writer, OConnor ascribes the desire to reduce mystery from ones view to mysterys personally demanding nature, explaining that: For the writer of fiction, everything has its testing point in the eye, an organ which eventually involves the whole personality and as much of the world as can be got into it . . . [for] the roots of the eye are in the heart. In any case, for the Catholic they [the eyes] stretch far and away into those depths of mystery which the modern world is divided aboutpart of it trying to eliminate mystery while another part tries to rediscover it in disciplines less personally demanding than religion. (M&M, 144-145) From this excerpt, readers are informed of the plight OConnor observed in her audience and sought to redress through her fiction, for she believed a reduced sense of mystery is what reduces ones sense of reality and purpose. In Hazels case, it is in his blindness that his sense of mystery, and reality, therefore, is deepened. Hazels blindness accentuates the mystery that has always comprised his existence by bringing it to the foreground for readers and Hazel alike. Prior to his self-inflicted blinding, Hazel is fervent in his disposition that the physical world is all there is to fixate upon, which evinces his lacking sense of mystery. Hazel presses into mystery, though, by denying what he had formerly deemed to be of utmost salience and exchanging it for a life where mystery can be perceived more palpably through aphotic eyes. In this way, OConnor depicts the darkness implicit in blindness as Hazels means of engaging the mystery implicit to his existence that he 47 had neglected for so long. In Richard Giannones Hazel Motes and the Desert Tradition, Giannone argues that Hazels blindness, albeit a physical limitation, is what allows him to engage reality more fully, stating, His one passion at the end is for the unseen, the one task that will not be taken away from him. Motes's passion for the unseen places him in relation to the absolute, the One. This new bond with the supreme integrates the shards of his life and erases the boundaries of his world (60). Giannones insights speak to the liberation Hazel finds in the removal of boundaries he voluntarily established in his nihilistic campaign. While, at one point, Hazel claims, I dont have to run from anything because I dont believe in anything (WB, 72), he is, in truth, running from what he believes in so he may be free of it. In this way, Hazels fixation on the physical world denotes his struggle to be free, whereas his blindness suggests liberation from what formerly arrested his view and prevented him from accepting or embracing realitys fundamental mysteries. In her authors note for Wise Bloods second edition, OConnor also mentions how, Freedom cannot be conceived simply. It is a mystery and one which a novel, even a comic novel, can only be asked to deepen (M&M, 115). With this, OConnor correlates freedom with her concept of mystery, making it, therefore, plausible to suggest Hazels deepened sense of mystery is what grants him the freedom he strove for all along. Prior to his self-blinding, Hazel preaches that what is true and real is exclusive to oneself and what they can see in front of them, proclaiming theres only one truth and that is that theres no truth . . . No truth behind all truths is what I and this church preach! (WB, 165). In saying this, Hazel denies the existence of mystery altogether, yet in his blindness, he subjects himself to said mysterythe truth behind all truths; the mystery within manners. In recasting his vision toward the unseen, Hazel arguably experiences reality more authentically than he had when his physical sight was intact, for although he denies himself physical sight, he is no longer 48 in denial of what is. When referring to the novelist in The Teaching of Literature, OConnor discusses how, although the novelist writes about what he sees on the surface of the physical world, He [also] begins to see in the depths of himself, and it seems to me that his position there rests on what must certainly be the bedrock of all human experiencethe experience of limitation or, if you will poverty (M&M, 132). Here, OConnor characterizes human experience as fundamentally limited and, in a sense, poor, so while blindness like Hazels is often viewed as a physical limitation, OConnor does not depict it as such. On the contrary, while citing the work of Rudyard Kipling, OConnor states the poor live with less padding between them and the raw forces of life . . . [and that] in the sight of the novelist we are all poor, and the actual poor symbolize for him the state of all men (M&M, 132). If, in OConnors view, to be poor is to be limited in such a way that situates one into close contact with the raw forces of life, Hazel qualifies, being one who has sacrificed his sight so he can solely fixate on the spiritual. However, the question of how Hazels blindness leads him to, or otherwise eventuates, his redemption in Christ still remains. His achievement of greater depths of vision and the deepened sense of reality is noteworthy, but OConnor sought to portray the redemptive work of Christ in her fiction. Jesus recounting of the beatitudes in the Sermon on the Mount does offer some insight, however, for it is written, Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven (Matt. 5:3, KJV). Inferably, then, Hazels impoverishment, characterized by limitation that brings him in close contact with mystery, is something that OConnor uses to mark Hazel as one to whom the kingdom of heaven belongs. Hazels immersion into the mystery of his existence shrouds him in darkness, but it is crucial that readers consider an OConnorian conception of darkness, lest the darkness be archetypally interpreted as sin, an indication of lostness, or simply a manifestation of mystery. 49 Ultimately, Hazels self-blinding is an act of faith, and, in OConnors estimation, to walk by faith is to walk in the darkness. As it has been discussed, Hazel has a prevailing inner vision of Jesus, but this Jesus does not call him to walk in the light; rather, OConnor depicts Jesus as He who moves from tree to tree in the back of his [Hazels] mind, a wild ragged figure motioning him to turn around and come off into the dark where he was not sure of his footing, where he might be walking on the water and not know it and then suddenly know it and drown (WB, 16). This depiction of Jesus motioning Hazel to follow him into the dark coalesces with OConnors insights presented in Catholic Novelists. After describing fiction as that which leaves us, like Job, with a renewed sense of mystery (M&M, 184), OConnor states that faith is a walking in the darkness and not a theological solution to mystery (M&M, 184). When Hazel physically commits himself to the spiritual unseen, he does so not knowing what it will cost or entail. This is evident in his attempted retreat and rebellion that is the Church Without Christ and his desire for a new jesus, instead of following after the One who calls him to walk by faith, not by sight (2 Cor. 5:7, KJV). By metaphorizing faith as a walk in the darkness, OConnor also aligns Hazels experience as a blind man with what is said in scripture concerning the nature of faith that it is the substance of things hoped for, [and] the evidence of things not seen . . . Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear (Heb. 11:1,3, KJV). In this way, OConnor delineates her biblically-inspired notion of faith as a matter of visionas an act that does not so much involve ones ability to see as much as their willingness to engage what they do not see. Once Hazel blinds himself, he becomes the literary corporealization of OConnors conviction surrounding faith and vision, presenting him even more clearly as a prospect for redemption in Christ. 50 The darkness Hazel pursues and surrounds himself with is not all that OConnor uses to evoke his redemption in Christ, as Hazels blindness alone marks him as a man of faith in her fiction. In her prose, OConnor is often critical of the secularism she believed clouded the minds of modern audiences. While OConnor believed ones religious faith was extension of sight and a means of accepting and engaging mystery in the world, she also distinguishes faith as a kind of blindness. For instance, in Catholic Novelists, OConnor address the religious in describing how, We forget that what is to us an extension of sight is to the rest of the world a peculiar and arrogant blindness, and that no one today is prepared to recognize the truth of what we show unless our purely individual vision is in full operation (M&M, 180). In this regard, OConnor is denoting faith as that which will be perceived as blindness in the secularist mind, and she portrays this phenomenon through the character of Mrs. Flood. In the final chapter of Wise Blood, she declares, Its you that cant see, Mr. Motes (WB, 227), but she does not say this in reference to his physical blindness; rather, she says it in her response to him going out and eating food at a restaurant that is run by a foreignera course of action to which she is vehemently averse and one that he would not have taken before he had blinded himself (more on this in the Bloody Wisdom section). In this sense, Hazel is perceived as blind because of what he is compelled to do while he is blind, not because he is physically blind. OConnor expands on the notion of faith as blindness in her introduction to A Memoir of Mary Ann, elucidating the observed human tendency to discredit the goodness of God with the following: One of the tendencies of our age is to use the suffering of children to discredit the goodness of God, and once you have discredited his goodness, you are done with him . . . 51 In this popular pity, we mark our gain in sensibility and our loss in vision. If other ages felt less, they saw more, even though they saw with the blind, prophetical, unsentimental eye of acceptance, which is to say, of faith. (M&M, 226-227) With this insight, OConnor describes faith as a kind of blindness, though not as a loss of vision altogether, for blindness, in this case, is what OConnor believes will be perceived by the secularist who gives thought to the person of faith. In this manner, OConnor dichotomizes the secular and religious persons, distinguishing them in accordance with what they believe constitutes vision. OConnors observed ascription of blindness in the real world is literarily manifest in Hazels blindness, for although he has achieved new depths of vision and come to terms with the spiritual constituents of his reality through his blindness, he is falsely, frustratingly perceived by his landlady as being blind to reality altogether. The question of why OConnor would mark Hazels encounter with grace with darkness, self-inflicted blindness, and eventual death is worth asking if one is to assess the congruence of OConnors fiction and the Christian message that she sought to convey. Namely, OConnors choice to depict Hazels redemption in Christ through his immersion into darkness and his alleged and literal blindness warrants inquiry because such notions effectively subvert what is commonly known about the Christian gospel. For instance, in the Gospel of John, Jesus selfidentifies as light, declaring, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life (John 8:12, KJV). As the professed light, Jesus preaches that those who follow after Him will not walk in darkness, yet the wild ragged figure in the back of Hazels mind motions him to walk into the darkness. Additionally, the cleric John Newtons renowned Amazing Grace leads the redeemed to sing Was blind, but now I see, 52 yet Hazels acknowledgement of Gods grace eventuates the inverse, as he once could see, but then he becomes blind. The paradoxicality of Hazels redemption narrative is especially pressing since blindness, darkness, and death are more prominently associated with spiritual blindness and spiritual darkness (i.e., sin and evil), and spiritual death in Christian spheres. Such concerns are addressed in Michael Mears Bruners A Subversive Gospel: Flannery OConnor and the Reimagining of Beauty, Goodness, and Truth. In the chapter The Liminal Frame, Bruner lists American authors from the South, such as Edgar Allen Poe, Truman Capote, and Carson McCullers, who are all known to have dark sensibilities, yet he distinguishes OConnor as one who approaches, and thus exhibits, darkness in the world differently in fiction. Bruner explains that hers [OConnors] is a darkness unto light, theirs is a darkness shorn of light . . . [and that] the dark in OConnors stories is not typically used to draw out the light of the holy. The darkness, which is often the shadow of God, is part and parcel of the holy (71). With this inference, Bruner alludes to the mysterious grace that OConnor believes to contextualize and imbue human experience, but he also alludes to the darknessthat is, the mysterythat OConnor believed to be implicit with following Jesus. The illustrative metaphor of walking behind Jesus, so as to walk in the umbra of his shadow, is what OConnor, in her dark sensibilities, effectively conveys through Hazel. Bruner expounds on this more when he writes that, Those who follow Christ are called to follow not merely in his light but in the shadow of that light, and for those who follow more closely, the shadow looms large and dark (73). Although the illustration of Gods shadow is not explicitly mentioned in Wise Blood, readers can infer that it is the same metaphor at work that is more explicitly stated in OConnors second novel The Violent Bear It Away (1960), as ones journey toward redemption, regardless of the mayhem and grotesquerie entailed, is nothing more than an illustration of what happens to 53 those who follow in the bleeding stinking mad shadow of Jesus (Bruner 73). That said, Hazels immersion into darkness and his fixation on the unseen does not only evidence his decision to walk by faith; it also evokes OConnors sense of what it looks like for a person to follow Christ and seek His redemption. It is Written OConnors status as a Christian writer is irrefutable, despite the thematic elements that may confound readers, as her devotedness to her Christian faith is evident in both her fiction and prose. Above all things, OConnor knew herself to be a Catholic, and she believed that being Catholic was to be consequential in her practice as a writer. In The Fiction Writer and His Country, OConnor testifies that, I see from the standpoint of Christian orthodoxy. This means that for me the meaning of life is centered around our Redemption in Christ and what I see in the world I see in its relation to that (M&M, 32). In saying this, OConnor merges her sense of faith and vision, identifying them as mutually inclusive and emphasizing their importance when it comes to creating fiction. OConnor goes on in The Grotesque in Southern Fiction to specify that, The novelist must be characterized . . . by his vision (M&M, 47), implying that ones beliefs are not only crucial to their vision, but an essential element of who they are and how they ought to be regarded. As a Christian, OConnors beliefs were primarily influenced by Christian orthodoxythrough her time engaging the spiritual through private and congregational prayer and Scriptural exegesis. Though the spiritual elements conveyed through her fiction may seem perplexingly nuanced, a survey of scripture can assist readers in understanding where OConnor may have gotten some of the spiritually-oriented ideas manifest in her fiction. In the case of 54 Hazel and the redemption he pursues and evinces through self-inflicted blindness, readers can benefit from acquainting themselves with passages that provably, or otherwise likely, informed the spiritual framework of Hazels redemption narrative in Wise Blood. While OConnors conception Christian gospel may seem peculiar, it would be implausible to suggest that the spiritual framework of Hazels redemption is of OConnors own making, for it is the scriptures themselves that relay these ideas. One biblical account is brought to the foreground in the sixth chapter of Wise Blood. Conversing with Asa Hawks, a preacher who masquerades as one who has blinded himself to prove that Jesus had redeemed him, Hazel asks, If Jesus cured blind men, howcome you dont get him to cure you? (WB, 107), to which Asa replies with, He blinded Paul (WB, 107). Asas response references the ninth chapter of the Book of Acts where Saul (who is later named Paul), is on the road to Damascus so that he could locate Christians within the city and imprison them in Jerusalem. The scripture reads that the following took place shortly before Saul arrived in the city: and suddenly there shined round about him a light from heaven: And he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me? (Acts 9:3-4, KJV). After realizing that the voice had come from the transfigured Jesus, Saul arose from the earth; and when his eyes were opened, he saw no man . . . And he was three days without sight, and neither did eat nor drink. (Acts 9:8-9, KJV). However, this account does not only depict Jesus as a blinding light of the world; it also depicts blindness as an integral element of ones redemption narrative. Unlike Hazels physical blindness, Sauls is later restored by God through a man named Ananias, for the scripture reads that, Ananias went his way, and entered into the house; and putting his hands on him said, Brother Saul, the Lord, even Jesus, that appeared unto thee in the way as thou camest, hath sent me, that thou mightest receive thy sight, and be filled with the Holy Ghost. And immediately 55 there fell from his eyes as it had been scales: and he received sight forthwith, and arose, and was baptized (Acts 9:17-18, KJV). By alluding to this biblical account in Wise Blood, OConnor reveals source material within Christian orthodoxy from which the notion of faith and visions mutual inclusivity stems. Sauls vision of Jesus and his ensuant blindness awaken him to his need for redemption, and upon regaining his sight, he commits his life to Christ. Although Hazel does not regain his sight in Wise Blood, the salience of his blindness in his journey toward redemption aligns with what is depicted in scripture. Moreover, while Hazels blindness may parallel with the Scriptural instance of Sauls in effect, it may also be causally comparable. Blindness is portrayed as the redemptive work of Christ in the Gospel of John, as well. In this case, though, Jesus denotes blindness as an effect that He intends to bear in coming into the world. In the ninth chapter, Jesus restores the sight of a man who was born blind. Shortly afterwards, though, Jesus declares that, For judgment I am come into this world, that they which see not might see; and that they which see might be made blind (John 9:39, KJV). Jesuss words in this passage prove paradoxically ambiguous, however. On the one hand, He declares that He has come so that the blind may see, and He demonstrates this through miraculous physical healing, but on the other hand, Jesus declares that He has also come so that others may be blinded. Nevertheless, both courses of action suggest the redemptive work of the Divine, for, as it is previously stated in the Gospel of John, God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved (John 3:17, KJV). Throughout the majority of the novel, Hazel believes that he can see clearly, in contrast to those who he believes to be blinded by whatever Christian faith they may have, yet, in His contriteness in the end of the novel, he blinds himself in his conviction that his fixation on the physical, in lieu of the spiritual, is even graver blindness. 56 Arguably, the aforementioned passage from the Book of Acts, the account of Sauls blinding, predicates on the idea that is presented in the aforementioned passage from the Gospel of John, Jesus healing of a man who was born blindthat part of the redemptive work of Christ is to blind people, particularly those who claim to see clearly. Jesus distinction between those who can and cannot see is obviously not limited to those who can and cannot see physically, given the allegorical nature of His speech on numerous occasions throughout the gospels; nevertheless, the distinction is alive and well in OConnors Wise Blood. The ninth chapter of the Gospel of John ends with Jesus responding to the Jewish pharisees who overhear him speaking with the man he had healed, for the scripture reads that, And some of the Pharisees which were with him heard these words, and said unto him, Are we blind also? Jesus said unto them, If ye were blind, ye should have no sin: but now ye say, We see; therefore your sin remaineth (John 9:40-41, KJV). In view of this passage, OConnors belief that one is to be characterized by their vision aligns with what is proclaimed by Jesus in scripture. Further, Hazels self-identification as one who can see clearly proves him to be pharisaic in OConnors eyes, and Christs, thus accentuating his status as one who Christ has come to redeem through blindness. In this chapter, it has been argued that Jesuss redemptive work in Hazels blindness is done through the immersion into the mystery that comprises his worldboth his inner world and the circumambient physical world. Hazels immersion into mystery is illustrated as an immersion into a physical and figurative darknessthe darkness implicit with blindness and the darkness into which Jesus calls Hazel to step. While the metaphor of walking in the darkness may seem contrary to what following Jesus is supposed to be, the Apostle Paul writes in his letter to the Church of Corinth that we walk by faith, not by sight (2 Cor. 5:7, KJV). The biblical notion of walking in the darkness is echoed through the Prophet Isaiah in the Old Testament, a prophet 57 whose words resound throughout the New Testament, even in Jesus teachings. In the fiftieth chapter, Isaiah the Prophet addresses the manner in which people choose to walk, dichotomizing those who are walking in light and those who are walking in darkness. It is written, Who is among you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the voice of his servant, that walketh in darkness, and hath no light? let him trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon his God (Isa. 50:10, KJV). In this instance, the prophet does not condemn those who, like Hazel, are walking in darkness; instead, he addresses those that fear and obey the Lord and encourages them to continue trusting in Him as they walk in the darkness. The prophet, then, addresses those who are walking in the lightthose who, like the unredeemed Hazel, walk by sight. The scripture reads, Behold, all ye that kindle a fire, that compass yourselves about with sparks: walk in the light of your fire, and in the sparks that ye have kindled. This shall ye have of mine hand; ye shall lie down in sorrow (Isa. 50:11, KJV). Here, the prophet condemns those who choose to walk in the light, deeming them as those who will be tormented with sorrow. Whats more, the light people are walking by is not depicted to be the light of Christ; rather, it is the light of your fire . . . the sparks that ye have kindled [emphasis added]. In this case, the scriptures portray walking in the darkness as an act of faith that necessitates faith and trust in the Lord, whereas walking in the lightthat is, the light of ones own judgmentis depicted as self-righteousness and the modus operandi for ones demise. Bearing this in mind, it is plausible to suggest that Hazels literal and figurative walking in the darkness is not the mere literary byproduct of OConnors dark sensibilities as a Christian southern gothic writer. Alternatively, and perhaps more so, it is a metaphor of genuine faith that is derived specifically from scripture. Furthermore, this passage suggests Hazels immersion into darkness is indicative of his fear of God and his 58 obedience unto Him, and it is in Hazels blindness the prophets words address, and thus apply to, him directly. Although it may be unclear which biblical passages influenced OConnors fiction most significantly, OConnors moral vision did not operate in discord with what she had evidently discerned through the scriptures. While OConnors depiction of redemption in Christ may seem to divert from a, perhaps, more sanguine envisionmentone that involves the restoration of sight and a confident, steady walk in the light of Christ---a cursory survey of scripture only gives credence to OConnors literal and figurative depictions of blindness and darkness in Wise Blood. In this way, the symbolic binary of light and darknesswith light symbolizing good, or God Himself, and darkness symbolizing sin and spiritual death--is disrupted, both by OConnors fiction and the scriptures that informed her dramatic and moral vision. Granted there are moments in scripture where light and darkness are depicted accordingly, such as the first chapter of the Gospel of John when the following is said of Jesus: In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not (John 1:4-5, KJV). In this excerpt, Jesus is portrayed as light that shines amid the darknessa darkness that does not understand (or, in the New International Version, cannot overcome) the light of Christ. It is, therefore, crucial to note that the light-dark binary that prolifically schematizes the teachings of scripture is the same light-dark binary, and sight-blindness binary by extension, that suffuses OConnors Wise Blood with significant complexity. That said, OConnors nuanced perspective on light-dark and sight-blindness binaries only marks the scriptures as her creative and moral afflatus, particularly in Wise Blood, ultimately reinforcing the deepened sense of mystery that she had hoped for her readers to experience in reading her fiction. 59 Bloody Wisdom For OConnor, the notion that spiritual truth makes itself known through the physical is a reverberation of the Christian doctrine of the Incarnation that the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth (John 1:14, KJV). The belief that God, who is spirit, sought to redeem humankind by becoming human Himself permeates OConnors portrayal of redemptive affairs in her fiction, particularly when it comes to the significance of Christs physical suffering. Although the OConnorian concept of vision is not limited to physical sight, Hazels selfinflicted blindness is not purely symbolic; rather, it is an authentication of the revelation he has received. Hazels anagogical vision affords him new depths of vision, which allows him to see into the depths of himself and acknowledge his need for redemption. As it was described in Chapter One, Hazels rebellion against God is marked via the active repudiation of his inward vision of Christ, indicated in his fixation upon and professed devotion to the physical. However, in this chapter, the redemptive essence of Hazels inward vision proves, likewise, to be experiential and actionable. The spiritual richness of Hazels inner life is clear from the beginning of the novel, and, if anything, it is confirmed through his chosen means of rebellion: to establish a church and stand as its preacher. However, neither his anagogical vision nor the morbidity of his response are the result of external instruction or influencethat is, Hazel does not conduct himself so as to align with the Churchs rituals or teachings. Instead, OConnor portrays Hazel as one awakened to his need for a redeemer through the teachings of his appellative wise bloodof that which is 60 intrinsic to him and carried out through him. In this way, OConnor establishes vision as not only that which a person embodies, but as that which they exhibit and carry out. Hazels vision of the Divine is carried out through physical ascesis that only begins with self-blinding, for after he blinds himself, Hazel begins to act upon other spiritual truths that become clear to him. In the final chapter of Wise Blood, Mrs. Flood notices Hazel walks with a limp after he blinds himself: Some time later she [Mrs. Flood] discovered why he limped . . . the bottoms of them [his shoes] were lined with gravel and broken glass and pieces of small stone. She spilled this out and sifted it through her fingers . . . In a few days she examined them again and they were lined with fresh rocks. Whos he doing this for? she asked herself. Whats he getting out of doing it? (WB, 225-226). After Mrs. Flood inquires as to why Hazel does this, he harshly retorts, To pay (WB, 226). Later on, Mrs. Flood finds Hazel continuing in self-harm, for, She came earlier than usual one morning and found him asleep, breathing heavily. The old shirt he wore to sleep in was open down the front and showed three strands of barbed wire, wrapped around his chest . . . Mr. Motes, she said in a thick voice, what do you do these things for? (WB, 227-228), to which Hazel replies, Im not clean (WB, 228). In these instances, Hazels spiritual convictions are spoken of, yet they are also revealed through the mortification of his physical body. Hazels ascetic choice to walk with stones in his shoes alludes to his attempt to please God as a ten-yearold boy, after seeing a near-naked woman in a coffin at a carnival, for he filled the bottoms of them [his shoes] with stones and small rocks and then he put them on. He laced them up tight and walked in them for what he knew to be a mile . . . He thought, that ought to satisfy Him 61 (WB, 59-60). Michial Farmer explains how Hazels self-inflicted suffering is best interpreted as a form of penance. In his discourse, Farmer explains how, Penance is less a punishment than a self-correction; one presses oneself physically in order to cure oneself spiritually (Farmer 96). However, Farmer also goes on to explain how Hazels suffering as an adult differs from the suffering he endured as a child, as, Penance requires true contrition and repentance, and young Hazedamaging his body to satisfy God rather than to change his own spiritual condition has neither (Farmer 97). Farmers insights suggest that Hazels ascesis is his genuine response to what he knows to be truethat he is in debt and unclean in his sin before God. Thus, this envisagement of himself is not only what Hazel knows in the spirit, but what he proves and becomes in the flesh, thus marking him as an honest-to-Jesus blind man (WB, 219). As an ascetic, Hazel allows his convictions to be physically, painfully authenticated through action; therein, his vision of spiritual reality matures from cognizance into experience. OConnor writes in The Nature and Aim of Fiction that, The way to despair is to refuse to have any kind of experience (M&M, 78), evidencing her reverence for experiential knowledge, which she also speaks of in Some Aspects of the Grotesque in Southern Fiction, explaining that, My own approach to literary problems is very like the one Dr. Johnsons blind housekeeper used when she poured teashe put her finger inside the cup (M&M, 36). OConnors emphasis on experience exhibits her belief that vision is not merely augmented through experience; rather, vision necessitates experience, and, in the novel, Hazels wise blood not only informs him of the spiritual, as it also instructs him to physically experience Christs redemptive power. 62 Furthermore, Hazels wise blood compels him to experience the redemption of Christ not just physically, but through sufferingsuffering that limits him drastically. In his self-inflicted blindness, Hazel limits his ability to perceive the world physically, in lining his shoes with rocks and broken glass, he limits his mobility, and, in sleeping with barbed wire around his chest, he limits his ability to rest unperturbed. In all of these measures, Hazel pronouncedly denies himself physical comfort and convenience, though it is all done to effectuate and emulate the redemptive work of Christ, which demands the figurative death of the body. Marcel Decoste expounds on how the Redemption is emulated in Hazels suffering, explaining how, The body, by its mortality discloses profounder truth regarding original sin and humanitys unpayable debt to God. Like OConnors Church, Hazes flesh teaches that Death is a consequence of sin, but that we share this fate in our corporeality as a consequence of the Fall (75). However, Hazels selfinflicted suffering additionally represents the self-denial necessary for the Redemption, epitomized through Christs suffering on Calvary. In his suffering, Hazel embraces limitation and, ergo, concords with the truth of his fallenness and the suffering that affords him communion with God. Hazes life is thus presented as an education in the bodys appalling transience, its blunt statement of finitude (75), Decoste writes, which also aligns with OConnors discourse on limitation. In her discussion of art in Catholic Novelists, OConnor explains, We are not content to stay within our limitations and make something that is simply good by itself . . . Yet what is good in itself glorifies God because it reflects God . . . [therefore] art transcends its limitations only by staying within them (M&M, 171). O'Connor similarly discusses the connection between limitations and morality in The Catholic Novelist in the Protestant South, stating, We are all limited human beings, and the novel is a product of our best limitations . . . an effort to rise above belief or above background, 63 is going to result in a reduced approach to reality (M&M, 193). For most of the novel, Hazel rebels against God in his attempt to rise above his belief in Him, yet he finds neither liberation, satisfaction, nor success in this endeavor. Hazels redemption story is, thereby, marked by selfimposed limitation, and, in OConnors view, his pursuit of limitation is what educes his most commendable quality: his inexorable acknowledgment and emulation of the Holy. A Kind of Saint Hazels vision of Jesus and who he is before Him serves as a catalyst for both rebellion and redemption in Wise Blood. In either case, OConnor artfully emphasizes the centrality of vision as it pertains to ones spiritual disposition and circumstances, and it is Hazels embodiment and execution of vision that marks him as a kind of saint in OConnors view. In June 1955, OConnor wrote a letter to Elizabeth McGee, disclosing her personal thoughts on Hazel, saying, Of course, I think of Haze Motes as a kind of saint. His overwhelming virtue is integrity (HB, 89). Later, OConnor expounded upon the integrity she perceives Hazel to have when she included the following in the authors note for Wise Bloods second edition: That belief in Christ is to some people a matter of life and death has been a stumbling block for readers who would prefer to think it a matter of no great consequence. For them, Hazel Motes integrity lies in his trying with such vigor to get rid of the ragged figure who moves from tree to tree in the back of his mind. For the author, his integrity lies in his not being able to. Does ones integrity ever lie in what he is not able to do? I think that usually it does, for free will does not mean one will, but many wills conflicting in one man. (M&M, 114-115) 64 In saying this, OConnor exalts Hazels inability to rid himself of his vision of Jesus, deeming it as integrity and, by extension, his most saintly attribute. Although Hazel vehemently resists his inward vision, his will proves menial when juxtaposed with Christs to have him in the end! (WB, 16). Thus, by correlating ones vision and ones sainthood, OConnor delineates her sense of what it means for one to be found redeemed in Christ. Wise Blood is, in sum, Hazels redemption story, though his redemption is not something that takes place in a given moment. Even as Hazel lives in his sin, treasuring the physical world in lieu of the spiritual significance of following Jesus, OConnor portrays his life as one that gradually moves toward Christ, even in his attempts to flee. In this way, Hazels redemption in Christ is durational, rather than instantaneous, which Bruner details in A Subversive Gospel: One never gets the sense that OConnor hungered for her characters salvation, for example, as much as she shouted and yelled for their need for redemption . . . [as] the lexical distinction between salvation and redemption is the difference between and outcome and a process . . . and she is far more interested in her characters slow, slouching, often violent, humorous, and pathetic process toward redemption than she is in the laurel-wreathed coronation of salvation that awaits them. (Bruner 94) Hazels submission unto God is, indeed, slow and violent. In his ascesis, most notably, Hazel pursues his vision of Christ through self-denial and self-inflicted suffering, but he does this with the confidence that the dark that Jesus motions him into is more valuable than what he could otherwise attain. In this regard, Hazel determines the mystery of Christ to be more salient than whatever certainties he maintained in his infatuation with the physical world, aligning with OConnors testimony in The Church and the Fiction Writer when she comments that The 65 Catholic writer . . . will feel life from the standpoint of the Christian mystery: that it has, for all its horror, been found by God to be worth dying for (M&M, 146). Hazels ascesis confirms this notion even more, as he is willing to undergo whatever he feels he must to reify his vision of Jesus and be reconciled with Him. Furthermore, Hazels redemption in Christ is accompanied by substantial transformation. Throughout the novel, Hazel is fixated on the physical world and, consequently, neglectful of spiritual reality. However, after Hazel blinds himself, he becomes significantly more attune to spiritual reality. As stated previously, Hazel realizes that he is indebted and unclean in his sin before God in his ascesisa pressing reality to which he was averse throughout most of the novel. In this way, Hazels redemption in Christ grants him a profounder view of himself; however, it also grants him a profounder view of others. For instance, when Hazel boasts about his Essex to Sabbath Lily, he mentions that, It aint been built by a bunch of foreigners or [Black people] or one-arm men . . . It was built by people with their eyes open that knew where they were at (WB, 124-125). In saying this, Hazel reveals his own ethnic, racial, and ableist prejudices, though his discrimination is primarily on the basis of sight, for he does not believe that those against whom he is discriminating can see (the truth) as clearly as he can. In his ascesis, however, Hazel proves to have undergone significant change in this regard. While he is under Mrs. Floods care, he told her abruptly that he was going to get his food somewhere else, and named the place, a diner around the corner run by a foreigner (WB, 227). In doing this, Hazel effectively overcomes his vision-oriented prejudice, as he not only goes to give the foreigner business, but he goes against the discretion of Mrs. Flood who retorts with, And youll rue the day . . . Youll pick up an infection. No sane person eats there. A dark and filthy place. Encrusted! Its you who cant see, Mr. Motes (WB, 227). This conversation, therefore, 66 elaborates on the change that Hazel has undergone, as his sanctified view of himself also results in a sanctified view of others. This moment in the text also puts the way that Hazel is now perceived into perspectiveas one who cannot see, namely in the eyes of his landlady. In his final days, Hazel has several conversations with Mrs. Flood, during which readers can infer the stark differences between Hazels and Mrs. Floods faiths. While in his ascesis, Hazel exudes the redemptive work of Christ, Mrs. Floods disposition is more reminiscent of Hazels former self. Like Hazel, who once took pride in his ability to see the world clearly, Mrs. Flood liked the clear light of day. She liked to see things (WB, 222). In caring for Hazel, she seeks to give him something to do with his hands, something to bring him out of himself and get him in connection with the real world again. She was certain he was out of connection with it (WB, 223), which speaks to her genuine concern for Hazel, but, perhaps more so, it speaks to her misunderstanding of him. In his ascesis, Hazel is more connected with reality than he has ever been as he immerses himself in the mystery of his existence and heeds the instruction of his wise blood to follow Christ, but Mrs. Flood is unaware of this altogether. Like Hazel, Mrs. Flood is portrayed as religiously minded, though ironically without any doctrinal belief, which accords with what OConnor describes in Novelist and Believer when she states that, We live in an unbelieving age but one which is markedly and lopsidedly spiritual (M&M, 159). At the end of the thirteenth chapter, the text reads that, She [Mrs. Flood] was not religious or morbid, for which every day she thanked her stars (WB, 213), accentuating her appeal for physical reality over spiritual reality while also revealing religious tendencies in her expressed gratitude toward the stars. There is also a point in which she tells Hazel that, I believe that whats right today is wrong tomorrow and that the time to enjoy yourself is now so long as you let others do the same. Im as good, Mr. Motes . . . not believing in Jesus as a many a one that does (WB, 225). In 67 this way, Mrs. Flood proves, yet again, reminiscent of Hazels former self, in that she does not believe there to be any truth behind perceived truths, nor does she acknowledge any sort of need for the Divine. In juxtaposing Hazel with Mrs. Flood, though, OConnor situates Hazel with someone whose depravity is familiar and provides Mrs. Flood with an instantiation of the sort of redemption that she can aspire toward herself, for Who better to lead the blind than the blind, who knew what it was like? (WB, 233). In his ascesis, Hazel challenges Mrs. Floods notions of sight and spirituality. Upon first blinding himself, Mrs. Flood is dumbfounded at the thought of why Hazel would go through with self-blinding, unless there was something substantial to be gained therefrom. Like Hazel amid his rebellion against God, Mrs. Flood prides herself in her ability to see clearly; however, Hazel rebukes her, blatantly asserting, You cant see (WB, 226). Though she returns the accusation, Mrs. Flood grows increasingly concerned with matters of vision as she continues to care for Hazel. In the novel, OConnor writes that, She [Mrs. Flood] began to enjoy sitting on the porch with him . . . If she didnt talk and keep her mind going, she would find herself sitting forward in her chair, looking at him with her mouth not closed. Anyone who saw her from the sidewalk would think she was being courted by a corpse (WB, 221), which suggests a peculiar fixation that Mrs. Flood places on Hazel when she is near him. OConnor expounds on Mrs. Floods fixation, though, mentioning that, Watching his face had become a habit with her; she wanted to penetrate the darkness behind it and see for herself what was there (WB, 229). Arguably, then, Mrs. Floods fixation on Hazelthe habitual gazing into his eyes and the prevailing sense that something lies in darkness behind themmarks the deepening of her vision, for even when Hazel is out on his final walk, Mrs. Flood is found thinking of his eyes without any bottom in them (WB, 233), exuding focus, curiosity, and longing. In all of this, 68 Hazel proves to be more influential as an honest-to-Jesus blind man than he did as the preacher and sole member of the Church Without Christ. In her attempts to hypothesize how Hazel experiences life in his ascesis, she could only imagine the outside in, the whole black world in his head . . . She imagined it was like you were walking in a tunnel and all you could see was a pin point of light. She had to imagine the pin point of light; she couldnt think of it at all without that. She saw it as some kind of star, like the star on Christmas cards (WB, 222-223). In this envisagement, Mrs. Flood persists in her sense that something is to be gained in the blindness that Hazel has assumed, but it is only a matter of time before she sees the pin point of light for herself. After contracting influenza, Hazel goes for one final walk and is eventually found lying in a drainage ditch near an abandoned construction site by two policemen. Resisting them, Hazel declares that, I want to go on where Im going (WB, 234), only to be hit on the head with a baton and, then, die in the back of the squad car as they drove him back to Mrs. Flood. Nevertheless, even in death, Hazels influence on Mrs. Flood prevails, as OConnor concludes her novel with the following: She leaned closer and closer to his face, looking deep into them, trying to see how she had been cheated or what had cheated her, but she couldnt see anything. She shut her eyes and saw the pin point of light but so far away that she could not hold it steady in her mind. She felt as if she were blocked at the entrance of something. She sat staring with her eyes shut [emphasis added], into his eyes, and felt as if she had finally got to the beginning she couldnt begin, and she saw him moving farther and farther away, farther and farther into the darkness until he was the pin point of light. (WB, 235-236) 69 Like Hazel, it is not until Mrs. Flood denies herself physical sight, albeit momentary, that she can envision the pin point of lightthe representational essence of whatever is to be found, pursued, and gained in the darkness implicit to ones blindness. In his ascesis, Hazel exemplifies this epiphany and, thus, influences Mrs. Flood accordingly. To Mrs. Flood, the pin point of light that she originally imagined was that which can be found on Christmas cardsthe Star of Bethlehem that, according to the gospels, led shepherds and wise men from the East to the newborn Christ. Likewise, Hazel becomes a pin point of light for Mrs. Flood, for, even in death, he is a testament to the salvific unseen that beckons attention and ushers the soul into rightness with God. OConnors final depiction of Hazel, as a pin point of light, offers readers insight concerning his eternal destiny, as readers can confidently surmise that he receives Christs salvation in death, given the redemptive manifestations that precede. Hazels redemption in Christ is contingent upon his vision of Christ and his will to respond. In sacrificing his vision unto God, Hazel contritely denies himself, forsakes all else, and incarnates the hymnic plea to, Be Thou my Vision. In his embodiment and effectuation of anagogical vision, Hazel exists both in character and beyond character (M&M, 111), engaging in redemptive processes himself while also being an instantiation of divine mystery among others. Hazel can, thus, be regarded as OConnors literary corporealization of the profound nature and eternal implications of vision, situating readers to contemplate a salvation that conceivably remains to be seen. 70 Conclusion In the authors note to the second edition of Wise Blood, OConnor specifies the foremost mystery of the novel when she explains that free will does not mean one will, but many wills conflicting in one man. Freedom cannot be conceived simply. It is a mystery and one which a novel, even a comic novel, can only be asked to deepen (M&M, 115). With this, OConnor deems freedom as central to the conflict and resolution of her novel, and she makes this case through Hazel Motes. From the beginning, Hazel longs to be free from the inward vision of Christ that beckons his attention and calls him to act in faith, and in this sense, he longs to be free from God altogether. Rebelliously, Hazel seeks refuge in the physical, attending only to what he can see and that which requires no faith in God, so as to nullify his profoundly spiritual inscape. In the eighth chapter of Wise Blood, Hazel goes as far as to say that he is a free man because he has set himself free, proclaiming unto his audience, Look at me! . . . and you look at a peaceful man! Peaceful because my blood has set me free (WB, 141), thereby opposing the notion that only Christs blood can redeem. It is only a matter of time (and turmoil) before Hazel realizes he cannot be free of Christ, neither in the physical nor in himself. It is Hazels spiritual perceptiveness (i.e., his depth of vision) that reveals this truth to himthat his vision of Christ is his truth, and only the truth can make him free. What Hazel realizes through his blindness, though, is that the freedom he seeks is not freedom from Christ, but freedom in Christ, thus aligning his revelation with what Jesus declares in the eighth chapter of the Gospel of Saint John: If ye continue in my word, then are ye my disciples indeed; And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free . . . [And if] the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed (John 8:31-32, 36, KJV). 71 It has been established that Wise Blood is inspired by OConnors conception of the divine, given the spiritual nature and consequentiality of vision within the work, yet by bearing her devout religiosity in mind, the can also be perceived as a deeply personal workone OConnor used to reflect elements of her own spiritual life. Readers are granted a wealth of insight into OConnors spirituality through her collection A Prayer Journal, a series of documented prayers that are self-critically and intimately crafted, though not devoid of the OConnorian wit that one would expect of her writing. Even in her prayers, OConnor alluded to her craft and relayed it unto God. For instance, in an entry dated on the fourth of May, OConnor writes, To maintain any thread in the novel there must be a view of the world behind it & the most important single item under this view of [the] world is conception of lovedivine, natural, & perverted. It is probably possible to say that when a view of love is presenta broad enough viewno more need be added to make the worldview (PJ, 30). From this excerpt, it can be inferred that the constituents and significance of ones worldview were matters that OConnor herself had prayerfully contemplated and committed unto Godmatters that are subtextually discussed at length in the divine drama of Wise Blood. From OConnors prayer journal, readers can interpret Hazels misguided preoccupation with the physical world as a misguided, or perverted, love for it that deters a love for Godan opposition to the Scriptural precept to, Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him (1 John 2:15, KJV). In this way, the juxtaposition of OConnors prayers with the spiritual predicaments depicted in Wise Blood suggests a shared depravity between Hazel and OConnorone that she was bold enough to honestly, artfully disclose. In the novel, Hazels depth of vision offers him an acute spiritual awareness, yet it is not until his self-blinding that he exhibits robust spiritual attentiveness. In a sense, then, Hazels 72 redemption is initiated via a willingness to surrender his physical sight and his nihilistic worldview therewith, but it is also cultivated by his undivided attention to spiritual truth. OConnor relates to Hazels predicament further in her prayer journal when she writes, Oh God please make my mind clear. Please make it clean . . . My attention is always very fugitive. This way I have it every instant. I can feel a warmth of love heating me when I think & write this to You (PJ, 4). In this entry, OConnor speaks of her capacity to know and feel a connection with God, though she laments the fugitivity of her attention and her ensuant sense of disconnect. While OConnor testifies of her awareness of God, she confesses her failure to fixate her attention accordinglyyet another instance of shared struggle between her and Hazel. In paralleling OConnors testified spiritual predicaments with the ones that she literarily depicts, her fiction appears to be more confessional than expressional. In other words, OConnor does not only present readers with flawed characters; rather, she also presents characters whose flaws are consciously reminiscent of her own, making Hazel, therefore, an instantiation of OConnors incarnational, confessional art. Complementing this spirit of confession, OConnors prayers yearn Christs redemptive power. Bearing this in mind, they self-critical only as much as they are hopeful, given her genuine faith in Gods ability to redeem. Sensitive to her own depravity, OConnor would make her self-reflections a matter of prayer in hopes that God would remedy accordingly, as she did in an entry dated on the twenty-fifth of September: What I am asking for is really very ridiculous. Oh Lord, I am saying, at present I am cheese, make me a mystic, immediately. But then God can do thatmake mystics out of cheeses (PJ, 38). In this entry, OConnor presents herself selfcritically in prayer yet entreats that God make her a mysticshe whose highest and immediate concerns are of the spiritual, as opposed to the physical. Further, in her prayer to be a mystic, as 73 opposed to cheese, OConnor emphasizes the triviality that over-preoccupation with the physical eventuates. Therefore, OConnors plea is reminiscent of that which is literarily conveyed through Hazels self-blindinga longing for spiritual truth and a disesteem for the physical worldthus aligning OConnors and Hazels spiritual predicaments and pleas even more precisely. In the introduction to A Prayer Journal, W. A. Sessions, who knew OConnor, specifies that OConnors prayer journal entries were written between January 1946 and September 1947, while she was a student at the University of Iowa. While discussing OConnors experience in the universitys writing workshops and the prayers that she documented during that time, Sessions notes that: In fact, in the midst of writing these prayers, she began her first novel, eventually titled Wise Blood. That was during the Thanksgiving break of 1946, and whatever else the outreach of prayer had done, in initiating this truly original work of American fiction, OConnor had extended the reach of her journal. Her prayer to be a good writer reiterated often in the journalhad already been answered. (PJ, Introduction, x) Sessionss insight into A Prayer Journals composition establishes the journal and Wise Blood as chronologically and thematically associated workscoeval culminations of a particular season in OConnors life before her unseasonable death in August 1964. Through A Prayer Journal, then, readers can infer that Wise Blood was reflectively and prayerfully conceived during OConnors artistically formative years. The coalescence of Wise Blood and A Prayer Journal speaks to the profound interconnectedness of OConnors faith and artistry. In her Mystery and Manners collection, 74 OConnor often references her Catholic identity when discussing her craft. However, it would be simplistic to suggest that OConnors faith was just a constituent or point of reference for her art when it was, indeed, her visionher truthgranting her sight through the minds eye and compelling her to bear witness to Gods grace through the written word. In The Grotesque in Southern Fiction, OConnor writes, The novelist must be characterized . . . by his vision (M&M, 47), and, for OConnor, the desire to be characterized by vision is synonymous with the desire to be characterized by Christ. Further, in The Church and the Fiction Writer, OConnor names her faith in Christ as the reason behind her art, mentioning that, When people have told me that because I am a Catholic, I cannot be an artist, I have had to reply, ruefully, that because I am a Catholic, I cannot afford to be less than an artist (M&M, 146). For OConnor, art is a matter of convictionconviction that is effectuated by the truths that she had come to know, and could only have come to know, through faith in Christ. Through Wise Blood, however, OConnor demonstrates that vision is not exclusive to the artist; further, she illustrates that the novelist is not only one who is, or ought to be, characterized by their vision. In the novel, Hazels vision is what defines him, as it perpetuates his rebellion against God yet later ushers him into communion with God. In OConnors view, though, such is the case for all people, For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God . . . [yet can be] justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus (Rom. 3:23-24, KJV). Hazels vision is redressed via his submission to the truththe truth of his inward vision, that God sees him, beckons his attention, and longs to set him free. In OConnors estimation, though, freedom is an oddity, (You shall know the truth and the truth shall make you odd, OConnor once wrote), yet it is an oddity because it invokes divinityone that enabled OConnor to see and brought her to believe. 75 Bibliography The Bible. King James Version. Bible Gateway, version 42, Bible Gateway / Zondervan, 2016. Bruner, Michael Mears. A Subversive Gospel: Flannery OConnor and the Reimagining of Beauty, Goodness, and Truth. Intervarsity Press, 2017. DeCoste, Marcel. This Is My Body: The Saving Knowledge of Suffering Flesh in Flannery OConnors Wise Blood. Religion & Literature, vol. 49, no. 2, Summer 2017, pp. 69 91. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=135704002&site=ehost-live. Accessed 10 Feb. 2021. Farmer, Michial. Never the Right Food. Religion & the Arts, vol. 19, no. 1/2, Jan. 2015, pp. 84106. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1163/15685292-01901005. Accessed 10 Feb 2021. Giannone, Richard. Hazel Motes and the Desert Tradition. Flannery O'Connor, Hermit Novelist. University of South Carolina Press, Columbia, South Carolina, 2010, pp. 3164. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctv6sj9mc.7. Accessed 25 Nov. 2020. Kessler, Edward. Seeing Into Mystery. Flannery O'Connor and the Language of Apocalypse. Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey, 1986, pp. 75112. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt1m323xn.7. Accessed 24 Nov. 2020. Nelson, Cassandra. Seeing Is Believing. Commonweal, vol. 143, no. 18, Nov. 2016, pp. 1417. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=a9h&AN=118986018&site=ehost-live. Accessed 8 Oct. 2020. 76 OConnor, Flannery. The Habit of Being. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1979. OConnor, Flannery. A Prayer Journal. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2013. OConnor, Flannery. Wise Blood. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2007. Sessions, William A. Introduction. A Prayer Journal. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2007, pp. viixii.  ...

... THE UNIVERSITY OF INDIANAPOLIS A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES: MUSKETEERS OF MAYHEM A THESIS PRESENTED TO THE FACULTY OF THE DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE MASTER OF ARTS BY CHARLENE LYNN EVERETT INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA May 2021 Copywrite 2021 Charlene Lynn Everett A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES: MUSKETEERS OF MAYHEM by Charlene Lynn Everett APPROVED BY THE DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH UNIVERSITY OF INDIANAPOLIS May 2021 _____ Professor Rebecca McKanna, Department of English ____________________________________ Dr. Stephen Zimmerly, Department of English ABSTRACT A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES: MUSKETEERS OF MAYHEM By Charlene Lynn Everett How quickly a gentle heart can be wounded, and the consequences of the wound have the potential to live on for generations. Children enter the halls of life equipped with talents and ineptitudes, assets and flaws, perseverance and doubts; who is it that will guide their steps through injustice, over bias, and across unfairness? These stories were inspired by children with no choice in who they were or where they came from. They are stories of whom a child may become with the whisper of an angel in their lives. It is my hope the following stories embolden the angel in all of us, the young and the old, to spread protective wings over a fragile soul. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS For my sweet Sarah and Austin and the little ones that live these stories v Contents Green Stockings .............................................................................................................................. 1 The Bully of 13th Street ................................................................................................................. 18 A Football, Two Boys, and the Final Three.................................................................................. 37 Sydney Stood Alone ..................................................................................................................... 54 The Mystery of the Haunted Library Note ................................................................................... 66 vi 1 Green Stockings Margaret Elizabeth was not an especially good child nor was she particularly bad. There had been a time or two her parents found themselves sitting in the principals office, feeling as if they had just been caught with their hand in a cookie jar. There was the time she and her best friend Tim had given each other matching black eyes. There was the time she announced to the class that eating school hamburgers was cruel and unjust to animals leaving a lasting impression on students and prompting the installment of a cafeteria salad bar; not really a bad thing when you think about it. Margaret didnt like to eat peas and would slip them under the table to Rudy, who would gobble anything with a hint of a food smell. Her room was a disaster zone, not unlike her fathers office so therefore order was difficult to impress upon her, and her toys were forever missing pieces and parts and scattered behind and under every piece of furniture. But her heart was kind and ached over injustice. She didnt fear scraped knees and bruises if they were the result of standing up to a bully. And it never surprised her parents, or either of her grandmothers, when she walked in the door cradling a wee bird fallen from a nest or pup that had lost its way home. Margaret was excited the school day it all began. Mr. Rassi told them a week earlier about the new girl joining their class. Margaret searched for a ponytail holder, dashing around her room, shoving piles of clothes aside, scanning through her scattered toys. She and her friends had known each other since kindergarten and did practically everything alike, and so the stretchy black band she twisted around her hair was practically a prerequisite. Jamie and Kaylie, twins as alike as two peas nestled in a pod, would wear ponytails perched on top of their heads, one to the right and one to the left. Despite their attempts at individuality, the two were of the same mind and heart, often finishing each others sentences, and completing the others thoughts. On chilly 2 mornings they would both grab sweaters, one might be magenta, and one might be pink, but uniqueness only strayed so far. Cassidy would secure her curly ponytail with a ribbon of blue or green, whatever color shirt she wore. Emily and Mary might wrap a bit of a braid around the base of the tail, creative style always important. Even Savannahs thin hair that never seemed to grow past her shoulders would be swept into a spikey little catch, sticking straight out behind her like a nubby pencil. Margaret laced her soggy sneakers, still wet from catching fireflies the evening before. You couldnt convince her the sneakers werent lucky and aided in soaring over bases and through meadow flowers, so wet or dry they would not be left behind. Margaret and her best friend were forever competing in baseball and soccer, football and dodgeball, both as fast as a gusted breeze. When Tim sprinted by Margaret, freckles fading into the blush of his face, face as red as his hair, her only hope of passing would be his tease of laughter if he looked back, his legs flying like wings up to his ears. The troupe of friends would be set for recess with sneakers of blue and red and black, lace or Velcro, soggy or dry. The kids would wear their favorite jeans. Emily and Marys fashionably beaded or flared. Margarets with grand holes in the knees from when Tim pushed her off her bike and she threw his football into the woods. Neither would admit which of them started the roe, maybe neither of them really knew. They would have fought it out, brushed off the dirt as well as the skirmish, and parted friends. The whole gang would play baseball and frisbee, football and hide and seek. Margaret grabbed her lunch off the counter and dashed for the door shoving it into her backpack. Her mother called out, Peanut butter and jelly! and she responded with, Rockin Red! Her mom never wasted a breath telling her to not shove it to the bottom of the bookbag to keep it from getting squished and squashed. Margaret would only argue how much better it 3 tasted all squished and squashed. She and her friends would sit out on a grassy hill at the back of the playground to eat their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches along with juice boxes that ranged from Rockin Red to Bursting Blue, Mazing Mango to Razzle Raspberry. As she and her friends waited for the bus and talked excitedly about the new student, Tim sat in tall weeds and pulled long grasses. Wrapping the stem at the base he slid the knot up the stem in a quick flick and shot buds in the girls direction. When rains poured down and created muddy puddles, Tim would be seen sloshing through puddles and stomping mud into the air. When snows swirled, he would beg for pretzels from lunches to decorate his snowmen with crooked grins. Hey! Watch where youre shooting that thing! Margaret glared at him. Tim was the only one not overjoyed a new girl was joining the class. He was beginning to feel outnumbered. When the bus finally arrived, the group of friends headed to the seats furthest in the back where they put their hands on the seat in front of them and bounced and bumped along, their stomachs doing weird flips. Mr. Rassi waited for them at the school entrance. He smiled and waved at his group of fifth graders, his smile a welcome on the gloomiest of days. He wore his tie died mad scientist coat with plastic dark rimmed glasses pushed on top of his head. A sure sign they would be doing experiments in science that day. His smile was infectious, and the students grinned and laughed and teased with their beloved teacher. It was important to him to be there when they struggled and help them understand they would get it eventually, whatever it was. He had told them a new girl would be coming to join the class, and as far as Margaret was concerned, a new best friend in the group was great. Of course, the new girl would love to race around the playground and swing on swings, ponytail flying, tennis shoes scuffed or muddy; it wouldnt matter if she had a sense of vogue like Em or a bit of shy like Savannah. It would 4 work out fine if she were like Kaylie who got confused in science class or if she was great at figuring out riddles like Cass. If she had a forever friendly smile like Jamie or a forever scowl like Tim, she would be one of the gang, part of their circle of friends. Sarah was late and arrived in the middle of reading class, the room was already silent but when she came to the door with her mother a hush seemed to settle throughout the school. She looked at all of them. They looked back at her. The quiet was broken by a little cough from Mr. Rassi. Say hello, guys! There was a murmur of hellos as they scrutinized the girl in the doorway. She wore two short skinny pigtails in tight little braids that stuck out by her ears. Wisps of hair poked from here and there looking like yellow straw you might see escaping a scarecrows shirt. She wasnt wearing jeans with holes and it was doubtful she had scabs on her knees. She wore a blue dress, a bit faded, yet crisp and clean. There were faint small white spots on the dress, barely noticeable even though there was not a wrinkle or stain of dirt. Sarah wasnt wearing flying fast sneakers. Her shoes were black and looked like they couldnt be comfortable at all. They were shiny and new while her dress looked old and faded, and they both looked as if theyd never been out to play. A long pair of green stockings covered her legs, scrunching a bit before disappearing into her shiny shoes. The stockings looked itchy and bunchy, and Margaret thought they were almost the strangest thing about her. She wouldnt be running bases and swinging on swings or climbing the grassy hill at the back of the playground to sit on blankets and eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, for the very most strangest thing about Sarah, was she sat in a wheelchair. Sarahs mother tried to push the chair down a row but after bumping and jostling into a couple of desks, it was obvious she would sit at the front of the room. Mr. Rassi asked Margaret 5 to move her things to the empty seat between Jamie and Kaylie. Margaret looked to her left to see Kaylies eyebrows shoot up and to her right where Jamies went down in attentiveness. Sarahs mom helped her get settled into her seat before going out to the hall with Mr. Rassi. The room was unusually still for one with no teacher. There was not a shuffle or sneeze, a paper didnt flutter, a pencil didnt roll. Sarah did not look around, or even at Cassidy when she murmured hello. Her whispered answer so quiet, Cass could only shrug when she glanced around at her friends. Sarah never looked around the room for the rest of the day. She studied her papers and colored pencils just as hard as the students were studying her. When it was time to go out for recess she stayed inside. They could see her watching from the window. They didnt stare back at her, but they did whisper. She wasnt like everyone else in the class, she wasnt like anyone else in the school. They werent sure how she would fit in with their group. After school the friends climbed the steps of the bus for the ride home. Sarah wasnt in Margarets thoughts, or any of their thoughts, as they laughed and bumped in their seats. She had gotten on a different bus, one with a ramp that raised her chair to roll inside. Everything seemed to be different when it came to Sarah. Margaret forgot all about Sarah until later that night at dinner with her mom and dad, Grandma Elizabeth, and Grandma Margaret. Dad grilled hamburgers and mom made fries with cheese. They sat out on the patio and she told them about the new girl. Margaret lived in the farmhouse Grandpa Charles had built. Perched high on a hill its welcoming smile of white picket wrapped around the porch from side to side. If you walked up the path to the doorway, the first thing you might notice were delicious smells wafting their way from the kitchen, stray kittens lounging the railing or curled between Rudys front paws, and an eclectic assortment of rockers and quilts welcoming you to visit for the day. 6 Grandma Margaret lived in the farmhouse and she always made Margaret feel safe. She taught her things as she had Margarets mother when she was little. She taught her how to crochet tiny afghans for her dolls while she crocheted the huge fuzzy ones filling every closet and resting at the foot of each of the beds. She taught her how to bake cookies with raisin faces and crazy hair made of lots of sprinkles, some in chocolate and some in wild colors. They liked to sit all swallowed up in a soft lumpy sofa with Grandma Margarets cat, Lavender. Margarets favorite color. They read stories and nibbled warm cookies and drank hot chocolate with floating mini marshmallows. Margarets mother was very much like her own mother. If something spilled, she hurried to wipe it up. If something fell over, she hung it back on its hook. Every job had a special day; laundry on Monday and Friday, baking on Saturday. She was a squirrel with everything in the farmhouse and didnt even know the definition of procrastinate. The porch that wrapped around the house like a massive grin, was freshly painted every three summers. The floors were swept and shiny, the furniture rarely had so much as a speck of dust. Crackers were stored in bins and cereal in containers, bottles in baskets and spices in colorful vessels alphabetized along the shelf. Everything was tidy and in its place. Between mother and grandmother, everything was as neat as a pin. Almost. Margarets father was in the dictionary, under absent-minded professor. His office was littered with books and manuscripts; his red pen would furiously fly over his students papers, only to lose them under a pile of folders or tablets. He couldnt find his glasses perched on his own nose. And his mother was just as scattered and filled with limitless energy as her son. Margaret didnt always feel completely safe when she was with her Grandma Elizabeth, but she always had as much fun as you could squeeze into every minute of their time. Grandma 7 Elizabeth was daring and always moving. She didnt know how to bake cookies or even cook dinner. She ordered Chinese and ate with chopsticks or baked frozen pizzas that turned out too crispy and a little burnt. Margaret would sit behind her as they raced the bicycle down a great sloping hill at the front of the farmhouse, their legs sticking out wide fearlessly soaring as they bounced and bumped along. They were probably very lucky they only crashed some of the time. They loved to swing from a knotted rope that hung from Scary tree, an oak all bent with age like a crooked creepy witch. Its branches stretched wide for secret squirrel homes, nifty twisty little birds nests, and a rope swing bristling with age. They would swing high and bravely fly into piles of leaves or piles of snow or sometimes no piles at all. Grandma Margaret interrupted her granddaughters description of the new student, Was she nice? I dont know, grandma. Does she like to play games? mom asked. I dont know, mom. I wonder what she likes to read, her father looked thoughtful. Sounds like you have a problem on your hands, Grandma Elizabeth said. Yep, Margarets dad chimed in, a bit of ketchup on his lip. Whatre you going to do about it, Mags? Do? Margaret wondered as she looked at each of them. She hadnt thought there was something she was supposed to do. They looked back at her, expectancy on each of their faces. They waited. Grandma Margarets eyes were soft. Even Grandma Elizabeth was quiet and waiting. Margaret felt like a bug under a giant magnifying glass, and it was making her feel hot. 8 Grandma Margaret broke the silence when she asked for a hamburger, never taking her eyes off her granddaughter, the question still lingering. Margaret helped clear the table and wash the dishes, all the while thinking. No one offered ideas as if they were one in a pact, not something she was accustomed to from the eclectic bunch she lived with. She wanted to say to them, Geesh Im the kid here! What is it I should do? She hadnt done anything wrong. But she hadnt done anything right either. Maybe that was it. She smiled. That was definitely it. As Margaret brushed her teeth, her mom came into her bedroom. Your room looks like an obstacle course, Maggie. Do you know what that is? She answered with a grin, Yep. Like when you go around a playground and jump over poles and crawl through colored tubes to get to the end before anyone beats you, she continued on, really, mom, I know where everything is! Her mother laughed, Just like your dad. She sat on the edge of Margarets bed, and prodded. So, Sarah? She sounds like shes pretty different from you and your friends, huh? Margaret replied with a thoughtful look. She is mom. You know shes nothing like Kaylie and Emily who talk all the time, or Jamie when shes showing you the right way to do something even if shes wrong. She would never be able to run races with Tim and me. I dont think shes shy like Savannah, she was trying to think of some connection. Her mom nodded only listening. She has these long green stockings that look all itchy and hot, Mary and Emily would never wear anything like them! She doesnt seem to have anything in common with any of us. Her mother sighed quietly and thought through her words as she spoke. You know Maggie, Sarah is different, but everyone of your friends is different, as you just said yourself. 9 Two of you may run fast, but not all of you do. Two of you may dress in bling and sparkle, and its cool, but I couldnt see you doing that! Margaret shook her head as if she were saying, Not in this lifetime. Her mom smiled. I think it must be really hard to come to a new school. Even harder to come and be so different. You would think everyone was staring at you and making decisions about you, not really giving you a chance to show them who you are. Margaret plopped down on the bed. Mom, I have a plan. You do sweetheart? Margarets eyes shone much like her fathers when he had a lightning bolt of genius. I know I didnt do anything to be mean to Sarah, but I also didnt do anything to be nice. I know I cant just do nothing, because then Ive done something, and not in a good way. Her mother smiled. The next morning, the sun didnt have to wake Margaret. She was up early to rummage around her room. She wore one sneaker and spied the second peeking out from under her bed. Her socks didnt match. Her shirt was wrinkled. She went back to struggle in front of her bathroom mirror. She had been working for several minutes and through several failed attempts at making two tight pigtail braids, one on each side of her head. It wasnt easy, but it wasnt too terribly hard. Hair escaped the braids making it look a bit like straw poking out of a scarecrows shirt. They werent skinny, but they were as close to Sarahs as she could get. She grinned a half grin at herself, scooped up more bands and shoved them into the pocket of her jeans. Margaret dredged the last of the cheesy scrambled eggs through a pool of ketchup. Where are your thoughts this morning, Maggie? 10 Mom, can I have two Rockin Reds? she jumped up to shove her lunch deep into her backpack. Sure Maggie, in the pantry, her mom nodded and added, Peanut butter and jelly! and smiled when there was no response from her daughter as she ran out the door for the bus. Definitely on a mission, she murmured to herself. Margaret was in a hurry to get to her circle of friends as they shot buds at one another off long grassy stalks and picked at dandelions. She wanted to talk her plan over with them; a good start was the fact they liked her braids that stuck out by her ears. Holding out a fistful of bands, she began to remove the intricate braid Emily had woven through her ponytail and helped her create two not quite as flashy braids on each side of her head. Soon they were all sitting in the grass and working at braids. Jamie made Kaylies and Kaylie made Jamies. Mary helped Cass and Cass helped Mary. Savannah scowled at Tim when he offered to help with a laugh, and ended up supervising until it was her turn, her braids the tiniest and nubbiest of all. Soon they all had braids, tight and pointy, long and messy, but all looking like straw poking from a scarecrows shirt. Maybe Sarah wouldnt feel strange or different today. The students jumped from the steps of the bus and ran to Mr. Rassi who squinted at them in curiosity. His smile widened, he liked the braids and the unspoken plan. They entered the school and hung bookbags on hooks and placed their lunches on the shelf. Margaret slid her extra Rockin Red juice box into Sarahs lunch bag above her backpack. They wandered into the room, chattering and laughing and glancing in Sarahs direction. Sarah peeked at them from behind a book. She wore a pink faded dress, crisply pressed. Her hair still tightly braided at her ears, her long green itchy looking stockings stretched down her legs and bunched themselves 11 into her shiny black shoes. Margaret thought she might have seen her sneak a look at them and squint with a frown on her face. As the day went from reading to math, and from math to lunch, Sarah seemed to busily study her desk. She put the same papers into a folder three times glancing back to where Jamie, Kaylie, and Margaret sat. She dropped the same pencil four times while pretending not to look at Cass and Emily. When the class took turns writing their math on the board, she flicked her eyes over each of them, a frown still wrinkling her forehead. Margaret saw her watching them from the window at recess. She wondered if Sarah still felt out of place. At the end of the day the class filed out to the buses and waited while Mr. Rassi made sure Sarah got onto her bus safely. Margaret and her friends raced for the back seats of their bus where instead of putting their hands on the seats in front of them as they bumped along, they huddled together to discuss the plan. Im not so sure but we might have hurt her feelings, Margaret said to her friends. Her friends nodded. Jamie was thoughtful. Every time she looked at one of us, she kinda frowned. Should we try something different tomorrow? There were nods all around. When Margaret got home, she was halfway up the stairs before the door slammed shut. Mags? her father called out after her. Sorry dad! Got something important to do. She raced the rest of the steps by twos carefully closing her door behind her. She thought she remembered a pair of shiny black shoes from her uncles wedding. She had shoved them to the furthest corner under the dresser in hopes to never wear them again. She dug around behind a pogo stick and box of special thingsyoyos, two twelve-sided dice, her Grandma Elizabeths rubber cockroach they liked to scare people 12 with, and her favorite Theodore rag doll from when she was just a kid. At last she found them, covered in just a bit of dust and surprisingly sitting side by side. She dusted them off and knew just looking at them her feet would be crying tomorrow. She would have to give up running bases and playing football, but Sarah had to give those things up every day. The next morning the sun didnt have to wake Margaret. She glared down at the shiny black shoes pinching her feet. They looked horrendous sticking out from the hem of her jeans, and she was sure Tim would probably laugh. She shifted from one foot to the other thinking he wouldnt be laughing after she gave him a knuckle sandwich. Studying her reflection, she tried again to force hairs refusing to be trapped into two tight braids. Letting out a huff she decided it was good enough. The struggle had not been as difficult as the day before, and it looked much more like Sarahs today than it had yesterday. Margaret hurried through her breakfast of pancakes while her parents studied her over their newspapers. Hows your new classmate? her mother prompted. Good. Mom can I take an extra juice today? Sure, you know where they are. With a final sweep of pancake dredged in sticky syrup, Margaret jumped from the table.She shoved her lunch into her backpack along with an extra Burstin Blue. The cluster of friends sat in the grass and waited for the bus. Their tight pigtail braids didnt stick out here and there as much as they had the day before. Jamie and Kaylie remembered to wear their black dressy shoes. Savannah had reminded Cass. Mary had reminded Emily. They all wished theyd forgotten. Some of their shoes had buckles and some of them had strings but they were all shiny and black and they all hurt their feet. The friends sat in the grass waiting for the bus, toes crunched, feet whimpering, but they were excited to get to school. 13 As they gingerly made their way down the bus steps Mr. Rassi knew something was up. There was no leaping, pushing, running. Studying his group, his hand paused in mid-wave. His smile faltered in surprise. Some limping, some shifting from one foot to the other, the line forming in front of him had him almost laughing out loud. Though their steps were cautious and there was obvious pain on some of their faces, their eyes danced. Cant we go in, Mr. Rassi? Emily practically begged. He watched her rocking back on an uncomfortable looking pair of Mary Janes. He loved their incredibly painful looking shoes, their tight little braids that stuck out haphazardly, and how wonderful his students were. He led the way to the classroom and watched from the doorway as they stowed their lunches, hung their backpacks, and headed for their seats. Margaret was almost certain Sarah was curious as she peered over the lid of a colored pencil box hunting for orange. When Mrs. Boo came to collect their library books, Sarah was studying their shoes so hard she never noticed Margaret slide the Burstin Blue onto her desk. Sarah studied them in curiosity. At the end of the day the class filed out to the buses and after Sarahs bus pulled from the curb, they trouped to the back of their own where they could slip off their shoes, huddle and discuss the next idea in their plan. When Margaret got home, she was halfway up the stairs before the door slammed shut. Mags? her father called out after her. Sorry dad! Got something important to do, she raced up the steps to her room. Again, it would appear, he smiled at the paper he was grading. Margaret thought she remembered an old summer jean dress from last year. It would be a bit chilly for the dress, but she could take a sweater. Pushing and shoving her way through the 14 closet of clothes that fell from hangers and scattered on the floor, she came to the wrinkled dress crammed and hidden at the very back. Smoothing it out as best she could on her bed, she shrugged her shoulders. She better be ready with a knuckle sandwich for Tim tomorrow. The next morning the sun peaked in Margarets window to find her up and dressed. She stood at her mirror, fingers weaving pigtails into place with quick efficiency, a few poking random strands hardly noticeable. She stood on one foot, the shiny black shoes pinching her feet right up to her neck, and the jean dress, well it was awful. She looked at her reflection and let out a huff, deciding it was good enough. Margaret scooped up heaps of warm oatmeal swimming in melted brown sugar as her parents and grandmothers exchanged looks. Hows things at school? her mother prompted. Good. Mom can I take an extra juice today? Sure, youre pretty thirsty these days, she added, hoping for information, any information. Yep, thirsty, she said as she shoved her lunch bag and an extra Mazing Mango, into her backpack. Bye, she called out as she ran out the door leaving four adults to stare after her. A dress? dad questioned. The cluster of friends sat in the grass and waited for the bus. Their tight pigtail braids hardly poked out at all; theyd kicked their shoes aside to wiggle their suffering toes. Kaylie and Jamie remembered to wear dresses. Cass had reminded Savannah. Emily had reminded Mary. Some of the dresses had pockets and some of them had ties, some had buttons, and some had snaps. Tim was stifling his giggles. 15 When the students lined up in front of their teacher that morning, he tried very hard to bit back laughter. He was surprised many of his students even owned a dress, let alone would ever wear one to school. He was surprised they were mustering through wearing their black shoes for a second day. He was surprised to see how good they were getting at their braided pigtails. He wasnt surprised in the least at what wonderful kids they were. After stowing their lunches and backpacks, they walked into the classroom and Margaret slid the Mazing Mango onto Sarahs desk. Sarah looked at her with a hint of a smile. As Sarah rummaged through her desk Jamie and Kaylie smiled at her. When Cass handed her construction paper for art, she offered a Hey, Sarah. As they lined up for recess Emily gave Sarah a wave. By afternoon, the hint of smile remained. At the end of the day the class filed out to the buses and watched Sarah as she got onto her bus. They waved and dashed for their own where they huddled in the back to discuss the next part of the plan. When Margaret got home, she was at the top of the stairs before the front door slammed shut. Mags! her father called out after her. Sorry dad! Got something important to do, she raced down the hall to her room. I wonder whats next, he smiled from behind his computer. Margaret thought she remembered a pair of long itchy, bunchy green stockings. She dug through her drawers. She searched the closet floor, clearing a path all the way to the darkest corner only to snag a single stocking. Where was the other? Crawling under her bed, feet barely visible, she grasped the second wiggling out backwards, tugging the elusive culprit as it was caught on the foot of the bed. Laying the stockings side by side, she smiled. They almost matched, one just stretched much longer than the other. 16 The next morning Margaret spent extra minutes on her braided pigtails until they were almost perfect. Her blue dress looked suspiciously as if her Grandma Margaret had ironed it. She pulled the green stockings as tightly as she could manage before shoving them into the shiny black shoes with a groan. When she came down the steps to the smell of fresh baked bread and jam, her father met her and offered his arm. What? she eyed him suspiciously. Just offering my arm to my beautiful daughter, he smiled and added quietly, whose feet must be killin her. She grinned. Well just this time, but dont get used to dresses and these shoes, she pointed with a roll of her eyes. Grandma Margaret heaped fresh jam on homemade raisin bread and passed it to Margaret Mom placed a bag of juice boxes on the table in front of her. She looked up but mom only shrugged and said, You look thirsty. Margaret grinned. Margaret and her friends sat in the grass dodging the buds Tim shot at them. Jamie and Kaylie didnt need to be reminded to wear green stockings. Mary hadnt had to remind Cass, and Cass hadnt needed to remind Mary. Emily and Mary scratched at their itchy stockings. Some of the stockings were more blue than green, or more black than blue. Some of the stockings were shorter than longer, and some were longer than shorter. They sat in the grass so their feet wouldnt hurt, waiting for the bus in long and not so long stockings, dresses, and shiny black shoes. Mr. Rassis expectant look was well rewarded when his students lined up in front of him. He hardly recognized them except for their shining eyes. He couldnt have been prouder of them for any reason. He said with a laugh in his voice, Looks like youre all in for a surprise. 17 The students headed for the classroom and stopped to stare as Sarah spun her wheelchair on its back wheels in a wheely, stopping in front of them at the door. A smile stretched across her face. The group of friends looked at her and she looked at them and they all laughed and laughed. She wore a pair of jeans that looked brand new, and yet still had a hole in the knee. The hole looked suspiciously as if someone had purposely cut it open enough for a Band-aide to peek from. Sarahs hair was pulled into a ponytail. It wasnt long enough to be springy or bouncy, but great care had been taken to make sure there was not one strand out of place. She was wearing brand new tennis shoes. High tops. She would never be able to run flying fast in them, but they would never be able to spin on the back wheels of a wheelchair without falling over. She pulled up the leg of her jeans and they could see a short pair of green stockings. Sarah still didnt ride the bus with her classmates, but she was waiting for them with Mr. Rassi in the morning when they jumped from the steps and raced over to chatter and laugh. At the end of the day, they stood waiting for her to get on her bus and waved when it drove off. Mr. Rassi let them build a fort in the back corner of the room with blankets and bean bags. When fall rains ripped leaves from the trees and winter flakes kissed their cheeks, they stayed in at recess and read stories or played Checkers or Crazy Eights. On gentle spring and fall days that only held a whisper of breeze, Sarah went out for recess to referee and umpire games. She cheered them on and even taught them how to spin on the back wheels of her wheelchair without falling over backwards, which they never could. Laughter danced from the group of friends, bigger by one. 18 The Bully of 13th Street Hailey was a brat. Everybody knew it. You know how sometimes people think something, but they dont say it? Well, everyone thought Hailey was a brat and no one was afraid to say it. No one wanted to play with Hailey. They knew shed kick them hard in the leg right where they just skinned their knee or push their marbles deep into the sand with her too big shoes. There had to be hundreds of boulders and pee wees, cats eyes and clearies, sucked deep into the ground as if in a pit of quicksand; Margarets favorite Aggie was down there somewhere. Everyone knew Hailey would throw their rubber ball with such force it would be lost in the tangle of woods surrounding the back of the playground, a tangle that looked a lot like Grandma Margarets yarn basket. They knew if they let her have a turn at spinning the jump rope, shed yank it up just when they got to one-hundred no misses and laugh her snorting laugh when they fell and scraped up their hands or bit their lip until it bled. Margaret was sure all the teachers hated the name Hailey, and would never name their own little girl, Hailey. Hailey wasnt a brat only on the playground. Once she told Mr. Rassi she would clean out the fishbowl. She gave him an angelic smile and little pout. He asked her if she would be careful, and she promised raising three fingers as if giving an oath. She promised to be as careful as she was to her pet hermit crab. Hailey poured the fishbowl into the toilet, fish and all. She said it was an accident but how do you accidentally flush a goldfish down the toilet? For the next couple weeks, Margaret dreamed of swimming with fish around a giant toilet bowl. She woke just before they all darted and dashed down the gurgling gush to disappear into an abyss of who knew where. As for Mr. Rassi, he was normally calm and funny and patient. He might tell a student he was disappointed, but that was as angry as he would get. Margarets mom and dad and 19 grandmas used that word too. She would rather be grounded or stay in her room all day on Saturday than hear they were disappointed. Mr. Rassi didnt use the word disappointed with Hailey, he just pointed to the door, his face hot red, and said, Office! Hailey looked at him, a halo around her head and that same little pout on her face, I dont know what set you off, it wasnt my fault Goldie wanted to go for a swim. She wrinkled her nose in a mean scrunchy way and skipped out of the room without a worry. Margaret was sure she skipped all the way to the office where there was a special chair waiting for her. She probably wasnt the tiniest bit sad that Goldie was lost in the sewer under the school and Margaret wondered if the pet hermit crab still had any of its legs attached. All of the teachers were at their wits end. Margaret was not exactly sure what that meant, but she guessed it meant they wished they could put super glue on Haileys chair. Hailey would run around the music room and bang on the piano. When Mrs. Boo wasnt glaring at her over the lime green glasses perched on her nose, she put bits of chewing gum between pages of library books. She stuck out her tongue when teachers werent looking and talked loudly when she wasnt supposed to talk at all. During reading class when it was her turn to read out loud, she suddenly had a sore throat and could only whisper. She knew how to make the water fountain stick on so that water ran all over the floor and trickled its way down the hall. When she was a bus rider, she sat out with the car riders and when she was a car rider, she got on the bus. The bus was forever coming back to pick her up or drop her off again. Hailey wore weird clothes and weirder shoes. Her clothes were always too baggy, and they looked as if she slept in them on a bed of fuzz. Margaret thought they looked like her mom pulled them out of the wrong drawer and forgot to wash them. Haileys shoes were baggie, too. Maybe they had come out of the same drawer. When she walked down the hall her too big shoes 20 clopped clopped clopped all loud and noisy. One shoes rubbery toe was broken and hung open so you could see her floppy mismatched socks. Her socks flopped flopped flopped, out of her shoe like oozing toothpaste. You always knew she was coming because you could hear the clop flop clop flop echoing down the hall. *** One beautiful sunny morning the bus rode by the long dirt road where Hailey usually waited. The long dirt roads houses were colorful rectangles with fences of white or blue, and pretty patios with flowerpots and firepits where neighbors came to roast marshmallows. But there were no pretty flowers and bushes cut to look like green soldiers standing in a line in front of Haileys house. She didnt have soft green grass cut in rows and stripes. She had a lot of weeds, tall and scraggily, brown and stickery. Hailey lived in the last house far down 13th Street. The bus always stopped at the little white house surrounded by lots and lots of weeds, weeds that stuck to her socks she would pick off and leave to pile under her desk. The day before, Hailey got on the bus to go home and climbed over the top of the seats. Over seat one, over seat two, over seat three, over and over. The bus driver stopped the bus and pointed to the front seat and she plopped herself down. She opened her bag of popcorn and spilled it on the floor with a Did I do that? Margaret knew for certain it was no accident, it was just Hailey. Margaret had never seen the bus drivers face turn so red it was almost purple. He was mad but didnt yell. Margaret thought it was because he just didnt have any words he could think of to say to such a bratty girl. He opened the bus door and shouted, OUT! Walk to school for the rest of the week. 21 Hailey got off the bus. She was quiet for once when she was supposed to be quiet. Maybe she couldnt think of what to say to a bus driver with a face the color of eggplant. She got off and walked kicking up puffs of dust with her shoes and dragging her backpack, all the way down 13th Street to the little white house surrounded by those tall and scraggily, brown and stickery, weeds. The next morning, the bus riders peered down from the bus windows. The scent of lilac and crabapple blossoms floated through the air but didnt swirl around the girl dragging her bookbag through the dust. Some of the children pointed and snickered, some of them laughed. Margaret chewed her lip. She didnt want to play with Hailey, and she didnt want to sit by her sneering face at school, but she did feel sorry for her. She wondered if she had a Grandma Margaret to bake cookies with or Grandma Elizabeth to climb trees with, she wondered if she had a dad that could do magic tricks and a mom that didnt get mad even if your room looked like an obstacle course. She watched from the window as Hailey flop clopped down the dirt road, never looking up. By the time she got to school they had already started writing in their journals. Some of the students snickered and laughed when she wrote her name on the board with big scrawling letters, late again. No recess for Hailey meant their marbles were safe from being pushed deep into sand and disappearing forever. No recess for Hailey meant rubber balls wouldnt be flying over the fence into a never-ending tangle of woods. *** On Saturday, Margaret and her mother started to make invitations. Margarets birthday party was in two weeks and she was having a circus themed birthday party; she and her parents and grandmothers had planned every detail. Dad and Margarets assignment was to decorate refrigerator boxes to look like circus ticket windows. They had painted one of them yellow and 22 one of them red and one yellow and red. The yellow one was going to be the duck race. She and her friends would scoop up floating rubber ducks with a spoon and run around an obstacle course, balancing the duck on the spoon all the way back to the plastic pool. The course had them leaping over wildflower beds, racing around the garden hose strung in a loop-d-loop, balancing on a teeter-totter her father was creating out of a board and a barrel, and twisting their way through ornamental grasses on their way back to the plastic pool. If they dropped the duck they would have to go back and start over. Her father wanted to spray them with a hose as they ran balancing their ducks, but her mom thought it would be too slippery and the water would shoot ducks into a game that had no end. Margarets friends would be squared off in two teams; the first team to run all their rubber ducks back to the pool being the winners! The red refrigerator box was for dads occasionally successful magic show. He kept telling Margaret no one would recognize him in his handlebar mustache, long black cape, and top hat. She just gave him a smile and said, uh huh. He could whip the cape around with a flourish and the tall hat came complete with secret hidden pockets. The swirl of his cape along with a wiggle of the mustache, were meant to distract his audience from his sleight of hand. He was excellent at pulling cards and quarters from a persons ear and producing a bouquet of flowers from his hat. Margaret tried, to no avail, to talk him into stashing a rabbit in one of the hidden pockets. She really wanted a rabbit. He had been trying for days to switch a bucket of confetti, for a bucket of water, as he swirled, whirled, and wiggled. So far, he had only managed to spill the water half the time, and the confetti two or three times. Margaret thought that might be a trick he should leave out of the show. The yellow and red concession stand was in Mom and Grandma Margarets capable hands. There would be homemade chocolate mint ice cream complete with sprinkles of chipped 23 chocolate and up-turned sugary waffle-like cornets. The cake would be Grandma Margarets latest masterpiece, patiently painted in edible ink with her artistic hand. In earlier years there had been sea serpents slithering through mossy green lakes, mer-people dancing in waters of deep blue, and a shaggy lavender monster with eight sleepy eyeballs. This years three-tiered cake would begin with black and white zebra attire blazed around the base. A soft leopard creamyellow with bold rosettes would encircle the middle layer. Seated at the top a fondant elephant would peer down at the painted acrobats flying from trapeze bars and gracefully stepping a high wire. Mom would pass out the deliciousness in her orange shoes, striped baggy pants and suspenders, polka dotted jacket, and fuzzy purple wig. Grandma Elizabeth would only supervise from afar, she was much better at burning than baking or drawing or painting. When all the festivities ended, her friends would receive a popcorn bag full of surprises. Chocolate candies, balloons and whistles, a rubric cube and word search books. Margaret was sure this would be the best birthday party she had ever had. Early Saturday morning, she settled onto a patio chair beside her mother. She had made her list for the invitations and they had a routine going. Mom wrote everyones name on the cards decorated with balloons and streamers, cakes and candles, and colorfully wrapped presents. She wrote curly letters with her calligraphy pen before passing them to Margaret to slide into envelopes. Margaret sprinkled in glitter and shiny pieces of confetti shaped like party hats, balloons with strings, tiny presents with ribbons, and smiley faces. When her friends opened their invitations little confetti pieces would spill out and hopefully get everyone as excited as she was. Margaret scratched the names from her list one by one. She added extra glitz to Emilys and extra glam to Kaylies, and as much glitz and glam as she could load into Tims while still 24 being able to lick it shut. She held it up to show her mother, and they both laughed at the tented envelope. Her mother handed her one last card and Margaret glanced at the neatly printed name. Hailey. Hailey? Hailey!!! she yelled loudly. Haileys not coming to my party! Oh? Mom said. Why isnt she coming to your party? She was chewing on the end of her pen. Because! Because shes mean and shes not one of my friends, Margaret grabbed for breath. Shell kick everyone and push down the booths and spoil everything! Her voice had a shriek to it. Shell throw things and take everyones bags with surprises and smash the cake and spill punch on the decorations! Shell ruin my party! Margaret was so angry it was surprising dad didnt turn right around and go back inside when he came to see what the commotion was. I didnt know you could see the future so well, Mom said quietly and calmly added, shes coming. No! No! She cant! Margaret had her hands in tight fists and her breath was coming fast like a whooshing baseball thrown across home plate. It wouldnt have been a surprise to see smoke coming out of her ears. She would get angry when she and Tim got into an argument or if she saw someone push someone down at recess, but she had never been this angry before. Margaret Elizabeth, Mom said. Margaret was in big trouble. There was no question the deal was sealed. Mom liked to call her Maggie. Dad liked to call her Mags. It was never a good thing when Mom, Dad, or either of her grandmothers called her Margaret Elizabeth. Margaret Elizabeth, Mom repeated. Margarets ears were buzzing and her eyes were stinging. Hailey is coming. Sometimes things are not easy or what they seem to be. Hailey is coming, she repeated, I wont let her ruin your special day, Maggie, I would never do that. But 25 I will not have you ruin her day by not inviting her. Mom got up and went into the house, leaving Margaret to fume. She spotted her father standing in the doorway, glasses pushed on top of his head and sipping his coffee. Lacing her voice with as much sadness as she possibly could, she begged, Dad! Dad tell mom Hailey cant come! Shell ruin everything! Sorry, Mags. Your mom is right. Hailey is invited, he turned to go back into the house. Margaret looked over at Grandma Elizabeth and Grandma Margaret her eyes begging for support, but they continued to concentrate on the weeds they were pulling from the flower beds. She began to think her parents were aliens that had taken over her real mom and dads minds. Her real mom and dad couldnt be so mean as to make her invite Hailey to her party. They just had to change their minds. *** No way! Jamie and Kaylie said together. The twins did that a lot. They would say something together at the exact same time in the exact same tone, or one would begin a sentence while the other one finished it. She has to come? Kaylie asked. You cant just not give her the invitation? Jamie said hopefully, a bit of hint in her voice. Nope, Margaret answered. The day was gloomy and looked like it would rain buckets and buckets of cold, big raindrops any minute. The air was heavy and made Margaret feel tired and cranky, and kind of sick. She walked over to Haileys desk, her shoes a million pounds, her friends eyes burning holes in the back of her shirt. Hailey was scribbling brown hair on a picture of people. It looked like a stick figure mom and dad, four stick figure brothers or sisters and two stick figure dogs. They all had lots of hair, brown and long, some to the floor. 26 Hailey, Ive got this card for you, Margaret waited a beat, hoping she would tell her to go away or maybe even kick her really hard. Then her mom and dad would understand, theyd feel bad when they saw a huge bruise on her leg and tell her she could uninvite Hailey. She set the card down and slid it across the desk. Maybe shed push her or scream at her or say she was going to be busy or be on a long vacation for a week or maybe even a month. Hailey grabbed the envelope and glared at Margaret. You can come if you want but if youre busy, thats ok because it probably will be a boring party and there probably wont be a cake or anything. Maybe she would have to walk to the party and get lost. Forever. Sitting at her desk, Margaret watched as Hailey opened the card. Shiny glitter and bits of confetti skittered out onto her desk. She picked up each one studying them carefully, piece by piece. She pulled out the card and read about the party. She carefully slid it back into the envelope, and picked up each little piece of confetti, dropping them to settle back in the envelope around the card. She placed the envelope at the edge of her desk and cautiously pushed each bit of glitter back into place. Margaret never saw Hailey doing anything carefully. She was always in a hurry and messy. She turned around in her seat and looked at Margaret, made a scrunched up mean face, and stuck out her tongue. Margaret sighed. She hoped that meant Hailey didnt want to come and that she was busy that day or maybe going on a long vacation for a week or maybe even a month. She stared out the window to see big fat raindrops hit the windowpane. She could hear the thunder. *** It was Friday afternoon and Margaret had been watching the clock behind Mr. Rassis desk all day. Even Relish the Fun had not been a distraction. Every Friday afternoon Mr. Rassi 27 rewarded his students with relish the fun if they didnt have to ketchup and as long as they were cutting the mustard with grades. That afternoon he had brought out games of Clue and Parcheesi, Chess and Checkers, and her favorite, Scrabble. Margaret had not been able to concentrate; she had been holding her breath for what felt like days. Hailey had been missing from school and Margaret thought maybe she had gone on vacation for a month. Every day she watched the door and counted. One, two, three days. Was Hailey sick? Four, five, six days. Maybe Hailey was on vacation. Seven, eight, nine days. Maybe she moved away! Ten days. She was afraid to believe it. When Jaime and Kaylie saw Haileys empty chair that morning, they turned to wink, one with her right eye and one with her left eye, but both at the same time. Mary came running into the classroom with her fingers crossed and her eyes crossed, almost tripping on her shoestring. Cassidy gave a jump and twinkled a smile scooting around Haileys gross chair that probably was crawling with cooties. For two weeks the bus had not driven down the road that turned to dirt to the little white house surrounded by tall and scraggily, brown and stickery weeds, at the end of 13th Street. The bell was going to ring, and the day was almost done, and there was still no Hailey. Tomorrow was Margarets birthday party; she could hardly hold still in her chair. She was going to help her parents set everything up for the party after school. It was all mapped out and drawn on a sheet of construction paper hanging on the refrigerator door. She stared and stared at the door watching for Haileys flip, flop, clip, clop shoes and her messy hair that stuck up as if she had just pulled off a winters stocking cap. She waited and waited for the baggie jeans that Hailey held on to so they wouldnt fall down and her book bag, all dirty from being drug down the road. She listened and listened for Hailey to slide her chair and bang around for books and pencils, loud and noisy, before slamming the lid on her desk. She had never called to say she was coming to the party, so 28 the rainy-day worry was gone, and a sunny-day party was for sure. Margaret was safe. She turned and smiled at Emily who gave her a thumbs up. Welcome back, Hailey! Mr. Rassi was looking over to the doorway of the room. Weve missed you! Margarets head spun around so fast stars danced in front of her eyes and made her dizzy. She looked around Marys seat in front of her, up the row towards Mr. Rassi desk, almost falling out of her chair. There was no one in Haileys seat, but there was someone standing in the doorway just out of view. She looked around at her friends, some of them craning their necks to see who was at the door, some of them shrugging their shoulders back at her. Tim got out of his seat and crept up the row like a ninja to get a better view. Margaret could just make out a tall woman standing in the doorway with a girl next to her. The girl was wearing a yellow dress and her long blond hair was caught up in a yellow ribbon. No way could that be Hailey. Margaret wanted to jump out of her seat and run to the front of the room and yell at Mr. Rassi to tell him he was wrong. She sat, watching the clock as he spoke to the woman in the doorway. Tim shook his head. He couldnt see? Or it wasnt Hailey? Margaret tensed, the bell ready to ring at any second. When it blasted through the air, she and several of her friends about fell from their seats. Jumping up, she dashed for the door, feeling all hot and anxious. She scooted around ninja Tim. She had to see the mystery girl. She had to know it wasnt Hailey. Mr. Rassi called out and she skidded to a halt, seconds before she crashed into Sarahs wheelchair. Margaret Elizabeth! His stern voice broke through the buzz in her ears. Margaret Elizabeth, you could have knocked Sarah out of her chair, take it down a notch. Walk! 29 She nodded her head up and down in apology and walked as quickly as would pass for walking. Her brain raced faster than her mom when there was a sale at the mall, eyes scanning the crowed hallway for the mystery girl. A bit of yellow was crouched behind a locker door at the end of the row. There was a bright green backpack, and a girl was carefully sliding papers into a folder. That was definitely not Hailey. Mr. Rassi was confused. There must be a new student. Maybe her name was Hailey, too? Jamie and Kaylie waved and called out, See you tomorrow, but Margaret barely heard as she watched the girl in the yellow dress stand up, carefully close the locker door, and head for the exit with the tall woman. She raced the length of the lockers to look at the name on the locker. Hailey. *** It was Saturday and Margarets friends would be arriving soon; everything was ready for a perfect day. The sun was shining, and the decorations made everything look like an exciting extravaganza. Margaret opened the door for her guests, and they made a dash for the back yard, laughing and tossing water balloons at each other. Broken bits of red and yellow, blue and orange, littered the grass as everyone giggled, water drops in their hair. Dad chased them with a giant water balloon the size of a beach ball. Just when they thought he was going to drop it on one of them, he stopped and spun around to chase Tim. He loved to tease Tim; it was a challenge because he ran like a blur. Margarets mom called her from the sliding door at the back of the house. Maggie, she waved. You have another guest, honey! 30 Be right back, Margaret called out to her friends and turned towards the back door. A tall woman stood next to her mother and a girl stood next to the woman. Is that Haley? she wondered; she had almost forgotten about her. Almost. It was Hailey. With quiet blue eyes of a lost kitten Hailey looked at Margaret from under neatly trimmed bangs. Margaret realized she had to have been the mystery girl in yellow. Wisps of fine hair had escaped a braid that lay across one shoulder. Freckles sprinkled across a pert nose like stars on a clear night. She was holding a box wrapped a little lopsidedly, a pink ribbon draping down the sides to lace between her fingers; fingers that didnt look as if theyd been pushing marbles into any dirt lately. Everything about Hailey looked different. Her jeans were new, no ripped and frayed edges to trail behind floppy socks and shoes like a mermaids tail. Her tennis shoes were new, with not so much as a scuff on them. Hi, Hailey, Margaret said allowing a reluctant smile to grace her lips. Im so glad that you could come, she continued after glancing at her mother whose smile held a nudge. Hailey was standing very quietly beside a woman. Was this Haileys mom? She didnt look anything like a stick figure with brown hair scribbled to the floor. She was pretty and smelled like flowery perfume. She had a bright smile on her face, and she put her hand on Haileys shoulder, saying something that had Margaret choking down a laugh. Say hello, sweetheart, the womans voice was soft. Maggie, her mother said quietly, This is Haileys aunt, Mrs. Winter. Margaret looked dutifully at the woman. She was tall and had a kind and gentle smile. Its nice to meet you, Mrs. Winter. Her eyes reflected the same quiet blue as Hailey. Margarets mom broke the silence and the girls locked gazes. Maggie, why dont you girls head on out with everyone? It looks like the party is about to begin. 31 Come on Hailey, Margaret said, and Hailey handed the present to her aunt. A cluster of kids were grouping up for the duck race game, so she added, You can be on my team if you want. She may look different, but Margaret knew she was not a sweetheart. She decided it best to keep a watchful eye on her. Margaret saw Haileys eyes widen as she took in the yard and decoration, the kids standing around a small pool, and presents stacked on a table. It was strange how she still looked like a lost kitten, like someone who didnt know which way to go or what they should do. She wondered if maybe she hadnt played the game before. Its an easy game, Margaret assured her. She pointed across the back yard and to the yellow refrigerator box. Her father was handing out small plastic spoons through the cut-out window. Were going to start over there, take turns with our teammates and run across to over there and then back again, she swept her hand past wildflower patches and ornamental grasses ending at a kiddie pool filled with water and bobbing ducks. You run to the pool, scoop up the duck with your spoon, and run back. You have to balance on the teeter-totter, and you cant drop the duck, or you have to start over. Then everyone else on the team does the same thing! Its not too hard. Theres little goldfish in the pool and if you want to, and if your aunt lets you, she added in a conspiratorial tone, you can take one home with you! Then she stopped, remembering, and looked back at Hailey. Hailey nodded her head and chewed her lip. She glanced over at her aunt who was smiling at her with gentle eyes. Her voice was quiet. I am sorry about that, Margaret. Maybe her eyes werent lost kitten eyes, maybe they were lost kitten, hoping eyes. Hoping for what? A second chance? She was going to need a tenth chance, was there such a thing? Really, I am sorry. Was she saying she was sorry for yanking up the jump rope and making Jamie cry? For causing Cass to throw up 32 when she wouldnt let her off the merry-go-round, spinning and spinning it as hard as she could? For pushing the Aggie so deep in the sand Margaret had finally given up digging for it? She was Margaret realized. She was asking for a second, or alright, tenth chance. She wanted to be at a party, to laugh, to be part of the gang. The anger and hurt that usually lurked at the edges of her eyes, was barely a smudge. They were saying, Please, give me a chance. *** Kids shrieked with excitement, jumping up and down in hugged embraces and victory dances. Mom was waiting for each kid to scoop up their rubber duck as she stood by the little pool, sunshine glinted off her painted clown face. Grandma Elizabeth stood as referee along the runners line in her black and white striped shirt and hot pink pants. Grandma Margaret stood protectively over her flower garden, a stern look in her eyes, but a smile on her face. Dad was at the finish line poised in his umpire stance, feet spread apart and eagle eyes watching for the final runner to fly by. He was about to declare the winning team, and it was going to be close. The last two runners raced towards the pool of floating ducks. Tim was the fastest runner in the class, but Hailey was as quick as a cricket escaping kitten paws. She jumped over the wet spots in the grass when Tim lost the lead slipping on them. She skirted around the wildflowers instead of plowing through as Tim got hung up in their clinging tendrils. The two of them scooped up their rubber ducks at the same time and spun themselves into a run towards their screaming teammates. Tim turned to grin at Hailey when she fell behind, tripped during the loop-d-loop of the garden house, and did a slow-motion juggling act of his rubber duck. It did a bounce, bounce, he juggled it off the handle of the spoon and then, bounce, it settled back into place. His teammates screamed, Hurry! Hurry! Quick as a sonic car pulled with a rip cord, he dashed to catch up 33 with Hailey who had sprinted ahead. She did a little skip around the wildflower patch, giggled, looked back, and saw Tim pouring it on. Screams echoed throughout the yard, Run! Run! She dashed toward them with a smile of pure innocence and radiant joy, that of a happy child. Hurry! Margarets team was out of control. Dad came running over and crouched low, eyes focused on the finish line. Tim had taken advantage of Haileys teasing skips past the wildflowers and was digging in his heals, they were both all business now. Tearing through the fragments of dandelions still speckling the yard, Hailey whipped across the finish line, balancing the duck as if it were made of glass, a mere breath before Tim. The smile could not have spread across her face any wider if she had scored the winning run in the World Series. Margarets dad yelled out, Sssssaaaaaffffffeee! And the crowd went wild. *** Hailey was a hero. Jamie and Cassidy threw good-natured scowls at Kaylie and Mary, but Tim walked over with a wide grin. Awesome! That was awesome! Do you want to play football with me and my friends on Monday at recess? Can you catch a football? Youd be great! Hailey was so excited she sprung up and down on the balls of her feet and chanted We won! We won! Margaret looked at her face and thought how much she didnt look like Hailey. It wasnt the jeans, the shoes, the neat little braid now gone wild. She was just like any of the kids at the party, any kid in a group of friends clustered together in the bright afternoon sunshine. She was happy and laughing, the mean push-your-marbles-in-the-sand girl, had vanished. Come on kids, Dad gallantly swung his tall black hat onto his head and whipped his cape around to settle on his shoulders. Mysterious magic time! 34 The kids rushed over to the magic show ticket booth and settled onto blankets. They tried not to laugh too hard, but dad was a funny magician. Margaret wondered if he meant to keep messing up as much as he did. The quarters he pulled from behind ears, were nickels. He burned his fingers when he made a fat stuffed rabbit appear and disappear in a puff of smoke. But his bucket of confetti was the funniest trick of all. Tim had crouched ninja style to sneak up from behind. He switched the buckets back a mere seconds before Dad threw the icy water into the audience. Dad looked horrified. Tim rolled in glee holding his sides. Grandma Elizabeth laughed until tears ran down her face. Hailey laughed with a snorting sound that made everyone laugh even harder. Grandma Margaret proudly carried out the Merry-go-round cake with nine candles. Mom had the homemade ice cream ready, and dad conducted the whole group in a loud rendition of Happy Birthday, complete with a deafening cha cha cha. The cake and ice cream were amazing, and Hailey had seconds and thirds. Margaret almost didnt even remember why she had been so worried about inviting her and was happy she did. *** Margaret and her father cleaned up the back yard from the best birthday party that anyone could ever have imagined. Mom sat in a lawn chair with her huge orange shoes propped up and remnants of the white face, red lips, and blue eyes clinging to her face. Grandma Margaret washed cake from the patio tables and Grandma Elizabeth played catch with Rudy. It was a great party, wasnt it dad? It was Mags, he smiled, the best one yet! Dad put his hand on Margarets shoulder. Next year we should do a pirate party, he said wiggling his eyebrows. Yes, I can see it now, he raised his arm and panned it out as if 35 visualizing the scene. Refrigerator boxes turned into pirate ships, a pirate cake with cornflake sandy beaches, blue frosting rivers, and tiny treasure chests half buried in the cake. Margaret laughed, her tongue caught between her front teeth, her eyes staring at the scene he painted. Well wrinkle up brown paper trash bags to make them look like old pirate maps and have a hunt for the pirate booty. Well play capture the flag and Ill do magic tricks. He still thought he was a great magician. Well, do magicians and pirates go together? Of course they do! Well, Ill think about it, Margaret said with a hint of a smile as if she held him over the coals. Youll think about it? he looked at her a bit surprised. Dad, it is my party, isnt it? He kind of nodded his head and said, I suppose, then wiggling his eyebrows he added, I bet I could learn to pull a real rabbit out of my hat. They continued to pick up bits of balloons from the water balloon fights and rubber ducks that had sloshed out of the kiddie pool. The goldfish were gone, having left for new homes in bowls and plastic bags knotted at the top. Hailey had proudly carried her goldfish out the front door with a beaming smile on her face. She had grinned and Margaret knew she had never seen her smile and grin as much as she had that day. In fact, she didnt think she had ever seen her smile before. Hailey had been the last to leave, standing in the kitchen holding her aunts hand, both talking quietly. Her voice almost a squeal, she recounted the games played and the treasured gifts she carried in a gift bag. Her gift bag; one she clutched close. She held up the new pet goldfish 36 and laughed, His name is Magic, because today was a magic day. Her aunts eyes danced, and she whispered to Hailey, the little girls face exploding into joy. Not the mischievous joy of one who put glue between pages of a library book, but of one who for the very first time feels that rush of flying in a roller coaster car after it plummets and curves and suddenly halts. Margaret? Hailey came over, excitement in her eyes. Hey! Thanks for coming, Margaret smiled. Im glad you did, and she meant it. Margaret, my aunt says that I can have a birthday party next month. Would you come? Margaret thought it was a strange way to ask. Not, Would you like to come? Not, I hope you can come. Would I come, as if begging Margaret to want to be at her party, to want to be her friend, to know the second or tenth chance had been worth it. Sure I will! You bet! Margarets face was a smile. Hailey grinned up at her aunt and as they turned to go out the door Margaret called out, Hey, Hailey! All my friends call me, Maggie. Ok? Hailey bit a smile between her lips that threatened to spread across her face like a flower realizing the first kiss of spring sunshine. 37 A Football, Two Boys, and the Final Three Hailey plunked a pile of books down startling Maggie and Tim. She plopped herself in the cushioned office chair at the head of the table, captain for the week. Ok guys, weve got to get the plan for our machine finished today. Nods all around. I stopped off at the library and Mrs. Boo suggested these books for cool ideas. She made a small flourish over the pile and commanded, Lets dig in! The books shuffled towards the center of the table and three noses buried themselves in the pages. The class was excited to begin the assembly stage of their chain reaction machine. Mr. Rassi had introduced cartoonist Rube Goldberg and the convoluted manner he performed simple tasks in impractical and difficult ways. It would have been a toss-up if the students had talked Mr. Rassi, or Mr. Rassi had talked them, into making their own machines. They huddled in groups, determined to create the most exciting project design. If Mr. Rassi gave them the thumbs up, they would be building machines for weeks to come during science class. Hailey headed up table five, and they were a group to contend with for a winning ribbon. Hailey was artistic, her drawings amazingly precise, her details so accurate, no one ever took a simple glance at her work. Inventive ideas literally jumped out of Tims mind quicker than his mothers Irish temper. His friends would wave their hands in surrender and tell him to stop with the ideas; they didnt know what to do with them all. No one could beat Margarets skill in researching and puzzling through making something work, except for possibly Cassidy. And, Joey, well he was Joey, and he wouldnt put up any argument with whatever they decided to do. It wasnt that Mr. Rassis students, or Mr. Rassi himself didnt try to befriend and help the odd student, it was more Joey didnt seem to want to be part of the class, part of a group, or part of anything. He sat at the table his horn-rimmed glasses held together with a wide band of 38 masking tape and his nose buried in a book. He wore neatly cared for jeans and t-shirts, but the rest of him was a mess. His hands were a bit grubby, his hair a bit greasy. He shuffled when he walked with his head down and his shoulders hunched making him appear shorter, less visible, possibly the goal. No one really wanted Joey in their group, but the tables were shaken up every four weeks after each of the students had their turn at being captain. Last month, Margaret had been at a table with Jamie, Cass, and Austin. Tim had been with Sarah, Brandonlee, and Savannah. Hailey worked well with Mary, Kaylie, and Riley. And Joey, well no one really remembered which table he had been at, maybe not even Joey. As group leader it had been up to Hailey to get him involved in the project. Shed managed to keep her temper on cool, but it was stretching beyond a safe point. Joey would only shrug and shake his head or huff an annoyed breath blowing greasy bangs straight up like angry porcupine quills. He never had ideas or cared what they did or how they did it. Though his project grades would be low, his test scores were out of anyones reach. He stressed over each and every question, drew diagrams, calculated and recalculated, and thrust his hand in the air more times than anyone cared to keep track of. Earlier that morning Margaret thought she might have caught Mr. Rassi pretending not to see his hand desperately signaling in anguish. As she and her test stared at each other, she made tally marks every time Joeys hand went up. Thirtythree. Margaret rolled her eyes and tried to focus on her problem when Mr. Rassi walked over. Doing ok, Maggie? She barely had time to nod her head before Joey waved at him. Thirtyfour. The three students at table five huddled over their final machine sketch. The concept was simple. The steps were elaborate. Moving parts would span across three tables connected by Hot 39 Wheel tracks and loops. Ping pong balls, a pile of dominoes whose number had yet to be determined, a block of wood, a short length of shiny dryer vent, several small race cars, one deck of cards, several books to act as ricochets, a short length of sturdy string, three large plastic cups, a cell phone, and one toy basketball hoop, comprised the parts required to solve the simplest of tasks. The paramount idea of sinking a basketball into the miniature hoop had been Tims. Voila! The design was complete. The vibration of the cell phone would cause it to slither its way down a slightly opened book. The phone would connect and trigger a string of dominoes snaking their way around the table in an elaborate pattern. The final dominos fall set a race car careening down a track suspended between two tables, its speed amping up to thrust it around a loop to connect with the first of the plastic cups. Each cup would subsequently connect with the next, allowing for the third to activate a ping pong ball into rolling down a short length of wood ricocheting its way between three books much like a pinball machine. Upon reaching the end of the book trail, the ball would whip through a second loop and across track stretched to bridge the gap between the second and third table. Once across the gap, the ball would cause a small block of wood to wobble, activating a second weaving path of dominoes to fall. The final domino would nudge two ping pong balls, painted to resemble basketballs, into motion. The mini basketballs would pick up speed as they swirled their way through a short length of dryer vent suspended from the ceiling and head for the back wall of the room. Cards bent along both sides creating a curved shape would be taped to the wall. The balls in chevron flight would travel down the wall, zig zagging their way from card to card, aiming directly for the small basketball hoop at the bottom. With luck, at least one of the balls would slam dunk through the hoop; leaving only cheers and shouts of joy and amazement from classmates. 40 Joeys head was bent over a book that held 500 amazing science facts. Sound good to you? Hailey asked. He shrugged. Okay. She turned to the group secretary, Can you make a list? Tim grabbed a sheet of paper to jot down notes. Maggie what can you bring? String, both boards, she thought for a second. The deck of cards and a box of dominoes. I think were going to need a couple boxes, Hailey interjected. Ill ask my aunt if shell get me some. Oh, and I can bring some cars and tracks. Got it. Tim scribbled. And I got the ping pong balls. Ill paint two of them. Ive got a ton of paints. What about the dryer vent? Joey? Hailey looked over at Joey who only shrugged and gave a slight nod. Cool, Tim jotted it down. We got it! We can use some of the books in the classroom, that way we can kind of mess around with what sizes we need. Everything needs to be here tomorrow, okay? He looked around at two bobbing heads and one shrug. Lets get it approved! They jumped from their seats and joined several groups clustered around Mr. Rassi, sketches and drawings in hand. His desk a centerpiece amidst chatter and excitement while Joey was an island. The rest of the morning sailed by. Each group received a thumbs up and excitedly shared project ideas and goals. Casss group had the most difficult plan to implement. Pulleys, levers, elevators, track, race cars. The result was to have one car pass through a miniature door, 41 effectively opening it for a small toy dog to be nudged through seconds before another toy car slammed the door shut. Presto! A doggy door! Margaret was shaking her head. Shes got the coolest ideas! If anyone can make that work, she can! The final minutes before lunch found the students reading silently, or at least pretending to, as they watched the sluggish hands of the clock moving their way to twelve. Tim slumped his chin onto his hands and wondered how it was minutes could drag when you were waiting for something good and fly like a falcon in pursuit of a dragonfly when you didnt want something to end. Tim had celebrated his birthday at a local pizza eatery the weekend before. Maggie and her father had shopped online for a present, finally settling on the traditional dark-skinned Wilson GST football, an official ball of great prestige. Tims brother had ogled the ball in admiration and a tad of jealousy. Tim ohhhed, Oh my gosh its got the patented sewn on stripes! He had ahhhhed, The design of the leather laces will be awesome for accuracy in my passes! Maggie and her father sat on the porch that night as they watched Tim and his older brother toss the ball back and forth, spiraling it through the air, higher and farther with each throw. As Mr. Rassi scanned math tests, the football waited in Tims locker. It was an early spring day with a kiss of sun and whisper of breeze, an ideal day to leave jackets indoors and launch a ball through the sky. Five more minutes was infinity. Tim? Mr. Rassi waved a hand in Tims direction as if he might have called his name more than once; Maggies kick under the table snapped him out of his stare. 42 Yes, Mr. Rassi? Had he messed up on his math test? Hed really tried to focus but with all of Joeys scribbling on scratch paper and hand waving, hed been really distracted. Mr. Rassi motioned him over. Mr. Rassi still wore his tie dye lab coat that skimmed to his knees. On science days, he dressed up in his crazy coat and made bubbly, frothy concoctions. He would say, Today, with the power of science, were going to make a mess! One day, while in the power of science, the principal came in immediately after he added mint candies to a bottle of soda. The soda was foaming and shooting up over his head; he stood tall and straight trying to block it from her view. The students tried their best not to laugh, but foaming bubbles were spraying and crawling over the edge of the countertop, sizzling their way to puddle on the floor. Mrs. Ramos stood in the doorway and tapped the toe of orange high heeled shoes. Her arms crossed, her eyes on Mr. Rassi, she sounded slightly annoyed, Dont forget about our meeting after school today. More likely than not there was no meeting, but Mr. Rassi seemed to be called to the office more often than Hailey ever had. Hailey had been a horrible bully but since moving in with her aunt the little girl that liked to flush goldfish down the toilet, now put her energy into mild pranks and entertaining teases. Mr. Rassi only nodded his head and when Mrs. Ramos turned to leave, he gave the class a cockeyed grin and shrug. In Mr. Rassis defense he made everything in the classroom an event, fun, memorable, and they couldnt have loved him more than they did. Tim peered over Mr. Rassis shoulder at the name on the test. Did I mess something up? A slew of red bird tracks swirled around almost every problem on the page. 43 Oh, he flipped the paper. No, no you did great. It was something else. I wanted to ask you a favor. Relief brought a quick smile and a Sure, Mr. Rassi. What do you need? Well, Mr. Rassi drew out his thought. He sat back in his chair and seemed to be thinking through steepled fingertips. A slight flicker danced its way through Tims mind. A small warning bell, a thought of a television show his father liked to watch with a robot whose tube-like arms waved back and forth, up and down, its oval glass head lighting up, blaring out a Danger, danger, Will Robinson. Mr. Rassi? Well, its about Joey. Honest Mr. Rassi we did ask him for his input. Hes bringing in things for the project and if something isnt working on our machine, he might have ideas on how to fix it. He looked at his teacher. Really! Thats not it. I know you guys tried. I understand. Joeys a bit of a loner. It makes me sad to see him off on his own all the time. Do you understand? Yeah, Tim said, drawing out the word much like his teacher had. Did he understand what? Tim youre a really lucky kid. You have lots of friends to play with and youre really great at everything you do. You can hit three pointers, one after another. Uh-huh. And youre one of the best at the marble games you guys play. 44 He thought about the huge bag of marbles he had collected. Jamies favorite boulder. Kaylies two peewees. Three of Savannahs cats eyes. His favorite of all, the Fairy he had won off Maggies father. A flawless transparent marble swirled with hues of pinks. It was magical, and the two of them had fought it out several times, Tim always on the winning side. Oh, and I hear you got a new football for your birthday! He had that inkling again, that warning buzz. Lucky? Great at three pointers? What was the catch? Yep, its awesome, did you want to play with us at recess today? Well, he stalled again, you know Tim, everyone admires you. Tim thought to himself, He already said that didnt he? This was going to be bad. With you running the show, you know leading the pack, and with everyone wanting to play with you and your new football. Really bad. I thought maybe. He looked at Tim. I was hoping maybe He stopped again as if expecting Tim to jump right in with a solution. Really, really bad. You see, Joey never has anyone to play with. He sounded like happy, funny Mr. Rassi only saying, Tim, how are you today? or Tim, you did a great job on your math test. The dam broke, his words were a flood. Hes always alone and I thought it would be really cool if you asked him to play with you and your friends. If he could toss the football around with you guys and see hes good at something like all you other kids. The question lingered for the briefest of seconds. Joey was always alone. He never played but hunched against the school building as if holding it up. A new football, a great day, but honestly it wasnt as bad as all that. Tim had never 45 been the kid to say, Why me? Why do I have to? Mr. Rassi was the teacher that dropped off books of adventure and notes from the class when Sarah had surgery. The one who made up funny sayings like, Good boys eat hot nacho cheese pizza, to help students remember the order of countries in Central America. He was the first one to stay last if a student needed help and the last one to first raise his voice even if someone had just flushed the class pet down the toilet. Purposely. There really was only one answer. Sure, Mr. Rassi, no problem. There was a snicker from table two where Cassidy and Mary had been listening. It only took the slightest look from Mr. Rassi aimed in their direction to quiet them. None of them wanted to disappoint him. The kids scattered themselves on the grassy hill to eat their lunches. Tims football beside him, he scoped out the picnic tables and blankets in search of Joey, catching sight of him at the closest table. Joey opened a smashed paper bag and pulled out an equally smashed sandwich. He nibbled on the crust while Tim wondered what kind of weird kid ate crust first. As he ate, he rolled an apple that looked like it might have something crawly inside, back and forth on the table before rolling it into the paper bag. Apparently, it didnt look interesting to him either. No one huddled nearby to chatter or laugh with him. He sat alone. Grabbing his football, Tim trotted over. Hey Joey, do you play football? No, irritation laced the curt response. Have you ever tried? He looked at Tim. No. Anger glared from his dark eyes. I got a new football for my birthday. Help me break it in! Joey stared at him. 46 Come on! Tim spun and headed for the field on a jog and looked over his shoulder. Well? Joey looked around, anger melding into confusion. Was it a joke? Ok. Alright. Are you sure? He waited. Tim stopped, a grin on his face. Absolutely sure. Come on, Ill show you what to do. Joey got up to follow Tim as they made their way to the grassy field speckled with wild violets. Tim began to explain and describe as Joeys concentration and enthusiasm grew. He showed Joey how to place his hands with a small triangular opening for the nose of the ball. He showed him how to cradle the ball closely. Ok, wait here, Ill go out for a pass. Itll be a nice easy pitch. Joey nodded, his arms a bit jerky, his feet spread wide, but not as wide as the permanent marker grin plastered on his face. Tim let fly a perfect throw. The ball twirled its way straight to Joeys waiting arms. It looked like a hole in one, that is before Joey threw his hands over his head and ducked. Tim ran over to scoop up the ball. With a shrug and a wave, he said, Gotta start somewhere! No worries! He took more minutes showing Joey how to hold his hands at the ready and headed back out. Joeys hands were frozen in place above his head, an almost ghoulish grin on his face, a smile in need of practice. *** Margaret and Cass stood with the Chinese jump rope taut around their knees, their eyes fixed on the play field. Sarah sat in her wheelchair; string threaded in an intricate design through fingers, the design Jamie was attempting to replicate with her feet. Jamie jumped out of the stringed cats cradle and landed squarely on either side of the rope as it snapped back into place. 47 Perfect! She looked around at her friends. Earth to you guys! Not a gaze flickered her way. Sarahs fingers still poised with string laced between her fingers, Kaylie, Mary, and Emily waiting their turn, all statues with eyes fixed on the playing field. Exasperation in her voice, Jamie spoke for them all, Well if were not going to play, lets go watch already! It didnt take anyone to second the idea, they dashed for the outskirts of the field, the first spectators to scrutinize each play. Tim launched his second toss of the day aiming directly for Joeys waiting hands. Jerking his hands to protect his face, the ball hit the earth behind him. Tim retrieved the ball, his voice was patience. Hey that was better, you didnt crouch, now just track the ball with your eyes, watch it heading towards your hands, grab hold of it when you feel it in your fingers. Joeys entire body seemed to concentrate on every word. Tim retrieved, instructed, threw, and retrieved all over again. Joey listened, ducked, or jumped out of the balls path to have it roll awkwardly at his feet. Is he trying to miss it? Cass asked. Hailey was holding her side and having a terrible fit of the giggles. If he is, hes doing a great job of it. Jamie let out a long sigh, It isnt going well, is it? On the field Tim had switched to a new tactic. He stood next to Joey giving pointers on how to make a pass. He demonstrated how to place fingers between laces of the ball. He raised it behind his ear, all the while explaining, clarifying. He gestured how to throw the ball upward and out, following through with his hand before it launched into flight. The two boys were intent, 48 heads nodded, fingers and hands animated with conversation, expressions determined. They were in their own little world and oblivious to a cluster of students that watched from the edge of the field, a cluster growing with each passing minute. The group of six grew to ten, ten to fifteen, fifteen to thirty, the kids unusually quiet for a sunny recess period. Breaths were held with each toss, small groans of dashed hope when the ball slipped past Joey or wobbled feet from him with each pass. They had become one in this, they were right there next to Tim as he explained, right there next to Joey as he tried, unsuccessfully but grinning madly. He had become the underdog everyone cheered for. Tim handed the ball off to Joey before heading back to his position motioning for him to make the pitch. Go ahead nice and easy, he yelled across the field. Again, sighs of exasperation rippled through the crowd as the wobbly pigskin made its scant three-foot journey. Someone in the group groaned, a couple of students glared at the intrusive sound. Emilys hands were still raised as if her mimed throw might help push the ball like an arrow straight to Tims hands. Aw, from Jamie, man, from Kaylie. The twins often finished each others thoughts or sentences. Kind of strange and kind of cool. Joey ran forward to scoop up the ball prepared for another throw. Tim called out directions, but Joey never paused as he launched it off into the wrong direction. Hailey slammed her hand to her forehead as the ball faltered and bounced in that awkward way footballs do. Joey didnt seem to realize the ball only traveled a mere three or five or seven feet before it dropped straight to the ground like a rock. A huge grin stuck like glue, he only lunged for the ball, took a few steps closer to his target and flung it forward. 49 Tim continued to yell encouragement, his voice never sounding annoyed or frustrated. Its ok! You got this! Brief snatches of his words floated on the breeze, Take.time, breathe, fingers..laces, arm backear, throw.up.out.follow througharm. He simulated with his arms and hands going through the reminders, and more than once he ran over to scoop up the ball himself, hand it to Joey, and slug him in the arm. Joeys look was focused much like when he read science books from cover to cover. Head nodded, lips mumbled in emphasis of each word he ran through, eyes squinted in concentration, he laced his fingers, gripped tightly. Slow down, follow through, arm behind ear, breath, think it through, dont close your eyes. By now there were more students clustered at the edge of the field than playing and running about. Deserted basketballs and jump ropes, hula hoops and chalk, all abandoned as they waited for a launch to fly like a torpedo, as they waited for simple joy to land in the hands of the kid whose face was sheer excitement and hope. Mr. Rassi walked up with the last handful of playing students and fingered the whistle in his hand. His voice broke their intent stares with a brittle crunch. Just about time to go in guys. In unison they practically hissed out, No! His eyebrows arched, he squinted towards the field. Game going well? You could hear the hope in his voice. Again, as if well-choreographed, No! followed by, Shhhhhhh. Everyone swiveled their eyes back to the game. Tim noticed the crowd of kids watching, his eyes rested on Mr. Rassi, We got this! Were almost done! Ok, Mr. Rassi? Mr. Rassi waved and though a few might have silently 50 cheered for a longer recess, there were more of them standing with fingers crossed. All went still. It was as if the wind held its breath. The ball just had to fly into Tims hands. It just had to fly. Margaret whispered quietly, Ok, you can do this Joey, just throw it straight ahead and Tim will catch it. Casss face was red, her voice rose and punctuated every word, Come on, come on. Kaylie screamed with clenched fists, Geesh! You just gotta do this! You just gotta! Jamie calmly disagreed, No, he doesnt. So far it hasnt gone more than about five feet. Nothing makes me think its going to make it all that way. Kaylie yelled in frustration, Whose side are you on! It really doesnt have anything to do with sides, hes just terrible. I really dont understand how anyone can be this bad at everything, it just doesnt make sense. Mary said quietly. Cut it out you guys, came from Sarah. I missed what just happened. Joey was doing a happy dance, a grin on his face, arms waved in the air. He looked as though he scored a winning touchdown in the final seconds of a state championship game. Margaret strained to see. Did Tim catch it? What happened? Did anybody see what happened? No, Tim didnt catch it! Emily practically growled. Im beginning to think Joey thinks its supposed to land four feet away. Tim stood in front of Joey, hands moving in emphasis. Joey looked as if he were having the most terrific time of his life. One so quick and flawless at everything he tried, one such a misfit, the two with mirrored smiles on their faces. Tims words murmured their way on the breeze, Youre getting better. We got this. 51 He can do it, he can do it, just catch it, just catch it, Margaret muttered. Well, maybe at least throw it in the right direction, Cass said in frustration. A shared breath was held, a shared breath whoosed out. Oh..my..gosh! Are..you..kidding..me! Kaylie was practically in tears a split second before the ball even had a chance to slap the pavement. Mr. Rassi held out hope, Come on guys, a little faith. Jamie turned to look at him, an earnest tilt to her head, her voice quiet as if breaking bad news, I gotta tell you, Mr. Rassi, Ive got about no faith in this having a happy ending. This was your idea, how are you going to fix this, Mr. Rassi? Kaylie all but demanded. He was trying to come up with an answer and didnt notice the cluster of onlookers grow by one. Rather long recess, Mr. Rassi, dont you think? And yes, how are you going to fix this? Mr. Rassi flustered when he turned to look at Mrs. Ramos, her raised hand cutting off any response. Eyes riveted on the playing field, she commented, Wise, wise, switching positions. Tim already tried it with Joey catching. He just kept ducking. I wish we had some Velcro, Cass said under her breath. A little faith, my dear. Mrs. Ramos gave her a pat on the arm. It was the final three minutes of recess. Tim was in position, football tucked under his arm. With two fingers, he pointed from his eyes to the sky, eye on the ball, eye on the ball. Joey gave him a thumbs up, his face danced. They nodded at each other in readiness. Joey fixed his eyes on the sky, hands no longer spread wide, but ready in a catchers pose. Mrs. Ramos whispered, Hail Mary pass. Words whispered and echoed, Hail Mary pass. 52 Tim let fly and the ball sailed on wings of an angel. Time slowed. Joey scuttled to the right. He scuttled to the left. The ball flew straight and true, the suspense was deafening. The playground held its breath, students leaned in anticipation, hands urged its path, eyes tracked and timed its approach. The ball whispered a touch across the Joeys palms, and hit the pavement. The wind was knocked out of the entire group at once. Kaylie screamed, Really? Really?" Margaret cut in, Geesh Kaylie, he almost had it that time! Margaret wasnt the only person to realize how close the ball had come to being cradled in Joeys arms. Tim leaped up pumping his fist into the air. He raced over to Joey and held out two fingers barely a whisper apart to show how close he had come to catching it. He laughed with the joy of a flawless spring day and punched Joey in the arm. Joeys smile was a seeds first glimpse of sunlight. Joyous laughter swirled the air. The two boys headed towards the school building side by side; Mrs. Ramos smiled. Looks like youre out of the woods, Mr. Rassi. Not a bad ending at that, his grin was wide. Come on guys! The group broke into clusters as they made their way to the building. Hailey stopped to look back. Ummm, Jamie, she pointed behind her. Jamie sighed as she looked towards her sister. I got this. She trotted back and linked arms with her twin who stood as if lost. He didnt catch it. He didnt catch it. Heartbreak threatened to leak from Kaylies eyes. Come on, its ok. Theyll get it tomorrow for sure. 53 Kaylie allowed herself to be drug, shaking her head from side to side. Tomorrow? I dont know if my heart can take it. 54 Sydney Stood Alone Sydney stood alone on the playground. He always stood alone. It had to be agonizing being the fat kid. He had always been the one left out of being picked for teams in football and baseball and even Frisbee. It was hard for him to get down on his hands and knees to flick peewee marbles and boulders to smash all competition outside a ring drawn in the sand. The merry go round made him dizzy and nauseous. The swings groaned under his wide bulk. The very thought of a hula hoop terrified him into a sweat because there was just no way he would be able to keep it from rolling right down his gut to his too large of feet causing every kid on the playground to roll in fits of laughter. Sydney stood alone and tried to be invisible. Wasnt that the biggest joke of them all? Mr. Rassi had watched Sydney grow up and grow out. He always had a sweet disposition, was a good-natured kid; he wished more than once there was a way to make a difference in the life of a kid whose life was stacked against him. The students couldnt have been crueler to him pulling chairs out from underneath him and tripping him up in the hall. Mr. Rassi had seen them ridicule and tease him to tears. Though he had never been one to stand by and watch a student bully another, there were times when stepping in might have made it worse. Teachers pet, or Poor little picked on Sydney needs a teacher to rescue him, might ring out down the hall. He wished Sydney had the strength to stand up for himself. Heck, hed look the other way if he hauled off and punched one of the kids in the face. Sometimes he wondered if there was a way to hint that idea into Sydneys mind. Probably better he didnt. Sydney, may I have a moment please? Sydney was one of the regulars, never shirking responsibility, taking time to check on a child whose scraped knees or pride saw them brooding and mad as they scrubbed at tears 55 streaking their face. He didnt hide around corners of the building chattering or frantically texting rather than keeping an eye on the younger kids. All the high school students were expected to complete service hours prior to graduation. They graded papers, hung decorations at holidays and special events, and displayed projects for the art teacher. They shelved books for Mrs. Boo in her library of twists and turns; her bookcases creating an elaborate maze to weave thru to reading corners and niches, and they monitored elementary grades during recess and lunch. Sydney took the task of watching over the lower grades seriously and he had an innate kindness the younger kids had come to rely on. I have a paper for you, Sydney. Its a competition, Mr. Rassi smiled reassuringly as he handed Sydney a flyer, a palette of color. Mr. Rassi had happened upon Sydney after school several years past as painting scenery for the younger kids Christmas play. His students were to play the part of a raging sea, scarves the color of turquoise and peacock blue, cream and aqua, would be swirled and spun in fury. Kaylie and Jamie, twins as different as they were alike, had taken ballet since they were three, and dressed as snowflakes would dance amongst the waves, quieting them until they lay frozen and still. On his return from loading his students into their buses, he heard a magical voice coming from the gym. As quiet as a whisper he opened the gym door to find Sydney on stage. Sydneys artistry was well known; the new art teacher raved about his projects. He created incredibly intricate pieces, outshining all others with his magnificent use of color and imagination. Three dimensional Halloween creatures jutted from gravestones, oozing gorish green goop and spewing chunks of whatever lunch a zombie creature might have eaten. Delicately crafted Christmas 56 decorations worth giving a mother as a present to be hung on the Christmas tree for years to come. His pieces were often displayed behind the first-place plaque outside the office. On that day, Sydney was painting cliffs the color of crushed nutmeg dotted with the creams and golds, reds and lavenders of spring flowers, as he sang with a celestial voice that mesmerized Mr. Rassi. Though normally able to blend into walls like a leafy sea dragon hidden in sea grass, a magical part of Sydney was revealed. Mr. Rassi slipped as quietly from the gym as he had come. Mr. Rassi had never forgotten that voice, that beautiful sound coming from the depths of Sydneys heart and soul had been enthralling, enchanting, and heart wrenching. He handed over the paper. Sydney studied it before glancing at Mr. Rassi. It was obvious he did not want to meet his gaze directly. Ummm, well, ummm, I, he struggled. I dont know why you would give this to me. Sydney, Mr. Rassi looked him directly in the eye. Ive heard you sing. You have an amazing voice, one that shouldnt be hidden away. Think about it, ok? Ill do anything I can to help you prepare, he smiled, though I cant sing a note. I do have a couple of really great musical friends. He looked at war with himself and Mr. Rassi took it a step further. You helped me out during a really tough time in my life, Sydney. I could never have made it through those months of treatment without you grading all those papers and helping my students with their math. I couldnt have kept up with it all, and every day I knew I could count on your help. Id be so honored to pay you back in this way. 57 Sydney mumbled something under his breath. Mr. Rassi thought it might have been something like hed think about it. There was no way he was going to allow Sydney to give up. The next afternoon Mr. Rassi stood outside of the art room waiting for Sydney. Most of the students had already left in groups chatting about the upcoming school dance, they waved at Mr. Rassi as they went by. He was well loved by many of the kids, and hed had most of them during their fifth-grade year. He entered the room and nodded at Miss Courtney before heading to the back table where Sydney was gathering up the last of his project. Thats incredible, Sydney! he said, watching the last of the folded crayons slip into the box. An origami crayon box, its complex folds and colors, had Mr. Rassi studying it closely. Sydney had stenciled in the Crayola name with green and yellow, and a brighter red coloring touting the number 24 to indicate the number of tiny crayons it held. Each of the origami crayons had been folded from point to base, each as perfect as the last. A rainbow of soldiers standing in three neat little rows. Mr. Rassi tentatively pulled out a purple crayon and turned it over in his hands. Sydney excelled with all his projects, but the time put into each fold of this one was amazing. Mr. Rassi knew Sydney could almost disappear in the back of the art classroom at his own table as he worked. A table where no one else considered sitting, as if overweight or lumpy might be contagious. Miss Courtney was nice to Sydney; in fact, he was probably her favorite student. He was quiet while the rest of the class was noise personified. She never appeared to have control of her room except in the case of Sydney, which wasnt the best image for a new teacher. Mr. Rassi blew out a sigh as he slid the crayon back into place. Quite to the contrary was Ms. Myers the high school algebra teacher. She was the epitome of control in her room and the fact she didnt like Sydney was painfully obvious. The popular students and students that 58 excelled in sports were clear favorites. They seemed to be ensured extra help and high honor roll grades. She would joke and laugh and explain and reexplain derivatives and tangents, ratios and sines. Not being among her favorites, math was more of a nightmare for Sydney. Mr. Rassi would purposely slap his shoes down the hall a little louder or poke his head in the doorway with a cheerful hello, anything to break the tone or irony he would hear spewing forth when one walked past her door. Yes, he had to admit spew was a strong word, but the venom that came from her lips, was a poison to children like Sydney. He had witnessed her snicker and belittle his lumbering walk and inept ability to work through difficult problems in front of the rest of the class, her voice pouring sarcasm and snideness as she spoke at, and never with Sydney. Mr. Rassis daily walk to the lunchroom took him through the math wing and he had to look in the room even if it was as still as silence. Students scattered at both side boards and back boards wrote and calculated as she watched for errors and offered guidance. Sydneys assigned spots were the seat in the front of the room, and the front board. There was no escape or possibility of being invisible, his face bright with red as he struggled over long complicated math problems. Sydney mumbled a quiet hello as he continued to gather his things. Mr. Rassi lay a yellow folder on the top of his pile of books. On top of the folder, he lay a second copy of the colorful flyer. Well? Mr. Rassi prompted. Bold vivid letters splashed across the paper in a mix of reds, greens, yellows, and purples. The grand opening of a recently remodeled and truly massive theatre was to be kicked off with a Got Talent competition. People from all around the country were invited to attend the auditions in a few short weeks. The lucky twenty-five chosen to perform on opening night had promise of cash prizes and trophies. Mr. Rassi knew what it didnt 59 say was there was also promise of recognition and possibilities. He opened the folder to pull out several sheets of music and waited for a response. Think about it, kid. You know where to find me. Sunlight streamed across Mr. Rassis desk, he stretched out his back and stared out at a beautiful day. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he attempted to refocus on the tests in front of him. Need help? Sydney said from the doorway. I do, if you do, he tossed the red pen on the desk in relief and responded as if hed been prepared. They studied each other. Mr. Rassi was not one to give up, he waited. Well, Im not sure, Sydney began. About? If I can do this, Sydney said. If Im good enough. Mr. Rassis smile was sincere joy. Well, honestly Sydney, Im not a professional. Like I said I cant sing a note, but to me your voice is solid gold. What can it hurt? he stopped for a beat. This kid had been through so much. Was he doing the right thing? He needed someone to believe in him. Mr. Rassi used his teacher voice, something he wasnt very practiced at, I want you in my room every day after school. Is there some reason you cant be here? Do you have something more important to do than take a chance on the rest of your life? Umm.no, I mean, yes, I can. Please, just come. Sydney nodded his head, not much of a commitment, but Mr. Rassi knew he wouldnt just be a no-show like so many other high school students would have been. He watched as Sydney headed down the hall, yellow folder open. Was it possible he was studying the notes 60 scrawled over the five lines and four spaces? He thought he could hear humming and saw the slight dip of his head, as if tapping out the tempo. Mr. Rassi could almost hear the melody and imagined the voice pouring out with rich sound. The next day Sydney appeared at Mr. Rassis door promptly following the final bell. Mr. Rassi produced a CD with a shrug and a wry grin. Best I could do. For the next hour and for many hours to follow in the ensuing days, they drilled. They listened hundreds of times to the magnificent Con te Partiro, an Italian song famously performed by Andrea Bocelli at the Sanremo Festival. Sydney divided it into parts, diligently working at each section until they felt it was perfection. As Sydney practiced, Mr. Rassi graded, hung bulletin boards, and at times only sat to listen, never tiring of playing the part of the audience. The words entangled with Sydneys rich heavenly voice as he effortlessly slipped into the romantic verses, each time bringing tears to Mr. Rassis eyes. Sydney would shake his over and argue with himself; it wasnt good enough. He repeated each syllable, each segment, over and over. They were amazed at how quickly the days flew by; before they knew it it was the night before auditions. I cant tell you how proud I am of you Sydney. Youve worked really hard. Whatever happens, Mr. Rassi, Sydney began. Stop, dont say it, youre going to do amazing! Youre going to be discovered! Youre going to become famous! And Ill just be sitting here grading papers and saying, Oh yeah, I knew him, yeah, he was one of my kids. Even Sydneys laughter was musical. No, seriously Mr. Rassi, I want you to know, whatever happens, this means more to me than anything anyone has ever done for me. I will do 61 my best to make you proud, he raised his hand before Mr. Rassi could interrupt, and to make myself proud, too. There you go, thats the spirit! Whats the worst thing that could happen? I could throw up, Sydney let out the smallest of smiles. Yeah, he added with a bit of humor though Mr. Rassi knew it was one of his fears. I can see it now, Fat Kid Pukes at Grand Opening. Sydney, Mr. Rassis mind raced, looking for the right words, his final words of wisdom. Use everything theyve said to you, he knew who they were, Mr. Rassi knew who they were. Just show them, show them you are a person, a person with an amazing gift and theyve been too stupid to see. Sydneys eyes were quiet, and Mr. Rassi hoped they didnt reflect defeat. I better get going. I will see you tomorrow, right? What if he didnt show up? I would never let you down Mr. Rassi. I will never forget what you have done for me. He gave an awkward grin before throwing it out there one last time. No matter what happens. The day dawned with a gentle spring rain. The air scented fresh and green, the skies opened to the play of birds as they darted and danced, and everything glistened as sunlight shimmered on raindrops. Of course, the auditions made him nervous, but Sydney did have dreams, he did have hopes. He had labored over each nuance, rhythm, and pitch of that musical score after school and on his treasured Saturday afternoons when his parents were scouring flea markets and frantically outbidding each other at estate sales. When he was alone, he allowed his voice to take over and swell into its profound fullness, transforming a mere fat kid into a god. 62 Mr. Rassi watched from the back row as Sydney entered the immense theatre smelling of fresh paint, new carpet, and meticulously stained woods. Sydney had to give pause as he entered the massive arched entrance, awed by its grandness and the huge number of people that filled not only the lower portion but the upper balcony as well. Hope swelled in his chest compelling tears to moisten his eyes. His blurred sight ran the colorful clothing that dotted the hundreds of seats into swirls of hues, his vision bearing a resemblance to a Claude Monet impressionistic painting. The theatres grand opening was in three weeks and the lucky twenty-five chosen today, would perform in the opening nights competition. Mr. Rassis eyes locked with Sydneys when he turned to seek out the teacher. A silent brief meeting of the eyes, a smile of assurance in his heart and soul, while the pit of his stomach rolled like a ship on stormy seas. Sydney made his way to the front of the auditorium, already knowing he wanted a seat as close to the front as possible where he would be able to carefully study the flavor of the sounds and vibrations that echoed around him. He settled into one of the comfortable cushioned seats and closed his eyes and listened. He absorbed each note, chord, and rhythm. This would help him calm. Time ticked slowly by and yet flew in a blur of sound. His number had to be called three times. When Mr. Rassi heard it repeated for a third time, he knew it had to be Sydneys. He wondered if he had chickened out. Smirking giggles seemed to bring Sydney back to the moment and heat rose into redness crawling up his neck and into his face. He glanced around, anxious again. Mr. Rassi crossed his fingers as Sydney slowly pushed himself from his seat which gave way to a loud burping whoosh of noise as the cushion inhaled to its capacity; the sound reverberated through rows of outright laughter. All eyes were on Sydney as he attempted to make his way down the row like a crab scuttling over hot sand; his awkward stumbling due to those that found it more humorous to not move their feet from his 63 path. Mr. Rassi gripped the arms of his seat, his hands sweaty; how long had he been holding his breath? As Sydney climbed the steps to the stage, Mr. Rassi sent a prayer heavenwards. He could see sweat trickling down the side of Sydneys face and wondered if any ounce of courage he had witnessed blossoming in him, was still nestled in his heart, or if every little speck of it had fled. Did he wonder what he was doing and what had ever possessed him to have entered the contest? Did he have enough hope in qualifying in the competition that he could make it to the center of that stage and shut out the giggles and questioning glares? Glares that dared him. Glares that asked him, Who do you think you are, Sydney, and why are you here? Others before him had sung with the voice of an angel, while still more had been laughed from the stage as their show of confidence had not been reflected in the croaking squawks they bellowed forth. He approached center stage and looked as if he were hoping God would take pity on him and swallow him up into a hole never to hear the laughter from the rows and rows of smirking faces. Mr. Rassi sent up a second whispered prayer, the same one Sydney had voiced too many times, Please, just dont let him throw up. Sydney stood front and center on the masking tape X facing the panel of judges; it was plain to see they had already disqualified him. They stared. An expression of uncertainty on his face, and sounding doubtful he mumbled, My name is Sydney? There were no questions of interest, no curiosity in who the young man before them was. Anytime youre ready, an eyebrow arched simultaneous with a slight raise of one finger from the lead judge indicating Sydney could begin or leave in the direction the finger pointed, more a dismissal than invite. The judge settled back with obvious boredom to rub his temple. 64 Sydney closed his eyes and took a calming breath. Opening them slowly he surveyed the stares, hundreds of people. Some of them uninterested, some of them laughing with open amusement, all of them incredibly intimidating. Maybe those after school lessons hadnt been enough. Maybe those Saturday private concerts in his living room had been a dream. There could be no turning back now, his eyes wandered towards the back of the theatre. He would not let either of them down. He nodded offstage for his music; he held his breath poised for the strands of the melody to embrace him. A brash fart sounded an alarm from the back of the auditorium erupting giggles that echoed through the theatre as the soft play of violins delicately began their gentle illusion of two soul mates parting and yet together forever. Sydney began and something happened. For some it was like the hair on the back of their necks had risen to stand at full attention in an almost painful salute, for others it was as if their foot had fallen asleep and its maddening tingle had raced throughout their body electrifying their heart. Many had their mouths open in a shocked expression but not a one held a giggled smirk or mocked bit of laughter on their lips. In seconds, the entire audience was moved to their feet which caused the most tender and pure of voices to strengthen and rise, pouring forth with embracing words and moving swiftly into an explosive tenor. Thunderous applause couldnt overwhelm the voice as it transitioned with ease from Italian to English and back. The stunningly sung lyrics ended, the final note held for what was an eternity. Sydney raised his eyes with a silent prayer, Thanks for not letting me throw up. He bowed low to the judges; had they been disinterested and bored? Mr. Rassi could feel the rumbling of stomped feet and echoes of claps ricochet through the audience. For Sydney, life was just beginning. *** 65 Mr. Rassi and his wife sat in one of the pit-stalls of Milans Teatro alla Scala. He and Sydney had kept in close contact over the past ten years, his letters and programs, pictures and travels filling the pages of two scrapbooks. A beautifully wrapped birthday present had arrived months earlier with two first class tickets to Milan and prime seats at this evenings performance. The lights dimmed and Sydney entered in response to the thunder. Mr. Rassi held his breath awaiting the opening threads of music to envelop him. The orchestra sighed into the overture and Sydneys voice melted in as if he and the music were lovers floating with both the strength of a mighty sea and the gentleness of a whispered secret. His voice rose to touch the uppermost of the ornate six tiers of pit-stalls and enfolded itself, caressing each of the awed 3,000 attendees; the delight on their faces a remembrance of a day long ago. For the briefest of moments Mr. Rassi could see Sydney as he had been that night, standing in front of a panel of judges and hundreds of dazed spectators. He could see the boredom and cruel faces as they dismissed that gentle soul. He smiled and clutched the hand of his wife who smiled up at him with pride. You made a difference, she said squeezing his hand, as the splendor of the voice wrapped them in its embrace. 66 The Mystery of the Haunted Library Note The four huddled and peeked around the side of a tree at the target ahead. The closer they snuck to the house, the tighter their hands fisted over their mouths. The stifled giggles came out in snorts and gasps; they shoved and pushed, debating on which would do the deed. Emily was the bravest of the bunch. As the others watched from their lookout point, she stooped lower and crept closer to the door. She glanced back a second and third time, only moving forward when she saw their thumbs up. It was eternity by the time she crept her way to the doorway; her finger hovered over the doorbell. With one final look at her friends, three things happened at once. Three thumbs signaled up, Emily jabbed the doorbell, and all dashed tripping over one another as they headed for cover. After a minute he came to the door and looked out, he looked to his left and his right, shrugged, a sagacious look on his face, and closed the door. The library was a labyrinth, bookcases too tall to peer over weaved an interesting pattern throughout the expansive space. The maze created secret niches to curl up and do homework, read a book, or whisper with the silence of a snowflake. Mrs. Beulah Smith loved her students, but she patrolled her aisles of books with the ears of an elephant and the seriousness of an owl intent on a field mouse. Read, read, read! she would say to them, startling them out of whispers. And, because of her silent steps, they called her Mrs. Boo. At the moment she was glaring at them in warning, her dark eyes squinting over one of her many pairs of flamboyant spectacles. The maze opened to the most coveted spot where the Owls Nest perched. It had required parents and community to come together with supplies, expertise, and funding, and was built to resemble a large tree house nestled among massive tree trunks. All had worked evenings and weekends for over three months in preparation for the librarys grand opening, and the students 67 were thrilled. As with the rest of the library, the Owls Nest was littered with bean bags and pillows, shaggy rugs, and low plastic reclining chairs perfect for children to lounge back in comfort. Eight children could comfortably laze among its raised platform on pillows of brown and green, the nest of the owl. While another ten or so were able to nestle under its protective branches on earthy looking shag carpets, bean bags of varied sizes, and chairs that rocked back. The realistic supporting beams crackled with what resembled thick shaggy bark, and knots and scars marking age and wisdom. The nest, some five feet from the floor was surrounded by intricately whittled two by fours and planks. A local woodcarver oversaw and guided the hands of amateur carvers turned pro and pointed out the best manner in which to accent shadows and light to the painters. He whittled late into the nights long after students had gone home, listening to the custodians techno beats float down the halls. His old hands were gnarled and bore tell-tale knicks and cuts, his eyes were fogged with age, but the creatures that poured from his mind that he brought to life, were a masterpiece. The rail surrounding one side showcased foxes whose protruding pointy noses and alert ears were flecked with white and black paints. Six slats blended into a wolf with glinting eyes as it raced through the forest. From lolling tongue and muscled legs, rippling fur and flying tail, it resembled a wolf on the run from danger or in pursuit of prey. Delicate deer and slithering snakes caressed the supports and panels, all to wrap protectively around the young readers. The second side of the tree house boasted mythical creatures birthed from the carpenters imagination. Delicate fairies and pixies with fluttering wings and faces that expressed whimsy and grace, mystery and mischief. There were gnomes with overly large noses, flowing beards, and all-knowing eyes. Short and squat elves with rounded bellies, and slender pointed ears. By 68 far the favorite to soar from the mind of the woodcarver was a winged creature caught in flight. Its proud head and eagle-like wings, lions muscled body and tail, and clawed talons, though fierce and prepared to pounce on any intruder, reflected the grace and strength of a stallion in its stance. The third side was no less fantastical with jungle creatures from the very tallest, to the very smallest. A giraffe, his neck graceful and stretching for a leaf just beyond reach. An elephant, whose trunk wrapped inward creating a backrest around two beanbags. Monkeys with mouths rounded in sound and eyes rounded in surprise appeared to jump from branch to branch in play. Stretched along the entire base a fat, bumpy crocodile basked and smiled, perhaps in delight of his latest meal. The final side of the nest was a guess. There were flicks and gouges testing the wood, seeking the creatures that lived in its soul. The theme was a question in everyones mind, maybe even the woodcarvers. He seemed to be playing with them or waiting for the spirit of the wood to whisper an answer. It was there among the sprawling roots and branches, above and below the nest, the group of friends whispered and where the mystery began. Shhh, Mrs. Boo, shes glaring at you, Jamie whispered between unmoving lips while nodding towards the librarian, lime green glasses glinting in their direction from around a corner of the maze. Tim snuck a look with only his eyes and mimicked Jamies speech of unmoving lips, Yeah, I see her. He stroked a stately griffin at his back and sighed back into the book he had been reading. C.S. Lewiss, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe had hooked him in with the very first chapter, but the warmth of sunshine that poured in from the windows and the promise of spring on an unusually warm March day, shouted for him to grab up his football. March is 69 Reading Month allowed for students with completed homework and descent grades to disappear into lands of unknown and mystery, read accounts of historical tales, make-believe, or real-life heroes, while snuggled in the Owls Nest. I love, love, love this magazine. Check out this girls eye make-up, do you think it would look good on me? Kaylie held the magazine to her face and glanced to her twin, shifting her eyes from left to right. Kaylie was their fashionista; a magazine often hid between the pages of her binder. She absorbed and imitated flashy colors, bold ensembles of polka-dots and stripes, plaids and paisleys. Her hair would be tossed up spikey one day and sleek as a flowing river the next. Her oranges and purples, suspenders and buttons spoke of a budding fashion star. I think it would make your eyes look huge. Jamie shrugged after looking from her sister to the picture, and back. Huge? My eyes are huge? You dont think my eyes look like hers? No, in unison, several of them hissed her into silence. What was that? Margaret asked, not particularly concerned, a flash of flickering color sparked before falling behind Sarahs wheelchair. The chair was snugged between the sweep of the griffons tail and three little gnomes that peered down from above. What? came from Jamie and Kaylie as they looked up and around, their twin-lepathy often having them speak at the same time if not finishing each others thoughts. I thought I saw something fall behind Sarahs chair. Sarah jumped and tried to swivel in her seat, her thoughts immediately snapped from the girl skipping through a meadow of wildflowers beside her grandfather as they climbed to a cabin high in the Swiss Alps. Not nearly the fashionista her friend was, she was a princess when it came to bugs. A spider? came her muffled shriek. 70 Tim jumped up to take a quick look. No cause for alarm! He smiled, sounding much like a big brother. They were all mindful of Sarah. She was new to the class, but quickly became one of their group. One of the musketeers. There were those days when one musketeer pushed another a little too far, or someone whose name would remain anonymous.Cassidy.stayed up late into the night playing video games and arrived to school in a less than happy state. But they were great friends that managed to smooth out wrinkles when they came up. Tim looked above him, softly calling out, Mary? You up there? Shhhh, was a short blast from the lurking librarian. Tim glanced over to where she had sidled a bit closer. Sorry, he whispered in her direction and hushed his voice. Mary? Did you drop this paper? He scooped it up and studied it. Burnt around the edges, it still held one glowing ember in the top corner. A small scorch on the flat carpet indicated where it had landed and that there had been more than one glowing ember only seconds ago. Huh? No, she whispered back. Cass? Did you drop something? It had been one of those late nights where Casss eyes had been glued to animated characters racing a track in motorcycles, karts, and innertubes; her voice was full of grump. Nope. Ummm, Hailey you up there? Hailey was definitely a, shall we say, handful. If there was a prank afoot, Hailey was the common denominator. In the past she had sent the class goldfish on a long and most assuredly lost trip into the sewers of the elementary school. She had been known to yank up jump ropes and smash marbles into the ground. She had recently moved to live with her aunt, and it was no surprise what a little bit of love did for her. Hailey was as happy as a cricket in a concert and 71 wore a smile that wrinkled her freckles, and though not a saint, she was no longer a tyrant. She had become more than welcomed as a musketeer and friend they knew they could count on, even if her mischievous streak still wiggled its way-out time and again. Really? Its always gotta be me. She glared from behind him where she was curled in a bean bag. Dont be a dope, Im right here. She raised both hands slightly and waved them back and forth as if to say, Look, nothing up my sleeve. Tims face wore an apology. Sorry. Then holding up the paper, Maggie, is this what you saw? He studied it more closely. I cant make out if these are words or symbols, or whatever they are. What do you think this is? Margaret crawled over from one of the plastic recliners that swayed back into a comfortable reading chair, the most difficult seat to nab, the one Austin unashamedly slid himself into. Austin had a difficult time with social barriers, often not realizing he had raced over one. Sometimes he spoke too loudly or became agitated when others spoke too loudly around him. On other occasions he compulsively cleaned and organized desks he should have stayed out of; that ended after he reorganized Mr. Rassis shelves and countertop. Margaret glared over at Austin before turning to Tim. Let me see. Theres not much of it left, its burned all the way around the edges. He squinted for a better look. And theres something written on it. Kaylie poked Jamie, Are my eyes really huge? Are they too big for my face? She squeezed a hand on each side squishing her cheeks together, making her look more fish then fashionista. Oh my God, Kaylie! Are my eyes huge? Yours look just like mine. She switched her focus, What is it guys? 72 Well, Tim didnt take his eyes off the paper, its really weird, its like in some secret language or something. Maybe a code? Theres like shapes and lines and, I wonder if its like Egyptian hieroglyphics or something. Margaret scrutinized over his shoulder. Lets ask Joey, hes pretty good at weird stuff like this. He really was. Joey was the nerdiest of kids and it had taken a while for him to find his place in the group. In fact, it had taken a game of football to realize even the oddest and strangest and quirkiest fit perfectly. Ill go get him hes reading around here somewhere. Margaret got up to wander the room pulling at random books here and there, pretending to be on the search for something to read. She spied the boy, his horn-rimmed glasses perched high on his nose, and as one would suspect held together with a new band of tape. He had a rather thick looking book open and two more on reserve piled next to him. Margaret tapped him on the shoulder. Hey Joey, come help us out with something would ya? Joey didnt bother to tear his eyes from the page he was studying so intently. Science of course. What do you need, Maggie? Ive got to finish reading this. She rolled her eyes. Got to? Nobody in their right mind got to read all that. Joey, I promise you no ones going to take those books off this table and deprive you the pleasure of reading them. Come on we need your help in the Owls Nest. Slowly pushing away from the table, and with a second longing look back, he followed Margaret through the maze of shelves. They paused along the way to flip through books when they caught sight of Mrs. Boo eyeing them; Joey scooping up three more to add to his pile. The two of them crawled under the nest where Cass and Mary had joined the circle to check out the odd scrap of paper. 73 All eyes on Joey, his shoulders puffed with the importance that electrified the air. Tim handed over the paper. Careful, it looks like it was on fire and its kinda crispy and fragile. Joey took it carefully; though he had a chance to shine, he was mostly curious. He turned it to catch the light from the window and analyzed. This is really cool, he began. It It looks Egyptian, Tim jumped in. No. He faded into the nerdy Joey. Its definitely not 5000-year-old ancient hieroglyphics. He glanced at confused looks, some of them waiting for more, some of them lost with the first big word. Look, the ancient Egyptians wrote everything down, absolutely everything, and although hieroglyphics were very pretty, it took time to write in pictures, so the Scribes needed a faster way to write things down. They created Demotic script. Hmmmwhere did you find this? Did you rip it out of a book or something? Demotic script is like old, really old, like 650 BC old. If you ripped this out of a book, Mrs. Boos going to have a.. No, Tim spoke for all the heads shaking back and forth around him, it just kind of floated down. Maggie spotted it and it looked like it had just been on fire. Forget about that, do you know what it says? Forget that it just floated down from thin air and was on fire, well ok, Joey dripped sarcasm. His eyes traveled the group with a look of, sure ok Ill forget about that part or are you all out of your mind? He turned his attention to the paper whose blackened edges sifted to the floor. No, I dont know what it means. Faces fell. 74 But give me a couple hours on my computer and I might be able to figure it out. Faces lifted just as the bell sounded in the hall. Mrs. Boo called for books to be returned or checked out. With care, Tim slid the burnt paper between the pages of his book. Ok then. He looked at Margaret for confirmation and handed the book over to Joey when she nodded head. Here ya go, dont lose it! With that the kids dispersed, a bit of adventure in the air that overshadowed the glint of lime green following their progress out the door. It was long into the following morning before the students found themselves settled back in the hidden niches of the library. Some of them read, immersed in stories of pirates and jungles, mysteries and fairy tales. Some of them fidgeted craning their necks towards the library door each time it whoosed open and shut. Emily poked Cass as she dozed in a plump bean bag, sunlight danced over her sleepy face. Video games, Jamie nodded in her direction. Her twin finished the thought, Again, and every night this week. At last the gangly boy entered the room shoving his glasses back into place. He made a bee line for the waiting kids with steps of knowledge and anticipation. Before even one could comment or speak, he plopped down in the center of the group with a Wow, wow, wow, wow, this is so cool! Where did you not say you got this again? Margaret jumped in. You figured it out? We just found it on the floor, it was on fire, she looked over at Tim. Well kind of on fire, it was like glowing in one corner, but it had definitely been on fire. What does it say? Is it a message or something? Mary sat up. 75 Joey dove straight to the point. Its a clue. Its a clue to, he hesitated, I dont know, something, but its definitely a clue. What does it say? Casss face was a question mark. She stretched out of her doze. She loved video game twists and turns, deciphering hints into solutions. It looks like its telling us where to go get something. Jamie and Kaylie piped in unison, Get what? Ive got no idea. But maybe you guys can help figure that part out. He looked at each of them. Margaret, Tim, Cass, Emily, and the twins pulled their bean bags and floor recliners closer, all feeling a hint of secrecy in the air. Mary peered between the intricately carved slats of the stair railing and motioned for Austin to join them. Sarah wheeled her chair next to Savannah as they parted a path. Tim nodded at the empty Owls Nest above, Hailey? Got it. She jumped up and dashed up the steps, quickly surveying the library maze. Mrs. Boo was checking out books for a steady line of students that stood at her desk. Hailey wiggled her way between a giraffes long legs and beneath the tail feathers of a colorfully painted peacock, hanging slightly over the side she gave them a thumbs up. Clear, her voice barely a whisper. Excitement embraced them and Joey drew on the suspense of it all for a few extra seconds. Finally, he spoke. Okay, listen Ive got the basic idea. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly, Below and under thespian reed walkers tread softly in the dark and forbidden. He looked at them and nodded his head with a wide toothy smile. Huh? came from Margaret. Yeah, I dont get it, Tim chimed in. 76 Neither do we, Jamie and Kaylie pointed at each other and shook their heads. Joey began again with a bit of exasperation in his voice, Below and under thespian. Yeah, yeah, we heard you the first time, but what is it supposed to mean! came from the lookout above. Well, Joey began, his voice fading quickly. He had no idea. Austin picked up where Joey left off. Well, all heads turned to their meticulous, bit of an oddity, walking search engine. The organized manner in which he kept his desk and locker would rival all of their mothers combined into one. His calm and calculative manner was only disturbed by crowded or noisy rooms. And his ability to pull up answers from his brain, was pure genius. He continued. You only need to decipher the words as they are stated. Its a clue to take you to a clue. Hailey muttered as her eyes scanned for Mrs. Boo, Oh great, we have Sherlock Holmes here. Austin ignored her. Thespians? Whats a thespian? Savannah eyed the group. Anyone got a dictionary? Dictionary? I wish I had my cell phone. Emily whispered. They all looked at her in agreement. Shhh, Cass rolled her eyes and pointed at Austin. We got him. Austin looked around at their staring eyes, sighed and spoke as if he were in fact, reading from a dictionary. Of or relating to drama, dramatic, an actor or actress. Tim chimed in, Awesome, we got it then! What do we got? Margaret looked confused. 77 Look at the other part, its right there, Tim was frustrated with certainty and as if they were blind. It says, in the dark, that means at night! So, we like come back tonight! Tonight! Emily eyed him as if he had gone a little nuts. Jamie added in, Uhh.yeahand do what exactly? Well, we look around for a clue in the library. Sarah was more than confused but the only one that seemed to consider there were other words in the clue. Okay, so, A. we cant get into the school at night. B. the library would be locked, and C. why the library? Cuz were supposed to look in the section about plays. Plays? Where are you getting that from? Sarah was totally lost now. Well, duh, it says actors. Austin raised an eyebrow in Sarahs direction as if to say Bravo. Sarahs on the right path here. It doesnt say actors, it says thespians. And there is more to the clue. reed walkers tread softly in the dark. Read! Not reed, and right now! Hailey shushed the group from above as she caught a glint of Mrs. Boos bright orange spectacles making their way towards the Owls Nest. They all flipped the nearest book open. Its upside down, Jamie whispered to Kaylie who immediately spun the book in her lap. Hailey watched as Mrs. Boo shelved a book and glanced towards the back of the room before she retreated to her desk. Haileys head continued to swivel as lookout and when she felt the coast was clear, wiggled back into position. Go. 78 Whats a reed walker? Mary spoke softly, picking up the conversation as if it hadnt been interrupted. Exactly. The dictionary continued on, A reed is a straight stalk of various types of grasses. Or it could be referring to the reed of a musical instrument such as the saxophone. Im assuming it is referring to the stalk of grasses. He had their attention. If you are using the word reed in conjunction with the word walkers, it only makes sense you are talking about sandals. Sandals? Sarah was open to Austins analysis, but perplexed. Yes, sandals. Early sandals were woven from grasses or reeds. A reed walker would probably be referring to someone wearing sandals. Kaylie flopped back on her bean bag. What kind of lame riddle is this anyway? Austin shook his head. He had learned to be patient, but they were a frustrating group of friends. Look at what you know. Margaret spoke up, Yeah guys, Austins got this. So, what do we know? Cass picked it up, Below and under thespian reed walkers tread softly in the dark and forbidden, she read peering over his shoulder. We have actors and actresses walking quietly in the dark where they arent supposed to be. Where they arent supposed to be? Emily chimed in. Mary interjected, Yeah because theyre treading softly, as in sneaking, as in they arent supposed to be there. Austin nodded. 79 Margaret scrutinized the paper with Joeys neatly transcribed words, Below and under thespian reed walkers tread softly in the dark and forbidden. We have actors and actresses walking quietly in the dark where they arent supposed to be. Under, Austin patiently reminded her, and not necessarily actors and actresses. She rolled her eyes, thinking each word through, Okay, we have someone, walking around in the dark, where they arent supposed to be. Suddenly she got it and looked over at Austins half smile. Underneath the actors and actresses! Under the stage, came from several at once. Get yourselves lined up ladies and gentlemen. Dont leave your trash laying around in here, Im not your mother! The following day Mr. Rassi tried to get his students attention for the third time, he was up for a challenge. Digging through his desk for one of his props, he slipped on an eye patch and put on his best pirate voice. Oye mates. Do we talk science fair or Terracotta figures? Dont make me have you walk the plank! Austins hand shot up. Hang in there kiddo, lets see if anyone else has something for me. Jamie? The Terracotta clay in China was used for? he prompted. Ummm, she looked around for help. 8000? He lifted the eyepatch and studied her, and your other answer would be? He saw another hand shoot up from the side of the room. Hailey! There was definite relief in his voice. Whats for lunch today, Mr. Rassi? He shook his head slowly. There were days like this with students, but the whole class at the same time? Im not in lunch, Im in social studies! He made a circle with his hand to include them all adding, So are all of you. He tried a different approach and added with a hint 80 of warning in his tone, Im going to have you all walking the plank right back to this room after lunch in about a minute and recess can wait until tomorrow. Austin continued to wave his hand. Austin, he said with a sigh. The Terracotta army were life sized warriors that included chariots, warriors, and horses, all to be present in the emperors after life, his voice droned, the final minutes ticked, and at last the bell chimed. Mr. Rassi gave a sigh, echoed by his students. It was a beautiful sun filled afternoon and several classes dotted a huge grassy hill that stretched its way towards the woods that surrounded the back of the school. Blankets were spread about, children were laughing and talking, soaking up spring-like weather. Did anyone come up with a plan? Tim began the conversation and looked over at Hailey. No matter how you cut it, she was the one that would be able to come up with a plan. The cluster of kids sat in a huddle, lunch bags forgotten, ears intent. They stared at Hailey. Really? she stalled. Its always gotta be me? They only waited. Okay, okay, so lets just say I did come up with an idea, she sighed. So, heres what we do. We cant all get out of the classroom at the same time so its just going to be four of us. Everyone nodded in agreement. She pointed at Sarah, Youre going to say you have to return a library book, Sarah nodded, and Hailey continued, Tim, you accidentally forgot your lunch and need to call home. Another nod. Maggie, you have to go to the restroom, and then theres me. Im going to get sent to the office. No one questioned her ability to do that. One of us will stay in the hall and watch for teachers. If someone comes, talk loudly enough so we can hear you, we dont want to come up the stairs if anyones there. I volunteer, Im not going down where there might be spiders. Margaret cut in. Wait a minute, Sarah blurted out. Im not going where theres spiders! 81 Right, thats Sarahs job. No one will question Sarah, shes too sweet, Hailey glanced over at Sarah who only shrugged. Hailey continued on, Maggie, you wait about halfway up the stairs from the stage basement and keep your ears open for Tim and me, and for Sarah. If you hear somebody talking to Sarah, you warn us when we head back up the stairs. She grinned. See, no spiders for you either. Margaret nodded, As long as I dont have to go down there, and by the way, if one of you screams, youre kinda on your own because Im not the rescuing type when it comes to anything crawly or scary. Whatever, Hailey shrugged, thats up to Tim and me. Well check it out and see if we can find anything. There were nods all around. Operation Reed Walking Thespians was scheduled for the next morning. Four students huddled around the side of an oak tree wide with age, they giggled in anticipation and held their aching sides. They snuck closer to the house, concealing themselves behind bushes, and crawling through the greening pachysandra. As they closed the gap between themselves and the door, Emily whispered fiercely, Its somebody elses turn, come on you guys, its fun but its scary too. Its somebody elses turn. Their eyes met in question and Jamie resignedly raised her hand. They watched as she stalked the door as if it were prey. She craned her neck to see if she could catch a glimpse of someone who may be lurking behind the curtained windows. She turned to look at her friends who gave her a thumbs up. She made her way up the three steps of the entrance and turned to mouth the words along with her friends, One, two, three! On three, Jamie jabbed the doorbell and heard it echo through the interior of the house. She dashed towards the tree and the four scrambled, tripping and shoving and laughing with tears in their eyes. A salt and pepper head poked out from the doorway and looked from left to right. 82 He stepped onto the porch step, narrowed her eyes, and squinted this way and that until they came to rest on the tree. Jamie sucked in a breath and they waited. Stomping his foot and throwing in a little cough for effect, he turned to go back into the house. Exactly one hour before lunch Tim headed in the direction of the office to presumedly call home for his lunch. Hailey was headed in the same direction, not feeling well. Really? Telling Mr. Rassi you were going to throw up? Youve usually got some better ideas than that when you want to get in trouble. I chickened out, she shrugged. A little more quietly she added, I dont want to disappoint my aunt. You know how it is when they use the disappointed word. Tim nodded. Sarah came whizzing down the hall from the library, and Margaret from the direction of the restroom. They were silent, they knew their roles. Sarah backed her wheelchair up to hug the wall and reached down to place her library book on the floor, intentionally askew. If she saw someone headed her way shed act as if shed dropped it and stopped to pick it up. Margaret positioned herself halfway down the basement steps, close enough to hear Sarah from above, and close enough to hear Hailey and Tim from below. She warned them, Im giving you five minutes and after that Im out of here, sooner if you scream, so hurry and find whatever youre supposed to find! Tim and Hailey crept to the base of the stairwell and eased the storeroom door open. The air was thick from heat and grime. A sliver of light filtered in from a tiny window, snowflakes of dust dancing in the stream of light. A stack of broken desks was piled high in one corner and racks of chairs, boxes upon boxes, and crates upon crates, filled almost every spare space. Stuffing littered the floor around the crooked legs of an abandoned piano bench, not even 83 adequate for a lost mouse to curl in and call home. Tattered cobwebs hung from the ceiling crusted and heavy with dirt. An odd-looking mannequin wore a long dress of frills and lace so caked with soot it was almost black, its faceless head stared at them and their intrusion giving them both a bit of a shiver. What are we looking for, Haileys voice was quiet, not really needing a response but just wanting to hear reassurance in Tims voice. Im not seeing anything but junk. No idea, no clue, he snickered a little startling them both. Well, maybe a clue. Whats that over there? He pointed to the murkiest corner shielded by darkness and dust and a stack of boxes that loomed ominously. Hey, is that a room? It looks like a room behind those boxes. Hailey looked at the yawning mouth of darkness glaring at them and whispered, If you think Im going in there..Has it been five minutes yet? Chicken? Im not chicken, he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Yeah, okay. So, Im a chicken . . .and. . . since youre not, be my guest, she gestured towards the room. Okay, whatever. Tim took a tentative step, prepared for Hailey to grab him or yell out a boo, but she didnt make a sound. One cautious step after another he strained for a glimpse of the inside of the room. Only blackness stared back. He inched his way around the stack of boxes and hesitantly stepped in, immediately swallowed by gloom. Hailey sucked in a breath. Standing on tiptoes, she tried to catch a glimpse of him. In the time it would have taken to call his name, he burst from the doorway, face glowing white, his halo of red hair mussed with cobwebs. Run! 84 They made a dash for the door, tripping over each other in their haste before slamming to a stop at the closed entrance. Tim grabbed her arm, Wait! Hailey let out a sharp scream before clamping a hand over her mouth. Tim hissed, Shhhh. Shhhh, she echoed, hand still covering her mouth. What happened? she whispered breathlessly. I got in there and I felt something on my forehead. I looked up and there was this thing like dancing around in midair! If you tell anybody I ran, he warned. Look, Im not gonna say a word, but geez you gave me a heart attack! A thing? Do you know what it was? No, but I felt something. There was like air blowing and whatever it was fell on my face and started moving around and something touched my arm. He paused and studied the spot where he had felt a warm touch. Like a hand. She gave him a push, Go get it! Get it and lets get outta here! Tim stared at her. Wait! What? She only stared at him. Alright, alright. But lets both get it. She shook her head, her lips pursed tightly. Part way? Okay, part way, but hurry. Grab it and hurry. Can you see it? Is it still there? She strained to see. It is, see it? Its right there just swinging back and forth. 85 They inched closer; Hailey stopping at the halfway point. Tim spoke so softly he practically mouthed the words, Okay, get ready to run. One, two, three! The three came out in a loud hiss as he half lunged and was half shoved into the darkened cubicle. Grabbing, he gave a tug at the small paper that seemed to be stuck in midair. He turned and was moving towards the exit as if in a race for his life. Hailey was two steps ahead of him, she threw the door open, only pausing long enough to see that he was still behind her and hadnt been sucked back into the darkness. The two sprinted out the door, their white faces being all Margaret needed to head up the stairs two at a time. Fortunately, Sarah sat alone in the hall, their bursting from the basement alerting not a soul. What happened? Margaret almost screeched into their white faces. You guys okay? Did you see something? What was down there? Tim held up one hand, bent over at the waist and sucked at the fresh air. He looked over at Hailey who was doing the same and when their eyes met, they both giggled. Hailey looked around at the small group and her one word had them dispersing, Lunchtime. No one noticed a swirl of color as it made its way up from the other side of the stage basement clasping a strand of fishline. Sun kissed the faces of the children at play that afternoon, the huddled group barely noticed. Half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and bananas lay on brown paper bags, a dozen ants could have been marching two by two, no one would have noticed. Tim continued on with his story, leaving out the parts about either of them being chicken, while embellishing on the foreboding feel of the basement under the stage. It looked like there could have been mummies down there. There was so much dirt and dust floating around we could hardly breath. 86 And, really big spiders, Hailey piped in, she glanced at Tim who only smiled and nodded, not missing a beat. So, were there and were creeping around, and we hear this noise like something was slithering around. The others looked from Tim to Hailey, who only continued to nod her head, eyes wide, leaning forward, almost as if she didnt know the story. So, the slithery noise was coming from this huge dark room, so I figured I should go look and see what was in there, he glanced at Hailey and noticed her eyebrows had gone up and her eyes were squinted in his direction. He amended, Well we both thought we should go look. So we went in all like real quiet and we saw this paper like floating in the air or something, so we grabbed it and here we are! Austin broke the awed silence, What about when you charged up the stairs with white faces and practically fell on top of Sarah? Tim glanced over at Hailey. Never fear, Hailey was here. We were worried that there might be rats or snakes, she paused, really, really big ones, that might run out the door and scare Maggie. We wanted to get the doors shut as fast as we could. Uh-huh, thats right. So, what was the paper that was floating in the air? Tim held it up for all to see. A small white sheet of paper with blackened edges was littered with symbols and some type of scrawl. Joey, he looked over, Its up to you now. Joey took the paper carefully. Okay same as the other one, its in Demotic script again and its going to take me a couple hours to figure it out. Recess tomorrow? They all nodded. The kids wasted no time the next afternoon, racing to their spot on the grassy hill, hushed and waiting for Joey to tell them what hed found. 87 Okay so here we go, he paused as he handed several copies of his latest decoding around. This is what Im thinking it says, Ill sway and swing when all stand still, scholastic time at pause, seek me there before I wander from below the unsuspecting. You could hear the silent breeze, their minds struggling through the words. One by one their heads swiveled to look at Austin. First of all, you guys know this Demotic script is written on notebook paper, right? Their quizzical looks had him continuing on, If you look real close, you can see a faint blue line running through the paper. I think someone either wants something from us or is messing with us. The writing dates back, but the paper doesnt. So what do we do? Well, I think I want to know what its all about. Tim stated, nods and me toos coming from all around the group. So we have each others back, and we keep our eyes open, and we figure this clue out! Austin read the clue slowly, thinking each word through for a hidden message, Ill sway and swing when all stand still, scholastic time at pause, seek me there before I wander from below the unsuspecting. This ones harder, Cass loved analyzing quests in her games. Ill sway and swing. I think Ive got that part. Its somebody dancing. Jamie chimed in, When all stand still? Somebody needs to be dancing like when everybody else is not? Ill do it! Kaylie volunteered. Ill dance! Ok so lets skip that part for now. Cass glared at her friend. Scholastic time at pause. Scholastic time? Like learning? Like school? Like summer vacation? Heads nodded all around. 88 Kaylie jumped up and did a spin, A dance during summer vacation! Joey and Austin glared at her and much like her twin they blurted in unison, Im not doing any dancing. Austin continued on, I dont think the clue is looking for dancers. Come on we can figure this out. What else can it be besides someone dancing? I dont think thats it. He continued to study the neatly printed letters. I dont think it means summer vacation either. Thats like months away. Austin and Joey were definitely the brainiest kids in the class, so Mary prodded. So what do you think it means? Austin glanced over at Joey from time to time to see if he concurred. Lets think about it. Heres what we know. We know we have to find someone, something, or somehow something is swaying and swinging. Nods. And its supposed to be when scholastic time is at pause. Like maybe school time or teachers teaching time or recess. Nods. And were supposed to seek it first before it wanders from below the unsuspecting. Perhaps that means someone who is clueless? Eyes turned to look at Kaylie. What? Did she miss something? What? Oh.nice guys, real nice, funny, funny, she paused and snatched at the paper. Let me see that clue. She sat up a little straighter and took a breath, eyes intent. There. She pointed with resolve. Ill sway and Ill swing. The swing set. They waited. Theres a clue under a swing on the swing set. They looked back at Austin. She could be right, the enthusiasm in his voice a surprise. Normally calm and thoughtful, he looked at Kaylie with a smile on his face and repeated, She could be right! Ill sway and swing when all stand still, scholastic time at pause, seek me there 89 before I wander from below the unsuspecting. Sometimes swings are in motion and sometimes they are not, we use them when we are not in class, and if we dont hurry up, the clue is going to blow away from under one of those swings! They dashed. For once the group was impatient for an end to recess. The whistle sent children launching into the air making flying leaps from their swings, while Margaret and her friends ran downstream through the crowd, making a dash towards the swings. As if planned, they fanned out; within seconds Emily called out, Got it! She gently peeled it from the bottom of the swing, crispy darkened edges and odd-looking pictures just like the others. Emily handed it over to Joey. They all knew theyd have to wait until the next day. In his tie-dyed lab coat Mr. Rassi gave guidelines for upcoming science fair projects. Austin pinned him down on the finer points of his own project idea. My hypothesis would be that the chemoreceptors in the taste buds only require some form of liquid whether it be saliva, water, or soda, in order for the receptor molecules to allow for taste to occur. I see. Margaret wrinkled her forehead; she didnt see and she wondered if Mr. Rassi really did. She glanced over to where Joey meticulously copied the latest transcribed message on another small sheet of paper. Hed already made four copies that were secretly making their way around the room. After reading the message kids shrugged their shoulders and passed it along. She looked down at the note tucked beneath her notebook. Suspension lacking water shelters graffiti on a wall. Footpath discovery, veiled pod. Whoever was writing this stuff, well they had to be clever for sure, but why couldnt they just come out and say what they had to say? But then on the other hand, there wouldnt be all of this mystery and intrigue and, Margaret? 90 She snapped out of her fog, Uh yes? Your science fair project? You do have an idea, right? Margaret thought he might be begging her to have at least one idea, anything to get Austin to quit going on about chemoreceptors, tastebuds, and saliva. She glanced over at Austin. Smiling in her direction he gave an awkward thumbs up. It was more of a thumbs over, but social cues were a struggle for him. She hid her own smile. Hed kept Mr. Rassi distracted as the notes circled the room. Uh, yeah, Im doing plants. One is getting orange pop, one is getting milk, and one is getting juice. Your control? He prompted; she returned a confused look. Water? Oh sure, one has water and is in the house, and one is sitting on the porch and gets rain. She sucked in a short breath remembering and thinking aloud, It hasnt really rained much lately, maybe I better check that one. The lunch bell chimed, relieved looks were contagious, and students hustled to grab lunches before they formed a chattering line. Another uncharacteristically sunny day for March, Margaret and her friends headed away from the picnic tables to the hill at the opposite end of the playground. Trees were beginning to bud, birds and bees darted in a scurry to prepare for spring, and the grass was beginning to thicken and green. Kaylie and Mary lay out blankets. Sarah rolled her chair close and handed over the lunches she carried on her lap. Joey sat center stage; Austin close by his side. Okay, anyone have anything figured out? Margaret looked over at Austin, his face a blank wall. She suspected he had ideas but waited to hear theirs before he gave up the answer. Silence. 91 Emily was brave, Well let me at least read it out loud one time and then maybe somebody will have an idea. Suspension lacking water shelters graffiti on a wall. Footpath discovery, veiled pod. It doesnt seem to be really as hard as the other ones were. Something about OSS or ISS. Austin and Joey looked at each other as if theyd never heard the acronym. They affirmed, OSS, ISS? Cass educated them, Out of school suspension, in school suspension. They grinned at each other as if theyd just learned a new vocabulary word that would hold a prominent spot on an SAT test. Im not volunteering to get suspended, Hailey put out there. She was getting predictable when it came to not disappointing her aunt. The classroom wasnt nearly as chaotic, nor interesting. Mary spoke up, I actually think I have part of this one figured out. All eyes on her she began, Suspension lacking water. It doesnt mean in or out of school suspension. Suspension and water could mean a bridge. She looked around. Theres a bridge in the courtyard with no water under it, just a bunch of flowers. The silence was deafening. The courtyard? No one was allowed in the courtyard except for the custodian and the junior high science teacher. The view of the courtyard was visible from all the interior classrooms of the school. The rooms formed a perfect square around an almost secret garden planted and cared for by Mr. Ackles. Cardinal Flowers showcasing intense reds grew along the shadier eastern wall attracting hummingbirds and bees. Black eyed susans clustered in rich yellows dotted with deep browns. Purple Fountain and Blue Oats arched spikes danced with elegance. The aromatic scent of crabapple trees dressed in green and purple leaves, pink, red, and 92 white flowers, drifted on gentle breezes. Mr. Ackles worked the garden to perfection for more years than anyone could remember, and it was a definite boast of the school, but off limits unless a rare tour was prompted by the meticulous junior high science teacher. Cass chimed in, That makes sense, but the courtyard? That would be even harder to sneak into than the storage room. You think the clue is hidden under the bridge? Mary continued, Well the next part says, shelters graffiti on a wall. And so there must be a clue written on the side of the bridge. The bridge was located in one of the furthest corners of the garden, well across the distance from the single way in or out of the garden. Scatters of wildflowers lined the bridge on either side, the more sensitive Coneflowers and Daisy protected under its shade. Cass picked up where Mary left off, Footpath discovery, veiled pod. I dont really understand much of this, does anybody else? The words veiled pod might mean were going to find a new veiled, or hidden clue. We could start there. See if theres a clue on the bridge. Margaret was the only one to speak the obvious. If someones like written graffiti on the bridge, I am not going to be the one to walk out there and point it out to Mr. Ackles! Hailey murmured softly, Me either, no way. I vote you sit this one out, Tim pointed at Hailey who vigorously nodded her head. I agree. Lets start with what we know. He looked around at confusion. With what we think we know, he paused. We need someone to get out to the bridge and look around. He spoke slowly as if he already had someone in mind. Someone who can get down close to see whats written on the bridge or if theres anything even there. I mean the only two people that go out there are the custodian when he cuts the grass and Mr. Ackles, and I dont think either one of 93 them would write on that bridge! But we need to eliminate the chance theres a clue there unless we can think of a different meaning. Me! Tim nodded his head. I can see down low. She thought for a minute. But how am I going to get out there? Thats the easy part, he answered. Everybody likes you, all the teachers watch out for you, all you have to do is tell Mr. Ackles how much you love to look out the window at his garden and hell show you every flower and plant and bush and shrub, youll never want to go outside again! he laughed. Ill tell him it reminds me of The Secret Garden, she began planning. Ill wait around the entrance of the garden before school lets out, its a beautiful day, hell probably want to work on it today even. Everyone nodded. Sarah was the perfect choice. One problem, Austin spoke up, what if the clue is under the bridge? I could fall out of my Sarah began. There was a chorus of nos around her. Ill come with you. Austin continued, Besides Id love to hear about all of the flowers and plants and bushes and shrubs. If we dont see a clue written on the bridge, you distract Mr. Ackles and Ill look underneath. Nods all around. The plan was set. Now, would it work? Austin and Sarah tried to look nonchalant; Sarah was excited to play a part in solving the mystery but managed to look as if she belonged there. Austin was excited to hear about the flowers and plants, bushes and shrubs but pretending to be cool, had him fidgeting with everything. 94 Here he comes, Sarah said softly. Austin grabbed ahold of the handles, jerking her chair slightly. She was capable of plowing through the grass herself, but they had decided it made Austins part more believable. Chill, chill, remember, were just chill, she said softly. Austin slumped in an exaggerated relaxed pose. Hi, Mr. Ackles! It was easy for Sarah to capture someone with her grin. Hey kids, you guys miss your bus? No, were working on our science fair projects after school. Austin was sure that would be enough to get an invitation. His brain worked with what was obvious, several steps ahead of those around him. So? he prompted. Mr. Ackles studied him, but before he could figure out what to respond, Sarah picked up the conversation. I, uh, we were just admiring your garden. Its so lovely. She beamed another smile in his direction. Its just amazing. It reminds me so much of a book Im reading. The Secret Garden! she and Mr. Ackles said at the same time and laughed. Well anytime you want to come and see the garden, you just let me know. He smiled, his hand on the doorknob. She better talk fast. How about now? Now? Sure. I mean its just such a beautiful day. She glanced up at Austin and added, And Austin can help me with my wheelchair. Well, sure, ok then, lets go, and he opened the door wide. 95 The next morning the two of them sat among their friends, above, below, and around the Owls Nest. Haileys eagle eyes scanned the room and locked on Mrs. Boo, purple framed her eyes, eyes intent on shelving books. Hailey gave the all clear. They were excited to hear the story from beginning to end. They already knew Austin held copies of the clue in his hand, but the clue had to come with a story. So, Sarah continued, it took forever to make our way even close to the bridge and I was looking at it so hard that I kept missing Mr. Ackles questions, but Austin kept helping me with that. He smiled and nodded his head excitedly. We finally got close to the bridge and I didnt see anything, not a thing. Austin asked Mr. Ackles about the Dogwood tree just past the bridge and when he turned his back, Austin got down and looked under the bridge. Nothing again! So we got to the other side of the bridge and there it was. No graffiti written on the bridge, but a small piece of paper, kind of burnt around the edges, right there and stuck between a slat and the bottom of the bridge. Austin pushed me up close and I bent down like I was smelling a flower and just grabbed it. Everyone grinned and Margaret laughed, Thats awesome, you guys did great! But. She waited for their attention before adding with a laugh, It took forever to leave! We had to learn about every flower, tree, and all the fancy grasses. Ornamental, Austin interjected. He has a Standing Ovation Little Bluestem! A few eyes rolled. Thats about it! We left, Austin took the clue home and here we are. She noticed the light had gone out of Austins smile. It really is beautiful, there were quizzical looks. The Standing Ovation Little Bluestem. Everyone nodded and Austins face lit up. Did you and Joey figure out what this one says? Tim asked. 96 We didnt have to, Joey handed copies of the clue all around, passing one up to Haileys dangling hand. It wasnt in demotic script, just plain English. That cant be right, Kaylie said reaching for a copy. You must have grabbed the wrong paper. Joey interjected, Yeah because there would be more than one piece of graffiti clue on a bridge that goes over nothing. Kaylie glared. Savannah shook her copy and said, Come on, Ill read it. Quiet down. She took a breath and began, Pawn awed, stash fashioned. Left and left, up and down, never be it right. Tangled 7, 1, 13, 5. Victory with key in hand. What? Kaylies question echoed on each of their faces. Want me to read it again? No, came from several in the group. Jamie chimed in, Just slow it down, read just part of it. The first piece. Pawn. Savannah gave her a questioning look. Well, maybe you could give more than that, Emily sounded annoyed. Okay, okay, pawn awed. Pawns are in chess, Joey said thoughtfully. Cass added, There are eight of them, theyre the weakest piece. Pawns are also like when people use other people, Austin pointed out. And awed means to be impressed. So, we might have an impressive chess piece, maybe its hand carved or something, or we might have an impressed person that got used by someone. 97 Would they be impressed if they got used? Tim asked, but no one seemed to have an answer. We got a start. Lets look at whats next and see if it fits together somehow, like a puzzle. Mary picked up from where Savannah left off, Stash fashioned. Fashioned! Something created really cool! A stash of something really cool! Kaylies excited squeal was drowned out by shushes all around. Hailey gave the all clear and Margaret jumped in, Okay theres a stash of impressive chess pieces? Or, an impressed pawn fashioned, or made, a stash of something? That makes a little more sense, came from up top. Whats the next part? Mary read on, Left and left, up and down, never be it right. Hmmm..if its not right, then maybe its supposed to be right and right, down and up? Im getting confused. Kaylie sighed, but she didnt seem to be the only one. Hang on, Austin analyzed out loud. Every clue has led us to another clue. This appears to be the same. We travel to a location by going left and left, up and down, but never right. Or, we move right and right, then down and up. I think thats it, or at least one of those, Joey looked over at Austins nodding head. So, we have a pawn thats impressed, and made stash of something, and maybe well find it by going, like left and right and whatever. Ohhh wow, Emily chimed in. A stash. A treasure! What could it be? New clothes! Diamonds! Books! 98 Gold! A new PS5, Cass spoke dreamily before looking around. What? A girl can dream. Theres a little more to the clue, Emily reminded them. Something about tangled numbers. The walking search engine interrupted in enthusiasm, Oh! Wait! Its like go left seven steps! Then go left one, up or maybe straight thirteen, and down or back five! Oh my gosh! Margarets excitement read on all their faces. Okay, so I think we all agree that we have an impressed pawn. Nods came from all around, Hailey reached her hands over the side of the nest with two thumbs up. Margaret continued, Someone was impressed when they got used, so they created a stash of something really cool, and to get to it we go left seven and left one, and up or straight thirteen and back five! We find treasure! Well, we find a key to the treasure. Austin pointed out. It says victory with key in hand. I have an idea, Kaylie attempted to interrupt. Incredulous glances werent convinced. Lets all look around for the rest of the day and count off steps, we all pick different areas in the school and see if we end up someplace where we find a key! Her idea met with nods and looks of well thats not a half bad idea! Shhhhh. Haileys warning faded to silence when she noticed a bright red beacon glaring in her direction. 99 The afternoon and following morning found students on the playground, in gym and music, in art and hallways, counting off seven, one, thirteen, and five. Tim found himself headed for the girls restroom, and Hailey found herself headed for the office, immediately doing an about face. Margaret got tangled in the musical instruments sitting in their music stands, and Mary kept walking into bookcases in Mrs. Boos library maze. By lunchtime on Friday, discouraged faces sat at picnic tables. Mr. Rassi wandered up, whistle in hand. He eyed them with curiosity. Whats up guys? You look like you lost a puppy. Its Friday afternoon, Austins statement was one of logic, laced with gloom. I thought you guys liked Fridays. And, we have Relish the Fun this afternoon! Mr. Rassi was famous for his Lets relish the fun; lets not Ketchup if you didnt cut the mustard. Games of Parchesi and Scrabble, Blurt and Jenga, were pulled out. Videos with Mr. Rassis green screen were created; their most popular skit being a genie flying on a magic carpet. There had been cook outs behind the school and pizza making in the school. Whatever the reward, Friday afternoons were remembered by all for years to come. Its going to be a really long weekend, Kaylie explained. And, thats a bad thing? he asked. He shrugged and continued on, Well, its about time to go in. Come on gang. The students followed Mr. Rassi into the classroom, and it was several minutes before any of them bothered to look up; let alone to take notice of a large metal box in the front of the room. Well guys, Mr. Rassi rubbed his hands together. Lets have some fun! He arched his eyebrow at their less than excited stares. 100 Sorry Mr. Rassi. We were trying to figure something out. Margaret offered a smile. Were excited, really! What are we doing today? Well my brave soul, thank you for your interest! excitement in his voice. So Maggie, since you were the one that spoke up first, note the box we have here, he made a flourish with his hands. And this, he pulled a key from his pocket, is what you need to place in your hand. He smiled as he placed the key in the palm of her hand. Austin startled his table as he jumped from his chair and shouted. Victory with key in hand! It took several seconds before the wheels in their heads spun to catch up and dislodge the fuzz from their brains. Mr. Rassi? Came out several voices, loud and surprised, shocked and excited. Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, Hailey jumped up. The box! The key is for the box! Open it! Open it! She hopped on the balls of her feet. It was you? All this time? Margaret grinned and laughed. You sent us on a wild goose chase! Oh my gosh you got us good! Tim jumped up to shout in elation. Wait! Austins suspicious look had them looking from him, back at Mr. Rassi. Theres more to this than that key, he nodded his head to indicate the key in Margarets hand. Pawn awed, stash fashioned. Left and left, up and down, never be it right. Tangled 7, 1, 13, 5. Victory with key in hand. He looked around at the others beside him, Theres more. Mr. Rassi grinned, Well, I guess youll just have to open the box and see. He stepped back to make room. 101 A large lock hung from the metal box, nothing special or unique about either. Margaret slowly slid the key into its mate, fitting like a mittened hand. Heads leaned forward in anticipation as the lock clicked and she slowly lifted the lid and looked inside. Another box? Emily said. Pull it out. Tim helped to lift the second box out and set it on the table. Smaller than the first, it too was locked securely. Margaret rolled the lock in her hand, no slot for a key. I dont get it, a quizzical look at Mr. Rassi who only grinned. I get it! Joey couldnt contain his excitement. Its north, south, east, and west. Just not east! Confusion changed to analysis and analysis to sunshine breaking into dawn. Left and left, up and down, never be it right. West, west, north and south! Mary yelled out in excitement. Just slide the dial. Margaret slid the surface dial in the direction as excited voices repeated, West, west, north, south! The lock clicked. Faces beamed over at Mr. Rassi before they slowly lifted the lid of the second, not so special looking box. There was no surprise on their faces when Tim and Margaret reached inside to pull out the third. Tangled 7, 1, 13, 5. Austins voice normally so calm and matter-of-fact, was filled with excitement. Thats all thats left! Tangled 7, 1, 13, 5, right before victory at hand! The locks letters, not numbers. Margarets brow wrinkled in thought. Cass shouting so loudly her parents could have heard, Game! Game! Its Game! Its a code! Seven is G, one is A, thirteen is M, and five is E! Its a code! 102 Margaret quickly spun the dial. GAME. GAME. GAME. She tried three times, nothing. She looked around at the group. Excitement read on their faces and they looked around at each other. We got this, we got this, Tims voice was calm. It makes sense, weve just missed something. Austin voice came out in a screech, too high to be that of a rabbit barely escaping an owls talons, too ear splitting to be the shrill of a frightened marmot. Tangled! Tangled! Its an anagram! Not game! Mage! Its an anagram! Margarets hands shook a little and she took a calming breath. She spun the dial as her classmates echoed in shouts. M, A, G, E. The lock clicked and Margaret raised the lid. The box was stuffed from side to side, top to bottom, every square inch filled with notepads and tiny rubric cubes, candy and books, yoyos and Slinkys, and color changing mood pencils. Wows and cools rang throughout the room; Mr. Rassi grinned. Happy Relish the Fun guys! Shushes and quiet snickers replaced the whoops of laughter that had traveled their way down the hallway and into the office when Mrs. Ramos high heeled toe tapping was finally noticed. Dont forget about our meeting after school, Mr. Rassi. Giggles erupted. It was payback time. They would gather at Sarahs for a nighttime game of hide-andseek; four of them sneaking away to do the deed and be back before they were missed by parents. They huddled at the side of the wide tree, whispering. Emily said it had to be someone elses turn and Jamie agreed. Maybe it should be both of them. Margaret grinned at Hailey, Its even more fun in the dark! Hailey hissed, I dont know, what if were caught! 103 Are you kidding me? Weve snuck in the basement under the stage, broken out of class, plotted on how to get into the courtyard, and now youre afraid. Its your turn, Emily pointed at her. The two set their faces to determined, the darkened skies making them bolder. With steps as silent as a secret they crept up the porch steps, mindful of possible creaks or groans; their fingers hovered over the doorbell. They could just make out the thumbs up in the dusk, so they counted slowly, One, two Three never had a chance to slip from their lips. Armed with an airhorn in his left hand, another in her right, Mr. Rassi sounded an alarm that could be heard into another county. Emily and Jamie argued they got the worst of it as it was a scant few feet away when it blasted. Emily fell on top of Jamie who skinned her knees and hands after Emily bit her lip. They scrambled and fled for their lives screaming. Margaret and Hailey argued they got the worst of it as sound blared before their fingers even touched the bell, causing them to crash into each other in confusion and fall off the porch; they turned to run screaming in the opposite directions. Mr. Rassis laughter chased after them and he did a bit of a leprechaun hop, clicking his heels. This pawn may have been awed, but fool me once, shame on you, fool me thrice, no possible way. 104 Bibliography  ...

... THE BROKEN GOD A Thesis Presented to The Faculty of the Department of English University of Indianapolis In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Master of Arts by Brandon Bennett December 2021 i Copyright 2021 Brandon Bennett ii THE BROKEN GOD by Brandon Bennett APPROVED BY THE DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH UNIVERSITY OF INDIANAPOLIS December 2021 ___________________________________ Professor Rebecca McKanna, Department of English ___________________________________ Dr. Leah Milne, Department of English iii ABSTRACT THE BROKEN GOD by Brandon Bennett The Broken God tells the story of two brothers thrust into a world of magic, demons, and treachery. Luca, a boy with dreams of one day traveling beyond his small hometown, and his older brother Rensler, who desires nothing more than to live peacefully and keep his brother safe, find their quiet life disrupted by the appearance of several strangers with differing goals. At the same time, Lucas unexpected manifestation of magical abilities reveals a hitherto unknown element of the boys existence: He harbors the immortal soul of a slumbering god, whose body and spirit were sundered millennia ago. The revelation sends the brothers, along with two of the strangers, Kahlia and Zandren, on a journey across the continent to seek the knowledge to rejoin the body and soul of the god and restore the world to blissful utopia. While Luca leaps at the opportunity to leave home, he soon learns that he is by no means the first host of the soul, and there are forces at work that will stop at nothing to prevent the reunification. iv VITA Brandon Bennett was born in Marshfield, Wisconsin, and currently resides in Indianapolis, Indiana. He received his Bachelor of Arts in English Literature from Saint Josephs College in Rensselaer, Indiana, in May 2012 and graduated magna cum laude. He is an avid reader of speculative fiction and began telling fantastical stories at the age of six. After completing his Master of Arts degree, he will begin querying agents to pursue his goal of becoming a published fantasy author. v ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This book would not exist without the support of my mother, for her unending support over the years, and my friends, who have listened to me pitch story ideas for countless hours. I would also like to thank all of the UIndy English faculty from whom I have had the pleasure to learn. I would like to especially thank Professor McKanna for agreeing to read this behemoth of a thesis project. Her insight and guidance have been invaluable, and she has pushed me to become a better writer than I ever thought possible. 1 TABLE OF CONTENTS Prologue to The Broken God 3 13 The Broken God Bibliography 659 2 3 Prologue The bedroom door flew open and crashed against the wall, startling Rensler awake and nearly causing him to topple out of his bed. He sat at the edge of the mattress, the sheet now wrapped around his legs, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Through the blanketing darkness he saw a figure in the doorway, a black blob set against the flickering light of a lantern trying to reach his room from somewhere down the hall. The figure strode into the room, angling toward where Rensler knew his dresser to be. In the weak lantern light, he could hardly see Mas face and the worry it showed. Ma? he asked, yawning. Whats wrong? Ma threw something at him. He flinched as a pair of breeches plopped into his lap, followed by a few other items of clothing. As he came fully awake, he realized that Ma was clad in a similar outfit, plain clothes made for hiking or working out in the farmland. Get dressed, Ma said sharply, though not unkindly. We have to leave. She placed a pair of small leather boots beside the bed. Her gentle voice had a hardness to it that Rensler was not accustomed to hearing, and he climbed out of bed to do as she commanded. He felt an unbidden thrill of fear run through him as he dressed. His mother was the calmest person he had ever met in his nine years; whatever had her waking him in the middle of the night mustve been serious. She remained nearby, alternating between looking at him and whispering pleasant words to the bundle she held against her chest. Rensler could just make out Lucas head poking out from a cocoon of cloth, sound asleep. Ma obviously wanted to keep it that way. Rensler slipped into the boots and stood, feeling their sturdy support against the soles of his feet. He paused as an orange glow coming through the window caught his attention. Whats 4 that? he said, pressing up against the glass. He spotted distant flames before Ma pulled him away by the hand. Ma led the way through the house, moving down the wooden staircase and into the front room. Like the bedroom, the house was blanketed by darkness, but more flashes of orange light came through the windows, dim at first but growing brighter with every passing second. Ma paused at the front door, stooping to pick up a pack that she slung over one shoulder. Stay close to me, Rensler, she said as she stepped outside. Rensler followed her, taking only a few steps onto the hard-packed dirt road before he halted, his eyes fixed on the colossal fires at the far side of the village. Three houses already burned, consumed by the roaring flames climbing up into the night sky. Screams filled the air as townsfolk fled. Beyond them, a large group of dark shapes, their torches almost invisible against the greater light, moved slowly away from the burning buildings and approached the next. Try as he might, Rensler could not look away from the towering inferno as his mind attempted to understand what he was seeing. Nothing like this had ever happened in Darrow. Who were these strange people, setting fire to houses in the middle of the night? Didnt they know people lived in those? He yelped as something grabbed his hand, pulling him in the opposite direction of the fires. No time to gawk, dear, Ma said. She dragged him along until he regained his focus on the path. They followed the dirt road as it wound its way among houses, all built with stone foundations and walls of sturdy timber, topped with thatched roofs that would prove to be ready fuel for a fire. Lumber had always been easy to come by in Darrow, standing at the fringe of the Canalan Wood. Some of the older folks in town told stories about distant cities where buildings 5 were made entirely of stone. Rensler had never seen such places; the farthest out he ever ranged from Darrow was when Pa brought him along on a hunt, and that was only a few times a year. He often wondered what living in a house of stone would be like. Surely it wouldnt be burned down so easily. A group of a dozen or so people clustered in the road ahead. They were close to the edge of the village now. A few trees grew among the buildings here as the road continued onward, sloping upward as it traveled east into the Wood. Angry voices buzzed from the crowd. Ma stopped a few paces back from the circle, still holding tightly onto Renslers hand. Nowhere to go, one man was saying in the center of the crowd. He held a lantern aloft and turned slowly, making sure his gaze passed over everyone. The voice was familiar, though Rensler couldnt get a good look at him through the backs of the adults. We have no choice but to fight back. What kind of nonsense are you on about? an older woman replied. Those arent just some ruffians stirring up trouble; theyre soldiers. We need to gather what we can and run. More voices chimed in, supporting one side or the other. Surely theyre here for a reason. The queen wouldnt send soldiers all the way out here to burn our homes. Those dont look like any uniforms I ever seen. Listening to the chatter, Rensler started to grow impatient with the adults and their bickering. Even he knew they needed to get as far away as possible. He glanced back the way they had come. The invaders were too far away for him to see clearly, but the tiny dots of torchlight looked to be splitting up into several groups as they moved deeper into the village. 6 Pelos is right, another man said, louder than the rest. Rensler swiveled back toward the crowd at the sound of Pas voice. We have to fight back, but not all of us. Sela, get the women and children together. Head through the Canalan and take the eastern road to Andrythe. What about the others? the old woman, Sela, asked. Rensler could not see her, but he got the sense she was pointing toward the burning buildings. Theyve either made it out, or they havent, Pa replied, his voice pained. We have to save those we can. For a moment, no one spoke, and then the adults went about their tasks. The women split off from the men, talking quietly before venturing back toward the nearest buildings to pound on doors and windows. Rensler couldnt imagine that anyone was still asleep with all the yelling going on, but he supposed they were right to make sure. The men remained in the middle of the road. Each of them had brought along the nearest weapon they had on hand, walking sticks or iron pokers, for the most part. Pa spoke to them a bit more before they headed off, each one giving a respectful nod to Ma and a light squeeze on Renslers shoulder as they went past. Pa was last. He came forward and touched his forehead against Mas before pulling back. I have to go with them, Liara. No, you dont, Ma said. Her dark hair hung in one thick braid that swung as she shook her head. We can go, now. If Ophelia is smart, shell already be waiting for us in the Wood. The five of us can leave this behind. Even from this far away, the roaring flames illuminated Pas face, grim and determined. The fires flickered off of the tears in his eyes. This wont be the end, even if we run. I cant leave these people to fight without me. Theyre our people. 7 And how are you going to fight them? Ma said angrily. Theyll have at least ten Marked, and you are but one. You cant save everyone, Aldon. Of course not, Pa said. But I have to try. Those men are here for us, Liara. This is our fault. He smiled weakly and knelt beside Rensler. Son, I need you to be strong for me, all right? Listen to what your mother says and dont argue. There was a certain sense of finality to Pas words. Rensler threw his arms around his fathers neck and felt strong arms encircle him. I dont understand, he said. Where are you going? Im going to keep you safe. Pa patted his back a few times, then made to stand. Rensler linked his hands together and tightened his embrace. Maybe if he held on strongly enough, his father wouldnt leave him. He couldnt. Whatever he was about to do, Rensler knew Pa wouldnt be coming back. Pa sighed. Im sorry, Son, he whispered as he pulled Renslers hands apart. I am so, so sorry. He straightened and turned his attention back to Ma. Do you have the locket? Of course. Mas face was an ashen mask in the firelight. Pa nodded. Good. That should keep them from finding your scent, at least. He leaned in and gave Ma a kiss. For once, Rensler did not turn away at his parents affection. They broke apart and spoke in whispers too low for Rensler to hear even if he stood on the tips of his toes. Pa tousled Renslers hair and set off down the road, back toward the burning buildings. Tears welled up in Renslers eyes as he watched his father go. He wanted to chase after Pa, to help him fight whoever had invaded their home, but Ma grabbed his hand once more and pulled him toward the Canalan Wood. Rensler looked back every few steps as they continued up 8 the gentle slope of the hill; soon enough, Pa was gone, swallowed up by the firelight that was growing ever stronger. Trees sprouted from the hillside, firs and oaks and pines, their numbers growing as the dirt road became little more than two lines in the ground where wagon wheels passed just often enough to keep the grass at bay. Weak moonlight shone down from above, barely visible through the branches overhead as they entered the Wood proper, though it still managed to light patches of the road, enough to keep them on the right path. The flames had been so strong that Rensler hadnt even noticed the moon before, and now, here in the forest, he almost missed their light. He clung to his mothers hand as she led the way in the darkness. Townsfolk told stories about strange creatures that stalked the Wood at night, waiting for unsuspecting travelers to come along so they could feast. Rensler was old enough not to believe all the wild tales, but tonight, every rustling leaf and every owls hoot sent his mind racing in panicked circles. Any moment now, he expected some beast to leap out from the underbrush and drag him into the depths of the forest. They had jogged along for only a few minutes when Ma stopped. A fallen tree lay just off the road where it had toppled three months back. A tangle of roots capped one side of the tree, still caked with dirt and bugs. The leaves were all dead and gone by now, but the thick branchesthe ones that had survived the fallcreated a cage of sorts at the treetop. Rensler recognized the tree from the last time he and Pa had come this way; he had climbed all over those branches and declared the crown to be his fortress. Pa played the part of a giant come to steal the princess. Of course, Rensler bravely slew the beast and saved the Tree Kingdom, just like all the great heroes in their stories did. Now he looked upon the tree with only tears in his eyes and a sense of longing in his heart. 9 Something moved within the branches. Rensler shrank back behind Ma, who placed a hand on his head and whispered, Ophelia, is that you? A womans head emerged from the shadow of the tree and into a moonbeam. Dark hair hung to her shoulders, framing a pale face that looked much the same as Mas. Yes, yes, its me, Ophelia said. She beckoned them forward with an urgent wave. Get off the road. Quickly now. They obliged, stepping into the tangle of branches, and settled down in a space Ophelia must have cleared for them. She cast an expectant look toward the road. Wheres Aldon? Ma set her pack down with a thump. He went back, she said. I dont think hell be joining us. She kept her eyes on Luca, who had managed to sleep through the night so far, even during their short journey down the uneven road. The boy was hardly a year old, but he had always been a quiet child, rarely ever making a fuss. Rensler liked that about his brother. Then hes a damn fool, Ophelia replied, though she sucked in a sharp breath. Sorry. I didnt mean it like that. To Renslers surprise, Ma actually laughed, somehow, despite the sorrow he knew she felt. Dont be sorry, Ma said. After all, youre right. He is a damn fool. So am I, to have thought they wouldnt find us here. Her shoulders slumped as though an unseen weight pressed down upon her. We should never have come to you for shelter. We should have stood our ground against them in Thanalia when we had the chance. Weve doomed these people. They wont stop hunting me until Im dead, no matter how long it takes. Her words came faster and faster, and by the end, she shuddered as a choked sob tore its way out of her throat. Rensler froze, unsure of what to do. He had never seen his mother like this before. 10 Gently, Ophelia pulled Luca out of Mas grasp and handed the boy to Rensler. He accepted the bundled baby silently, cradling him in his arms just as Ma always did. Ophelia gave him a weak smile, then reached out for her sister, pulling Mas head down into her lap. She stroked the other womans hair as though she were comforting an upset child. Rensler watched with equal parts fascination and terror. He didnt know what his mother was talking about, but whatever it was, it must have been awfully frightening to bring her to tears like this. After a few minutes, Ma sat up, rubbing the tears away from her eyes and drying her face on her sleeve. Thank you, she murmured. Im sorry. I suppose thats been a long time coming. You dont need to apologize, Ophelia said. Thats what family is for. Ma sniffed one last time, then cocked her head to the side. Do you hear that? Rensler copied her, angling one ear toward the way they had come. He held his breath and listened, hoping to hear his fathers voice coming up the road. Nothing. Maybe all that crying was making Ma hear things. She remained still for a few heartbeats more. Theyre coming, she said. She climbed to her feet silently. Rensler followed suit, doing his best to not jostle his brother too much. He froze as the sound of a far-off twig snapping reached him. What are you doing? Ophelia hissed. She gestured for the two of them to sit. They wont find us here. Were safe. That might be, for now, Ma said quietly. But will it be so in a month? A year? She seemed to be speaking more to herself than anyone. They may pass us by tonight, but they wont stop hunting us. Hunting me. 11 Ophelia grabbed Ma by the shoulders. Liara, listen to me. We will escape them. We can take the eastern road to Andrythe. They wouldnt dare attack citizens in the queens own city. Well be safe there. Ma clearly wasnt listening anymore. She undid the locket hanging around her neck, drawing a gasp from Ophelia, and fastened it on Rensler. It was a simple thing, a silver circle suspended on an iron chain, its only decoration the three interconnected triangles engraved on its surface. They dont know you or the boys like they know me, Ma said. She tapped the locket where it hung on Renslers chest. Even with this, I dont know if I could escape them forever. Rensler didnt understand half of what she was saying, but he knew she was about to leave him, just as Pa had left him. Ma, dont, was all he could utter before his throat tightened and tears sprang to his eyes. She crouched and cupped his face in her hands. My dear, Im sorry. So very sorry. But I cant come with you. She planted a kiss on his forehead. I need you to be brave, Rensler. Can you do that for me? Uh huh, Rensler mumbled. Promise me youll protect your brother. No matter what happens, you keep him safe. Promise me. Rensler bobbed his head up and down. I promise. She rose once more and ran a hand through his hair. Thats my brave boy. Whatever happens, dont look back. Ophelia, stay clear of Andrythe; the city holds nothing for you but danger. Leave Astarris behind entirely. Go somewhere where they cant find you. 12 Ophelia balled her hands into fists and looked like she wanted to strangle her sister. You two were perfect for each other, you know that. The perfect pair of fools. I know. Ma flashed them both a smile and threaded her way through the tree branches, making her way back to the road. Rensler stood beside his aunt, silently counting until at last she tugged at his sleeve, pulling him in the opposite direction, away from his mother, his father, and everything he had ever known. Its not fair, Rensler thought. He trailed behind Ophelia as she cut through the undergrowth; they would likely find the road later, once she felt they were safely away. He trod with great care, taking giant steps over each twig and stone in his way. A man shouted somewhere behind them. Rensler couldnt make out the words, but the voice was full of hatred. He kept his feet moving in a steady rhythm and glanced backward, trying desperately to glimpse his mother through the tangled cluster of brush and branches. A flash of white light erupted from the darkness. Rensler heard a tree crash to the forest floor, and then cries of anger and pain filled the air. He turned away, his watery gaze falling onto his brother. Lucas eyes were open and staring up at him. The baby blinked slowly, but he made no sound. Rensler pressed the boy against his chest and hurried after his aunt. Its not fair, but Ill keep you safe. I promise. In the distance, a woman screamed, and then there was silence. 13 Chapter 1 A chill wind beat at Renslers back as he stepped with practiced care, weaving through gaps in the tangled underbrush of the Bralen Forest, following a line of hoof prints in the frost-covered ground. He pinned his cloak to his side as the wind howled through the trees and tried to worm its way through the thick wool, causing it to flap around his legs, the mottled assortment of greens and browns looking much like the swaying branches above. He ignored the gust as much as he could and kept at his steady pace. A stiff autumn breeze was nothing he could not handle, although it was troubling how quickly the mornings had grown colder. It seemed the summers grew shorter with every passing year of late; half the trees had already seen their leaves turn color, and others still would be barren within a few weeks. Autumn had not even properly begun yet, according to all the calendars in town, but nature did not abide by the laws of men. Soon enough, there would be no game to hunt, no birds chirping and squirrels chattering outside his bedroom in the mornings. If the early frosts meant anything, it was that the people of Salden would face a harsh winter this year. Today might be his last chance to stock his familys larders with meat for months to come. Out of habit, he ran his fingers over the fletchings jutting out from the quiver hanging at his hip, assuring himself that all were accounted for. When he was young, his father had often said it was important to count ones arrows often, even if he knew he had not loosed any. Thirteen years had passed since last he heard his fathers voice, but Rensler clung to those memories. They were all he had left of a life long gone. Another flurry kicked up, shaking branches and sending a scattering of leaves down to greet him. One landed in his nest of shaggy hair, darker now that the weather was growing colder and the days shorter. He pinched the leaf gently between gloved fingertips and watched it drop 14 lazily to the earth. Stop getting so distracted, he admonished. Else you wont be getting back till afternoon. With a guilty feeling, he started forward once more, listening to the fallen leaves and stiff grass crunching beneath his feet with every step, all the while scanning the path ahead. The rise and fall of the land made it difficult to see ahead clearly, but he figured his quarry could not be too far off by now. He would have already nabbed the buck if he had not spooked it back a ways, but he had let himself get too caught up in his thoughts. Spending a cold morning alone in the quiet of the forest would do that to a person. Even so, he scolded himself for wasting time. Dawn had not yet come when he set out, and now the sun was halfway over the eastern peaksas far as he could tell through the rolling gray clouds. From time to time, a weak sunray trickled through the gaps in the tree cover, caressing the forest floor before vanishing again. He had already ranged farther today than usual; he figured he was now several miles north of town, where the land began to slope upward toward the mountains. At this pace, he might not return to Salden until noon, too late to aid Aunt Ophelia in preparing lunch at the inn. She needed all the help she could, what with the folk from the outlying farms coming in now for Harvestward. The festival was supposed to mark the advent of the season, though nature tried to tell them otherwise. Eventually the town council would need to move the celebration forward several days, with the past few years as evidence why, but they had not budged as of yet. Folks in Salden could be quite stubborn at times. Rensler was no exception. A flash of tan among the trees ahead caught his attention. He held his position, motionless, as his prey emerged from behind a sprawling bush and into an open patch of ground, where it scraped a hoof through the cold grass. Sorry, friend. I dont think youll be finding an easy meal just yet. His breath misted in front of him as he watched the deer for a few seconds, 15 long enough to ensure he had not been spotted. He placed a fingertip between his teeth and, biting down on the leather, tugged the glove off. Hand free, he slid an arrow from the quiver and nocked it on the bowstring with one smooth stroke, then drew it back to his cheek. With a slow breath in, he sighted down the shaft and began tracking his shot. Just a few more steps. The arrow leaped from the bow and struck the side of the deer with a meaty thunk. The animal jolted, kicking up its hind legs, and bolted through the brush, its hooves scoring the cold ground in an effort to climb a steep slope. Rensler jogged after it, unhurried. He knew his aim was true. Indeed, after a couple dozen erratic paces, the buck staggered like a drunken fool upon reaching the hilltop, and it finally collapsedaway from Rensler. Damn, he muttered, listening to the deer sliding down the other side of the slope. The hide was probably fine from such a gentle descent, but he hoped his arrow was still intact. He slipped his glove back on and climbed up the slope. Thankfully, the leaves littering the forest floor were dry today and gave him no trouble, and he quickly crested the hill, using a low hanging branch to pull himself the rest of the way up the steep incline. Dead animals lay scattered across the ground below. Half a dozen coyotes were strewn about, their midsections rent open, blood and entrails mingling with the fallen leaves. Most were missing limbs, and one had its head torn clean off. Another deer was among their number, its front half lying a good twenty paces away from its rear. Rensler sucked in a sharp breath at the sight. Nausea clamped down on his stomach, and the sound of his heart pounding filled his ears. No smells reached him, meaning the kills were less than a day old. He nocked an arrow and spun about, looking in all directions, trying to find any sign of the creature that had done this. Whatever it was, it would have been enormous to 16 have the strength to tear a full-grown deer in two. To his dismay, there was nothing. No tracks, no leavings. It was almost as if an invisible force had massacred the animals. A sudden burst of wind pushed him forward, and he broke his eyes away from the slaughter. The deer he had shot was halfway down the hill, well out of reach of the other carcasses. Rensler stowed the arrow and skidded down to his fallen prey. He kept an eye out for any sign of life, but the deer had already ceased its death throes. All concerns about the pelt were gone as he hurriedly dragged the animal back up the hill and down the other side, leaving the scene of death behind. He kept at his frenzied escape for a time before stopping to catch his breath, though he did not stop scanning his surroundings. The Bralen felt a strange place today, far different from the forest he knew so well. The trees seemed to press in on him, and he half expected them to come alive and rip him to shreds. Steady, he said quietly, though he might as well have been shouting. His words echoed outward, disrupting the silence of the forest. He frowned; in his haste, he had not realized just how quiet the trees were, absent their usual birdsong. All the more reason to get moving. He crouched beside the animal and placed a hand on its side. Thankfully, the arrow was intact, something he hadnt bothered to notice before. He worked it free and cleaned the metal tip with a cloth before returning it to the quiver. Scooting into a good position, he readied to hoist the deer up onto his shoulders. Carrying it would be better than dragging it. Besides, he had no choice; the litter he had brought to the forest, made from sturdy branches lashed together and covered with cured pelts, was a good mile back the way he had come, where he had decided to venture off the main road. If he had known he would travel so far, he might have returned for it earlier, but then he likely would have missed 17 the buck. Either way, it was now the least of his worries, and there was no sense in fretting about it. The decision was made, and he could not take it back. He grabbed the deer by the legs, but before he lifted it, a sudden chill ran through him. It had nothing to do with the wind, still tugging at his cloak from time to time while tickling the leaves overhead. He felt the hairs on his forearms rising, scraping against the inside of his sleeves, and a faint itch blossomed on the back of his neck. For a few breathless seconds, fear held him motionless, but no strange beasts emerged to attack him. He lurched to his feet and jerked his head back and forth, scanning the undergrowth and trying to peer behind trees. Someoneor somethingwas watching him, he was sure of it. Hello? he called out. This time his voice truly did echo through the forest. He waited, listening, but all he heard was the swaying of the trees and, blessedly, the nervous chittering of animals. If there were someone watching him, they were remarkably well hidden. Finally, he rubbed his arms and shivered, deciding it was just the cold getting to him after all. Being alone out here in the woods often set his mind racing in all sorts of directions, and the grisly scene only made it worse. But how could it not? The Bralen was ancient; countless generations of trees had come and gone before the founding of Salden. Old forests had all sorts of strange powers, according to the older folks. They told tales of trees that remembered the comings and goings of all those who passed beneath their boughs. Ever watchful sentinels, they were. Rensler did not often put much faith in superstition, but with what he had seen, today was one of those rare days. He managed to drape the deer across his shoulders, made all the more awkward by having to hold onto his now unstrung bow, and got to his feet to begin the long journey back to the main road. The extra weight set him at a glacial pace, but it was better to move deliberately 18 than risk breaking himself in half. The wind certainly did not help, though, as each buffeting gust threatened to knock him off balance every time he started down the next hill. He paused to rest occasionally for just a minute or two, long enough to stretch his back and catch his breath. The farther he traveled away from the slaughter, the better he felt, though each time he unshouldered his burden, that cold sensation ran through him once again. After the fifth time, he left the deer atop a flat-topped boulder half-buried in the ground and set about in a wide circle, now heedless of the noise he caused. He found no tracks, of course, no signs that anyone else but him was afield. He was well and truly alone. His cheeks grew hot as he finally halted, realizing how silly he was acting, then stalked back to pick up his prize, glad that no one could see his embarrassment. He was too oldor maybe too youngto be jumping at nothing. He lurched forward once more with a grunt. Next time, he grumbled into the wind, Im making Luca come along. He can at least drag the litter. His brother would have woken some time ago, whether by choice or by force, to attend to his morning chores. Maybe he would enjoy an opportunity to get out of such drudgery for once. Even as the idea came to him, he chuckled, despite his current unease. His brother had made a lousy hunter the few times he had accompanied Rensler over the years. Luca was many things, but patient was not one of them. At long last, the road came into view. Rensler quickened as much as he could, feeling an immense wave of relief at the sight of the hard-packed earth and even more so as he spotted the litter, no more than ten paces away. He felt more pride than he should have at having followed his own trail back, but his mood was finally beginning to lift. He flopped the deer down onto the litter and took a moment to roll his shoulders back and forth, then grabbed the two lengths of 19 thick rope running from the front of the sled. Holding the ends in front of his chest, he began the second leg of the journey back to Salden. Dragging the weight of the buck proved far easier than carrying it, and with every step, the gruesome scene was pushed further to the back of his thoughts. The gray clouds disappeared, revealing the midday sun, and soon enough, a handful of thatched roofs came into view. He breathed a sigh of relief as he passed through the gradually thinning trees, the last of their number nearly butting up against the sturdy houses. Here the land sloped westward, away from the mountains. Beyond the village lay a patchwork quilt of farms, broken up by the clusters of trees that dwindled in number as one moved past the Bralen Forest and into open hills. Many of the farmers lived outside of the town proper, coming in once in a while to restock and enjoy some good company and even better drink. With Harvestward coming on tomorrow, Rensler expected most of their number to be arriving throughout the day. He trudged past a group of small children playing, a scruffy dog running among them, and gave them the barest of nods as they waved and yelled. Were his lungs not crying out in agony, he might have stopped to show the children his prize. Many of them were often fascinated when he returned from a hunt. But, as it was, he wanted nothing more than to make his delivery to the butcher and change out of his coat, now practically soaked with sweat. A warm meal and mulled cider to wash away his fears would also be welcome right now. Rows of houses stood along the road. He noted the open windows and clothes hanging on lines. With the sun showing, the day had grown warmer, bearing a trace of the fading summer, and the townspeople were not letting it go to waste as they went about their chores. Pleasant greetings came his way, and more than once he paused to have a brief conversation, usually about the weather. Folk were worried about the frosts coming so early and what that would mean 20 for this years crops, but their concerns quickly gave way to talk about tomorrows fun. Each time, Rensler commiserated about the cold and spoke a few polite words before moving along. The excitement of the coming festival had everyone buzzing, and nothing would keep the people of Salden from enjoying it. Rensler would be more than happy to share in their good mood once he had a chance to rest. He quickly broke that promise to himself as he came into the wide, grassy circle that was the center of the town and let his gaze roam across the preparations for tomorrow. Long tables and benches, with enough room for thirty apiece, already stood at intervals around the circle. Interspersed among the tables were places for all sorts of games: footraces and rope pulling and darts. A lone oak towered over the area; its lower branches had all been shorn off some time ago, making it quite the ordeal to climb, and only a brave few entered the contest. Luca had high hopes of winning that particular challenge. For Renslers part, his eyes lingered on the five circular wooden slabs, held upright by logs as thick as a mans waist, along the southern edge of the square. A circle of black and white rings had been painted on the front of each one. His fingers twitched as he recalled last years contest and his narrow defeat at the hands of Joran Lon. The old farmer had a lifetime of practice with the bow from keeping coyotes and wolvesand even a bear oncefrom getting at his sheep and had proven that his sense were still keen. Few things had been on Renslers mind more this past year. At the center of it all was a neat stack of logs rising from a wide stone pit, with a length of rock-strewn dirt separating it from the grass. Come nightfall tomorrow, people would be dancing and singing and playing around the roaring blaze, celebrating the end of a day of merriment. 21 Thats enough gawking for now, he chided himself, though he was glad he had stopped. Seeing the normalcy of the preparations was enough to finally put his troubled mind at ease. With a grunt, he continued on, not stopping this time until he reached the butchers shop farther down the road. He pulled the sled up beside the front of the buildinghe had no concerns about theftand shouldered his way inside. A bell tinkled above the door as Rensler blinked in the dimly lit shop. He heard the heavy strike of a cleaver hitting wood, and then a broad-chested man clad in a stained apron emerged from the back doorway and approached to the counter. A broad smile broke across Borwill Horns weathered face, framed by gray eyebrows and a drooping mustache. Ah, there he is, the butcher said, wiping hands as big as Renslers head on a cloth. The great hunter himself. Heard you went out into the Bralen this morning. Lovely weather for it. That I did, Rensler said drily. I take it Luca came by? Privacy was a luxury in Salden, especially when his brother was involved. His going off hunting was no great secret, of course, but he was always amused how quickly Luca spread the word. More than likely, he was trying to get out of his chores and had gathered up his friends while Rensler was away. He would have to deal with Lucas antics later. Borwill tossed the cloth down on the countertop and wagged a finger at Rensler. He did, and he came on business for your aunt, so dont go thinking he was just goofing around. The boys allowed to have fun from time to time. Anyway, you mustve bagged something good, unless youre just here to chat. Plenty of time for that tomorrow over a mug, Rensler replied. The butcher would talk a persons ear off if given the time. More often than not, Rensler was happy to oblige. Twenty 22 years separated them, but Borwill treated Rensler as an equal rather than a young pup in need of training. Ive got a deer out front. A buck, with a good set of antlers. Ill bring it around back. A minute later, he dragged the litter behind the building, where the waiting Borwill whistled appreciatively. Thats a mighty fine catch there. Give me a few days, and Ill have the meat ready to go. After I take my cut, of course. He winked and let out a bellowing laugh, causing his ample gut to bounce. Rensler rolled his eyes; the big man made the same joke every time, and he never ceased to amuse himself. Thanks for your help, Borwill, he said as he took up the ropes. Ill find you tomorrow. Borwill narrowed his eyes. Now, hold on. Are you feeling well, lad? Of course, Rensler lied. Apparently the coming festivities hadnt put him at ease. Hmm. If you say so. The butcher stroked his mustache thoughtfully, but he didnt push the issue further, to Renslers relief. Right. Tomorrow then. Bring a mug of your aunts honey ale, too. I will, Rensler said as he started off. With the weight gone from the litter, he practically jogged back to the center of town, slowing only when someone looked his way, lest they think he had lost his mind. Within minutes, he stood on the eastern edge of the circle, where a two-story building butted up against the trimmed grass. A wooden sign hung from a post beside the front entrance, proclaiming the place as the Lone Tree Inn. The first floor was gray stone, hauled from somewhere in the mountains long ago, while the second story was the same timber as the rest of the houses. Gray tiles covered the sloping roof from which half a dozen chimneys rose. Rensler heard excited voices coming the stableyard that stretched off from one side and wrapped around the back of the building. Rounding the corner, he found two wagons in the yard 23 and a few stablehands already attending to the horses, putting them up in stalls and brushing down their coats, while a number of people swarmed over the wagons, bringing down casks and crates. A man stood atop one of the vehicles, apparently directing the others, although none seemed to be in any hurry. Joran Lon resembled a gnarled tree, rugged and sun-darkened, yet with a solidness that could not be easily uprooted. He spotted Rensler almost immediately and called out a greeting. One by one, the others followed suit as they looked his way. Morning, Rensler, Joran said he Rensler drew near. Or afternoon, rather. We were wondering where youd gotten off to. Ophelia said you went out early. Lend us a hand, will ya? Just a minute, Rensler replied. He strode past them to the little shed by the inns rear entrance and pushed the litter inside, then returned to the wagons, where he was promptly handed a heavy cask that made a sloshing sound inside. They made short work of the task, streaming in and out of the back of the inn like ants carrying away crumbs from a picnic. Most of the casks and barrels went down into the cellar, a task that fell to Rensler and the two boys a few years younger than him, Harlow and Mathas. Rensler knew them well enough, and they made amiable conversation as they descended into the cellar, where wooden racks ran along the stone walls, dimly lit by a lantern hanging in the stairwell. Chalk letters in Ophelias fine handwriting listed who had made what and in which year. Only a handful of the barrels had come from outside Salden, and even those generally didnt come from much farther than Felwin, about a weeks ride west. When the rare merchant came to town, Ophelia would often buy one or two of their overpriced barrels of wine, but everyone agreed that anything made in Salden tasted better. 24 The smell of cooked meat and roasted vegetables greeted Rensler each time he stepped inside. Ophelia had already started cooking for the guests; she would be hard at work until nightfall. The pleasant scents set his stomach to growling, a reminder that he had eaten only a piece of fruit before setting out in the morning. With the work finished, the farmers made their way into the common room. Rensler told the boys he would join them shortly and veered off toward the kitchen. Aunt Ophelia was at a counter, slicing off pieces from a hunk of roast and divvying them up among the plates arrayed before her. She was a slender woman, with her dark hair, now starting to see streaks of gray, pulled into a tight bun as she worked. You came back just in time, she said. She kept her eyes on her task. I was worried Id have to go rearrange everything down there once they were finished. Must have been quite a trek you went on. Rensler shrugged. Not many deer out today. Most are probably getting ready for winter already. With good reason, it seems. The image of the slaughtered animals drifted before his eyes, and his mouth went suddenly dry. He swallowed hard before continuing. It took a bit just to find fresh tracks to follow, but I found one eventually. Borwill says hell have the meat to us in a few days. Well, Im glad youre back. Ophelia spun toward a brick oven, where the sweet smell of bread came wafting out. Almost done, she muttered, more to herself than Rensler. Jorans bunch got here a might bit early, and youre the only help Ive got right now. It was unsurprising news, as Callie and Hyle, their usual helpers, were likely at home aiding their own families in their preparations for the coming festivities, as was only right. But, that did not explain the absence of his brother. Wheres Luca? 25 I let him go off with his friends after he finished some errands for me, Ophelia said. She grabbed a towel and extracted a metal tray carrying several perfect loaves from the oven. Now, dont give me that lookyes, that one. Your brother did nothing wrong. Really, its my fault. I shouldve known wed have some early arrivals. With deft hands, she sawed one loaf into even pieces and placed a thick slab upon each plate. Rensler sighed. I dont think he should be running off when hes needed here. Itll only be a few hours. Well make do until he gets back. Hes nearly fifteen, too old to shirk his duties like this, Rensler huffed. And what if he gets hurt while hes off gallivanting about? Ophelia set the knife down on the counter, then turned to him with folded arms. All right, out with it. Whats wrong? Nothing. I just Ophelia cut him off. Dont lie to me, boy. I know you better than anyone. Youre strict at times with Luca, but youre rarely this controlling. She pursed her lips. Somethings got you all riled up. Whatd you see out there? Its nothing like that, I promise. Truth be told, Rensler did not know how to tell her. What he had seen simply hadnt been natural, but he did not want to cause any panic, especially the day before the festival. People would probably think he was just seeing things anyway. Its been a long morning, thats all. Im tired, Im hungry, and I want everything to be ready for tomorrow. Voices from down the hall reached them, though his aunt ignored them for a moment as she stared at him, weighing his words. Well, you do get rather grouchy when youre hungry. Youre in luck. I prepared a plate for you, too. She scooped up two plates in each arm. Help 26 me with these, and then you can eat with our guests. Sounds like theyre getting a might bit grouchy too. Rensler flashed her a quick smile, glad that she had let the matter go, and followed her lead. Together, they brought the plates out to the common room. Round tables filled the wide square space, while a long fireplace made of a thousand tiny stones dominated the center of one wall. The group of seven sat in high-backed wooden chairs at the tables closest to the fire, each clutching a mug that Ophelia must have already set out. Most held a carved wooden pipe in the other hand, the smoke drifting around their heads as it rose toward the ceiling. An animated conversation was underway, and Joran Lon was in the middle of stabbing at the air with his pipe stem. Im telling you, this wasnt no wolf. The sheep was practically torn in two. Wolves dont do that. Wolves cant do that. Sounds like a bear, if you ask me, said Fessa Cran, the gray-haired woman sitting across from him. Might be you have to build yourself a bigger fence. No bears been around my farm in near a decade, Joran said fiercely. I tell you, this werent natural. Rensler stumbled, nearly spilling his plates before righting himself. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice his blunder, and he set the meals upon the table. The sour expressions of the old farmers melted away at the sight of the food, and the debate was forgotten in an instant. Bless you, Ophelia, Joran said as he exchanged his pipe for a fork and knife. Your cooking is why I still come to town. Rensler couldnt tell if the man were exaggerating, but Ophelia laughed and thanked him either way. She really was one of the best cooks in Salden, good enough to draw townsfolk away 27 from their own kitchens from time to time. With so few travelers coming through town, her cooking was what kept the Lone Tree in business. She urged Rensler to take a seat before striding back to the kitchen, promising to return shortly. Rensler attacked his food, and within minutes he was scraping his bread across the plate, trying to soak up the last of the juices from the meat. The others continued to eat more slowly, pausing to speak between mouthfuls, but the topic of Jorans sheep did not resurface. Rensler had hoped to hear more about the incident, but he kept the desire to himself so as not to disturb the peace. Perhaps he could catch the old man by himself later on. The inn would only grow livelier as the day went on, once more folk arrived and the locals stopped by to catch up with friends, which would provide ample opportunity to corner the older man. The excellent meal quickly made him groggy, and he was only dimly aware of the conversation as it turned to other matters. Soon enough, the front door was open more than it was closed as others joined them. Rensler excused himself from the table, gathering up any finished dishes and taking them back to the kitchen, then returned to fill mugs for the newcomers from the casks behind the main bar, as well as some of his aunts honey ale for himself. He leaned on the polished wooden surface and simply listened to the growing hum of the common room. The jovial atmosphere was a welcome reprieve from the worry that kept trying to bubble to the surface. Ophelia returned shortly, bringing with her trays of sweets and kind words. She bustled from one table to the next, making sure to speak with each guest in turn. Rensler knew she was getting rooms squared away more than anything, but she welcomed everyone with the same genuine warmth. 28 The door swung open once more, and in slipped a man Rensler did not recognize, a pack slung over one shoulder. He surveyed the common room with watchful eyes set into a deeply lined face. Curly black hair, tinged with white at the ears, hung to his shoulders, a style Rensler had never before seen in Salden. His plain breeches and coat were much the same as any travelers attire, but the way his eyes crawled across every inch of the room made Renslers skin prickle and brought back that same sensation of being watched. Their eyes met for just a brief second before Ophelia rushed over to the man, and Rensler turned away to hide his grimace. A stranger in Salden was a bad thing. He had learned a long time ago that strangers brought nothing but foul news and worse trouble. The man said something to Ophelia, then made for a corner of the room, where he took a seat and relaxed with a feigned nonchalance that only Rensler seemed to notice. The other guests hardly paid attention to the newcomer, and if anyone shared his discomfort, they certainly did not show it. A hand touched his arm, and he flinched, barely containing a startled yelp. Ophelia stood beside him, regarding him with a look of mild concern. Are you sure everythings all right? Im fine, Rensler grumbled. He jerked his head toward the man in the corner. Whos he? She followed his gesture. Just a traveler passing through. Been a long time since someone happened to pass through Salden. He could count on one hand the times a stranger had come to the village in the past decade. Peddlers and wandering storytellers he could abide, since that was how they made their living, but most people just going from one place to the next had no reason to come this close to the mountains. 29 I guess we were due for one then, hmm? Try not to fret about it too much. Ophelia patted his arm. Why dont you go get yourself cleaned up? Itll start winding down here soon enough. With some effort, he ripped his gaze away from the man. All right, he said, but dont be afraid to holler if you need me. His aunt practically shoved him out into the back corridor, shutting the door behind him before he could protest further. He waited for a time, listening to the muffled sounds of amiable conversation, but rather than head off to the bath chamber, he made his way out into the stableyard. It had grown quite warm inside, and the cool afternoon air brought needed relief. He raised his eyes to the sun, now well past its noonday high, and felt his mood dropping again. Luca should have returned by now. He worried for his brothers safety more often than not, and the slaughter in the woods, coupled with the arrival of a stranger, only heightened his fears. Aunt Ophelia might be content to let the boy go running off with his friends, but she had not seen what Rensler had. He considered for a moment, then set off to find someone who knew where the boys had gone. A group of troublemakers like that always left a trail. Maybe if he found Luca, made sure he was safe, he could finally shake off his unease. 30 Chapter 2 After a few inquiries around town, Rensler ventured out into the Bralen Forest once again, this time setting out along the South Road. A stream trickled down from the mountains on this end of the village, cutting through the hard-packed earth of the road and continuing down into the green fields beyond. The stout wooden bridge crossing the water, built wide enough to accommodate a wagon, was generally agreed upon as where the village stopped and the forest, as well as the South Road, began. Back when they had first come to Salden, Rensler was mystified upon learning that the one road actually bore three separate names. The South Road became the Town Road once over the bridge, and the Town Road became the North Road at some ambiguous point past the village. No one remembered who had divided up the road as such, but the names had stuck around for so long that no one wanted them changed. As with most everything, people in Salden were content with the way things were. It didnt take long for him to pick up his brothers trail. As the road rose and fell with the land, the occasional bootprint in the dust kept him on the right path until they eventually veered off from the road, heading west. The trees here did not press quite as close together as they did just a few miles north, but the sprawling canopy overhead kept the underbrush from growing wildly, making it easy enough to find evidence of Lucas passing in the scattered leaves. To his surprise, though, there was only the one set of prints. Rensler figured Lucas usual companions had accompanied him. The four boys were an inseparable bunch, prone to causing mischief just as much as lending a hand around town, and they often spent their time simply wandering the woods, sometimes ranging as far as the eastern foothills, to their families ire. Most folk liked to stay put when they could, but not those boys. Luca was the worst of them, always going on about wanting to see what lay beyond the farms outside Salden, and that desire 31 was only growing stronger, seeing as how he spent most all of his free time now out here. Rensler feared that he was going to wake up one day and find his brother gone. Now, now, dont get ahead of yourself, he thought, focusing on the trail. Hes brash, yes, but not stupid. Luca wouldnt survive a day off on his own and he knew it. Still, he worried about his brother. Hed sometimes catch Luca hovering by a window, peering outward with unfocused eyes, not looking at anything in particular but everything at once. He wanted to leave Salden, but Rensler couldnt allow that. Here at the edge of the world, they were safe. A squirrel stood on its hind legs in the path ahead, its chittering breaking Rensler out of his ruminations. It regarded him warily until he came too close, then bolted up a nearby tree. Rensler watched it scrabbling up the bark and found himself laughing. Apparently not every animal had gone to ground yet for the winter, and it was nice to know he was not alone out here, either. A large shape moving in the treetops past the squirrel caught his attention, though it was at least a few hundred paces onward. Curious, he broke into a jog, alternating between watching the tracks and the thing in the treetops. A person, actually. But who in their right mind would be up that high? The tracks led right up to a tall oak tree, and the answer became apparent. He clenched his fists reflexively, and he felt his face growing hot even before he looked up to find Luca standing on a branch high above, swaying dangerously with every gust that sighed through the treetops. Guess I was wrong. He is stupid. He opened his mouth to shout but stopped; he couldnt risk startling the boy. Frustrated, he simply glared upward, willing Luca to realize he was not alone. 32 Furious as he was, a part of him could not help but be impressed that Luca had made it up there at all. The tree was a gnarled, twisting thing, with plenty of handholds higher up, but Rensler would have had to double in size to reach the lowest branch, and Luca was half a head shorter than him. Such a feat was impressive but utterly baffling. Finally, Luca glanced downward and froze in place as he noticed Rensler. He raised a hand and waved awkwardly. Rensler sucked in a breath. What in the name of the Fates are you doing up there? he bellowed. Of all the dangerous, idiotic things youve done in your life, this has to be the worst. His cheeks had grown so hot he was sure his head would burst into flames, but his brother at least had the good sense to appear sheepish and started down immediately without argument. Rensler was debating whether to continue the tongue-lashing or be generous enough to wait for Luca to touch solid ground when the boy let out a startled yelp. His foot scraped against the trunk but found no branch, and suddenly he was falling backward, away from tree. Rensler watched in frozen horror, and then a panicked cry tore its way out of his throat as he rushed forward, arms uselessly outstretched. He was too far away, and even if he could catch Luca, there was no chance either of them would come away unscathed. The vision of his brothers broken body lying in his arms nearly made him vomit right then. Luca twisted around, facing the oncoming grass, and thrust out his handsand halted a foot off the ground. Neither of them moved. They regarded each other with wide-eyed silence, and Rensler saw his own confusion mirrored in his brothers slack-jawed face. The air beneath Luca had become a translucent platform, its surface constantly rippling like water. Somehow, it was solid enough to support his weight yet able to cushion his fall entirely. 33 Finally, Luca let out a quiet laugh that only grew louder. The noise hit Rensler like a wall, and he felt his legs give out, knocking him on his backside. Thatsnot possible, he whispered. How did you do that? Dunno, Luca said, shrugging. He shifted onto his hands and knees. As he pressed down, a spider web of cracks formed in the center of the hardened air and expanded outward until at last it burst into a tiny cloud that dissipated as Luca dropped to the grass. He pursed his lips and threw out his hands again. Nothing happened. Aww, thats not fair. What gives? Rensler blinked, still grappling with what he was seeing. He knew, vaguely, of people who possessed unusual abilities. Marked, they were called, named for the peculiar scarring that each one had since birth. Apparently, the shape of the scar determined what the bearer could do. Rensler didnt know much else about them, but he did know they were dangerous. Marked had burned his home and killed his parents. Ophelia believed as much, at least, and she would have remembered the event better than him. But Luca bore no Mark. What he had done should have been impossible. Maybe the whole day had simply been a dream. The dead animals, the stranger, his brother using a power that he could not possibly possess. The absurdity of it all forced out a nervous chuckle. Luca rose and began to brush off the pieces of bark clinging to his clothing. He paused as he noticed Rensler staring. What? Rensler licked his lips, trying to work some moisture into his dry mouth, and said, How long have you been able to do that? No idea, Luca replied. This was the first time that happened. Well, thank the Fates for that, Rensler muttered. His heart was no longer trying to pound its way out of his chest, and as the fog over his mind cleared, he realized fully what Luca 34 had just said. He climbed to his feet and rounded on his brother. Wait a minute. You had no idea that would happen? You could have died! Luca smiled weakly and held up his hands. But I didnt What in the Hells were you doing up that high in the first place? I was practicing for the contest tomorrow, Luca said. Kal and Owyn and Nielan are all climbing too, and I cant lose to them. Rensler glanced upward at the treetop. The branch from which Luca had plummeted was nearly twice as high as what he would climb tomorrow. And you needed to go all the way to the top for that? Fates, Luca. For a second there, I thought I was going to have to carry your corpse back to the village. He ran a hand through his hair. You know I promised Mother to keep you safe. You dont make that easy sometimes. I know, I know, Luca huffed. Look, I started climbing, and itgot easier as I went. Its hard to explain. Every time I thought Id hit a sticking point, it was like someone was telling me the best path up, and so I kept going. I just wanted to see how high I could get, and thenwell, it was a nice view. You can see a long ways away from up there. He crossed his arms and glanced westward, a familiar longing on his face. That has happened before, though. The climbing getting easier. I wanted to test it out again before the contest. There was an earnestness to his words that chipped away at Renslers resolve. Under other circumstances, he might have been more inclined to deliver a scolding now, but the Bralen did not feel welcoming today. What was done was done, and berating his brother out here in the woods served no purpose but to keep them both from enjoying a pleasant evening. 35 Rensler sighed. Lets just head back. Aunt Ophelias going to start thinking we both got lost out here. He started back along the path he had followed. After a moment, Luca fell in step beside him. They walked in silence for a time, the only sounds the crunching of leaves or twigs beneath their feet. Rensler paid no mind to the trail they left; a thousand questions occupied his mind, each more demanding than the last. Was it possible for a person to gain a Mark later in life? As far as he knew, there were no Marked in Salden, no one he could simply ask. Unlike his parents, he and Ophelia bore no Markbut neither did Luca. If his brother were suddenly manifesting one, could the same happen to the two of them? Above all, he wanted to know if the scene of death that morning was connected to Luca, absurd as that would be. He shot a glance at his brother from time to time, though nothing appeared out of the ordinary. He was the same gangly youth, all arms and legs, caught in that awkward age where he seemed to grow an inch each week. Every dozen paces, he pushed away a lock of brown hair that kept falling into his eyes. Bright blue, like their mothers had been. Whatever was happening to him, he showed no outward signs that he was anything but himself. Soon enough, houses became visible through the trees, and the sound of running water drifted their way. Rensler paused before they reached the bridge. Luca continued forward for several steps, oblivious, before he realized Rensler was no longer beside him. Whats wrong? he asked. Rensler grimaced. We have to tell Aunt Ophelia about this. Lucas eyes went wide, and he reeled back as though hed been struck. No no no no. He waved his hands furiously in front of himself. You cant do that. 36 She needs to know. But why? Lucas face paled. She might know what is happening to you, Rensler said. He crossed the distance between them and held Luca by the shoulders. Look, we both know that what you did back there wasnt normal. I dont know if its going to put you in danger or not, but Id rather find out now instead of waiting for you to get yourself killed. Luca scrunched up his face, then sagged in defeat. Fine, he grumbled. Not tonight, though. Or tomorrow. Lets at least wait till after the festival. I can do that, Rensler said. He let go of his brother. Just dont do anything too brash until then. Luca nodded hurriedly, and they made their way across the bridge. Despite the admonishment, he straightened with every house they passed, and before too long he was practically skipping. Not much could keep his mood down for long. The sun dipped toward the west, floating only a few lengths above the horizon. By now, most people would be inside, seeing to any final preparations for the morning or entertaining guests for the evening. Those staying at the Lone Tree were free to come and go as they pleased, and many of them wouldnt return until late, not until after theyd had their fill of feasting and reminiscing before doing it all again tomorrow. It came as a shock, then, when he heard the excited shouts drifting down the road. A sizable crowd milled about on the path in the village center, all talking over one another as they swarmed around something that Rensler could not see. He exchanged a curious glance with Luca, and together they joined the others, young and old alike, still streaming toward the gathering. 37 The source of all the commotion remained hidden from Rensler. Whatever it was, it wasnt a peddlerthose were always a welcome sight around a festivalfor he saw no covered wagon towering over the crowd, nor was there the stamping and snorting of the huge horses so often favored for that sort of work. Luca vanished into the crowd, practically gliding through unimpeded as though people were simply parting for him. With much more difficulty, Rensler wended his way through the villagers, slipping into spaces between people as they shuffled from side to side, issuing an apology when he stomped down on someones toes or dug an elbow into a stomach. As he drew ever closer to the center, he realized the villagers were calling out for news, for word of the outside world. Rensler grimaced even before he came nearer the middle, already afraid of what hed find. More strangers. The man from earlier had managed to slip into the inn without notice, but the townsfolk had sniffed out these new arrivals like bloodhounds trailing a fox. Festival only made people more hospitable than usual, and they had come out in force to greet these mysterious travelers. A man stood beside a packhorse bearing a sizable bundle upon its back and regarding those around it warily. Two swords hung on one side of the horses saddle, scabbarded in unadorned black leather, as plain as the dull iron hilts, and yet another sword swung from the mans side, one dark hand resting casually on the pommel. He was maybe a hair taller than Rensler, but his broad chest and heavily muscled arms made him appear to tower over the crowd. Flecks of dirt caked his boots and breeches, and wrinkles spread across his tunic, the color of a summer leaf. Short black hair, with a sprinkling of white above the ears, topped a clean-shaven face, and he wore an easy smile that lost its warmth somewhere before his gray eyes that seemed to weigh everyone they fell upon. 38 He shifted toward the horse, revealing a woman just behind him. She wore nearly the same sort of clothes as her companion, showing just as much wear from travel, to the awe of many of the onlookersRensler included. A gray cloak hung from around her shoulders, fastened by two metal catches shaped like clasped hands. Unlike her companion, she bore no weapons, but Rensler figured she didnt need to with a man who carried three swords. Her dark hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, a few loose, curling strands fluttering in the breeze. Plain though her clothes were, she carried herself with an air of such grace that made the clothing seem fit for a noble lady, despite her only adornment being the silver amulet hanging around her neck, the same as the one her companion wore. Her bright eyes shone with genuine curiosity as she spoke to those nearby, and she favored everyone with a wide, infectious smile. The mass of people pressed in closer, and as Rensler was beginning to regret pushing in toward the front, a hand clapped down on his shoulder. I was wondering where youd been, Davin Tannis shouted beside him. His thick red beardof which he was very proudwas a stark contrast to his brown hair and made him appear much older than Rensler, even though Davin was younger by half a year. He bobbed his head toward the newcomers. Where do you think theyre from? They dont look like anyone Ive ever seen. And just how many people have you ever seen? Rensler replied, equally loud to be heard over the swelling throng. Despite his unease, he managed a grin for his friend. Davin was right, of course; Rensler had never seen people like this either. A fair amount, I reckon. Davin stroked his beard. Theyre not peddlers, thats for sure. And I dont think theyre storytellers either, leastways not the usual kind. Whats a fellow need three swords for, anyway? 39 Could just be for show, Rensler said with little conviction. A man with three swords likely knew how to use all of them. The people behind him shifted forward, and Rensler scooted to the side as a stout old woman forced her way through the crowd, using a cane to thwack at feet too slow to move aside. Daise Willow had already been mayor for two decades before Rensler had come to Salden, and although she was stooped with age and her hair long since turned white, her presence was as large as ever. All right, all right. Settle down, Daise shouted. At least act like youve seen outsiders before. The noise quickly diminished into hushed murmurs; one simply did not disobey Daise. She stopped at the center of the throng and rested her gnarled hands atop her cane. Sorry about all the fuss. Its not often we have guests here in Salden. Im Daise Willow, mayor of this here village. The woman bowed deeply. It is an honor to meet you, Mayor Willow, she said in a light, musical voice. And thank you for such a lovely welcome. Its not often that were made to feel like royalty. She let out a laugh that reminded Rensler of chimes tinkling in the wind. My name is Kahlia, and this is Zandren. The manZandrenshifted his sword back and mimicked Kahlias bow, though he said nothing. Weve been on the road for some time now, Kahlia continued, and we were hoping to find lodging in your village, if you have room to spare. Even a bed of hay in a stable would be a great comfort. Daise tapped her cane against the road. Well, youve certainly picked a good time to pass through. The crowd parted as she pointed toward the inn. As long as there are rooms to 40 spare, Ophelia will see to your needs. If youll be staying long, youre welcome to join us tomorrow for a day of celebration. Voices began to pick up once more at the mention of the festival. Kahlia broke out into a wide smile. We would be delighted, she said, pitching her voice loud enough for even those in the back to hear. And wed be more than happy to talk about the happenings in the world once weve had a chance to rest. All right, you heard her, Daise shouted over the growing noise. Give them some time, and you can ask all the questions you want. But not a moment before theyre ready, so clear out you lot! The people began to disperse, trickling away in groups of twos and threes. More than a few remained, shifting back and forth, deciding whether they should continue their barrage of questions and risk Daises wrath. Not wanting to get caught up in that, Rensler pulled back, bringing Davin along with him, but before he could speak to his friend, he watched as Luca walked right up to the newcomers. Damn it, Luca, he muttered. What was that? Davin asked, then laughed as he saw Luca. Howd your brother get to be so friendly when youre so sour? Im not sour, Im cautious, Rensler said. Let me get these two situated; last I knew there several rooms still left open. Come by the inn later for a mug, if you want. As long as its on the house. He waved over his shoulder as he walked away. Dont give them too much of a hard time, now. Heedless of Daises orders, Luca and about a dozen other folk, mostly younger, still hung around the two travelers. A few children openly gawked at Zandren and his swords; they asked if 41 hed slain any monsters, like the heroes in their stories. The others surrounded Kahlia, though her attention was fixed on Luca at the moment. and my aunt runs the inn, he was saying, his enthusiasm bubbling out as he gestured wildly, nearly catching Rensler across the face as he came near. And my brother Rensleroh, this is him. Kahlia dipped her head toward him. Your brother volunteered to tell me all about the village. He certainly sounds very knowledgeable about everyones comings and goings. Yes, he makes a habit of getting into others business when he shouldnt, Rensler said in a polite tone, though he prompted a frown from Luca. If youd like, we can bring you inside and make arrangements. That does sound lovely, Kahlia said, her gaze lingering on the inn for a moment before she shook her head. But, I was actually hoping to speak to someone before settling down for the evening. We saw a chapel on the way in with a little sign in the yard. It had this symbol painted on it. She lifted her pendant, showing off an engraving on the front of a smooth, placid face, its eyes shut as though deep in slumber. Rensler stiffened, and he nearly reached up to his own neck before reminding himself he had not worn the locket today. He never wore it when he went hunting; it was the only reminder he had of his parents, and losing it in the forest would be devastating. But after years of handling it, as well as passing by Father Leneuss chapel, he was intimately familiar with that symbol: the mark of the Church of the Immortal Soul. Youre Reforged? Rensler asked. Are you from Vendalar, then? No wonder they would be weary from the road. Vendalar was at the other end of the continent, thousands of miles away from Salden. 42 Kahlia clapped her hands together. You know the Church? she asked, sounding elated. Well then, your priest has done fine work here. We know of the Church, yes, Rensler said. But Im afraid that not many people here go to Father Leneuss services. His words appeared to have no ill effect, as Kahlia adopted a satisfied look. Father Leneus, is it? Zandren and I would very much like to meet with him. Its been too long since weve stepped foot into a place of worship. Luca swiveled toward Rensler. Oh! I can walk them over and make the introduction. He smiled as broadly as he could. Please? Rensler pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated breath. Fine, he said at last. But dont go spilling everyones business now. Especially your own. He turned back to Kahlia. If youd like, then, I can get your horse stabled and make the necessary preparations. Splendid, Kahlia said. She gestured to her companion, who broke away from the children with a soft apology and handed the packhorses reins to Rensler. The animal snorted and flicked its mane, but it did not try to break free from his grasp. Zandren patted the horses neck. Tyrus is his name, he said in a low, smooth voice that was somehow friendly yet intimidating all at once. To the horse, he added, Be good now. Luca, Rensler called, halting his brother midstride, already heading off toward the chapel. Dont tarry too long. Im sure Aunt Ophelias got chores waiting for you. We wont keep him too long, Kahlia said. I promise. For some reason, Rensler believed her. 43 Luca waved for the two travelers to follow him, and they set off amidst a series of pouts from the rest of the onlookers. Rensler watched them go for a time until Tyrus started tugging at the reins. All right, Im going, Rensler mumbled. Great. Now Im talking to a horse. He led the animal around to the stableyard, trying to take comfort in the familiar task of accommodating guests. Maybe once he had taken care of the horse, he could finally take that bath. If anything was going to make him relax, it was a good soak. Try as he might, though, he could not shake off his disquiet as he stalked toward the back door of the inn. Three strangers in one day. The first might not mean anything by himself, but three? It was an awful coincidence, coming right on the heels of what hed witnessed that morning, not to mention his brothers bizarre display. No, as far as he was concerned, everyone else was not troubled enough about so many strangers being in their town. 44 Chapter 3 Luca took his guests on a meandering route through the village, figuring that the longer he could stay with them, the more questions they could answer. And he had no shortage of questions. They obviously knew he was taking them the long way roundthey had seen the chapel on the way in, after allbut neither protested, and Kahlia even seemed quite happy for the company. Her swordsman strode along in silence, apparently content to let his companion speak for him while he merely observed the nearby houses. Must be boring, traveling with him, Luca thought. No wonder Kahlia wanted to talk. People from Vendalar. The country was so far away that it might as well have been just another myth from Lucas books. He couldnt believe his luck; it was almost as hard to believe that Rensler hadnt made Luca return to the inn rather than let him escort their guests to the chapel. He hadnt thought it possible with his brother being moodier than usual today. Luca was sure hed hear all about why later that night, but for now, he would just enjoy this gift. Listening to Kahlia speak was a treat by itself. The rise and fall of her accented words created a song-like effect, and she spoke with passion about everything. At present, she was in the middle of describing her home city of Thanalia, the capital of Vendalar. And at the heart of it all, where the rivers collide, stands the Saval Basilica, the most beautiful, eloquent construction ever produced by Man, she explained. Its golden towers are taller than any tree in this forest, and the Hall of the Pentarchs is so massive it could swallow up your whole village and still have room to spare. Nowhere have I ever seen such majesty matched, though many have tried. Luca bobbed his head in fascination with everything she said. Ive wanted to visit for years. Ive read about it, actually. Aunt Ophelia buys whatever books the peddlers happen to 45 bring when they come through. He snapped his fingers as he tried to recall a title. I saw it inuhPost-Reasoning Vendalan Architecture. Or something like that. Post-Reckoning, Kahlia politely corrected. Thats quite impressive. Anything by Eshalan tends to be a dry read. I cant believe a copy of that particular text made it all the way out here; its not even that popular in Vendalar. Well, the peddler who brought it said he had tried to sell it fifty times before us, but no one wanted it, Luca said. By the time he got here, he was more than happy to get rid of it. I didnt really like it much anyway. The drawings were nice and all, but it didnt say much other than how old the buildings were and who built them, and it definitely didnt explain what PostReckoning even meant to begin with! He realized that he had grown quite loud and fell silent. She probably doesnt want to hear me ramble anyway, Luca thought. Most people didnt. Aunt Ophelia let him talk all he wanted when he helped her in the kitchen, but she was usually too busy to fully pay attention. His friends usually cared enough to listen, but they hadnt read the books to even know what he was talking about. Rensler just got annoyed and told him to worry about life here, not some faroff place hed never see. To his surprise, Kahlia laughed. That is a more than fair assessment, she said. Eshalan put too much of the burden of knowledge on the audience, in my opinion. Luca didnt quite know what she meant by that, but it was more of a real answer than he usually got when talking about stuff like this. Right, he murmured. He mulled over her words for a few paces. If you dont mind me asking, Lady Kahlia, what are you doing here? Guests are so few in Salden, its hard to believe anyone could just stumble upon us. He wished he could pull back the question as soon as he spoke it. Hurriedly, he added, Not that we dont want 46 you here, of course! Its just that visitors are so few. Saldens just not on the way to anywhere, really. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Sorry. Im just curious. A sharp mind begets curiosity, Luca. Kahlia replied. She waved a hand as though brushing away his apology. You should never feel ashamed for being inquisitive of the unknown. Besides, its a fair question, and you shant be the first to ask it, I should think. She tapped a finger against her amulet. We are seekers of knowledge, Zandren and I, just as you are. There are always secrets to be discovered, some more ancient than humankind itself, and it falls to usand others like usto uncover them. And to uncover secrets, one must always be curious. Behind her, Zandren nodded in agreement, though Luca saw the man only at the edges of his vision as Kahlia occupied his attention. She really was unlike anyone else he had ever met. No one asked questions in Salden like Luca did; everyone was always satisfied with the way things were, never bothering themselves with anything that didnt touch their lives directly. Sure, they enjoyed hearing about the happenings in the world from time to time, but they spoke about such things with only a fleeting fancy. They reached the church, and Luca kept the rest of his questions to himself for the time being. The building was a long rectangle, with a wing running off to one side, which served as Father Leneuss home. Like the inn, the church possessed a tiled roof, though the rest of the construction looked just like any other house in Salden. It was a far cry from the grand buildings Luca had seen in his books. The little wooden sign in the yard was tilted to one side, bearing the same symbol as the amulets and proclaiming the chapel, Saint Lycars. He rapped his knuckles on the oak door, waiting for only a few seconds before trying again. The door opened before he could do so a third time. 47 A portly man stood in the doorway, framed by bright lantern light that shone through the wisps of white hair encircling his head. He peered down at Luca through a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. Oh, Luca. Good evening to you. Gave me a bit of a fright, you did. What can I do? He trailed off, eyes widening as they focused on Lucas companions. By the grace of Artras, he whispered. Luca tried to speak, but Leneus shuffled down the steps and stopped before Kahlia. I cant believe it. Father Leneus, she said. She stepped back and bowed, deeper than she had for the mayor. I am Seeker Kahlia, and this is my Guardian, Zandren. It would seem our path was indeed the right one. Luca cocked his head to one side; she hadnt said those titles aloud before. What did they mean? A grin split Leneuss wrinkled face. A Seeker. My goodness, its been so long. Please, come in, come in. Ive just gotten dinner started. It would be my honor to serve you. The offer is most appreciated, Father, Kahlia said. She turned to Luca as the old man started back up the stairs, trailed shortly by Zandren, who nodded to Kahlia as he strode past, leaving Luca alone in the yard with the Seeker. Thank you again for guiding us here, Luca. He frowned. ButI didnt do much of anything. I didnt even get to introduce you. Perhaps not, Kahlia replied, but your company was a great gift regardless. She took his hands in hers and favored him with a tight-lipped smile, the corners of her mouth curving upward ever so slightly, as though she knew a great secret and was about to share it with him. Do not wait for us; we can find our way back to the inn when the time comes, thanks to your guidance. I promise we shall speak again later. 48 She let his hands drop, then followed the others inside, shutting the door gently behind her. Luca watched the door for a time, unmoving, until a chill wind kicked up, sending a shiver coursing through his body and knocking him out of his stupor. The sun kissed the western horizon now, and the evening would only grow colder. Aunt Ophelia would have a roaring fire going by now, with hot cider ready for anyone who wanted it. Later, he whispered as he started back toward the inn. Later. Kahlia counted ten heartbeats before pushing aside a thick curtainan odd decoration for a churchand peering out the tall window beside the door. Luca had done as she recommended, his retreating form growing smaller with every step. He was certainly an amiable boy. Though they had only just met, she felt a twinge of guilt at having to send him away, but a conversation needed to be had to which he could not be privy. The amulet had grown hot where it rested just beneath her collarbones, as though it were demanding her attention. In a way, it was. She touched two fingers to the metal, feeling the surface cooling until only a mild warmth remained. A faint pulse, almost imperceptible, whispered against her fingertips. It has to be him, she thought. It must be. Zandren stopped on the other end of the chapel, looking back at her with a placid expression that only she knew bespoke curiosity tempered by worry. Whats wrong? he asked in that deep, smooth voice of his. She didnt answer for a moment, instead letting her eyes roam the chamber. The chapel was no more than a dozen paces long and half as wide. Four logs, sanded and stained, did their best impression of pillars as they ran from the tiled floor to the ceiling, which was crossed with wooden beams. Lanterns hung from the pillars, shedding light aplentydespite Leneuss 49 assumed solitude at the late hourand driving back the oncoming darkness outside. Eight rows of benches filled the majority of the space, leaving just enough room to walk around the outside of the chamber or down the center aisle, which led to a raised dais bearing a solitary pulpit. A doorway stood to one side of the dais, leading off into the priests own living quarters; the door stood open for now, and humming echoed out into the main hall. The only real decorations were the handful of banners suspended from the timbered walls. Altogether, it was quite possibly the tiniest church Kahlia had ever seen, but if the people of Salden found comfort here, then it was as grand as any cathedral. Finally, she turned her gaze to her companion. Its that boy, Zandren. I think hes the one weve been searching for. When I took his hands, I thought for sure my amulet was going to melt right through me. Zandrens eyebrows shot up; even he could not act nonchalant at that possibility. He would not have felt what she did, of course. His own amulet was not imbued with Blessings like hers, though he brushed a finger against it nonetheless. Youre sure its him? he said. Kahlia nodded fiercely. Im sure. Hes just the right age, too, since Since the last Vestige caused a civil war in Myrandir and was executed for it nearly twenty years ago. She left the words unsaid. The rebellion had only worsened an already strained relationship between their two nations, leaving a black mark on the Churchs history; the Vestige was supposed to bring about everlasting utopia, not chaos. The humming grew louder, and Father Leneuss head poked through the doorway to the left of the dais. Suppers ready, if youre ready for it. He glanced between the two of them. Dont let me hurry you along, though. Nights still young, and I arent in any rush. 50 Its quite all right, Kahlia said, forcing herself to smile. Dinner sounds lovely. We havent had a real meal in at least two weeks, Id wager. Well then, follow me. Leneus led the way through a short corridor that opened into a quaint little dining room. A round table, already set for three, stood atop a faded rug in the center of the room, while a handful of potted plants on wooden stands huddled in the corners. Please, sit, sit, the priest said, holding a hand out toward the four high-backed chairs. He shuffled off through another doorleading into the kitchen, Kahlia presumedand returned a moment later bearing two platters. One was topped with slices of a red meat and thick slices of bread smeared with jam, while the other bore a pile of steaming vegetables, carrots and cabbage and potatoes. Quite a lot, Kahlia noted as the pleasant scents wafted over her, for a man who was expecting to eat alone. He set both platters on the table and served the food, then shuffled back into the kitchen, returning once more with a bottle of a light red wine and three glasses. I hope its to your liking, he said as he poured a glass for each of them. Its been so long since Ive cooked for anyone but myself, I dont know what other folk prefer these days, specially ones such as yourselves. Youve probably eaten all sorts of exotic things, with all the traveling you do. Im not much of a cook myselftend to stick to the same things more often than notso if its not what you want, be sure to say so. Kahlia bit into the bread, more to halt the mans ramblings than to sate her own hunger. Its lovely, Father. Thank you for your hospitality on such short notice. Its my pleasure, the priest said, finally slipping into his own seat. And Leneus will do just fine. No need to be so formal at the dinner table. She hesitated for a moment, though she did not know why. Something about the old priests laidback attitude felt strange yetwelcoming. Most priests she had met across Ilden this 51 past decade clung to formal titles, insisting on addressing and being addressed properly, even in private. As a Seeker, she could always have put an end to such things; while she had never viewed herself as equal to a priest, her positionZandrens as wellactually bore more weight in the Churchs hierarchy. But when months passed without setting foot in a chapel, she tended to overlook such things. If you insist, she said at last, flashing the old man a smile. For the most part, she ate in silence, happy to let Leneus engage in a one-sided conversation about the weather and farming. Occasionally, she offered a sound of affirmation, just enough to let him know she was still listening, though she got the impression the priest would have rambled on even without an audience. What must his sermons be like? She finished the last bite of her meal and wiped her lips with a cloth napkin. Leneus had paused long enough to work at his own food, so she seized the opportunity to speak at last. How long have you lived in Salden, FaLeneus? Near twenty years by this point, Leneus said around a mouthful of meat. He swallowed before continuing. Thought there might be an opportunity to spread the good word, way out here on the edges of civilization. Took me three months to cross the continent. I got held up in Myrandir for a bit, but this was before the He licked his lips and shifted his eyes between Kahlia and Zandren. Before the trouble happened there, so even though plenty of folk werent too fond of methey dont think too highly of us Reforged, of coursenobody gave me any real trouble. Then I just kept heading east until I couldnt go no further, and no further turned out to be here. He took a sip of wine. Theyre good folk here, he went on. Hardworking, caring. If you ever need help with something, youll find ten volunteers by lunch time, and half the town 52 by supper. Reminds me of home. My real home, of course, not Thanalia. The city never quite felt like home to me. Too big, too many people. I like the quiet out here. Kahlia figured her head might just pop off by the end of the night from all the nodding she was doing. She wanted to hear his storythe task of a Seeker, after all, was to listen to storiesbut perhaps without some of the extraneous details. They would be stuck there all night if any given question prompted such elaborate answers. That sounds like quite a journey, she said. Im certainly impressed with your desire to spread the word of Artras. Out of curiosity, how many parishioners do you have these days? The priest scrunched up his face for a moment. Fourteen, last I checked, he said. Its hard work getting people to convert to a foreign faith, you know? They really have to want that change, but most folk here are satisfied with the way things are. Naturally, Kahlia said. Such a small number. I imagine there are several hundred people living in this village. How do the rest of them feel about you? Oh, theyre all friendly, like I said, Leneus replied. And they listen well enough to what I have to say, which I appreciate. I reckon more than a few have at least a passing familiarity with the Churchs doctrine by this point, even if theyre not Reforged themselves. He drained the last of his wine and poured another glass. No ones antagonistic, if thats something you were worrying about. At worst, some might think Im just an old coot spouting nonsense, thats all. Im sure thats not true. Well, she was sure it wasnt for most, at least. She lapsed into silence, considering how to broach the next topic on her mind, and, to her amazement, Leneus did not immediately capitalize upon it. She sipped at her own wine finally and wrinkled her nose 53 at the bitter taste. Id like to test some of the young people, she continued without preamble. Its possible the one were looking for might be here. Leneus sputtered, thankfully with no wine in his mouth, and Zandren shot her a curious glance, an unspoken question dancing in his eyes. You think the Vestige is here? Leneus asked, coughing between words. What makes you so sure? His gaze slid toward her amulet. Kahlia nodded. I do. She clutched the metal hanging from her neck, feeling the faint, sluggish pulsing against her palm. Its been warm since we were swarmed in the center of the village earlier, but I dont know who caused it. Though I have my suspicions. She was not lying, really. Until she could prove Luca was the Vestige, all she had to go off of was her intuition. But the intense heat she had felt in his presence could only mean one thing. The priest thumped his chest a few more times before clearing his throat. Thats better. Now, all the young people, you say? No, not all, Kahlia replied quickly. The Vestige would only be a teenager, probably between the ages of thirteen and sixteen. Ah, right, of course, Leneus said. Well, I dont know how much I can help with that, truly. But if there were ever a time to find them all in the same place, itll be tomorrow. The festival will get them right where you need them. He scratched his head. Although I suppose that wont help you narrow it down to just the one. Zandren broke from his statue-like pose and leaned forward, arms crossed over the tabletop. If you told them about our task, would they trust you? Its not a matter of trust, Leneus said, waving a hand dismissively. People just wont understand what youre about. This isnt some village in the Vendalan wilds, where people 54 expect a Seeker to show up once a generation. Most folk here only vaguely know what the Vestige is, and even those think its just a strange thing that we believe. They dont understand that the Vestige is a living, breathing person, as real as any of us. Kahlia drew her lips into a thin line. She had feared as much about these people. Vestiges had been born in Odrema before, of course, but if one had never been born here in this village, what reason would these people have to know of such a thing? Surely they know about the chaos the last one caused, though. But, Leneus said, I dont think anyone will stop you from simply walking about tomorrow and speaking with whoever you want. Why, you could knock on a dozen doors at random tonight, and I dont think any would turn you away. These are good, trusting folk, and the younguns are always happy to talk your ear off. Not just the young ones, I should think. She kept the comment to herself. Very well, she said. Forgive me for all of the questions. I must admit Im a touch nervous, though, all things considered. I dont want any harm coming to these people, after all. Leneuss brow furrowed as he picked up on her implication. You dont think they are coming here, do you? We can only assume they are, Kahlia replied. Thats how it always seems to go, Zandren added softly. The priest blanched and took a long draw from his wine. Kahlia had seen such a reaction before at the very whisper of the heretics from Kilan Tor. The Watchers, they called themselves. Their sole purpose was to prevent the reforging of Artras, typically by murdering the Vestige and everyone they knew. Every Seeker before Kahlia had failed to protect the Vestige, a fact that 55 oft times woke her in the middle of the night in a state of panic. Who was she to think she could succeed where so many others had failed? She sighed; now was not the time to trouble herself with such dire thoughts. We do not mean to panic you, Leneus; we only wish to make you aware of what might be. If I am wrong and the Vestige is not here, then these people are in no danger. And if youre right, youll rip a child away from the only life theyve ever known, Leneus said. The words themselves were harsh, but Kahlia saw only sadness on his face. I dont envy this task of yours, Seeker. Artras gives burdens to us all. I bear mine with honor. Kahlia forced herself to smile. But we need not concern ourselves with this until tomorrow. For now, Id like to hear more about the foundations of your chapel. Did you build all of this yourself? She gestured broadly toward the ceiling. Leneus jumped at the opportunity to change the subject. Kahlia listened to him speak at length about his early days in Salden, and with enough talkand another glass of winehe soon showed no signs of his earlier discomfort. She inclined her head and asked a short question at the appropriate time, but all the while, her thoughts ran in circles. Despite her own words, she could not cease her worrying until she could test her suspicions. Stars shone in the sky outside the solitary window by the time the wine ran out. Kahlia waited for the priest to come to the end of his current anecdote before speaking. I do believe we should retire for the evening. She pushed back her chair, taking great care not to ruffle up the rug, and rose. Zandren followed suit. Thank you, again, for your hospitality tonight. Your parishioners are fortunate to look toward you as an example of Artrass kindness. The pleasure is mine, Leneus said. You wont be staying here, then? 56 We already made arrangements at the inn, Kahlia replied. Truth be told, she didnt know where Leneus would even put them. I assume they can use all the business they can get. Thats probably so. The priest climbed to his feet and led them back through the chapel. A crisp breeze greeted Kahlia as she opened the door. She pulled her cloak tighter but paused in the doorway. One more thing. That boy who brought us here. Luca. How well do you know him? Luca? As well as anyone else, I suppose. Leneus scratched at his bald scalp. Hes a nice boy, though prone to trouble sometimes. Nothing drastic, of course. Your typical youthful mischief. He comes by once in a while just to chat, but he isnt part of my congregation. Lord knows Ive tried. Hmm. Kahlia brushed her fingers against the amulet. She knew she had not imagine it. The now cool metal had never been so hot as it had been with that boy nearby. Im curious. Was he born in Salden? Leneus shook his head. He and his aunt and brother just showed up one day, about twelve years back. Luca was still just learning to talk. Said theyd been on the road for almost a year. We could all tell they were trying to get away from some trouble, but they never talked about it, so we never asked. Ophelia started working at the inn while raising the boys, and when Master Halan got too old to want to run the place anymore, she took over. Hard-working woman, she is. Its not an easy task raising someone elses children. Indeed, Kahlia said before he could go on. Ophelia sounded a fine woman, but she was not the heart of the inquiry. Do you know from where they hailed originally? 57 Eh? No, actually, I suppose I dont. He scratched at this stubble. They never said, but if I were a betting sort, Id wager theyre from up north. Astarris, most likely. You cant hear it with Luca, since he grew up here, and Rensler was fairly young when they got here, but you can still hear a bit of the accent from Ophelia. Kahlia tapped her forefinger against her chin. It couldnt be coincidence. If she could just confirm her suspicions, she and Zandren might return to Thanalia at long last. Finally, she climbed down the steps, Zandren behind her. Thank you for your kindness, Father, she said, turning to bow once more. May the Lord bless your passage. And may He walk the path with you, Seeker, Leneus replied. Guardian. He dipped his head to each of them in turn. The door swung shut, cutting off the lights from within, and Kahlia and her companion set off down the road in the direction of the inn. Lights shone through most windows of the houses they passed. People gathered inside, laughing and drinking and singing the night away. The merriment left Kahlia with a warm feeling, despite the growing chill. Such a nice village, Kahlia murmured after several minutes. Zandren nodded. Indeed. When was the last time we were able to partake in a festival? Zandren rubbed his chin, a handful of thin white scars sticking out from the dark skin of his fingers. Three years, or thereabouts. Too long, Kahlia said. Tomorrow shall be a pleasant day. It must. Artras make it so. Her companion did not speak, and she cast a sidelong glance at him. Youve been awfully quiet tonight. You do a fine job speaking for the both of us. You always have. 58 Only because you wont speak for yourself, she replied. You have misgivings, I know. I would hear them. A grim expression came across her Guardians countenance, made all the more ominous in the light of the nearly full moon. If this boy is the Vestige, then we will need to act with great haste. You know as well as I that the danger will only grow for these people so long as he remains. Kahlia grimaced; despite what Leneus had said, she could not simply force Lucaif he truly were the Vestigeto leave his life behind. Yes, but the choice must be his. And therein lies the problem, Zandren said. If he is the one we seek, he will have but one choice. Any other will be the death of him and everyone he has ever cared for. I know, Kahlia said softly. Just as its always been. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself. Maybe her inner warmth wasnt quite enough to push back the cold after all. She welcomed the sight of the inn as they came upon the village center. Ill find a way to test him tomorrow, she continued. Assuming my suspicions are right, he at least deserves to enjoy the festival. Very well, Zandren said as they neared the front door. But we cant delay after that. Were not the only ones seeking him. 59 Chapter 4 Rensler sat near the long hearth in the common room, basking in the warmth of the fire and clutching a mug of mulled cider with both hands. Freshly bathed and dressed, no longer smelling of sweat and musty leaves, he figured he could finally allow himself to relax, here at the end of the day. Despite that desire, he could not stop himself from glancing at the front door every couple of minutes. Night had come, bringing with it half of those staying at the inn for the festival, and the others would continue to trickle in as the night went on. Luca, however, had not yet returned. Still, the warmth was pleasant, and he listened to the buzz of conversation around him with half-closed eyes. It had been a tiresome day, but he couldnt bring himself to go up to his bedroom until he knew Luca was home safe. Trying to sleep in his bed would have been futile anyway; the inn wouldnt quiet down for some time still, and he already knew that once he actually lay down, he would be miraculously wide awake. Better to just stay here, surrounded by good company, lively music, and entertaining stories. He jerked upright as something slapped at his elbow. Speaking of good company, he thought as he glared at Davin sitting beside him. What? Just making sure youre still with us, Davin said with a grin. Droplets of cider clung to the corners of his mustache. You really know how to have a good time, dont you? Rensler grunted in response as a yawn ripped its way out unbidden. Give me a break, he said. I was up before the sun today. Well, whose mistake was that? Davin chuckled and sipped at his cider. Hopefully the mornings warmer tomorrow than it was today. 60 Hopefully, Rensler echoed. That same topic was on everyones mind, it seemed, judging by how many times he had heard it mentioned that evening. The festival created an atmosphere of excitement, but it also brought nervous chatter about the coming winter. Trees were already losing their leaves. Fields were already starting to frost. Harvests had begun earlier than last year, and last years had begun earlier than the year before. More than a few had grumbled about the mayors refusal to hold the festival a few days earlier, but they should have known better than to complain. Daise was more stubborn than anyone else in Salden. As far as she was concerned, the date was set in stone. Davin squinted at him. You feeling all right? Youve been glum all evening. More than usual, that is. Drumming his fingers on the mug, Rensler debated whether to tell Davin about what he had witnessed throughout the day. Under no circumstances could he discuss Lucas strange power. He hadnt mentioned that to Ophelia yet, just as he had promised, and until he did, it would remain a secret. What he had seen in the forest, thoughthat was different. The grisly scene played out in his minds eye once again, and the calm that he had enjoyed moments ago withered away as his mouth went dry. I saw something in the Bralen this morning, Rensler said at last. His palms began to sweat. He set his mug upon the tabletop to wipe his hands on his pants. A pack of coyotes and a deer, all dead and torn open. The deer was in two pieces, actually. He swallowed a few times, trying to work some moisture into his mouth. Ive never seen anything like it. Then when I made to leave, I felt like someone was watching me the whole way back to the road. 61 What do you think it was? Davin asked. A bear? I didnt think wed had any bear sightings in months. No, Rensler said. There werent any tracks. Are you saying that something killed a bunch of animals but didnt leave a mark? Rensler nodded slowly. Yeah, I guess I am. I know that sounds impossible, but I know what I saw. Davin stroked his beard between a thumb and forefinger. I trust that you know what you saw. Im just not sure anyone else will. Have you told anyone yet? Rensler had harbored that same doubt all day, and as the hours wore on, he grew less convinced that it simply hadnt been some sort of vivid hallucination. I could always go find out for sure. His trail would be easy enough to find, considering his haste to escape the scene, and if the corpses were there, they would probably have started to smell by the afternoon. Carrion eaters would have started in on them by now, but there would still be remains. Youre the first, he said. But I overheard Joran Lon talking about something similar earlier today. I only caught a tiny bit, but it sounded like some of his sheep had been slaughtered during the night. He still needed to speak with the old farmer. One set of eyes could be deceived, but if both of them had witnessed the same thing, the story suddenly became more credible. You should probably tell Daise, Davin said. Shell need to know if theres some mysterious beast out in the woods killing animals. Absolutely not, Rensler said emphatically. Im not going to possibly incite a panic on the day of a festival. Hed rather face down a bear than get on Daises bad side. 62 Davin shrugged and sipped at his mug. All right, but its your fault if we all get slaughtered in our sleep, he said, chuckling. Rensler grumbled as he snatched up his own mug. He took a long pull as he tried to come up with a good retort, but a sudden change in the music drew his attention toward a corner of the common room. The man with the curly hairthe first stranger to have arrived that morningsat on a stool on the little wooden platform used by entertainers. He played an upbeat tune on an ivory flute, while one of the townsfolk joined in with a small drum. Rensler recognized the song, a pleasant ditty about a boy who longed to be a knight. Well, would you look at that, Davin said. A traveling musician. I didnt even see him sitting over there before. He glanced at Rensler. You look like you ate a sour grape. Rensler turned away from the stranger. Awfully convenient that a musician happens to show up, unannounced, the day before the festival. Davin began to clap along with the others. He leaned in closer to Rensler. Dont be such a worrier. You know Daise always sends word to Felwin when Harvestward is near. I suppose, Rensler muttered. Felwin was much larger than Salden, and it was only a weeks journey away. Plenty of musicians and merchants had come by way of Felwin in the past, often without any word preceding their arrival. Why should this one be different? It was the other two, of course. One stranger in the village was fine, but three all showing up on the same day was a mighty odd coincidence. This musician might be just like any other, but Rensler could not do away with his suspicions, though the two Reforged certainly put him on edge far more. He had seen musicians before; the two travelers were something new. They were 63 obviously important, judging by the way they carried themselvestheir simple garb could not hide thatso what were they doing in a town like Salden, of all places? Rensler liked Father Leneus well enough, and the mans faith made about as much sense as any other, but only a dozen or so people belonged to his congregation. Did he warrant a visit from people such as those two? Or were they after something else? He spent several minutes peering into his mug, listening to the music and trying to quell his thoughts, until the front door swinging open drew his attention. A moment later, Luca stepped inside, a pensive expression on his face that was quickly replaced by delight. He paused to watch the performance before veering off toward the kitchen. Rensler waited for the two newcomers to come inside, but the door remained shut. Odd. He didnt like the idea of strangers roaming the village at night, though they were likely still with Father Leneus. Luca returned to the common room shortly with a plate full of food and a mug of steaming cider. Rensler caught his brothers eye and used his foot to nudge the chair across the table. I didnt know a traveling musician was here, Luca said, a wide grin splitting his face. He set his plate on the table with a clatter and plopped into the proffered chair. When did he arrive? Rensler turned toward Luca, leaving his back to the performers. Earlier today. Just past noon. You would have seen him had you not run off into the woods to nearly kill yourself. He kept the remark to himself, though he wanted to march Luca back to Aunt Ophelia right then and tell her the whole thing. The boy was lucky he had come through it unharmed, or else Rensler would have already broken his promise. 64 Luca ripped off a hunk of bread and shoved it in his mouth. Hes good, he said between chews. I hope he plays tomorrow out by the fire. Thatll get everyone dancing. Are you going to dance with Jenica? Rensler felt his face growing hot. Before he could respond, Davin swiveled in his seat, then propped an arm up on the table and rested his chin on his palm. Oh, good question, Luca, he said with a wide grin. Well, Rensler, are you? Youre a bad example, you know that? Rensler said. I dont know, Luca. Well just have to wait and see. It was bad enough that Davin had teased him relentlessly over the years about Jenica; he didnt need Luca joining in. Jenica lived out on an outlying farm, one of the farthest from Salden, and only came into town once a month or so. Rensler enjoyed the brief periods of time they spent together, but whether there was more to it was anyones guess. At his age, though, his unwed status was the interest of more than a few of the townsfolkDavin included. He wasnt interested in having that conversation right now. Luca, what happened to our guests? They stayed with Father Leneus for dinner, Luca replied. And to catch up, I assume, although they didnt really seem to know each other all that well. Did they say why theyre here? Not really, Luca said. Theyre quite nice, though. Well, Kahlia is. Zandren might be, but he didnt say much of anything, so Im not sure. But you wouldnt believe how much Kahlia knows about the world. Ill bet shes read every book sitting up on the mantle. He swept a hand out toward the fireplace for emphasis. I cant wait until they get back. I have so many questions for her. 65 Save those for tomorrow, Rensler said. He made a placating gesture at Lucas crestfallen look. Im sure theyd like to rest after being on the road, thats all. Let them have a peaceful night, and then you can bother them as much as you want tomorrow. Luca scrunched up his face, then nodded. I guess thats fine. Sounds like you found yourself a dancing partner too, Luca, Davin said, laughing. He drained the rest of his mug. Im going to take my leave for the night. I wish you both the best of luck with the ladies tomorrow. Rensler and Luca shot him a glare in unison, prompting more laughter as he walked away. The two of them lapsed into silence once more, letting the music fill the air between them. Rensler quickly found his eyes drooping again as he listened to the tune. You havent told Aunt Ophelia anything, have you? Luca whispered suddenly. He leaned across the table as far as he could, keeping his voice so low that Rensler could hardly make out the words. Worry was plain in his eyes. Of course not, Rensler said. Even if he wanted to, he had not had the opportunity, seeing as how busy Aunt Ophelia had been for most of the evening. I promised you I wouldnt. Luca sat back and let out a relieved sigh. I knew you wouldnt, butI just wanted to be sure. Besides, you know how she is. Sometimes she just knows somethings up and wont let you get away until you tell her. Oh, I know, Rensler said. She was probably still hung up on his earlier discomposure, now that he thought about it. Maybe she would forget about it during the festivities tomorrow. Just try not to look too suspicious around her tomorrow, and youll be fine. And Ill be by your side when we do tell her. 66 You know, Ive been thinking about that, Luca said. His gaze traveled the room for a moment, jumping from person to personmost were clapping and stamping their feet with the music, not paying attention to a whispered conversationbefore finally returning to Rensler. Do we have to tell her at all? Of course, Rensler said, adopting the same tone their aunt used when she would brook no argument. I knew hed try to wiggle out of this. The slightest whiff of responsibility always sent Luca running like a frightened deer. Luca wilted a bit before nodding slowly. All right, he mumbled, his eyes on the musicians. The music began to change, with each new song being slower and softer than the last, finally signaling that the performance was coming to an end. Rensler hummed along until the strange musician played his last note, then pulled the flute away from his lips and gave a short bow from his seat. A smattering of applause broke out throughout the common room. In the brief lull that followed, the creaking of the front door seemed to echo through the room. Heads turned to gawk as the two travelers stepped inside, and a moment later, the conversation picked up once more. Rensler eyed the Reforged before turning to Luca. Im going to head to bed, he said. Dont stay up too late now, and dont bother those two. I wont, Luca said, though his eyes kept flicking toward Kahlia. I mean it. Let them rest for a bit. Yeah, I got it, Luca huffed. Rensler shook his head but let the issue go. Goodnight, Luca, he said, then headed through the back corridor, where a dozen doors stood on either side, and climbed the stairs at the 67 end of the hall. All of the guest rooms were on the first floor of the inn, while the second floor contained half a dozen bedrooms. Master Halan had planned for a large family when he built the inn, but whether by chance or the will of some unknown god, he had sired no children, and so most of these rooms had stood empty until Rensler, Luca, and Aunt Ophelia showed up. He felt his way through the darkness to his bedroom. The hubbub from downstairs was only a faint murmuring up here, and within minutes, he was fast asleep. The sun hung high overhead as several hundred people filled the village center. All around him, Luca heard the ringing of laughter and shouts of victory as the townsfolk enjoyed the day. Harvestward was a time for merriment, for putting aside the worries of the coming winter and simply bask in the good company of ones fellows. The huge tower of wood in the great stone fire pit had not yet been lit, but that did not stop people from clustering nearby and radiating outward, dancing and singing and feasting in ever-shifting groups. Others were engaged in the dozens of games spread throughout the green spacefootraces, rope tug, and puzzle solving were the majority, though along the edges were larger spectacles. Men took turns carrying a heavy stone a few dozen yards before turning about and heading back to the start. There were contests to see who was the most accurate with a sling, who was the best fiddler, who was the best at darts, and many more, so many that Luca wondered if hed ever find a way to partake in everything all in one day. And, of course, there was the archery contest. Luca watched his older brother, who stood with one hand atop his bow as he eyed his fellow competitors with a calm expression, though his confidence seeped out through his easygoing stance. A handful of archers had already taken their turns, and while each had certainly impressed, none had hit the center of the last of the five 68 targets, a few hundred feet from the line of sticks that marked where the archers were to stand. Rensler and a dozen others waited their turn as a woman stepped up to the line and waited for her signal to begin. You think your brotherll win? asked the boy standing beside Luca. Kal was of an age with Luca but was half a head taller already. His father was one of the tallest men in Salden, and it already seemed like Kal might grow to be even larger. Luca snorted. Of course, he scoffed. Why wouldnt I? He lost last year. Hell win this year, Luca said. Im sure of it. Even as he said it, he was sure the words were not just empty boasting. His brother was an intense sort, and when he set his mind to doing something, he would never back down until he had succeeded. He had competed in the contest for the past four years, ever since he came of agethe youth of the village had their own contest, which Luca had no interest inand had only done better each time. The woman finished her shooting, followed by another, and another, until at last only Joran Lon and Rensler remained. Rensler held out a hand toward the line, beckoning for the old farmer to go first. Joran gave a gap-toothed grin and nodded. A moment later, he was given the starting command. Joran drew an arrow from the quiver at his hip, nocked, and loosed all in one smooth motion. As fast as Luca could blink, the arrow struck the center of the first target. The old man stepped to his right and loosed again, continuing the pattern until he had spent all five of his arrows. As they had done before, the people running the game took account of his arrows placement before letting him retrieve the shafts. 69 Luca squinted at the last target. As far as he could tell, the arrow had struck an inch away from the center mark. Luca grinned at Kal; the contest was as good as over. When the range was clear, his brother approached the line. His first arrow had hardly struck the target before he moved onto the second, not pausing even long enough to watch the missile strike the center of the wooden slab. Within seconds, an arrow extended from the center of four wooden targets. Rensler drew and sighted down the shaft at the last target, then exhaled and released. Thunk! The arrow struck the center dot on the target. A noisy cheer erupted from the onlookers, drawing the attention of half the village and interrupting the nearby singing. Luca grabbed Kal by the shoulders and whooped. I told you hed win, he said. Hold on, Kal said. They havent announced it yet. Luca flung out a hand toward the last target, where the game master was examining the arrow. He hit the center. No one else did that. Hes won it. Kal smirked, and Luca realized the other boy was simply trying to get under his skin. He knew why. They would be competing against each other soon in the climbing contest, along with their other two close friends. Well, I wont be riled up that easily, he thought. He stuck his tongue out at the other boy. Rensler went to retrieve his arrow, and even though Luca was sure his brother had won the contest, he walked back with stiff shoulders that betrayed his annoyance. His arrow must not have been perfectly in the center, Luca thought. He rolled his eyes; of course Rensler wouldnt be happy about that. Nothing short of perfection would satisfy his brother, even in victory. 70 As Rensler rejoined the other contenders, the game master held out his arms and cried out, This years winner, by a very narrow margin, is Rensler. The onlookers cheered as Rensler stepped forward to claim his prize, a lacquered walnut bow covered with swirling, elaborate carvings. Rensler accepted the reward with a smile before shaking hands with his fellow archers. Others began to press inward, their voices rising as they talked over one another about the contest. Turning, Luca slipped through the gathering like water flowing around rocks. He waited as Kal broke free from the crowd a few moments later. I dont know how you always get away so easily, the other boy said as they started off across the green. I guess people just like me better, Luca teased. He laughed and dodged away from Kal as the boy swung lazily at his shoulder, skirting around a group of children running around with long, colorful ribbons on sticks. Where do you think Owyn and Nielan are? he asked as they converged once more. Dunno, Kal said with a shrug. He nodded toward the tall oak tree, a lone sentinel rising from the grass to tower over the village. But if I had to guess, Id say over there already. Several dozen people already milled about the tree, hanging around for the contest to begin, and as Luca and Kal drew near, he thought he spotted their friends standing close to the trunk. Luca figured they still had some time to wait, which had provided a good opportunity for people to enjoy a break from feasting and games and simply take some time to chat. To his surprise, he noticed Kahlia sitting on a stool not too far from the tree, a sizable group of children arrayed in front of her. She looked to be telling a story, for she spoke with a wide smile and sweeping gestures. Luca wondered what kind of tale she was weaving. Whatever it was, the children watched her with rapt attention, occasionally letting out an excited squeal. 71 Luca let his gaze linger as he considered going to join them. He wanted nothing more than to simply listen to her tell stories about the world. As if in response, Kahlia glanced up, and her eyes fell directly on Luca. He paused, feeling a momentary thrill race through him before she resumed her storytelling. Kal hadnt seemed to notice the exchange, and Luca was glad to keep it that way as they wound through the crowd to find Owyn and Nielan. The four of them waited together, passing the time with idle chatter. Occasionally, Luca found himself peering through the crowd, trying to keep an eye on Kahlia and her audience, feeling a slight pang of jealousy every time. He wantedno, neededto talk to her. Most strangers who came through Salden had interesting stories to tell, but none had ever been so well traveled as Kahlia. What secrets of the world could she share with him? Eventually, the chatter of the crowd grew louder as the old carpenter, Bren Marwin, joined them at last, trailed by his two apprentices. It had been his idea, a long time ago, to carve out pockmarks and nail in blocks of wood to make the lone oak safe to climb. A red circle, its paint dull and weathered on the bark, sat a good thirty feet overhead, where the trees lowest branches began. Luca and his friends had spent the past few weeks climbing trees about this size, and Luca felt good about his chances today. All right, all right, settle down, Bren said as he reached the trunk. He began to go over the rules of the contest as his apprentices looped a thick length of rope around the tree, tying it off with just enough slack for the rope to move but not simply slide down on its own. Each man held the long ends of the rope, which would in turn be tied around the waist of the person climbing. The makeshift harness would generally keep someone from falling off the tree, but it 72 wouldnt stop them from getting scraped up if they slid down the bark. Still, that was better than some broken bones, Luca supposed. By the time Bren finished his lecture, more than a few people were tapping their feet or rocking back and forth with anticipation. Like with most contests at Harvestward, the people werent competing for anything particularly substantial, but the right to boast about a victory was a powerful allure. One by one, people came forth to climb, young and old alike. Most did not make it much more than a third of the way off the ground before admitting defeat. They picked their way back down slowly, careful to not slip despite the relative safety of the rope wrapped around them. A few managed to make it all the way to the top, where they slapped their hand against the red circle. For each of those, Bren and his apprentices made a note about who accomplished the feat the quickest. Anyone who made it to the top was declared a winnerreceiving one of Brens animal woodcarvings for their effortbut all of them would want to know who had been the very best of the bunch. When it was his turn, Luca stepped up to the trunk and let the apprentices tie a tight knot around him. With the rope firmly in place, Bren gave the signal to begin, and Luca started upward. It was slow going at first, even with the handholds, and he felt much like a caterpillar inching its way along a stick. But as he continued, the climb became easier every time he grasped the next handhold. A voice seemed to whisper somewhere in the back of his mind, guiding him along the best path, and his hands and feet felt as though they were sticking to the tree. He shivered, though he did not slow. The sensation was strange, but this was not the first time it had happened. More than once this past month, whenever he thought a climb was going to 73 be particularly difficult, it simplywasnt. He had not thought too much of itsurely it was all his imaginationuntil his fall yesterday. Summoning a cushion out of the air was far stranger than simply climbing faster. Now he couldnt stop fretting about what these abnormal powers might mean. So caught up was he in his thoughts that he nearly missed the red circle hovering in front of his face. He gave it a quick tap and glanced down at the onlookers; they looked up at him with excited smiles, waving and cheering now that he had reached the goal. Surveying the crowd, he paused as he caught sight of Kahlia, staring up at him with an intense, almost hungry look. It was gone in an instant, replaced by her usual pleasant expression. What was that about? he wondered. Had he simply imagined it? He shook his head and began his descent, moving far more slowly than he had on the way up. The last thing he needed now was to fall and risk another incident. Even with the rope tied around him, who knew what he would do if he slipped? Probably burn the whole tree down or something else equally destructive. His feet touched the grass a minute later, and the apprentices came forth to untie the sturdy rope. Not bad, Luca, Bren said, scribbling something on his ledger as he approached. Not bad at all. I reckon thats the fastest time yet. Hold on, Ive got something for you. He dug in the leather satchel hanging from his waist and produced a wooden figurine of a bear. The beast stood on its hind legs, which flowed seamlessly out of a square slab of oak, and held its mouth open in a silent roar. Luca marveled at the intricate, almost lifelike details. The carving seemed poised to come to life at any moment. Its gorgeous, Luca said, accepting the prize. Thank you. 74 Thats a special one you got there, Bren said, lowering his voice. Dont tell anyone, though. Wouldnt want them to get too envious now. I wont, Luca replied. He clutched the carving to his chest and moved aside for the next contestant. Bren gave him a conspiratorial wink before turning to the newcomer. Kal and the other boys swarmed Luca a moment later. They jostled one another as they clamored to the see the figurine. Luca balanced it on the palm of his hand. Hey, how come you got a bear? Owyn asked. I just got a sheep. Nielan crossed his arms. At least you got something. You would have too if you made it to the top. Oh, is that how the contest works? Luca rolled his eyes. You know Bren will let you try again. Just get back in line. You can wait with me, Kal chimed in. I havent even gone yet. He tugged Nielan, still grumbling, back toward the waiting contestants. Owyn watched them go, then turned back to Luca. You want to watch them? I think Nielanll get it this time. He just had a bad slip on the first attempt. Sure, Luca said slowly, though his attention was on the crowd. Where did she go? Actually, he said, Ill join you in a few minutes. I need to do something first. Owyn shrugged but did not pry further. He ambled off toward the other boys, and Luca wove his way through the onlookers, emerging on the other side. He surveyed the area around him. Everyone was carrying on the same as before, laughing, eating, and generally enjoying the day. He frowned. He was sure he had spotted Kahlia just moments ago. It seems youre quite the climber, her melodic voice came from behind him. He spun at the sound. She mustve watched me the whole time! He surprised himself by finding that he cared 75 so strongly, but there was something about this woman that made him want to impress her. Maybe it was simply the fact that she was someone new; he wasnt the only youth to ever try to dazzle a traveler. Whatever the reason, he did not fight the grin spreading across his face. Thank you, Ladyer, Kahlia, he said. She had said he didnt need to be so formal, but he couldnt help himself from giving a short bow. How are you enjoying the festival? Its quite lovely, she replied. Everyone is so friendly; I feel I mustve already eaten more than I have in the past week, and the afternoon has hardly begun. But Zandren and I would be remiss to not take what is given freely. Luca frowned and glanced about. He had not seen her quiet companion today, not even in the inns common room. Where is he? Im not certain, but hes undoubtedly found a way to entertain himself. Weve been on the road so long, just the two of us, that Im sure he is enjoying a change in company for a bit. She smiled and held out an inviting hand. Walk with me for a moment, will you? Im not used to sitting in one place for so long, and I need to move around some before I consume anything else. And I promised you wed speak further. Luca fell in beside her, trying his best to keep his eagerness from showing. They set out at a slow amble across the green, waving and greeting anyone they passed. A few let their curious gazes linger on Kahlia for a moment. Luca couldnt blame them. Despite her dismissal of formality, she looked a proper lady today, garbed in a stately dress with a cream-colored shawl draped over her shoulders. Her dark hair flowed back from a burnished metal band and hung in a series of braids, each one decorated with an assortment of beads. Luca had never seen such a style before; most of the women in Salden let their hair hang freely, only putting it up when in 76 the middle of hard work. Aunt Ophelia usually did that when she was cooking for a crowd or cleaning the whole inn. So Luca muttered. While he was enjoying the stroll, he had so many questions to ask. He was afraid theyd flow out like water from an overfilled cup once he started. But where to begin? She already talked about Thanalia, so not there. Maybe hed start with something simple and see where that took them. How long have you and Zandren been on the road? Kahlia tapped her chin. Hmm. About ten years, by this point, though our partnership extends further than that. Ten years! Luca spluttered. Why? I mean, what are you trying to find that its taking so long? Ten years. Theyd been traveling for well over half his lifetime. Kahlia chuckled. Zandren and I arent really searching for a particular thing or place. Were more ofitinerate wanderers. Our duty is to seek out stories across Ilden, and so we must always be preparing for our next step in the journey. Of course, we do stay put from time to time, sometimes for months even, but never long enough to put down roots. She touched a finger to the metal disc hanging around her neck and lightly traced the slumbering face. Is that why you wear that? Luca asked, pointing to the medallion. Father Leneus doesnt have one of those. Is it because he doesnt travel like you? He recalled the title that the priest had used last night. He called you a Seeker. What does that mean? An excellent question, Kahlia said. And one thats difficult to answer, truth be told. Gathering stories is only half of my journey. She undid the clasp and held the medallion out to Luca. Tell me, Luca, what do you see? 77 Luca examined the placid features on the metal. A bald head, with eyes shut and lips drawn into a thin line. Its just a face. A sleeping face. He frowned; was he supposed to be seeing something more? Thats right, Kahlia said. Do you know why? Why was the face sleeping? How was he supposed to know that? He had seen the symbol on the sign outside Leneuss church for all his life, and, somehow, he had never actually stopped to ask about its meaning. It had simply been a part of life he didnt question. I dont know, he admitted finally. But thats the face of Artras, right? Kahlia flashed him an encouraging smile. Thats correct. GodArtras, as we know himslumbers beneath the surface of the world, though we do not know where his resting place can be found. She tapped the medallion, causing it to swing lazily back and forth. And that is what else we seek. The Church is confident that the secret to finding Artras lies in the collective stories of humanity. Luca nodded hesitantly, his eyes on the medallion. He wasnt quite certain he knew what Kahlia was talking about, but she was clearly impassioned about it. Hold out your hands, Kahlia said. Luca did as instructed, cupping both hands together, and she set the medallion gently onto his palms. What do you feel? Itswarm, Luca said after a moment. The metal was indeed warm, but not simply from having been worn against her skin. This warmth felt morelively. It feels like its giving off its own heat. And itspulsing. Like a heartbeat. Not just a heartbeathis heartbeat. He could feel each gentle pulse from the metal travel through him with a rhythm that matched his own. Staring at the face on the disc, he wondered if the eyes would suddenly pop open, full of life. 78 He tore his gaze away from the metal and looked up at Kahlia, who now wore a satisfied smile. Is that supposed to happen? he asked. For some, yes, she said. She hooked a finger under the fine chain and lifted the medallion out of Lucas hands, then fastened it around her neck once more. But not for everyone. What does that mean? Kahlia bent slightly, just enough to put them at eye level. It means, Luca, that you are special. A great destiny awaits you She cut off and jerked her head to one side as something caught her eye. Luca followed her gaze, trying to discern what had drawn her attention. They stood near the edge of the green, and all he saw were the townsfolk enjoying the festival. Nothing out of the ordinary. Wait. Through the clusters of people, Luca spotted someone staring right at them, unmoving. Is thatthe musician? he thought. The man had been the first of the three strangers to arrive yesterday, managing to avoid drawing a crowd upon his arrival. Luca had seen him playing the flute briefly last night, but he hadnt spoken to the man. There was a dark cast to his gaze that Luca found unnerving. At last, Kahlia straightened and returned her attention to Luca. She smiled again, though Luca didnt think the expression was genuine this time. Why dont we continue this conversation later? she said. I think Ive kept you away from your friends for long enough. I forgot about Kal and Nielan! He glanced toward the oak tree; someone was climbing, though it did not appear to be either of the boys. He hoped they hadnt gone yet, or else hed never hear the end of it. That sounds great, he said to Kahlia. Im looking forward to it. 79 He jogged across the green, dodging around groups of people, one question filling his mind. What was the great destiny that awaited him? 80 Chapter 5 Night had fallen on Salden some time ago, accompanied by a full moon and tattered clouds. Ever so slowly, people had begun to trickle back to their homes, pleasantly fatigued from a day of festivities. Rensler sipped at a mug of honey ale as he sat on a bench near the great bonfire, still burning merrily after several hours. He tapped his foot softly upon the grass, taking great care not to jostle his new bow leaning against his leg, and hummed along with the tune coming from several instruments. It had been a good day. The warm weather had held up, a final gesture of goodwill from the fading summer, though at this hour, a chill wind now grew in strength. Soon enough, the bonfire would be dousedenough that it wouldnt accidentally burn across the green, at least and the rest of the villagers would find their way to their beds. Rensler himself should have done just that already, as his eyelids were starting to droop, and the mug was trying its best to free itself from his clutches. Two things had kept him awake this long. First was Luca, of course. The boy and his friends chatted with some of the older youths, leaving the adults to their own conversations. While Rensler did not expect any danger to befall his brother here, he did not fully trust Luca not to go off and do something foolhardy, not since yesterdays occurrence. For the most part, he had held that memory at bay throughout the day, but tomorrow would be here shortly, and then they would need to tell Ophelia about what had occurred. He stared down at his mug, mostly empty by now. What do we tell her? he wondered. He envisioned himself standing in the kitchen, Luca trying to hide behind him as Ophelia hurried about her tasks. This might sound strange, he told his aunt in his imagination, but I saw Luca fall 81 out of a tree the other day. Dont worry, though, because he used the power of a Marked to stop his fall. It was to the point, but it probably wouldnt do. There had to be a better way. Maybe they could just show her. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the thought. Surely that would work out well. Nearby, his other concern bade goodnight to an elderly couple, and then Joran Lon stumped his way over to the bench. He plucked the long-stemmed pipe from between his teeth and said, Mind if I join you for a spell? Not at all, Rensler said, patting the open space beside him. Joran lowered himself with a grunt. Been standing around too long. Knees are starting to ache. Cant tell the other old folks that, though, or theyll think Im getting soft. He puffed at his pipe. That was some good shooting today. Seems youve been practicing a bit since last year. Just a bit, Rensler echoed. Truth be told, he had spent countless hours loosing arrows at makeshift targets out in the woods, on top of the occasional hunt. Ive got room to improve, of course. All that practice, and he still couldnt hit the dead center of the far targetbut neither had Joran, he supposed. Aye, as do we all, the old man replied. Dont get hung up on it. I can count on one hand the times Ive made the perfect shot. But you dont have to be perfect to win. And you did, so thats what counts. Rensler shifted, growing uncomfortable. He appreciated the reassurance, unnecessary though it was. I suppose youre right, he murmured. Of course Im right. Im old! Joran let out a rasping laugh. You learn a few things over the years. Anyway. I wanted to make sure I congratulated you again before it got too late. Well probably be setting out early in the morning. 82 Have to ask him now, Rensler thought. He swiveled his head to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. Say, I actually had been meaning to ask you something today, he said aloud. I heard you talking about your sheep yesterday. Thought I heard something about an attack? Fessa thought it was maybe a wolf or a bear. Fessas wrong about that, but she wont hear it. What happened? Rensler asked. Jorans already gnarled face scrunched up even further, and he tapped his teeth on the end of his pipe before pulling it away. Just about a week ago, a little before dawn. I woke up hearing the flock panicking about something. Came outside and found two of my sheep torn in half. And I dont mean they were just gashed open. They looked like theyd been pulled apart and thrown aside, one half on either side of the pen. Well, one of them did, at least. I only found half of the other. The rest of the flock was huddled up in a corner; wouldve run off if they could. A sick feeling was building in Renslers stomach, and his tiredness was momentarily forgotten. Doesnt sound like a wolf, he said. What makes you say Fessa is wrong about it being a bear? I havent seen a bear around my farm in well over a decade, Joran replied. And even if a bear came at my sheep, it would simply take one with it. Bears are big and powerful, but even they dont rip helpless sheep in half like that, not unless theyre half-starved and eager to feed, leastways. He grimaced. Seems more like a sick joke being played on me and my flock. Cant just go around to all the farms making accusations, though. Even if I wanted to, I cant think of a soul who would do such a thing in the first place. 83 Neither can I, Rensler said with a shake of his head. The people who lived on the outlying farms were just as much a part of the community as those who resided in the village proper. No one in Salden was capable of doing something so barbaric. Fessa might have a point about building a bigger fence, though, Joran continued. He took the pipe from his mouth and tapped out the ashes against his boot. I pray this sort of thing wont happen again. Renslers mouth was dry. I saw something similar, yesterday morning, a few miles out in the Bralen. He recounted the scene of carnage that he had stumbled upon. Remembering the ripped apart carcasses only worsened the ill sensation in his gut. Jorans lined face was a grim mask by the time Rensler finished. Fates help me. Couldnt have waited until morning to tell me that, could you? He smiled to take the edge off the words. You told anyone else about this? No, Rensler said. I wasnt even sure I had seen it until I heard you talking about your sheep. And I didnt want to cause a panic the day before Harvestward. Smart, that, Joran said. Well, well have to tell some folks tomorrow. Daise, mostly. Whether this is the work of a man or beast, people will need to be alert. He sighed. Looks like I wont be leaving so early after all. Sorry for that. Joran waved a hand. Bah, dont be. This reeks of foul news, but at least now I can convince others that I wasnt just being a crazy old man seeing things in the dark. Hands on his knees, he pushed himself to his feet. Right. Thats enough sour talk for one night. I imagine well have plenty more in the morning. He inclined his head to Rensler and set off toward the inn. 84 Goodnight, Joran, Rensler said. He remained seated for a few minutes longer, watching and listening to the other conversations. Most were finally winding down, though Luca and his companions looked ready to carry on long into the night, thanks to the leniency parents afforded on the night of a festival. After several moments, he caught his brothers eye and gave him a tight-lipped smile and a nod. You can keep enjoying yourself, but dont stay out too late, the gesture implied. Luca grinned in understanding. Rensler grabbed his new bow and made for the inn. Inside, the common room was emptyall of the guests were either outside or in their rooms by nowand a half dozen candles provided the only light, but it was enough for Rensler to navigate his way to the back hallway, illuminated by a single lantern hooked on a wall. More often than not, Ophelia preferred to let darkness fully descend upon the inn, but when were guests were around, she made sure to leave out a few lights, though the fireplace never remained lit without supervision. Even the flickering candles being left unattended overnight made her nervous. Rensler shared the sentiment. He still remembered the burning houses of Darrow vividly. Pale moonlight filtered in through the window on the other side of the upper landing, painting a white stripe across the center of the wide room. Rensler stepped into his darkened bedroom and set his new bow to one side, then, now regretting leaving his curtains drawn that morning, gingerly crossed to the window. His quarters werent cramped by any means, nor should anything be waiting to trip him, but it never hurt to be careful. His hands were on the curtains when he heard the faint creak of a floorboard in the outer room. Was that Luca coming in already? Odd. He hadnt expected his brother back for another hour, at least. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see a figure step into the doorway, a black blob silhouetted against the dim moonlight, and charge into the room. 85 Rensler twisted around as the figure dove for him. Who was all he could manage before the figure slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs and carrying them both to the floor. Dazed, Rensler struggled against his assailant. Strong hands locked onto his wrists and pinned them down. He kicked upward and struck the figure in the back, eliciting a grunt, but his attacker did not let up. The figure shifted and pressed one knee down upon Renslers chest. He sucked in a ragged breath and rocked from side to side, trying to dislodge his assailant, but the figure clung tightly to him, then began to pull his wrists closer together. Rensler resisted, his muscles straining against the iron grip. For a few agonizing moments, they remained locked in place as both struggled to gain control. Too strong, he thought. He couldnt let his hands be pinned together, but he didnt know how much longer he could hold out with the weight on top of him. Need help. He beat his heel against the floorboards. The inn was full; surely someone would hear. The figure jerked suddenly and let out a pained gasp as something emerged from its chest with a ripping sound. Not something. A sword. The tip withdrew, and blood trickled onto Rensler before the body was lifted off of him and thrown to the side. The room was silent save for Renslers heavy breathing. He lay still, not yet daring to move as the warm blooda persons bloodsoaked through the front of his shirt. He glanced at the twitching body beside him, then at his savior, another dark figure standing just past the doorway. Are you all right? his savior said. It was a mans voice, deep and smooth. Rensler recognized it, though he had only heard it for the first time yesterday. 86 Zandren? he thought. Was that his name, the man with three swords? The figure started forward. Stay back! Rensler shouted. He scooted back toward the wall, managing to push himself up into a seated position. His eyes darted between Zandren and the body, and he had to fight to keep bile down. Easy, Zandren murmured. He threw open the curtains, letting in the lively orange glow of the fire and revealing the grim expression upon his rugged face. He was dressed in his traveling attire, not like someone who had just gotten out of bed to investigate a loud noise upstairs. A sword hilt stuck out over one shoulder, while an empty scabbard hung from his left hip. He knew this was coming, Rensler thought. Why else would the man be so heavily armed? Aloud, he said, Whatwhat just happened? His gaze slid back toward the body. Who was that? Zandren stared at something outside. Watchers, he said. Theyre here to kill your brother. This one here probably wanted you out of the way too. He nudged the body with a foot. They usually go after the families as well as the Vestige. The words were delivered with such nonchalance that Rensler was sure the man was joking. He let out a nervous chuckle, but Zandrens stony visage did not budge, and Renslers laughter died out as quickly as it had come. He pressed both hands against his head, struggling with the absurdity of the situation. People were here to kill Luca? To kill Aunt Ophelia and Rensler himself? This has to be a dream, he thought. Ill wake up any moment now. After several momentsin which he most certainly did not wake upRensler let out a long breath. I dont understand, he muttered. Whos they? Why do they want to kill Luca? 87 As I said, Watchers. Zandren came closer and grabbed Rensler underneath one arm before he could escape. On your feet now. We need to find your brother and stop the others from burning down your entire village. Last I saw him, he was by the fire, Rensler said as Zandren pulled him up. Wait. Burning down the village His throat tightened as he peered through the window and realized that it was not the bonfires light reaching up to his room. Across the village, houses were burning. Rensler could discern no pattern to the destruction; where the flames licked at one home, the next five stood untouched. People had begun to spill outside, scrambling about and raising alarms. Some carried weaponsiron pokers and walking sticks, whatever was on handready to defend their homes. Wait Those werent just villagers running to and fro. Armed figures wove their way through the houses as well, torches still in handand a group of seven were striding across the green, headed for the inn. Rensler froze as he felt his heart quicken. We have to go, Zandren said, already halfway through the doorway. Theyre going to set fire to this building if we dont stop them. When Rensler said nothing, the man stormed back into the room and grabbed him by the arm. Get moving. Your brother is in danger. Rensler finally broke his gaze away from the scene of chaos, then nodded to Zandren. The other man vanished into the hall. Rensler made to follow but drew up short after only a couple steps, then retrieved his hunting knife from his trunk. No sense in being unarmed, especially if Zandren expected him to be useful. With a final, sickening glance at the bodyhe was not looking forward to cleaning that uphe hurried out of the room, taking the stairs down two at a time. 88 A minute later, he stepped out into the brisk night air once again, halting beside Zandren a few paces outside the door. The other man rested one hand on the hilt of his sword, now sheathed at his hip. The seven shadowed figures paused. Though Rensler could not see their faces, he knew they were watching him. Well, Zandren, more like. The large man struck an imposing figure with his two swords, while Rensler knew he must look pitiful by comparison, not to mention woefully unequipped for any sort of a fight. You said they were going to burn down the inn, Rensler whispered. He didnt take his eyes off the group. Why havent they just done it already? Why send in the lone man at all? Unlessmaybe his role had simply been to lure them outside, make it easier for his companions to finish them off. When I tell you, run, Zandren whispered. You have to find your brother before they get to him. Rensler stared at the figures as they started forward once more. Two held torches aloft, while the other five gripped swords and axes. How are you going to fight so many? Kahlia will be here any moment now, Zandren said. What can she possibly do Just do as I say, the older man growled as he strode forward. One hand reached for the sword on his back and pulled it free in one smooth motion. Dazzling light, white tinged with gold, radiated from the blade. The others stopped, the sword illuminating their faces just enough for Rensler to see the mixture of fear and determination there. Theyre just people, he thought. Part of him had hoped they were creatures of the dark, come alive from one of the storybooks on the mantle. Monsters invading his village in the middle of the night was easier to stomach. 89 Behind him, he heard the door to the inn swing open, and he twisted as Kahlia emerged, wind tugging at her cloak. Like Zandren, she still wore what she had throughout the day, despite the fact that she had returned to her quarters hours ago. She said nothing as she took in the situation and simply raised her arms, palms pointing at the approaching figures. Light encircled her arms, and a torrent of fire, the same white-gold of Zandrens blade, erupted from her hands. Panicked shouts rang out as the blast incinerated one of the attackers, the scream of agony lasting only a second as the body fell back. Now, Rensler! Zandren bellowed. Run! He charged forward, sword held high. In an instant, the green broke out into chaos. Rensler tore his gaze away from the scene and darted off, the sound of battle ringing in his ears, mingling with the pounding of his heart. He sprinted as fast as he could down the street, passing by other villagers as they worked together to put out the fires. Not as many houses were alight as he had initially feared, but the way they were spread throughout the village could only mean that there were numerous invaders. Dozens, at least. And there was something odd about the fires. They were almost too haphazard. He heard more shouts ahead. Rounding a street corner, he saw a handful of villagers grappling with the unknown attackers. He hesitated, then rushed forward. A man shoved one of the villagers to the ground. Rensler slammed into the assailant before he could stab downward. He stumbled to the side; another villager swung a quarterstaff at the back of the mans head, cutting off his curse with a sickening crack. He crumpled in a heap. The other attackers broke off, fleeing into the darkness. Rensler helped the fallen villagera man named Cardento his feet, who nodded his thanks. Is anyone hurt? Rensler asked. More shouts rang out from somewhere nearby. 90 Carden looked past Rensler to the other four. Dont think so, he said. We all came outside when we heard the noise and found that lot trying to set fire to the Marewin house. He gestured toward a nearby building. A few singe marks were visible along the outer wall, but they had kept the thatched roof from being set aflame. Dont know why they chose mine, said Jerl Marewin as he and the others approached. He was a stout man with a bushy beard that hung halfway down his chest. He clutched his quarterstaff with thick fingers. Me and Doria were just getting the young ones to bed when Owyn started hollering about some strange folk outside. But why this house? Rensler thought. Whats special about the Marewins? Unless He breathed in sharply as pieces of the puzzle finally clicked into place. These invaders werent here for Lucafor they didnt know who Luca was. They only knew they were after someone of an age with him, which meant any number of families were endangered. The fires are to get the families to come outside. Then they can make sure they found the right one. Hopefully they wont come back this way, Jerl went on. We should get moving, see if we can help anyone else out of this nightmare. Have any of you seen Luca? Rensler asked before they could move. Jerl scrunched up his bearded face as Carden and the others shook their heads. Luca? No, havent seen him since earlier. He didnt come back to the inn? No. Might be he went off with Kal or Nielan. I was afraid of that, Rensler said. Kals family lived nearby, but hed have to circle back toward the inn to check on Nielans home. At full speed, he figured he could get from one 91 end of the village to the other in just a few minutes, but by then, it could be too late. Every passing second only worsened his fears. Jerl clapped Rensler on the shoulder. If we see your brother, well keep him safe. And tell him youre looking for him. Thanks, Rensler said. He split off from the group as they headed off down the street, running through yards and vaulting over little wooden fences, and quickly emerged onto another road of packed dirt. Firelight from up the street drew his attention, where a half dozen villagers were trying to douse the flames threatening to consume a houseKals house, if he werent mistaken. Fates! Luca! he shouted as he rushed forward. Only one personHila, Kals mother turned to regard him. She kneeled beside an unmoving man in the street; as Rensler came closer, he could see the blood glistening on her hands as she pressed a cloth against the mans stomach. Rensler! she called out. Thank the Fates youre all right. Sweat and blood mingled on her face, and her hair stood up in a wild tangle. Behind her, a few people beat at the flames with heavy blankets, while the other twoKal among them, Rensler noticed with reliefrushed back and forth to the nearby well with pails of water. Rensler crouched beside Hila, sparing a glance at the man on the ground. His breathing was slow and ragged; hed be gone soon enough. Hila, have you seen Luca? He never came back to the inn whenall this started. I havent. Im sorry. She exhaled sharply and finally let up the pressure. I feel like Ive stepped into a nightmare. 92 We all have, Rensler said. He cursed inwardly. If Luca were not here, that meant he must be on the other side of the village, near the start of the South Road. How many attacked your home? Five, I think, Hila said. It was hard to tell in the dark, and then the fire started. We scared them off with some help. She waved toward the others. Couldnt have been more than ten minutes ago. What is happening here, Rensler? Who were those people? Rensler shook his head. I dont know. Raiders out of the mountains, maybe. Something like that hadnt happened since long before he came to Salden, though. He didnt think the notion sounded particularly convincing, but Hila didnt argue. He rose to his feet. Im sorry, but I cant stay and help. I have to find Luca. Hila gave an absent nod, and Rensler took off once more at a headlong dash. Skirmishes broke out here and there as clusters of villagers fended off the invaders. By now, everyone in the village must have been awake, taking to the streets to put out the fires. He ignored them as they cried out to him, guilt stabbing at him each time. Luca first. Once he found his brother, he could help the rest of the village. He was breathing hard by the time he made it to the green, and a wave of relief washed over him as he saw the inn still standing, unscathed. Lantern light shone through the windows of the common room. A handful of guests milled about outside; the rest either remained in their rooms or had gone to offer assistance where they could. As Rensler passed by, he noticed the seven bodies lying scattered across the grass outside the inn, bearing charred and blackened wounds. Some were missing entire limbs, and one had its upper torso blasted off completely. Kahlia and Zandrens handiwork, he realized. Of those two, though, there was no sign. Where did they run off to? 93 He was just beyond the green when a sudden howl, deep and guttural, split the night, echoing across the village and causing Rensler to stumble. What was that? It was deeper than any wolf howl he had ever heard; it had almost soundedhuman. Fear gripped him as the slaughter in the woods flashed across his mind. Shoving the memory asidehe couldnt afford to think of that right nowhe spurred himself into motion, listening intently for any commotion. He hoped to hear his brothers voice, calling out over the rest of the chaos of the night. There. Footsteps ahead. People runningthree, by the sound of it. Rensler veered toward the direction of the sound. The southern end of the village had apparently fared better than the rest of it. None of the buildings here were aflame; either the attackers hadnt bothered or the villagers had quickly fended them off. But someone was definitely giving chase nearby, of that much he was certain. At the next intersection, he saw a figure disappear in the space between two houses. Hey! he shouted, dashing after it. Skidding around the side of the first house, he saw three figures in front of himthen jerked to a halt, his eyes going wide as he beheld a nightmare come to life. The lead figure held a torch, revealing a dark mass easily half again as tall as a man. The beast stood on two legs, though its elongated arms, each bearing an additional joint, hung nearly to the ground and ended in hands as wide as Renslers chest. Coarse black fur covered its body, growing thicker around the shoulders, and a wolf-like head sprouted from the tangle. The creature snarled, its jaw opening far wider than should have been possible, revealing rows of jagged teeth. It regarded the lot of them with eyes that looked far too human, then threw back its 94 head, filling the air once more with that horrendous shriek, a mixture of a wolfs howl and a distinctly human wail. Something lay on the ground before the creature. A person, unmoving. Renslers breath caught in his throat. Please dont be him, he thought frantically as sweat broke out on his brow. He wanted to rush forward, to see if it was Luca, but his feet would not budge as terror, more powerful than any he had felt before, coursed through him. He was a child all over again, watching his mother go to her death. If the three before him shared his fear, they did not show it. They let out a cry as they charged forward, swords flashing. The creature snarled as they came on. One of its arms snaked forward, faster than Rensler would have thought possible, and grabbed the first person, its long fingers encircling their waist. Claws like knives dug into flesh, prompting an agonized scream. The creature flung its prey to the side, smashing the figure against a house; it crumpled to the ground in a broken heap. Arms out wide, the monster stepped forwardtaking care not to crush the bundle at its feetand bellowed at the other two. The fight was over as quickly as it began. Both arms extended, the beast surged forward and impaled one of its attackers through the midsection, just underneath the ribs. He screamed as the other slashed at a furred arm, trying desperately to free their companion. Wisps of gray smoke wafted upward from the wound, and a smell like rotting meat hit Rensler like a wall. The creature hardly seemed to notice. Lifting the struggling man from his feet, it ripped its clawed hands apart, tearing the man in twain. Blood and entrails sprayed outward in an arc, a few droplets splattering across Renslers cheek. The creature tossed the pieces of the ruined corpse to the side with a casual air. 95 Rensler choked out a cry as the last man charged forward to his death. The man managed to dodge a wide sweep of a clawed hand, scoring another hit across the creatures chest and finally prompting a howl of pain. The creature did not retreat, though, and as the man pulled back, the beast caught him by one arm. The man looked back at Rensler, fear plain on his face. A strangled help was all he managed before the creature gripped his face in one hand and squeezed, filling the air with the sound of crunching bones and a thick red spray. The creature let the man drop, his head a mangled ruin. The beast turned to Rensler, and its face contorted, the mouth widening to display the rows of teeth in a cruel approximation of a grin, and a deep, rumbling sound reverberated from its chest. Laughter. Fates, the thing was laughing. Rensler stumbled back. Im about to die, he thought numbly. What could he possibly do against something like this? The creature started toward him, its hideous laughter echoing in Renslers ears. There was a crack like thunder just behind him, and a bolt of white light shot past his head, so close that he felt searing heat on his cheek. The bolt slammed into the creature, knocking it off its feet and sending it crashing to the ground. Bewilderedyet elated to be aliveRensler whipped his head around. Kahlia stood only a few paces away, ribbons of light swirling around her outstretched arms. Move! she barked, stepping forward. Her shout knocked Rensler out of his stupor at last. He darted forward, ignoring Kahlias cry, and dove toward the unmoving figure on the ground, the one the beast had stood overhis 96 brother. Rensler hooked his arms underneath Lucas shoulders and began to drag him back, away from the creature, now rising from where it had fallen. It bellowed as it saw Rensler, its toohuman eyes staring at him with an intense hatred. Another bolt of light shot forward. The beast leaped to one side as the blast struck the ground, sending up a shower of dirt and rocks. Rensler hastened backward as Kahlia kept up her barrage, forcing the beast to keeps its distance, its anguished shrieking growing steadily louder. Rensler pulled Luca out into the street and set him down, looking him over in the flashes of light. The boy appeared to be uninjured, to Renslers immense relief, though he could not help but wonder why. Had that thing actually been protecting Luca? He heard a loud crash as the creature leaped up onto the nearest building. Without thinking, Rensler threw himself to the ground as the beast pounced, its terrible claws missing him by mere inches as it skidded past. It righted itself, growling, only to be struck in the side by a burst of light. The fur on one side of its body had burned away, revealing gray flesh underneath, now cracked and blackened. I cant believe it, Rensler thought. Shes actually hurting it. Indeed, the creature watched them both in turn, eyes full of hate, panting as more of that gray smoke billowed upward from its wounds. For a moment, Rensler wondered if it might flee, like any wounded animal would when outnumbered, but its snout twisted into a gruesome snarl as it lunged forwardstraight at Rensler. He tensed and cried out, helpless on the ground. Light flashed over him, bright enough to fill his vision with spots, and he heard a scream of pain, a horrific intermingling of human and animal, and felt a heavy weight shake the ground. He blinked rapidly as his eyes readjusted to the darkness. 97 The creature lay nearby, its head a charred ruin. Horrified and fascinated, Rensler watched as the things chest collapsed inward, flesh and fur sloughing off of its bones as the entire corpse began to melt into a dark, oily substance that spread across the dirt. Rensler scooted back and covered his nose as the stench assailed him. The ooze began to seep into the earth, and within seconds, nothing remained of the creature save for a dark patch of dirt. Rensler kept still for a few moments longer, hardly daring to breathe, waiting for the creature to reemerge. Nothing happened. Finally, he rolled over onto his hands and knees and emptied his stomach upon the road. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes as he retched. A hand touched his shoulder. He jerked to the side as though hed been bitten before making sense of what he was seeingKahlia, standing beside him. What, Rensler croaked, coughing, was that? He wiped his lips on his shirt sleeve. A foul beast, Kahlia said. The spawn of a dark god. A demon. Rensler stared at her, dumbfounded. This woman was insanejust as this entire night had been. Are you hurt? Kahlia asked, unimpeded. I dont think so, Rensler said. He climbed to his feet on shaking legs, shrugging off the womans attempt to help him, and went to Lucas side. His brother bore no wounds that he could see, and he was breathing steadily, but he did not stir as Rensler shook him. He stared up at Kahlia, unable to keep the panic from his voice. Whats wrong with him? The woman shook her head. I dont know, she said. But we should get him out of the street. She grasped one of Lucas arms. Rensler shoved her hand aside. Dont touch him! he snarled. I am merely trying to help. 98 I dont care, Rensler muttered. Nothing like this has ever happened until you people showed up. I assure you, this was not our fault. Rensler shook his head; he had not the strength to keep up the argument right now. Follow if you must, he said, throat burning, but do not lay a hand upon him. He hoisted Lucas limp form across his shoulders, grunting as he settled the weight, and set off for the inn, Kahlia following silently behind. 99 Chapter 6 A crowd of people milled about the front entrance of the inn, drawn outside by all of the nighttime commotion. They gawked even as Rensler barked at them to move and pushed his way to the door. In his arms, Luca still hadnt stirred, though his chest continued its slow rise and fall of someone deep in slumber. Rensler burst into the common room, startling the handful of guests who had remained inside, and, ignoring their concerned cries, made his way through the dimly lit halls. Upstairs, he shouldered open Lucas door and set the boy gently upon his bed, then busied himself with getting a lantern lit and hanging from a wall hook. He had just seated himself upon a stool when Ophelia rounded the corner, candle in hand. The light illuminated her face from below, giving her a haggard look, and her hair hung in a tangled mess. By the Fates she said as she caught sight of Luca. A strangled cry tore its way free as she knelt at the bedside. She placed a hand on Lucas forehead, then on his chest for several moments before letting out a sigh. Her eyes locked onto Rensler. What happened? I was attacked in my bedroom, Rensler said, keeping his eyes on his brother. A man was trying to kill me. Zandren saved me. He said theywhoever they werehad come to kill Luca and the rest of us. That they were going to burn down the village if we didnt stop them. He ran his fingers through his hair. I found Luca nearly on the outskirts. He was running from a group of them, but acreature came out of the night and. The image of the beast flashed through his mind again. Razor sharp claws and a mouth brimming with teeth. The thing had torn into Lucas pursuers with a casual ease even as they struck it. But it hadnt touched Luca. It had protected Luca. 100 The creature killed the ones chasing Luca, he continued. It wouldve killed me too if Kahlia hadnt found me when she did. The woman had emerged from the night, hands wreathed in that white-gold flame, like a hero in the legends that Luca loved so much. Were it not for her, he would have been ripped apart as well. Part of him was surprised she hadnt let it happen. She had saved him, yes, but she and her quiet companion had brought the problem to Salden in the first place. Before today, they had never had any problems with strange people setting fire to their homes or monsters lurking in the night. The Marked and their bizarre powers had remained in stories where they belonged. A knock on the wooden doorframe drew his attention and pulled him halfway to his feet before he stopped himself. He scowled as he saw Kahlia hovering in the doorway, her everpresent shadow Zandren lurking behind her. What do you want? Ophelia said. Her voice was an angry snarl that Rensler had never heard before. Kahlia retained a placid expression, apparently unfazed by the threatening tone. Her gaze settled on Luca as she stepped fully into the room. Is he all right? Idont know, Rensler said. He scooted a few inches away, staying out of reach of those hands, fearing theyd come alight without warning. What did you do to him? Ophelia growled. Why wont he wake? I did nothing to him, Kahlia replied calmly. Though I suspect that being so near to me when I unleashed my power against the demon triggered a reaction from the soul within. The experience likely overwhelmed his mind, and it shut down temporarily to protect itself. Rensler surged to his feet, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. Fates! Do either of you ever speak sense? What does any of that mean? 101 Zandren stirred behind Kahlia, brushing his fingertips on his sword hilt. He fixed Rensler with a flat look. Rensler stared back defiantly. He didnt care how threateningly the man glared at him, not with his brother lying unconscious before him because of these two. She thinks Luca is the Vestige. Ophelias words had a hollow ring to them. She thinks Luca has the soul of her god living inside of him. She looked up at Kahlia. Isnt that right? Surprise flickered across the Seekers face, so quickly that Rensler thought he might have imagined it. Thats right, she said. I must admit I did not expect to find one who knows of such things out here, so far from Thanalia. Leneus has spread his teachings, it seems. An ashen expression crossed Ophelias features, one that frightened Rensler nearly as much as that creature. I didnt learn that from him. What kind of nonsense is this? Rensler asked, looking between the two women. Luca isnt a god. Neither of the women said anything for a moment. Thats true, he isnt, Kahlia said at last, breaking away from watching Ophelia. The Vestige is not a god, but a mortal who bears the wandering soul of Artras. She shook her head. I think it would be best to save this conversation for the morning. But I will explain everything tomorrow, Kahlia insisted. I swear it. Rensler plopped back down onto the stool. I knew you two were dangerous, he said. He could not keep the venom from his words. You and that other man. How convenient that the three of you appeared on the same day. 102 Mind your tongue, boy, Zandren said sharply. Were it not for our presence, your village would be nothing but ash come morning, and youd be bleeding out on your rug even now. Kahlia placed a hand on Zandrens forearm. Peace, Zandren. He has every right to be upset. She turned to Rensler. I am sorry that all of this has happened. Indeed its no coincidence that we should arrive alongside the Watchers, though I assure you that their intentions are in opposition to ours. And those would be? At present, they are to keep your brother safe, Kahlia said. Fret not. The Watchers wont strike again tonight, not with their numbers reduced so and the village now alerted to their presence. Rensler doubted she knew for certain. The man who tried to kill him had snuck upstairs unbothered; surely nothing was to stop another from doing the same. He came from inside the inn, though, he reminded himself. The other strangerthe musicianhad seemingly let the man in. Last Rensler had seen, the musician was running off into the night with his remaining companions, so perhaps they truly were safe for the moment. There was nothing to do about that now but worry. He glanced back at Luca, more to assure himself that his brother was still beside him. Isnt there anything you can do to help him? Im afraid not, Kahlia replied. I do not bear the Blessing of Vitality. Your brother will be fine, though. You must simply wait for him to wake when he will. She stepped toward the door, and Zandren moved back out into the outer room. I truly am sorry that you have been 103 caught up in this, Rensler, and you as well, Ophelia. All shall be made clear tomorrow. She inclined her head at both of them in turn, then followed Zandren to the stairwell. Rensler waited until the sounds of their footsteps had faded before turning to his aunt. How did you know what she was talking about? She kept her eyes on Luca as she let out a long sigh. There is much to explain, Rensler, though I think that woman has the right of it. Some things are better spoken of in the light of day. She rose, brushing a hand down the front of her garment, and met his gaze at last. You should get some rest. I suspect tomorrow will beeventful. She leaned over Luca and planted a kiss on his forehead, then did the same to Rensler as she passed by. Ill try, Rensler mumbled as she headed toward her own bedroom. He rested his elbows on his knees, face in his hands, listening to the soft sound of Lucas breathing in the otherwise silent night. With his headlong dash through the village ended, the urgency that had propelled his body forward had fled, and in its place came a wave of exhaustion, though he could not rest just yet. For several minutes, he simply watched his brother sleep, until at last he felt tears trailing down his cheeks. He let them fall. No one could see his shame. Thirteen years ago, he swore to protect his brother. The last promise he had made his mother. Now, he had nearly broken that promise twice in as many daysand he wasnt the one who had kept Luca alive. Were it not for that woman, Luca would surely be dead. Youre useless, a voice said within him. A cruel reflection of his own. Admit it. No, he whispered. You cant protect him. Youve already failed. You will continue to fail. 104 He squeezed his eyes shut, then pressed his fists against the sides of his head, breathing in deeply as he willed the voice to be silent. Fates, why did every failure, no matter how large or small, make him think this way? His brother went through life with such an upbeat disposition, never letting his mistakes drag him down. Why couldnt Rensler do the same? Focusing on the rhythm of his breathing helped to quiet that inner voice, and soon enough he was able to push back the dark presence on his mind. Luca was alive. That was all that mattered. Whether that was through his efforts or not was irrelevant. He remained bent over, arms folded across his knees and under his head, and kept his eyes shut. Forcing them to remain open was becoming a struggle. He was just so tired. Maybe if he just stayed like this for a few minutes He awoke with a jerk and toppled from the stool, entangling himself in his blanket as he did so. Waitblanket? Whered that come from? He looked toward the window, where sunlight filtered through the cracks in the curtains. How long had he been asleep? His back felt as though he had been bent in twoprobably because he had evidently slept through the night hunched over. Carefully, he extricated himself from the blanket and was most of the way free when he noticed the empty bed. Panic gripped him as he flung himself to his feet. Where was Luca? Had those people come back, found a way into the inn and stolen his brother? Fates, he shouldnt have fallen asleep! He heard the voices then, drifting up from below, just barely audible now that he stood still. Many voices, several dozen or so, all talking at the same time. For how long the conversation had been going, he didnt know, but it was growing quite loud to have reached him all the way up here. Luca must be down there as well, he realized. That many people in the 105 common room could only mean the guestsand possibly some of the townsfolkwere awake and discussing the previous nights events. Why hadnt Ophelia fetched him, then? Grumbling, he left Lucas bedroom and halted outside his own, where the door still hung open. The corpse was gone, the rug that had covered the center of the room with it, leaving behind a bare wooden floor that bore no signs of last nights struggle. Ophelia must have seen to that as well, but even with help, removing the body, not to mention cleaning up afterward, would have taken some time. Had he really slept through that too? He rarely slept so soundly in his own bed. With a shake of his head, he headed down the stairs, straightening his coat as best he could as he moved through the hallway. The clamor from the common room grew steadily louder as he drew near. Chaos greeted him as he rounded the last corner. Far more people than he had expected at least fifty, by his quick countpacked into the wide room, filling every chair and stool, leaving others to stand in the open spaces against the outer wall. Kahlia and Zandren were among those, keeping to the far corner of the room. A few feet of empty floor separated them from the rest of the gathering, as if an invisible barrier held them back. Those nearby cast furtive glances back at the two strangers, though they merely scowled, saying nothing. Rensler understood the villagers apprehension, and he felt his own ire rising. Individuals as well as whole families had come out, the young children sitting on parents knees. The air was warm, both from the low fire in the hearth and the bodies all packed together. Rensler wasnt sure he had ever seen so many people gathered here before. Most bore haggard expressions and ash-stained clothes. Everyone was speaking at once, shouting to be heard over those beside them. Did we run them off for good? 106 What are we going to do if they come back? They broke my front door clean in two. Door? Half my house is burned up! Unnoticed by most, Rensler remained in the doorway, scanning the room until he spotted Luca, hovering near the entrance to the kitchen. Despite what had happened, the boy looked no worse for wear, though his face was a withdrawn mask, far different from his usual grin. Rensler started forward through the crowd, then froze as a loud thud echoed throughout the room. Thats enough! Daise bellowed over the din. Cease your squabbling. She climbed up onto a chair, gripping the shoulder of the tall boyone of her grandsonsbeside her. Even with the added height, the diminutive woman barely stood as tall as the boy, but her words rang out with the force of a hammer striking an anvil, and her piercing glare was enough to quiet even the loudest voices. A hush fell over the room. Thats better, Daise said. I understand your pain. We all lost something last night. Some more than others. She paused, and her meaning dawned on Rensler like a bucket of cold water being dumped on his head. How many had been killed? Who had been killed? Everything had been such a blur last night in his rush to find Luca; he hadnt even considered what the rest of the villagers had to deal with. The time for mourning will come, but we must first ensure that no further harm comes to this village. Return to your homes, assess the damages, and help your neighbors where you can. We will get through this together, just as we always have. If anyone needs a place to stay, you may find shelter here. Ophelias voice called out in the lingering quiet. This inn belongs to all of you as much as it does me. She now stood beside 107 Luca in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a cloth. Her hair was pulled back into a neat tail, but the dark circles around her eyes bespoke her fatigue. She ducked back into the kitchen as quickly as she had come. How long ago had she risen? Rensler felt a stab of guilt at not having come down sooner. A murmur of thanks rippled through the crowd, which then grew in volume as everyone began to speak again, though the conversations now turned to talks of rebuilding. People began to shuffle out through the front door, a handful at a time. As the space cleared, Rensler finally found his way to his brother, and, without thinking, pulled him into a tight embrace. Thank the Fates youre all right, Rensler said. Luca mumbled something into Renslers chest. He held his brother out at arms length, studying his face. Remarkably, he showed no sign of injury. Are you all right? Luca gave him a weak smile. Ithink so. I feel fine. I justdont remember much of anything from last night. What do you remember? Running, mostly, Luca said. His gaze flitted around the room, never settling on any one place. Everything was calm and quiet. Most people had finally gone home. I was walking with Kal and the others not too far from the green when suddenly we heard all the shouting. We saw the fires start. And then there were people in the streets, our people and people we didnt know, all rushing about. The four of us ran, but we got split up. When I was on my own, I heardsomething. He shuddered. Kind of like a dog growling, only angrier than any dog Ive heard. Something was in the dark with me, but I couldnt see it clearly, and then those people found meand thats all I remember. I woke up in bed, thinking it was all a dream until I saw you sitting there doubled over. I knew something had 108 happened; you havent sat by my bed like that since that fever I had seven years back. Then I came down here as people started to come in, all talking about last night They said you carried me all the way back here. Practically trampled anyone who got in your way. He trailed off, then finally met Renslers eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was a hoarse whisper. I heard a few people saying they were after meand others around my age. Do you think thats true? Rensler grimaced. I dont know, he admitted. But dont start blaming yourself for what happened. You didnt bring those people here. That did trouble him, though. How had all those people snuck into the village so suddenly? Even with the cover of night, surely someone would have noticed several dozen invaders appearing in the village. Then again, perhaps not; it was the night of a festival, after all. Most people had bellies full of sweets and wine by the end of the day, and they would have gone to their beds content, unsuspecting of any dangers waiting in the dark. Viewing it from that angle, Rensler had to admit the plan was sound. Harvestward had provided the perfect scenario to make sure no one was on their guard. He cursed himself inwardly. If he had just spoken to Joran when the man arrived, the two of them could have made sure the rest of the able-bodied villagers were prepared for potential dangers. Instead, he had put it off, foolishly trusting nothing to go wrong. Yet another failure on his part, one that had cost innocent lives. He glanced back at Kahlia and Zandren, waiting patiently in their corner as more people filed outside. Have they said anything yet? he asked. Their cryptic words still bounced around his head. 109 No, Luca replied, following Renslers gaze for a moment. Some people were angry at them. Others were afraid. I think everyones just confused about their part in things. I dont know either way. I heard Kahlia shot fire from her hands and Zandren was wielding a sword made of light. Is that true? Mostly. Rensler still had a hard time believing what he had seen. What are they waiting for? Luca shrugged. I think theyve been waiting to say something, just not with everyone around to hear. They fell quiet for a few minutes, both watching as the common room steadily emptied, until at last only Daise and a dozen others, mostly older folks, remainedaside from Rensler, Luca, and those two. While Daise was the leader of the village, this group made up the brunt of her unofficial council. Rensler was relieved to see Joran, unscathed save for some scrapes on his forearms, among their company. Rensler, Luca, Daise said from the center of the loose half-circle. Join us. Louder, she added, You too, Ophelia. Rensler hesitated; he was a man grown, yet the council still made him feel like a child. And, he had never been allowed to sit in on one of their conferences before. Perhaps another time, the invitation would have excited him, but today he only felt dread. He did as he was bid, though, taking a seat off to the side, Luca close beside him. Now then, you two, Daise said, staring at Kahlia and Zandren. They pushed away from the wall and seated themselves in the center of the room. Both exuded a calm aura, despite the scowling tribunal facing them. There are some who believe you two had a hand in what 110 happened last night. I dont believe thats true, but I think you know why our village was attacked. So, out with it. Well decide what to do with you afterward. Kahlia nodded. Very well. Sitting upright, hands clasped in her lap, she was the image of a noblewoman, so very different from the grime-covered traveler from two days before. There is much to explain. As you have already surmised, the people who attacked your home were seeking somethingor, rather, someone. They hunt for the Vestige of Artras. Confused murmuring and heads being scratched greeted her words. The Vestige? a man said. Isnt that something Leneus has talked about? Leneus is always trying to slip in his faith to every conversation, said the woman next to him. Its just Reforged nonsense, thats what it is. Joran leaned forward and jabbed the air with his pipe. Until yesterday, strange people showing up out of nowhere and trying to burn our village down wouldve been seen as nonsense too. We should hear what she has to say. At a gesture from Daise, Kahlia continued. I am sure Leneus has mentioned the Vestige, as it is central to the Church of the Immortal Soul. And, if you have listened to his sermons, you understand what the Vestige is: the vessel for the immortal soul of Artras. The purpose of the Church, the task to which every Reforged is called, is to reunite the wandering soul with its original body. Those people who attacked your village seek to prevent this from happening. They call themselves the Watchers, and, across history, they have slaughtered countless innocents in that quest. The villagers were silent as they exchanged befuddledand troubledlooks. Rensler shared the sentiment. Kahlia acted as though the soul of a literal god were living inside of a regular person. Like most people in Salden, Rensler didnt follow any specific faith, though a 111 few were present in the village. Belief in the Fates, that ambiguous group of spirits that both aided and impeded mankind, was enough for most people. For Rensler, even that much was tenuous. Thats the most absurd thing Ive ever heard, another villager said. It may be absurd to you, Kahlia said, but its the truth nonetheless. The Church has records of every Vestigewell, most of themthat has ever lived. The current Vestige would be in the middle of their teenage years. Luca shrank back in his seat as multiple heads turned toward him, looking away just as quickly. Shes already convinced herself Luca is this Vestige of theirs, Rensler thought. Why doesnt she just come out and say it? Im not sure were following, Joran said, holding up a hand. Smudges of ash still clung to his fingertips. What do you mean by that? I thought your Vestige was part of your god. In simple terms, yes, but not in actuality, Kahlia replied. The Vestige is merely the container for Artrass soul, and, like any person, they can die. Artrass soul, however, cannot, and so it wanders in perpetuity. A pained expression crossed her face. The Watchers cannot destroy Gods immortal soul, but they can destroy the Vestige. For thousands of years, they have succeeded in that goal. Her voice was barely above a whisper by the time she finished. I can only assume, then, Daise said, that both of you believe your Vestige is in this village. And if you could find your way here, so could these Watchers peoplewhich it seems they did. Which means you knew this could happen. Rensler blinked at the harsh accusations, though judging by the faces of the council, Daise was simply stating what the rest of them were thinking. 112 Kahlia sighed, and her shoulders sagged momentarily. Im afraid so, and Iweoffer our sincerest apologies. Beside her, Zandren gave a slight nod. We had hoped toremove the Vestige from the situation before the Watchers caught up to us. Unfortunately, they often use our own tools against us. She touched two fingers to her medallion. Your apology is unnecessary, Daise said. It seems to me this problem would have occurred whether you were here or not, though your failure to warn us of the possibility has cost us a great deal. Kahlia cocked an eyebrow at the group. Had I come to you with warning, would you have believed me? The villagers had the good sense to look chagrined. Regardless, Daise went on, it would be best if you and your companion leave at once. I agree, Kahlia said with a nod. But if you desire the safety of your village, the Vestige must accompany us. Absolutely not, said one of the men. Ridiculous, echoed another. If the Vestige remains here, the Watchers will return, Kahlia said sharply. And they will continue to return until nothing remains of Salden but ruin and ash, if thats what it takes to destroy the Vestige. Stunned silence greeted the proclamation, followed by a quiet debate. Rensler listened intently, fearing he already knew what their decision would be. The womans conviction was persuasive. The village had been attacked, and while they couldnt say whether Kahlias beliefs were real or not, she had provided the only reason behind the assault. 113 You can make your case to the Vestige, whoever it is, Daise said at last. Such a decision should be up to them and their family. She used her cane to pull herself to her feet, signaling an end to the meeting. The rest of the group followed suit. Whatever they decide, I expect the two of you to be gone by midday. Of course, Kahlia said. The council made their way out of the inngiving a respectful nod to Ophelia, standing by the door, as they wentuntil only Kahlia and Zandren remained in the center of the common room. As the door shut for the last time, Kahlias gaze shifted to Luca, and Rensler felt as though an invisible hand were squeezing his gut. Well, Luca, she said, what say you? Rensler stood before Luca could respond. Youre wrong! he snarled. Luca is not your god or prophet or whatever else you claim he is. Leave my brother out of your supposed battle of faith. Zandren shifted in his seat, arms crossed. You should let your brother speak for himself. It is his decision. This is not his decision, Rensler shouted. This man only speaks to antagonize. Fates, hes a child! Im not a child, Luca cut in. Im fourteen. I can make my own decisions. Rensler glared down at his brother; Luca stared defiantly up at him. Before either of them could speak further, Ophelia stepped forward. If Luca goes with you, she said to Kahlia, though her words were for all to hear, where will you go that you can keep him safe from the Watchers? To Thanalia, Kahlia said. We can protect him there with the full might of the Church. 114 Ophelia nodded as though she had expected the answer. Her calm demeanor was unnerving; Rensler had expected her to push back against this idiotic plan even more than he was, but she appeared to have accepted this fate without argument. They simply couldnt let these people take Luca away. Luca, Ophelia said, what do you wish to do? Luca hesitated, mouth working as his eyes shifted among all four of them. II think I should go, he said in a low voice. If those people attacked because of me, then I need to do whats best and leave the village. He shrugged. Besides, Ive always wanted to see the world beyond Salden. Renslers eyes went wide. He glanced at the other three, all nodding, and groaned. Fates, was he the only one who could see how insane this whole thing was? Its settled, then, Kahlia said, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. We should prepare to leave at once. Wait, Rensler said. His mouth went dry as the rest of them looked at him expectantly. If thats his decision, he thought, then I dont have a choice. He wouldnt let Luca leave with these people by himself. He couldnt. Im going with you. No, Zandren said, shaking his head. Youll only be an extra burden. Itll be hard enough to defend one of you. I can handle myself. The other man chuckled. Like last night, you mean? Ophelia cut in before Rensler could retort. I agree with Rensler, she said. It is Lucas decision to go with you, and so it is my decision that Rensler shall as well. 115 That is acceptable, Kahlia said. Beside her, Zandren continued to shake his head but made no further argument. We should not tarry any longer. The journey before us is long, and well need every waking hour we have to stay ahead of the Watchers. Before you go, Ophelia said, I would speak with you, Kahlia. She looked pointedly at Rensler and the other two. Alone. Kahlia nodded. Very well. Ill see to our things, Zandren said. He stood and made his way toward the hallway. Luca headed for the back hall at once. Rensler didnt budge for a few seconds, until at last Ophelia jerked her head toward the ceiling. With a sigh, he followed after his brother. Kahlia watched the boys leave the common room. Zandren should not antagonize that one so, she thought as Rensler stepped out into the corridor. She would need to speak with her companion about that before they left. She had no intention of spending the entire journey to Thanalia listening to the two of them squabbling like children. Finally, she found herself alone with Ophelia. The dark-haired woman waited a few seconds morelikely to ensure her nephews werent lurking just beyond the doorwaybefore settling down into a chair a few yards away from Kahlia. This woman is dangerous, Kahlia quickly decided. Not in the same way that she herself was, of course, for the woman bore no Blessing, nor did she appear to be a trained in arms, like Zandren. No, this woman was dangerous in much the same way as a wild animal protecting her young. If one kept their distance, they would be safe, but come in too close and the animal would strike. Kahlia knew what it was like to be that way. 116 The boys and I are not from Salden originally, Ophelia said at last. Were not Odreman at all, in fact, but then youve probably already gathered as much, well-traveled as you are. Kahlia nodded. Curious. She hadnt expected the conversation to begin like this. We had a different home once. Darrow, far off in Astarris, Ophelia continued. When I was young, my sister went off gallivanting across Ilden. She wanted to see more of the world, just like Luca. She came back a few years later, bringing along a husband and a baby on the way. I didnt think too much the sudden return; I was just glad to have my sister back. Over the years, I watched Rensler grow, and I was there when Luca was born. For a time, life was good. Until one night, a legion of unknown soldiers invaded our village, burning everything and killing everyone in their path. My sister and her husband died that night, and I fled with the boys across the continent. When we finally arrived here, nearly a year later, we had practically nothing to our names, but I was confident we had at last found a place where we could be safe. Her expression hardened, and Kahlia saw rage smoldering in her eyes. I am sorry to hear of your past encounters with the Watchers, Kahlia said. May Artrass light shine on the souls of those who were lost. It was not the Watchers that burned our home, Ophelia said, her tone harsh. The people who invaded Darrow bore the face of your god on their uniforms. Their leaders were clad all in gray steel and wielded shining swords, just like your companions. I had hoped to never see such a thing again. She leaned forward, face intense. Imagine my shockmy horrorwhen two people, bearing that same symbol, showed up on my doorstep. Leneus I could at least ignore. Not so for the two of you. 117 Kahlia kept still for a moment, considering. Gray steel and shining swords, she thought. The description sounded too much like the Justiciars to be anything else. The Churchs enforcers, responsible for stamping out heresies, but she had never heard of them leading a raid like that, especially to a village hundreds of miles from Thanalia. It made no sense, though she knew it would be futile to argue the point. My apologies, she said. I should not have assumed. Ive always wondered, Ophelia continued, more softly, what they were searching for in Darrow. Perhaps now I know. Kahlia shook her head at the implication. I cannot speak of their purposes, but I can assure you, they would not have come to kill Luca. Something else stuck out to her about this tale. How long ago was this? Thirteen years, roughly. Hmm. Then indeed they would not have been there for Luca. Artrass soul pairs with that of a newborn, but its presence does not manifest itself so quickly. She said the words with conviction, though she honestly wasnt sure when exactly the souls presence became strong enough for the medallion to attune to it. For many years, there had been no signs, the metal never coming alive in the way it was supposed to. Kahlia had thought it broken until these past months when, quite suddenly, it had finally begun to work, ever so slowly growing warmer as she and Zandren eventually found their way here. And so, she had assumed that the soul simply needed time before it made itself known. But if that wasnt the case, why had the medallion not functioned properly for over a decade? 118 None of that mattered now, of course. Events were already in motion. I am truly sorry for what happened to your home, Kahlia said. And I assure you that I will do whatever I must to keep Luca safe. Im sure you will, Ophelia said. You seem an honest woman, and you dont strike me as the type to endanger others. But as for the rest of the Church, wellI dont trust any of it. While youre busy keeping an eye out for the Watchers, be sure to scrutinize your own. She held up a finger before Kahlia could respond. And I warn you, should any harm come to those boys, no godyours or anyone elseswill protect you from me. Dangerous indeed. I understand completely, Kahlia said softly. I know what it means to lose a child. That familiar pain stirred within her, a wound that had never quite healed. She pushed it aside as best she could and rose to her feet. Thank you, Ophelia, for your hospitality. I pray that our next meeting will be under better circumstances, should Gods path reunite us again. If your god cares for you, Ophelia said, our paths will not cross again. Very well, Kahlia said stiffly. What I do, I do for the good of all, she thought, but saying such things would be pointless. Instead, she merely dipped her head and hastened from the room. Her stomach was a tangled knot of emotions. At long last, they had succeeded in finding the Vestigethe very purpose of her lifeand they would soon be on their way to Thanalia. Why, then, did this victory feel so hollow? 119 Chapter 7 For a long while, Rensler did nothing but sit on his bed and stare at the wall across from him, as the discussion downstairs continued to bounce around his mind. He felt numb. Wrung out, like an old washcloth left out to dry for far too long. All these years living in Salden, he had thought they were safe from any more catastrophes, but one had found them anyway. He still could not fully make sense of last nights events. The entire village had suffered, and even then, a part of Rensler wondered if it were all an illusion, some kind of mass hallucination that theyd all experienced. The charred homes and lives lost shattered that delusion. He turned his thoughts toward the journey ahead. Despite the circumstances, Luca was eager to be off and finally see more of the world, heedless of the dangers that would surely await them. Thanalia was nearly two thousand miles away, according to the handful of maps hed seen before. A murderous cult hounding them every step of the way would not be their only concern. But, as always, it was difficult to get Luca to see anything past his own excitement. He stood at last and rummaged through the trunk at the foot of his bed, coming away with an empty pack made from sturdy cloth. He surveyed the bedroom for a moment, considering. What would he need for a journey like this? The last time he had fled his home, he had not been so fortunate to have time to prepare. Out of the dresser came several changes of clothing, suitable for trekking through the countryside, as well as a thick cloak to keep him warm, as the weather would only grow colder in the coming months. From the trunk came a bedroll, a handful of blankets wrapped within. He grabbed a few extra bowstrings and a hunk of beeswax from the desk drawer and tossed them into the pack before looking toward his bowtwo bows, now, propped up in a corner of the 120 room together. He hefted one in each hand. They were nearly the same size, though the new one was unbent, free from strain. The elaborate, sweeping lines carved into its length depicted the wind sighing through the rolling fields outside Salden. This one, he thought. He had packed no other personal effects, so the bow would have to do. If nothing else, it represented the last good memories he would have in this village for a long while. Maybe ever. Who knew if he would ever return? Footsteps in the stairwell pulled him away from plunging into the darkness of his thoughts. He breathed out slowly, thankful for the distraction; getting worked up about unknown possibilities would serve no purpose right now. Luca darted past, making for his own bedroom. A moment later, Rensler heard his brother grumbling to himself as he loudly gathered his things. Somethings got him riled up. Luca had asked to speak to his friends before he left; neither Ophelia nor Rensler had seen the harm, though they had instructed to leave out where they were headed. Word spread quickly in Salden, and everyone would know the two of them were gone soon enough. But perhaps the initial thrill of the journey was wearing off Rensler sat down to wait, busying himself with double checking his pack. Soon enough, he heard Lucas door shut, and the boy appeared in the doorway. A bulging pack hung from his shoulders; somethingor many thingswithin scraped and jangled every time Luca shifted the weight. Umm, Luca, Rensler said. You might want to consider leaving some things behind. That looks ratherheavy. 121 Luca set the pack down with a mighty thump. I dont know when well be back, so I figured Id take all my valuables, he said. You never know when well be short on coin and need to trade for something. Rensler arched an eyebrow at him. Valuables? Well, sort of. Depends who youre asking. Lucas cheeks reddened. Theyre valuable to me. I just didnt want to leave everything behind. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the floorboards. I went to say bye to Kal and Owyn and Nielan. Howd it go? Not well, by the looks of it. It wasweird, Luca said, softer this time. They didnt really understand why we have to leave. I told them that those people were after me, so I had to go to keep everyone safe. I think Kal got mad at me after that, sincewellhalf his house burned up. Rensler frowned. It wasnt your fault, Luca. But isnt it? Luca asked, a pained look on his face. At least a little bit. If I wasnt here, Salden wouldnt have been attacked. Its not like you invited those people to invade the village. I suppose, Luca said, sighing. But I just cant help but feel responsible. I feel like I failed everyone without even knowing it. I know that feeling all too well, Rensler thought. Dont think like that, he said firmly. As easy as it is, you cant blame yourself for something beyond your control. Fates, he was such a hypocrite, but Luca didnt need to burden himself like this. Luca hoisted his bundle. All right. I guess Ill empty this out a little bit. Wait, Rensler said. Ive got a valuable you can take with you. He undid the locket hanging around his neck, the only thing they had left from Darrow, other than each other. He had 122 given it to Luca shortly after they had arrived in Salden, when the boy was hardly old enough to speak, but he hadnt worn it in so longsomething about boys and jewelrythat Rensler had taken to wearing it again himself in times of discomfort. Like this morning. It seemed fitting to offer it back now, though, when Luca needed a reminder of home. You dont have to wear it, Rensler said at his brothers uncertain glance. But Id feel better if you kept it with you. I think thats what Mother would want. Luca nodded slowly and reached for the fine chain. I can do that. Good. Ill meet you downstairs. Dont tarry too much longer. I wont, Luca called as he returned to his bedroom. Rensler shouldered his own pack, testing the weight to make sure he could carry it for miles at a time, and made his way back down to the common room. Bright sunlight shone through the windows, touching down on empty tables. Silence lay heavy upon the room, broken occasionally by his aunts mutterings drifting out of the kitchen. Rensler set his pack down and sat patiently until Ophelia poked her head around the corner. Good timing, she said. She withdrew for a moment, then reappeared with a plate of food: hunks of venison, roasted potatoes, and a pile of steaming carrots. Theres one for Luca too, whenever he comes down. I wont have the two of you leaving on an empty stomach. The pleasant scents set Renslers mouth to watering, and his stomach let out a noisy growl. He realized just how empty he felt; he had thrown up everything hed eaten yesterday evening. Ophelia settled into the chair across from him. I packed some supplies for the lot of you, she said. Zandrens already got them on the packhorse. That should last you until you get 123 to Felwin. Nothing fancy, of course, and youre probably going to get sick of the same stuff after a few days, but it cant be helped. Everything you make is good, Rensler said as he tore into the venison. The meat might have come from the buck he had nabbed two days ago, before their world descended into madness, though he supposed it didnt matter. Ophelia smiled, though she said nothing as she returned to the kitchen to retrieve Lucas meal. Rensler ravaged his own food within minutes, taking the last bite as Luca finally joined them with a pack that was noticeably less noisy. The three of them sat quietly for a time, the only sound the scraping of Lucas fork against the plate. Where are Kahlia and Zandren? Luca said after he had finished the last of his food. Waiting in the stableyard, Ophelia said. Theyve been out there for some time already, just standing around. I think they just wanted to be out of the way, in case the other guests came back through here, though most everyones out helping assess the damage. She let out a long breath. Fates. What an absolute nightmare our festival became. Next years will be better, Luca said. Itll go back to normal. Ophelia shook her head as tears welled up in her eyes. No, it wont. Not unless you two come back. She sniffed loudly. Look out for each other, all right. Try not to bicker all the time. And no matter what happens, stay together. We will, Rensler said. He hoped he sounded confident. Luca nodded along beside him. Good, Ophelia murmured. She pushed back her chair and lurched to her feet. Right. Youd best be off. Daise wanted those two gone by midday, and Id rather not be responsible for upsetting her today. 124 The sun was nearing its noonday high as they strode out into the stableyard. Most of the stalls were still filled with wagons and horses belonging to the visiting farmers. Rensler felt a pang of remorse, wishing he had said his farewells just as Luca had. Off to one side, Kahlia and Zandren arose from their seats on a couple of crates. Both were garbed in their travel attire, sturdy breeches and a woolen shirt, with a cloak hanging about each of their shoulders. Rensler still found it odd to see a woman dressed so, but he couldnt deny that the outfit made good sense. Are we prepared, then? Kahlia asked. Behind her, Zandren undid the knotted reins securing the packhorse, Tyrus, to a post. He regarded the brothers with a flat expression as he patted the horse. I think so, Rensler said. Excellent, Kahlia replied. She held out a hand toward the stableyard entrance. Let us be off. We should not waste any more sunlight. Rensler turned toward Ophelia. Tears streamed down her face, and Rensler had to fight to keep his own composure. She grabbed both Rensler and Luca and pulled them into a lopsided embrace, holding on for several long seconds. When she let go, she planted a kiss on both their heads before stepping back. Their traveling companions were already halfway across the yard by the time the brothers completed their farewell. Rensler hiked up his pack and set off after them, Luca close beside him. The sun painted the sky a deep red as it dipped beyond the western horizon when they finally made camp for the evening. Luca wanted to throw himself onto the ground as Zandren led them 125 into a hollow nestled among a copse of trees, one of many that broke up the green hills west of Salden, but he forced the desire back. Embarrassing himself just wouldnt do this early on in their adventure. He did, however, let out a heavy sigh when he plopped his pack down. His shoulders were numb, and his feet ached. How do people just walk across the countryside? he wondered idly as he watched Zandren prepare a fire. They must have iron feet to have traveled so long without a horse to ride. His brother wasnt faring any betterworse, actually. Rensler set his pack down and dropped onto the grass, then splayed his legs out in front of him. Wont someone find us here? he asked, though his concern did not stop him from immediately unlacing his boots. The fire will just give us away. Zandren ignored the remark, continuing to snap twigs and place them in a neat square atop a patch of dirt. Luca didnt understand why, but the big swordsman seemed to have taken a strong dislike to his brother, who returned the feeling in kind. Maybe the stress of the previous day was still weighing on both of them. Still, they could both try to be a bit more understanding toward the other. Looks like its up to me to make them get along. We should be unbothered for several days, at least, Kahlia said from off to one side of the hollow. She had removed the packs and saddles from Tyruss back. The horse stayed in place, grazing as Kahlia brushed him down for the night. The Watchers lost a good number of their people in the raid. Those who survived will need to regroup, find more of their fellows, before striking at us again. Rensler grumbled something to himself but let the matter go. In short order, Zandren had a nice little campfire going, and he moved off to root through the saddlebags as Kahlia finished 126 securing the packhorse for the night. The two Reforged had set to their respective tasks without speaking, and Luca got the sense this routine was as natural as breathing to them. He set out his bedroll nearby, then seated himself gently; he didnt want to appear too hasty to throw his boots off and rest by the fire, but it didnt seem the others needed his help with anything. Besides, something felt off about being too casual. They were running from people who wanted to kill themLuca most of allso he probably wasnt supposed to actually relax. Well, maybe just a little bit. Surely that would be fine. Observing the others, he was actually surprised at how calm he felt; he knew he should have been more afraid at what was to come. This journey wasnt like their treks through the Bralen Forest, when they never strayed more than a dozen miles from the village, and the most dangerous thing was more often than not a hidden root waiting to trip you. There certainly were never any mysterious pursuers trying to kill them. It didnt feel quite real, he decided. Sure, he had seen those people in the village, had seen the fires start, but most of the night remained a muddled spot in his memory. Even the glimpses he had were like watching through a thick sheet of glass, warped so badly that he could only make out blurred shapes. He certainly did not remember the creature that Rensler had mentioned. Just talking about that had made his brother grow pale. Perhaps it was best Luca didnt recall that part. Zandren returned to the fireside and distributed their evening meal: a few strips of dried meat, a square of hardtack, and an apple. He and Kahlia had already made it clear that they planned to avoid as many settlements, farmhouses and villages alike, as possible until they reached Felwin, which meant they had to be careful with their supplies for at least the next week. 127 The food wasnt badit was better than nothingbut it was quite a step back from his aunts cooking. Finally, the four of them settled down near the fire, eating quietly as insects serenaded them in the growing darkness, joined by the occasional hoot of an owl. This much, at least, was familiar. Comforting. Listening to the sounds of the night had always brought Luca peace. If he kept his eyes shut, he could easily pretend he was still in Salden. Though he longed to explore the world, he could not deny a faint longing for home already. They had scarcely finished their meal before Rensler spoke. Before we go further, I have some questions that need answering, he said without preamble. Always straight to the point, Rensler was. He wielded questions like a cudgel. Across the fire, Kahlia nodded. We will answer what we can, she said. But not everything, Luca thought. What kinds of secrets did they possess that couldnt be shared? Renslers upper lip curled at the response, but he pressed on. The people who attacked us. You called them the Watchers. Why? That is what they call themselves, these days, Kahlia replied. Millennia ago, they called themselves Vos Diren Kona, from an ancient Kiltan language, long dead now. Ones Fated to Watch, it roughly translates to. Sounds a bit melodramatic. Indeed, but so are many names, Kahlia said with a small smile, and even Zandren chuckled at that. Perhaps that begat the change. Do not let such impressions trick you into complacency, for they are quite dangerousas you very well know. Rensler conceded the point with a grunt. So then, who are they really? 128 The smile withered away from Kahlias face, leaving behind a grave expression. A cult, in service to Braskellar, either by choice or by deception. Luca exchanged a befuddled look with his brother. UmBraskellar? Whos that? Did Father Leneus explain none of this? Zandren asked. At a shake of their heads, he breathed out sharply and turned to Kahlia. Perhaps he did not perform his works as well as wed hoped. Gone are the days of conversion by the sword, Zandren, Kahlia replied, stern. And bringing even one soul to Gods light is an admirable performance. She returned her attention to first Rensler, then Luca, passing her gaze between them as she continued. Eons ago, when the planet was little more than stone and fire, Artras, the lord of all creation, descended to the world and gave it shape. From the deepest oceans to the highest mountains, everything was molded by the hand of Artras. Though pleased with His work, Artras still felt melancholy, for what was the purpose of this beautiful world if none could appreciate its grandeur? And so, He breathed life into the plants and animals, spreading them across the world. For a time, this was enough, but Artras came to see that His creations were imperfect. Incapable of truly understanding the majesty of life, they merely survived, their existence defined by purpose, not passion. Luca pulled his legs up against his chest and rested his chin upon his knees as he listened. He spared a glance at Rensler. His brother watched Kahlia with barely hidden skepticism; Luca was sure it took great effort for Rensler not to interrupt the story. Artras knew that He could do more, Kahlia went on, but the cost would be greater, for to realize His vision, He would need to give up a piece of Himself, an aspect of His divinity. 129 Thus, humanity was born from the very essence of God Himself, and at last, Artras was satisfied with what He had wrought. She held up a finger. But, the peace was not meant to last, for Braskellara twisted, dark reflection of Artrasgrew jealous of humanitys adoration for his brother. Unlike Artras, Braskellar sought not to create but to destroy, utterly and completely. However, Braskellar knew that he could not best his brother, for as long as humans walked in Gods light, His power remained whole. Corruption, then, was the answer. Time means nothing to gods, and Braskellar was patient. For centuries, he worked at spreading his influence, whispering in the ears of men and women, sowing chaos and distrust for both their fellow man and God. Generation after generation, his machinations took firmer root, spreading like weeds in a garden, until at last mankind began to turn away from Artras. Weakened by their waning faith, Artras did not see his brothers betrayal coming until it was too late. The brothers clashed, and their battle raged across the world, until at last Braskellar struck the final blow. He sundered his brother, ripping Artrass own deific soul from His body. She paused and dropped her hand into her lap. Luca leaned forward, enraptured by the tale. Then what happened? he asked. Braskellar buried his brothers body deep beneath the earth, Kahlia said. He hoped that a prison of stone would prevent Artrass soul from finding His body. For all his cunning, Braskellar made a crucial mistake. A part of Artras lives in all mankind, and so His immortal soul found a way to join with that of a humanthe first Vestige. 130 But, of course, the hearts of Men are fickle things, easily persuaded at the merest whiff of power. While some desired the reforging of God, others remained under the sway of Braskellar, swearing to prevent the Vestige from finding Artrass body at any cost. Incredible, Luca thought. He had asked Father Leneus, once, to tell him more about the faith of the Reforged. The old priest had done an admirable job, but his attempt had been, well, boring. Not like Kahlia. Her recounting had awakened so many questions. His grin faded when he saw his brothers sour face. Oh no. Thats all very fascinating, Rensler said flatly. And you actually believe all of that to be true? Yes. Kahlias response was firm and immediate. Hmm. All right, Rensler said. Lets pretend for a moment that youre right. What happened to Braskellar, then? He made a show of examining the darkening sky, just visible through the crisscross of tree branches above. Why doesnt he simply show himself and smite us now? If hes a god, he should able to destroy us without hesitation. Luca cringed at the dismissive tone, but Kahlia appeared unfazed. He was wounded, Kahlia replied. In the final battle, Artras, even as His very being was being split in two, delivered a devastating blow to his brother. Crippled, Braskellar now hides, instead continuing his dark works by means of his agents. Some he promises power; others enact his will unknowingly. Regardless, his presence is very much felt upon the world. She pursed her lips. You yourself saw one of his strongest manifestations. Rensler shifted uncomfortably. It must have been terrifying, Luca thought. He didnt recall ever seeing his brother so unsettled. But that thing saved Luca, Rensler said, voice low, as he gestured toward Luca. It killed those men. 131 Such is the price to pay for those deceived by Braskellar, Kahlia said. I cannot account for such a creatures decision; their minds are wholly alien compared to ours. Luca raised his hand, drawing the attention of the others. I have a question, he said. What happened to the Vestige? The first one, that is. He died, came the replyfrom Zandren, not Kahlia, to Lucas shock. The man kept so quiet sometimes that one could forget he was present. Ordered to die by the king of Kilan Tor, almost two and a half thousand years ago. Lucas eyebrows shot up, and Rensler jerked beside him. Two and a half thousand years? Luca repeated. Butthats sohow many Vestiges have there been? Were not certain, Kahlia said. Over a hundred, likely. Not every Vestige is always found by the Church, try as we might, so our records are incomplete. Sothey all died? Luca felt his mouth go dry as his heart hammered against his chest. Every single one of them? But how? Maybe this journey wasnt such a good idea after all. Kahlia nodded solemnly. Im afraid so. We assume most have met their end at the hands of the Watchers. Such is the danger that they represent. They have been unfailing in their mission for millennia. And you think you can keep Luca safe? Rensler asked, incredulous. Your predecessors failed again and again. What makes you think youll succeed? Luca looked at Kahlia expectantly. She must have had some kind of a planright? Some way to keep him safe from a bunch of crazed cultists. Judging by her mournful expression, she did not. 132 Idont know, Kahlia admitted. I wish I could tell you truly that no harm will come to you, Luca, but I would not give you false promises. But I assure you, if we make it to Thanalia, you will be safe. If. He didnt like the sound of that, although a part of him did appreciate the honesty. Let me make sure I understand everything, Rensler said, holding up a hand, fingers spread apart. Your god is broken. He ticked down one finger. His soul latches onto some unlucky person until they die. Another finger went down. Theres a cult intent on murdering said unlucky person. Your Church tries to stop this but fails miserably every time. And you think Luca is your gods latest victim. He dropped his now closed fist. Did I miss anything? Zandrens face darkened. Instead of blaming those long dead, perhaps you should focus on what you will do to protect your brother. I can fight, Rensler said, though Luca saw the nervous twitch in his brothers hands. I suspect well see the truth of that soon enough. Rensler didnt respond and instead turned toward Kahlia. Theres something else you havent answered yet. What makes you so certain Luca is your Vestige in the first place? With this, Kahlia said, tapping her medallion. Strangely, the metal barely reflected the firelight, while the one hanging around Zandrens neck behaved as expected. This medallion is imbued with the Blessing of Insight, keyed to the essence of Artrass soul. It will always find the Vestige, provided another Blessing does not prevent it from doing so. Luca lifted his hand timidly. Uh, what does that mean exactly? he asked. Is that what they call Marks? Blessings? Both were largely unfamiliar to him, as there were no such people in Salden. They might as well have been a myth, though some of the more well-traveled villagers claimed to have seen Marked in larger cities across the kingdom. Hed always found that odd. He 133 figured theyd want to get away from civilization, since the Marks were supposed to grant people strange abilities. Abilities like the ones hed used just the other day. I suppose you dont have much experience with Blessings, Kahlia said. The brothers shook their heads. You would have heard them called Marks. The name makes no difference. They are a gift from Artras, the most potent manifestation of His divine presence. There are five in total, though every Blessed only possesses one. She met Lucas eyes. The Vestige, on the other hand, can call on the power of all the Blessings, though none manifest upon the flesh. I believe you have already used Passage, though you did so unknowingly. She smiled. During the climb. It was subtle and probably went undetected by most. Luca punched at the air. I knew it! he said, louder than he had intended. I mean, I thought something was different recently, but it didnt seem too weird. Oh! But I actually did do something weird. He pointedly ignored Renslers stare. I made a shieldwell, more like a netwhen I fell out of a tree two days ago. A wide smile broke out across Kahlias features, while Rensler looked like hed just eaten something sour. Protection, Kahlia said. Or the Shieldmark, as you might say. Thats very well done. So far, youve used these abilities out of instinct. In Thanalia, you can begin the path to mastering them. Youre not going to teach me? Kahlia shook her head, braids swinging about her shoulders. Im afraid I cant. Im not a scholar in these matters, and your powers exceed the scope of my knowledge. But I will explain what I know as best I can. She held up a hand to forestall a response. I can, however, instruct you in one Blessing. 134 A small, white flame, outlined in a faint golden glow, appeared in the palm of her hand. Radiance. My Blessing. She closed her hand with a flourish, extinguishing the flame. We will begin your lessons tomorrow. I dont think thats a good idea, Rensler said. Kahlia adopted a placid expression. I believe that, as the Vestige, Luca should make that decision. Thats not a decision he can make. Why not? Luca snapped. Of course he didnt think Luca could decide for himself. Of course he thought Luca would only hurt himself. Why did his brother always think him so fragile? Because youll probably end up hurting yourself. Or someone else. If were being chased by a bunch of madmen, wouldnt it be best if I learn to protect myself? Enough, Zandren said, his tone that of a parent rebuking a child. Luca makes a good point. Its in his best interest. He shifted his gaze to Rensler. And you should learn to defend yourself as well. Rensler scoffed. I know how to protect myself. Perhaps if your foe is at a distance, Zandren retorted. But once they come in close, your skill as an archer means nothing. Well begin our instruction tomorrow. End of discussion. Rensler twisted up his facehe simply had to have the last wordbut Kahlia cut him off. I think it best if we retire for the night. She glanced upward, and Luca followed her gaze. The sky was fully dark by now, the stars just beginning to shine. We should not squander the 135 head start that we have been gifted, and there are many more miles ahead of us. We leave at first light. Luca was glad for the interjection and did as he was told. He curled up in his bedroll, listening to Zandren snuffing out the fire, and attempted to find the best position on the hard ground. As he waited for sleep to take him, he realized that, despite the threat of danger, he was actually eager for tomorrow. 136 Chapter 8 Kahlia was true to her word. The morning sunlight had hardly peaked through the hollow when Rensler awoke to the sound of birds chirping in the branches overhead. He opened one eye, disappointment hitting him as he saw patchy grass and hard earth, rather than the comfort of his bedroom. Across the campsite, Zandren was already on his feet, packing up his bedroll. A strong gust sent his cloak thrashing behind him, but the man gave the barest frown and finished his task, then moved to wake Kahlia, giving Rensler a curt nod on the way. Rensler scrambled to his feethe was not about to let the man think he needing proddingand stretched, feeling a dozen little aches across his body. He rubbed his arms as the crisp morning air sent shivers coursing through him and quickly bundled up in his coat and cloak. There was no fire by which he could warm himself, of course. Unlike last night, he would have welcomed it, now that they neednt worry about pursuers seeing the light, but both Zandren and Kahlia were already tying their equipment to the packhorse, ready to be off. He supposed it made no difference, though, considering they had nothing to cook. Still, shedding off the luxuries of home would take far more time than just one night under the stars. Beside him, Luca was still snoring softly. Rensler crouched beside his brother and nudged his shoulder, eliciting a brief incoherent mumble from Luca as he rolled over, facing the other way. Rensler shook him again, more vigorously. Stop Luca groaned, elongating the word into a plea. He cracked his eyes open and peered up at Rensler. Cant we just sleep a little longer? Afraid not, Rensler said. The faster you get up, the faster we can get on the road. Luca sat up and shuddered. Its so cold. He wrapped his arms around himself. 137 Eh, its not that bad, Rensler said. Youll be fine once you move around a bit. He returned to his own bedroll and set his things in order; Luca followed suit, grumbling all the while. By the time they were finished, Kahlia came to distribute their breakfast while Zandren cleared away any trace of their presence. The food was much the same as dinner, though in place of the apple they each received a boiled egg. Rensler accepted his food without complaint. He ate slowly in an attempt to make the most of the meal and stepped to the entrance of the hollow, watching the sun rise over the Skargan Peaks in the distance. The light shimmered on the morning dew as gusts rippled through the grass, turning it into an expansive sea of green. It was a peaceful morning, even with the uninspiring breakfast and the chill lingering in the air. They at least hadnt been killed in the middle of the night. That fact provided a tiny bit of hope, enough to make him think that maybe they could make it to Rellas Gate without incident. Maybe, in a few months time, theyd be in this hollow again, the last stop for respite before they paraded back into Salden. He tried to hold onto the idea, but it fled as quickly as it had come, trickling through his fingers like water. Whatever lay ahead of them would only be worse than what they had already faced. Rensler? Kahlias voice cut through his ruminations. He shook his head and turned away from the sunrise. Kahlia stood only a few steps behind him, holding onto Tyruss reins. The horse, now saddled and laden with packs, snorted, its breath misting and rising like twin columns of smoke. Kahlia patted the horses neck and regarded Rensler with a concerned expression. Are you well? 138 Im fine, Rensler said. He looked past her to where Zandren was making one last sweep of the campsite. Just thinking about the journey, he added. How long do you reckon itll take us to reach Felwin? About a week, I should think, Kahlia replied. If were fortunate, weve enough distance between us and the Watchers that they wont be able to catch us before we reach the city, even if they pick up our trail. And if were not fortunate, Rensler thought, then what will you do? He kept the question to himself and simply nodded. Before the sun was a full length above the mountains, they headed off, continuing west on the road to Felwin. They moved at a steady pace throughout the day, never pausing for longer than a few minutesand only then to find a shaded place away from the road to relieve themselves, one at a time to preserve all their dignity. The midday meal they took on their feet. They kept to an easy walk, though come dusk, their feet were red and swollen anywayall save for Luca, who seemed to have fared better than the rest of them. The boy himself did not appear to notice, but Rensler pondered the oddity every time they paused to rest. For the most part, they followed the road as it wound its way along the slowly flattening landscape, until at last the uneven terrain became green fields, mostly level save for a slight rise every so often. On occasion, they came across a small stream, stopping to refill their waterskins if the water were clear. Copses of trees, and sometimes small woodlands, stood out against the skyline, though even traveling amongst the trees, their leaves already gold and red, would not have provided much cover, should any trouble come upon them. Zandren watched the horizon with the keen eyes of a seasoned traveler, sometimes muttering to himself about some problem unknown to the rest of them. Rensler often looked 139 where the other man did, wondering if he had spotted their pursuers, but no signs were had. They often found their way off the road regardless, skirting around any sign of travelers, farms, or villages. In the evenings, smoke rose from nearly ever chimney they happened upon, leaving both Rensler and Luca yearning for a seat by the fire and a warm mug of cider. They only needed one stern rebuke from Zandren to let go of that desire. On the second night, they made camp once again in the waning hour of daylight, finding their way to a thicket nearly half a mile off the road and setting up in a clearing no more than half a dozen paces across. Zandren scouted the area thoroughly before allowing the others to enter, yet he forbid them to rest as he hobbled the packhorse for the night. Rensler wanted nothing more than to rip off his boots and rub at his tired feet, but he waited nonetheless, his curiosity managing to outweigh his annoyance. Rensler crossed his arms and tapped his foot, while Luca fidgeted beside him, looking at the rest of them in turn. Arent we going to eat dinner? he asked in a small voice. In a little while, Kahlia replied. She pulled her cloak more tightly to her. The strong wind of the morning had eased up by the afternoon, but the chill of approaching night remained. Our instruction must come first, before we settle down for the night. Rensler grimaced; she acted as though he had agreed to Zandrens tutelage rather than be forced into it. Briefly, he entertained the idea of refusing the offer, but to do so would only strain the relationship of the group. As much as the order irked him, though, there was a piece of him that had always wanted to learn the sword. What man hadnt held such a desire as a boy? There wasnt a soul in Salden who hadnt grown up listening to the tales of great heroes. Malaran the Fierce, Ridel the Bold, and a hundred others, each one with their own litany of titles, always 140 charging into danger with their blades held high. He no longer wished for such glory, of course, but he could still entertain the idea for a little while. Kahlia led Luca off to one side of the clearing, where they sat across from each other, legs crossed. Rensler expected to see that white-gold light encircle her arms, but she kept her hands on her knees. Eyes closed, back straight, she breathed in and out in a steady rhythm, instructing Luca to do the same. He shot Rensler a confused glance before mirroring Kahlia. Here, Zandren said. Rensler jerked and found the man next to him, proffering a sword, blade pointing downward. The sword had been strapped to Tyruss saddle and was nearly the same length as the one scabbarded on Zandrens back, but the metal was unadorned, bereft of whatever power the other blade possessed. Rensler grabbed the hilt with one hand, but Zandren did not loosen his grip. Uhthank you? Rensler said. The other man nodded, letting go, and Rensler breathed a sigh of relief. The sword was lighter than he expected, but he made sure to hold it with both hands anyway, keeping the blade upright before him. The last thing he needed was to slice his own foot in half. You have respect for the blade, Zandren said, an approving note in his voice. Thats good. The first lesson in using a swordany weapon, in factis to respect it. Fear it. A sword is a tool made for killing first and foremost, and it should always be treated as such. The moment you forget that is the moment you are unfit to wield it. He adjusted Renslers arms a bit, then tapped his foot against Renslers own, forcing him to widen his stance. A strong stance is key. A weak stance will get you killed. He stepped back, examining Rensler before nodding again. Hold this position. You will practice this until it comes as naturally as breathing. 141 Thats it? Rensler asked. Im just supposed to stand here. Precisely. I thought you were going to teach me how to use this thing. I am, Zandren said. He tapped a finger against his forehead. There is more to swordplay than simply swinging the sword. Every decision you make comes from your mind, not from the blade. Now, be silent and hold your stance. Rensler did as he was told. For several minutes, he simply stood, unmoving, focusing on keeping the proper stance, until tremors started to race through his arms. He clenched his teeth and squeezed his hands until his knuckles were white. But the effort soon became too much, and he let his arms drop. The tip of the blade slashed through a few tall blades of grass as it brushed the ground. Panting, he looked expectantly at Zandren, who waited a few paces away, hands clasped behind him. Good, the Guardian said. Take a minute to rest, then do it again. Rensler grimaced. What is the purpose of this exercise? A sword is not merely a tool, Zandren said. It becomes a part of you, an extension of yourself. A sword and its wielder are connected. Getting a feel for the weight of the weapon is part of building that connection. A minute passed, and Rensler held the sword aloft again. He held on for half as long this time before his arms gave out. I dont think this is working, he said, letting out a frustrated breath. Zandren fixed him with a flat stare. Nothing in life is mastered in an hour. How long have you practiced with your bow? How many years? Remember all of the struggles, the 142 failures, of your early days with that weapon. Now remember your successes. You did not simply wake up a competent archer one day. The man was right, of course. Rensler felt his cheeks grow hot and was glad for the oncoming darkness. Youre anxious, Rensler, Zandren continued. He shot a quick glance at Luca, who sat with his eyes closed, a reflection of Kahlia. Right now, your problem isnt that youre thinking too littleits that youre thinking too much. This is another step in the process. You must learn to push away all of your concerns, your distractions. Free your mind. If you go into a battle with your mind all cluttered, youre only setting yourself up to die. He strode to the packhorse and unsheathed the other sword hanging there. We will begin every lesson as we just have. He came back and stood beside Rensler so that they both faced the same direction. Afterward, you will practice some of the basic sword forms. Watch my movements first, then follow along. Zandren fell into a slow rhythm, flowing from one form to another. It was nothing like the wild slashing that Rensler had always imagined, like that of those men and their vain attempt to kill that creature. The motions were smooth and even, more like a dance than anything else. Zandren gestured for Rensler to join, and fell into rhythm with the swordsman, doing his best to emulate the movements. Even at such a slow pace, the forms were difficult to follow perfectly, but, after a few sequences, he found flowing through these motions oddly calming. They kept at the exercises for a time, finally pausing when the sun was little more than a speck of red in the west. Thank you, Zandren said as he took the sword from Rensler. This was a good effort for the first day. Well practice these same drills tomorrow, and every day after that, until you can do them with your eyes closed. 143 Rensler merely nodded. Now that theyd stopped, the soreness in his feet was returning fast, breaking through his stillness of mind. He found a thick patch of grass and sat, then gingerly removed his boots and socks. His feet were an angry red, looking as though he had walked bare through a patch of nettles. No blisters yet, for which he was thankful. Only a matter of time, he thought. He hoped theyd at least make it to Felwin before then. He looked toward his brother, still mirroring Kahlia, though his poise had slipped, his knees now bouncing gently, like the flapping wings of a butterfly. So caught up was Rensler in the sword drills that he had nearly forgotten about the other lessons happening no more than a few paces away, though it seemed there was nothing to be observed. Kahlias lips moved from time to time, speaking so softly that Rensler could only make out every fifth word. Whatever she was saying, it was clearly meant only for Luca. Zandren returned with their evening meal of cheese and dried meat and hardtack, the same food as yesterday, and the morning, and midday. They ate in silence, waiting until Kahlia deemed her ambiguous lesson complete, and then the four of them sat together, speaking in low voices in the waning light. Without a fire, the darkness soon blanketed the clearing, and they bedded down for the evening. Rensler tossed about on the uneven ground throughout the night, his dreams haunted by visions of burning buildings, first in Salden, then in Darrow, always with that dreadful howling of the creature echoing in the air. When at last he woke at dawn, a thousand little aches pulsed throughout his body, and he wondered if hed ever have a good rest again. The question lingered in his mind as they broke camp, finally receding as they set out for the day, one that looked exactly like the last. Their arrival at Felwin could not come quickly enough. 144 On that first night, Luca had been eager to learn from Kahlia when she announced her desire to teach him. Any knowledge the woman chose to share was a treat, and there was so much to learn. About his powers, about the Vestige, about Artras. The great destiny that awaited him. By the fourth night, though, he had only discovered new ways to be frustrated. Kahlia had taught him next to nothing so far, his only instruction being on how to breathewhich he was confident he had already mastered, seeing as how he was still alive. But she insisted that he was not breathing properly, and getting that down was the first step in tapping into the power of the Marks. Consciously, of course. He was tempted to try flinging himself from a tree again, just to see if he could get something to work. That was the other half of his annoyance. He wanted desperately to make something happen, to shoot white fire from his hands or turn the air into a shield, but nothing worked. Sure, he wasnt as sore as the others by the end of the day, but even using the Passagemark was not something he did through any effort of his own. Maybe they were wrong about him. Maybe he wasnt the all-powerful Vestige, but some kind of weak impostor. He would have doubted he had done anything strange were it not for Rensler witnessing it. He watched his brother go through his own lessons with Zandren. They didnt seem to do much other than practice those slow movements, but at least they were doing something other than sitting and breathing. Rensler got that sour look on his face whenever he made a misstep, though his motions looked smoother with each passing session. Luca was sorely tempted to exchange teachers; if his supposed powers werent going to work, maybe he should learn to use a sword instead. 145 Focus, Luca, Kahlia said. She sat across from him, chest held high and legs crossed together, as still as a statue. Eyes shut, she still somehow knew that his attention was drifting. Her patient tone reminded him of Ophelia whenever she had to tell him the same thing five times before it stuck. He never did that intentionallynot usually, at least. He just got distracted sometimes. Like right now. Sorry, he muttered. He closed his eyes again, breathing in deeply through his nose, then out through his mouth. Soften your breathing, Kahlia said. Luca tried. He really, truly tried, but after several evenings of doing nothing but breathing, breathing, and still more stinking breathing, his enthusiasm for these lessons was quickly fading. Kahlias eyes opened, and her eyebrows knitted together as she regarded him. Whats wrong? Nothing. I know as well as you that is false, she said. She relaxed her pose, though she did not let her shoulders droop as Luca did. Please, speak. I would know what troubles you. Luca straightened his legs, glad to finally shift position. This isnt working, he said. He didnt look her in the eyes, instead staring at a point just beyond her shoulder. When do we move past breathing? I already know how to do that. These past few nights have not been to merely teach you to breathe, Kahlia explained. Its about focus. Without focus, you cannot use your Blessings, not without endangering yourself and everyone around you. 146 I can focus, Luca said. He hunched down at Kahlias bemused expression. If I have to, I mean. I just need the right motivation. You have many motivations from which to choose, Kahlia said. Mastery of the art. The preservation of all life. Or, if thats too far-reaching, the preservation of the lives of those for whom you care. Luca grimaced. Thatdoesnt help. How was he supposed to imagine something like that? It was hard to envision his family in danger when hed never seen it happennot that he could remember, leastways. I just want to be able to protect myself, he grumbled. And I dont want others to get hurt because of me. Self-preservation is a fine motivation, certainly, as is your concern for others, Kahlia said. But motivation alone is insufficient. It lets us do extraordinary featsunder the right circumstances. Thus, it remains unreliable, which is why Im having you practice these techniques. If youre going to defend yourselfor othersyou must first learn how to focus your mind when the situation calls for it. Discipline will ensure you do not falter. You make it sound so simple, Luca saidperhaps a bit too rudely, though Kahlia gave no outward reaction. Maybe it really was that simple, and he was merely making it harder on himself. But accidentally using his supposed powers was so easy. Why couldnt purposefully using them be the same? I can see that you are frustrated, Kahlia said, interrupting his musings. Let us pause for the evening. We cant pause! Luca blurted out. I havent made any progress! 147 This time, she did react, fixing him with a hard glare that rivaled any Aunt Ophelia had ever given him. He wilted before her, his resolve vanishing. Why did he always say things without thinking them through? We shall try something new tomorrow, she said. Her features returned to their usual calm. For now, we should eat and rest. Luca nodded quickly. Trying something new was promising. Fates, anything besides more breathing exercises sounded promising. They took to their evening meal, sitting as though there were actually a fire in the center of the camp, and watched as Zandren and Rensler finished their own lesson before coming to join them. Tonight, they were not too far off the road, sheltered against a shallow slope that helped keep the cool wind from beleaguering them all night. Out in the open like this, Zandren hadnt wanted to risk the fire. Luca hated spending the evenings sitting around in the dark, but he supposed he hated the idea of being found, too. Still, it was odd that after four days, there was still no sign of pursuit, a fact that he was not alone in pointing out. After he had gone to bed, Kahlia and Zandren spoke in hushed tones, a little ways from where Luca lay beside his brother. They must have thought both of the brothers to be asleep, thanks to Renslers steady breathing, but Luca had not yet drifted off. I expected them to hound us all the way to the Gate, Zandren was saying. Not let us go without a struggle. Perhaps we have been blessed after all, Kahlia replied. Hmm. Seems like an easy way to explain coincidence. Kahlia clicked her tongue in a reproachful manner. You should not say such things. 148 Well, blessing or not, I want to know what theyre planning. They sent dozens to attack that village, and they had a demon with them. They wouldnt simply give up after that sort of effort. He paused, then whispered, Are you sure we have the right one? Luca stiffened at that before forcing himself to relax. Of course you have the right one, he thought. I fell out of a tree and made a shield out of air. Normal people cant do that. Althoughwhat if he were actually a Marked? A persons Mark was supposed to appear at birth, but maybe he was different, only now having it manifest. He didnt know enough about Marks to rule out the possibility. I am certain, Kahlia said. The medallion remains as warm as it was when we first met Luca. Such would not be the case, were we leaving the Vestige behind. Might be its broken. It was dormant for years, never once functioning like we were told it wouldyou said so yourself. I admit its possible, Kahlia replied. Perhaps we simply had never come close enough for it to work until we headed south through Eshk. Regardless, we are making fears out of nothing. We must remain vigilant, yes, but we should not create our own phantoms. Zandren grunted. Perhaps not, but they have their own medallion; its too great of a coincidence for them to show up exactly when we did. So, they should be able to find us at any time. Thats what I dont understand, Kahlia. Why havent they? I dont know, Kahlia said. But I will not scoff at the blessing we have been given. I suggest you feel the same. Zandren offered no further arguments. The silence stretched, and it seemed the discussion was over, for the two of them quickly settled down into their own bedrolls. Luca remained on his side, facing away from them, staring intently at a spot on the ground. 149 It really was my fault. The thought had been gnawing at him since they left Salden, but with his memories of that night so clouded, he hadnt felt the full weight of responsibility until now. If he really were the Vestige, then of course it was his fault the Watchers had attacked the village. Harvestward would have gone on as normal, unaffected by the death and destruction brought upon them, were it not for him. But how could he have known? He wasnt sure for how long he lay there, staring at nothing and pondering the question, but he must have fallen asleep eventually, for the morning was soon upon him. He busied himself with the waking routine, trying to block out a new wave of doubts, but they nagged at him throughout the day. A dark fleet of clouds had blown in overnight, and they had hardly set off before the rain began. It came down in a steady pour, not too hard to be discomforting, but persistent nonetheless. The rain kept with them throughout the day, a new traveling companion whom they couldnt turn away. By mid-morning, their cloaks were soaked through, and they walked along in miserable silence. Respite didnt come until the early evening. Zandren called a halt earlier than usual, to the great shock of the others, as they happened upon a grove of clustered trees. Their branches interwove into a tight cover, keeping the ground mostly dry. Soon enough, they had a small fire going, hidden but from a few yards out, and, with cloaks hung up to dry, they settled into their respective routines. Kahlia seated herself on a dry patch at the base of a tree and gestured for Luca to join her. He hesitated as a hundred different thoughts raced through his mind. Should I just ask? he wondered. I have to be subtle about it. Cant let her know I was eavesdropping. Though if she 150 did find out, it was really her own faulthers and Zandrensfor standing so close. Finally, he lowered himself to the ground, and said, Before we start, can I ask you a few questions? Of course, Kahlia replied. She smiled, but it didnt seem to reach her eyes. Luca gulped in a breath and launched into it. Ive been wondering aboutwell, a lot of things. How did you actually find me? I know its the medallion and all that, but how does it actually work? Kahlia touched the metal around her neck. It resonates with Artrass soul. The closer it comes, the greater the resonance. And thats why it was warm when I touched it? Exactly. Even now, so close to you, it gives off that same warmth. Luca nodded cautiously. So then anyone with that medallion could find me, right? If someone stole it, and they wanted to find me, they could? They could, Kahlia said slowly, her eyes narrowing. What is prompting this line of questioning? Luca tugged at his collar, suddenly warm despite the brisk evening. Well, I justI was curious about how you found me, but also about howthey found me. Kahlias expression turned bitter, and for a moment, Luca thought she was going to snap at him, but her ire was not meant for him. Unfortunately, the Watchers possess their own medallion, she said. This battle has raged for millennia, always in the background of history, and in that time, both sides have enjoyed victory and suffered defeat. For the Church, one of our greatest losses has been three of these medallions. Three! Luca said, a little too loudly, as it drew the attention of both Rensler and Zandren, who regarded him sternly. Luca mumbled an apology before turning back to Kahlia. 151 Three? he repeated, barely above a whisper. Howd they get three of those? How many does the Church have? Kahlia pursed her lips. I am unsure how they acquired the medallions; that failure was in an era long gone by. Seven were made in total, at the time of the Sundering, and the Reforged still possess the other four. Oh. There are others like you? Kahlia nodded. Indeed, though there are more Seekers than there are medallions. Those who go without rely on rumor, but more than a few prior Vestiges have been found that way. Prior Vestiges. Another cause for concern. If they all died, then how was he supposed to succeed? Fates, he hardly even knew what he was supposed to do! These, ah, prior Vestiges, Luca said. How did they die? I believe it would be best if we did not discuss that. Thats hardly fair. Kahlia shook her head. Its not about fairness, Luca. Its about saving yourself from worrying about the past. But, how His tongue felt suddenly heavy as he tried to force the words out. How am I supposed to complete this task of mine when so many others have failed? No, not failed. Killed. They were killed trying to dowhatever it is Im trying to do. He wrapped his arms around his legs as the weight of it all settled in his stomach. More than a hundred people had been in his exact place, and all of them had been murdered. How could he be so foolish to believe his fate would be any different? Why hadnt he dared to question all of this days ago? Because you were so excited to leave Salden behind, he thought. His eagerness to see the world had pushed out 152 concern for all elseincluding the danger he now faced. Rensler was right after all; he did have a habit of rushing into things without thinking them through. Kahlias face softened. Luca, I understand your fears. You are right to have them, in fact. But you cannot let them consume you. She reached out and squeezed one of his hands. Zandren and I are sworn to protect you at any cost. We will not let the Watchers, or anyone else, take you. I swear it. The words helped, though they could not banish his fears entirely. Still, a little courage was better than none. Maybe he was just getting ahead of himself, worrying about too much too quickly. The Watchers were not following their trail, after all, and other than them, they had yet to encounter any dangers along the road. He took solace in that. All right, he said at last. He exhaled sharply, then looked out toward the darkening sky, surprised by how much time had passed. I suppose we should get on with practicing now. Kahlia let go of his hand and gave him a tight-lipped smile. I believe weve done enough for now. But I havent done anything. Unburdening the mind is indeed doing something, Kahlia said, rising smoothly. We can resume your lessons tomorrow. We have many more days ahead of us. Luca considered protestinghe wanted to make his powers work, damn itbut he kept silent and followed her to the fire. With a grateful nod, he accepted his dinner from Zandren, and peered into their little fire as he forced the food down. When they took to their bedrolls for the night, Luca felt a bit more at ease, and waking up the next morning to a clear sky shoved away the rest of his worry, at least for the time being. 153 The day passed, as did another, much the same as those that came before. On the eighth morning, the sun peeked through gray clouds that threatened rain once again, but the blustering amounted to nothing more than a light sprinkle that cleared out by midday. They came across the first of the farms in the middle of the afternoon. This time, Zandren kept them at their steady pace forward, passing by the farm as though they hadnt spent the past week avoiding such homesteads. Were getting close to the city, Zandren explained when Rensler questioned him. The farms will only pack more tightly together now. No use in trying to skirt around them anymore. Arent you worried well be seen? Luca asked. Kahlia chuckled. It would be impossible to go truly unseen in the city, but if we appear as any other traveler, we should at least go unbothered. The answer, so obvious now, left Luca feeling sheepish, though the sensation quickly vanished, his attention drawn elsewhere as they moved on. Soon enough, it seemed that every shallow rise and fall in the green fields revealed two more farms. People were hard at work as the harvests continued, and few spared more than a glance at their little group. Travelers always caused a stir in Salden, but such was evidently not the case here. At last, they topped a low rise, and Luca couldnt help but gasp at the sight before them. Felwin, no more than a mile away. Hundreds of buildings clustered together inside a sturdy log wall, dotted with watchtowers at odd intervals. Plumes of smoke rose above tiled roofs. A river ran along the western edge of the city, hard fast against the outside of the wall, the water glinting in the light of the setting sun. The road stretched toward the eastern gate, still standing open, as a dozen wagons and carts, accompanied by twice that number of people, plodded along toward the palisade. 154 Incredible, Luca whispered. All the books and stories in the world could not have prepared him for this. Several Saldens could have fit comfortably within those walls. How many people live here? Not many, Kahlia replied. A few thousand, maybe. Lucas eyes went wide, and Rensler practically choked beside him. Not many! he thought. If several thousand people didnt count as many, he was sorely curious to discover what number did. And if she considered Felwin small, how large must Thanalia be? You can gawk along the way, Zandren said, striding forward. Theyll close the gates at sundown. He pointed at the wall. So wed best get inside before then. We dont have the coin to cajole our way in after dark. With a lurch, like he was coming out of a trance, Luca followed, his excitement growing stronger with every step. 155 Chapter 9 Luca watched the eastern gate as they approached Felwin, half expecting it to suddenly swing shut and deny them entrance. But the heavy wooden gates, bound together with strips of iron, remained open, and the four of them joined the other stragglers making their way into the city before the sun could fully set. A handful of men reclined against the open gates, giving only a passing inspection to the laden wagons trundling by as the drivers dipped their head in greeting. The men wore brown jerkins, made bulky by what looked to be a chain shirt underneath, and cloth caps with flaps that hung below their ears. A spear accompanied each man. The wooden shafts and metal tips were of all sorts of different lengthsand various states of repairlikely collected over time from retired soldiers. Luca smiled and nodded at each of the men in turn. They regarded the group with pleasant expressions, though their gazes lingered on Tyrus. A thick blanket was draped over the horse, and the packs were laid in a haphazard mannerby design, of course, as Zandren had wanted to keep his swords hidden from prying eyes. He still wore one at his hip, a shortsword with an adorned sheath, which drew attention away from the horse. It was not uncommon for travelers to go about armed, though, and so with a quick reminder not to cause trouble, they were allowed to pass. Through the gates, the road became cobblestone as it continued on into the city, almost wide enough for three wagons to pass abreast, though at this hour, there was plenty of room to walk without bumping into anyone unintentionally. Luca swiveled his head from side to side, trying to watch where he was walking while marveling at the buildings on either side of the thoroughfare. Some were short, but more than a few stood two-stories high, and every one of 156 them was capped with a tiled roof from which a brick chimney arose. The Lone Tree Inn was quite possibly the finest building in Salden; here, it would have been simply average, unassuming. Kahlia led them off the cobblestone street and onto a road of hard-packed dirt about half as wide. Tall wooden fences enclosed yards here and there, of homes and businesses alike. Before too long, Kahlia turned onto another road with a sure step, navigating the city streets as easily as a local. I cant wait to see more of this place, he said. No one had spoken since they stepped through the gate, but enough people were on the streets that Luca didnt think he needed to whisper. Indeed, they hardly garnered any attention. Certainly no more than anyone else out and about. As expected, Rensler shook his head firmly. Absolutely not. The last thing we need is for you to get lost. Or worse. Im not going to get lost, Luca huffed. Even if you didnt, we dont know this place or these people. This isnt Salden, where everyone is your neighbor. You need to be careful. You think I dont know that? Youre certainly acting like you dont. Kahlia cut Luca off before he could respond. Your brother is correct in his assessment, Luca, she said over her shoulder. Beside her, Zandren nodded his agreement. I cant believe theyre taking his side, Luca thought. Surely they didnt expect him to just sit inside for however many days they planned to spend here. 157 Perhaps there will be opportunity tomorrow, Kahlia added, as though she could read his thoughts, but for now, our only concern is lodging. Speaking of which She pointed at a building farther down the road, a sprawling, three-story structure, made of brick and stout timber. Light shone through a dozen of its upper windows, and the bustling sounds of a full common room grew louder as they drew near. A wooden sign as wide as Luca was tall hung from the eaves above the entrance. The River Queen, the sign proclaimed in fine, slanted lettering. Wait here a moment, Kahlia said and disappeared inside. No more than a minute had passed when she returned, followed by a boy about Lucas age. Zandren took down the packs and bedrolls from Tyruss back, stashing one of his swords in each bundle before handing one to Rensler and another to Luca. The boy watched quietly, though his eyes were wide as saucers at the sight of the weapons. Zandren slipped something into the boys hand; Luca caught the glint of a coin. Be good to the horse, the man said, and think nothing of what you saw. Right, sir, thank you, the boy replied, grinning. He took the reins from Zandren and led the horse around the side of the building, assumedly to the stableyard. Why wrap these up, Rensler said, hefting his bundle, when youve already let him see? Its easy to keep one boy quiet, Zandren answered. And if hes smart, he knows theres more coin to come if he keeps his mouth shut. Rensler didnt look wholly convinced, but he let the matter go, and Kahlia led them inside. Warmth and the smell of cooked food washed over Luca, setting his mouth to watering as he breathed in the scents. A prod from Rensler got him moving again, and they found their way 158 to the long bar against one wall. Dozens of conversations filled the air, mingling with the sounds of clinking cups, rattling dice, and the drifting melody of a lute, played by a lone woman sitting on a raised wooden platform. Workers darted among the tables, holding aloft platters of food and drink. The whole room was easily twice the size of the one in the Lone Tree, and there were not one but three stone hearths along the walls, a fire burning low in each. Behind the bar stood a man with a drooping mustache and a fat stomach that pushed against his white apron. Handkerchief in hand, he dabbed at the sweat beading incessantly on his bald head. Welcome, good travelers, to the River Queen. His voice was earnest and welcoming, and he regarded them with a smile that struck Luca as genuine. Kahlia inclined her head. Master Nolin. Its been quite some time since we last spoke. AhMistress Kahlia, isnt it? Master Nolins smile widened. Pleasure to see you again. You as well, Master Zandren. Whats it beentwo years since your last stay? Dont look so surprised, mistress; I never forget a face. Why, you must have traveled the whole countryside twice over by now. He peered past her at Luca and Rensler. You must have, to pick up a couple of country folk as companions. Country folk? The assessment wasnt wrong, of course, but Luca wondered how Master Nolin knew just from a simple glance. He looked down at his clothing, all tan and brown and made from wool. Every inch of it was wrinkled and in need of a good scrubbing. He gave himself a good sniff, nose wrinkling at the smell of sweat and grime. Well then. He supposed they did look like country folk. Oh, weve been here and there, Kahlia said. Do you have rooms available, Master Nolin? We are weary and in need of respite, and Id rather find that here than anywhere else. 159 The innkeeper puffed up at the compliment as he consulted a ledger, slowly running a finger down its length. Lets see. The inns near full, as you probably noticed. People coming from upriver, looking for work helping with the harvest. Seems an awful lot of them this year, and so soon, but I guess the frosts arent waiting for winter anymore these days. Add that to the farmers coming in to unwind for a night, and soon enough every inn and tavern in the city is fit to bursting. He tapped his finger against the ledger. Ah, here we are. Only two rooms free, and not together, Im afraid. That will suffice, Kahlia said. Well need meals, of course, and hot baths tonight, if theyre available. She started counting out silver coins into one hand. And would it be possible to get our clothing laundered tomorrow? Well be here for the next day at least. Sure, sure. Master Nolin produced two slender iron keys from beneath the bar. And if you need to stay longer, I can arrange it. I must say I have missed your conversation. Though I dont remember much of the specifics anymore, I know we had a grand time. Kahlia favored him with a smile. Were glad to be back. Might we stow our belongings in our rooms before the bath? Of course, Master Nolin said. He waved to a woman standing near the far wall, and she darted off, quickly returning with another attendant. See our guests to their rooms, then escort them to the bath chambers. The attendants gave a little bow before setting off, beckoning for the group to follow. As they walked, Rensler said, Only two rooms. I assume Luca and I will take one, and you two will share the other? And why do you make that assumption? Zandren asked beside him. 160 I thought perhaps you always shareaccommodations, Rensler replied. His words dripped with feigned innocence. Zandren shot Rensler a glare. Kahlia and I have shared many a room, when the situation calls for it, but never a bed, if that is what you are so cleverly trying to imply. Kahlia halted, the attendants continuing for several paces before realizing their charges were no longer following. She swiveled toward Rensler, and though he stood half a head higher, the force of her presence made her seem to loom over him. And he tells me to think before speaking, Luca thought. If you were half as clever as you presume yourself to be, you would keep such childish comments to yourself, Kahlia said. Her voice had taken on an icy tone, the one every mother in Salden had perfected for when their children severely misbehaved, and Luca was glad he was not the one in trouble. You are better than that. I know you are. A red wave swept across Renslers face as he took a step back. Ahsorry, he mumbled. But that is how we are splitting the rooms? Indeed, Kahlia said flatly, spinning. To the fidgeting attendants, she called, Please, proceed. Serves you right, Luca wanted to say as he hurried after Kahlia. His brother had no right to complain about their companions when he made comments like that. As they continued on, Rensler at least had the good sense to mutter an apology to Zandren, and his embarrassed expression remained until they arrived at the first of the rooms, in the middle of a hallway on the second floor. One of the attendants remained with Zandren and Kahlia, who handed Rensler the other key, and then the second attendant led Luca and his brother up to the third floor. Two 161 narrow beds filled most of the space, with a trunk at the foot of each and a short wooden stand between them. A lone window, overlooking the street below, let in what little sunlight remained. They tossed down their packs and were barely given time to retrieve their last change of clean clothing before the attendant bustled them back down to the first floor and into a chamber sequestered somewhere in the rear of the inn. A number of copper tubs sat upon the tiled floor, a towel and brick of soap beside each one, while large iron cauldrons warmed in a fireplace along one of the stone walls. Luca waited for the attendant to fill his tub before stripping down and sinking into the hot water, Rensler following suit in the next tub over. The attendant lingered until Rensler shooed him away, and then they said nothing for a time and simply sat with eyes closed, allowing the warmth to work its way into tired muscles and wash away all evidence of their week-long journey. I guess this place isnt so bad, Rensler said after a long bit of silence. Too many people, of course, and its louder than Id like, but this He waved lazily, water streaming off his hand. This is nice. Mmhmm, was all Luca mustered. He had been certain this place wouldnt be anything but nice, at the bare minimum, and while he felt extraordinarily welcomed at the moment, he still yearned to see what else the city had to offer. He kept that to himself for now; hed broach the subject over dinner, when the others could offer their opinions and help him convince Rensler not to be such a spoilsport. Luca heard the door swing open, and his eyes snapped open as he came alert, only to see Zandren stepping inside. After a brief discussion with someone in the hallway, he shut the door and filled his own tub, disrobed, and finally stepped in with a sigh of pleasure, a sound Luca hadnt thought the man could make. He stifled a laugh and shut his eyes once more. 162 I trust youve told no one who we are, Zandren said. The water in his tub sloshed as he scrubbed himself. Of course not, Rensler murmured. Nor where youre from? Or where were headed? No, Luca replied. How much trouble did the man think theyd get up to in a matter of minutes? Good, Zandren said. Be sure to keep it that way. And be careful of what you say when you think no one can hear. Do not let down your guard, even in the comfort of your room. Especially in your room. You never know who may be listening at the wall. Luca sank deeper into the water, tilting his head back to envelope his ears while keeping his face above the surface. Maybe if he couldnt hear the man speak, he could go back to pretending that everything was right in the world, that he was simply here in this city by choice. Not because they were being hunted. As quickly as he had come, Zandren left, climbing out of his tub with hardly a splash, hastily dressing before disappearing into the hallway. Luca forced himself to push aside Zandrens warnings and relax once more, though it was short-lived as a rapping at the door soon broke them out of their tranquil stupor. With a quiet huff, Luca hauled himself from the tub and toweled dry, then dressed in his clean outfit. It was much the same as what he had worn before, though free of grime and the odors of travel. They left the chamber in silent contentment. Luca and Rensler returned their dirtied clothing to their rooman attendant would come for the items in need of laundering in the morning, they were toldand at last found themselves in the common room once more. 163 Across the crowd, Kahlia beckoned to them, leading the way into a smaller side chamber, well-lit by three ornate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and thick candles set into fanciful sconces along the walls. Only half a dozen tables filled the space, spread a comfortable distance from one another, and while the noise from the larger room beyond still drifted in, the din was not nearly so overwhelming. At present, three of the tables were occupied by well-dressed guests who kept their voices to a polite volume. Master Nolin made sure he had a space for us in here, Kahlia explained as she brought Luca and Rensler to a round table of polished oak, already set with porcelain plates and real silver. Her freshly washed hair, hanging in curling strands free from her usual collection of braids, gleamed in the candlelight. I didnt even have to ask. Bless him. Hes an excellent host, really, and one of the only innkeepers Ive met who wont sell the secrets of his guestsnot for cheap, at least. Her features brightened as a few members of the serving staff entered, bearing several covered platters. They set the dishes on the table and revealed their contents: bowls of steaming broth, turnips and radishes, and a whole roast chicken accompanied by a ceramic dish full of a savory white sauce that smelled of garlic. After the constant meals of hardtack and dried meat, this seemed a feast. Luca gaped at the food and turned to Kahlia, disbelieving. She flashed him a warm smile before thanking the staff. They dipped their heads and retreated for the time being, just as Zandren strode into the room and filled the final seat. The food tasted even more exquisite than it looked, and they made the barest conversation as they ate their fill. For the first time in days, Luca finally felt more like himself, rested and unconcerned about the greater troubles of the world. In this calm place, it was easy to forget all about the danger that was supposedly still hounding them. 164 At least, it was until Rensler had to bring it up. Im curious why you told Master Nolin wed be staying two nights, Rensler said as soon as he finished the last bit of his meal. Kahlia had swiftly grown accustomed to Renslers propensity to voice his thoughts freely over the past eight daysparticularly this eveningand it seemed tonight would be no exception. She had hoped the return to civilization would keep him content for one night. Patience, she thought. He did not yet trust either Zandren or her, despite the time spent together on the road. We have already had a long journey, Kahlia said. The journey ahead of us is far longer. It is better to rest now, while we can be certain that danger is not lying in wait. Rensler frowned. The two of you have said, many times already, that we must reach Rellas Gate as soon as possible. Spending an extra day here seems counter to that plan. You are correct in that regard, Kahlia said. But consider what we gain with the time spent here. We cannot simply walk the entire distance to Vendalar; such a feat is as foolish as it is impossible. Therefore, we must acquire horses fit for ridingdiscretely, if possiblebefore we go any further. I suspect that task will take much of my day tomorrow, so if you wish to avoid leaving just before nightfall, we must be patient. And theres the matter of supplies, Zandren added. Your aunt had the foresight to give us enough food for this leg of the journey, but were on our own now. Which means Ill need time to resupply. He speared a piece of chicken with his fork. You should be thankful simply to sleep in a warm bed for a second night. Artras knows there will be many cold nights ahead of us. 165 Rensler drummed his fingers on the tabletop. Kahlia could tell from the way he worked his jaw that he agreed with them but was avoiding saying as such. He was far too stubborn, too mistrusting, for a man so youngthough she knew the cause. The scars from his childhood had never fully healed. All right, Rensler finally conceded. I can accept all of that. His gaze wandered across the other tables, and he leaned in close. But I dont like being out in the open like this. Isnt this an unnecessary risk, showing ourselves to everyone? Your sensibility is commendable, Kahlia said, but do not let fear cloud your mind. Sometimes to hide, you must be seen. Here in this place, we are only seen as what we are: simple travelers. Were we to hole up in our rooms, our secrecy would serve only to breed rumor, and we would inevitably find ourselves the target of thieves, seeking the treasures that we assumedly possess. As long as we present ourselves as unassuming, then unassuming we shall be. Lucas face lit up at that. So well be fine if we venture out into the city tomorrow? If you draw no attention to yourself, then yes, you will be fine, Kahlia replied. Though Luca had spoken, her answer was directed at Rensler. Dangerous and misguided they may be, but the Watchers are not fools. In a place like this, they cant simply kill someone in the streets and go unnoticed. Not in Odrema, that is, she finished to herself. Rensler remained unconvinced, judging by his seemingly perpetual grimace. I still dont like it, he muttered. What if something happens to Luca or meor one of you twowhile were all gallivanting about? Return here at once, Zandren said. And prepare to leave. Feign illness, if the staff try to bother you. When weve all returned, we can plan our course. 166 Kahlia looked between the two brothers. Luca, so inquisitive and eager to explore, and Rensler, wary of even his own shadow. Both could stand to learn something from the other. I believe the matter is settled, then, she said. More discussion will only lead us in circles. She held up a finger. But, I do think it wise if the two of you stick together while you venture out. Should Renslers concerns prove true, it will be far easier to prepare our withdrawal if you return here together. The brothers regarded each other for a moment, and then, blessedly, both nodded their assent. Im fine with that arrangement, Rensler said. To Luca, he added, Just dont try to lose me in a crowd. I wont if you dont dawdle, Luca said with a smirk, and Renslers stony faade finally cracked. Kahlia sighed, relievedand a touch surprisedto put the issue to rest finally. Then its settled. Youll have the day to yourselves, and Zandren and I will see to our necessities. Do your best to return here before sundown, though. If I am successful, well need to time to acquaint ourselves with our mounts prior to setting off again. With everyone finally in agreement, Kahlia sat back, and they spoke about less weighty topics until the staff returned to clear away their dishes, leaving each of them a thick slab of sweet bread drizzled in honey. It was a somewhat frivolous expense, possibly unwise considering their need for horses, but the dessert accomplished what she wanted as the mood around the table lightened. Zandren soon excused himself, venturing out into the common room to make whatever acquaintances he could, citing their need for information before they continued west. Within a few minutes, the brothers followedLuca leading the way, of courseleaving Kahlia alone in 167 the quiet dining room. When one of the staff poked her head around the corner, checking to see if the table were vacant, Kahlia knew it was time to leave as well. She paused in the common room for a short while, staying as out of the way as she could while scanning the room. A different musician stood upon the stage now, a man playing a lively jaunt on a flute, while another sang and juggled five colorful balls in time with the rhythm. Most of the patrons clapped along with the performance; those who did not were either busy with conversation or too deep in their cups. Zandren had taken up a game of dice with some farmhands, their skin tanned and weathered from many years working under the sun. He laughed and drank with themjust another man enjoying the night, so different from his usual stoic self. Luca and Rensler sat closer to the stage, tapping their feet to the music. Noisy and raucous though it was, the common room gave Kahlia a sense of peace, of normality. These people simply enjoyed their lives, uncaring about the larger problems of the world. For now, she would do the same. Song after song was played, and soon enough the din lost its comfort. She returned to their second floor room, where the floorboards dulled the racket to a manageable buzzing, and sat upon her bed. Legs crossed, back straight, hands on her kneesthe meditative pose she used during her lessons with Luca. Then, as she did every night, she ran through her litany of prayers, for safety, for clear skies and easy travel. She prayed for Zandren, Rensler, and Luca, as well as the people of Salden and those they had lost. She prayed for her fellow Seekers, wherever they might be. And, of course, she prayed for Emeria. Her daughter. An image of a young girl, nearly seven, sprang to the forefront of her mind, as clear now as it was fifteen years ago, and then Kahlia was there in that final memory together, brushing out Emerias beautiful curls while the 168 girl sang. God, how Kahlia missed the wonderful innocence of that voice, of the child herself. She would be a woman grown now, of an age with Rensler. Who would she have become, had she not been stolen from this world, murdered by Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes before she could stop their coming. Her upturned palms tightened into fists on her knees as she forced herself to control her quickened breathing and racing thoughts, before the agony of loss consumed her. The sensation, like a burning blade plunged into her very soul, would never truly leave her. It was a piece of her now, a companion as alive and present as Zandren. But she could control it. She had to. She began the prayers again, this time letting the familiar rhythm bring peace rather than pain. By her fifth circuit, the door creaked open, and Zandren stepped quietly into the room. Anything interesting? she asked, keeping her eyes shut. Even without seeing, she sensed a certainannoyance in the mans movements, in the way he bolted the door and stalked across the creaking floorboards. Not much, her Guardian replied. No word of anything regarding the Watchers, leastways. There are rumors out of Myrandir that aretroubling. When are they not? The other bed wheezed as Zandren sat. True, though they only seem to grow more so. King Temerid has declared harboring Marked a crime punishable by flogging. Death, if you do it again. He sighed. I dont like this plan, Kahlia. Traveling through Myrandir may be even worse than dealing with the Watchers. Kahlia looked toward him, just making out his sturdy features in the weak moonlight streaming through the window. We dont have much choice. To go north would add weeks to the journey, and Kilan Tor guards their border with trained soldiers, not peasant conscripts. If 169 they caught so much of a whiff of what were about, they would bar our passage into Vendalar. And then there is the matter of the Glasslands. They had ventured through that obsidian expanse once before, when they had first departed Vendalar a decade ago. The journey had been treacherous, fraught with unpredictable and deadly storms, as well as all manner of strange beasts. Whatever ancient sorcery had sundered Artras had also permanently scarred that land. The same considerations were plain to Kahlia in the subtle twist of Zandrens lips, though he said, It might be worth the risk. Perhaps, Kahlia said. But I fear what will happenwhat we may faceif we delay our arrival to Thanalia. One demon had already attacked Luca. The creatures always emerged when Braskellar became aware of the new Vestige. Luca was still young, which gave her hope their numbers would remain small for now, but she would feel much more at ease once they reached Thanalia, where the might of the Church could keep the beasts at bay. We must stay the course, she added. We must make for the Gate. Im certain of it. After a moment, Zandren nodded and let the matter go. Rensler has a good head on his shoulders, he said as settled down in his bed. Well, most of the time. Hes far too overbearing, certainly, but he has a good eye for danger and a steadfast sense of duty. Hed make a good Guardian, with the right persuading. Kahlia blinked in surprise at the admission. Maybe you can convince him of that, she said. Once we reach Thanalia. Perhaps. I might have an easier time eating rock. Kahlia chuckled and slipped under her own covers, at last feeling herself again. Hard and narrow, the bed was sorely welcomed nonetheless, and after a week of sleeping on the cold ground, she had no trouble drifting off. 170 Chapter 10 The stone corridor stretched into the distance before and behind Luca, seemingly infinite, though a tiny pinprick of light was just visible at either end, deep in the shadows. Wavy lines of red and orange and brown ran through the stone, and though there were no candles or lanterns to be found, the corridor was not dark but merely dim. The air was still and musty, undisturbed by either wind or people. A faint rumbling echoed through the hall, pulsing through the rock like a heartbeat. He swiveled back and forth, trying to orient himself. Whatever this place might be, it was not the River Queen. Butwhat did that name mean? Was it a name at all? Faintly, he recalled a noisy common room and a hard bed, but the memories kept shying away when he tried to hold onto them. Well, wherever he was, there was nothing for it but to pick a direction and walk. He started forward, running a hand along one wall as he went. Smooth to the touch, the rock held no featuresno intersections, no doors, nothing save those colored lines. Every bit of surface was the same, and there was a slight curve in the walls, allowing them to blend seamlessly into the floor and ceiling. It seemed to Luca that this passage had not been made by humans but rather by some giant worm burrowing through the stone. For a time, the only sounds were his bare feet on stone and that distant rumbling. The strange light remained constant, the shadows deep in the hall never growing nor shrinking. With no end in sight, he stopped, turnedand found himself standing before an archway of white stone, leading out onto a balcony set against a dark expanse. The rumbling grew louder as he stepped out of the corridor, and the suffocating blackness became a sky of gray clouds, churning in the sharp wind that bit at Luca. White light flashed 171 within the clouds, and streaks of lightning struck with booming thunder that he felt within his chest. He approached the edge of the balcony, placing his hands on the ornate railing sprouting from the stone, and peered outward. Hundreds of buildings, in all shapes and sizes, spread out below, sloping downward in tiers and all carved from stone. He was high above the ground, he realized, gazing down at an entire city hewn into a mountainside; one of many mountains, it seemed, as other mounds rose out of the shadows beyond. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed towering spires rising behind him. Was thisa palace of some kind? Built inside the mountain? A deafening roar split the night, so incredible that the thunder may as well have been a whisper on the wind. Luca pressed his hands against his ears, but the sound could not be held back. It was unlike any he had heard beforeboth human and animal, full of wrath and anguish. Lightning split the sky, and in the brief flash, one of the mounds shifted in the darkness. With a cry, Luca spun away from the railing. He needed to get away from that impossibly huge thing, but the passage from where he had come had changed entirely. There were three arches now, curving stone blocks upon white pillars, leading into an antechamber carved into the rock. Decorative tapestries covered the walls, and a hearth stood on either side of the room, a fire burning uselessly in each. At the center of the far wall was now a sturdy oak door that closed him off from the corridor. If the corridor was still there at all. Five figures emerged from beneath the arches. Luca had not noticed them until then, or, quite possibly, they simply had not existed until that moment. Thick robes of a fine cut enveloped each, the cloth hanging still, undisturbed by the wind, and as they pushed back their hoods, Luca saw only writhing shadows instead of faces. 172 His Greatness walks once more among mortals, the five said in unison. They spoke barely above a whisper, yet their words pierced the wind all the same. Their voices overlapped so completely that Luca could not make out who commanded whichnot that it mattered, with their faces obscured so. Who are you? Luca shouted into the driving wind. More thunderclaps cracked across the sky. Where am I? In a dream, of course, he told himself. But everything felt so vivid, so real. How could he be sure this wasnt reality, and his life with his brother the dream? Mybrother? A name danced along the surface of his mind. He tried to catch it, but it eluded him as easily as a squirrel darting up a tree. Your most humble servants, Great One, the five replied. They dropped to one knee, then crossed their arms in front of bowed heads before rising once more. We await your commands once more, Lord Artras. Artras. That name he did remember, though not who had spoken it. These people named him Artras, but that couldnt be right. He was Luca. Wasnt he? After a few moments of silence, he got the sense they were waiting for him to do something. I dont understand, he said. What do you want from me? His eyes watered as the wind slapped at his face. It seemed to be growing stronger, and colder. Or maybe it had always been like that. We want nothing but your desires, Lord Braskellar. Our purpose is your purpose. WaitBraskellar? He was Artrasno, Luca. Was he all three? Or was he one person with three names? He clenched his fists against the storm. Luca, he thought. Im Luca. Im just Luca. 173 Ah. This time, only one voice spoke; it emanated from the central figure. Perhaps this is too soon. The connection is not yet strong enough. The mortal remains in full control, said another. The shadows on the heads quickened, then parted in roiling waves, peeling back and revealing the faces underneath. Three men, two women. All appeared to be well into their prime. Their appearance reminded Luca of his traveling companions. Whoever those were. He was sure there were two of them that resembled these people. The central figure was a man with dark flowing hair that was just beginning to gray, held back by a golden circlet. His face was that of a kindly parent, though as Luca stared back, the mans eyes became dark pools, and his skin tightened into a skeletal visage. The image disappeared in an instant, and the features were as before. Luca shied away as the man approached. He wanted to retreat, but the railing against his back reminded him there was nowhere to go. I could jump, he thought for a fleeting second. No. That would be even more foolish. If this were indeed a dream, hed likely survive the fall, but that monstrous presence waited somewhere out in the darkness. Do not be afraid, My Lord, the man said in a pleasant voice. He raised his arms, long sleeves sliding away from his hands. Gemstones twinkled in silver rings adorning each of his fingers. As the man came closer, Luca saw the pendant peeking out from an opening in the robes, bearing the image of a sleeping face. Indeed, this is quite soon; not even two decades have passed since last we knew your presence, and few of your children have yet risen from the bones of the earth. The man spoke as though to someone who stood behind Luca, not Luca himself. He clenched his fists and scowled as fiercely as he could muster. Enough! Either speak sense or 174 leave me be. Maybe that was how he could escape this nightmare, for he was now certain that was what this was. And yet naming it as such did not set him free. The man stopped mere feet away, keeping his hands up in a placating gesture. I beg your patience, Lord Artras. Your mortal shell is still young, still bound by the constraints of time. Your purpose has not yet become clear. Thats not speaking sense, Luca snapped. What are you talking about? What purpose? He recalled something about a purpose, something special about him, but the memory wouldnt come. The cleansing, of course, the man said. The world must first be cleansed before it can be born anew. He lunged forward, so fast that Luca could do nothing as a hand grabbed his forehead. The world became a blur as his awareness left his body behind, rising high into the clouded expanse and shooting forward like an arrow. Miles passed in seconds. Everywhere he looked, the land was consumed by fire, and the black sky stretched into eternity. Armies marched under a hundred banners and clashed among the flames, sending great waves of bodies smashing into one another, leaving behind rivers of blood and mountains of bone. Luca gasped as he came to himself and staggered against the railing of the balcony. Whatwhat was that? The future, Lord Braskellar, the man said. The inevitable outcome of this world. Long has humanity sought to prevent it, but destiny will always prevail in the end. Indeed, humans will provide the means for their own undoing, in time. They spend what short lives they have attempting to destroy one another, incapable of ever achieving perfect unity on their own. But 175 you will bring them unity, Great One. You will bring them the everlasting peace that so eludes them. All shall become one in the ashes of the world. A sharp pain coursed through Luca from feet to head, as though something deep within were trying to break free from his skull. It isnt real, he thought. Its a dream. Its just a dream. Wake up! A dream, yes, the man said. Luca breathed in sharply through his teeth. But dreams are often visions of the future. I dont want that future! Luca cried. I deny it! The man smiled, and his eyes became black pits again. Your desires will amount to nothing, mortal. This flesh is yours for only a short while longer. From out in the darkness beyond the city came that monstrous roar again. The stone beneath Lucas feet shuddered, and the railing was suddenly no more as he stumbled, nearly falling before the man grabbed him by the armthen flung him over the edge. Luca screamed, flailing, as he fell away into nothingness. Luca jerked upright in his bed, shoulders heaving as he sucked in air. His eyes darted to and fro, taking in every inch of his surroundings. A small room, with a single window letting in sunlight. There was another bed beside his, though it was empty, the covers pulled up so that it seemed no one had slept there at all. He loosened the stranglehold on his own blanket, slowly coming down from the lingering terror of his dream. A dream, yes. That was all it was. Dreams could not hurt him. They were nothing but the product of an overexcited imagination, his brother always told himwhich probably meant Rensler never dreamed. 176 He shivered all the same, though, despite the room being perfectly warm and cozy. The sun was a most welcome sight, after the black clouds dominating the sky in his dream. Details had already begun to fade, everything mixing into a jumbled mess, but he remembered some of it. The mountain city, and the people on the balcony. The man with the kindly face, who had spoken such strange things before throwing him over the side. Perhaps Rensler was mistaken; surely it all meant something. He glanced at the other bed. Should he tell his brother about the dream? He rejected the idea immediately. Rensler would either fuss too much or dismiss the issue entirely. Maybe Kahlia or Zandren could offer some insight, if he could catch them before they left for the day. He climbed out of bed and dressed hurriedly, then headed downstairs, making his way toward the common room, and was surprised to find it mostly empty. Without the crowd from last night, the room seemed overly large now, and the dozen or so people who were here spoke in hushed tones. Rensler occupied a small table tucked away in a corner of the room, as far from the other patrons as he could get while still facing the front door. Two plates of food sat upon the tabletop, though Rensler had already started in on his. Luca paused in the entryway as a sudden wave of frustration washed over him. Why couldnt Rensler have just waited for Luca to order his own breakfast? Did his brother think he couldnt even handle such a simple thing on his own? Or, hes trying to be helpful, a part of him reasoned. He took a deep breath and pushed away his annoyance; it wasnt like him to get so irritable about such a little thing, especially a simple kindness. The dream had left a stronger impression than he realized, clouding his mind with negativity. Forcing a smile on his face, he joined his brother. 177 Morning, Rensler said in a strangely pleasant tone. The bath and the bed seemed to have washed away his grumpiness from the night beforemuch to Lucas delight. When Rensler was grouchy, he made sure everyone knew. Luca responded in kind and took to the untouched plate immediately. Compared to the feast, the breakfast was nothing special, consisting of a warm biscuit, a few pieces of sausage, and a boiled egg, but it was welcome nonetheless, as he had developed a ravenous hunger on his way downstairs. He let nothing go to waste, even using the biscuit to mop up the last of the juices from the sausage. His brother was quiet throughout the whole affair, periodically sipping from a mug of what looked to be tea, though he watched Luca just as much as the other patrons. Howd you sleep last night? he asked as Luca was licking the crumbs off his fingers. That bed was a bit hard for my liking, but it certainly beat sleeping on the ground. Im still sore, of course. Probablyll need another long soak tonight. Luca went to wipe his hands on his pants, stopping himself before his brother could scold him, and instead reached for the napkin. Couldve been worse. Seemed to me like it couldve been better, Rensler said. I thought you were trying to spin yourself a cocoon, you were tossing about so much. I mustve woken up a dozen times hearing you squirming and muttering. He made a placating gesture. Im not blaming you. You werent the only thing making noise last night. But I wanted to make sure you were feeling all right. Fates. Luca hadnt considered any of that. Im as good as ever, he said, hoping he sounded sufficiently nonchalant. Its strange sleeping in a bed again, thats all. Especially a 178 strange bed. Tonightll be better. He made a show of scanning the common room, and before Rensler could pry further, he added, Have you seen Kahlia or Zandren yet? Rensler scowled, just as Luca had expected. Those two? Havent seen them, but Master Nolin mentioned theyd slipped out just before I came down. He insisted he wanted us to know, so we didnt panic without them, as he put it. Oh, and they left us orders to enjoy ourselves today. He really emphasized that part. He shook his head and made a disgusted face. Damn innkeeper. I dont need to be told to enjoy myself. Luca struggled to keep his composure as the laughter built within him. Hes just being helpful, he managed, feigning a cough. Truth be told, he rather liked the portly innkeeper, seeing as how accommodating he had proven to be. Well, anyway, I dont like how much those two order us about. He held his tea cup with both hands and stared off toward the window. And I cant help but think theyre wrong about all of this. Maybe this issue of the Watchers is nothing more than a fabrication. Luca regarded him with alarm. This couldnt be his brother, the man who saw danger in every little twig on the road. How can you say that? You saw what those people did to Salden. I did, yes, Rensler said. But we havent seen any sign of them since then. Im not saying there isnt danger; Im merely saying that maybe the situation isnt as what those two make it out to be. He glanced at the nearest patrons, a few tables over. They were far enough away that they likely could not hear them and engaged in their own conversation, but Rensler lowered his voice regardless. If youre as important as they claimdont look at me like that, you know what I meanthen shouldnt these Watchers people be upon us already? Either theyre woefully inept at finding us, or they simply arent looking. 179 It was a fair argument, one that Luca himself had considered these past few days, but there was something that nagged at him. You could be right, or we might just not know enough about the Watchers to know how they operate. Theyve done this before He trailed off as a flutter of anxiety woke in his gut. Theyve done this before, so they have to know what theyre doing. Maybe theyre just biding their time, waiting for us to really let our guards down, and then theyll make their move. Maybe, Rensler said. Maybe not. Maybe the whole story is a load of tripe. The people who attacked Salden could just as easily have been raiders coming through the mountains, never seen before. As silly as that sounds, I find it more plausible than the idea that a cult weve never heard of attacked a village at the edge of civilization. I think the problem is you just dont like Kahlia and Zandren, Luca argued. Theyve been nothing but kind to us, and yet you still cant just be nice to them. Im not convinced this whole mess isnt of their making in the first place. Salden never had any trouble before they showed up. Salden wouldve been burned to the ground if they hadnt been there to help! Luca watched the nearby patrons; if they had heard him, they didnt show it. He sank back into his chair. Damn Rensler and his pigheadedness. They saved us from the ones who actually want me dead. If Kahlia and Zandren wanted the same, wouldnt they have gotten it out of the way already? Why cant you just trust them? Renslers jaw clenched. Youd know why if youd been old enough to remember Darrow. He continued before Luca could respond. Were just going in circles. But you cant blame me for being skeptical about this whole situation. 180 Luca could, in fact, blame Rensler for that, but arguing further would be pointless when his brother was in one of his moods. He sat in sullen silence, watching the other patrons and trying not to be too obvious, until Rensler drained the last bit of his tea. I cant believe Im saying this, but Rensler hesitated. How about we head out, see the city for a bit? Luca didnt respond. Did he really want to spend the day with Rensler nagging him? Do I really have a choice? Sure, he grumbled at last. His brother frowned and pointed a finger upward. But, you have to promise me you wont run off, he said in a much lighter tone. I dont want to have to hunt you down in this strange place. Luca sighed, then held a hand over his heart. I promise I wont run off, he intoned with mock solemnity. The prospect of venturing outside was chipping away at his annoyance, and he couldnt contain a grin as he darted for the door. Rensler took two steps toward the bustling street before pulling back underneath the eaves of the River Queen, where Luca had actually paused to wait. Since he woke that morning, he had told himself not to look the part of the overwhelmed country folk, but his mouth hung open all the same. People streamed past the inn as though they were part of a great river, flowing endlessly from somewhere deeper in the city. There were more people than Rensler had ever seen, of all ages and sizes, every one of them bundled up in coats and cloaks against the chill gust winding its way through the streets, carrying along the pungent smells of so many bodies crammed together. They bumped and jostled one another as those with a quick step hastened to wherever 181 they were headed, dodging around the slower foot traffic like mice scurrying through grass. Pairs of City Watch moved with the crowd, garbed in gold tunics and armed with quarterstaffs. The lot of them seemed soimpersonal. Did anyone among this faceless crowd know their fellows? In Salden, Rensler would be hard-pressed to make it through the village without being stopped for a dozen conversations, and maybe for a mug and some sweetcakes. Finding such a welcome here seemed impossible. Luca let out a laugh and clapped his hands together. Marvelous! he said. He turned to Rensler, eyes alight with joy. Where should we go? Inside, Rensler mumbled. His head already throbbed from the cloying scents and overwhelming sounds. Lucas features took on a petulant cast. Im only joking. Mostly. But this is your adventure, not mine. Im only coming along to keep you out of trouble. Luca put his hands on his hips and stuck out his chest. Well then. Seeing as how Im the leader of this expedition, I say we gothat way. He pointed off toward their right at nothing in particular. Maybe we could ask Master Nolin for some guidance, Rensler offered. Aimless wandering along packed streets was about as appealing as being kicked by a horse. If they had a destination in mind, he could at least stomach a jaunt through the city. Theres no adventure in that, Luca said with an emphatic shake of his head. Rensler rolled his eyes. Fine. Just remember what we agreed to about running off. Luca waved a hand. I got it, I got it. Now, onward! he decreed with a flourish as he marched toward the street. With a fair amount of reluctance, Rensler pushed away from the inn as he followed Luca into the press of bodies. They traveled with the flow of traffic, simply moving along where the 182 crowds took them, up broad flagstone streets and down winding dirt lanes. He had expected to find towering, grand structures along every street, but those proved rare, and the handful they came across were mostly other inns. In fact, most of the buildings he saw would have fit just fine in Salden, though their tiled roofs would have stuck out among the thatched houses. Shops lined the edges of many streets, colorful awnings on wooden poles under which peddlers hawked their wares. Most seemed to be people from the city, though the occasional merchant claimed to have traveled down from Eshk to the north, stopping in Felwin to sell their best goods before continuing south to the capital. No matter their origin, there seemed to be no method to the haphazard arrangements of the stalls. Baskets of fruit sat next to bolts of cloth, and books with battered covers shared a home with iron tools. Everything cost far too much, yet people handed over their coin after only brief negotiations. Luca lingered a few times to scan weathered spines, leaving Rensler to stand with his hands in his pockets and ignore any wary looks that came his way. Most surprising were the people passing by in the streets. They looked much the same as those back home in face and garb, though some wore finery that would have only come out for special occasions in Salden. But any one of them could have been dropped in the little village and looked like they belonged. They were not the strange, exotic folk that he had thought they would be, and he realized just how silly that supposition was. By mid-morning, the fascination of that discovery subsided, and as the sights and smells grew more overwhelming, Rensler figured hed had his fill of the city for the day. Luca, on the other hand, had only grown more excitable throughout their meandering, and any suggestion by Rensler to return to the inn was met with petulance. They finally agreed to terms; they would 183 return to the inn at midday to eat and not a minute sooner, and then they would discuss how to spend the afternoon. He waited beside yet another shop, arms crossed as he leaned against the corner of a woodworkers hall, and alternated between watching the passersby and his brother, currently rifling through a modest stack of books spread across a table. The shopkeeper kept a welcoming smile plastered on her face, and she at least tried to be subtle about the mistrustful glances she shot Renslers way. Did he really look that rough around the edges? He didnt think so, considering he was recently washed and wearing clothes untouched by the road. He looked like just about anyone else passing by the table, and he was not the only person who hovered around the awnings without buying anything. Fates, there was another man reclining just as he was, practically right across the street The man was watching him; he was sure of it. Though he appeared to be observing everyone on the street, his position left him with a mostly unbroken line of sight to where Rensler stood. Every minute or so, he lazily swept his gaze across the passing crowdtoo frequent for someone who wasnt trying to keep an eye on them. Rensler pushed away from the wall and tugged at Lucas sleeve. We should get moving. Luca glanced up from the books, eyebrows scrunched. But Im not finished here. Well, you are now, Rensler replied. Luca huffed, but he set the book back on the table, mumbling a word of thanks to the shopkeeper as he was led away. They had only walked a dozen paces when he said, What was that about? 184 Nothing, Rensler said. But theres still plenty of city to see before midday. Weve been on this street for ages, it feels like. He shot a covert glance over his shouldernearly bowling over an old woman as he did soand saw the place where the man had been, just moments ago, was now empty. He let out a heavy sigh as he turned away. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, though as they continued along the street, he could not fully shake that feeling of being watched, like a needle poking at the base of his neck. Despite what he had said at breakfast, he knew he should not let his guard down, not while they were in this sea of unknown faces. He took them on a rambling path, cutting down a narrow dirt street and emerging onto another wide thoroughfare, all the way while scanning the area for any sight of that man. The crowd thinned a little here, but still that prickling sensation on his neck only grew worse. It was time to return to the inn, he decided, although the sun was still two lengths away from noon. Luca seemed to sense his intentions, for he adopted a sullen expression. Dont worry, were not heading back just yet, Rensler said, making a calming gesture. Id rather not range too far, or else well spend all afternoon finding our way back to the inn. Luca narrowed his eyes. If you say so. And therere plenty of shops here, Rensler continued, trying to convince himself as much as his brother, who shrugged and decided on a nearby stall. He did not relish the prospect of stopping again for very long, though, and as Luca perused the wares, Rensler waited with folded arms, tapping his foot aggressively against the flagstones and occasionally rising up on his toes to better survey their surroundings. He drew a distrusting glance from the shopkeeper, but he ignored it this time. 185 There! He spotted that same man, three buildings over, on the same side of the street as them. How had he kept up with them so well? Taking great pains not to stare, Rensler kept the man in the corner of his vision. A curly mane of black hair, white at the edges of his forehead, brushed his shoulders, framing a tan face creased with deep lines. His attire was nothing unusual, no more out of place than any other on this street. There was something so familiar about him, though Rensler could not quite place what. But the man was surely following them, of that he was certain. Was he with the Watchers, or was he just some cutpurse who had marked them as easy pickings? Awful lot of effort to steal a few coins. Whatever the case, he was tired of doing nothing but running from phantom danger this past week. A fire grew in his belly and a growl in his throat. The edges of his awareness seemed to dim as he focused on that man, and, balling his hands into fists, he started forward. Rensler? Lucas voice was a distant cry. Hey, Rensler! Where are you going? He said something to the shopkeeper that Rensler did not hear over the din. Ahead, the man had turned away from Rensler, but he headed in the opposite direction regardless. He knows hes been spotted, Rensler thought. He quickened his pace, twisting and elbowing his way through the throng, muttering apologies as he went. The heat in his gut had traveled up to his head where a dull pounding was growing, but there was something else with it. He felt an odd thrill pulsing within him. This would not be like Salden. He would not be caught off guard again. The man turned abruptly at the next intersection and was lost from sight for just a moment before Rensler rounded the corner. He caught a flash of his quarry through the crowd and broke into a run, pushing past anyone in his way. Farther up the street, the man dodged around another corner into a narrow alleyway. Rensler grinned as he drew near, skidding to a 186 halt at the alley entranceand found it empty. A stone wall between the buildings made it a dead end, yet there was nothing here save for a few crates stacked on one side of the corridor. Thatsimpossible, he thought, darting toward the wall. It was nearly half again his height, and while he figured he could grab the top with a mighty leap, the weathered surface showed no scuffmarks, no signs that anyone had scaled it. Either he had gone the wrong way, or the man had simply disappeared. But how could he have gotten it wrong? The man had been perhaps thirty feet ahead of him. It made no sense, though neither did a person vanishing into the air. He slammed a fist into his open palm. There had to be an explanation that he wasnt seeing. The man was right there, and yet he still got away. A fat lot of good Rensler was. If that man had been trying to kill him or Luca Luca! His breath caught in his throat, tightening as though squeezed by an unseen hand. He had left Luca behind! Fates, how could he be so foolish? He spun away from the wall and sprinted toward the opening to the street. And managed to halt himself before bowling his brother over. Lucas cheeks were flushed, but he was breathing no heavier than before. He regarded Rensler with a look of shock that gave way to a scowl. Whats gotten into you? he demanded in a tone that was reminiscent of Ophelia. He put his hands on his hips and adopted a deeper, mocking voice. Now dont you run off today, Luca. Id hate for you to have any fun. Oh, but dont mind me while I disappear without a word! Rensler blinked slowly and felt the fog that had covered his mind begin to dissipate. Is thatsupposed to be me? he asked after several seconds. 187 Of course! Luca threw up his hands. Who else ran off into a crowd and left me behind today? Sorry, Rensler muttered. He leaned against the side of a building, hands on his knees, and waited for his heart to stop pounding. And after you told me not to Luca trailed off, his jeering expression changing to worry. Wait. Something is wrong, isnt it? What happened? One minute you were with me, and then the next I knew, you were running off down the street, causing all sorts of commotion. Rensler shook his head. How best to explain? I saw a man watching us. He followed us for a bit. Came over to that street. I figured I could catch him, but He waved a hand behind him. He was gone when I got here. Beyond Luca, a few people beyond the alley entrance, their gazes lingering on the two of them. Well, mostly him. They had likely seen his mad dash to the alleyway. Wed better get moving, he thought. Word of a crazy man running through the streets would spread quickly enough. He didnt want to be mistaken for a pair of ruffians and have the City Watch called over. With a heavy exhale, he straightened, taking a moment to smooth out his coat before stepping out into the street. The onlookers hastened on their way. We should head back, he said, lifting his gaze to the sun. Not quite noon, but close enough, he decided. He wanted nothing more than to be out of these streets and back in the relative safety of the inn. At least no one could sneak up on them there. Already? Luca said. But we still have so much time. Were not at the inn just yet, Rensler replied. You can gawk all you want along the way. 188 At last, Luca gave his begrudging agreement, and they set off in the general direction of the inn. Rensler kept a weather eye out for the man, but no signs were forthcoming, and that prickling sensation at his neck did not return. Still, he remained a tense knot until they at last returned to the River Queen. 189 Chapter 11 Soon after she left the inn, Kahlia realized that she had missed Felwin. There was a certain charm to the quaint little city that was easy to overlook, especially compared to a place like Thanalia, and though she ached to return home, she found herself in good spirits this morning. The wind was crisp, and she needed to use her hands to pin her cloak against her sides, but a clear sky and bright sunshine were always welcome. She hummed a cheery tune as she set about reacquainting herself with these streets. Master Nolins memory had proven correct; nearly two years had passed since last she and Zandren came this way. They had been venturing northward then, coming up from Olidan and preparing for a long trek around the Eshk countryside. An early winter storm held them in the River Queen for five days with nothing to do but converse with the innkeepera task that he proved happy to accommodate. By the time the snows subsided, she felt as though she had known the man for a lifetime. The recollection brought a smile. Funny how an inconvenience could lead to something grand. Events like that were reminders not to question Gods path, for one could never see the destination. Although, she thought, I wouldnt mind a bit more guidance today. Her memories of the city were fond, yes, but not wholly detailed past the River Queen and its immediate vicinity. Just a few streets over, the squat houses began to blur together, and she spent the better part of an hour simply getting her bearings. She could picture the building for which she was searching, but finding it was another matter. Times like this were when she wished she had been blessed with Passage; crossing the city would take mere seconds, were that the case. No matter. Such convenience would prevent her from listening to the snippets of conversation she caught in the 190 streets. The sounds and sights of people simply living their lives, enjoying the day they had been gifted, were always worth witnessing. Such thoughts turned her considerations toward Zandren and his own task for the day. He had planned to visit a dozen vendors to stock up on provisions, in part to avoid suspicion, for while it was not uncommon to buy food for the road, most people did not stock up for weeks. Towns and villages dotted the roads more often than not, and in dire circumstances, one could often rely on the generosity of farmers for a meal and a hayloft in which to sleep. They, of course, could not; everyone they met became a liability or a hindrance. Regardless, the more vendors Zandren frequented, the more opportunities he had to listen to the latest gossip in the city. Most of it would be inconsequential, which he was sure to grumble about later, but it was better to be overinformed than not; they had learned that lesson quite early into their travels, when their need for shelter had unknowingly brought them to the doorstep of one of the Watchers. A different pair of Reforged would have gone unbotheredpeculiarly, the Watchers avoided bringing harm to the laypeoplebut not a Seeker and a Guardian. Their hope for a pleasant night had given way to unfortunate violence, and their escape had taught a valuable lesson. Bells tolled somewhere nearby, breaking her out of her reminiscence, and she followed the sound. She knew those tones, a melodic rise and fall, as intimately familiar to her as a loved one. Emerging onto a flagstone street, she let out an elated gasp at the sight of the tower rising above the tiled roofs, where three brass bells chimed high in the belfry. Below stood a most welcome sight. A multitude of colored windows dotted gray stone walls, which were capped with a slanted red roof. Four conical towers stood at the corners of the structure, while at the back, a 191 fifththe bell towerrose taller than the rest. A pair of sturdy wooden doors stood open in a tall archway of polished stone covered in intricate carvings of vines and birds, all leading toward the peaceful face above the doors. A thin trickle of people climbed the steps and made their way inside. The church was neither large nor grand, and though it dwarfed the one in Salden, it would have been considered quite plain in Thanalia. But there was majesty to its simplicity all the same, and she chided herself for making the comparison in the first place. Houses of worship were not a contest; even the smallest gathering place was a gift for the faithful. She lingered for a moment at the base of the steps, listening to the bells announce the morning service. How long had it been since she had actually participated in such a gathering? Months, at least. Days and nights on the road blended together so thoroughly that she often felt a stranger upon returning to civilization, detached from the lives of ordinary people. Even now, the urgency to resume their travels beat at her like an unrelenting gale. Well, a few minutes would not be the end of her. She darted into the church, finding herself in a small antechamber, where another archway led into the church proper. Rows of lacquered benches faced toward a marble dais at the far end of the hall. White pillars rose to the wooden beams crossing the ceiling overhead, and chandeliers hung in the spaces between. Along the walls, dozens of candles burned in deep alcoves, casting flickering light upon bronze statuettes. Kahlia stopped just inside the archway, keeping to one side. The seats were perhaps a quarter-filledit was a morning service, after allmostly by elderly men and women, though she spotted a few young children, climbing on the benches while their parents hushed them. A door beside the dais opened, and a woman stepped through, garbed in the white and violet robes of a priest. The parishioners climbed to their feet in waves as the woman intoned the welcome. 192 A warm feeling settled in her stomach as Kahlia slipped out. In the antechamber, she fished a gold coin from her pouch; on one side was engraved the face of Artras, while the other bore an eagle with wings spread wide. A small fortune, here in this city. She studied the coin, weighing the cost, and finally dropped it in the padded metal bowl sitting on a nearby pedestal. Out in the street again, she pulled her cloak more tightly about her and continued onward. Whether by the ringing of the bells or the sight of the church, her path became clear as she recalled exactly where she needed to go. No more than a quarter hour passed by the time she stood outside a tannery, just off a narrow dirt lane. Inside, she made an inquiry with a clerk, who, upon receiving a copper for his troubles, did as she asked. Through an alleyway she came to the rear of the building, where only the most ambitious of prying eyes would be able to find her, and waited with her hands clasped before her, humming merrily to the tune of the bells once more. A minute later, a man slipped out through the lone door. Lean and wiry, with a crest of gray hair encircling his wrinkled head, he flicked his gaze in a dozen directions before he nodded, evidently satisfied, and settled on Kahlia with a gap-toothed smile. Well, aint you a sight? he said. He mimed sweeping a hat off his head and gave a halfhearted bow. Didnt expect to see you for another ten years at least, my lady. Kahlia shook her head at the display, though she could not hide her amused smile. Its great to see you again too, Lenn. Been what, two years? Last we spoke, you was heading upriver, if I recall correctly. Lenn folded his arms and leaned against the building. Now that I think about it, youre the last Seeker I talked to. Thought for sure the Church was finished with my services, at long last. 193 How interesting, Kahlia thought. The news was noteworthy, if not particularly surprising. Seekers were not so common, in spite of what Lenn might think, and most Reforged would never meet one in their lifetime. But Lenn was not Reforged; he was simply a man who kept his ear to the ground, feeling the pulse of the city and the wider world. When Kahlia had first met him, she had been taken aback by his rather uncouth nature, but he had come highly recommended. He had evidently been a spy for the Odreman Crown some decades back, and while he no longer served such a role, he continued to gather information like some people collected unique stones. A man like that was too useful to put aside. She arched an eyebrow at him. You sound as though youd rather that were the case. Eh, not yet. Maybe someday. I aint getting any younger. He shrugged his bony shoulders, and the easy smile gave way to a stern expression. Anyhow, I reckon this isnt a personal visit, and Ive work to do, so lets be on with it. Of course, Kahlia said. My companion and I intend to return to Thanalia by means of Rellas Gate. We spent much of our time in the eastern half of Eshk until recently, and what word reached us out there contradicted itself more often than not. Id rather not go charging in blindly to an unknown situation. Hmm. Traveling across Myrandir, eh? Lenn rubbed the scraggly stubble on his chin. Lots happening over there. How much do you want to know? Kahlia flipped him a silver coin. He snagged it from the air, arm shooting out faster than seemed possible for a man his age, and held it up in front of his face, examining it with one squinted eye. 194 Right then, he declared as he pocketed the silver. Myrandirs a burning mess these days, from what I hear, and they might be dragging us into the fire soon enough. Theres talk of skirmishes at the border. Nothing serious, far as I can gather, but theres been more of em happening than usual. Probably testing the kingdoms defenses, seeing where they might be able to slip an army across the Anardine. Or they might just march em all through Riandris. Theyve been gathering some soldiers there, last I heard. But I hear tell of others gathering out near Myrais, and not just the standing army. Mercenaries and peasants called to arms, too. He spat to the side. Bet its only a matter of time before Odrema musters arms as well and heads west. Winter coming on might slow em down for now, but therell be a war come summer, mark my words. The only question is with who. Kahlia felt a pit growing in her stomach as he spoke. All bad news, just as she had feared. Does the bridge to Riandris remain open? she asked. The city lay directly in their path; if barred entrance, they would have to find another crossing over the Anardine Riverwhich would be nearly impossible if border skirmishes were indeed occurring. Aye, for now, sounds like, Lenn said. So long as there are goods to be traded, they wont shut their gates. Might even take a visit from old Temerid himself to make that happen. He let out a hoarse laugh, then spat again. That much was encouraging, at least, though not much. I hear hes given the order to punish any who hide Marked. Is there any truth to that? Oh yes. Made a royal decree and everything. You wont see me crossing the border any time soon, I can tell you that. Cant exactly hide mine on a hot day. As though Kahlia needed the reminder, Lenn rolled back his sleeve, revealing a series of pale lines intersecting on the back of his forearm. Not quite scars, and certainly not an ordinary 195 birthmark, they looked to have been painted on deliberatelywhich, in a manner of speaking, they had. Every Mark was a blessing from Artras, though Lenn did not regard his as such. With the Blessing of Insightthe Seermark, as the easterners called itLenn could check on anyone hed ever met across great distances, and rarely would anyone be able to stop him. Quite the useful tool for a spy. Kahlia waited for him to roll down his sleeve before continuing. Why now? she asked. These border skirmishes, this royal decree. Why are the Myrandians suddenly planning for war? Aint nothing sudden about it, Lenn replied. Myrandirs been reeling ever since their civil war. Well, their almost civil war. All it took was a charismatic leader and thousands of angry peasants to turn their armies inward, away from Odrema and Vendalar both. But now theyve had a generation to heal, so you can bet the old tensions are going to be flaring again soon. I wouldnt be surprised if your homeland hasnt been seeing its share of squabbles too. Kahlia kept her expression neutral. The conflict that had embroiled Myrandir almost two decades ago was one of the Churchs greatest failures. Somehow, the Vestige had gone undiscovered until it was too late, and with her mind poisoned by Braskellar, she refused her destiny and instead blazed a path of destruction across her country. The stories claimed she gathered followers through her willpower alone. How much of that was true, Kahlia did not know, but the bloodshed that ensued had been real enough, as was the blame levied at the Church and Vendalar as a whole. If youre heading through Riandris, then all I can say is be careful, Lenn went on. After that, well, just try to keep your heads down, and dont be surprised if folk arent exactly 196 welcoming. He pushed away from the wall. Well, I best be getting back inside. Probably spent too much time yammering as it is. He licked his lips and spat again for good measure. One more thing, Kahlia said. I nearly forgot. I need to purchase a few horses, ones thatll be good for the road and accommodating to new riders. Any recommendations? Lenn scratched at his stubble. Eh, lets see. Follow this street here till the next crossing, then head east for a bit until youre almost at the city wall. Theres a good stables over that way. Owner doesnt talk too much, either. Perfect, Kahlia said. She dipped her head. Thank you, as always, for your help. Lenn made a sweeping bow again. A pleasure as always, my lady. He opened the door a crack and slipped inside. Kahlia remained in the alleyway for a moment. The serenity granted by her visit to the church had all but vanished, replaced by a dark cloud lingering on her mind. She set off toward the stables, humming to herself once again in an effort to refocus her thoughts, but the tune felt hollow this time. It seemed that no matter which path they took, the journey was bound to be treacherous. Rensler drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he stared at the square board before him. Luca sat on the other side, elbows propped up on the table, poking and prodding at his cheeks as he made one silly face after another. His intention, he had declared, was to look as ridiculous as possible, hoping the display would throw Rensler off. And it was working perfectly, to Renslers great annoyance. Would you stop that? he muttered. He poked one of his wooden circles, darker than those belonging to Luca, and considered his next move, then hurriedly drew his hand back. 197 Luca froze with his fingers pushing his cheeks inward, causing his lips to pucker. Shtop what? he asked, voice muffled by his own antics. You know what. Luca sighed and leaned back in his chair. Fine. Youre just taking so long. Im strategizing, Rensler replied. He wished that were true. It would mean he werent so distracted by his own fears, hadnt spent the afternoon constantly on his guard, worried that strange man would come through the front door and stab Rensler while he wasnt looking. With a sigh, he forced himself to focus, holding up a hand to his eyes to block out the sight of his brother as he surveyed the hexagonal spaces painted on the wooden slab. They had found the Gedek board on a shelf in the common room after the midday meal, and Rensler had offered to playmostly to convince Luca to stay inside for the rest of the day. As it turned out, his brother was proving to be a much more skilled player than Rensler had expected, and he now found himself with half of his forces depleted, the captured pieces now sitting beneath Lucas own. He examined what pieces he had left, noting the functions indicated by the carvings upon each wooden token. Four of his tokens, those closest to Lucas side of the board, bore swords, representing his infantry, while the two just behind those showed the horseheads of cavalry. On either side of his back line was a tower piece, while the most important, the crown, sat directly in front of him. He tapped the crown, which drew an excited breath from Lucameaning it was the wrong move. His brothers strategy so far had been characterized by aggressive advances, throwing nearly all of his infantry and cavalry pieces at one of Renslers towers. Rensler had made the mistake of not committing enough of his own forces to the defense, and after his tower 198 was felled, his other pieces had been picked off one at a time by overwhelming numbers. A part of him couldnt help but be annoyed the plan had worked; more frustrating was the fact he had let it happen. His careful considerations simply hadnt proven effective, regardless of how much time he spent agonizing over every move. By contrast, Luca raced through his turns with reckless hasteas he did with most everything. That landed him in trouble more often than not, but in the game of Gedek, the behavior had proven effective. A prolonged study of the board confirmed his fears; he had already lost. By this point, Luca could easily leave the towers alone and march on Renslers crown. He doesnt just want to win, Rensler noted. He wants to dominate. Well, he was not about to give Luca that satisfaction. He picked up the crown token, then flipped it over. I concede, he declared. Youve bested me. Luca stared at the upside down piece. Aww, dont do that. You could still mount a defense. A little one, at least. Theres no way for me to prove victorious. Youve already won. Right, but I could win even more. Rensler cocked his head to one side. Thatdoesnt make any sense. Well, it makes sense to me, Luca said, sticking out his tongue. Want to play again? Ill even give you a chance and start a piece down. He began arranging the pieces without waiting for a response. How gracious of you, Rensler said, chuckling. You can use all the pieces. If Im going to best you, Im going to do it right. Well then, best of luck with that, Luca scoffed. He waved a hand over the board. Your move. 199 Rensler made a better show of things the second time, giving and taking in near equal amounts as he attempted to mirror Lucas reckless moves without thinking himself in knots, but as the game went on, the faults in his strategy became more apparent, and he wound up in a futile defensive yet again. It was not entirely his fault, he reasoned. The common room had been growing steadily more crowded throughout the afternoon, and every person who stepped through the door deserved a thorough examination. Going to be another busy night. Maybe after dinner he would be able to settle down and just enjoy himself, rather than working himself up into a tizzy every time a new face appeared. Finally, with a forceful click, Luca set one of his cavalry tokens next to Renslers crown. Your kingdom belongs to me, he declared, a wicked grin on his face. You shouldve taken my offer. Rensler gave a mocking salute. Right you are, my liege, he said. If I didnt know any better, Id say youve been practicing Gedek without me knowing, just waiting for the right time to strike. You can blame Aunt Ophelia. It was her idea. I cant believe it, Rensler said. He slapped a hand to his heart. My own family, conspiring against me. They shared a hearty laugh, which drew a few glances, but this time, Rensler was not as uneasy at the attention. After all, the nearby patrons were not looking at them with malice but curiosity, like anyone else would at the noise. To them, Rensler and Luca were as ordinary as the rest of the people starting to fill the tables. Such had been obvious since they had sat down, but Rensler only now felt that he could allow himself to unwind. Luca held up a piece expectantly. Again? 200 Sure, Rensler said. He smiled as Luca eagerly reset the board, and, to his own amusement, realized he actually did want to keep going. How long had it been since theyd played Gedek? Or done anything together, just the two of them? Far too long, he admonished himself. Well, that would certainly need to change. Perhaps one of those street vendors sold travel sets of Gedek A door at the back of the common room swung open, and a man in the uniform of the serving staff entered. He surveyed the space for a moment before meeting Renslers gaze and started forward with a lurch. Apologies for the interruption, good sirs, the man said. Your companions sent me to fetch you. They await you in the stableyard. The stableyard? Rensler asked. Theyre back? Luca said at the same time. The man bobbed his head and held out a hand. Yes, yes. Come with me, if you please. I was instructed to make haste. Rensler exchanged a look with Luca. They shrugged in unison. Best not to keep them waiting, I suppose, he said. They rose and followed the man through a back corridor, emerging into an enclosure surrounded by a tall wooden fence. To their left was a wide stable, and the sounds of horses and donkeys braying drifted across the yard, along with the grunts of people working inside. Two men in dirty breeches stood in the center of the yard, holding a horses reins in each hand. Kahlia and Zandren hovered nearby. The Guardian held a heavy rucksack over each shoulder, his face unreadable as a rock as he waited for Kahlia to finish her instructions to the men, who nodded their heads unceasingly until she cut off at the sight of Rensler and Luca. 201 She brightened as the brothers approached. Ah, there you are. I trust youve enjoyed yourselves today? Rensler gave the barest of nods as he stared, wide-eyed, at the four horses; beside him, Luca let out a whispered Fates. The animals snorted and scuffed at the ground with their hooves, their coats, ranging from tan to gray to black, gleaming in the evening sun. Horses such as these were rare in Salden, where they were more likely to pull a plow or cart than carry a rider. Only a handful of families kept a horse just for riding, and such a decision was often met with ridicule by the more frugal of the villagers. Just one horse represented a great expense; four must have cost a fortune. More than a fortune, in fact, as each of these were already saddled and ready for the road. Zandren set his packs near the back of the inn. Have either of you ridden before? Of course, Luca replied, a bit too earnest. Er, sort of, Rensler corrected. He had last sat on horseback maybe three years ago, on a visit to the Willow farm, and that had only been at Lucas insistenceand in an attempt to impress Jenica. That had soundly failed, of course, as he had spent most of the ride clutching to his mounts neck, fearing the beast would throw him off and trample him into the dust. Luca and Jenica had a grand time, at least, as they laughed themselves to tears. Zandren looked between the two of them. Right. Well start with the basics, then. Im sorry, what? Rensler said. You want us to ride here? Now? Zandren nodded. Theres daylight left, and Id rather have you make your mistakes now than when we need to move with haste. He flicked his eyes toward the hostlers as though he were wary about saying even that much, but no reactions came from the two men. Right, he continued. Ill give you a few minutes to get acquainted with your mounts. 202 He gestured toward the leftmost stablehand, who brought forth his pair of horses. Rensler glanced at the other twoeither they were the better of the lot or the more spiritedbefore examining his options. Growing up, there had always seemed to be a certain mysticism about riding, like the horse was supposed to choose him, not the other way around. It was probably a silly superstition more than actual advice; all the same, Rensler let the horses sniff at him for a moment before making any moves, lest he receive a kick for his troubles. The stablehands instructed them on how best to approach the animals, and in short order, Rensler had settled on a mare with a steely gray coat and white mane and tail. Saber, she was called. She remained rooted in place, clearly possessing more patience than Rensler as he climbed awkwardly into the saddle, muttering curses all the while. They set the horses to an easy walk, circling the yard a few times as Rensler listened to the orders of the hostlers, and slowly worked on increasing speed while maintaining control. Near the back of the inn, Zandren and Kahlia watched with barely guised amusement, while Luca chattered excitedly. For over an hour the lesson went on, until at last they were allowed to dismount and relinquish the horses to the care of the stablehands. Rensler climbed down from the saddle, slightly less awkward than he had on the way up, and resisted the urge to rub his backside as he stalked toward the inn. He glared at Kahlia and Zandren. Mostly Zandren. That, he said deliberately, was awful. Kahlia gave him a sympathetic look, though he wasnt sure how genuine it was. That was very well done, given the circumstances. I think youll find riding on the open road far easier. 203 I certainly hope so, Rensler grumbled. Luca joined them, a wide grin plastered on his face. Well at least he had enjoyed himself. Well that was fun, Luca said. Now what? Now we simply enjoy our last night in civilization for a long while, Kahlia replied. Their last night. Rensler looked up to the darkening sky, now streaked with red and orange as the sun set beyond the city. The day had seemed to drag on, and now it was almost gone. Strange, how time worked like that. He supposed Kahlia had the right idea about how to spend the evening. Come on, he said to Luca. Weve got a game of Gedek to play. Luca let out an excited squeal and rushed inside. As Rensler followed, he realized he hadnt once thought about strangers watching them since stepping outside. He was determined to keep such worries from ruining the evening. 204 Chapter 12 The evening was in its infancy, and a sizable crowd already packed the common room. A body filled every seat at every table, along with the extra stools beside the low shelves, made for resting drinks and elbows, that dotted the walls. Serving staff in white aprons snaked their way through the throng, holding trays high over the crowd and hardly missing a step when someone pushed a chair back at the worst time. Rensler hadnt imagined the inn could be more crammed than yesterday, and yet it was. Oddly enough, though, he did not find that fact as bothersome as he would have earlier. Seated in a corner of the room, he listened to the amiable conversations buzzing all around, mingled with the drifting melody of a flute. It was good to hear people laughing and singing, and that had all but put his fears of being watched to rest. For now, they were just four more people enjoying the evening. Their dinner sat mostly finished before themall except for Kahlia, as she was in the middle of a story, waving her fork around whenever she needed to emphasize something. Nearly as soon as the meal had arrived, Luca asked Zandren and her to recount tales from their travels, and though Zandren had largely kept quiet, jumping in to add a detail here and there, Kahlia had readily obliged. At present, she was telling them all about Suncoast, a city in Astarris, far to the northwest. And so, she said, if you find yourself at the peak of the Zaydel Spire at the precise moment, just as the sunrise crests the ocean, the whole coastline will appear as though it were painted gold, but only for a fleeting second. Blink, and youll miss it. Such temporariness only adds to the beauty. She took a moment to take a bite of her foodwhich Rensler could only imagine had grown cold by nowbefore continuing. Ah, such a brilliant morning. Its one of 205 my fondest memories of the city, which was extraordinary itself. Every house a different color, and the smell of the ocean everywhere you go. An incredible place, really, though not quite so as Thanalia, of course. She finished with a smile. Of course, Rensler thought. The main theme of Kahlias travels was that nothing could compare to Thanalia, the greatest city in all of Ildensupposedly. By this point, he was convinced the city was a paradise, the envy of the heavens themselves. Everything was made of gold, people feasted night and day, and prosperity reigned. He would be sorely disappointed when the city did not live up to such a reputation, but no city could. Luca hung on every word, as he always seemed to do when Kahlia spoke; she could talk about the most mundane thing, and he would be entranced. For once, though, he did not launch into another question right away, instead appearing to be deep in thought as he inspected a knot of wood in the table. Kahlia had just finished her meal when he looked up. Have you ever been to a city made of stone? he blurted out. Rensler shot him a confused glance. Arent most cities made of stone? Luca let out an exasperated breath. Yes, but not like that. I mean a city coming out of a mountainside, like it was carved into the rock. Vel Toril, Kahlia murmured, voice so low Rensler could hardly hear her over the din. Such a description sounds like Vel Toril. Wheres that? North. Far north. Its the capital of Kilan Tor. Weve only been there once, and we were lucky to make it out without discovery. Rensler frowned. What would happen if you were discovered? 206 She glanced at Zandren, whose usual grim expression grew even more so. Its likely we would have been tortured, then executed, the Guardian said. Our deaths would have served as a warning to others who would follow in our steps. Luca gasped, and Rensler had to hold back his own. Thats horrible, his brother said. Why would they do that? Kilan Tor and Vendalar have atumultuous history, Kahlia explained. As a whole, the Kiltan people are unwelcoming of the Reforged and completely opposed to the purpose of the Seekers. In fact, people like us are entirely prohibited from crossing into the kingdom, though of course its impossible to keep someone out if theyre resourceful enough. But, as you can imagine, that makes searching for the Vestige there incredibly difficult, and anyone suspected of being as such is put to death. According to the Churchs spies, its likely the Watchers leadership resides in Vel Toril, though finding hard evidence of the identity of said leader has always proved impossible. For all we know, the king himself commands them. The table was silent for a moment, and Rensler was thankful for the roar of the crowd to hide their discomfort. Is that why were headed west, instead of north? In passing, he had caught some troubling pieces of information concerning Myrandir, but nothing that compared to what he had just heard. Among other reasons, yes, Kahlia said. Myrandians can be difficult, and though they tend to be antagonistic toward the Reforged as well, they at least grant the courtesy of recognizing Artrass godhood. Subordinate to their own god, of course. Her lips twisted in disgust. A rather condescending view on their part, yes, but the Myrandians at least do not outright deny the existence of Artras, and there I wont be killed for my faith. Her voice had lost 207 its confidence, though, and her countenance was troubled for a moment before she recovered. Between Kilan Tor and Vendalar stretches an expanse of shattered rock and unpredictable storms. Hostility in Kilan Tor or no, I would much prefer to avoid the Glasslands. Rensler nodded, though a question came to him that he hesitated to ask. Maybe the Reforged are the problem, not everyone else, he thought. If a bunch of people are angry with you, you probably did something wrong. He simply did not know enough about the situation, though, and he would need a summary of over two thousand years worth of history before he could make any proper judgmentssomething that most definitely could not be accomplished tonight. So, rather than sour what had thus far been a pleasant evening, he kept the question to himself. He glanced at Luca, who had grown quiet throughout the exchange. His face had paled, and he stared at that spot on the table again. Whats wrong? Rensler asked. Nothing, Luca whispered, rather unconvincingly. He knew as much, for he went on without prompting. This is all a lot more serious than I realized. I thought it was just the Watchers we had to watch out for, but now it seems like every other person in the world is going to try to kill me. Rensler struggled to keep his face plain as his earlier fears threatened to resurface. Dont think like that, he said, as much for Lucas benefit as his own. We wont reach Myrandir for nearly two weeks. Plenty of time to worry about all of that later. After a moment, Luca nodded. All right. Ill try. Good enough, Rensler said. He paused, suddenly aware that the common room had quieted. His gaze fell on the wooden platform, where the flautist had been joined by a man with a 208 tall drum and a middle-aged woman with silvery hair that hung nearly to her waist. All across the room, people leaned in, and the air fairly crackled with anticipation. The man began to tap out a beat, slow at first, then growing faster until he was slapping the drum with both hands. The flute came in next, a merry tune that Rensler quickly realized he knew from back home. When the silver-haired woman began to sing, Rensler hummed along with her, even singing snippets of the chorus. Despite the cheery melody, the words were quite sad; they told the story of a soldier gone off to war, longing to return to the arms of the woman he loved, only to fall in battle. Other voices sang along throughout the room, most in the right pitch, and people were soon clapping along to the beat. The trio launched into another song immediately after the first, one that was not quite so melancholy, and suddenly the air was filled with the scraping of tables as the staff and patrons alike hastened to expand the already cleared space for dancing. People rushed onto the open floor, twirling about in clusters and stomping their heels so hard that Rensler felt the reverberations in his feet. As the song came to a close, some of the dancers vacated the floor, smiles splitting rosy cheeks, and were replaced by others. The next song began, and this time the dancer made two rows, men and women facing each other. They came together for a few turns before the women twirled away to the next partner. Luca had regained his composure and joined in on the clapping. Rensler nudged him with an elbow. Why dont you get out there and take a turn? he said, nodding toward the people whirling about. It would do his brother good to clear his mind of such dire thoughts. Only if you come too, Luca replied, grinning. Deal. He prodded Luca out of his seat so he had space to stand. They waited for a change in songs before hurrying to the line. Rensler glanced over his shoulder at the table; he had 209 expected some resistance from their companions, but they merely looked back with open amusement. The musicians paused long enough to gulp some water, then launched into Fields of Gold, a favorite back in Salden. Rensler met his first partner, a brown-haired woman a few years older than him, as the lines pressed forward. Soon enough, he lost himself in the spinning and kicking of the dance, and his belly ached from laughing for so long. He was not the only one; the laughter and clapping from the audience nearly drowned out the performers, though they carried on, sweat dripping from their faces. Rensler spun about with his next partner, a girl about Lucas age, with freckled cheeks and auburn hair held back with a yellow ribbon. Faces blurred together as they twirled, mostly unrecognizable, but as Rensler passed the girl along to the next man, one face stood out toward the back of the crowd. A lined face, with dark hair curling down to the shoulders. Their eyes met, and within the space of a breath, Rensler saw recognition reflected back at him. His breath caught and he very nearly tripped on his own feet, but dark hands, firm yet gentle, caught his and pulled him upright. Thanks, he mumbled, then jerked as he beheld his partner. Kahlia laughed, though whether it was at his discomfort or simply from the dancing, he wasnt sure, but his feet felt like stone blocks as they danced. Youre quite good, she said anyway, and Rensler felt his cheeks burning until they parted at last. The song came to an end, and the musicians launched into a new tune that changed the pattern of the dance. Seeing his chance, Rensler wormed his way through the crowd and dropped into his seat, breathing heavily. He dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief, then blinked as he realized he sat alone. Had Zandren already slipped away for the evening? He surveyed the dance floor, and his mouth fell 210 open as he found the other man. He moved with smooth precision, flowing from one step to the next, just as he did when practicing his sword forms. For a time, Rensler kept his attention on the dancers, though he spared a few glances toward the back of the room. That man was still there, singing and clapping as though he were just another face in the crowd, but Rensler didnt like the way the mans gaze always seemed to be on Luca. Earlier, Rensler thought he might just be jumping at shadows, but he was certain this was the same man who had followed them in the streets before vanishing. How had he found them? He couldnt have simply trailed them back here; Rensler would have noticed, alert as he had been. But if this man had tracked them down, others could as well. For all Rensler knew, a whole legion of Watchers was lurking out in the dark, just waiting for the man to signal them. Which meant Rensler had to stop him. He drained the last of his ale and, heart hammering in his chest, made to standbut a firm hand pressed him down into his seat. He squirmed as the hand withdrew, and then Zandren sat casually in the chair beside him, his back toward the table and the man with the lined face. You see him too, dont you? Zandren asked. Dont stare right at him, now. Its easier to keep an eye on someone when they dont know youre watching. Rensler looked away sharply as he realized he that was exactly what he was doing. I saw him this morning, out in the street, following Luca and me. Youre sure? Rensler nodded. Im certain. I tried to lose him, but he kept up with us, so I chased after him, only to lose him in an alley that he shouldnt have been able to get out of. 211 I was afraid that might be the case. Zandren glanced toward the dancing, where Luca and Kahlia still spun about, briefly popping into sight from time to time. Be on your guard tonight, and sleep lightly. If you can help it, dont unlock your door until dawn. Ill gather the both of you then. With great effort, Rensler kept his gaze from sliding back to the man. Do you think hes with the Watchers? he whispered, though no one would have heard him had he shouted the name. Undoubtedly, Zandren replied. If he has friends, though, I havent seen them. He could just be gathering information. Regardless, stay alert. He rose and feigned a yawn. Im heading upstairs. Try not to stay down here too late, and do not let your brother out of your sight. Rensler had intended to do just that but agreed regardless. Alone again, he clapped and stamped his feet along with the music, but he could not muster any real enthusiasm this time. He considered returning for another dance, eventually deciding against it, knowing that hed simply be stumbling around at this point, his attention elsewhere. Instead, he remained in place and did his best to keep up pretenses, only glancing at the man occasionally. Night had come hours ago by the time the music began to slow, and Rensler was losing the battle to keep his eyes open, more so from the extra mug of ale he had foolishly downed to calm his nerves than the late hour. One more dance, and then the musicians bowed and packed up their instruments, laughing as their politely declined requests to keep going. Slowly, the dancers cleared out of the open space, and a smaller crowd than before worked on putting the tables back to rights, then thinned as people returned to their seats or headed off to their rooms. 212 A final scraping brought Renslers lolling head up, his eyes snapping open as he lurched to his feet. In the dying commotion, he did not see Luca or Kahliaor, for that matter, the Watcher. With a groan, he headed off through the back corridor of the inn, forcing himself to keep to a swift walk instead of a sprint as he took the stairs two at a time. I shouldve been watching more closely, he admonished. You know better than anyone how easily Luca can get away when he wants to. Then again, he figured Kahlia would have told Luca not to rush off by himself, so it was just as much her fault that the boy had slipped away. He reached the third floor and rushed down the hall, lit only by a handful of lanterns, shutters halfway closed, hanging from iron hooks on the walls. Turning a corner, he caught a glimpse of his brother just as Luca stepped into their room. Rensler breathed out, relievedthen heard a shout that was immediately cut off. Fates! He lurched forward, crossing the short distance to the room, and stopped in the doorway, the dim light painting his shadow across the floor. A man knelt on Luca, pinning him to the floor between the two beds. One hand wrapped around the boys wrist, while the other reached to the knife hanging from his belt. He pulled the blade free. The fatigue fell away as Rensler charged into the room with a shout. He grabbed the mans forearm, twisting it behind his back and hauling him off of Luca. The hand sprang open, and the knife dropped with a clatter. The man strained against Rensler, twisting himself about, and then drove forward with his shoulder, knocking Rensler into the wall. The man reared back but could not escape as Rensler wrapped his arms around the mans waist and spun him into the doorframe. 213 Fists pounded on Renslers back. He locked his arms tighter and, with a growl, threw them both to the side, sending them spilling out into the hallway. In the light, Rensler saw exactly what he expecteddark, curling hair framing a roughened face. They rolled about in the corridor, grunting and cursing, both trying to find purchase on the hardwood floor. With arms about each others shoulders, they both came up on one knee. Rensler pulled a hand free and punched the man in the stomach, only to receive a blow in kind, and they tumbled down once more. Sweat poured down Renslers face, stinging at his eyes. His limbs burned from the wild struggle. Rensler! came Lucas panicked cry from within the bedroom. He hovered in the doorway, holding the discarded knife in trembling hands. The man tried to lunge toward him, but Rensler pulled him back away from the door. Run! Rensler screamed. He wheezed as an elbow struck his chest. Run, damn it! Luca remained frozen, like a startled deer at the snap of a twig. Rensler could do nothing save keep the man occupied, but the impasse had to break soon enough; whoever gave in first would have their head broken open upon the floorboards. From down the corridor, Rensler heard doors swinging open and voices calling out as the inn came alive from the commotion. The man let out an angry curse and pushed against Rensler with renewed vigor. One leg came free, and Rensler was forced to let go of the other to avoid a boot in his teeth. He shot to his feet, lurching forward to put himself between the man and Luca, but rather than attack again, the man scrambled back. For a moment, they simply stared at each other as the voices in the hall grew louder. Youre that musician, Rensler said with sudden clarity. He had seen this man before, and not just in the streets of Felwin. You were in Salden! 214 The man said nothing and turned sharply on one heel. Rensler dove for the man as he took a stepand vanished, sending Rensler grasping at air as he crashed to the floor. Groaning, he rolled onto his back and sat up. No sign of the man remained, though a smell like the sudden dousing of a fire tickled at his nose. Luca slumped against the doorframe. Im sorry, he mumbled. Im sorry. I didnt know what to do. The knife slipped from his fingers. He was already in the room. I didnt let him in, I swear. A head poked around the corner of the hallway, a woman Rensler had glimpsed fleetingly while dancing. Whats going on down there? Other voices echoed the question from behind her, the speakers still out of sight. Nothing to worry about, Rensler said as he staggered to his feet. The woman frowned back at him. Thought I heard a scuffle out here. Its over now, Rensler said, waving a hand. Go back to your beds. Angry muttering reached him, and the woman scowled at him for a few seconds more before finally withdrawing. Someones going to tell Nolin, he thought. He pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. Master Nolin seemed a man who took the safety of his guests seriously; there was a good chance he would bring the City Watch. Exactly the sort of attention they didnt want. He pulled Luca into an embrace, then held him at arms length. Are you hurt? Luca sniffed and shook his head. No. I dont think so. Maybe? He rubbed at the sides of his forehead. My head hurts all of a sudden, though. I felt like I shouldve been able to burn him up, like Kahlia taught me, but nothing came. He glared at his hands as though they had sabotaged him. Im sorry Im so useless. 215 Dont say that, Rensler scolded. Youre still learning. So am I. Fat lot of good learning to use a sword has done me when they keep trying to wrestle. Heavy footfalls echoed from the stairwell. Rensler pivoted toward the sound, pushing Luca behind him with a hand and preparing for another attack, but it was Zandren who came running around the corner, shortsword at the ready. He took in the brothers with a sweeping gaze and sheathed the sword. What happened? he demanded, voice harsh. It was that man, Rensler said. He recounted the fight in a jumble of breathless words and at the end added, He knew exactly where to find Luca. Zandrens face was a grim mask. Then we have to be moving. Get your things together. Meet me at the back of the inn. You have five minutes. He rushed off without waiting for a response. Rensler met Lucas eyes, and then they set about the task with frenzied swiftness, cramming their clothesRensler winced at wrinkling the freshly laundered itemsinto their packs. They made a final sweep of the room, making sure that no sign of their passing remained. Satisfied, Rensler urged Luca forward, and they hastened to the stairwell. A lonely silence lingered in the air as they wound their way through the inn. It seemed unnatural, considering how lively the place had been only minutes ago. Had everyone vacated the common room so quickly? Or had they heard the commotion and took shelter, fearing that any one of them could be attacked without warning? Whatever the cause, they saw no one until they reached the short corridor at the rear of the inn, where Zandren waited beside the door leading to the stableyard. He gave the brothers a firm nod and led them outside, his hand never leaving the hilt of his side sword. The stableyard 216 lay in darkness, largely unscathed by the pale light of the crescent moon poking through wisps of clouds overhead. Rensler heard voices arguing nearby, and he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the blackness. The broad stable door hung open; before it stood Kahlia and Master Nolin, and beyond them Rensler could just make out the dirty apron of a stablehand. Im afraid it cant be helped, Kahlia was saying as Rensler and the others approached. The longer we remain here, the more likely you and everyone else inside will come to harm. If we are gone before the trouble comes, they shall leave you be. The portly innkeeper scratched at his head. But Lady Kahlia, I promise you, youll be no safer out on the streets than you are in the River Queen. Let me call the City Watch. I can have them patrol around the inn all night; thats what we pay them for, after all. I assure you, they can keep this trouble at bay. Ill not risk anyones safety for the sake of ours, Kahlia said, voice firm. I appreciate your desire to help, Master Nolin. I really do. But you have to trust that this is what needs to be done. I dont like this, Master Nolin replied with genuine sincerity. But if you insist, then I suppose I shouldnt hold you up any longer. He gestured toward the yawning stablehand. Rouse the others. Get their horses saddled and ready for the road. Kahlia gripped Master Nolins arm. Thank you. I do apologize for the trouble we have caused. She produced a handful of coins from a belt pouch. For your men here, to show our appreciation. Master Nolin waved her away. None of that now. Youve already paid for your stay. 217 Kahlia gave him a small smile, then moved away with Rensler and the others. Zandren has already informed me of what happened. We cannot remain here. But why not? Luca asked. Rensler scared him off. Shouldnt we be safe now? Would that it be so easy, Kahlia said. That man is Blessed with Passage, from the sound of it. He can move across great distances unconstrained, as easily as you might walk across a room. He was inside your quarters; with that knowledge, he could simply return whenever he wished, and stick a knife in your heart while you sleep. She sighed and pulled her cloak tighter. Even were that not the case, I fear he and his associateshowever many there may bewould simply set fire to the inn were we not forthcoming. Rensler shivered, not entirely from the cold, as images of burning houses shoved to the forefront of his mind. We have no choice but to make for the West Bridge, Kahlia went on. Its the only place to cross at this time of night, assuming we can even get outside the wall at all. She shook her head, her collection of braids swinging. We shall face that problem when we reach it. Grumbling came from within the stable as lamplight winked into existence. With some urging from Master Nolin, the hostlers brought the horses out shortly, and they set about getting their packs set onto the saddles. Rensler kept a wary eye on Saber, but the animal seemed patient enough, if not a touch annoyed at being trotted out so late. He put a foot in the stirrup and climbed awkwardly into the saddle. Once situated, he gripped the reins, waiting for one of the others to take the lead. In this, that would be most welcome. He patted Saber on the neck, then sat upright as something occurred to him. What about Tyrus? he asked. The stablehands had only brought out four horses, leaving the packhorse behind. 218 We cant afford the extra worry, Kahlia said from atop her tan mount. Master Nolin has agreed to keep him here, with permission to sell him if we have not returned in six months time. Oh, Rensler said quietly. Something about selling off the packhorse seemed wrong. He expected that Kahlia and Zandren would have had more attachment to the animal; a flicker of moonlight revealed a displeased look on Kahlias face and confirmed his assumption. Zandren was the last to mount. He brought his horse closer to Rensler, holding aloft the longer of his ordinary swords, sheathed in unadorned black leather. In a low voice, he said, If we are pursued, we will have no choice but to kill our hunters. If they glimpse Luca, we cant risk any of them getting away. He fixed Rensler with a stare as hard as iron. You may have to kill tonight. Should the need arise, do not waver. You will not be granted the same courtesy. Rensler nodded, not daring to speak. With Zandrens assistance, he affixed the scabbard to the left side of the saddle, and then walked Saber toward the stableyard gate. He tightened his hold on the reins, in part to keep his hands from shaking. I wish you luck tonight, Master Nolin said with a short bow. And I do hope that I will see you again, Lady Kahlia. And I as well, Master Nolin, Kahlia replied, dipping her head. Thank you for all youve done. May the light of Artras shine upon you. The stablehands opened the gate with a soft squeal of metal on metal, and the four horses stepped out into a darkened street. Rensler cast one last glance over his shoulder as the gate shut behind them. He urged his mount forward, trying to ignore the sense of dread growing within. 219 Chapter 13 In the darkness, the streets of Felwin were a stranger to Luca. Full of life just that morning, they now stood abandoned, barren, lit only by the fickle half-moon filtering through the clouds and the infrequent glow of a lamp in a passing window. The muted thumping of hooves on the dirt lane may as well have been a great uproar, marking them as intruders upon the still night. He hunched over his saddle, not daring to speak, and neither did his companions. Beside him, Rensler turned a wary eye toward every passing street and alleyway. The faintest noise the cry of a distant cat or the rattling of shutters in the windbrought their heads snapping around to squint at shadows. The dirt underfoot became flagstone, and Luca winced as the hooves clacked on the hard surface, the noise echoing out into the distance. Still, Zandren held them to a steady pace, and, blessedly, they drew no undo attention. Luca focused on the rhythm of the hooves as they continued through the city, finding a small bit of comfort in the sound, and soon enough, they halted at the West Gate. The sound of flowing water, merely a faint whisper, came from the other side of the wall. A squat building with timbered walls and a slanting roof sat hard against the palisade, mere paces from the gate. Sturdy iron hooks held a thick log as long as twice Lucas height across the back of the gates; one end connected to a mechanism with a wheeled crank. He wondered if the four of them could remove the log and simply escape without notice. Probably not, by the look of it, and even they could, Zandren had already dismounted and was pounding on the gatehouse door. 220 The door creaked open, casting a thin line of yellow light across the flagstone and stopping just wide enough for a weary face to poke through. Fates, whats going on out here? the man said, rubbing at his eyes. He squinted up at Zandren, then at the rest of them. My apologies for the disturbance, Zandren replied. My companions and I need through this gate. The man scrunched up his face. Open the gate? At this hour? Its past midnight! The gates supposed to stay shut until sunrise, and we dont let anyone in till then. This wont take but a minute, Zandren said. And we wont be needing reentry. He thumbed a coin into the mans hand. In that case the gatekeeper said slowly. He hurriedly pocketed the coin and pulled his head back inside, then began to shout, rousing his fellows. Help me with the gate, damn it. We got people waiting here. I know its late. Just get moving. Zandren vaulted back into his saddle, and three more gatekeepers followed the first outside, each man grumbling about the late hour, but they set to the task of opening the gates, pushing against the huge wheel. The stout wooden doors moved ponderously, and Luca fidgeted in his seat, sure that they would be ambushed at any moment. His mount, Tasan, seemed to notice his discomfort, for she snorted and danced sideways until he got her under control. When the gates were half open, Zandren stepped his horse through, tossing another coin to the head watchman as he rode past. The others followed, and they came out onto a gray bridge that arched off into the night, the other end hidden by the bridges own peak more than the smothering darkness. On either side stretched an expanse of wood and cobblestone that sloped down to the riverfront, where piers jutted out into the water. The river did not move so swiftly here that a ship would be dashed upon the docks by accident, and the center of the bridge arched 221 so high as to allow for the passage of a mast below. The gates remained unguarded on this side in the midnight hour, and with no one to question them, the group set the horses to a trot as the West Gate creaked shut behind them. An eternity passed as they crossed the bridge, and Luca inspected the sky and the road ahead in equal parts. Long patches of clouds still drifted before the moon, though it seemed the pale light strengthened somewhat as Felwin receded into the background. At the height of the bridge, Luca twisted in his saddle, taking one final glimpse of the city before it was quickly obscured from view as they descended the long slope. The clopping of hooves gave way to muffled thuds as they reached the other side, exchanging smooth cobblestone for familiar hard-packed dirt. They paused at the base of the bridge, all of them turning an ear back toward the city. Luca held his breath as he listened, but, save for the occasional hoot of an owl, the night was quiet, and he let out a long sigh. Perhaps we are blessed tonight, Kahlia breathed, her quiet voice practically a shout after the silent ride. She turned her horse west, away from the city. Come. Theres an old watchtower several miles from here that will make for adequate shelter. We should reach it within the hour. At a slow trot they started forward, the only sound the thumping of hooves. Several times Rensler turned to Luca, mouth open as though readying to speak, but each time he clamped his jaw shut without a word. Hes probably still mad at me, Luca thought after the third such happening. Mad that I didnt help him fight that man. He had desperately wanted to, but fear had held him in place. True, Rensler hadnt gotten angry with him, not out loud, but Luca was certain his brother was disappointed in him. He felt the same. He shouldnt have run off from the common 222 room without Rensler, as they had been warned, but as always, he had rushed headlong toward what he had set his mind toand into certain danger. Twice now hed been at the mercy of the Watchers, and he had proven worthless in both cases. At least he hadnt simply blacked out this time, like he did in Salden, though it had made no difference. He would be dead were it not for Renslers good sense to come find him. Maybe his brother was right to scrutinize everything and everyone, to agonize over every decision, no matter how small. Tedious as that would be, it would certainly keep Luca from making such foolish choices in the future. They had gone perhaps a quarter mile when sharp clattering on stone rang out in the night, jerking Luca out of his thoughts and setting his skin to crawling. Theyre coming. Fates, theyre coming! Follow my lead, Kahlia hissed. No matter what happens, do not turn back. She urged her mount into a hard gallop. Luca and Rensler trailed her as a tight pair, while Zandren rode at their back. Hooves pounded on the dirt road, and for a moment the only sound Luca heard was the wind rushing past his head and whipping at Tasans black mane. He kept as close to Kahlia as he could, following the tan hide of her mount as though it were a shining beacon in the dark. The land beyond her stretched out as an indistinct expanse, with the occasional light in a farmhouse window passing as quickly as they came. Luca shot a frantic look back, squinting so hard he may as well have been blinking as he tried to pierce the dark shroud. In flashes of moonlight, he beheld the faint outline of a rider, a shadowy blob against a slightly less shadowy background, only some hundred paces back. The storm of hooves that had crossed the bridge suggested there were more riders beyond the first, but the darkness kept them firmly from sight. 223 Onward they raced, until at last Kahlias voice came howling back to Luca and his brother. Keep going! Do not slow, and dont follow. What? Luca shouted, then watched in dumbfounded shock as Kahlia veered off to one side, wheeling about toward the city. Behind him, the pounding hooves fell away, and he realized Zandren had pulled back as well. Luca looked to Rensler, his only companion in the dark night. What do we do? he yelled. You heard her, Rensler said, briefly twisting in his saddle and giving a Luca a glimpse of a fear-stricken face. We have to keep going. Luca spared another glance backward, where the others had faded away into the black abyss beyond. A bar of white light appeared in the distance, illuminating a lone rider, charging back the way they had come. He returned his eyes to the road ahead just as a scream erupted from the night. Clinging to the saddle, he urged Tasan into a hard sprint and tried to shut out the chaos behind them. Kahlia wheeled away from the boys and leaned over the neck of her mount, the tan mare called Swift. An apt name, as the horse shot forth like an arrow, racing through the darkness without hesitation at Kahlias command. Ahead, the white light of Zandrens sword became a beacon in the shadows. Kahlia kept one hand on the reins as she held the other out, above the horses head, and called upon the power of her Blessing. A roaring fire came alive within her, so intense that she was sure she herself would burn, but the flames became a familiar heat that spread across her body. Around her raised arm twisted strands of white-gold fire as the power begged to be set free. 224 Fury welled up within her, and with a cry of rage, she sent the fire arcing past Zandren, aiming for the dark forms galloping toward the two of them. The first volley went wide of their pursuers, sending fountains of dirt and rock and grass exploding upward as the blasts struck the ground, but the light gave her a brief glimpse of seven riders spread across the road and into the fields on either side. The riders responded in kind, and Kahlia swerved as lines of white fire shot toward her. Swift let out a panicked cry, but a firm hand kept the horse under control. In the passing illumination, she saw Zandren likewise evading danger, and as another bolt arced toward him, he slashed upward, and there was a great flash as his sword knocked the blast away as one might bat away a ball. Kahlia unleashed another torrent toward their pursuers. A flash of sparks erupted as a blast exploded against the air above one of the riders and beside another. One with Radiance, one with Protection, she noted quickly. She would need to take one of those out first, but she would only have one opportunity before they passed. Bolts of light shot from her palm in the direction of who she thought bore Radiance, and she was rewarded as the rider countered the barrage with their own. From what she could tell, the one with the Mark of Protection was only shielding those nearest to them. In an instant, a wild plan came to her. She attacked again at the wielder of Radiance, this time sending out a dozen bursts of light. They sped forward in a tight cluster, then split apart mere paces away. The rider only had time to counter a few of the bursts before the rest tore into person and mount alike. The horse went down with an anguished shriek. Both sides were upon each other now. Kahlia held low against Swifts neck, dodging out of reach of the swords that flashed toward her. Nearby, a clash of steel rang out as Zandrens 225 glowing blade struck that of a rider. The riders sword held for only an instant, and then the Guardians blade slashed through the metal, then the wielder, whose screams grew and died in the same breath. Kahlia brought Swift about in a wide circle and started after their enemiesand slowed as three of their number turned back, charging at her once again. She clenched her jaw, just barely able to make out the retreating forms of the remaining two riders. These three before her were merely a distraction now, set to keep both she and Zandren from returning to help the boys. She stilled her mind, shoving her fears aside and focusing on the task at hand, and then set Swift to a run, angling directly toward the oncoming trio. Zandren appeared on her right, a dozen paces away, sword held at the ready. They spared a brief glance for each other, and a sharp nod confirmed they were of the same mind. They veered away from each other, and Kahlia pointed a hand at the three riders bearing down on her. Light swirled around her forearms, pooling into her palm, then shot forward, a bolt of white fire roaring toward each of the riders. The lead rider raised both arms, and the bolts slammed into solid air that rippled from the impact. From her right, Zandren came galloping in a moment later, swinging his bright blade toward the nearest foe. A fountain of sparks erupted as the sword struck another shield of air, and a sound like steel scraping on stone echoed in the air. He ducked away from a counterattack and wheeled off into darkness as a floating bar of light. Kahlia growled; they needed to break that Warder, or else theyd simply be throwing themselves at unseen shields all night. Instead of attacking each of the trio at once, she focused everything she had on the rider on her right, the one that Zandren had tried to strike. With every 226 blast, flames rippled around the rider in a bubble. Though intact, the rider was blinded for the moment, allowing Kahlia to veer toward the outside of the oncoming line unscathed. In a wide arc Swift came about while Kahlia stared hard into the night, trying to pierce the shadows and glimpse where the boys had gone, but no signs were forthcoming. For all she could tell, they could already be dead. No. Do not think that. They will be safe. The thundering of hooves announced the riders as they came on once more. Kahlia rushed to meet them, arm aglow, bolts of light pounding against the rippling ward like a great fist. Spots swam across her vision, but she did not let up as she careened toward her foes. She needed the Warders attention but for a few seconds longer A scream of pain split the night, and the leftmost rider toppled from the saddle, Zandrens sword a glowing trail as he shot past. The others cursed, comprehending too late what Kahlias gamble had been. They split apart, any sense of cohesion gone, and Kahlia realized they now aimed to flee past her in an attempt to catch up to their fellows farther up the road. She turned Swift about as the riders barreled past and urged the mount into a hard sprint. A dozen frenzied heartbeats passed, and then she was abreast of one of the ridersa man, she now saw, his face a twisted mask of fear. The glow of her hand reflected in his eyes for a brief second, and then a burst of fire struck his chest. So close were they that the blow launched him from the saddle as it tore through him. Kahlia pulled Swift to the side as the mans horse, now free of its rider, ran off in a panic. Only the Warder remained. With frantic urgency they whipped their mount as Zandren rode hard behind them, a dozen paces back. Kahlia gave chase as well, feeling the pounding of Swifts hooves in her chest as they closed the distance. 227 Arrows of fire arced toward the lone rider. The Warder twisted in their saddle, throwing up a desperate barrier against each blast, but the shields were steadily diminishing, the flames growing closer. All the while, Zandren gained ground, inch by inch, until he was alongside the rider, taking great swings with his glowing blade that crackled against the Warders barriers. Kahlia rose in her saddle, standing as high as she could without losing control, and in one hand grasped the reins. She raised the other, concentrating on her target, then launched a blast not toward the rider but at the road beneath his mount. The ground erupted in a great flash, and both horse and rider went tumbling end over end with an intertwined scream. And then it was just the two of them on the road, hurrying away from the site of the battle. Kahlia angled toward Zandren as he sheathed his sword, snuffing out the glow and leaving them with only flickering moonlight to guide the way. Kahlia listened to the steady pounding of hoovesor maybe that was her heart. She took a shaky breath, and her arms trembled as she clung to the reins. Rare were the times when she used her Blessing to such an extent. Zandren watched her, and even in the darkness, she could feel his worry, though he said nothing as they continued on in silence. The world seemed to fall away, and Kahlia could only focus on the rhythm of road and the furious panting of the horses as they continued their headlong sprint. Five people lay dead behind them. They wanted to kill Luca, had tried to kill her and Zandren, and yet she lamented their deaths all the same. By morning, they would be food for scavengers; they might even be buried if some poor soul from a nearby farm came upon the bodies. 228 She murmured a quick prayer, one begging for their souls to find peace in their eternal rest, then pushed all thoughts of the departed souls aside for now. Reaching Luca and keeping him safe was all that mattered. The time for mourning would come later. Luca tried his best to watch the road ahead, but the sounds of battle from behind drew his attention. Pinpricks of light blossomed a ways back, followed by great crashing sounds and painful shrieks that raised the hair on his arms. He had never heard such screams, so full of anguish. Rensler likewise could not keep himself from looking back, even as he told Luca to focus on their path. But what path was there upon which to focus? The land here was flat, and the road curved only the barest amount from time to time. Only the occasional tree lunging up from the darkness threatened them, but each one faded with a blink, leaving just the two of them once more. A crash echoed behind them, with a flash of light powerful enough to pierce the darkness before them. Luca turned back again, straining to see something, anything. Wait. He did see something, just barely visible in the dappled moon shadows. Two shapes, bobbing up and down on the road. Luca sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. Another flash of light revealed two figures that were most definitely not their companions. Rensler! he shouted. Behind us! Rensler glanced backward for a moment before jerking back around. Fates! What do we do? Keep riding, Rensler said, voice strained. Make for the watchtower, like they said. 229 Wherever that is. Luca had hoped for more, some great plan to get them out of dangera foolish, unfair thought, for there was nothing either of them could do except keep moving. But at even that they were failing, as another glance showed their pursuers coming closer, bent over the necks of their mounts. For all his confidence back in Felwin, Luca knew that he was no skilled rider, and neither of them were accustomed to this kind of mad gallop. He heard the soft rasping of metal beside him as Rensler drew his newly gifted sword. One hand on the reins proved ineffective, though, and Luca began to gradually pull ahead. He shot a panicked look back at Rensler, then past him at the approaching riders. I have to do something, he thought frantically. But what could he do? I can burn them. Throw fire at them, just like Kahlia. Surely that would scare these two off, once they saw his power. Twisting in the saddle, he held up a hand. His arm shook violently; whether from the jostling of his mount or from nerves, he wasnt sure. Concentrating, he sucked in a deep breath, counting each heartbeat as he sought that place of focus deep within. Nothing happened. No light, not even sparks, was forthcoming. He tensed, clenching every muscle he could until his whole body trembled, but his arm did nothing but stretch uselessly toward the oncoming riders. Tears blurred his vision. Why wouldnt it work? They were going to die, and it would be all his fault. Just like Salden, just like that man trying to kill him in the inn. He turned away, choking down a sob, and tried to coax more speed from Tasan, useless though he knew that was. Within minutes, the riders had closed the distance, galloping only a few paces behind. They split apart, one going on either side of the brothers, and he heard the sudden clash of steel as Rensler defended himself from the strike of a sword. 230 Luca could do nothing for his brother as the second rider drew abreast on his left, an axe with a thick blade swinging toward him. Luca held up a handand gasped as the axe struck a patch of translucent air, glancing off it as surely as if it had struck stone. It worked! It was not the power he wanted, but at least something had worked at last. The man reeled from the force of the blow, and he fell back as he regained control of his mount. To Lucas right, Rensler still held his own, awkwardly turning aside his opponents strikes. With his attention divided, though, he let up on the reins, and his horse slowed considerably. He shouted as he realized what was happening, but he could do nothing but fend off his attacker as Luca pulled ahead, and then he rode alone in the darkness. Glimpses of moonlight showed the man coming in close again, shifting in his saddle into an odd position. Luca readied himself for another strike, desperately hoping he could fend it off again. The man swung the axe; Luca threw up his hand, a shimmering shield appearing before him. The blade struck the solid airand the man let go. Dumbstruck, Luca watched the axe spinning off into the night. Before he could collect his wits, the man dove off his horse, pouncing toward Luca. Arms wrapped around his torso, and he could do nothing as they toppled from the saddle. He screamed as they plummeted toward the moving ground. An incredible force tore at his body, but the impact with the road never came. Instead, he found himself rolling through tall grass, an acrid smell filling his senses, and managed to break free from his pursuers grasp. Dimly, he came aware of the sound of running horses, now somewhere off in the distance. He lay in the wet grass for a moment, stunned by the sudden change in his surroundings, before scrambling to his feetonly to be knocked to the ground once more as a weight slammed into him from behind. He strained against his attacker, throwing wild punches and kicks against 231 the dark figure looming over him. The man slapped aside his feeble attacks without effort, and then his hands were grasping Lucas throat. Luca felt his eyes bulging as the hands squeezed. He batted at the mans arms with his fists, but the man merely grunted, not letting up. He held up one of his hands, trying to force fire to come out of it. He could feel something there, just beyond his fingertips, but it fled every time he brushed against it. Work, he thought with a desperate plea. Tears sprang into his eyes and streamed past his ears. Why wont it work? Black spots swam across his vision, and the mans face began to fade. His hand grew heavy, and the effort to hold it up became too much. The ground rumbled with the thundering of hooves. A moment later, a shape crashed into his attacker, and the weight vanished from his body. He sucked in a ragged breath and felt as though a thousand little knives were scraping at his throat. Wheezing, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, then turned his attention to the struggle nearby. Rensler? he croaked. No. His savior was too large to be his brother, and a hilt stuck up over one shoulder. Zandren. He pinned the man to the ground, and after a brief struggle, he brought one fist crashing down into his opponents head. The man jerked once and fell still. Luca looked away as a coughing fit took him. Strong arms grabbed his and hauled him to his feet. No! he rasped. He kicked behind him, connecting with what he thought was a shin, and was rewarded with a grunt. Be still, Luca! came Zandrens deep voice from behind. Its me. He spun Luca about and regarded him for a few long moments. The mans eyes went to Lucas neck; whatever he saw only deepened the lines on his face, but the stony visage melted into one of concern. Luca raised a hand to his throat, but the Guardian pushed it aside. Best not to touch it. The bruises are 232 already forming. He returned to his mount, untied something from the saddle, and pressed it into Lucas hands. A leather waterskin, the liquid inside sloshing. You should drink. It may sting, but it will soothe the pain in your throat. The Guardian climbed into his saddle once more and looked down at Luca. Stay here. Ill bring the others. The man rode off while Luca bobbed his head, not wishing to speak as pain lanced through his throat, just as the Guardian said, though he still did not drink. Instead, he wrapped his arms around himself and stood unmoving in the field, watching as patches of moonlight glinted on the dew-covered grass, swaying in the cool breeze. A shiver ran through him, and he realized the backside of his breeches were soaked from rolling about. As the minutes passed, worry took root as he wondered what had happened to Kahlia and Rensler. Had they been slain by the Watchers? Were they lying on the road dead even now, their lifeless eyes staring up at the night sky? Or maybe they had simply abandoned him, left him behind for stupidly putting them all in danger. That doesnt sound like them, he assured himself, but the thought was pushed aside as others came to him, each one serving up increasingly more ridiculous scenarios until the stomping of hooves reached him, and he snapped free of his overly taxed mind as several dark shapes came into view. Three people sat on horseback, while another horse followed behind. Luca! one of the shapes called with Renslers voice. He slid from his saddle and rushed forward, scooping Luca into a tight embrace, then held Lucas face in his hands. Tears marred Renslers cheeks, glinting in the moonlight. Fates, youre alive! White-gold light came alive nearby, illuminating Kahlia as she stepped away from her horse. She halted by Zandren, who knelt beside the man on the ground. Is he alive? 233 Aye, Zandren said. He held a length of rope and began binding the mans hands and feet. Good, Kahlia said, voice hard. Well bring him to the watchtower and question him there. Zandren paused. Is that wise? No, Kahlia admitted. But when he comes to, I suspect he will find it difficult to escape, even with Passage. With a grunt, Zandren resumed his task, and Kahlia drew nearer to Luca. Sweat glistened on her face, and her hair was in wild disarray, strands hanging free from their braids, but she gave them both a weary smile. The watchtower is not too far from here. Lets be away from this place. And youre sure well actually be safe there? Rensler asked sharply. Or will it be like the inn? The illusion of shelter, nothing more. Its the safest place we can be tonight, Kahlia replied. But you are welcome to camp here for the night, should you find this more to your liking. Before Rensler could stammer out a response, Kahlia pivoted and returned to her horse. Luca blinked, surprised by the harsh words, but she was right. They would be no safer out here in this field than they would in the watchtower, whatever state of repair it might be in. Rensler knew the truth of her statement, for he offered no further arguments, though he grumbled all the while as he helped Luca up into his saddle. Here, Rensler said, shoving a waterskin toward Luca, then pausing as he saw the one Zandren had offered. You should drink. Small sips. Its going to hurt a bit, but it will help. 234 Luca nodded and at last did as he was told. The water burned going down, as expected, but it did soothe his aching throat. Zandren was the last to mount, as he slung the unconscious man over his horse, just behind the saddle, before climbing into place. He set off through the field, apparently confident in his direction. Indeed, they returned to the hard-packed earth of the road perhaps fifty paces onward, and Luca realized just how fortunate he had been not to have been taken farther. Unlessit hadnt been the man at all who moved them, but Luca. Which meant that he managed to do something besides make a shield in the air. He had no control over either, of course, but he supposed it was a start. A small bit of good news, one which he accepted gladly after coming so close to death. Yet again. On they rode through the heart of the night. Luca fought to stay in the saddle, his head lolling from side to side, though he managed to jerk upright before he fell. When they came upon the watchtowera dark slab silhouetted against the starsthe stabbing sensation in his throat had mostly subsided, and he was more than ready to curl up and sleep for a week. He glanced at the man hanging limp behind Zandren. Sleep would have to wait, he supposed, until that business was settled. At last, the watchtower loomed before them, and as a crisp gust whistled through the fields, Luca pulled his cloak tighter, to ward off both the chill and his growing sense of disquiet. This would not be a restful night. 235 Chapter 14 The watchtower rose before them, more foreboding than inviting, but Rensler had neither the strength nor the interest to find another place to rest for the night, no matter how much he chafed at the earlier rebuke. Upon a gentle rise it loomed, a lone sentinel reaching up into the night sky. A great battle had happened here long ago, it appeared, as the top of the tower was a jagged mess, the stones looking as though they had been blasted off by the fist of some mighty giant. As they drew near, stone blocks as big as Renslers chest came into view, scattered about the base of the monolith. In the darkness, their overgrown surfaces were nothing more than shadowy lumps. Shattered though it was, the watchtower proved much larger than Rensler had anticipated. In fact, the whole construction was not a solitary tower but a veritable fortress. An outer wall sprouted from about halfway back on the tower itself and ranged out in a wide circle, broken only by an archway where a portcullis gate once stood. Passing through the entryway, Rensler saw the wall was much wider than he expected; standing at the center with his arms outstretched wouldnt have been enough to so much as brush either end of the wall. Even without a functioning gate, the enclosure put Rensler a bit more at ease. As much as he could manage, anyway. They entered into what might have been a small courtyard once, for though the ground was overrun with greeneryincluding a tree erupting from a broken section of flagstone Rensler heard the occasional click of cobbles, ever so faint, underneath hooves. At the tower, they dismounted and in silence brushed down and hobbled the horses for the night. The frenzied flight had left the animals lathered, and they tossed their heads before finally settling, though Saber gave an annoyed snort when her saddle remained in place. Guilt gnawed at Rensler, but should cause for a quick escape arise, they needed to be ready. He set Sabers feedbag in place 236 and gave her a gentle pat on the neck; he couldnt blame her for being testy. The poor things had just been purchased earlier that day, and already they had been run ragged. Tomorrows pace would have to be leisurely if they wanted to keep the horses healthy. Zandren climbed the short steps to the tower proper, stopping at the battered door. The wood had once been sturdy, but it was now marred by long gashes and stood free of its hinges. The Guardian slipped his hands into a small gap on side, and, with a grunt, slid the door aside with a scraping that seemed to echo through the courtyard. The gap cleared, he disappeared into the shadowy interior for a few seconds before returning to give an approving nod, then hoisted their new companion over his shoulder and carried him inside. Rensler watched the shadows for a moment, listening as Zandren worked on getting a fire started, then craned his head back, examining the jagged crown of the tower. How long has this place been likewell, this? he asked, pointing upward. Nearly seven hundred years, Kahlia answered. She stood by her horse, removing the saddlebags. Odrema was once many kingdoms, and struggles to control the Elderost were numerous. This towerOthadrun, it was once calledwas but one of many dotting these lands, when this region was still the kingdom of Almear. Most have crumbled by now, lost to the ravages of time. I see, Rensler murmured. What happened here? She followed his gaze upward. A great battle, one of the last before the collapse of Almear. The Blessing of Radiance can topple stone as no ordinary flame can. Other Blessings were unleashed here as well. Their presence lingers still. She brushed the stone with a hand, and a far-off look came over her, only for a moment. She pulled back and rubbed at her arms. We should get inside and escape this chill. 237 Rensler frowned as he cast a mistrusting eye across the courtyard. In a minute. This place is safe for tonight, I assure you. She sighed when he did not budge. A minute, then. Do not tarry. We must depart at first light, and the dawn will not be long in coming. She glided into the tower, where a soft orange light now emanated from deep within. Luca made to follow, but Rensler stopped him with an arm across his chest. Whats wrong? Luca asked. What little firelight reached them painted his face with an eerie glow. Nothing, Rensler replied quickly. But I think we should give them a minute first, he added, ducking his head toward the tower. Words drifted out, too quiet for him to discern. He suspected that whatever conversation the two inside were having, it was not necessarily something they wanted overheard. He pointed across the yard toward a squat shape against the outer wall. Lets take a look around. Just for a bit, just to make sure no ones lying in wait for us. Luca shot him a dumbfounded look, but he bobbed his head and followed without argument. A good start, Rensler thought. Now he just needed to get his brother talking. He didnt like that vacant look Luca wore; it simply wasnt right, not for this boy who could find joy in even the darkest moments. Rensler had seen such an expression before, though only a handful of times, on people who had experienced something terrible, like when wolves got into the sheep pen at the Ald family farm about ten years back. When the shearing time came, the Alds had very little to sell, which meant the winter would be hard. But Salden folk took care of one another, and the collective effort of the village ensured the Alds did not suffer through the cold months. 238 That was what Rensler needed to do now. Help Luca through a hard time. It was not an easy task, considering how muddled his own mind was at the moment, but he could make sense of his own thoughts later. Their walkabout revealed the remnants of three square buildings hugging the wall, though a quick inspection showed roofs long collapsed. One of the buildings had become the lair for some kind of animal, Rensler discovered upon hearing an annoyed hiss, and he made a swift retreat before the unseen beast made to attack its trespasser. The other buildings lay completely deserted, and one had a wall with a gaping hole. He wondered as to their purpose. Storage space, most likely, for food and equipment, but virtually everything had been ground into dust, either by the roof or time, and so the mystery would remain unsolved. Rensler emerged from the last of the buildings, having kicked up a cloud of dust that tickled at his nose. He sneezed into the crook of his arm, then looked to Luca. The boy gave no reaction, his face a blank slate. So, he said, sniffling, what do you think life was like here? Luca shrugged. This isnt going well. Had you ever heard of this place before? Or Almear? Luca stared at the ground, and Rensler was beginning to think he wouldnt get an answer. I dont know, Luca muttered. Maybe once or twice. The name sounds a little familiar. Almear, not the tower. But I dont know anything besides that. Thats more than I knew. I guess, Luca said. He glanced back at the tower and the inviting glow. We should probably head in. 239 Suppose so, Rensler muttered. He started toward the tower, Luca following, but he halted at the steps. Before he could talk himself out it, he sat upon the cold stone and patted the space next to him. Sit for a moment. Theres something else I want to say. Luca shot him a wary look before gingerly lowering himself onto the step. Rensler let the silence linger for a moment as they stared out into the night. There was something that he needed to say, but if it came out wrong, he was certain it would only worsen Lucas present state of mind. Nothing for it but to try, he thought. Aloud, he said, When we were riding, I saw you use your powers. You blocked that mans axe like it was nothing. You certainly did better than me. He poked at the tear in his coat sleeve, a reminder of how extremely lucky he had been. Had his opponents blade been but an inch closer, his arm would have been slashed to ribbons. I couldnt stop him from jumping at me though, Luca replied. He wrapped his arms around his legs, pulling them against his chest, and set his chin on his knees. And I couldnt get the fire to work. I could feel it, like it was just beyond my fingertips, teasing me. He let out a long, shuddering breath. I thought I was dead for sure when he had me on the ground. It was so different in Salden, when I didnt really know what happened. But now, someones tried to kill me twice in the same night, and I was useless at stopping them both times. Quiet at the start, his voice rose to an angry growlbut he was speaking, and Rensler had no intention of shushing him. Theres no one out here for miles anyway. I thought this was going to be fun, Luca continued. Leaving Salden, roaming the countryside, getting to see the world. An adventure, just like in the stories. He grimaced. Such a stupid, childish idea. 240 Dont say that, Rensler said, keeping his voice low. Just this morning I was saying that the two in there were jumping at shadows, afraid of nothing but their own beliefs. He shook his head. And I was wrong. If Zandren hadnt found you in time I dont know what we wouldve done without them. I suppose, Luca mumbled into his arms. Im worried that well never be safe again. That Ill never be safe again, even once we get to Thanalia. If we get there at all. Theyre going to get me sooner or later, and Im going to be just like all the other Vestiges before me. Dead. Rensler pursed his lips but said nothing; hed make himself a liar if he denied Lucas words. Hardly a week had passed since they left Salden, and already the severity of their threat had made itself known. What was to stop the Watchers from trying over and over again, until at last they succeeded? You might be right, he said at last. We might never know a moment of peace again until this task of yourswhatever that may beis finished. But, you have something that none of those others had. Whats that? Rensler forced a grin on his face, and, with as much bravado as he could muster, declared, Me, of course. Finally, the stony faade cracked, and Luca let out a long laugh. Rensler couldnt help but join in as he threw an arm around his brothers shoulders. When at last they calmed, their eyes were watering, and Rensler felt some of the tension leaving both their bodies as they sagged against each other. A polite cough came from behind, and both jerked around with such haste that they nearly tumbled from the steps. Kahlia stood in the doorway, hands clasped before her, and 241 regarded them with an amused expression. The firelight shone through the loose strands of hair floating about her head, framing her shadowed face with an orange halo. That was quite the long minute, she said flatly, then held on an inviting hand. Come inside. Our guest is rousing, and I would ask our questions before we sleep. She held their eyes for a moment longer before moving back into the depths of the watchtower. Rensler climbed to his feet and winced as he brushed down his breeches. The insides of his thighs and his rear end were already sore from all the galloping, and his hands felt numb and wooden from grasping the reins. A gentler ride presumably lay before them tomorrow. He desperately hoped that would prove true. He cocked his head as a noise, a faint howling, reached his ears, somewhere off in the night. It was not quite like the call of a wolf or a coyote, and there was just the one, but as he listened, Rensler swore another sound joined the first. A mournful, haunting wail coupling with the animal cry and raising the hairs on Renslers arms. He met Lucas questioning gaze. We should get inside, he said firmly. Whatever was out there, he did not want to find out. He ushered Luca through first, then strained against the door. With a thud, the wooden slab fell into place, and the sounds of the night were replaced with the crackling of the fire and the shuffling of bodies. A fire sat in the center of the watchtower floor, casting a feeble light across the gray stone walls and throwing smoke up through a hole in the ceiling. Kahlia crossed her legs beneath her as she sat stiffly, keeping as close to the fire as she safely could, though the flames were little more than coals. The ride to the watchtower had chilled her quite thoroughly, slick with sweat as she had been, and the pleasant warmth brought some small relief from the nights exertions. 242 After the scraping of the door, an unnerving silence filled the tower, broken only by the scuffling of boots as the others found a place to settle down. The wide space did not have much to offer beyond the remnants of a table and chairs on the far side of the chamber; any attempt to sit there would likely leave one on the floor in a heap of splinters and dust. A couple of wooden shelves stood nearby, though they had been so hacked apart over the years that they were hardly recognizable. The floor was cracked and uneven more often than not, and clumps of weeds and grass sprouted through the exposed spaces. The outer wall was a plain circle, the only deviation being a segment that jutted out a few feet, housing the stairs to the upper levels. Still, this place offered far more shelter than the outdoors, even if natures reclamation made her feel a bit of an intruder tonight. In another time, she might have found the place welcoming, as she had before, were it not for the man who leaned against the staircase wall, slowly beginning to stir. He was the true trespasser here. Kahlia desired nothing more than to throw him out into the night, to rid them all of his vile company. Long had it been since she found herself in the presence of such a person. For all their opposition to the Church, the Watchers harried the Reforged with such infrequency that they might as well have been a myth to many of the faithful, although the Pentarchy held that the cult had ties everywhere, sowing doubt and disorder wherever they could, all in the service of their dark god. Kahlia had believed much the same when she first began her journey as a Seeker. Every shadow held a threat, and everyone they met was simply waiting for her to turn her back. But for years, nothing beleaguered Zandren and her, and the Watchers faded to the recesses of her mind. A particularly zealous member might bother them from time to time, but it was never like what she had expected. 243 Until a few months back, that was, when her medallion at last began to warm. Then the caution and mistrust returned. Kahlia. Zandrens voice was a gentle whisper from above. In his hands were a bit of hardtack and some strips of dried meat. You should eat. Kahlia kept her eyes on their enemy. Im not hungry. Hadnt they eaten dinner before their flight from the city? The meal seemed so long ago, as did the dancing and laughing. Another lifetime, practically, one where merriment was possible. A low rumble from her stomach proved her a liar, and she accepted the food with a sigh. Zandren was right, of course; she had pulled hard on her Blessing earlier, and she would recover faster with some nourishment. He gave her shoulder a light squeeze, a simple gesture that brought more warmth than the fire, and withdrew. As she nibbled on the dry bread, Luca came to sit near her, mimicking her pose. His shoulders hunched toward the fire, but he appeared a bit more at ease than he had upon their arrival. She smiled at him, but it withered as the firelight revealed the purple bruises, in the shape of hands, that had already formed on his throat. The sight turned Kahlias food to ash in her mouth, and her fury at this man and all he represented came roaring back. She studied his face, weathered and framed by dark hair that curled down to his shoulders, noting the way his eyes shifted beneath their lids before they at last fluttered open. He flicked his gaze toward Luca for a moment, causing the boy to hunch down even further, before staring back at Kahlia, though he appeared to be struggling with keeping his eyes in one spot for long. Striking him on the head like that had not been ideal, but Kahlia did not fault Zandren for doing so to save Luca. That may be what keeps him here, she noted. She suspected the man was Blessed with Passage, and without a Binding to inhibit his abilities, any attempt to hold him in 244 place would prove futile when he could simply vanish. But to Travelto shift across great distances in an instantrequired a clear mind. The man said nothing for a time as his gaze roamed the chamber, pausing on Zandren and Rensler in turn. The former leaned against the wall between the door and the stairwell, while the latter had taken up a position behind Kahlia, where he could keep an eye on both the prisoner and the door. She appreciated his attentiveness, unnecessary though it was at present; were their captive to take any untoward actions, Zandren would be upon him before Rensler could think to react. The silence stretched, and Kahlia continued with her meal. She had hoped the man would grow agitated and speak first, but his calm demeanor remained unbroken. Not once did he inspect his bonds or struggle against them; in fact, he seemed to disregard them entirely. At last, Rensler broke the quiet. I saw you in the street this morning, didnt I? You were already following us then, before you attacked us in the inn. And you started the attack in Salden, didnt you? The accusations tumbled out with a hard edge, and Kahlia briefly feared he might leap across the fire and strike their captive. The man inclined his head. Im impressed by your recognition, he said in a casual tone, sounding more like a guest than a prisoner. Even his unusual position against the walltilting to one side with his arms tied behind himdid not appear to bother him. Who are you? Im a simple traveler, just like all of you. The stone scraped behind Kahlia as Rensler shifted. She held up a hand before he took another step. Peace, Rensler, she said. Anger will do nothing but cloud your judgment. 245 Judgment? Rensler snapped. What judgment still needs to be made? We already know what hes done. He tried to burn Salden. Fates, he tried to kill Luca! Be that as it may, striking him now will do nothing. She twisted and met his eyes, smoldering with rage. His cheeks were red, and his hands clenched and unclenched. She held his gaze until at last he wavered and retreated to the wall. Now then, she said, turning back toward the prisoner. A name, please. I find it difficult to have a conversation without knowing your partners name. The man snorted. Is that what this is? A conversation? With his head, he gestured toward his bound legs. Seems like an interrogation to me. Both can be accomplished at the same time. I suppose thats true enough, he replied. Right. For the purposes of this conversation, then, you can call me Tasavar. Kahlia rolled the name around on her tongue, making sure she pronounced it as he had, with the emphasis on the first syllable. The name, as well as his appearance and lively accent, marked him as Kiltan. Tasavar. You hail from Kilan Tor, if Im not mistaken. Youre a long way from home. Im not the only one, Seeker. Hmm. Indeed, Kahlia said. How did you and your fellows come to be in Salden on the day of the festival? We happened to be passing through, Tasavar replied. Same as you, it would seem. Behind her, Renslers frustrated exhales grew more intense, but he remained in place for now, although she questioned for how long his restraint would hold. Briefly, Kahlia entertained the idea of simply letting Rensler beat the man, but she pushed it aside just as quickly. Such an 246 act would accomplish nothing, nor did she wish for her young companion to become the sort of man who got his way with his fists. Studying Tasavars face, she doubted they could break this man; in fact, she had anticipated this sort of belligerence. Accounts that spoke of Watchers captured in the past always noted how difficult they were to break, even at the hands of the Justiciars. Those that did eventually unravel from torture had little information to give. Across centuries, the discipline instilled into their agents was impressive. I see there is nothing to be gained from this conversation, Kahlia said at last. To admit as much stung, but they could go round in circles all night and learn nothing. He knows we cannot detain him, should he wish to leave. I wonder, then, whether we should simply kill you now and be done with it. He broke out into a hearty laugh, and Kahlia fought to keep her expression calm. That would be your best solution, as I have no intentions of veering from my path, he said, still chuckling. Honestly, Im surprised you didnt just run me through out in the field, or burn my body to ash. Why spare me at all, when you had no qualms about cutting down my companions? He shook his head and looked toward Luca. I pity you, boy. I truly do. Fate is cruel, and we are all just pawns of some grander design. The destiny of the Vestige is to bring about the ruin of the world, and I will not let that happen. Zandren shifted, his hand drifting toward the sword at his hip. You speak nothing but lies, heretic. Tasavar ignored Zandren entirely, instead keeping his intense gaze on Luca. Have the dreams begun yet? he asked harshly. I can see it your face that they have. Its only a matter of 247 time now before the terrors of the night stalk these lands once more. Youll call them to your aid, whether youre aware of them or not. You already have. Luca stiffened but said nothing. The demons are the spawn of Braskellar, Kahlia asserted. They arise to hunt the Vestige, just like you and your people. You are all his servants. Aye, of course we are, Tasavar said. We must be, to go against the almighty will of the Church. Isnt that right? You never question the Pentarchy, do you? He shot a defiant glare at Zandren, then at Kahlia. Of course you dont, or else youd be taken in the night by your own Justiciars. You do as youre told, like all the good little Reforged. Kahlia felt her ire risingwhich meant the man was getting exactly what he wanted. She hated to indulge him further, but taking his bait seemed the best way to glean any information. What is there to question? Kahlia asked. You say the Vestige will bring about the ruin of the world; we believe the Vestige is the key to its restoration. How can you claim we have it wrong and, in the same breath, say you have it right? For millennia, your cult has brought nothing but death, while the Church has striven for the betterment of humanity. She calmed herself with a deep breath; her voice had risen more sharply than intended. This conflict of faith will not be solved with words alone. The Church is not faultless in its history, but at least we aim to better the world. The same cannot be said for you. Tasavar adopted a long-suffering look. What is the death of a few dozena few hundred, evenwhen weighed against the rest of the world? I would kill this boy a thousand times over, were that what it took to ensure others lived to the see the next sunrise. He laughed again, though there was no mirth this time. Soon enough, this boys influence will spread. People will be driven to follow him, evangelized by the power of the Vestige. You need look no further than Myrandir to know what happens then. 248 This farce has gone on long enough, Zandren growled, moving away from the wall, and shuffling behind Kahlia indicated Rensler was following suit. Agreed, Tasavar said, sparing a nod toward Zandren before staring at Luca once more. I should have simply taken you with me, but I was too cautious. A pained look crossed his face. Alas, I have not the strength to do so now, not with my head buzzing so. But I now know how little control you have. Know this: There is nowhere you can go that I will not find you. Steel rasped on leather as Zandren drew his sword and started forward. Farewell, Tasavar murmured, and then he was simply gone. A moment later, Kahlia wrinkled her nose at the harsh, burning scent that lingered in the air. I was afraid that would happen, she muttered, more to herself than the others. Blessed with Passage indeed. The question had not been whether he could escape, but when. That knowledge did not stop her, however, from turning a harsh eye on Zandren. He should have known better than to unsheathe his sword. The Guardian met her gaze and gave the barest nod, a concession of his fault. Rensler strode to the place where Tasavar had vanished as though he might find some trace of the man. Failing at that, he grabbed his pack and slung it over his shoulder, then grabbed a saddlebag. He halted when he saw no one else had moved. Kahlia shot him a questioning look. We need to leave, right? he said. That man knows where we are now. Whats to stop him from coming back and killing us while we sleep? Or bringing some of his friends with him? Thats very prudent thinking, she said, but we can remain here. Tasavar himself admitted he couldnt take another person with him right now. If he were to return, he would do so alone, and he knows we would be lying in wait for him. 249 Renslers grip on the pack tightened. So were just going to take him at his word? Unfortunately, thats all we can do, Kahlia said with a sigh. Midnight has come and gone; we only have a few hours until dawn. Were better off staying put and hoping Tasavar spoke true. I still dont like it, Rensler grumbled, but he let the pack slide down his arm and drop to the floor. They made quick work of laying out their bedrolls, and the tower began to feel a proper camp. Everyone kept quiet, deep in their own thoughts. Kahlia watched the other three, wondering what was going through their minds as made their preparations. From time to time, one of them would raise a head, mouth open, only to shut it again having not uttered a word. When at last they made to settle down, Rensler, sitting on his bedroll, found the courage to speak. Those other things he said. About the Vestige, and the ruin of the world. Myrandir. Whats it all mean? The words came out half-mumbled, and it seemed even that much had been a struggle to get out as he swayed, eyelids drooping. Luca was already stretched out underneath his blankets, and even Zandren had closed his eyes, though his breathing showed him to be still awake. I think this conversation is best left until the morning, she replied, then shook her head to forestall a response. There will be more than enough time to talk tomorrow. For now, rest. He muttered something inaudible, then climbed into his bedding. His breathing deepened within minutes, and his soft snoring made a choir with his brothers. For Kahlia, sleep was long in coming. 250 Chapter 15 Morning came swiftly, and Rensler awoke feeling as though he had been beaten all throughout the night. Sitting upright, he squinted at the weak ray of sunshine trickling in through the lone window. He was certain he had lain down only a few minutes ago. On shaky legs he rose, groaning as every ache came roaring back to life. The hard ride, coupled with the short rest on an uncomfortable floor, had left him as one giant knot of sore muscles. Whatever relief the River Queen had bestowed was now gone. Only Zandren had wakened before him, judging by the already tied up bedroll, but the man was nowhere to be found. Rensler shrugged into his coat, fighting back a groan, and inspected the door; light shown through a thin gap on one side, a gap that had not been there before. Standing so close, Rensler heard a quiet voice from outside. Mustve slipped out already, he thought. Had they slept so soundly as to not hear the scraping? A glance back at Kahlia and Luca, both still unmoving save for the steady rise and fall of their chests, gave him his answer. Out of the three of them, he had probably fared the best last night. With great care, he moved the door aside far enough for him to squeeze through and flinched as wind came howling through the broken wall gate, slapping at his face and tugging at his clothes. He hastily replaced the door as gently as he could, then surveyed the courtyard with a shiver. A thin coat of frost covered the ground wherever shadows remained, hidden from the still rising sun. The grass and weeds sprawling across the old courtyard were unbroken save for a solitary pair of bootprints that had circled the horses a few times before marching through the archway. In the light of day, the watchtower appeared far less intimidating. What had seemed to be sharp, jagged edges yesterday were now revealed to be smooth lines, as though the stonework 251 had not been blasted off but meltedwhich was exactly what had happened, considering what caused the destruction. The gray stone was stained with centuries of grime, and moss and ivy climbed up the side, stopping a few feet short of the broken crown. Idly, he wondered if the overgrowth could not cover up that which had been struck by sorcery. Why else would the wilds not have reclaimed the entirety of the tower? The crunch of frosted grass spun him about. Zandren strode through the open archway, cloak whipping about his shins with every gust. Despite the struggles of the previous night, the man seemed no worse for wear, aside from a stiffness to his gait. No sign of anyone rooting around during the night, he said by way of greeting. A small fortune. He immediately busied himself with the horses, preparing them for the day ahead. Renslers gaze went to the sheath on the side of his own saddle. Wont be needing that now, I suppose. He undid the fastenings, then waited for Zandren to turn away from his mount before proffering the sword. The other man took the weapon, though he remained still, regarding Rensler with a puzzled look. The scrutiny swiftly brought heat to his face. Whats wrong? he asked. What did I do now? Was there some ritual of sword handling he had neglected, some minutiae he wasnt following perfectly? Zandren pressed the sword back into Renslers hands, and the mounting feeling of doubt withered away, though bewilderment took its place. Keep it, the Guardian said, the hint of a smile playing upon his face. Id rather have you armed and ready before another attack. Until this task of ours is finished, you may consider that blade yours. He jerked his head toward the door. Rouse the others; we need to be on our way soon. 252 With a wordless nod, Rensler jumped to obeyit was far too early to complain about being ordered aroundand not until he had set the door against the wall did Zandrens words sink in. His own sword. For now, at least. Still, it was better than no sword, and he couldnt fight off a small bit of pleasure, silly as it was. And as he stepped away from the door, he realized that to receive such a thing from Zandren was quite the compliment. The others awakened at his touch, though Luca complained a fair bit until Rensler threatened to tie the boy to his horse if it were necessary to get him moving. To Renslers shock, the bruises on Lucas neck were no longer dark splotches but faded yellow spots, as though a week had passed in the space of the night. Whatever the cause, it was good news, though Luca hadnt seemed to notice. His grumbling diminished after they had cleared all traces of their stay and taken a few minutes to eat. Rensler already missed the hearty meals of the River Queen; hopefully, Myrandir would have an inn just as welcoming. In short order, all were mounted and heading west before the sun was half its height above the horizon. As they made their way back toward the road, Rensler gazed back at the retreating form of the watchtower. Something had been gnawing at him this morning, a question he would have asked last night, had they not been so otherwise occupied. You told us youve stayed there before, he said, twisting forward in his saddle. How did you know it was there in the first place? Kahlia spoke over her shoulder. We happened upon it, many years ago. We were in need of shelter, and Artras guided us to it. If there was more to say, she was not forthcoming. Rensler frowned at the mention of her god, and his misgivings from the previous evening all came flooding back, along with everything Tasavar had said. She promised wed have a talk about it all this morning. He cast a sideways 253 glance at Luca. How would the boy react if Rensler pressed the issue now? Surely he was curiousmore than Rensler evento have light shed upon the discussion. But the way everyone hunched in their saddles, cloaks pulled tightly against the wind, made the mere prospect of conversation uninviting, and after a minute more of dithering, he decided to wait until they made camp that night, at the very least. The morning elapsed without fanfare, and no more than a word or two passed among them until they paused to take their midday meal. Traveling on horseback remained uncomfortable, but the slow, steady walk at which they traveled made for a more agreeable ride, if not a more pleasant one. The road was not the least bit helpful, though. While it was certainly wider on this side of Felwin, the hard-packed earth was pocked from countless years of use, and every little bump gave Rensler an irritating jostle. Still, when they made their way off the road to eat, his feet were not the numb bricks of the past week, and he made sure to make his gratitude known to Saber with a good amount of patting. The landscape itself was mind-numbingly boring; flat for miles at a time, covered in the same grass rippling in the wind. Farms became sparser, and by evening, they were all but gone. The occasional copse of trees broke the monotony for a couple of minutes. On the whole it was entirely different from the land around Salden, where trees were plenty, nestled at the edge of the Bralen Forest. From time to time, Zandren ranged ahead and behind, pushing his mount harder than the others to cover twice as much ground. Here in this flat land, Rensler was certain they would spot danger from miles away, but he figured it was best not to question the mans instincts, considering he had saved both Renslers and Lucas lives now. He simply hoped the horse would not wear itself out halfway through the journey to Riandris. 254 They at last made camp as the sun hovered above the western horizon; Rensler figured they could have ridden for a while more, but the scarcity of trees among the plains demanded they take what shelter they could find. Though no sign of pursuit or ambush appeared throughout the day, caution kept them from making a fire, and they left the horses unsaddled only until they lay down for the night. In the waning daylight, Rensler stood with sword in hand, practicing the forms with Zandren, while the other two sat mere paces away, engaged in their own lesson. Neither pair had carried out their exercises since before arriving in Felwinonly three days ago, yet it somehow seemed a lifetime. On that first night, Rensler simply went through his stances under Zandrens watchful eye, ensuring that he remembered his forms. He expected to carry on like that for some time, and so it came as some surprise when, the next evening, he found himself standing a few paces before Zandren, readying for a sparring match. Of sorts. Remember, this is still an exercise, he was saying. These are sharpened swords, not blunted practice blades; one wrong move, and you risk injury. This is merely to assess how well you can shift between forms, depending on the situation. He planted his feet in a firm stance. Now, come at me. Slowly. Rensler stepped forward and swung, forcing the motion to be ponderous. Zandren brought his sword up to parry, his body moving as though he were submerged in water. Their blades touched with barely a whisper. They continued on with their sluggish duel until the last rays of sunlight withdrew, and Zandren sheathed his sword with a nod and a brief assessment of the lesson. Terse though the comments were, they lacked the adversarial quality that Rensler had come to expect. And for his own part, he was viewing the lessons as less of a chore and more of something to be enjoyed. 255 It was not until the fourth morning, as they were breaking camp, that he realized he had yet to press Kahlia or Zandren further about Tasavars accusations, and both had been content not to discuss the issue. Even Luca had not mentioned it, though Rensler figured if the incident were festering in his mind, then it was certainly doing so in his brothers. Soon enough, they rode away from the campsite, with Zandren pushing onward to scout the road ahead. Kahlia, Rensler said once the other man was out of sight. He waited until she turned and gave him an inquisitive look. Nothing for it but to say it. About Tasavar, and the things he said. We still havent spoken about that. Was there truth to any of it? There is truth to be had in most things, I should imagine, she replied, alternating between watching the road and glancing back at him, though in the still air, her words carried just fine either way. But how much truth can be difficult to discern. That didnt really clarify anything. And what would you say he was truthful about? Not much, Kahlia admitted. I think his pity for you, Luca, was indeed genuine. He is a man who believes he is doing whats right, sorely mistaken though he is. Rensler grimaced as he considered his next move. Both of the Reforged had proven to be somewhat prickly about matters of faith, but there was no getting around that line of questioning. How do you know? he asked. He said the Vestige was to bring about the ruin of the world. You say the Vestige will bring about renewal. What makes you so sure that youre right and he is wrong? It was the very question Kahlia posed to Tasavar in the watchtower. With several days to stew on it, Rensler now wanted to hear what her answer would be. I dont know that I have an answer that will fully satisfy you, Rensler, Kahlia said after a few seconds. I know in my heart that man is a fool, yet he believes in his cause as firmly as I 256 do in my own. In a way, that gives him just as much credence as Iwhich leaves us at quite the impasse. If we both claim to protect life, why, then, are our efforts so diametrically opposed? She shook her head, braids swinging. Just know this. Time after time, generation after generation, those who came before me and those who will one day follow my path have sought to save the life of an innocent person, one who had no say in the destiny they were given. At that, she looked to Luca. And time after time, the Watchers has worked toward a singular goal of ending that life. I have sworn to deny that goal. If nothing else, I would argue that means I walk a righteous path. Rensler fell quiet for a moment, considering her words. In truth, he had not expected her to present such a convincing argument. As he mulled it over, he did have to admit that, regardless of anything else, she and Zandren had kept Luca safe so far. Whether that proved her correct about everything, he wasnt sure. Luca shifted in his saddle. What about the other things he said? About the dreams and nightbeasts roaming the land. With every cycle, Braskellar sends his children to find the Vestige. His puppets, the Watchers, have their uses, of course, but the nightbeasts are unyielding, untiring hunters. The longer the Vestige lives, the more Braskellar fears the Reforging may take place, and thus he will send forth more of his spawn. She waved a hand. But, for now, time is still on our side. The one we fought in Salden was likely one of only a handful scattered across Ilden. The idea of even one more of those creatures tied Renslers stomach in knots. What about the dreams? he asked, then glanced at Luca. Have you had any weird dreams lately? No, no, Luca replied quickly. I was just curious if thats a usual thing for the Vestige. 257 Kahlia pursed her lips. There are some records of the dreams of past Vestiges, though the details are often muddled. Most accounts merely describe an impression of destruction. She gave Luca a tight-lipped smile. I wouldnt worry about that too much. Odd dreams are the least of our worries. I suppose, Luca murmured. After that, they spoke no further on the subject, though Rensler spent the rest of the morning ruminating on the discussion. The way he saw it, if the Watchers wanted to keep Artrass soul from reaching his body, they should take the Vestige prisoner rather than killing a new host every other decade. Or they could simply let the Vestige wander the continent until they tired of the journey. After all, no one seemed capable of locating Artrass body in the first place. Then again, Tasavar claimed people would eventually be compelled to follow the Vestige, whether they wanted to or not. That had supposedly happened in Myrandir not too long ago. Maybe thats why they dont just capture them. The Vestige would just make them do as commanded. Despite Kahlias compelling points, Rensler still felt it was impossible to discern the truth of this conflict. But, she was committed to Lucas wellbeing. That would have to suffice for now, lest he spend the whole day thinking himself in circlesthough he supposed he had nothing better to do along the ride. The land was much the same as it had been for the past few days, a monotonous field of rippling green and sparse collections of trees, with only the gentlest of slopes offering any change in elevation. At times, Zandren came riding back to the group with a sighting of a farmhouse or village. They veered around each in a wide berth, sometimes trudging miles off the 258 road before returning to the hard-packed dirt. Neither Rensler nor Luca voiced their desires to venture into any of those places, though they did lamentquietly, and never around Zandren having to pass up a chance at a warm meal. The evening came on with a particularly crisp wind, upon which sailed a fleet of churning gray clouds that threatened rain while they went about their evening lessons. Rensler was midswing when an excited squeal from Luca broke his concentration, and he lowered his sword, prompting a glare from his instructor. Focus, Rensler, Zandren said. Do not be concerned with them. In a duel, only the present moment matters. Sorry, Rensler mumbled, but he kept his attention on Luca, sitting cross-legged in front of Kahlia with arms outstretched, palms facing upward. Eyes shut, face scrunched, he looked to be so deep in concentration that he was trembling. A ball of bright light, white tinged with gold, appeared in both of his palms. Each one was no larger than the tip of Renslers little finger, but he gaped all the same. He did it. He actually did it. He lowered his blade, all thoughts of swordplay forgotten. Lucas eyes shot open as a grin spread across his face, and he let out another delighted cry. Its working! he whooped. Its finally working! He let out a triumphant laugh. Excellent work, Luca, Kahlia said, beaming. She glanced at Zandren, who had ceased scowling at Rensler and now watched the display. Our apologies for interrupting. Its an exciting moment. Rensler nodded, though he wasnt sure he fully agreed. But, this was the first time in days that Luca had been in such high spirits, and Rensler was not going to spoil that. 259 The elation proved to be short-lived as they were awakened early the next morning as the clouds made good on their threat. They set out just as a light drizzle started up, but the rain accompanied them, growing heavier as they traveled. Within an hour, dirty puddles filled every pockmark on the road, throwing up muddy waves whenever the horses splashed through one. Rensler huddled in his cloak until the thick cloth was soaked through, and then he merely sat hunched in his saddle, sharing in the miserable silence. He eyed Luca throughout the day. More often than not, the boy kept only one hand on the reins while he stared at the other, opening and closing his fingers over and over again. The tiny white flame only appeared every few attempts, flickering weakly, though it was unaffected by the rain. While Rensler watched the display, he noted something else about his brother: He did not seem particularly perturbed by the rain, and it seemed that the water were passing over him more than soaking through his cloak. Indeed, when the rains broke on the cusp of nightfall and they at last made camp, Rensler felt Lucas cloak as he hung his own, sopping wet, on a tree branch to dry. His brothers was merely damp, not dripping as were the others. He glanced at Luca, squatting by the little fire that Zandren had allowed tonight, where he was now thrusting out his palms, trying to harden the air, just as he did when they were attacked. So far, he had been unsuccessful. He must be using his powers mostly by instinct, Rensler thought. He rubbed the cloak between two fingers. He didnt understand enough about the Vestige or Marks to know for certain, but there didnt seem to be any other explanation forthcoming. They set out their bedrolls on patches of grass that were the least muddy, and after turning about for a good while, Rensler drifted off to sleeponly to wake in darkness to howling. The cry sounded far-off, yet it pierced the night all the same. 260 Nearby, something shifted. Rensler froze, the skin on his arms prickling as he imagined sharp fangs lunging from the blackness. A moment later, Zandrens face came into focus as the man stepped into a sliver of moonlight piercing through the treetops. Must be just a couple hours past midnight, if hes still on watch, Rensler thought groggily. He remained sitting for a moment, listening, but the sound did not come again, and he breathed a quiet sigh. Still, there was no mistaking the look of apprehension in Zandrens eyes, and it was some time before Rensler managed to resume his slumber. His dreams were filled with bizarre visions. He saw the nightbeast, tearing its way through Salden, devouring everyone hed ever known as houses burned all around. Ophelia, Davin, Jenica. Their faces and dozens more flashed past him in an instant as they were ripped apart in turn. Far beyond the beast stood Luca, laughing as he watched the chaos. More nightmares followed, each as strange as the first, and when he finally awoke in the morning, he wondered if he might have been better off not sleeping. If the others could see his fatigue, they said nothing of it as they ate their meager breakfast. Luca received his rations with a grimace. You know, Im really starting to hate this stuff, he declared, brandishing a piece of dry bread. Is this the only food well have all the way to Thanalia? For the most part, unfortunately, Kahlia replied, nibbling at her own food. Were haste not a necessity, we might make the time to cook it into something moreappetizing, but that is not the case. You get used to it after a while, Zandren said, though not unkindly. Itll start to grow on you eventually, in about a year or three. 261 The comment gave them all a much needed chuckle. Rensler nearly choked, in part because of the fit of laughter that came over him but more so from the shock of hearing Zandren jest. So hes not made of stone after all. Despite the glum meal, they broke camp in good spirits, and they set out with the sun shining in a clear sky. The next few days passed in a blur of repetitive landscape and amiable, though intermittent, conversation. Luca spent much of his time simply practicing with his newfound power, and he slowly was able to conjure a little ball of light with more regularity. For his own part, Rensler pondered how the repairs were going in Salden. He wished he could write to Aunt Ophelia, if nothing else to let her know they were still alive. He knew that she wouldnt be standing around fretting every daythere was plenty of work to occupy her timebut the news would be welcome regardless. Once they reached Thanalia, he would have to see about sending word to her. A full nine days had elapsed since they left the watchtower when, as they ate by the last trails of sunlight, Kahlia announced they would arrive in Riandris in the morning. Thats great, Luca said. He tore off a bite of dried meat. Whats the food like there? Kahlia gave him a tight-lipped smile. Its good, though I cant promise well have time to sample any of the local delicacies. The smile faded somewhat, and she looked between Rensler and Luca. There is something we must discuss, though, before we come upon the city. What do either of you know about Myrandir? Rensler shared a glance with his brother, and they shrugged together. Not much, Luca replied. Other than some basic historical stuff. 262 All we hear in Salden is conflict along the Anardine, Rensler said. Word that reaches us there always made it sound like a war is brewing, but every traveling merchant has said as much for years. I hear they dont like Marked, Luca added. Kahlia nodded. All of that is true. For the most part, the Anardine remains open to ships coming from Eshk and Odrema, though Riandris is by far the largest city along its banks. As such, the Myrandians tend to lay claim to the entirety of the river, and they desire control of the surrounding territory. Why? Luca asked. Whats the harm in letting other people travel freely? Thats an excellent question, Luca, Kahlia said. Though Im afraid my answer to that question is far different than the Myrandian one. But, that does get at the heart of the issue. This nation is historically hostile; Vendalar has fought her fair share of wars with Myrandir over the last thousand years, for one reason or another. Land and resources, of course, but also due conflicts of faith. She brushed her hand against her medallion. In Vendalar, our monarch is not subservient to the Church, though the Church wields considerable authority, and there hasnt been a ruler in recent memory who did not have the blessing of the Pentarchy. On the other hand, Myrandir is a true theocratic nation. Their king is supposedly chosen and anointed by their god, Irianor. To them, the king is both the head of the nation and their chief religion, Thayrism. He is the chosen mouthpiece of Irianor. Every word spoken, every action taken, is of divine inspiration. What this means is that the influence of their faith is pervasive through every aspect of their society. To be faithless in Myrandir is to court punishment, perhaps even death. 263 Rensler felt his shock showing through more and more as she spoke. Thats horrible, he said when she paused. Why do the citizens tolerate that? Why do the Watchers believe the Vestige should die? Kahlia asked, shaking her head. Belief is a powerful force. When you are raised to believe something, it can be hard to question it. And yet you wont question your own beliefs, Rensler thought, smartly keeping the comment to himself. The other part of that answer, Kahlia went on, is that as long as the citizens are content with their lives, then they will not desire change. This is a common truth among all of humanity. And, by all accounts, life is goodfor most. What about people like you and Zandren? Luca asked. Are they going to attack you for believing something different? Kahlia hesitated. Its possible, she admitted. Years ago, Reforged could travel openly through Myrandir without issue. Their faith allows for other traditions to exist, so long as their gods are viewed as subservient to Irianor. She let out a long sigh. But, the situation has changed over the past two decades. Because of the last Vestige, Rensler said. The one Tasavar mentioned. Kahlia took on a pained expression. Yes. Regardless of anything else, it is undeniable that Ciandras rebellion caused widespread chaos throughout their nation. As a result, the Reforged are now generally considered to be agents seeking to overthrow the monarchy. A foolish notion, but one that has taken firm root in the minds of many. Those in service to the Church risk certain harm by openly proclaiming their position. As such, we must make certain not to draw attention to ourselves. 264 That would be easy enough, Rensler figured, considering that they had already been living by that rule for two and a half weeks. What if the Watchers attack us while were in the city? he asked. The four of them could keep a low profile, but if they were made to defend themselves, they would swiftly draw attention to themselves. If they do, it wont be any of their Marked, Kahlia said. Were that the case, they would risk their own lives just as much as ours. She looked to Luca. What you have heard is partially correct, but Myrandians do not simply dislike Marked. They despise Marked. In Myrandir, Marked are called Eshtyl. Cursed. They are the lowest members of society, slaves to the Crown in all but name. To be Marked in Myrandir is to be sentenced to a tormented existence. Thats terrible, Luca said. Does nobody help them? Possibly, Kahlia replied. Though it would not be common. Rensler shot her a questioning look. Are people punished for hiding Marked? More often than not, yes, Kahlia said. Marked provide a common target of hatred for ordinary people. Even some of the Marked believe that they are in fact cursed by Irianor, and so this way of life is as it should be. Thats awful! Rensler cried. So they just kill their own citizens? Kahlia shook her head. Not usually. The king and his advisors understand the use of a Marked, especially one who has been raised to be a slave. Most serve the Crown in some way as soldiers, healers, messengers. Those Blessed with Insight are particularly sought after, as they are most suited to identifying and hunting down other Marked. 265 Rensler groaned. This was a terrible plan, bringing us through to this country. What do we do if they discover youre Marked? And what about him? He swept a hand toward Luca. If thats how they treat Marked, I can only imagine what theyll do if they know what he is. Luca shrank down, but his apprehension was plain. The last Vestige to come through Myrandir had nearly caused a civil war. Rensler didnt expect the Myrandians would tolerate another one, regardless of what he did. We have no other choice, Zandren spoke up. Ranging northward would have set us on this journey for another month, at least. Not to mention a trek through Kilan Tor, and theyre certainly not any friendlier than the Myrandians. Kahlia inclined her head. As long as we stay out of the way, we will have no troubles in Riandris or any other city we come across. And by journeying through Myrandir, we hamper the Watchers as well. Rensler chewed at the inside of his cheek. He still did not like the sounds of this plan, but he agreed with not wanting to be on the road for any longer than was necessary. And, if the Watchers were forced to be more cautious, then the four of them were not likely to cause a scene. Perhaps they were right. Theyd better be, he thought, or else were as good as dead. I know I have painted quite a grim portrait, Kahlia said gently. My intention is not to frighten either of you, only to ensure you are prepared for what we will find in the city. Just remember to not cause a fuss, and you will be fine. Her expression soured. And that unfortunately means staying out of anyscuffles you may see. Rensler grimaced, though he nodded all the same. He understood what she meant and didnt like it one bit. 266 Darkness covered their campsite now, and the discussion came to an end. Rensler lay upon his bedroll and stared at the night sky, pondering what terrors awaited them in the city, until at last sleep took him. 267 Chapter 16 The sun stood at its noonday high as Kahlia and her companions made for the eastern bridge of Riandris. The Bridge of Peace, it had once been called, when the two kingdoms had jointly constructed it during a rare era of amity. That time had passed long ago, but the bridge still stood, though it had since been renamed after a past king of Myrandir. Flanked by two tall watchtowers, the bridge was fortified in such a way that trying to skirt around its defenses and scale the sides would be impossible. Not that the option was readily available to their group, what with their mounts and supplies, but that particular element of the bridge had never escaped Kahlias notice. Neither had the fact that this side of the Anardine was Odreman territory, and yet the dark gray and red-striped uniforms worn by the guards marked them as Myrandian soldiers. The arrangement was an attempt at appeasing the current Myrandian king, Helidor; by giving the Myrandians complete control of the comings and goings into the city, the Odreman leadership had hoped to forestall further conflict. The effort had failed, if the rumors of war were to be believed. To Kahlia, it seemed the Myrandians had been gifted a foothold on Odreman soil. Throughout the morning, they had come upon other travelers along the road to Riandris. Most would be coming from the towns that the four of them had so carefully avoided these past ten days. Zandren cast a suspicious scowl at everyone they chanced upon, though no one paid them any mind beyond a passing glance, and they had arrived at the bridge without issueto the great shock of all of them. Indeed, since that night at the watchtower, they had remained unbothered by the Watchers. More surprising was the absence of another pursuing nightbeast. Kahlia had woken at every sound in the dead of night, always expecting to find one of the foul creatures looming over 268 her, but her fears were never realized. Each morning, she awoke with thanks to Artras for the blessing of a calm night and prayed for another day of peace. She glanced at Rensler, hunched in his saddle and glowering at the distant guards. Despite their luck, he had only grown increasingly agitated over the past several days. As far as he was concerned, the Watchers giving up the chase was merely a ploy to make them let down their guard, and he had let on more than once that he expected they would be ambushed upon entering the city. She respected his sensibilitythe scenario was admittedly not too farfetchedbut she wished he would simply appreciate what had gone right for them, rather than focus on what could go wrong. They joined the queue waiting to cross into the city, and soon enough they stopped before the guards stationed outside the gate; others likely waited within the watchtowers, ready to assist if a situation arose. There were five guards in total, but only four of them carried spears. Kahlia eyed the woman hanging back from her companions. She wore the same uniform as the others, but instead of a badge of rank, her shoulder bore a patch stitched with the curving lines of the Lightmark. Kahlia did her best not to stare at the womans cheek, where the same symbol stood out on her skin in bright red. Others were not so kind, openly displaying their derision. The woman refused to meet the eyes of any of the passersby, keeping her gaze fixed upon the ground. A Marked in service of the Crown. The idea of such a life made Kahlia shiver. Idly, she wondered what these others would do if the woman decided to unleash her power upon them. It would be easy enough, without a Binding to keep her in check. Does that thought ever cross her mind? Kahlia pondered, her eyes flicking toward the Marked. Does she ever think to just burn them all and run for it? 269 Her slumped shoulders and distant look were all the answer Kahlia needed. This woman had been broken long ago, like so many of the Blessed in Myrandir. One of the guardsa sergeant, judging by his shoulder insigniaapproached the group, pulling Kahlias attention away from the woman. State your business, he said in Odreman. Despite the sharp, clipped tone, his stance was relaxed as he gave each of them a once-over. He stiffened as his gaze fell on Zandren and the hilt sticking over his shoulder. Were just travelers passing through, Kahlia said quickly. Zandren had hidden their other weapons, but he had insisted on keeping the one visible. Armed travelers were not uncommon, of course, though most of those were not carrying a glowing sword. One peek at the blade would note them as anything but simple travelers. I hope youre not planning to cause any trouble, the guard said. He gestured toward the sword. Be sure to disarm yourselves when you find lodging. Travelers arent to wander while armed. He looked away from Zandren a moment later, evidently satisfied with the warning, and visibly relaxed once more. Kahlia dipped her head. As you command. We seek nothing more than a warm meal and a comfortable bed. Very well, the guard replied, stepping back. I wish you luck with both your endeavors. He extended a hand toward the bridge. Youre free to enter. Thank you, Kahlia said, favoring him with a smile. Irianors blessings be upon you. The guard gave a half-hearted response as he waved them through, already turning his attention to a wagon moving closer. Kahlia started her mount forward at a brisk walk, and the clacking of hooves on the long bridge swallowed up the noise from behind. 270 Well that was easier than expected, Rensler whispered as soon as they were out of earshot of the guards. I thought they were going to inspect us to see if we were Marked. Zandren barked out a laugh. That lot is only there to deter, not detain. Theyd only stop someone if their Mark were visible. Or if they announced it to the world. What about that woman? Luca asked. The one with the patch, and the He tapped a finger against his cheek. Shes a Marked, right? She looked soempty. Kahlia nodded. Lightmarked are common, relatively speaking, amongst guards and soldiers here. Their power is effective at stopping intruders, to say the least. Luca blanched. Are all the Marked here like that? Most, but not all, Kahlia answered. Some few do gain favor and privilege, depending on how well they serveand the whims of the king. It pained her to admit that the system was as brilliant as it was cruel. Uplifting some of the Marked drove the rest of them to undermine one another rather than band together against their oppressors. Of course, an uprising was practically impossible; most Marked remained shackled with a Binding when their skills were unneeded. Centuries of conditioning could not be broken overnight, either. What if were caught? Rensler questioned. Is that whatll happen to the two of you? Branded and enslaved? No, Kahlia replied. Our fates would be worse, she wanted to add, but the words were best left unspoken. Their conversation drifted off as they fell in with the other foot traffic. The bridge was by no means quiet, even without their chatter. Hooves clacked, wheels creaked, and boots stamped upon the stone, a hundred overlapping sounds that created a strange rhythm, as though the bridge were a vein pumping lifeblood into the heart of Riandris. 271 From the crest of the bridge, Kahlia looked down upon the city. It was larger than Felwin and was encircled by a stone wall rather than a wooden palisade. Docks and warehouses stretched along the riverfront; beyond them stood the city proper, an expansive collection of squarish buildings that grew taller toward the city center, where elaborate manor homes rose amongst sprawling gardens. Naturally, the sight elicited awed gasps from the boys. Kahlia smiled to herself at their wonder. Riandris was not exactly small, but it was a village compared to Thanalia in both size and grandeur. The bridge sloped downward, and the noise and smells of the city grew stronger as the four of them approached. Another pair of watchtowers stood on this side, linked by a thick stone archway upon which a lone guard surveyed the bridge. A handful of others waited at the base of the towers. Much like their fellows on the other side, most held themselves with an unconcerned air, hardly glancing at anyone coming or going through the arch. Only one scrutinized the passersby. Another Marked, though this man bore a patch depicting three overlapping circles surrounded by a curving triangle. As before, the same markings had been etched into his cheek. Seermarked, Kahlia thought. Of course. Such people were little more than bloodhounds in the eyes of the Myrandian Crown. Even a passing glance provided the necessary connection for a Seermarked to spy on someone across a decent distance. Kahlia pointedly turned her face away from the man as they drew near, but she was certain she felt his dead-eyed stare burrowing into her. She breathed a quiet sigh as they left the Marked behind. Through the archway, the bridge gave way to a wide, cobblestone thoroughfare. Houses and shops flanked the street, alive 272 with numerous pedestrians and dozens of carts and wagons. Pairs of uniformed guards stood upon street corners or strode through the crowd. The air fairly hummed with the rhythm of the city, so much louder now. Kahlia turned to her companions. Stay close together until we reach the inn, she said in a voice so low the boys had to lean in close to hear. And do not draw attention to yourselves. We must still be wary of the Watchers, but in this city, the Trackers are of greater concern. The what? Rensler inquired. Hunters, Kahlia said. Groups of people, both mundane and Marked, who pursue other Marked. Those caught are pressed into service or killed. She fixed her gaze on Luca. Whatever you do, you must not reveal yourself as the Vestige, for the consequences will be dire. Luca frowned. I dont think well have to worry about that. Im not exactly in full control of my powers. All the more reason to stay out of trouble, then, Kahlia said. Her presence here was dangerous enough; she did not want to know what the Trackers would do if they discovered another Vestige in Myrandir. With a final nod to each of themand a silent prayer for guidanceshe pressed forward into the throng, the others close behind. Rensler tried his hardest not to gawk as they made their way through Riandris. He was failing spectacularly. Ten days ago, Felwin had been the largest place hed ever seen, and he was baffled that so many people could live together like that. Compared to this city, Felwin may as well have been just another village in the countryside. 273 For the most part, the buildings themselves were not any larger or grander than those in Felwin, though the majority of the streets they passed, as well as some of the alleyways, were paved with flagstone. But where Felwin had a sense of order, here the streets seemed to stretch on forever in a haphazard manner, snaking their way among the buildings as though they had been laid without reason, like an artist painting random strokes upon a canvas. The greatest shock was the amount of churches. One stood on every other corner, it seemed, varying in size and grandeur, but each one bore the same eyeless face of Irianor. Rensler stopped counting after they passed the eighth one. They must force their citizens to go, Rensler reasoned. Why else would need they so many churches for the same religion? Navigating this place was difficult enough, and the people made it even worse. There were just so many, coming and going on every single street, passing by one another with hardly a glance. Where were they all headed, and in such an apparent hurry? It was hard to believe that people actually enjoyed living like this, constantly on the move and penned in by tall stone walls. Occasionally, Kahlia led them past a garden, a small section of greenery in the otherwise gray city. Maybe after they put their things up at the inn, he could find his way back to one of those; surely hed find some peace there. Or he might just hole himself up in his room until they departedwhatever it took to stay clear of these crowded streets. As with the buildings, the people themselves did not look terribly dissimilar from those in Felwin or even Salden. A shade lighter in skin and hair, perhaps, but that could be due to spending more time indoors than out in the woods. Their clothing was certainly different, though. Men and women alike had high necklines on their shirts and blouses, and everything was sharp lines, tapered cuts, and muted colors that would make even the modest clothing in Salden look ostentatious. 274 For the most part, the pedestrians ignored the four of them, though that did not dissuade Rensler from turning a suspicious eye upon anyone who came near. Even the briefest glance from passersby made his collar feel suddenly tight and hot. Any one of them could be with the Watchers, he thought as a man brushed against Sabers flank. Rensler scowled at the mans back as he continued on, oblivious. Or Trackers. But how could he tell? His gaze lingered on the pair of guards at the next street corner. The two of them appeared more interested in their conversation than watching the throng, but maybe that was just an act. Any moment now, theyd spot Luca and come rushing through the crowd He yelped as something tugged at his elbow. He snapped his head toward Luca, arm still outstretched. What? Rensler asked, a bit more harshly than intended. Luca pulled his hand back. Youre doing it again. Doing what? Glaring. At everything. Rensler drew himself up his saddle. I am not glaring. Perhaps he was, but not at everything, at least. If you say so, Luca said with a smirk. Rensler resisted the urge to thump his brother on the head. He glanced back at the guards, then fixed his eyes on the street and the crowd ahead of them. You heard what Kahlia said. We have to be on our guard here. Luca shrugged, and Rensler resumed his surveying of the crowd, though he made sure not to glare too strongly this time, lest he worry his brother. He did not understand how the boy could not be on edge here, surrounded by people who would tear him apart if they discovered what he was. 275 They emerged into a wide square where six streets came together. From canvas covered stalls lining the edge of the square, vendors shouted over the cacophony, trying to peddle wares to the swirling mass of bodies. At the center of the square, a fountain rose above the crowd; statues of leaping fish stood atop a white stone pillar, spitting water into the round basin below. From horseback, Rensler could just make out the stone ledge thick enough for sitting encircling the pool. A group of children ran atop the ledge, sometimes pausing just long enough to splash water at one of their fellows before scampering away, laughing. Something felt wrong about seeing the happy display, and after a few moments, Rensler understood why. He had expected this to be a somber place, where everyone lived in constant oppression. Kahlia had made the situation sound so dire, but everywhere he looked, he simply saw people going about their lives. Finally, he allowed himself to relaxand nearly trampled a small figure that came scurrying in front of Saber. The horse reacted before Rensler knew what was happening and came to a lurching halt, letting out an annoyed snort as she stamped her hooves. Easy, Rensler said, patting Sabers neck. He peered down at a wide-eyed boy probably no older than tenwho was busy picking himself up off the flagstones. Are you all right? The boy jerked his head up to meet Renslers eyes, and Rensler saw the series of swirling lines crossed through by a jagged bolt etched into the boys cheek. A Mark, though Rensler didnt know which one. The skin was red and puffy; the tattoo could not have been more than a week old. They do that to the children too? he thought, horrified. 276 Apologies, my lord, the boy squeaked in clipped Odreman. The words were barely audible over the noise of the crowd. He dipped his head. Wasnt meaning hurt. Got carried away. My lord? By no means did Rensler appear lordly in his travel-worn clothes. Maybe it was the horse. There werent too many of those out on the streets, and most were used for pulling carts. Being on horseback, where everyone could see him, suddenly felt like a terrible idea especially now that onlookers were pausing to watch the scene. Ahead, the others continued forward with the flow of traffic, unaware of Renslers plight. Sweat started to bead on the back of his neck. Several pedestrians pushed their way past, uttering what must have been curses at the blockage in the traffic. Assuming the strange words were meant for him, Rensler readied an apology, but, to his astonishment, their ire was directed at the boy rather than the unmoving horse and rider. One even tried to cuff the boy on the head, who ducked instinctively before the blow came close. There you are! came a voice from the crowd. A heartbeat later, a man muscled his way through. A roughspun tunic flecked with wood dust was pulled tight against his bulging gut. He seized the boy by the arm and yanked him away from Saber. What do you think youre doing, running off like that? The boy whimpered as the man tightened his grip and said something Rensler couldnt understand. Whatever it was only caused the mans scowl to deepen, and he raised a meaty hand. Rensler waved his hands hurriedly. It wasnt his fault! I wasnt watching where I was going. The man paused mid-swing and looked toward Rensler with a furrowed brow. Truly, Im at fault. Thats not necessary, he added, pointing at the menacing fist. 277 The man cast a confused look at Rensler. He needs to be taught a lesson, he replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. The boy squirmed in his grasp. I think hes learned it already, Rensler arguednot convincingly enough, apparently, as the man smacked the boy across the face. Rensler sucked air through clenched teeth, and the world seemed to narrow to just the three of them. He started to reach for the man. He didnt know what he was going to do, but he had to do something. A firm hand grabbed his wrist and pushed his arm back. Thats enough, Zandren hissed, face suddenly close to Renslers. With a start, Rensler noticed the pocket of space they had created in the square. The swordsman must have realized Rensler had fallen back and came to fetch him. Zandren spoke to the man in Myrandian, too fast for Rensler to make out with his limited vocabulary. The portly man responded in kind, gesturing from the boy to Rensler, then swept his arm out across the crowd. They exchanged a few more words, and Rensler got the sense they were talking about him. He shrank down into the saddle as much as he could, wary of the attention being given to them. Soon enough, the conversation quieted, and the two men nodded at each other. The portly fellow started off, dragging the boy behind him. The boy glanced back at Rensler, a pained expression on his face, as they were swallowed up by the crowd. The commotion gone, the people who had paused to gawk returned to their errands, and they filled the space a moment later, all evidence of the scuffle gone. Without a word, Zandren spun his horse about and set off toward Kahlia and Luca, now at the other side of the square. Rensler urged Saber to follow at a careful walk. 278 Are you trying to draw attention? Zandren asked in a low voice when Rensler came abreast. Pedestrians moved aside as best they could for the two riders. Do you chafe so at our instruction to keep your brother safe? That wasnt what happened, Rensler said. That boy ran out in front of me, and thenwell, you mustve seen what happened. What I saw was a foolish mistake, Zandren replied. That man was within his rights to discipline that boy however he saw fit. Rensler drew back. You cant be serious. Fates, that man was ready to beat that boy bloody out here in the street! He struggled to keep his voice down. Would you have let that happen? Yes. The swiftness of the response disturbed Rensler. But how? He was just a kid. You seriously think thats right? Finally, Zandren looked at Rensler. His face was a calm mask, but his eyes were full of fury. I did not say it was right, just that he was within his rights. Myrandian law sees no issue with that sort of treatment of the Marked. Most of the people here see not a boy but property. Thats terrible. Thats reality. Rensler scowled. And so we should do nothing? Exactly, Zandren said. I understand what youre saying. Truly, I do. Your heart is in the right place, but your head is not. But 279 Think about it for one second, Zandren cut in. He skirted around an elderly couple evidently moving too slowly for his liking. This problem is larger than just one incident. Other Marked will receive the same beating today for no greater crimes. Its horrific, but we cant change an entire culture simply by wishing it, nor are we in a position right now to do anything about it. The more attention we draw, the harder our journey becomes. Rensler bit back a retort and at last admitted to himself that Zandren had the right of the situation. If he had stopped that man, what then? He often reprimanded Luca for acting brashly, but then Rensler did exactly that. He let out a frustrated sigh, but there was nothing else to be done at the moment. As they neared their waiting companions, he muttered, Thanks. For coming back for me. Zandren grunted as they fell in with the others. Kahlia cast a worried look at both of them, but she said nothing and continued along the narrow street. Thankfully, there was far less foot traffic on this side of the square, and they carried on without issue, though Rensler watched the other passersby much more carefully now. They turned onto a wider thoroughfare, and perhaps fifty paces later, Kahlia halted outside a squarish, three-story building made of the light gray brick common to the city. A metal sign scrawled with Myrandian lettering hung above a wooden door, its blue paint peeling. A long stable stood beside the building; two men sat on stools just inside the stable, dozing against the sides of the entryway. Without hesitation, Zandren dismounted and loudly got the mens attention. Kahlia pulled Rensler and Luca aside as soon as they touched the street, using the horses as a shield of sorts from the passersby. Remember, speak to no one of who you are, from where you come, or your purpose here, she stated without preamble. Her eyes flicked toward the 280 stablemen, who now stood before Zandren. If anyone finds out who we are, the consequences will be dire. We thought we would be safe enough in Felwin; we cannot make the same mistake here. Rensler exchanged a glance with Luca, then nodded. He intended to avoid interacting with anyone else here if he could avoid it. This city had already put him ill at ease enough for one day. No arguments? Kahlia said. A pleasant surprise. Retrieve your packs and come with me inside. Zandren and the workers will see to our horses. On cue, the stablehands came to take the reins and led the animals inside under the watchful eye of the big swordsman. Rensler looked back at the street one more time. No one appeared to be watching themas far as he was aware. He shook his head and followed Kahlia into the inn before he could worry himself any further. Only one room free, Im afraid. Kahlia stood before the innkeepers desk and refrained from making a complaint. Her eyes were still adjusting to the darkened interior, lit only by sunlight filtering in through halfdrawn curtains. The Ellarn greeted guests with a modest foyer, decorated with several wall hangings and a lone fern. It was so dissimilar from the River Queen, with its welcoming atmosphere and spacious common room. Here, guests were expected to either leave the establishment or sequester themselves in their chambers, not hang around and socializewhich was exactly why Kahlia had chosen this place. The less people who might see their little group, the better. 281 However, she had not expected the Ellarn to have just one room available. She pursed her lips and stared at the innkeeperSivern, as he had introduced himself. He was a weasely man with graying hair combed over in a paltry attempt to hide his baldness. Just one? Kahlia asked. Youre sure? Sivern tapped the ledger in front of him. Thats what I see here, yes. These things happen sometimes. He looked past her at her companions. Rensler and Luca stood awkwardly a few paces back, faces blank. Neither of them spoke Myrandian fluently, she had discovered. Rensler, of course, claimed he could hold a conversation, but he appeared to understand what was transpiring any better than Luca did. Rest assured, the three of you will fit in one room. There are four of us, Kahlia said. Ah. Well, the four of you should fit in one room. Ill have two cots brought up in due time. Thank you, Kahlia said. She slid several silver coins, each one bearing the crown and seal of Myrandir, across the desk. I trust we wont be disturbed during our stay. The innkeeper inspected the coins for a moment, then glanced at Kahlia, confusion plain on his face. Kahlia could practically see the question forming on the mans tongue. What is a foreigner doing carrying around so much Myrandian currency? He was wiser than she assumed, though, for he said nothing and took the payment. That you wont, he said. He reached into the desk and produced two keys on a metal ring. You have my word. Theres nothing better I could ask for, Kahlia replied. She began to turn away, slipping one of the keys off the loop as she did so, then paused. The quiet nature of the Ellarn was not her only reason for choosing the inn. Actually, Master Sivern, I have one more question for you. I 282 have not been here in some time, so perhaps my memory fails me, but wasnt the Ellarn run by a Mistress Avialah before? Sivern wrinkled his nose as though he smelled something rotten. Aye, there was. Nice enough woman, I suppose, but turns out she was a bloody Cursed! They always think they can hide, but the Trackers get them in the end. He clucked his tongue. I heard she mightve even been a Reforged spy. Not surprising, really. Seems those two always go hand in hand. I see, Kahlia murmured. She felt her heartbeat quicken and forced her breathing to remain neutral. Was she sent off to Myrais, then? Sivern bobbed his head. Indeed. Rumor had it she was headed for Rangavor Prison. He shuddered, and Kahlia followed suit. She had heard of the terrible things done to Marked there. Those who refused to become slaves were tortured to a slow, agonizing death. Good riddance, though, Sivern added. We didnt need a rogue Cursed running around here. Cant trust them, no matter how friendly. He squinted at Kahlia. Why do you ask? Did you know her? Kahlia shook her head, perhaps a bit too quickly. Not very well, no. I only met her once or twice, I believe. I suppose I was just curious at the change in management. She backed away from the desk and dipped her head. Thank you for the room, Master Sivern. Please let our companion know where to find us when he comes in. I shall leave you to your work. The innkeeper waved lazily, already reaching for the book he had left open on the desk. Kahlia turned to the boys. Say nothing, she whispered before either of them could speak. She ignored their confusion and ushered them off through the inn, up to the second floor. Their room overlooked the street from which they had come. Two beds, a trunk, and a washbasin were the only furniture in the room. The only decoration, in fact, as the walls were barren. The 283 simplicity suited Kahlia just fine. She practically shoved the brothers into the chamber, then shut and locked the door as soon as she was inside. Rensler and Luca regarded her with same look of uncertainty. Whats wrong? Luca said. And why are we all in the same room? Rensler asked, examining the cramped quarters. Kahlia ignored Renslers question. I intended to meet someone here, but she has been abducted, Kahlia hissed. She was Marked and held a position within the Church. Shes been taken to the capital to be tortured. Luca blanched. Rensler had the good sense to appear chagrined. The danger is now greater than I envisioned, Kahlia continued. She hoped the innkeeper thought nothing of her inquiry, though she doubted they would be so fortunate. The four of us wont be able to stay cooped up in this room all day, lest we rouse suspicion. A knock at the door interrupted her. The three of them tensed, waiting, until Zandrens voice came from the other side. Its me. Kahlia hurried her companion inside and latched the door once more. Zandren glanced about the space, made smaller now by his presence. Ive slept in tighter quarters, he said. He pointed toward the lock on the door and shot Kahlia a questioning look. She explained the situation, eliciting a curse from Zandren, and turned back to the boys, who had seated themselves on one of the beds. As I was saying, we cant shut ourselves in all day. Its only midday as it is. A lone traveler doing so would mean nothing; four is a conspiracy in waiting. 284 Rensler frowned. So thats it? You want us to go wander about? Knowing that these people wont be exactly friendly if they find out about Luca. Or you. He shifted his gaze to Zandren. Both of you, in fact. Precisely, Kahlia said. For now, only Master Sivern knows we are staying here, but all it takes is one casual remark about the four shut-ins to have a dozen Trackers at our door, demanding to know our purpose. I dont like this plan, Rensler said. How unsurprising. It seems unnecessary to put ourselves in danger. Zandren crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. Youve been in danger since you left your village. Danger will be your constant companion from now on. Your only choice now is to walk the least hazardous path. I think theyre right, Luca said. Then its settled, Kahlia said. Zandren and I will see what other news we can find in the city, while the two of you will take a walk about. Dont wander too far from the inn, and try to stay out of any further scuffles. She held Renslers gaze for a moment. His desire to argue the point was writ plain on his face, but Kahlia was in no mood to hear it. One day, she would figure out how to gain his trust. Be sure to return before sundown, she said. We shall make our leave at first light tomorrow. God help us make it until then. 285 Chapter 17 The door had hardly swung shut behind Kahlia and Zandren when Rensler plopped down on one of the bedsalready claimed by one of their companionswith a huff. Fates, those two are the most frustrating people Ive ever met. You really havent met that many people, Luca said. He sat on the floor, as far from the door as he could get in the tight space, and rummaged through his clothes, giving them a onceover to see if any needed to be scrubbed while they were back in civilization. There was not much else he could do at present. The lone window offered nothing of interest outside, and he figured he could walk across the square room in half a dozen strides at most, and that was with what furniture was already there. Once the cots were brought up, theyd have to climb over one another to get to the door. Rensler lifted his head and scowled. Ive met you, and youre plenty frustrating sometimes. He propped himself up on his elbows. I dont see the point behind her reasoning. Dont stay inside all day because thats suspicious, but dont talk to people because thats suspicious. What isnt suspicious? Luca wrinkled his nose as he caught a bad whiff from one of his shirts. Hadnt he just worn that yesterday? No one else had mentioned a stink. Maybe it didnt need to be washed after all. Why are you always so eager to do as they say? Rensler asked, sitting upright. Back home, getting you to listen was like convincing a rock to walk sometimes. Probably because theyre a lot nicer about it, Luca thought, keeping his eyes on the shirt in his hands. That was not entirely fair to his brother. Sure, Rensler could be prickly at times, and he had no one to blame for Lucas stubborn streak but himself. But he did what he thought was 286 right to protect Luca. It was something to do with how they ended up in Salden in the first place. He was far too young at the time to remember any of that now, and both his brother and Ophelia talked about it infrequently and with sparing detail. Luca wished they would tell him all of it. Maybe then he could understand why Rensler needed to be so overbearing. Theyre just trying to help, Luca said at last. He was starting to feel like he was shouting into a valley with how much he was echoing himself whenever Rensler complained about the others. We wouldnt have made it this far without them. And its not as if we can just turn back and head home. Who knows when the Watchers would attack again? And I bet there are more beasts like the one you saw. Rensler nodded slowly. Sure, sure. Awfully convenient, though, that weve never run into one of those again. He rubbed his arms. Everything from that night was a blur for Luca, but he remembered the fear in Renslers retelling. Theyre Braskellars servants, Luca asserted. Just like the Watchers. Youre too easily convinced. Luca threw his pack on the ground and leaped to his feet. And youre too damn paranoid, he shouted, feeling his cheeks grow hot. Well, no going back now. Why do you keep doing this? Every time we have a moment to breathe, you cast doubt on them. What choice do we have but to trust them? Rensler drew his mouth into a flat line. Luca already knew what his brother would say the same things hed said since they left home. A knock came at door, startling them both. Luca held his breath, waiting, until he heard a voice from the other side speaking in Myrandian. Without looking at his brother, he opened the 287 door and found a gap-toothed man in the hall, bearing a canvas bundle under each arm. Cots, he announced in Odreman. He pushed the bundles into Lucas arms and shuffled off. Luca deposited the cots on the floor and started to make sense of the jumble of sticks and canvas, glad to have something to do besides argue. After a few seconds, he heard the bed creak, and Rensler joined him. They worked in silence until both cots were assembled and standing, leaving them with only a few feet of floor space. Well, thats done, Luca said. We should probably get out of here for a bit. He put on a smile, forcing himself to be cheerful, more for his brothers benefit than his own. Sure, Rensler muttered. It seemed he had more to say, but Luca didnt want to go round again just yet. He hurried out into the hall, barely waiting for Rensler to lock the door on his way out, before making his way to the stairs. The foyer was deserted save for the innkeeper behind the desk on one side of the room. Luca ambled toward the exit, doing his best to appear unassumingwhatever that looked like. Kahlias warnings about the city and its people still bounced around his head. If Luca didnt know better, hed think that some of Renslers paranoia was wearing off on the Seeker. Maybe it was the other way around. Those two had more in common than either wanted to admit. Zandren, too, for that matter. He waved to the innkeeper, busy thumbing through the same leatherbound volume as before. Without so much as a glance, the man gave the barest of nods, apparently too engrossed in his reading to wave back. That, or he was just a stuffy sort of person. Luca figured it was the latter. At least no one could say he was a rude guest. He stepped outside and squinted against the sunlight beating down from overhead. Rensler stalked out behind, wearing his best brooding face. He was still grumbling wandering the 288 city streets, claiming attackers were waiting around every corner. Now that they were back in the street, Luca figured a threat to venture off on his own would keep his brother by his side. More people filled the street than before, passing by like two adjacent rivers flowing in opposite directions. Most wore coats and hats pulled tight against the crisp wind whistling between the buildings, chilling despite the clear sky. For the most part, there didnt seem to be any urgency to their step, save for the few who darted through every opening in the crowd. Luca watched for a few moments, fascinated. Where could all these people be going? What did people in the city do all day? He itched to stop a passerby and blurt out the questions. Rensler paused beside Luca at the edge of the street. Well, were outside. Now what? Luca tapped his chin and peered down the street in both directions. He wasnt used to Rensler letting him take the lead, but he wasnt about to squander the opportunity. I say we start walking and see whats out here. We can see plenty from here. Well, we cant just stay indoors all day. Luca wasnt certain he understood Kahlias reasoning for them to go outside. Though it pained him to admit it, Rensler was right that someone might discover them. Of course, Luca wasnt about to go against Kahlias will. If she felt jaunting about the city would keep them safe, then that was what he intended to do. Im aware. Rensler said. But I hate going about without a purpose. He sniffed, wrinkled his nose, and added, And I hate the smell of this city. Luca huffed and stepped closer to the street. How about food, then? he said. He flashed a grin at Rensler. Thats a good purpose. We can eat something besides hardtack and stale cheese for a change. 289 Rensler worked his jaw the way he always did when he wanted to argue but knew he had nothing to say. At last, he conceded with a sigh. Fine. But were not straying too far from here. I dont think we can rely on anyone to help us find our way back. Good enough, Luca thought. He waited until an opening in the crowd presented itself, then darted into the space, squeezing his way between pedestrians. His brother was not quite as graceful, and Luca heard him issue more than one apology as he blundered into people. Serves him right for being such a grump. Heedless of Renslers struggles, Luca hurried along, refusing to slow until he was several streets away from the inn. The breeze carried along the scent of cooked meats and vegetables, and they tugged at Luca to come find them. His brothers voice became a distant sound, mingling with the hubbub of the city. As he walked, he took greater notice of his surroundings. The buildings here were not very much different than the ones in Felwin, other than the abundance of churches all dedicated to the same god. There were some different colors to the bricks and wooden beams here and there, the tones more muted than the vibrancy of the other city. The people were much the same as well, although they spoke incomprehensibly as far as Luca was concerned, though occasionally, he understood a few words in a passing conversation. All in all, the city was not what he expected. He thought the people would all be miserable, living in harsh conditions, but there were just as many cheery faces as there were glum. No one gave him any trouble except for shopkeepers on the busier streets, and those only watched him with suspicion if he lingered at their stall too long. He wanted to explain that he was simply a visitor, not a thief, but seeing as how he couldnt understand what they were saying, he doubted they would understand him either. He quickly learned to move on without causing a fuss. While he figured he could outrun any of the vendors, he didnt want to risk 290 drawing the attention of the city watch as they patrolled the streets in pairs. Although, they didnt seem too attentive, either; most of the ones he passed reclined against a wall in the shadows of eaves. Soon enough, he found himself in a well-traveled thoroughfare, judging by the uneven flagstones at the edge of the street, where the ground had begun to swallow them up. More shops dotted the street here, their awnings poking out dangerously close to the flow of people. The smell of food was more powerful now, spicy and salty and sweet all mixed together. Lucas stomach growled. He was unaccustomed to eating the same bland food every day, and he couldnt resist the allure of something differenteven if he didnt quite know what it was. He halted near a stall bearing skewers of chunks of meat, steaming in the crisp air. What do you think? Luca said. No reply came. He glanced back, expecting Rensler to be just a few steps away, but he was nowhere to be seen. Luca felt hot, despite the cool breeze. Oh, Fates, he thought. I am in so much trouble. He could already hear his brother berating him, accusing him of intentionally running off. It wasnt his fault Rensler was so slow. Well, there was nothing to be done now but go back the way he came, but he wasnt leaving empty-handed. He approached the stall, trying his best to read the sign. The words were mostly unreadable, but the price was written in recognizable numbers. He plunked down a handful of copper coins for two skewers, ignoring the vendors quizzical expression at the foreign currency, and bit into a chunk of meat, too impatient to let it cool. He puffed out bursts of air as he chewed. It was a bit gamey, whatever it was, but it was tender and savory all the same. He rejoined the foot traffic and set off in the direction from hed come, but after a few minutesin which he devoured his meal, even licking the skewers cleanhe stopped, unsure he 291 was headed the right way. He remembered the church with the three peaked roofs and the house with the broken blue shutters. Or had they been green? How many peaks did that church have? Sweat started to break out on the back of his neck. He couldnt be that far from the inn. But the more he walked, the less certain he became. Every passing building began to blur together. Despite Kahlias command, he tugged at the sleeve of a random passerby. Can you help me find the Ellarn? The woman scrunched her eyebrows together and shrugged him off, uttering something he didnt understand. Luca cursed aloud. How do you say help me in Myrandian? Someone in this crowd must have spoken his language, but how could he find them? Asking one person for help was nothing. Running down the streets screaming for help was out of the question. He was still considering his options when a commotion farther up the street drew his attention. Four people in mail hauberks and coifs strode along, each one bearing a short sword on their hip, the sheath pushing out against the dark green cloak hanging from their shoulders. An embroidered sigil of a drawn bow, white save for a few lines of gold radiating from the tip of the arrow, stuck out on the left breast, above the heart. The two at the fore were armed with a short bow and a quiver on their other hip, while the two in the rear each bore a rope lead connecting to the neck of a disheveled man. The soldiersLuca assumed that was who they weremoved with a casual air, somehow managing to appear both disinterested in the crowd yet ready for any disturbance. The crowd never ceased flowing, but it parted around the little group like water around a boulder. Luca dashed between two stalls, running up the steps of a nearby building to watch the group as they drew near. Whatever this procession was, it apparently happened with such regularity that no one stopped to question why there was a man on a leash being dragged through 292 the streets. The excitement Luca had felt upon leaving the inn was rapidly fading. Maybe this city was quite different from Felwin after all. Maybe leaving Rensler behind hadnt been such a good idea. The group came closer, for the most part ignoring and being ignored by the passersby. From his vantage point, Luca saw the man more clearly. His drab clothing was torn in several places, and Luca caught a brief glimpse of bare feet caked with dirt. His hair was a wild mess, most of it sticking up at odd angles, though some of it was matted to his forehead with what looked to be dried blood. A red tattoo marred one cheek. Realization hit Luca like a mountain. A Marked! he thought. He sucked in a breath through his teeth as a sudden chill ran through him. They just parade them through the streets like this? Like animals? But why? He wanted to ask one of the nearby peddlers, but at best they would dismiss him with nary a wordif they understood him at alland at worst they might tell the soldiers to take him away too. He shrank back, now regretting coming up to the stoop. If that man was Marked, then the soldiers were Trackers, the ones Kahlia had warned him about. The ones who hunted Marked when they ran away. That explained why no one appeared disturbed by the display. Luca had assumed that Kahlia was overblowing the danger for people like them. Now he understood. The soldiers and their prisoner passed Lucas perch without so much as a glance his way. He counted a few heartbeats before he stood upright and let out a long breath, watching as they continued onward through the throng. Something tugged at him. An urge to follow, to help that man escape. He squashed the notion. What could he do? Even if he went after them, how could he possibly help the prisoner without winding up hurt or dead himself? Since when did he care about consequences like that? 293 He threaded his way back into the crowd, moving with the flow of foot traffic in the direction the Trackers had gone. It did not take long to catch up to them. Once he was sure he wouldnt lose them, he forced himself to match their pace so as to not get too close. Within a minute, impatience began to gnaw at him. Why couldnt they move faster? The Trackers acted as though they were simply out for a stroll, not taking a prisoner back to Fates knew what kind of cell. The Trackers turned down a narrow, unpaved street. Luca hung back, peeking around the corner of a building, waiting until they were nearly out sight before scurrying after them as they stepped out onto another wider thoroughfare. They continued on like this for some time, alternately venturing down busy roads and alleyways, always heading west through the city. For the most part, other pedestrians paid Luca no mind, though some gave him a curious glance when there were only a handful of people nearby. One called after him with strange words, but he continued forward with his head down, pointedly ignoring the agitated sounds, and nearly bumped into his quarry as came around a corner. He suppressed a cry of surprise, then pivoted sharply on one foot and stepped away from the group, hoping he hadnt finally aroused their suspicions. They moved on, and Luca trailed behind. The street angled upward as it snaked through the buildings, climbing toward the peak of a natural rise, where a handful of conical towers loomed over the surrounding area. Luca frowned, wondering what those could be. As he came closer, a tall stone wall came into view, nearly pressing up against the nearby buildings, though most were too short to peer over. An iron gate was set in the center of the wall. Through its bars, Luca spotted a few groups of people, clad in something similar to the Trackers, moving about the yard. 294 Luca drew up short of the compound, watching a person on the inside push open the gates, admitting the four Trackers and their prisoner. Its a fortress, Luca realized. Why was there a fortress in the middle of the city? Was that where they kept all of their captive Marked? He remembered Rensler talking about the boy he had nearly trampled earlier. Had he been taken to this place too? A part of him knew it was best if he simply walked away. He still needed to find his way back to the inn and probably deal with Rensler along the way. He could already hear the tonguelashing his brother would deliver, whenever they ran into each other. By this point, no explanation would be good enough to appease Rensler. Well, if he were already in trouble, what more harm could a little extra mischief cause? Luca bit his lip as he studied the wall, a silly yet tantalizing idea forming in his head. He crossed the street and moseyed past the gate, taking in as much as he could. From up close, he saw that it was actually less of a fortress and more of a huge enclosed yard. Four squarish buildings made from rust-colored bricks surrounded the main keep built from the same thick stone blocks of the outer wall. He had read about academies in cities, places where people would reside and study whatever they wished. Maybe that was what this was. An academy for Trackers. That didnt explain why they would take the Marked inside, though. The guard on the other side of the gate eyed Luca as he passed. Luca grinned at the fellow and mimed tipping a hat. He was not the only passerby, though it seemed people favored steering clear of the compound rather than walking in front of it. When he reached the corner, he set off down the tight alleyway created by the wall and the buildings. The sounds of the city grew muffled the farther he went. Eventually, he stopped and looked back the way hed come. 295 No one was in the alley with him, and anyone who walked past the far entrance likely would not notice him. Luca studied the wall. Cracks spread in some of the grooves between the blocks, and clumps of vines sprouted at random. He tugged at one. It put up minimal resistance before its roots began to give way, and he hastily let go, hoping he hadnt killed the plant. He frowned and continued his inspection, poking at the larger cracks, checking to see if his fingers would fit. They did, but only barely. Would that be enough? Itll get easier as I go, he thought. Just like the tree in Salden. He hadnt tried to climb anything since the festival, but surely his abilities had only grown stronger. He grabbed a chunk of the stone as best he could and lunged upward, managing to wedge his hand into another open crack. His foot found purchase against the corner of a block, and as he pulled himself upward, leaving the ground, he suddenly felt as though he weighed a fraction of what he should. This wasnt the same as it had been in Salden. This was far easier. Handholds practically appeared before him, and within seconds he grasped the low point of a crenel. He paused for a moment, caught up in the thrill of what hed accomplished, and looked down at the ground, a good twenty feet below. It took great effort not to shout with excitement. Practicing his other powers over the past few weeks had been so frustrating, and he was elated to have a victory at last. Forcing himself to focus, he poked his head up between the merlons, just enough to peer over. The four brick buildings he had glimpsed before were each nearly identical, with arched windows and doors and a peaked slate roof. Words were painted above each doorway, though Luca had not the faintest clue what they meant. He now saw the yard was divided into sections crossed by tidy brick paths, some leading to small dirt circles enclosed by benches, and trees and 296 trimmed shrubs grew in clusters across the grass. In one of the circles, two people squared off with a practice sword and shield, while half a dozen others watched, shouting what sounded like encouragement. A handful of others strolled throughout the enclosure. Unlike the Trackers in the street, those here wore simple tunics and trousers. No one patrolled the walkway on the battlements, to Lucas shock. In fact, other than the one guard at the front gate, there didnt appear to be anyone tasked with keeping watch. Luca squinted and checked again. Surely he was missing something here. Why would they hole up in a fortress but leave it largely undefended? Whos going to attack them within the city like this? he thought. He tapped a finger against the stone. Maybe the wall was just an intimidation tactic, to make the Trackers look more frightening than they wereas if that were necessary. Or, maybe the wall wasnt to keep people out, but in. People like that prisoner. Of the Trackers he had followed, there was no sign. He studied the main keep, with its high, foreboding walls and spires towering over both the enclosure and the surrounding buildings. Luca guessed it was much older than the other structures within the wall, judging by the green and brown layer spattered across its side. Movement at the front gate drew his attention. He hunched down, afraid to keep even the top of his head in sight. Figuring no one had noticed him yet, he gradually brought his eyes up in time to see a trio strolling down the main path toward the keep. Well, two of them were strolling. The third crept along as though she didnt want her fellows to know she was present. Her dark hair was cut shorter than Lucas, and she kept her eyes fixed on the stones beneath her. As with the prisoner, a red tattoo stood out upon her cheek, two overlapping crescents intersected by 297 several lines. Which Mark was that? Luca wished he knew more about the physical appearance of the Marks. He would need to ask Kahlia about them once they were back on the road. The woman halted, so abrupt that it seemed an invisible rope tugged at her. Her head jerked up, then snapped toward Luca. He froze, heart pounding, then ducked out of sight. Had she seen him? She couldnt have; she must have been looking at something past him. How would she have known to look his way in the first place, when no one else had? Carefully, he raised his head up again, his eyes going to the path. All three Trackers were missing. He pulled himself up another few inches, as much as he could at the moment. His fingers were beginning to ache from clinging onto the wall for so long, and his body suddenly felt heavier now than it had during the climb. What had been easy mere seconds ago now had his whole body burning. Still, he did not withdraw, continuing his search. Voices came from his right, and he turned in time to see the trio ascending the nearby stairs on the back of the wall, the tattooed woman now leading the way. Luca could not see a weapon on her, but the others each drew their side swords. All three were shouting incomprehensibly. Sweat trickled down his neck. What could he do? If he dropped, would he shield himself from the fall, like he did in the forest? Even if he did, he would have to run through the unfamiliar winding streets. They would catch him in minutesor in seconds, if he didnt do something now. He needed to get away, to go somewhere safe. But where was safe in this city? Their room in the Ellarn would have to do. The woman extended a hand and lunged for him. Luca let go of the wall, dropping toward the street below. He closed his eyes and fixed an image of the room in his mind 298 And landed on the edge of one of the cots, tipping it on top of him as he crashed onto the hardwood floor, where he lay groaning, waiting for the intense pressure in his chest to fade. Was that supposed to happen? When Tasavar had attacked him outside Felwin, Luca had jumped the two of them a short distance across a field, but he hadnt replicated the feat since. Yet another reminder of how much he still needed to practice. His heartbeat finally began to slow as the absurdity of his situation struck him, and a laugh came to his lips unbidden. Fates, that was colossally stupid, he thought, still chuckling. But I made it back just fine. And as far as anyone knew, he hadnt caused any trouble. He had simply taken a walk about the city and decided to come back to the inn He shoved the cot to one side and bolted upright, then awkwardly climbed to his feet, lightheaded. He had to get back outside; Rensler would still be out there somewhere trying to find him. By this point, Luca wasnt sure he wanted to be found by his brother, but he had no choice. Righting the cot before he left, he made his way down to the foyer, crept past Master Sivern, now dozing at the desk, and stepped out into the street to the familiar sights and smells of this area of the city. He watched those nearby for any reaction, but no one so much as glanced at him. Word of his trespassing had not spread yet, it seemed. Best to find Rensler before that happens. Seeing nothing for it but to start walking, he joined the throng and headed off. Whether by fortune or providence, he located his brother in short order. Rensler stood atop the stone ledge surrounding the fountain in the wide plaza they had passed earlier that day. His face was bright red, and even from a distance, Luca could see his brothers eyes were bloodshot as he scanned the crowd. A guilty feeling settled in Lucas stomach as he headed for 299 the fountain. Halfway there, Rensler noticed him and jumped down from his perch, plowing through other pedestrians and ignoring their indignant cries. Wordlessly, Rensler spun Luca around and pushed him forward. He tried to speak more than once on the way to the inn, but each time, Rensler fairly growled through clenched teeth and picked up the pace. In short order, they stood outside their room. Rensler placed the key in the lock, frowned at finding it unlatched, then shoved Luca inside. He kept himself from stumbling and turned to his brother. Rensler, I Rensler yanked the door shut so hard that it rattled its hinges. Do you ever stop to think about what youre doing before you do it? he demanded, rounding on Luca. Just once, Id like you to give that try. We were told to stick togetherby Kahlia, no less, who you seem to listen to more than meand yet you still ran off on your own. His hands clenched into fists at his side. I knew this would happen. I knew we shouldve just stayed inside, but of course, we had to do what Kahlia wanted. Im sorry, all right? Luca said. I didnt mean to give you the slip. I thought you were behind me the whole time. Sure you did, Rensler said. When you finally decided to notice that I wasnt, did you try to find me? Luca winced. Well, eventually. I found you, didnt I? You did, Rensler said. He glanced at the door. I locked this when we left, and yet that wasnt the case when we came back. Why might that be? Luca, what did you do? Luca hesitated and looked everywhere in the room but at his brother. He couldnt tell him about his journey through the city, the Trackers, or the fortress. I didnt do anything, he said. 300 He stared at a knot in the floorboards. The staff mustve come up for something else. I bet they have another key If youre going to lie, at least be good at it, Rensler said. He crossed his arms and drummed his fingers. But whether youre a good or bad liar doesnt matter. Either way, you obviously cant be trusted to make your own decisions. Im trying my best to keep you alive, and youre doing your damnedest to get us all killed. Lucas eyes started to mist; he hated how easily anger brought him to tears. I already apologized. What more do you want from me? I want your apologies to actually mean something, Rensler snapped. Whenever you misbehave and get in trouble, you say youre sorry, that it wont happen again. Only to turn around and do something else equally stupid. His voice grew louder with each word until he was nearly shouting. He dropped his arms, then slammed a fist into the door behind him. Luca jumped, stunned by the display. Hed seen his brother plenty angry over the yearsmore often at himself than anything elsebut never to the point where he hit something. Or someone. A spike of panic shot through Luca. He wouldnt do that. He would never do that. Rensler let out a shuddering sigh, and his whole body sagged against the door. I give up, he whispered, so quiet Luca could barely hear him from a few paces away. Ive tried so hard to protect you over the years. I dont think I can keep doing it. He opened the door and glanced back at Luca. Stay here, or dont. It makes no difference. With that, he fled into the hall, closing the door behind him. The tears finally began to trickle down Lucas cheeks. Sniffling, he scrubbed them away with his sleeve, but they only came on stronger as he tried to fight the sensation, and a ragged 301 sob ripped its way from his throat. After a few seconds of struggle, he stopped trying to hold back. He curled up on one of the cots with his arms across his stomach, heedless of the tears dripping onto the canvas. Maybe he should lay here for a while. He couldnt possibly get into trouble if he simply stayed put and waited for the others to return. It was a long wait. An expanse of pure blackness stretched all around Luca. He stood on something solid, though he could see nothing save his own body, garbed in the same clothes he had worn to bed. Strange. How could he see himself but nothing else? He lifted one bare foot and felt somethingwater, he hopeddripping off. Whatever he stood on hadnt felt like water before. He placed his foot down once more, and suddenly he could see as ripples spread outward from his body across the dark liquid. They were tiny at first, but as they expanded farther, they grew into great waves, taller than he had ever seen, climbing ever higher toward the now starry sky. What is this place? Luca wondered. Another dream, of that much he was sure. In the first one, he had been in a city, albeit one completely foreign to him. But that place had been real. Where he found himself now defied reality. He started forward, and the world changed around him. The ripples became frenzied vibrations, throwing up cascades of water far off into the distance. Water solidified into glossy black stone beneath Lucas feet. A full moon formed in the starlit sky, bathing the ground in white light, far brighter than should have been possible. 302 The transformation ended as quickly as it had begun. Luca found himself in a craggy landscape that rose and fell. Clumps of tall grass and twisted trees grew from cracks in the ground, and stone pillars, like fingers reaching out of the earth, led off toward a lone mountain in the distant horizon. The mountain shifted, and a wrathful howl filled the air. Luca stumbled back and clapped his hands to his ears, trying desperately to block out the sound. He had to get away from this place. He turned away from the mountain and ran, but the world elongated before him. A biting wind picked up and slapped against him, shoving him backward. Thick, angry clouds appeared in the sky, twisting and churning like piles of snakes. Lightning flashed from within, followed by thunder that rattled Lucas teeth. He fell to his knees and screamed And found himself once more on the balcony in the mountain city. He gasped in the still air, the thunder now no more than a low growl, though the sky was still a display of intertwining clouds, blown by a harsh wind that Luca could not feel. He gripped the ornate railing and climbed to his feet. Beautiful, isnt it? a mans voice said from behind. Luca spun on trembling legs. The chamber past the arches was the same as before, its twin hearths still burning, the door to the corridor beyond still closed. Only one figure emerged onto the balcony, though. He wore the same fine robes that hung unperturbed as he came forward, practically gliding with smooth, long steps. He halted a few paces from Luca, a smile spreading across his lined face. 303 Luca frowned. I remember you. He glanced about, noticing the spires emerging from mountainsides. Everything was the same as before. I remember this place. How is that possible? Still fully the mortal, I see, the man said. Its not you who remembers, boy, but the deific soul within. Not this again. The strange man and his fellows had spouted nonsense before; Luca was in no mood to deal with it again. Though he wasnt quite sure what mood he was in. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was dreaming, and he desperately wanted to wake up. The man raised his hands, the silver rings on his fingers glittering in a light that didnt exist. Luca pressed backward against the railing. Stay back, he barked, trying to keep the fear from voice. I dont know what youre talking about. I dont know what any of this is. This is your past, and your future, the man said. His eyes swirled into black pools. This is the world as it shall be, when your purpose has been fulfilled. The world must first be cleansed before it can be born anew. Those words. The same words as before. They made no more sense now than the last time. Lucas vision swam as pain flared within his skull. He clutched the sides of his head and pressed his eyes shut. Wake up, he thought. None of this is real. Just wake up. You should know better than to think that will work, the man said. Open your eyes, and look upon what will be. He grabbed Lucas wrist with a claw-like hand. Luca squirmed against the iron grip as the man yanked him to his feet, then spun him outward. The mountain city melted away and was replaced by a field of barren stone. Lucas mouth went dry as he saw the countless corpses scattered across the land. Rensler and Ophelia, their torsos slashed to ribbons, were at his feet. Kahlia and Zandren were next, their necks 304 twisted at an impossible angle. Other people he had knownhis friends, the other villagers, even the staff from the River Queenlikewise lay in broken heaps, each one killed in equally gruesome fashion. Soon, Lord Braskellar, the man whispered, your children will rise. The thirst of the earth shall be quenched by mortal blood, and you walk among us once again. No! Luca shouted. He thrashed, kicking out against the terrible man. The mans grasp simply tightened as his fingers elongated into fleshy tendrils that wrapped their way up Lucas arm and around his chest. Luca throat grew raw, but still he screamed as the world faded from view. Something shook him. Luca, a voice called. Luca, wake up. It sounded distorted and far-off, but it was not the man from the dream. He remembered this voice, had heard it since the day he was born. Lucas eyes snapped open in a darkened room. He started to sit up, but firm hands on his shoulders held him down. He tried moving his arms and found them pinned to his sides. He squirmed as panic gripped him all over again. Im awake, arent I? he thought. Then why cant I move? Hey, easy now, Rensler said. Luca blinked as his brothers countenance swam into view. Even in the dim light, the fear in his face was unmistakable. Youre all tangled up in your sheets. I was trying to wake you, and then you started thrashing about. Luca glanced down at the sheets constricting most of his body. The dream was already fading from his mind, but he recalled the feel of the tendrils as they engulfed him. Sorry, he croaked. He swallowed hard, and his dry throat ached in protest. Can you help me out of this? 305 They worked in silence for a few seconds. Freed from the makeshift cocoon, Luca stretched and rubbed at his neck, stiff from sleeping in an awkward position on the hard cot. He wondered how long he had been wrapped up like that. Everything had happened so quickly in the dream, and what little he remembered terrified him. The dead faces, blurry now, drifted across his mind again. He froze as he realized only the two of them were in the darkened room. Where are Kahlia and Zandren? Already down in the stableyard, Rensler said, sitting back on his own cot. I woke up as they were slipping out. I figured Id have to rouse you, but He ran a hand through his hair. I was trying for probably ten minutes, at least, but I couldnt wake you. You just kept growling and muttering words I couldnt understand. You had me worried. Luca didnt know what to do other than mumble another apology. They busied themselves with packing their meager possessions for longer than was necessary. Renslers tirade from the day before started to work its way back into Lucas mind. He cast a furtive glance at his brother. They hadnt spoken more than a few words to each other since the afternoon. For Renslers part, he didnt appear as worked up as he had been yesterday. Was it a dream? Rensler said abruptly. He glanced at the door, his gaze lingering on the latch, and continued in a whisper. Like the ones Tasavar said youd have? Luca bit his lip, unsure of what to say. He didnt want to lie to Rensler yet again, but he didnt need his brother fretting even more than usual. It was a nightmare, he said at last. A bad one. But it didnt mean anything. Youre sure? Luca shrugged. I dont really know what kinds of dreams Im supposed to be having. 306 Rensler looked ready to continue the line of questioning, but a thin ray of sunlight peeking through a slit in the curtains pulled his attention. Wed better go before Zandren works himself into a frenzy. He undid the lock but paused with his hand on the knob, then turned back to Luca. He let out a long breath. Im sorry about yesterday. For getting so angry with you. I shouldnt have said those things. I really am sorry for running off, Luca said. He hadnt told the group about what had occurred. He hadnt been snatched away during the night, though, so he reckoned he was safe. I promise Ill try to be more careful. Rensler gave a slow nod, apparently satisfied for now, and led the way into the hall. The floorboards creaked as they moved through the quiet inn. Ive been meaning to ask you something, Luca said. What will you do once we reach Thanalia? The question had been nagging at him lately. A great destiny supposedly awaited Luca in the city, but what was there for his brother? Im not sure, Rensler admitted. Ive still got some time to think about it. But I do know that Ill still be there to protect you. I know you will, Luca thought. The mangled corpse of his brother flashed in his mind again, the only piece of the dream he could recall now. An unshakable dread clutched his stomach. Hopefully that wont get you killed. 307 Chapter 18 Darkness blanketed the stableyard as Rensler and Luca exited the inn. The rest of the city blocked out the sun proper, though its weak light cast a sinister red glow on the underside of the clouds. A bad omen, if the older folks back home were to be believed. Rensler tried not to let his imagination get the better of him as he nibbled on a piece of hardtack, watching the hostlers bring the horses out, saddled and ready for travel. Ready as he was to leave the city, he would miss that particular benefit. Saber snorted as he approached, and he stroked her neck in greeting. Good morning to you too, he murmured. She responded by scuffing a hoof against the ground. Rensler hoped that was a good sign. None of the others had mounted, so Rensler held Sabers reins and surveyed the yard, expecting something to happen before they left. Despite all of Kahlias warnings, their stay in the city had been largely uneventful, so far as danger went. They didnt need enemies to attack them when Luca ran off on his own anyway. He eyed his brother, who busied himself with securing his pack to his saddle. Was the matter from yesterday settled between them? Rensler didnt think so, even if they had apologized to each other. He regretted letting his frustrations get the better of him, but he was right to fear for Lucas safety, especially when the boy himself took no care of his own. Rensler was convinced Luca had gotten into some trouble and simply refused to admit as much, likely assuming that the others would never find out. When Kahlia and Zandren had returned the previous evening, both reported rumors about a Marked, a boy of a suspiciously similar description to Luca, wanted by the Trackers. All the more reason for them to depart the city before the streets came fully alive. 308 The hostlers opened the big wooden gate, and Zandren signaled for the rest of the group to come forward. As they did, he slipped a coin to the two men. Your discretion is appreciated, he said. With a final nod, he led them out onto the street, each of them leading their mounts by the reins. The clacking of the hooves echoed across the flagstones, an announcement of their departure. Thankfully, not many souls were out and about yet, and they wended their way westward without issue. Rensler fought back a yawn, prompting a whinny from Saber. We could all use a bit more rest, he thought. His weariness was caused by more than simply waking before first light; he was well accustomed to that. They had left Salden only mere weeks ago, and yet he felt as though they had been on the road for half a year. His body ached all over. The night spent on the cot had been little better than a night spent on the ground. On Sabers other side, Luca bobbed into view every few steps. He wore a subdued expression this morning, though he seemed no worse for wear from his fitful slumber. Was this the same boy who used to fight Ophelia when she tried to wake him before mid-morning? The change seemed a small thing, and yet it was quite drastic. It has to be his powers, Rensler thought. His neck felt hot under his collar as he glanced about. Would that give them away? He glared at the few passersby they came across until they were a good distance away. For all he knew, any one of them could be a Tracker or a Watcher or some other unknown enemy. The Watchers disturbed him more than the Trackers, but not because they were any worse. Rather, their absence since the night they left Felwin had only made Rensler more distrustful of every shadow. Back in Salden, they had been willing to sacrifice some of their own to get to Luca. Why, then, had they practically disappeared? 309 Ahead, Kahlia and Zandren walked together, speaking too quietly for Rensler to hear. He narrowed his eyes, staring at the backs of their heads in turn. Surely those two were still hiding something from him. He was still debating what it could be when the street began to straighten, bringing the western gate into view and his ruminations to an end for the time being. The eastern gate had been a towering structure of stone with a thick iron portcullis that looked like the teeth of some giant creature feeding on those who dared cross the bridge from Odrema. The west gate was practically inviting. A wooden palisade defended this side of the city and stood only half as high as the eastern wall. The Myrandians obviously counted on the river to prevent enemies from attacking from this side. A handful of guards stood on either side of the gate, two doors made from cut logs held together by iron straps. Rensler felt his body clench involuntarily, expecting the guards to detect Luca and sound an alarm, but they simply nodded in greeting as the group walked past. The cobblestones gave way to hard-packed earth bordered by knee-high grass waving in the wind. Rensler inhaled deeply, taking in the scents of flowers and dirt, and a calming sensation washed through him. A hard days travel lay before them, but he would rather face that than remain in Riandris a second longer. A dozen paces beyond the gate, they climbed into their saddles and set the horses to an easy walk. The morning passed without fanfare. As soon as the city faded from view, Zandren resumed his scouting without a word, galloping ahead and falling back at intervals, pausing only for a few minutes at a time to report to Kahlia. When he rejoined the group for a midday rest, his horse panting and lathered with sweat, Rensler offered to take a turn. Id not let you lose in unfamiliar country, Zandren responded, proffering nothing in the way of gratitude. 310 I can track the lot of you easily enough, Rensler said. Zandren shook his head and took a long pull from a waterskin. Your skills as a fighter, not a hunter, are what I question. If you are waylaid by our enemies, what then? Rensler let a retort die on his tongue, and he conceded the point with a stiff nod. But what enemies? he wondered as Zandren rode off again. The question gnawed at him for a time, until at last he called out to Kahlia, riding several steps ahead. She glanced back at him with an expectant look. What is Zandren expecting to find? he asked. Weve had no sign of the Watchers since Felwin, and we slipped by the Trackers without notice. He flicked his eyes to Luca for a moment. Do you think either would be on our trail by this point? I would rather expect them to be than not, Kahlia replied. She watched the road and pitched her voice louder. We were careless once already. We should not seek to repeat such foolishness. Rensler pursed his lips, unsurprised by the answer. They rode in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again. The Watchers. You and Zandren act as though they could be upon us at any time, in any place, yet you also regard them as a deranged death cult. How does such a group persist for thousands of years, let alone gain any followers at all? Kahlia did not look back this time. The path of evil is as easily traveled as the path of good. Some live their lives desiring to help others, while others seek only to bring ruin to their fellow man. People often believe they are in the right, even when their actions brings others to harm. Braskellar preys upon such as these, finding purchase in the cracks of their soul, corrupting them further and binding them to his service. 311 Mistrust, deceit, betrayal, suffering. These things are what Braskellar desires to take root in the hearts of humans. His greatest desire is to see all of humanity destroy itself. Why did I expect anything different? Kahlias worldview was too clouded by her faith. The only connection he had seen between the Watchers and this Braskellar was the bridge Kahlia herself had built. Tasavar had not struck him as a man dedicated to an evil god. Misguided and dangerous, certainly, but there had to be more to that man and his fellows than a simple craving for destruction. Kahlia took the quiet as an invitation to continue. The Watchers are like algae on water. The water is deep, and there is far more of it than the algae, but algae spreads across the surface, pervasive and unavoidable, no matter how careful you are. You may kill some of it, but it will always come back. Some would argue that algae is harmless, Rensler said without thinking. Kahlias shoulders pinched together ever so slightly. And what makes you so sure all of that is true? Sacred texts and traditions passed down for millennia, she replied. Though I suspect none of that is adequate in your eyes. She lifted her amulet, worn about her neck again for the time being. This relic is thousands of years old, imbued with Blessings that surpass the prowess of even our best today. They keep it from decaying as ordinary metal would, and they are attuned to the soul of Artras. It will always guide the bearer to the Vestige. She turned to Luca. That was how we found you. Rensler likewise looked at Luca. He hunched over, not meeting either of their gazes, and said nothing. Strange. He usually jumped at anything Kahlia spoke to him. And the Watchers? Rensler asked. Do they have any of those? 312 Kahlia hesitated. We can only assume they do. Our archives state that five were created at the time of the Sundering, but the Church possesses only three. Wonderful, Rensler grumbled. So thats how they found us in Salden. His suspicions bubbled up to the surface of his thoughts again. Awfully convenient that you two showed up just as the Watchers did. Though that still did not explain the nightbeast. Another elaborate trick? He knew little about the Marks, but creating a horrific creature like that seemed beyond their scope. Beside him, Luca began to fidget, twisting in his saddle and scratching at the back of his head. Rensler looked behind them and saw only the open road, winding between shallow green hills dotted with trees. My head itches, Luca said in response to Renslers questioning look. Powerfully so. But its not going away no matter how hard I scratch. He shot a nervous glance to the side. And I cant help but feel someone is watching me. Rensler surveyed the road behind them and found nothing. He grimaced, unsure of what to do, as the recollection of the slaughter in the Bralen came back to him. That same feeling of being watched had pressed down on him then. After the battle in the village, he was convinced the nightbeast had butchered those animals. Was that what had been watching him then? His heartbeat quickened in alarm. Was another one of those things after them now? Wait, Luca said. He scrunched his brow and sat upright in his saddle. Its gone. I dont feel anything. Fear released its grip on Rensler, and he let out a long breath. It must have been a trick of the mind, both for Luca now and for Rensler back then. Kahlia regarded Luca with a perturbed expression, and Rensler felt his theory crumbling. 313 Its an effect of the Seermark, she said. The stronger the sensation, the closer the user. Someone who has seen your face is trying to find you. Luca blanched. Tasavar? Kahlia set her braids swaying with a shake of her head. No. That man bears the Passagemark. It would have to be one of his associates, someone else who attacked Salden. She faced forward once more. This is troublesome news. When Zandren returns, we will need to quicken our pace. An effect of the Mark, Rensler thought. Not one of those creatures. Could a nightbeast bear a Mark? He quashed the idea as quickly as it came. They continued on in anxious silence, each keeping to their own thoughts for a time, until the thundering of hooves from behind brought all their heads round. A dark expression clouded Zandrens face as he approached, and Rensler felt a pit forming in his stomach. Were being followed, Zandren announced before anyone could speak. His mount slowed, heaving as it sucked in air. Trackers, by the looks of them. At least a dozen. We must make haste if we hope to lose them before nightfall. He flicked his reins, urging his horse into a steady trot, ignoring the animals complaints. The rest of them followed suit, and for the first time since they left home, Rensler did not question the swordsman. A pale half-moon sat a few hands above the eastern horizon, peeking out from behind streaks of gray clouds that obscured half the sky, and yet the group pressed ever onward into the night. Lucas rear end had gone from sore to numb and back again, but he clung to his reins regardless, 314 keeping his horse, Breeze, to a trot. Beside him, Rensler slouched in his saddle, and Kahlia drooped in hers, righting herself every few heartbeats. Only Zandren remained straight-backed. His head jerked in all directions, sometimes for the space of breath, sometimes for so long Luca wondered whether hed fallen asleep sitting up. At his insistence, they had kept at the same steady pace since midday. They had stopped only a handful of times and never for more than a quarter hour or so, just long enough to stretch and relieve themselves, as well as feed the horses. The riders had eaten in their saddles. Luca worried for the animals. They were doing all the work, and keeping them going was growing more difficult. To make matters worse, Zandren had taken them on a zigzagging journey across the countryside, keeping them off the road as often as on. The hills had become shallower as the day wore on, while groves of trees sprouted more frequently and in increasing size. Any would have made a fine place to rest in Lucas opinion, but Zandren had quashed such suggestions before they were spoken. All of them, humans and horses alike, needed to rest soon. Luca bent low over Breezes neck. Just a little longer, he whispered. I promise. Just hold out a bit longer. He patted Breezes neck, and, for a brief moment, Luca felt a jolt run through him, pounding through his chest like silent thunder before traveling down the length of his arm. Breeze snorted and shook his head in what Luca assumed was confusion, but the horses tired complaints lessened, and he seemed to step with renewed vigor. Luca stared at his hand, just as perplexed as the horse by what had happened. Another hour passed, and at last Kahlia called for them to stop. We cant keep going like this, Zandren, she said as he began to protest. Our horses are exhausted, and we are not faring much better. 315 We cannot rest, Zandren argued. We have more ground yet to put between us and the Trackers. And if they catch us half asleep on horseback, what then? Kahlia shook her head. We shall see who gives out first, horse or rider, if we carry on like this. They are limited just as we are. Zandren was still for a moment, a dark statue against a darker backdrop. Very well, Lady Seeker. There was a bitterness to the formality. He pointed toward a swath of trees in the hills to their right. In the dim light, the trees resembled a hundred skeletal arms rising from the earth. We can try to lose them there, though such efforts will be for naught if they have a Seer with them. I know, Kahlia said. But Seer or no, we must stop. With no further argument, Zandren guided his mount toward the distant trees, and the rest of them followed. Luca felt a familiar itch at the back of his head. He twisted to look behind and above, but no sign of the unseen observer was forthcoming. He bit at the inside of his cheek, debating whether he should mention the sensation again. The stiff posture of the two in front of him convinced him to keep silent; he would only make matters worse. He sat in quiet contemplation, ignoring the uncomfortable itch as best he could until it withdrew, and wondered how to make that particular Mark work. If he thought about someone hard enough, would he suddenly be able to see them, no matter how far away? He closed his eyes to slits, trusting Breeze to continue forward, and fixed an image of Aunt Ophelia in his mind. Nothing happened. He held his breath and clenched his teeth so hard that his entire body shook, yet still nothing changed. 316 He let out an annoyed huff. Maybe I should try someone closer, he thought, glancing at his brother, who sat doubled over, his body drooping dangerously low. Luca gave him a gentle shake. Rensler jerked upright with a strangled cry, then squinted, bleary-eyed, at Luca. Im awake, he muttered. He adjusted his grip on the reins, which had nearly slipped from his fingers. Just making sure, Luca said. He watched Kahlia and Zandren for a few seconds, then lowered his voice so only Rensler could hear. Im worried. What if Zandrens right and they catch us? Rensler gave no response, and Luca wondered if he had managed to fall asleep with his eyes open. I dont know, he said at last. I suppose well have no choice but to fight them. Good thing you can shoot fire from your hands now. He forced a smile. Luca returned the gesture, more for Renslers sake than his own. And youre practically a master swordsman by now, right? Exactly, Rensler said. We can handle whatever comes after us. To his surprise, Luca found comfort in his brothers unusual optimism, though guilt began to gnaw at him again. This is all my fault. They wouldnt know who I was if I hadnt been so careless. He had to tell Rensler the truth eventually. Perhaps in the morning, if they survived the night. They slowed as they neared the woods. Zandren made them walk their mounts along the edge of the trees for a time before locating a section free of undergrowth. Leaves and fallen twigs lay scattered along the ground, already wet with dew. The swaying tree branches reduced the moonlight to little more than pinpricks, but as the night grew darker, Luca found that he could still see. Everythinghis companions, the horses, the treesstuck out to him, devoid of color 317 but clearly visible. He ducked under a low-hanging branch and listened to Rensler curse as it scraped across his face. Luca warned him about the next one. They halted at the base of a hill, where several trees grew at angles toward one another, their intersecting branches creating a natural roof of sorts. Well tie the animals here, Zandren said. He swung down from his saddle and set about hobbling his horse. If they get spooked in the night, they wont lead our pursuers right to us. The rest of them followed suit, situating their mounts as comfortably as possible within the tree shelter before removing their packs and bedrolls. Luca gave Breeze a final pat and a whispered apology, then followed Zandren up the hill, dodging around a few boulders jutting out of the unkempt ground as well as clusters of shrubbery. Reaching the top, he surveyed the path theyd taken and realized the gentle slope hid the true height of the rise. They were high enough to see deeper into the woods; in the daylight, Luca figured they might be able to see the road, off in the distance, were it not for the thickness of the tree canopy. Luca set out his bedroll, trying to avoid as many roots as possible, and watched the others fumbling in the darkness as they did the same, forming a close square with their cloths. They likely could not see more than a few feet in front of themselves, but their faces were plain enough to Luca. Zandren looked grim and had a contained fury about him, while Kahlia kept up her calm appearance, even in the darkness, though agitation bled through. His brothers eyes were wide, his face pale. They had hardly begun to rest when Zandren stood. Im going to check our trail. Sleep if you must, but be prepared to run. He undid his cloak and set it upon his pack, then checked the fastenings on both of his swords, one on his hipthe other remained with Renslerand the 318 larger one sticking over his shoulder. If I dont return, do not come back for me. Continue west as planned. He strode off back down the hill, his boots making nothing but a whisper on the wet ground. Luca could hardly believe how casually the man spoke about his own demise. Would Kahlia leave Zandren behind, if it came to that? The hard expression she wore was answer enough. Luca did as Zandren ordered, lying back on his bedroll and pulling his cloak over him. Sleep was elusive, and what little he found was broken by every hoot and chirp in the treetops. Fear wormed its way into his mind every time he closed his eyes. Each time he woke, the same question roared to the forefront of his thoughts. Was Zandren all right, or had he already been found and murdered, his body broken and left to rot? He felt the thump boots beside his head and snapped his eyes open in time to behold Zandren kneeling over him, hands gripping Lucas shoulders. Get up, he said in a fierce whisper. Pack your things. You have two minutes. Luca readied himself more swiftly than ever before as the others rose with similar haste at Zandrens prodding. He peered upward through the treetops, glimpsing stars and the moon, now overhead. Perhaps two hours had passed since they made camp. Whats happening? Luca asked, though he already knew the answer. He bundled his pack together with his bedroll. Have they found us? Zandren was already down the hill again to retrieve the horses. Yes, Kahlia stated. It must be a Seer, as I feared. She took a length of cord from her pack, collected her braids in one hand, and tied them back, a distasteful expression on her face. A Seer will not be hampered no 319 matter how well we hide our tracks. We must kill this person, tonight, if we are to have any hope at escape. A groan escaped Renslers lips. Surely we can stay ahead of them. Mustnt they rest as well? They must, yes, Kahlia replied, standing. But this Seer may not be the only Marked among them. A Vitalist can keep them all running long past the point of exhaustion, and the Trackers care not for the wellbeing of a Marked. So long as the Seer is kept awake, they will be made to pursueespecially for the prize they seek. Luca winced like shed slapped him. He was glad Kahlia could not see him well in the dark, though her unflinching gaze pierced him regardless. She knows, he thought. Oh Fates, she knows. How could she not, though, when Rensler had been suspicious as well? A wave of guilt surged through him again. Im sorry, he squeaked. Zandren returned with the horses, and Luca found himself glad for the distraction, in spite of the circumstances. They wended their way along a worn game trail running northward down the hill. Zandren cursed their laggard pace but chided the others if they quickened. A bad slip here could leave one of their horses with a broken limb. Luca wondered if he could fix something like that, just as he had taken away some of Breezes fatigue. He wasnt sure he actually had done so. The woods began to thin. At a hushed order from Zandren, the four of them mounted and set off. Northward they galloped, heading in the opposite direction of the road and, presumably, the Trackers. Spattered moonlight painted the field as clouds snaked through the sky, causing shadows to flicker and dance along the swaying grass, as though a thousand tiny sprites had come to watch the desperate flight. A black patch appeared on the ground nearby, moving across 320 the field. Luca angled his head toward the moon and saw something silhouetted against the pale light. A shriek split the night, shrill and terrible. Luca felt a chill ripple through him as the horses let out panicked cries, and he had to fight to keep Breeze under control. The others fared little better; Rensler clung to his mares neck as she took great leaping strides, bounding farther ahead and passing by Kahlia and Zandren. The sound faded as swiftly as it had come, but the silence that followed was broken again by the distant cries of men and women. Luca twisted and narrowed his eyes. Vague shapes approached in the distance, twenty or so, perhaps morecertainly more than the dozen Zandren had estimated earlier. The Guardian remarked as much. We cant outrun the Trackers and a demon both, Kahlia shouted over the pounding hooves. Well have to stand our ground and hope the creature goes for them first. Zandren fell quiet for a moment, then pointed toward another stand of trees, far smaller than where they had made camp. Make for that grove. Well have to tie the horses off to make a perimeter. He kicked his mount and galloped ahead, reaching out to snag Renslers reins and guide the frightened mare toward their destination. Luca moved up to ride beside Kahlia. Do you think thatll work? Our enemies killing each other? she asked. She kept her eyes forward. Ahead, Rensler took the reins back, his horse seemingly in hand for now. No, not likely. A demon will fight to its last breath, but they can be overwhelmed by skilled enough combatants, and I suspect this lot behind us is up to that task. They might lose half their number, if we are lucky. Luca felt his throat tighten. What do we do then? 321 She gave no reply, leaving Luca with only the sounds of hooves and distant shouting, until the in the sky let out another painful screech. Breeze neighed in fright, though the horse no longer tried to buck him off. Luca scanned the sky above, desperately trying to locate the creature. Im not sure, Kahlia admitted at last, settling her own mount. Im sorry that it came to this, Luca. The journey was to be fraught with danger, no matter where we traveled. She darted a quick look over her shoulder. But we cannot simply give up. Zandren and I will do what we can to give you a chance at escape. Im sure your brother will do the same. Should the worst happen, I want you to focus all of your attention on Traveling somewhere safe. I dont know how to control that. He had done so only twice, and each time, he was in mortal peril. Theres certainly bound to be some of that soon. Was that what it would take tonight as well? He pictured a Tracker standing over him, poised to kill, only to be foiled as Luca vanished from sight. His escape would only doom the others. Abandoning them was unthinkablethough he might not have a choice when a sword swung at him. The discussion came to an end as they rode into the grove proper, trailing behind Zandren and Rensler as they swerved around trees, finally coming to a stop in an open patch of dewcovered grass glistening in the moonlight. A fallen tree, its dead branches looking like the ribs of some giant creature, hemmed in one side, and a cluster of rocky pillars jutted from the earth near the center of the clearing. At Zandrens instruction, they dismounted and tied their horses just a few paces into the tree cover, between the group and where the Trackers would come. Luca was teary-eyed as he hobbled Breeze and hoped the animal would forgive him. 322 The swordsman slipped off into the woods without a sound, disappearing from sight in seconds, while the rest of them huddled together beside the boulders. A fleet of thick clouds passed in front of the moon, casting the clearing into darkness. Luca held his breath, listening and hearingnothing. No birds, no bugs. Nothing save for the sighing of the wind through the treetops. A great crashing sound filled the air as something snapped through tree branches, no more than a hundred paces away, followed by a half-finished shriek. The horses reared and let out terrified screams of their own as shouts broke out from several directions. The world became chaos. Within seconds, two figures emerged into the clearing, skirting around the terrified horses. They made it a handful of steps before Kahlia, in one motion, rounded the rock cover and swept her hand out. White-gold light raced down her arm and split into twisting, fiery arrows that tore through the figures. They let out strangled gasps as they collapsed. Movement to Lucas right pulled his attention, and he watched as five more Trackers burst into the clearing, barreling toward the rocks. Kahlia whirled and unleashed another torrent of light, but the Trackers dove out of the way of the blast. They broke apart and rushed toward the group. Thin strands of light encircled Kahlias arms as she whipped bolt after bolt of radiant fire at the attackers. One took a blast to the head, reducing it to a smoldering lump, while another went tumbling end over end, one leg a ruined stump. Luca heard a shout behind him, turning in time to see one of the others rushing at him. By instinct, he threw up a hand, and the air before him shimmered, solidifying into a translucent disc. The attackers sword clanged against the shield, sending tiny cracks skittering through its surface. 323 Rensler let out a cry of his own and leaped toward the man, swinging his blade downward at an angle. The Tracker reeled back and brought up his own blade. The sound of metal clashing on metal echoed in Lucas head. Faintly, he noticed several more Trackers running out of the trees. Therere too many. Rensler had his hands full with just one, and the others were nearly upon Kahlia. Zandren was nowhere to be seen, still off among the trees. I have to do something. Moving away from Rensler, he turned to face the oncoming Trackers and held out both arms, just as Kahlia had done. He gritted his teeth together, urging the white-gold fire to manifest. A tiny orb of light appeared in each palm. His eyes went wide. It worked! He pressed his hands outward, toward his attackers, expecting a torrent of fire to leap out of his hands. The balls of light drifted a few feet before dissipating. Luca stared at his hands in an unbelieving stupor as the Trackers closed in. Their uncovered faces were alight with understanding. Stupid! They know its you now. A strident wail rang out, and then a dark mass plummeted toward the ground. Hooked talons longer than Lucas fingers flashed, stabbing one of the Trackers through the skull as it drove the already dead body into the grass, leaving behind a crumpled heap. The creature reared, flaring out a pair of huge feathered wings, and let out another painful shriek. Luca recoiled, stumbling as his legs turned to mush. The beast resembled a hawk with its wings and claws, but there the resemblance ended. Bony spikes ran along the things spine, and its feathers, darker than the night sky, were slick with an oily substance that steamed in the cool air. Instead of a beak, it possessed a snarling jaw lined with sharp teeth that stretched open far wider than should have been possible. 324 The demon, Luca thought dully. He was certain he was about to die, but the thing spun and bellowed at the Trackers, diving toward the nearest one. The Tracker dropped to the ground, screaming as the talons scraped along his back. His fellows took up defensive positions as the demon arced into the sky. Luca heard a cry from behind him. Rensler staggered back, clutching his shoulder, sword dangling from his hand. His opponent prodded with his sword, forcing Rensler to block wider and wider, until at last he left himself exposed. No! Luca shouted, punching forward. A wave of light burst forward from his fist and struck the Tracker in the side, catapulting him through the air. Rensler stared at him, breathing hard, then gestured toward Kahlia, standing her ground against three of the Trackers. We have to help her, but its so damn hard to see anything with all this light flashing around. He shot a look toward the creature, just now noticing its presence, as it darted from foe to foe, its talons raking across swords and shields. Black blood oozed from several wounds along its chest, but it did not let up its relentless assault. The thing had all but ignored Luca; he couldnt believe their luck. His brothers face went as pale as the moonlight, and his voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible above the chaos. Fates, not another one. He shook his head. We have to get out of here. Who knows how many more are out there. Luca didnt have time to ponder which enemy Rensler was referring to as they approached Kahlia. The Trackers kept their distance, darting forward and falling back as Kahlia threw fire at them, never letting them get too close. But each blast came slower than the last, and Luca wondered whether the Trackers were simply waiting for the right moment to pounce. Luca raised his hands, hoping his powers would work again. 325 Before he could find out, a sword wreathed in white light erupted from the chest of one of the Trackers harrying Kahlia. Zandren ripped the blade free, leaving behind a burning hole, and spun toward one of the others. The Tracker danced away from Zandren, watching the glowing sword with a wary eye. A mournful shriek filled the air, so loud that Luca and the others, companions and Trackers alike, clapped their hands to their ears. With a furtive glance, he saw the demon collapse in a spray of black blood. A Tracker stood before it, chest heaving, his blade covered in the slick substance. For a second, all were still, and then everyone moved at once. Kahlia fired another salvo at her opponent, scoring a hit along one side and sending him to one knee. Zandren sheared through his foes sword with his glowing blade, then spun toward Rensler and Luca. Around the corpse of the demon, the other Trackerstwelve, Luca realized with horrorrighted themselves and charged for him. Rensler pushed Luca away and was taken to the ground by a mail-clad figure. Luca stumbled forward into Zandren, who took him roughly by the shoulder and maneuvered him behind. Kahlia let out a stifled yell, and Luca watched as four Trackers finally grabbed her, clamping a smooth metal band to her neck as they dragged her to the ground. Zandren brandished his sword at those still on their feet. The Tracker with the bloodslicked blade stepped forward. Drop your weapon, Guardian, said the man in near perfect Odreman. Its over. Youve nowhere else to run and none of your cursed beasts to save you. When no response came, the Tracker touched his blade to Renslers neck, then looked toward Luca. I assume this ones you writ large. Your life for your brothers, simple as that. 326 Luca felt bile rising in his throat. He shifted, and Zandren grabbed him with one hand. The blood-covered blade pressed deeper into Renslers skin, eliciting a hiss of pain. He stared up at Luca with pleading eyes as time seemed to slow. FLEE. The single word thrummed through Lucas mind in a voice that was not his own, as deep and vast as the sky above. FLEE. To where? Luca thought. HOME. He couldnt go back to Salden without Rensler. NO. HOME. Home wasnt Salden? ThenDarrow? I dont understand, Luca thought back, panic in his words. He had been a baby when they fled Darrow. What little memories he had of the place were clouded. And why Darrow, instead of Salden? ENEMIES THERE. HOME IS SAFE. But I dont know how. I WILL GUIDE YOU. Luca felt immense pressure swelling within him, as though something were trying to claw its way out. The veins along his arms began to glow a dark red, and Luca felt his face begin to burn. He threw his head back and screamed. The Trackers stepped back, hands going to their weapons, while Zandren kept a firm grip on Lucas shuddering arm. A red haze drifted across his eyes, the fire in his flesh continued to rise, and the scream kept coming. The world went dark. 327 Chapter 19 An acrid scent, like the smell of something foul burning, lingered in the air, so strong that Rensler could practically taste it. With his face pressed into the grass, he wriggled as best he could to look to the spot Luca had been. Nothing remained of either the boy or Zandren. On his other side, the corpse of the demon was breaking down into an oily mass, its flesh and feather sloughing off its bones. A foul stench emanated from it that mingled with the other. Rensler stared, feeling numb as he tried to make sense of what had occurred. Luca and Zandren standing together, mere paces away. A sword at Renslers throat. Luca shining as though he had hot coals in his veins. His face, wracked in pain, alight with fiery streaks, emitting that haunting scream. Rensler swore he had heard another voice, guttural and full of fury, intertwine with his brothers. A whisper came from one of the Trackers, followed by another, until the lot of them were shouting over one another. Rensler heard the bewilderment in the words he couldnt comprehend. A flicker of hope came alive inside of him; whatever had happened had not been their doing, which meant that Luca was indeed out of their reach at present. The feeling died as quickly as it came. Luca was out of danger, yes, but he was gone, leaving Rensler no trail to follow. For the first time in his life, he had well and truly lost Luca. Boots stamped in front of his face. Cold manacles clamped onto his wrists, pinning them behind his back, and then he was hauled to his feet. A fist to the gut drove him back to his knees. He wheezed and jerked his head up. The man who had held a sword smothered in demon blood to his throat stood before him. An open-faced helm framed a lined face with sunken eyes that regarded Rensler for a moment. Finally, the man removed the helm, revealing a wide stripe of gray hair running over an otherwise shaved head. The crest of hair became a braided length at the 328 back that hung past the mans shoulders. A wide scar on his cheek pulled one side of his mouth into a permanent sneer. He held the helm under one arm and with his other hand gripped Rensler by the jaw, turning his head from side to side. Not a Marked, eh? He sniffed, either at the putrescence of the demons carcass or Rensler himself. Didnt think so, though. Seekers dont often take their pups on the road. Who are The man backhanded Rensler hard enough to send him toppling to the ground. Youll speak when I say you can, the man said. He gestured with two fingers, and someone set Rensler back on his knees. The man barked out orders in Myrandian, pointing in several directions. The Trackers leaped to obey, leaving a handful remaining with the man and his prisoners. Rensler worked his jaw and poked at his teeth with his tongue. None felt broken, thank the Fates, but his face was bound to swell by morning. As he did so, his gaze drifted past the man, where four more Trackers were emerging from the trees. They drew nearer, stepping into the moonlight proper, and Rensler saw that two of them were unarmed and unarmored, instead clad in mottled clothes that blended with the woods behind them. The pair leaned against each other as the others prodded them forward. Those must be the Marked, Rensler thought, just as he beheld the scars upon their cheeks. The man snapped his fingers, beckoning for one of the Marked, a woman with dark hair cut short above the ears. She approached with timid steps. See where the boy went, the man said. He cant have gone too far. Rensler got the sense the man was still speaking in Odreman for his benefit. 329 The Marked woman stood still, eyes wide and unblinking. Mist swirled in her eyes, obscuring her pupils until only a gray cloud remained. Rensler watched in horrified fascination, uncertain what he was witnessing. Theyre in abuilding, the woman murmured. A house. I think it was burned a long time ago. She jerked her head to the side as a pained expression crossed her face. Hes far. So, so far. I can barely see him. A burned out building? Where could Luca be? They had not come across any burned out buildings on their journey, as far as Rensler knew. Unlessmaybe Luca stumbled upon one during his jaunt around Riandris. He hadnt been covered in soot when he came back, though. The gray-haired man crossed his arms. What is he doing? The woman paused, and the onlookers watched her expectantly. Nothing, she said at last. He isnt moving. Rensler felt his breath catch in his throat. What do you mean, isnt moving? he blurted out. The mans hand snapped out with a casual ease, and Rensler toppled sideways again. Wet grass tickled at his cheek as he waited for the spots to fade from his vision. What about the Guardian? the man went on. Imnot sure, the Marked replied. Her face contorted further. I dont see a body, though. He must yet live. Then hes a lucky man. That boy is clearly untrained; he couldve shredded his companion to ribbons. The man tapped his fingers against his arm, then sighed. Thats enough for now. The womans head snapped forward, the shroud over her eyes dissipating. She staggered and would have fallen if not for the other Marked reaching out for her. 330 The Tracker rubbed his chin. Far, eh? Hmm. Surely he cant be too far. He turned to Rensler and dragged him upright once more. Well, what about you? Any ideas where yourbrotherI assumewent? When Rensler gave no response, the man stepped back and straightened. Right, lets start with something easier, shall we? Whats your name, lad? Rensler clamped his jaw shut. He was not about to give the man anything he wanted. Rensler was likely to get battered some more whether he spoke or not. Ah, I do love the silent ones, the man said. Ill start, then. You may call me Negald, Captain of the Third Regiment, Tracker Corps. He strode toward Kahlia, lying still in the grass. Rensler had been so focused on Lucas disappearance, he had completely forgotten about the one companion he still had. Negald gripped Kahlias tied back hair at the base, then dragged her toward Rensler. She snarled in agony and thrashed her feet against the ground, tearing up chunks of dirt and grass, but her hands were bound just as Renslers were. Negald set her on her knees facing Rensler, a few paces away. Something around her neck glinted in the moonlight. So, you know my name, Negald said, still clutching Kahlia by the hair. He jerked her chin up and looked toward Rensler. I believe its only polite that give me your name, or, if you prefer, I can slay your God-forsaken companion. To the Hells with you, Kahlia spat. She received a strike in kind but remained upright, her murderous glare never wavering from the captain. Negald chuckled. Demons you may be, but I cant help but admire the spirit of you Seekers. He unsheathed a knife from his belt, and the tip of the blade hovered dangerously close to Kahlias throat. So, boy, whatll it be? 331 Wait, Rensler shouted. He slumped, sitting his weight back. Rensler. My names Rensler. This is Kahlia, he added, inclining his head toward her. The unmarred corner of Negalds mouth twitched upward as he returned the knife to its sheath. See, that wasnt so hard. He lowered himself so that his eyes were level with Renslers. Where might your brother have gone, Rensler? This should be easy. I doubt you frequent too many burned out houses. Rensler shook his head. I dont know. Truly, I dont. He tensed, expecting another blow. It would have to be somewhere back the way we came, but I dont know where. He cringed as Negald reached out, but he merely cupped Renslers jaw and tapped a finger against his cheek. Well, thats certainly disappointing, but no matter. If that Guardian still lives, hell come back for her. His eyes flicked toward Kahlia. And with him will come the demon masquerading as a boy. A well-made snare always has the best bait. He patted Rensler on the cheek and stood tall, shouting out more orders in Myrandian once again. The Trackers on either side of Rensler dragged him over to Kahlia, then went to join their fellows as they went about their tasks. Most headed off into the woods proper, though a few continued to circle the clearing. The two Marked regarded the prisoners awkwardly before retreating a dozen paces, staying within Negalds field of view as he studied the demons corpse, now little more than a piles of bones amidst black ooze. They huddled together, reminding Rensler of small children trying to stay out from underfoot of their parents. You should not have given our names, Rensler, Kahlia said. A few seconds passed before she sighed and added, But I appreciate the act nonetheless. Her voice was so faint Rensler strained to hear her from mere inches away. As he turned toward her, she shook her 332 head, her disheveled hair swinging from the motion. No, do not look at me. Theyll want us to be silent and punish us if we are not. What more can they possibly do? Rensler asked, lowering his voice in kind. His head pounded where Negald had struck him. Kahlia drew her lips into a thin line. The body can endure more than you know. The meager beating youve been given tonight is but a taste of what I fear awaits. Rensler shivered at her calm tone. She sounded as though she was more experienced with this sort of thing than she let on before. So what happened? I thought for sure Luca was dying when he started to scream. He channeled the Passagemark. Such is the nature of the Vestige. Instinct drives his powers far more than conscious choice. She stopped, waiting for a pair of Trackers to walk past. Zandren was touching him at the time, and so he was taken along. Rensler recalled the night in the watchtower and their interrogation of the captured Watcher. Thats what Tasavar wanted to do. Grab Luca and abscond with him to Fates know where. They have to be somewhere back the way we came, right? One would think, Kahlia replied. Even with the power of the Vestige, Luca is constrained by his own experiences. He can only Travel to a place he has been. That Marked said he was far, Rensler said. You dont think Kahlia cut him off with a sharp glance. Its possible, yes, but do not speak the name of your home aloud. Do not give them more with which to break you. Harsh words broke through their conversation. A nearby Tracker halted in whatever task he was about, glaring at the two of them for a moment before growling something and moving on. Rensler stared after him, unsure what he was supposed to make of that. Whatd he say? 333 He wants us to be quiet, Kahlia replied. Putting it nicely, of course. Of course, Rensler said. He shifted his weight again, trying to get comfortable. His knees were stiff, his feet hurt from leaning on them for so long, and the manacles were growing heavier with every passing minute. The chain linking the fetters was but a few inches long, keeping him from moving his arms much at all. His wrists would be bleeding by the morning if the Trackers left the irons on till then. He doubted theyd be so charitable. His eyes went to the metal band around Kahlias neck. Smooth and shining dully in the moonlight, it didnt look any different than the shackles. Shes mentioned something like that before, hasnt she? Was that in the watchtower as well? That night seemed so long ago now, and his thoughts were moving like sludge. What is that? he said at last, nodding toward the iron band. Kahlia licked her lips. A Binding, imbued with Blessings to prevent their usage by the wearer. We have used them before on the Watchers when necessary, and even on those occasions, the Church tries to be sparing. She shivered. Its anodd experience, to be cut off from Gods light like this. I feel as though Ive lost a hand. Despite his misgivings about the woman, Rensler found himself wanting to say something comforting, though he didnt know what, nor was he really in the state of mind to do so. In fact, a part of him wanted to rage at her for plucking him and Luca from their ordinary laugh and plunging them into this world of chaos. He pushed the errant thoughts down. If they were going to make it out of this, they would have to do it together. How do you get that off? he asked. I cant, though anyone else can easily enough. 334 Rensler pursed his lips. What if I got it off of you right now? Could we make a run for it? Kahlia looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook her head. No. They would cut me down in short order. These people are trained to handle ones such as me. Im not all powerful, Rensler. Luca certainly seemedseemsto think so. Dont talk about him like hes not alive, he chided himself. Hes out there somewhere, needing you to find him. Remember that. Kahlia smiled weakly. Your brother is kind, but nave. His powers will far surpass mine in due time. She turned her gaze downward suddenly, and Rensler turned to see what she was avoiding. He tensed as another Tracker stomped over to them. Quiet, the man said. Captain said you. Sorry, Rensler muttered. He regretted doing so immediately, for the man drew back his fist and punched Rensler in the cheek. Something cracked within, and he went down in a heap. Through his blurred, sideways vision, he watched the man go back to his task, as though beating a prisoner were simply part of the routine. Rensler probed his teeth again, wincing as pain blossomed across his cheek. Did one of them feel loose? He couldnt be sure with the way the world kept spinning. He closed his eyes, not bothering to right himself, and instead straightened his legs with a relieved sigh. Lying in the grass would be his act of defiance. If Negald wanted Rensler on his knees badly enough, the captain would need to tell his men to stop striking the prisoners. He began to drift into unconsciousness, and for a brief time, the pain across his body lessened, until Negalds voice cut through the night. Rensler cracked one eye open, watching as 335 several pairs of Trackers returned to the clearing and reported to the captain. Negald replied with short, clipped words. They must not have found anything, Rensler thought. Just as that Marked said. The last pair finished their report. Negald gestured as he spoke, and the Trackers leaped to obey. Within minutes, the center of the clearing was filled with horses as the soldiers fetched their mounts, tying the ones now devoid of riders to the saddle of another. The captain watched the preparations with his hands on his hips, eventually glancing at Kahlia, then frowning upon noticing Renslers condition. Well, it would seem your friends have indeed left the immediate area, Negald said as he approached. Good thing, else Ayla wouldve been a liar. He grabbed Rensler by the back of his collar and jerked him onto his knees. Well make camp a ways out from here for what bit of night weve got left. Rotate some scouts, just in case those two do show up. Who knows? Perhaps Irianor will favor us with a miracle on the morrow. He patted Renslers cheek again, eliciting a pained grunt. Well be on our way to Myrais in the morning, whether we have the Vestige or not. He whistled sharply, and two Trackers led Saber and another of the horses to the prisoners. Both animals, eyes full of panic, snorted and tugged at the reins. Negald snapped his fingers at the Marked man, then pointed at the horses. The man shuffled timidly to the animals, reaching out and drawing back as Saber reared. He flashed a concerned glance at Negald, who gestured again at the horse. The man darted forward again, flinching as Saber struggled against her handlers, and finally placed a hand on her side. Saber went stiff at the touch. Rensler made to stand, but a swift glare from Kahlia kept him rooted in place. He watched apprehensively as soft light pulsed underneath the Markeds hand. To Renslers shock, 336 the horse calmed and fell still. The Marked breathed out sharply, then moved to the other horse and repeated the process. Finished, he withdrew to stand with the other Marked again. Lets be off then, shall we? Negald said. Long day ahead of us tomorrow. Rough hands hoisted Rensler and threw him like a sack of grain across a saddle, forcing out his breath as his chest thumped against the leather. He felt rope tighten around his body as the Trackers lashed him down. He twisted his head around and watched as Kahlia received the same treatment. At Negalds command, the Trackers mounted, and the horse beneath Rensler lurched into motion, led by a man riding just ahead. Rensler tried to stay alert in the darkness, but every step bounced him against the saddle and set queasiness growing within his stomach. He dropped his head and closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift, though they always returned to his brother. Wherever Luca was now, Rensler hoped he was safe. Zandrens world was pain. Endless, all-consuming pain. He saw nothing, but his flesh shuddered from a thousand torturous spikes, like red hot fishhooks stabbing into his skin, all pulling in different directions. He tried to open his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Did he even have a mouth, a face, anything? Floating in this empty abyss, he could not be certain where he ended and the blackness began. He only knew pain. His back hit something solid. Something real. His eyes snapped open, and he found himself staring up at a clear night sky as he sucked in ragged gasps. Vague, jagged shapes began to take focus in the darkness around him, lit by a glow coming from the ground and the pale moonlight. He squinted, trying to make sense of where he was. The shapes became walls, their planks broken and burned long ago, as vines smothered much of their surface, and tall weeds 337 sprouted through cracks in the wooden floor. Most of the ceiling was gone, and what little remained looked ready to crumble from the slightest touch. What is this place? he wondered. He sat upright and realized the glow was emanating from his sword, still gripped in one hand. Of course. How had he not felt its weight until then? Whatever had happened to him was making him sluggish. Kahlia, he said in a hoarse whisper. He cocked his head, listening for any sign of the Seeker. Second passed, and the only sound he heard was his heart thumping in his chest. Kahlia, he said, louder. No response came. He stood on trembling legs, then fell against the closest wall as the world spun around him. The charred wood groaned but held his weight as he waited, eyes shut, for the dizziness to pass and tried to remember how he had come to this place. He had been in the woods, harrying the Trackers as best he could, but there were far too many for him alone to handle. He returned to the clearing, saw the demon felled, and knew their hopes of escape were dashed. Rensler and Kahlia were held down, leaving only Zandren and Luca. He had pulled the boy behind him And Luca Traveled, pulling Zandren along with him to God knew where. Where was the boy, then? Zandren swore at himself for losing track of Luca. He held his sword to the side so as not to blind himself. The light shone across the ground, revealing a still form mere feet from where Zandren had fallen. He dropped the blade, heedless of the clatter, and rushed to Lucas side. Luca, he said, shaking the boy by the arms. He placed a hand on Lucas chest and sighed as he felt the slow rise and fall. Alive. Thank God for that. Zandren shifted, sitting with his legs crossed beneath him. He knew he should scout the area, ascertain whether they were in any immediate danger, but he did 338 not trust his legs to take him more than a dozen paces before he collapsed. His body felt wrung out, and he felt the faint echoes of that overwhelming pain across his skin. Instead, he would simply wait for the boy to awaken, however long that took. He placed his hands on his knees and focused on his breathing, the way Kahlia did when she wanted to settle her mind. She had always been better at that sort of thing, though, and try as he might, no calm was to be had. His hands balled into fists as the weight of the situation settled on him. Somewhere, Kahlia was still in danger, and Zandren had abandoned her. Luca came awake with a sudden jerk, bringing Zandren back to the present. Zandren? The boy pushed himself upright and rubbed the sides of his forehead. Fates, my head hurts. Where are we? His eyes darted about the burned out room. I was hoping you would know, Zandren said, seeing as how you brought us here. The words came out more harshly than he intended. He let out a long breath and started over. During the fight, you began to scream, and then you Traveled. I was holding onto you at the time, so I was brought along to wherever this is. He swept a hand out at the charred walls. Right, Luca murmured. Wherever this is. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Im not sure where we are. Everythings a haze right now. He looked up with a hopeful expression. But we got away! Were safe. Zandren nodded slowly. We are, yes, but Kahlia and your brother are not. Its just us here, Luca. Luca wilted. Oh. Right. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, then stared at a point on the floor between them. I messed up. In Riandris, I went somewhere I shouldnt have, and they saw me. 339 With an effort, Zandren held back his harsh rebuke. Luca appeared so small, drawn in as he was, and Zandren reminded himself this was just a boy sitting before himone who contained the soul of God, but a boy nonetheless. That understanding made his fury no easier to swallow. Whats done is done, he said at last. We can only focus on moving forward. He rose shakily, but his legs did not buckle this time. Good. He needed to get away from the boy for a time, lest he say something he would regret later. Stay here. I shall return shortly. He reclaimed his radiant sword, then stepped through an opening in the wall where a door once stood. A faint breeze caressed his skin, and he became aware of the sounds of night birds and insects chattering. Under different circumstances, it might have been a pleasant evening, though the idea faded as he saw other buildings in similar states of disrepair dotting the surrounding hillsides. Curious, he started toward the nearest one. The sky here was clear enough for the half-moon to guide the way, so he slid the radiant sword into the sheath on his back. His remaining mundane blade still hung at his hip, but so far as he could tell, the weapons were the only supplies they had brought with them. He had commanded the others to leave their packs on the horses to keep them out of the way during the fight. A sound idea at the time that now worked against him. That seems to be the way of things lately, he thought bitterly. He should have fought harder against traveling through Riandris, against the long journey through Myrandir. Surely the extra weeks of a northward trek would have been worth keeping them out of that accursed country. Both of them had known the peril that awaited them, but Kahlia convinced herself it was their best choice, and Zandren let her do the same to him. 340 He halted at the next house over, heart racing now, and slammed the side of his fist against the wall. The wood splintered inward, and scrabbling claws from the other side announced something scurrying off. A brief inspection revealed much the same as the first domicile. The building had clearly been set ablaze some time ago, a decade or more, leaving behind nothing but the skeleton of a home that nature had since reclaimed. He knew what he would find in the next one over, and the one beyond that, yet still he trudged along as his body urged him to finally rest. He couldnt, not until he settled his troubled mind. What was the path forward? He desired nothing more than to find Kahlia and set her free of the Trackers, but he was Lucas sole protector now. His sacred duty was to see the Vestige safely to Thanalia. Nothing, not even the death of his Seeker, could stop him from carrying out that duty. But Kahlia still lived; he had to believe it was so. Trackers would not simply kill a Seeker when they could instead drag her to Myrais for further torment. It would take weeks for them to journey from Riandris to the capital. Plenty of time for something to befall them and for their prisoners to escape. In the morning, he would get his bearings and set out to find her. He would He would likely die attempting to save her, abandoning the boy to his fate, and everything the two of them had been through these past fifteen years, the oaths they swore on their lives, would be for nothing. We have to go to Thanalia, he thought, knowing it was the right decision and hating himself for it anyway. Body aching, he returned to the first house and found Luca curled up in the middle of the floor, his arm a pillow and his cloak a blanket. No threats lurked in the darkness, so far as 341 Zandren could tell, but he settled down between Luca and the doorway regardless. He huddled under his own cloak, and the fear of what the morning would bring finally gave way to sleep. 342 Chapter 20 Kahlia woke with a start and felt grass tickling her cheek. By instinct, she made to push the offending plant away, but she found her hands still manacled together behind her back, and the Binding around her neck was an immense weight. She rolled to her other side, groaning as the aches of sleeping on the cold ground made themselves known. The first rays of dawn shone through the trees, and mist swirled in the beams of light. The campsite had not yet come alive, the only noise being the usual birdsong that accompanied the sunrise. Most mornings, Kahlia loved hearing the wild birds chirruping, singing in a chorus known only to them. This morning, though, she found the sound harsh and grating, a reminder that this day was not to be a pleasant one. Unbidden, yesterdays events came to the forefront of her mind, the folly of her plans unfolding again and again. She had not anticipated such a swift response from the Trackers, in the event they were discovered. She had not anticipated Luca being the cause of their discovery. With a sigh, she sat up, crossing her legs beneath her and wishing she could move her arms. She could not fault the boy for being who he was. The blame lay with her. She had insisted on the shorter route through Myrandir, gambling that the hostility toward Blessed individuals would keep the Watchers at bay while Kahlia and the others made their way to Thanalia. I suppose half of that plan has worked thus far, she thought. Since the altercation outside Felwin, the Watchers had simply vanished from their trail, evidently giving up the chase. She had expected more from them. Perhaps Tasavar had known events would play out as they had. Perhaps he had let them go on their way without further harrying because he knew they would never make it across 343 Myrandir. Why risk the lives of his deluded bunch when he could let the fanatics in this country destroy them instead? No matter, she supposed. What was done was done. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, basking in the warmth of the rising sun. The camp came alive around her, and she heard Negalds voice as he roused his men. After a time, more voices joined the commotion. Kahlia cracked an eye open to watch as the last scouts returned to the campsite. Their lack of urgency bespoke what she had not dared to hope. They truly are far away from here, just as that Marked said. An immense feeling of relief washed through her. Luca had escaped the clutches of this vile lot, and Zandren was there to protect him. Her Guardian would carry out his duty and see the Vestige safely to Thanaliaassuming no other perils befell them along the way. She tried her best to quash the doubt. Faith was what she needed now, not uncertainty. Beside her, Rensler came to with a drawn-out moan. His struggled against his shackles in a blind panic for a moment, and the irons rattled as he pushed himself up. Kahlia turned to him and sucked in a sharp breath. Half his face was a purple bruise, the product of the blows from the night before, and one side of his jaw swelled. Dried blood flaked from his lips as he worked moisture into his mouth. Kahlia became aware of her own discomfort, the throbbing in her cheek resurging as she gazed upon the nearly unrecognizable face before her. Rensler squinted with one good eye against the daylight and watched the Trackers break camp. No sign of either of them, eh? he whispered, grimacing. Fates, everything hurts. Kahlia gave him a sympathetic look. It would seem not. She eyed each passing Tracker, wondering which would be the first to punish them for the audacity of their existence this morning. We can only assume they are beyond the grasp of this lot. 344 They are, said a womans voice from behind Kahlia. She swiveled toward the sound too sharply, as her head throbbed again, and her vision became flecked with tiny points of light. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them again, the Marked woman stood within arms length, a waterskin clutched in one hand. She frowned; she should have noticed the woman sneaking up on them, though her current state of impairment certainly did her no favors. The woman stared at them for a moment, a concerned look breaking out on her face. Kahlia had not expected that. You should drink, the woman said. She held the mouth of the waterskin toward Kahlia. The road will be long today. Negald is not one to stop when he has a prize to deliver. We dont need your pity, Rensler growled. A little pity would not be unwelcome, actually, Kahlia thought. Pity could find aid where none was before. She inclined her head and let the woman tilt the waterskin to her lips. The cool water stung on Kahlias parched throat, and she gulped down more than she had initially intended, coughing as it became too much. The woman produced a cloth from a pocket and wiped away the water dribbling down Kahlias chin. Thank you, she said, eyes downcast, afraid to betray her thoughts. Perhaps there is opportunity to be had here after all. The woman offered the waterskin to Rensler. He drew back as much as he could and glared. What game are you playing here? You hunted us down like animals last night, and now you want to make nice? Not so loud, if you wish to avoid more beatings, the woman said. She brought the waterskin closer to him. I simply play the part that Ive been given. 345 Rensler glanced toward Kahlia, then back to the Marked. Fine. The woman poured water into his mouth. Im Ayla, she said, lowering her voice further. She pulled the waterskin away from Rensler before he could gag as well, then wiped his lips with the cloth. She folded it to an unused side, splashed water onto it, and began to gently dab at the cut above Renslers puffy eye. He hissed and tried to pull away, but a firm hand to the back of the head kept him in place. Please, hold still. I would have Pellas, the other Eshtyl, tend to your wounds, but he is forbidden to do so. Kahlia expected as much, though the care from Ayla was a surprise. The head Tracker would not want to risk an infection killing his prisoners before Myrais, but he likely did not want to waste his already exhausted Marked on the likes of Kahlia. Where is your friend this morning? she said. She swung her head back and forth. By this point, most of the tents were dismantled and tied in tight bundles two or three to a horse, now that they had plenty to spare as pack animals. Kahlia counted thirteen total among the troupe, including the two Marked. Far too many to fight, especially with the Binding. Patience, as always, was the best path forward. Ayla pointed to a figure slumped against a tree at the edge of the clearing. He sleeps until we ride, and even then, I may have to keep him in the saddle. It was a hard night for him. She winced as she wrung out the cloth and started again. My apologies. I didnt mean He kept two dozen horses going into the night, alone? Kahlia asked, before Rensler could let his anger get the better of him. An impressive feat for even the most skilled Vitalist. Skilled, yes, Ayla said. More so afraid of what failure would bring. Cloth in hand, she turned to Kahlia and went about her task. 346 Kahlia tensed every time the woman grazed the bruised side of her face, but, after a time, the cool touch became more soothing than uncomfortable. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation, and sifted through the jumble of thoughts that came to her. Surely they could make an ally of this woman. The Trackers treated her hardly better than they did their prisonersworse, perhaps, if they did not perform their tasks well enough. Had they ever attempted to flee? They wore no Bindings as Kahlia did; there was nothing to prevent them from slipping off one night. Unless theyre too far broken for that. The cloth came away from her face without warning, and she slitted her eyes to see Ayla stiffen as Negald stalked toward them. The twisted side of his mouth seemed at odds with the anger burning in his face. He seized Ayla by the wrist and yanked her toward him, their faces mere inches apart. You were to clean them, not speak to them, he snarled. His grip tightened, eliciting a whimper from Ayla. Do not forget your place simply because we have a wild animal in our midst. Now get Pellas up and mounted. We ride in three minutes. He shoved her in the direction of the other Marked. She stumbled, catching herself with one hand against the ground, and hurried off. Negald stared after her before whirling toward Kahlia, fists clenched. For a moment, she was certain he would strike her, but he relaxed his hands and ran them over the front of his drab tunic. Do not think I know not of your poisoned words, Seeker. You will not turn my Eshtyl against me. He snapped his fingers, and two of his men each led over a horse, decidedly more calm than the previous night. Now, I will be generous today and let you ride as humans do, but test my patience, and my men will truss you up like the animal you are. He brought his face closer to Kahlia. Do we have an understanding? 347 Briefly, Kahlia saw herself as a coiled serpent, springing upward to bite his crooked nose and tear it from his face as he thrashed with his blood in his eyes. She would not be cowed by this demon given flesh. But that could only end with a blade through her heartand Renslers as wellso she merely nodded and hoped that would be the end of it. Evidently satisfied, Negald straightened and motioned for the Trackers to get Rensler and Kahlia situated on the horses. The men lashed them to their saddles, a thoroughly uncomfortable experience, but at least they were upright today rather than smacking their faces against the side of a horse with every step. The horses were tied off to two others, and soon enough, the column was mounted and ready to move out. In the center of the pack, Ayla sat her horse beside the other Marked, who drooped in his seat, waiting with a hand at the ready. She cringed as Negald strode past her toward his waiting mount. The captain gave the order, and as the column lurched into motion, Ayla shot a glance back at Kahlia, so quickly that she could barely register the face full of murderous intent. Perhaps this woman was not so broken after all. Kahlia could work with that. Luca awoke from a deep slumber with a shiver. With a hand, he shielded his eyes against the sun, already sitting halfway up the eastern sky, and cast about his surroundings. He still lay on the hard wooden floor of the burnt out house, though much of the wood was covered in greenery, vines climbing the walls inside and out and weeds growing through cracks in the boards. A bird flitted around its nest, tucked away in the remnants of roof atop a corner post, chirping as it cocked its head at the sudden noise from below. 348 Of Zandren, there was no sign. A momentary feeling of unease passed through Luca as his imagination ran rampant, concocting increasingly more bizarre scenarios that couldve befallen the big man. With a deep breath, he forced himself to stop. Zandren would be off scouting, just as he did every morning, though he only did that when they were on the road, and they were definitely not going anywhere at present. But, Luca supposed there was traveling to be done; he simply did not know to where. He clung to that belief for a time. It made him feel as though Zandren were not simply too angry to be near Luca. When the man had left the house last night, Luca wondered whether that would be the last he saw of Zandren. With no sign of his companion yet this morning, he still wondered. He wouldnt leave like that, Luca told himself. The man had fought the Watchers in Salden, had saved Luca from Tasavar that night in the field. He wasnt the type of man who abandoned his duty so quicklyor so Luca hoped. Sometimes he forgot that less than a month had passed since they left home. The day of the festival felt like a half-remembered dream by now. How were his friends faring, Kal and Nielan and Owyn? Did they still remember him? How was Old Bren Marwin, the carpenter, who always gave the boys the little baubles he made? Mayor Daise, who acted all crotchety so she could surprise you with a kindness later? Aunt Ophelia, the best person hed ever known? The longing to see them all struck him like a wall, and he wrapped his arms around himself. I want to go home, he whispered. Tears sprang to his eyes. He didnt bother to wipe them away as he buried his head in his arms. In his mind, he saw the village green just as it was on Harvestward, the games and tables all laid out around the space, the lone tree towering over everything. It would be a simple thing to go back, wouldnt it? Kahlia claimed he could Travel 349 anywhere hed ever been, and the more familiar he was with the place, the easier it would be. Returning to Salden would have to be simple. After all, he came here, a place he hardly knew. He fixed the image of the tree in his mind. He knew every root and every branch. The leaves would be orange by now and falling off in waves each day, and Bren would be out raking them off the grass so it didnt end up with any discolored patches. Children would be running through its shade while their parents chatted about the weather. Luca took a deep breath and concentrated NO, the voice boomed in Lucas head. He gasped, eyes shooting open, feeling as though hed been caught out in freezing rain. The voice was real! he thought. He squeezed the sides of his head. He recalled hearing it before he Traveled, but everything had happened so quickly last night, and after coming to here in this house, he had assumed the panic of the moment had played tricks with his mind. But here he was, hearing that voice again, a voice that must belong to some colossal being, impossibly huge. Luca stood and peered out through the holes in the front wall. Observing no hint of Zandren, Luca returned to the center of the floor. I dont understand, he said. What do you mean no? Did the voice not want him to go, or had it simply stated what Luca fearedhe wouldnt be able to Travel again, not without any threats present. CANNOT LEAVE, the voice replied. But why? JOURNEY. MOUNTAIN. SEEK. Luca kicked at an errant weed snaking its way through a crack near the wall. Getting anything from the mysterious presence would be impossible. That doesnt make any sense, he huffed. Whatwhoare you? 350 Impressions flashed before his eyes, faster than he could blink, each one melding into the next. Towering mountains, an expanse of water, forested hills rolling off into the distance. The immensity of the landscapes reminded him of something from his dreams, though he could not quite recall what. A stone carving of a sleeping face came last, and then Luca was back in the house, still looking at the weed. He shivered as the visions faded away, then paused as an idea struck him. The voicecould it be the soul? The immortal soul of Artras, the reason for Lucas strange abilities and why the Watchers wanted to kill him? Back against the wall, he sank to the floor, heedless of the long grass tickling him through the floorboards. Its real, he thought, staring at nothing. Its all real. He hadnt doubted Kahlia, of course, but a part of him had wondered if it were all a mistake, that everyone had him confused as something he wasnt. Over the past few weeks, he had used abilities he never possessed before, and still he had questioned, figuring at any moment the real Vestige would be found and he could go back to his life in Salden with Rensler and Ophelia and everyone else he cared about and stop having the fear of death hanging over him all the bloody time. He sucked in a huge breath and tried to slow his thoughts. For several minutes he did nothing but stare at a knot in a broken floorboard, until at last his heart no longer threatened to claw its way out of his chest. Well then, he said aloud. He assumed the voiceArtras, if that was what it really wascould hear him still. What now? What do you want me to do? He cocked his head to the side, waiting and holding his breath. No response came. Well that just figures, he thought. A strange voice was living in his head, and it could speak to him whenever it pleased, but that apparently did not go both ways. It reminded Luca of the friends he 351 dreamt up as a child. They had lived in his head too, but at least they listened. Rensler would have laughed himself silly if he were here. Soon enough, he rose and brushed himself off, reminding himself that he had but the one set of clothes for now, then, deciding he needed to do something useful, he began to rummage through the house. Judging by the footprints leading outside, Zandren had not ventured beyond the front room. Luca picked his way through the remnants of another doorway and entered a chamber that had fared somewhat better. The back wall was mostly brick, the majority of it still standing, though the timbered walls were again charred and crumblingthe remnants of one had fallen into the room entirelyand what must have been furniture was reduced to heaps of broken wood engulfed in greenery. Luca spotted something pushing up from beneath the fallen planks of the wall. He shuffled toward it with deliberate steps, wincing with every groan of the floorboards, and crouched beside the wreckage, peering at what looked to have been a tiny bed once encircled by a tall railing, the supports long since snapped off. A crib? Like everything else, it was blackened and caked with dirt, but a sudden sense of familiarity made him reach for it. He gripped one of the supports and yanked, only managing to break it off further. Straining, he moved a plank aside, then wiggled what remained of the burned crib out into the sunlight. It fell apart in his hands as he pulled, and by the time he was finished, he held little more than a charred slab of wood, marred by the broken ends of the supports, in his hands. This was mine, he thought. His eyes roamed the chamber. Snippets of memories came to him, dark and distant, as though he viewed them through frost covered glass. The vague shape of his mother, her face a shadowy blob, carrying him as she woke Rensler. The three of them 352 fleeing into the forest as the houses went up in flames behind them. Aunt Ophelia, waiting for them, taking him and Rensler away as their mother went back to face their pursuers. Had those people, whoever they were, come to kill him when he was just a baby, or had he and his family been victims of something greater? Both were possible, but it felt a powerful coincidence that, all these years later, people were trying to kill him all over again. The floorboards groaned behind him. With a yelp, he dropped the hunk of wood and spun, finding Zandren hovering what was once a doorway. He regarded Luca with a blank expression as neither spoke for a moment. Luca searched the mans face for any hint of what he was thinking. Hes still angry with me. He has to be. I would be. You should eat, Zandren said at last. He beckoned for Luca to follow. I snared a few rabbits; theyre on a spit outside, downwind of here. Come. We should discuss our plans moving forward. His eyes flicked to the ruined crib again, then spun on his heel. Luca stayed in place for a second, deliberating what to say to Zandren. He had figured out the significance of the house; now he needed to know why he had brought them there. He hurried after his companion, hoping a full stomach would help him unravel that mystery. Kahlia stifled a complaint as a Tracker pulled her down from the saddle and dropped her into the grass on her rear. The man led the horse toward the others for their nightly care, refusing to acknowledge Kahlia as he moved past. That suited her just fine. The less they watched her, the better. Nearby, Rensler received harsher treatment as his attendant practically threw him to the ground, where he lay groaning for a time. Not for the first time, Kahlia pondered such behavior. She was the Marked one, not Rensler; she would have expected to be the target of their ire. And 353 yet, the Trackers had been more openly aggressive toward the young man throughout the days travel, taking every opportunity to bully him whenever possible. If this is their idea of chivalry, it is baffling. All around her, men made camp among trees, pitching tents wherever the gnarled roots gave way to soft dirt hidden beneath a bed of discarded leaves. No tent was set up for Kahlia and Rensler, of course. They were to sleep under the stars for now, shivering beneath the thin bedding they were allowed. The darkening sky, streaked with red from the setting sun, was clear for the time being. Kahlia prayed that would last the night. They were an odd lot, these Trackers. Most had been born in Riandris, though they came from all sorts of backgrounds. They were the sons of fishermen and fletchers, carpenters and cobblers, united by the common goal of keeping their country safe from rogue Eshtyl. Throughout the day, she had listened to them jabber in their own tongue as they mourned the loss of their fellows and questioned whether another demon would attack them tonight to save Kahlia. A lifetime of practice kept her thoughts hidden from her face every time they mentioned her name, always spoken in a lowered tone and often accompanied by a furtive glance, as though they needed assurance that the Binding was still clamped around her throat. Their paranoia bordered on an odd sort of reverence for her. How many Seekers had these men captured over the years? She may very well have been the first, and she knew not what sorts of stories they told about people like her. With a grunt, Rensler worked his way into a seated position and scooted closer to Kahlia. His cheek and one eye had swollen further, and his bruises had worsened, his face now a lumpy canvas of deep reds and purples mixed together. Kahlia imagined her appearance could not be much better, though at least the ache in her cheek had dulled. 354 They sat in silence as the camp was erected, both drained from the day. Kahlias stomach growled at her every few seconds, and her throat begged for water. Despite the times of rest throughout the day, neither of them had received more than a few sips from Aylas waterskin. Food had been even scarcer. Negald must feed them eventually, if they were to make it to Myrais alive, but Kahlia questioned when he would extend such munificence. Do you think theyre safe? Rensler said at last. Wherever they are. He looked past Kahlia, toward the small fire the men had built. A tea kettle sat nestled in the fresh coals. Of course, Kahlia said at once, mustering as much conviction as she could. I have never known Zandren to fail, and your brother isinventive. Between the two of them, they will be all right. Rensler nodded absently. Where do you think they went? Would Luca have gone back to Sahome? Its a possibility, but I do not believe that to be the case. Such a distance should be beyond someone of Lucas fledgling skill. Truth be told, she was unsure as to what Luca could do. In time, his abilities would far exceed her own, though she knew not how long that would take. We had a fight, you know? Rensler went on. In Riandris. He wandered off, just as we told him not to, and when he finally returned, I was furious with him. Again and again, he gets himself into trouble, no matter how many times I tell him not to. Nothing ever sticks. Fates, its infuriating. He paused, sucking in a deep breath. Kahlia waited, motionless. The words were not directed at her by any means, but she would let him speak regardless. 355 I knew he had stuck his nose somewhere it didnt belong. He always does. But still he came to find me in the square, knowing Id be angry, because he knew he would need to own up to his mistake eventually. He sighed. I cant help but think that, wherever he is, hes blaming himself for thisrightfully so, I supposebut I hope he isnt being too unforgiving with himself, as I would. He fell quiet, still not looking at Kahlia. She let the silence linger, pondering how to respond, when a faint footfall announced the approach of someone behind her. A second later, Ayla crouched beside them, her waterskin hanging by a leather cord from one wrist and a cloth bundle cradled in her hands. Ive brought you something, she said, unwrapping the bundle and revealing a hunk of cheese, a few strips of dried meat, and a handful of berries. Negald says he hopes you have learned to behave. If you have, youll get more food tomorrow. How generous, Kahlia thought. I would argue that we have done nothing but behave today. Ayla shrugged as she broke the cheese into smaller chunks, followed by the meat. I merely pass on the message. She glanced between the two of them, a piece of meat pinched between her fingers. Whos first? Rensler scowled, or so Kahlia assumed. Why not take off these shackles and let us feed ourselves? he asked. Theres nowhere for us to run. Again, I merely play the part I am given, Ayla said. Before Rensler could respond, she shoved the meat into his open mouth. Quiet, now. We should not be speaking more than we must. 356 The mealif it could be called as muchwas a slow affair, and by the time they finished, Kahlia was left thoroughly humiliated. Exactly as Negald wants. He would be sorely disappointed if he believed such treatment would break her. The last of the food gone, Ayla withdrew, finding her place beside the other Marked at the edge of the firelight. The Trackers, for their part, were in good spirits. One produced a flute while another sang in an admittedly pleasant tenor. They played quick, upbeat songs, and Kahlia recognized the notes of Come Home, My Canary and The Heartbeat of Home, favorites among taverns. The other men clapped and stamped their feet along with the beat. Without thinking, Kahlia hummed along to the words, until the song turned to ash in her mouth. These men were her captors, not her companions. Soon enough, the revelry died down, and the men sat in twos and threes, making quiet conversation, when Negalds voice rose. Bring the Seeker, was all he said. Kahlia flinched at the word. Rough hands hooked underneath her arms and dragged her toward the waiting captain. Rensler stared after all, fear etched upon his marred face. Be still, she mouthed, hoping he could see her, cast in darkness as she was. The Tracker deposited her unceremoniously upon a bed of moss and wet leaves, a few feet from the shallow fire pit, then stepped away, leaving Kahlia and the captain alone at the center of the camp. Though she chafed at the treatment, she was glad for the warmth. Negald peered at her from the other side, the low flames casting wicked shadows upon the scarred side of his mouth. He emptied the kettle into a tin cup, blew on it, and took a sip, before finally meeting Kahlias eyes. Would you care for some? he said, shaking the kettle. Hmm. Mayhaps 357 tomorrow. He set the kettle in the dirt. Now then, youve had the day to think on it. Where did the boy go? Straight to the point, I see. I believe your Seer can answer that better than I. Perhaps. Negald tapped a fingernail against the cup. But you seem a clever woman, Seeker, and Im curious as to your thoughts on the matter. Speak freely. As Rensler told you last night, he likely Traveled back to somewhere through which we passed along our journey. Every footstep is a potential destination. There are thousands of places he could be. And to which of these thousand destinations do you think he would flee? He waved a hand before she could answer. Yes, yes, you dont know. Fine. A better question, then. Where did you find the boy in the first place? South of Olidan, Kahlia said flatly. In a little fishing village at the coast. The captain knew the boys were Odreman, but the lie would hold if his knowledge of their regional accents was lacking. He nodded and sipped at his tea. He seemed a bit young to have already been abducted by one such as yourself. The last Vestige was near twenty when your Church hooked its claws into her. Tell me, Seeker, do you know how many of my countrymen died thanks to your demonblooded savior? Kahlia hesitated. Was the question for her, or was it merely a preamble for more? Negald stared at her expectantly. The former, then. Thousands, she whispered. Aye, thousands, and all because someone like you filled that girls head with poison. Negalds voice dripped with scorn. Her name was quite like yours. Calianna. Your kind turned her away from the light of Irianor, and she swept across the land with her plague of zealots, 358 killing those who refused to submit, until she threatened Myrais itself. The tapping on the tin grew louder, more feverish. I was there on the walls that day. With my own eyes, I saw her demon-blooded sorcery turn my fellows into her rabid followers. He touched the scar at the corner of his mouth. One of them did this to me. Swung a burning arrow at me instead of launching it at the horde below. I killed him and prayed to Irianor I would not be next. I tell you this, Seeker, so that you may know the severity of your sins. You came onto our lands with the very thing that brought our country to its knees. His Holiness was right in outlawing your kind, though, in his compassion, he tolerates the laypeople of your Church. Were that he were more vicious in his persecution of Reforged. A fervent look was in the captains eyes. What happened here was regrettable, Kahlia said slowly, watching Negald and waiting for a reaction. When none came, she continued, Caliannas rebellion was not the intention of the Church. By the time a Seeker became aware of her, she had already come into her powers. She chose of her own accord how to use them. Hmm. With your own words, you show the folly of your path. The Vestige is the Great Enemy made flesh, come to wage his eternal war for the souls of men, bringing nothing but chaos and death. He spat. And you worship such a creature. Youre wrong, Kahlia wanted to say. The Sundering was the cause of humanitys strife, and the Vestige was the key to ending it. The easily corruptedmen like Negald and Tasavar stood in the way of the eternal utopia. I must admit, Negald said, that I find some pleasure in having found you, and not simply for the accolades that will surely follow. A Seeker will make an outstanding example to all those who entertain letting evil into their hearts. Ive never been inside Rangavor Prison; I 359 hear it is truly terrifying. He waved a hand lazily, and a pair of hands lifted Kahlia from the ground. That will be all for now, Seeker Kahlia. The meticulously crafted composure Kahlia worked so hard to cultivate began to crack. She dug her heels into the ground before the Tracker could pull her away. You seek to frighten me with talk of pain, she growled. I am no stranger to pain; it is an old friend to me. The image of a little girl, broken and bleeding, hanging limp in her arms, surged to the forefront of her mind. Like an old scar, the memory would always be with her, faded with time but never truly gone. I have known greater pain than a small-minded man such as you could ever comprehend. For a second, no one moved, and the beating of her heart filled Kahlias ears in the deafening silence. Negald rose slowly, regarding her with narrowed eyes. A grin spread across his face. The wardens of Rangavor enjoy a challenge. I think they will be deeply grateful to me for delivering one. He flicked his hand in dismissal again. Sleep well, Seeker. Dont let your pain keep you up. Kahlia felt herself being dragged away. She did not resist this time, nor did she break away from Negalds lingering gaze, full of malice in the flickering shadows. I will kill you, she thought. Even if it is with steel through my heart, I will kill you. At last, he turned away, and she breathed a quiet sigh. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing the dread that clawed at her. 360 Chapter 21 Zandren took a skewer from above the small fire pit and handed it to Luca. The boy wordlessly accepted it and bit into a chunk of steaming rabbit meat, and Zandren followed suit with his own. Bland and unseasoned, it was not the best thing he had ever eaten, but it was a far cry from the worst. Grubs held that unfortunate honor. Night had fallen, and still they remained in the abandoned home, listening to the cacophony of night birds and chittering insects. In the morning, his instincts had told him they needed to move on immediately, but harsh reality had kept him rooted in the ruined house for the day. He was not a young man anymore, and the time when he could go for days on little rest were long since past. His body ached more often than not, and the harrowing flight from Riandris had drained him more completely than he was willing to admit. And so, they stayed put for the day, recuperating from the run-in with the Trackers. Zandren spent the time checking the makeshift snares he had laid in the morning, as well as studying the lay of the land surrounding the remains of the village. Mountains filled the southern sky, while a forest stretched to the east, hard fast against the last of the buildings. The place reminded him of Salden. Surely that was why the boy had brought them here. Zandren eyed him across the fire. Luca had been unusually quiet that day, more reserved than the excitable boy who had begun this journey. They had not spoken much throughout the day, though at times, Zandren noticed as Luca verged on saying something, only to sink back into sullen silence. He believes Im angry with him still, he thought. Well, was he not? Perhaps, but the burning resentment that overcame him last night had cooled. The way forward would not be found by turning back. 361 Well need to be away from this place come morning, Zandren said. The words, though soft, seemed to echo in the still air. Well head west, staying in the shadow of the mountains as often as we can. Luca nodded but said nothing. His gaze remained on the fire, as though he were gleaning something unseen to Zandren. The boys silence was unnerving. Zandren had never been one for idle chatterKahlia always spoke enough for the two of thembut he recognized the sign of someone traumatized. But what should he say? He decided on being blunt. Luca, look at me. He waited until the boy met his eyes. Physically, Luca appeared well enough, a benefit of his powers, but he could not keep the unease from his face. He needs reassuring that I wont abandon him. I am with you, from here until the end. I will not let you face what lies ahead alone. By Artrass name, I swear it. The words tumbled out, and Zandren hoped they were enough. They appeared so, as some of the tension finally let out of Lucas hunched form. Thanks, he whispered. He let out a long sigh. I, uh, I figured out why were here. Why I brought us here. There it is, Zandren thought. The very thing that Luca was on the cusp of saying all day. Go on. This was our first home. Mine and Renslers. Luca spread his arms out wide. We lived here with Ma and Pathose were Renslers nicknames for themand Aunt Ophelia was here too. I dont remember much of it. I was a baby when we fled. Just me and Rensler and Aunt Ophelia. Ma and Pa died that night. 362 Zandren listened as Luca recounted events from thirteen years ago. The details were choppy; much of what the boy knew had been pieced together from bits of information told to him by his brother and aunt in the intervening years. When the story came to an end, Zandren said, The attackers. Who were they? Brigands? I dont think so. It didnt sound like they came to steal, just to burn and kill. That made good sense. Brigands were more interested in taking necessities than murdering people. He and Kahlia had been threatened more than once on the road, and while the threat of death was there, the thieves always wanted their valuables more than their lives. Of course, the two of them always sent such folk running with the fear of God in their hearts. The Watchers, then? Zandren asked. Fire was a useful distraction from their true intentions, something Luca was well acquainted with now. It would be quite uncommon for them to have learned of a new Vestige so early, though. By all accounts, Luca himself was still young compared to most who had preceded him. Luca scrunched up his face. Maybe, but I dont think so. Aunt Ophelia mentioned once that their armor was all white and gold, except for a few. Their leaders, she said. Their armor was all plain steel and covered them from head to toe. They had metal faces, all made to look like that emblem on Kahlias amulet. Zandren froze. The boy described the Justiciars, the highest authority of the Church save for the Pentarchy itself. For them to lead a raid into another country was unheard of. And for what purpose? To destroy a backwoods village on the edge of civilization? Your aunt must be mistaken, he said. Or you must have the story wrong. What you describe. The Church did not destroy your home. We would not. 363 Rensler says the same things. Zandren shook his head firmly. Your brother was a child at the time. I trust his memory of that day no more than I would yours. The set of Lucas jaw showed he remained unconvinced, and something about his unwavering adherence to the story, secondhand as it were, weakened Zandrens steadfast denial. Certainly, the Church was not without its flaws. Schisms and violent conflict marred its millennia of history, all the way back to the era when it was no more than a few dozen people meeting in secret. But those days were long gone by. Werent they? He could not deny the rumors he had heard in his youth. Whispers of people going missing, abducted by steel-clad figures in the dead of night. Always the missing would be labeled as dissidents, nonconformists, malcontents. They had obviously run off, abandoning home and family for some selfish purpose. Believe what you will, Zandren said at last. The words lacked conviction, though, and a decade of misgivings threatened to overwhelm him. He pushed the disruptive thoughts aside; the time to question his lifes ambition would come later. He tossed his empty skewer into the fire and watched the flames consume it. So then, that answers how you brought us here, he said after a moment. The question of why you brought us here still remains, though. You say you figured it out. Lucas instinctual Traveling would have taken them somewhere safe, and while no trouble had befallen them in Darrow, Zandren would not have associated the ruined village with shelter. I think so, Luca said. He scooted closer to the fire. If I recall my maps correctly, this brings us far closer to Thanalia than where we were before. Going backward would have been 364 safe too, but it would have set us back too far. He paused. I think the soul within me Artrasis waking. Or stirring, at least. Hespoke to me, last night, and told me to come here. Zandrens eyes widened. Artras spoke to you, he repeated. And told you to return here. People sometimes claimed God spoke to them; those people were often insane, though none of them were the Vestige. But knowing that the boy harbored the literal soul of God made the remark no less incredulous. Was this how it was supposed to be, how it always went for those who came before Luca? Years of wandering, and he had never thought to ask Kahlia what the histories proclaimed would herald the growing powers of the Vestige. That was her role, and his role had been to defend her, not to question. Did it tell you what to do next? Luca frowned. Not really. He hasnt spoken much, actually, and he doesnt answer me when I ask questions. He waved his hands. But I swear its the truth. Thats how I remembered Darrow. He guided me here. Zandren rubbed his chin, considering Luca in the dancing firelight as an idea burgeoned in his mind. Could you go back? he said. To the spot from which we came. The Trackers would have moved on, yes, but they could not be too far. If the two of them could go back, they could go after Kahlia and Rensler. I dont think I can, Luca said. I tried to go to Salden, earlier, when I was alone, but it didnt work. I dont have that kind of control of these powers. It had been too much to hope for, and yet Zandren was still disappointed. He tried to keep that fact hidden from Luca. Well, were back to where we started, then. In the morning, well figure out where we head next. For now, I say we get some rest; we should be away shortly after dawn. 365 They snuffed the coals, and Zandren buried the animal remains a good distance from the house. When he returned, Luca was already curled up, snoring softly. Zandren sat in darkness for a time, broken by the occasional glimmer of starlight through the clouded sky. Rain was sure to fall on the morrow. Lucas story wound its way through his head again, and the more he ruminated on it, the more he felt compelled to know what truly happened here. What would the Justiciars have sought by enacting such violence here, hundreds of miles from Vendalar? The question remained on his mind until sleep finally took him, and it greeted him at first light in the morning, weak behind a curtain of gray clouds. He woke bleary-eyed and feeling no more rested than the night before. His back and neck ached more powerfully with every passing day, and his bones protested as he rose and went about his morning stretches, working life back into weary muscles. That done, he set about finding food for their breakfast. He returned with a handful of berries and tubers just as Luca woke, and they forced down the victuals in silence. Zandren brushed his hands and retrieved the rolled map from his belt pouch. The parchment was tattered on the edges and creased in a dozen places. With great care, he unrolled and pinned it to the floor with his fingers. Faded ink depicted a rudimentary diagram of Ilden. It was an older map, based off the work of a cartographer some decades past, and showed the major cities of each of the six kingdoms. Darrow, of course, was not on the map. By my best guess, were here, Zandren said, pointing to the western edge of forest. He moved his finger over the river and tapped the open space. Well cross into Kilan Tor here. If were lucky, we can find a safe place to ford the river, or come upon a generous ferryman. Regardless, theres no way to avoid traveling through the kingdom, but if we keep our heads down, we should have no issue. 366 Kilan Tor would be hostile to them, he knew, but it would be no worse than Myrandir. At least in the former, Marked were not hunted and enslaved. The two of them could pass for ordinary travelers, as long as Zandren kept his sword sheathed and Luca kept his mouth shut. God willing, the border would be free of skirmishes, and they could slip into Vendalar unharried. Luca crouched beside the map and pointed to the mountain range in the center of the continent. Could we travel through here? he asked, drawing his finger along the mountains as they headed into Vendalar. No, Zandren said firmly. The Cloudbreaker Peaks are a dangerous place, boy. There are passes to be found, certainly, but the creatures that lie within the crags are best left undisturbed. Luca fidgeted in place, looking like he had more to say, but he merely nodded along. Well have to do something about that, Zandren thought. Luca was holding something back, and Zandren would need to know what. For now, though, he let the matter go. Its decided then, he said. He gingerly rerolled the map and tucked it away. Lets be away from this place, shall we? They cleaned up their makeshift camp, leaving behind as little trace as they could before stepping out of the burned house and onto the narrow road winding its way northwest. After a dozen paces, Luca paused and gazed back. Its strange, he said, more to himself than Zandren. I remembered enough to get us here, but I cant recall how the house looked. Any of them, actually. They held still for a few moments until the rumble of distant thunder broke the silence. Come on, Zandren said. Before the rain makes this day worse. 367 At last, Luca broke away and followed Zandren down the road, though he did not stop looking back until the hills swallowed up the broken village. Luca sat in the back of a cart, nestled between crates that jostled him every time a wheel struck a divot in the earthen road. Across from him was Zandren, hunched in what small space he could find, both his swords propped up against his chest. The rain had come on strong shortly after they departed Darrow, and while the road took them on a twisting course through stands of trees more often than not, no great cover was to be found amongst the pines and spruce and firs. By the time the rain ceased and they made shelter in a hollow, they were soaked through to their bones. Luca fared better than his companion for part of the day, as his instincts brought some aspect of his powers to bear, but even that was overwhelmed by the unyielding downpour. With no dry wood to make a fire, they hung their cloaks over branches and found what miserable sleep they could before setting out yet again. By fortune or providence, a horse-drawn cart had come upon them on the road at midday, and despite Zandrens misgivingsquoting that the Watchers could be anyonethey accepted the generous offer of the driver, a farmer named Hyas Mellew. Bumps aside, the ride had been pleasant enough, though not much conversation was to be had. Zandren never seemed like one for excess chatter. For Lucas part, he wasnt sure he felt like talking, either. The sun stood halfway down the western sky now, and Luca was busying himself with thinking of anything other than how hungry he was, when Hyas called back, Well, here we are. Taristown. Told you it wouldnt be more than a couple hours. Luca pushed himself up, steadying himself on the crates, and looked ahead. A couple dozen buildings lay clustered around the main road, while others spiraled outward, growing 368 sparser, and a few farmhouses dotted the land beyond. With mountains on one side and trees growing all around, Luca could very well have believe he was home in Salden and not in a strange town a thousand miles away. Youre welcome to get out and stretch your legs once we stop, Hyas went on. I suppose youre welcome to do whatever it is you wish, actually, just so long as you dont cause any trouble. Luca caught Zandrens eye as he glanced at the swords. The weapons had given the farmer pause. Zandren wove a tale about his time as a mercenary in a far-off land. These days, he always moved from place to place armed and ready. He had found Luca some years back and decided to raise the foundling as best he could, but, recently, they had fallen on hard times, and the generosity of strangers had grown as of late. Luca had nodded along with the story, impressed by the swordsmans imagination, far different from the blunt honesty Luca had come to expect over the past few weeks. What will we do when we stop? Luca asked. He put a hand to his rumbling stomach. Find something to eat, I hope. Among other things, yes, Zandren replied. I know nothing of this town, so we will need to be careful with what we say and to whom we say it, but most folk dont ask too many questions if you dont give them cause. He gave Luca a pointed look. Dont cause trouble, it said. Food, water, and some warmer clothing are our priorities, though Im not certain what a town this size will have to offer. Luca nodded. Will we be staying here for the night? Their stay in Riandris was but a few days past, yet he felt he had not slept in a proper bed in weeks. 369 Mayhap. That depends on how long it takes to get what we need. The cart crested a hill, and Zandren regarded the approaching village as they started down the gentle slope. He leaned forward, moving stiffly. Regardless, we stay together. Do not stray from my side, no matter what errant thing may pique your interest. Luca chafed at thatit sounded far too much like something Rensler would saybefore admitting to himself that it was a fair reminder. Ill try not to. Zandren drew his mouth into a flat line. Just remember our story, he said, dropping his voice so that Luca could barely hear him over the creaking of the cart. Any one of these people could be with the Watchers. Im not sure whether they have an eye on you now or not, and I would rather not find out. The cart slowed in the middle of the village, and Luca decided not to argue further about the Watchers as Hyas came around the back. He hefted a crate with both hands. Now if you two need a place to stay for the night, I reckon theres room up in the loft. Come on by the farm and lend a hand, and you can have the space for the night. Theres no inn here? Zandren said, frowning. Afraid not, the farmer said. Taristowns about as far west as you can get in Astarris; not many folk come this way, except if theyre looking to go downriver. We used to get more visitors, but then Darrow A distant look crossed his face. Well, lets just say there arent as many people in these parts as there used to be. With a final nod, he moved off, waddling from the weight of the crate. Luca watched him go for a moment, then turned to Zandren, who stroked his stubbled chin. I was afraid of that, the big man grumbled. We may have to be away from this place sooner than I had hoped. 370 In Lucas opinion, a barn was better than the roadside, and even the thought of doing extra work didnt sound too bad right then. But Zandren seemed on edge enough already, so he kept quiet as he followed the swordsman through the village. On the surface, the place was normal enough. Brick and timbered houses with thatched roofs and little wooden fences flanked the road. People were out and about their chores or chattering with neighbors while little children ran around their legs. Luca found it difficult to see these people as the threats Zandren claimed they were. The villagers stared openly at Zandren with a mixture of caution and curiosity as the two of them tried to make the acquaintance of anyone who cared to speak with them. As it had been in Salden, some of the townsfolk were more accommodating than others, welcoming the strangers and begging for the latest news beyond their lands. Others scurried down a lane or indoors at the sight of them. One thing became clear, though; the villagers had not much to spare, and what little they did would only last a handful of days. Winter would be upon them within two months, and with the early frosts, this seasons harvest hadnt been quite as fruitful as last years, and that had been less so than the year prior. After a time, Zandren pulled Luca aside, away from as many prying eyes as possible. These people have nothing to offer but gossip, he said. We would be better off moving on before nightfall. But what about food? Luca asked. His stomach let out an angry growl in response. Im not sure they have even that much to spare. Zandren folded his arms. If we make off with but a few items, we can be away before anyone is the wiser. Luca pulled back. You want to steal from them? he said, a bit too loudly perhaps, as Zandren glared at him before ensuring no one had overheard. 371 Not so loud, Zandren hissed. I dont like it any more than you do, but I will do what I must to ensure our survival. Luca frowned. It still didnt seem right. What would Kahlia think of that? A thunderstorm brewed in Zandrens features. She would lament the choice but make it nonetheless, should it prove necessary. This is life, Luca. The moral course does not always align with the prudent one. Luca bit his lip. There had to be another way, something that didnt involve hurting others. What about Master Mellews offer? The farmer was gone from the village already, though his homestead could not be too far from the village proper. If they started walking now, they would arrive in time to help with some of the work the farmer had mentioned. Silence lingered between them for a moment, stretching so long that Luca wondered whether Zandren were simply ignoring him now. He made to speak, but Zandren held out a hand and said, Very well. But you must stay on your guard. Master Mellew may yet prove to be more than he seems. Luca turned away as he rolled his eyes. Zandren was too cautious, too untrusting, for his own good; not everyone was as bad as he made them out to be. After a short bit of questioning, the villagers pointed them in the right direction, and the two of them set off toward the farm. Trees shaded the road, little more than two ruts from years of use, and within a quarter hour, a house and barn came into view, along with a stone pen where a dozen or so sheep milled about, stretching between the two buildings. On the other side of the house stood another fenced in space. Luca spotted the farmer and a couple others there, working away at the ground with hoes. 372 As they drew near, Hyas paused in his task and leaned against his implement. I was wondering when youd be along. He shaded his eyes and glanced toward the sun as it angled toward the horizon. Plenty of daylight left and plenty of chores to go around. Thats why were here, Zandren said. Hyas waved for them to follow as he headed toward the barn. You can leave your swords here for the time being. You wont need em for a while. Inside, Luca wrinkled his nose at the musty scent of cow and horse and old straw. A wide aisle ran between half a dozen stalls, leading toward the ladder propped up against the loft. As Hyas fetched a tool for each of them, Zandren unbuckled his baldrics and leaned the sheathed blades inside the doorway. The farmer handed each of them a trowel. Lets get to it, shall we? You can tell us more about your travels abroad. Itll make the work go faster. By the time were finished, well have a hot meal waiting for inside. The promise of food spurred Luca into action, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he took to the work without complaint. Stars filled the sky by the time Luca, thoroughly washed and with a full stomach, returned to the barn. He paused in the entryway, waiting as his eyes adjusted to the darkened interior. Slowly, everything lightened, and everything, from the stalls to the animals within them, stood out in the gray world of his enhanced vision. One of the few powers he could always count on, it seemed. Scaling the narrow ladder to the loft, he threw himself down upon a pile of hay, adjusting until none of it poked his skin. It was a better bed than he had hoped for that morning, and his eyes had already begun to droop when he heard the crunch of footsteps below. He poked his 373 head out and watched Zandren make his way cautiously toward the loft, a stack of blankets in his arms. Luca? he whispered. Are you up there? Im here. Luca leaned over the top of the ladder, and Zandren offered up the blankets, each one thick and woolen. Luca wondered why the farmer had so many extras. Either Master Mellew had a much larger family than they had seen or the man was always prepared for guests; in any case, Luca was glad for the warmth. He laid out two of the blankets atop the hay piles that were to be their makeshift beds as Zandren joined him. He dug at the base of his hay pile, uncovering his sword hilts and letting out a relieved sigh. I must admit, Zandren said as he settled down. I did not expect to receive such hospitality as we have been afforded today. Thats why you should just trust people sometimes, Luca thought. Well, maybe not everyonebad sorts like Tasavar came to mindbut people like him were the exception. You couldnt assume everyone was awful just because of a few bad people. Thats how people in Salden are. Aunt Ophelia always says you should help people in need, regardless of what brought them there. The barn door swung open. Zandren was on his feet with one of his swords in his hand before Luca could blink. Neither of them moved for a second. Luca peered over the edge of the loft toward the entrance, where Master Mellew came shuffling in, a pack slung over each shoulder and a long, loose fabric draped over each arm. Ho there, you two. His voice echoed in the high ceiling of the barn. Figured Id bring you something before the morning, as thanks for your work today. Zandren slipped his sword away, then felt in the dark for the ladder and brought up the proffered goods. Master Mellew followed and sat mere inches away from the edge of the loft. He 374 patted each of the packs. Its not much, but weve got some tack and dried meat and even a few apples thatll need to be eaten soon. Oh, and I brought you these. He shook out one of the lengths of fabric, which Luca now saw was actually a cloak, thicker than the one he wore and lined with wool. Weathers only going to get colder. You shouldnt be strolling about the countryside without something to keep you warm. Theres gloves and such in the packs, too. Luca accepted the cloak with reverence. It was heavy and soft on the inside. Thank you, he mumbled. Yes, thank you, Zandren echoed. How much would you like for all of this? Nothing. Zandren paused. We only provided a few hours of labor. Chuckling, Master Mellew folded his hands in his lap. This isnt an exchange of goods; this is a gift, and a gift is freely given. He waved a hand before Zandren could speak. Ill not hear any more about it. If you think I need payment, I wont stop you from sticking around and helping about the farm some more, but I expect Ill find this loft empty come dawn. After a moment, Zandren said, That was our intention, yes. Look, Ive seen your kind before, the farmer said. Luca tensed as Zandren shifted ever so slightly so that his hand hung over his hidden swords. Some people arent made to stay in one place their whole lives. Nothing wrong with that, but endless wandering can be a dangerous life, especially for a boy. Id be a poor servant of the light if I let you go empty-handed. Servant of the light? Luca thought. Whatever the words meant, they were the right ones, as they made Zandren finally relax. Well, Id better be getting back inside, Master Mellew said. Holler if theres an emergency. And if I dont see you in the morning, I wish you good travels. 375 A minute later, the farmer was gone, the barn door was closed, and Luca sat in the dark with Zandren, listening to the wind whistling outside. Get some rest, Zandren said into the quiet. Master Mellew was right; we need to be away before dawn. With a nod and a yawn, Luca lay back on his bed of hay, sleep taking him as soon as he closed his eyes. He found himself once again in the stone city that haunted his dreams. He stood on the balcony, just as he had the last time. Or had he ever left at all? He must have, for he was dimly aware of a barn and a bed of hay, somewhere far off. But was that really him? Which was the world of his waking hours and which was the dream? He couldnt be sure. Lightning flashed in a sky full of roiling clouds, black and red and purple, like a bruise spreading over the world. The mountain city extended below, and familiar spires rose from stony peaks all around him. He gripped the railing, watching, waiting for something. But what? The old man, perhaps? Hed come twice now, spouting his nonsense words. A sound like metal grinding on stone reached him from below, and the balcony began to tremble. Luca took a nervous step back, then another and another, until he stood underneath the central archway leading into the chamber hewed into the mountainside. The center of the stone platform exploded upward, sending chunks of rock showering down. Luca cowered and raised his hands, and the air before him rippled and solidified in time to block the incoming debris. What was that? he wonderedthen saw the huge hand, as big as Lucas chest, grab onto the jagged hole. Three more joined the first as the nightmare creature hauled itself upward, revealing a long, snakelike body extending from the four-armed torso. The head was that of a snake as well, but as it regarded Luca with eyes like glowing coals, its lower jaw split down the 376 middle, revealing countless rows of teeth covering the inside of its mouth. The beast let out a harsh, shrill scream that rippled Lucas flesh. Luca spun and sprinted toward the door, open now, and tore down the hewn stone tunnel. The beast slithered after him and squeezed into the tight space, then plunged its claws into the stone to drag itself forward impossibly fast. Doors flew past on either side of the tunnel, but all were shut, and the few that Luca tried were stuck. On and on the corridor went, seemingly without end. Panic mounting, Luca realized no escape was to be had. He skidded to a halt and turned to face the monster crawling after him, no more than twenty paces back. He raised his palms toward the beast. Another shriek bellowed from its hideous mouth. Luca shouted back, and suddenly his hands were glowing as an electric sensation raced through him. A torrent of white light erupted from his hands and crashed into the creature. It screamed in agony as the light cut huge burning swaths across its scales, though on it came, heedless of the pain. Luca pushed harder and reveled in the power he unleashed. This was how it was supposed to be. This was how it felt to be powerful, not a helpless little boy. Luca. The word came from behind him and echoed from down the endless hall. He shot a glance over his shoulder. The hall was empty save for him and the snake monster, now blackened and writhing in the tunnel. Luca. His name came again, stronger this time, more insistent. He frowned. Whose voice was that? Rensler? No, his brother wassomewhere else. Somewhere far away from Luca. The corridor buckled, the stone rippling underneath Luca and sending him to his knees. What was that? What could be powerful enough to shake an entire mountain? He tried to stand, 377 but the corridor quaked again, knocking him onto his back. The stone beneath him grew suddenly soft and he began to sink. He tried pulling his arms up, but the stone clung to him like sap. Struggling to no avail, he opened his mouth to scream as the stone flowed inside. His eyes snapped open in the barn. Zandren stood over him, gripping him tightly by the shoulders and shouting his name. Sweat covered the mans bald head, and a charred tear ran across one side of his jerkin. Smoke tickled at Lucas nose from something burning nearby A section of the barns roof was burning with white-gold flames. Luca, for Gods sake Zandrens shout ceased as he noticed Lucas open eyes. He hauled Luca to his feet before he could resist and shoved a pack into his hands. We have to go. Now! Luca stood, paralyzed, watching the flames spreading across the thatch. Howwhat? was all he could muster. You dont even know what youve done, Zandren growled. He pushed Luca to the ladder, and Luca finally got his limbs working. Zandren touched the ground a moment later and fairly dragged Luca toward the barn door. The animals were awake now as well, and the frightened squawks of a horse and cow and chickens filled the space. Luca tried to hang back, but Zandrens iron grip did not budge. We have to let them out, he cried. The flames overhead swelled, roaring as they worked their way down the wooden walls. Zandren flung open the barn door and looked back at the animals, panicking in the bright firelight. Move away from the barn, he shouted, then dashed toward the stalls. Clutching his pack, Luca stepped aside as the animals came streaming out, followed by a coughing Zandren. 378 He shoved Luca forward, moving them away from the barn. Darkness blanketed the strange countryside. Shouts rang out from the farmhouse as Master Mellew and his sons raced outside. Zandren cursed as the farmer headed for them. With a firm hand, he moved Luca behind him. Master Mellews face was white in the firelight. What have you done? he screamed, the pale in his cheeks being consumed by red. An accident, Zandren said. His other hand rested on the pommel of the sword hanging from his hip. An accident? The farmer flung out a hand toward the barn, then clapped both hands to his head. The flames had traveled down the walls by now, but as Luca watched, he realized they werent spreading to any of the nearby grass or the wooden fence. It was as though the flames were meant to consume only the barn and nothing more. Yes, Zandren said. An unfortunate accident. I offer our sincerest apologies. Your apologies? Master Mellew shouted. Will your apologies rebuild my barn? Will they feed my livestock and harvest my crops? Zandren shook his head and moved back a step. I am truly sorry. I believe it would be best if we were on our way. The farmers sons began to talk over one another. Master Mellew bellowed over them. I took you into my home, fed you, clothed you, and you do this? And you think you can simply leave? I do. The hard edge to Zandrens voice sent shivers through Luca. The farmer as well, it seemed, for he put a hand to his sons chests and took a jerky step backward. 379 The howl of the flames was the only sound for a moment. Go then, Master Mellew said, his voice strained. Go wreak havoc somewhere else. Luca caught Zandrens arm before he could turn away. We cant just leave them like this. We have little coin as it is, Luca, Zandren said. Certainly none to spare. Something else valuable, then? Luca felt the locket sitting in his pocket. He pulled it out by the chain. What about this? Zandren gave him a quizzical look. Wasnt that your mothers? He shook his head. Keep it. That goes beyond simple generosity. With a heavy sigh, he unbuckled the belt for his hip-side sword, then threw the sheathed blade at the farmers feet. Thats the finest Vendalan steel you will ever lay eyes upon. It should fetch you a hefty sum. He walked Luca backward a dozen steps before turning his back on the barn. Luca looked back once. Master Mellew was on his knees, his sons hovering nearby. When the barn was but a distant glow on the horizon, Luca stopped walking. Zandren regarded him. What happened? Luca asked. With great effort, he looked the swordsman in the eye. You channeled the Lightmark, Zandren intoned. I believe you were dreaming. You were speaking, though not in a language I know, and as I tried to wake you He tugged at the charred gash in his clothing. Well, I think you understand. Lucas legs felt weak. Idid that? he said hollowly. He should have known something like this would happen. Where are we going now? We continue west, Zandren said. We should be able to find a place to ford the river, and well be in Kilan Tor. If were lucky, well find a ferryman 380 No! Luca shouted. No, we cant do that. We cant be around other people if I cant be trusted not to burn their homes down in my sleep. Zandren gazed down at him with a face that might as well have been carved from stone. Luca, we have no other choice. This is the only path. No, its not, Luca thought. The voice. What had it told him? The mountains. Theres something in the mountains that it wants me to find. We should take the mountain pass, Luca said. Out of the question. Luca clenched his fists at his sides and realized he still clutched the locket. We must! Theres something there, something important. Zandren folded his arms. And what might that be? I dont know, but Artras said that was the path we should take. The soul of Artras, who now speaks to you, wants us to venture up into the mountains, where all manner of beasts larger than me will be waiting to kill us? He shook his head. Perhaps Kahlia would understand what youre after, but I dont. Kahlia. Of course! If we cut through the mountains, well be back in Myrandir. We can find Kahlia and Rensler. Rescue them. Then the four of us can go to Thanalia, just like before. Luca, the mountain pass is suicide. Luca wanted to scream. It was like trying to convince Rensler all over again. I know we can do it, he said. Please, Zandren. Artras will guide us through, I promise. The mention of the god shattered the stony visage as emotions warred on Zandrens face. Artras, he murmured, so quiet that Luca could barely hear him. Im glad he guides one of us. Louder, he said, Very well. We shall make for the mountains. Theres still some night yet, 381 though. Well find a place to make camp before we journey on. He cast a hard gaze upon Luca. Dont make me regret this decision, boy. I wont, Luca squeaked. Deep within, a part of himor maybe Artrass soul itself felt a thrill at the victory. He slipped the locket over his head. Maybe it would bring them luck along the way. After a moment, Zandren said, We shall see. He continued along the road, and Luca raced after him. 382 Chapter 22 Seven days had passed since the flight from Riandris, and time ceased to hold any meaning for Rensler as he bounced along in his saddle, tethered to the Tracker riding before him. Seven days of torment from these small-minded soldiers, who apparently had nothing better to do than keep his bruises fresh. Seven days of agonizing over his brothers whereabouts and praying to whatever god would listen for the boys safety. Seven daysor was it eight now? Mornings and nights blurred together in an unending routine of riding and beatings and being fed like a misbehaving child. The manacles rubbed his wrists bloody by nightfall, then scabbed over come morning, only to do it all over again throughout the day. His face and chest were a mottled mess of blue and black, with a hint of yellow showing at the edges of the older bruises. The inflated side of his face still ached something fierce, the pain crashing through him sporadically, though the swelling around his eye had subsided enough for him to see his bullies more clearly. Each night, the other Marked, Pellas, came to look over the two prisoners. He was still forbidden to tend to their injuries, but Negald wanted to ensure they did not succumb to any infections along the way to Myrais, and so after making camp, the Vitalist put his hand on their foreheads, using the power of his Mark to assess their health. He never spoke more than a few grumbled words, and he always withdrew his hand like he were removing it from a fire. Strangely enough, the Trackers rarely bothered him, instead directing their harassment toward Ayla or, more often, the prisoners. The dynamic of the group confused Rensler. Did the men actually like Pellas? Or was his power so much more valuable that they didnt risk hurting him too greatly? With each passing day, Rensler became certain that while Pellas could tend to the wounds of others, he could not do as much for himself. 383 The weekhe was sure it had been a weekhad been unkind to Kahlia as well. Since her outburst that first night, her rations had been cut in half, and her cheeks grew sunken and hollow. Her braids had been pulled apart, the silver rings that adorned them stolen by the Trackers, leaving her with a mess of dark curls that snagged on every twig and leaf. When he was not consumed by his own thoughts, Rensler spent his time worrying she would collapse, but every night, when the men threw them on the hard ground and gave them a precious few minutes to themselves, the fire in Kahlias eyes still raged. She had enough fury for the both of them, for Rensler lost his on the fourth morning as he knelt beside the Seeker. Ayla crouched between them, tearing up their small portions of meat, cheese, and stale flatbread and placing a piece at a time in the prisoners mouths. Rensler chewed slowly, savoring the rare moment when someone wasnt raising their fist to him, though not too sluggishly to bring Negalds ire upon them. His actions mystified Rensler. Not since the attack had the man set a hand to either of them, though he was more than willing to let his men do so. The captain unsettled Rensler in a way no one ever had. The constant half-sneer of his scarred mouth gave the impression of a constant laugh dancing on his lips to a jest only he knew, but his eyes weighed everything they fell upon like a butcher assessing a slab of meat. Some devious plan always seemed to be percolating in the mans mind. Ayla, Negalds voice drifted over. He sounded neither irritated nor pleased that morning, merely ambivalent. Rensler winced all the same and kept his eyes downcast while the captain approached, his feet crunching on dry twigs scattered across the forest floor. Ayla hesitated, food still in hand, before rising to meet Negald as he halted mere feet away. Any news of the boy? 384 Rensler waited, hardly daring to breathe. The day after Luca disappeared, the lead Tracker had asked Ayla for word of the boys whereabouts, wanting to know if anything had changed with him or his companion. Each time, Rensler waited for some distressing news. So far, though, the two of them lived. They had moved on from the ruined building and ventured west to another village, as best Ayla could tell. Vaguely, Rensler remembered a town not too far from Darrow, but after thirteen years, he could no longer recall the name. The strange fog clouded over Aylas widened eyes. Seconds passed, agonizingly slow, until at last Ayla said, I cant see him. Out of the corner of his eye, Rensler watched Negalds expression sour. What do you mean, you cant see him? Ayla shook her head, and the layer of shifting smoke faded from her eyes. I dont know, she said, looking at her feet. I cant find the tether. Something about him must have changed. Either somethings blocking it, or Or hes dead, Negald finished. He grabbed Aylas chin, eliciting a quiet squeal, and tilted her head up. You best not be lying now. Never, Ayla whispered. Hmm. Im sure. Negald squeezed one last time, then dropped his hand. Well, I must say, thats a damn shame. I had so hoped to kill this new Vestige myself. Theres glory to be had in destroying a devil such as that. A low growl escaped Kahlias throat. Negald regarded her coolly. Stop fraternizing and make quicker work of these feedings, Ayla. You can never be too careful with your pets around wild animals. Let loose for too long, the dog may think itself a wolf. 385 The captain moved on, though Rensler barely noticed as his mind sputtered, trying to make sense of the pronouncement. Or hes dead, he thought. Hes dead hes dead hes dead. The words buzzed around his head like a swarm of bees, drowning out the sounds of the Trackers breaking camp. No. No, he cant be dead. Lucas far too stubborn to die. He slumped and stared at nothing. Ayla finished with them, saying something he couldnt make out through the haze in his mind, and went to find Pellas. Soon enough, the Trackers threw the prisoners up onto their horses. One made sure to jab Rensler in his bruised ribs, but he gave no response, and the man grumbled with dissatisfaction as he finished his task. Rensler was only half-aware when the company halted for the evening. The Trackers whose horse Rensler followed tossed him to the ground unceremoniously, where he landed with a grunt on a gnarled tree root snaking its way out of the earth. Rensler lay on his side, clutching his chest, and was almost glad for the distraction, fleeting as it was, from his tormented imaginings. Throughout the waking hours, he had thought of nothing save for his brother. Visions of Luca dying dozens of deaths, each more gruesome than the last, consumed his mind. Every time, he ran to help his brother, and every time, Rensler failed to save him. Rensler, Kahlias quiet voice cut into his musing. He couldnt see her, curled up as he was, but she was close. Rensler, you must get up. Her tone was calm, as always, though edged with a sense of urgency. This is what they want. They want to see you broken. Negald knew what his words would do to you. Do not give them the satisfaction. Get up. She makes it sound so simple. Why? he whispered. He lifted his head to glance back at her. Even that much was a struggle with the weight of his failure pinning him to the ground. 386 Kneeling, garbed in simple clothes covered in stains, and with a bruise spreading across her cheek, Kahlia still held her head high. We can still find a way out of this, she said. You must remember that. How can you be so sure? Rensler said into the dirt. Its a matter of faith, she answered. Rensler snorted and turned away. It must be so easy to cling to that. Though I suppose I have faith your god has abandoned us. The sound of the Trackers preparing camp was all Rensler heard, and he worried Kahlia had gone. His face went hot. Why would you say that? he chided himself. The Seeker was his only ally in the world right now; pushing her away served nothing but to make their situation worse. With a grunt, he pushed himself up with his shackled arms and found her still sitting nearby, legs folded beneath her. Were it not for the manacles pinning her arms back, she could have been meditating. Sorry, he muttered. I dont know why I said that. Kahlia cast a quizzical gaze at him. Faith is not easy, Rensler, she said. Nor is it always understood. But it is normal to question in dire times. She watched the activity around them, eyeing the two Marked across the campsite. Faith is not believing God will snap his fingers and solve all our problems for us. Humans would never grow without struggle, and God did not create us simply to control us. We are free to live and choose as we will. But I have faith that God illuminates paths for us. The darker the circumstances, the harder the path may be to find, but one will appear. The choice to take them is ours. I shall not succumb to fear of what may come when the path has not yet been revealed. 387 Rensler contemplated her for a moment. It still doesnt make sense to me, he decided, but perhaps now was not the time for such a debate. I have faith in Zandren as well, Kahlia continued. I assure you, your brother is safe with him. He yet lives. Guilt swept through Rensler as he realized how little consideration hed given to the other man. Until today, he had focused on simply surviving, and the despair that clung to him pushed out all thought of anything but Luca. He jerked upright as something dawned on him. Ayla cant see Luca, but what about Zandren? The woman had mentioned nothing about the Guardian that morning, though they knew he had not left Lucas side so far. Would she be able to find him with her Mark? Kahlia nodded toward the other woman, who had begun to head their way. You can ask her yourself. A few moments later, Ayla lowered herself between the two prisoners, tearing their rations into chunks, just as she had every morning and evening for the past four days. Pellas hovered a few paces back with his hands clasped behind him, fidgeting in place. He had a hard time making eye contact with anyone, it seemed, for he turned away from the barest glance. After eating a few bites, Rensler licked his lips nervously and glanced at Kahlia, reassured by her presence. Have you tried to see Luca again? Ayla kept her eyes on the food in her hands. I have. He remains hidden to me. How do you know? I know because I know, Ayla said. She shoved a chunk of cheese into Renslers mouth before he could speak. The Seermark is an extension of my sight. When you see a face, your mind creates a memory of it. The more often you see that face, the more you interact with the 388 person, the more memories you create, and the more powerful a connection you forge. These connections create a tether of sorts, a link from person to person. Unseen to the naked eye, but visible to a Seer when channeling their Mark. Is that what happens when your eyes fill with fog? Rensler asked while chewing. You see theseinvisible threads? Ayla nodded. The Mark lets me see the hidden tethers. Thousands upon thousands of them, so many that they blot all else. The closer the connectionphysically and emotionally the easier it is to find the tether. But for those who are very far away, or those who I hardly know, those hurt. She grimaced. Negald does not care about my agony, though, so long as I give him what he wants. She fell quiet, and Rensler wondered if there were more to it. The same must have crossed Kahlias mind, for her expression darkened as she leaned forward. Does he force himself upon you? she asked, anger seeping into her quiet voice. No, nothing so base, Ayla replied. She gave Kahlia an appraising look. As he puts it, a man does not lie with an animal. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. A rare act of kindness, despite the cruel words. Leaves crunched beneath Pellass feet as he came to stand beside Ayla. Rensler had nearly forgotten the silent Markeds presence. You should not say such things, he muttered. His head swiveled as his eyes darted from one soldier to the next. None were nearer than a dozen paces. They might hear. Hush, Pellas, Ayla said, though she dropped her voice to a whisper all the same. I have spoken nothing but the truth. 389 Shaking his head, Pellas crouched beside Ayla and rocked back and forth on his heels. He reached a hesitant hand toward Kahlia, who inclined her head. Faint blue light pulsed around his hand for a few seconds as he placed it on her forehead. No fever, he murmured. Still no infections. He repeated the process with Rensler. Dont know why he still has me checking. They havent bloodied you since we found you. The captain is nothing if not obsessive, Ayla said. She placed the last piece of food in Renslers mouth and brushed her hands together. We should be going. Wait, Rensler said. About Luca. You said you cant find his tether? What about Zandren, the other man who was with us? Ayla blanched. Ican try, though I cannot promise better results. They might both be dead, Rensler figured she wanted to say. He dreaded that would be the case, but not knowing was gnawing at him. Please, try. I have to know. Please. Ayla shifted her gaze between Rensler and Kahlia. I will do this, but there is a favor I must ask of you afterward. Ayla, what are you doing? Pellas hissed. You cannot be serious. You know what they will do I know what they do to us every day, Pellas, Ayla said fiercely. Now be silent. We have but a few minutes more before we rouse suspicion. She breathed in deeply through her nose, and the smoke-like substance rushed in, obscuring her eyes entirely. Rensler waited, looking between Ayla and Kahlia, though the latter watched the rest of the camp. A handful of the Trackers had begun to cast suspicious glances at the little group, though none had made a move yet. Oddly, Negald was nowhere to be seen. Maybe thats why we havent been bothered just yet, Rensler thought. What would the captain do if he returned and 390 found them like this? Or was this all part of a scheme of his own creation? Rensler suddenly questioned whether he was mistaken to ask Ayla to do this. Seconds passed, and still Ayla said nothing, though her breathing came more quickly, and her head twitched sharply. Anything yet? Rensler asked. Quiet, Ayla said, voice strained. Concentrating. Finding a tether for the first time isnt easy. Her head jerked fully to one side, a popping sound coming from her neck. There. Its thin. Hard to follow. But I see. Your companion lives. How does he appear? Kahlia asked, still keeping watch. Fine, I think, Ayla replied. Looks healthy. Has a fire going. He speaks to someone. Rensler shuffled closer. Luca? Cant tell. Harder to see around them when the tethers so thin. The veins on her forehead stood out. There is another, Im sure. IIcant hold any longer. Letting out a ragged gasp, she pressed her eyes shut. With quick hands, Pellas pivoted her away from the Trackers line of sight. Rensler sat back on his heels, head suddenly feeling hot. Theyre alive. Theyre both alive! Pellas glared at him. Not so loud, unless you wish to go to bed bloody. He shot a furtive glance over his shoulder. We mustnt tarry much longer, Ayla. Ayla rubbed at the sides of her head, and her eyes fluttered open, returned to their usual green. I know. But first, the favor. She turned to Kahlia. You are a Seeker. You know what horrors await you in Rangavor. We would help you avoid such a fate, were you to ensure our safe passage across the border into Vendalar and take us to the capital. 391 The other Marked tugged at her arm. Ayla, no. I did not agree to your fool plan. Theyll kill us if they catch us. And how do we know we can trust these two? Rensler jerked forward, his manacles jangling, before forcing himself to remain still. Speak for yourself, he snapped. You have us in chains, and yet you dare to speak of trust. You have done nothing to be worthy of our trust. Surely this was Negalds doing after all. He wanted the Marked to befriend the prisoners and gain their confidenceand use that to break them. Ayla laid a placating hand on Pellass arm. I bear no love for my country or the kinsmen who have wronged me. It was the trick of a cruel god to place ones such as us in this hostile land. I would make a mockery of such a god. She gestured toward Kahlia. I have often thought of making for Vendalar, but without a nativea Seeker, no lessI would be viewed as an enemy. You are our key to freedom. The three of them fell quiet and waited for Kahlia to answer. She inclined her head at Ayla. Very well. I agree to this proposal. In unison, Rensler and Pellas made to protest, but Ayla held up a hand. We are in accord. I will need a few days time to make preparations. Rensler frowned. Why wait? The longer you remain as captives, Ayla said, the shorter distance we shall have to flee across this god-forsaken country. She rose, bringing Pellas up with her. Give me time. I will think of something. She moved on, Pellas shuffling beside her. The Trackers cast suspicious looks between the Marked and the prisoners, though none bothered them with more than a few harsh words that Rensler didnt understand. 392 He rounded on Kahlia. How could you agree to that so readily? Kahlia stared after the Marked, her face as calm as ever. How does she do that? he wondered. I do not believe you to be so foolish to not understand, Kahlia said. Sometimes, you must make an unsavory agreement, knowing that the outcome will outweigh your hesitation. But how can we trust them? Rensler said. Fates, Ayla was the one who led them to us. There was something wrong about all of this, he was sure of it. Why couldnt she see? Im not convinced Negald didnt put them up to that. Its like you said. He wants us to see us broken. What better way to do so than to give us hope now so that he may take it later? To his surprise, Kahlia chuckled. He sure it was the first time shed done so since their capture. Oh, Rensler. You sound so much like Zandren. Her smile waned. Those two are prisoners as we are, though with different shackles. I have known many who wish to escape an unjust life. Oftentimes, they seem broken down, accepting of their lot in life, worried for nothing but their own preservation. But then, the right person comes along at the precise time, and the path to freedom becomes revealed. So is this your god illuminating our path? The small smile returned. Perhaps. But the choice remains ours to follow. I dont recall much choice in the matter. Fine, he said aloud. I hope Ayla knows what shes doing, else the path will be a short one. The night passed just as the others had. Rensler shivered upon the cold ground that seemed determined to steal the heat from him, and the wind that whipped through the trees chilled him to his bones. Blankets and shelter were for the good people of Myrandir, not for their 393 prisoners. Rensler slept with his back to Kahlia, trying to find warmth in the awkward proximity without crushing their bound hands between them. He awoke feeling wretched, his body tender and aching from the uneven ground, and yet he found the weight of the past few days a little lighter. Not lifted, certainly, but not as heavy. Luca was alive. He clung to that singular thought as the days began to blur together. And so it was with some surprise that on the seventh nightor the eighth, perhapsAyla came to them with her plan. We should arrive at Fiore by the late afternoon tomorrow, she said. Driving rain fell in sheets, soaking through the hood of her cloak as she huddled over their rations. The forest had thinned that morning, leaving them in an expanse of high hills with only the occasional thicket standing out against the horizon. They camped in one of those tonight, but the sparse treetops could not stop the storm from churning the ground into a bed of squishy moss and rivulets of mud. Rensler shuddered as water poured down his face in unending waves and wondered whether Negald would be so cruel to leave them out in the tempest through the night. He had not liked the answer so far. We will make camp some distance from the city, Ayla continued. She pinched a sopping piece of tack, no longer hard, between a finger and thumb. No more than a handful of men shall remain behind to keep watch. Negald and the rest will go into the city to resupply though we neednt much with half our men deadand, if were lucky, spend the night there. Rensler frowned. That seems awfully foolish on his part. It is, Ayla said. But even the clever can be fools at times. He does not believe we she gestured toward Pellas, just visible through the flaps of a small tenthave it in us to rebel. Rensler looked toward the other Marked, shivering and bundled in a blanket. Are you sure he is as eager as you? 394 Do not worry yourself with Pellas, Ayla replied. He will come along. He will have no choice. Kahlia said, I assume, then, that the plan is to dispatch the few who are left on guard. How do you intend to do so? Forgive me for doubting good Pellas, but he does not seem the fighter, which leaves you as one against several. Do you have weapons of your own? I wont need a weapon, Ayla said. Not for this. No one was about in the downpour, but still she cast a cautious look about the camp before pointing at the Binding around Kahlias throat. I know how to get that off. When I do, we will have mere seconds before they try to kill us. That will be all I need, Kahlia said with steel in her voice. Though I will need my hands free first. Ayla nodded. Of course. This close, the key to your shackles cannot hide from me. She tapped the side of her forehead. Ill have it, one way or another. Wait for my signal tomorrow. Once its done, we shall be away before Negald and the rest are any the wiser. Rensler looked between the two women, wishing he shared in their confidence. Hundreds of miles would still separate them from the border of Vendalar, and the tattoos on the two Marked would make even the most clueless passerby suspicious. They could very well find more than just Negalds small force trailing them. Neither woman appeared deterred by such concerns. Before she departed, Ayla helped position Rensler and Kahlia underneath the tree with the largest canopy. Raindrops still found them, but Rensler no longer feared that he would drown in the storm, though sleep would certainly be hard to come by. Lightning crackled in dark roiling clouds, followed by long peals of thunder that rattled Renslers teeth. 395 Do you think itll work? Rensler asked once his head stopped ringing from a particularly loud thunderclap. Kahlia nodded, barely visible in the darkness. We have no choice but to pray it does. I suppose, Rensler said. He bit at his upper lip. What then? If we succeed and truly can get away, what then? Even if we make it all the way to Vendalar, how will we find Luca and Zandren? I dont know, Kahlia replied. But there will time to think on that once we are free of our chains. Rensler wanted more of an answer, but he knew she had none to give. He leaned his head back against the rough bark of the tree and closed his eyes. When sleep at last took him, it was restless and fraught with nightmares of him being hunted through the Myrandian countryside by giant hounds, their muzzles spattered with blood. They tore him apart again and again as Negalds sinister laughter echoed in Renslers head. A bird chirruping startled him awake, causing him to bump his head against the tree trunk. He rubbed at the back of his head and glared up at the offending animal sitting in a branch above, which continued to sing its morning greeting. The sun was not yet visible in the east, but its rays shone upon a clear blue sky. Were Rensler not soaked to his bones, his clothing clinging to him like a second skin, he might not have known the storm had come upon them. A rattling cough shook him, and he shuddered, suddenly cold, though his face felt hot. He huddled in on himself, waiting in silence for the camp to come alive. Kahlia was not long in waking, likewise shivering and bleary. Neither spoke until Pellas came to check on them. Fever, he murmured, one hand on Renslers forehead. The captain should have put you in a tent and not wasted my strength like this. His hand pulsed against Renslers skin, and 396 an electric surge rippled through him, washing away his fatigue and the fever, leaving him feeling better than he had in days. To his shock, his face felt somewhat less like he had been tenderized, and the swelling around his eye was all but gone. Pellas shook his hand out. Shit, I think overdid it a bit. Ah, well, bruises heal in time. I dont think theyll notice. He did the same for Kahlia, and she gasped as the light flashed against her forehead. Renslers eyes widened as the discolored splotch upon Kahlias cheek shrank. Thank you, she whispered. A single drop of sweat trickled down the side of Pellass face. Dont thank me. This inane plan of Aylas wont work if youre too weak to stand later. You dont think itll work? Rensler asked. Maybe hes right to doubt Pellas wiped away the bead of sweat. Not particularly, no. Weve tried to run before, and you can see how successful we were. It will be different this time, Kahlia said. Believe in your friend, Pellas. She does so for you. The Marked regarded Kahlia for a moment, then shook his head and left them, passing Ayla without a word. I see someone isnt happy today, she said as she went about her routine. Dont mind him. Hes just nervous. I cant say I blame him, Rensler said. And what about you? Im terrified, Ayla replied. She shrugged. But theres nothing for it but to try. Id rather die with a few minutes of freedom than continue living as a slave. Easy for you to say, Rensler thought. If the plan went awry, the Trackers would likely recapture the Marked. Rensler feared that he would not be so lucky. Negald planned to deliver 397 Kahlia to Myrais to make an example of her, but Rensler himself was extraneous. He was certain the Trackers would put him down, should the captain let them. When she was finished, Ayla said, Remember, wait for my signal tonight. Do not give them any cause to suspect. Kahlia bowed her head and murmured, May Artras lend us His strength today. If he wants to help, Ayla said as she moved away, I wont complain. Within the hour, the campsite was cleared, and Rensler bounced in his saddle as the procession carried onward. He tried his best to appear particularly disheartened, though as the day wore on, he found his thoughts warring between hope and trepidation. When at last the scouts brought word of Fiore, still a ways off, Rensler felt ready to burst with anticipation. The sky was streaked with orange by the time the column stopped a quarter mile from the city on a hilltop shaded by tall trees. From this distance, Rensler could only make out vague shapes of buildings, the skyline broken by the occasional tower, though there did not look to be a wall surrounding the city. To his own disbelief, a part of him wished to venture into the city, despite what had happened in the last one. Luca would want to see it. Negald chose his men to accompany him into the city, leaving four to watch over the Marked and the prisoners. Finishing the selection, the captain looked back at the two of them, Rensler shifted his gaze to the grass, his skin prickling as the man approached. I trust youll behave while Im gone, Negald said, towering over them. Though I suppose if you dont, youll give the men here something to do. They get awful bored without me around. Neither Rensler nor Kahlia spoke. Sweat broke out on Renslers back as the captain lingered, seemingly searching for something. He knows, Rensler thought. He knows something is 398 amiss. But how? Without looking up, Rensler sought out Pellas. The fidgety Marked remained with Ayla at the edge of the camp. Had he given them away after all? Finally, Negald turned away. Hmm. Broken at last, it would seem, and sooner than I anticipated. He returned to the mounted Trackers and swung up onto his own horse. The half dozen riders trotted off down the hill, and within minutes were mere specks in the distance. The four Trackers who remained started a fire in the center of the campsite and settled down for the evening. Rensler breathed out a long sigh, feeling as though his stomach flipped within him, and looked toward the two Marked again. They sat outside their tent, engaged in quiet conversation. Ayla hadnt said when her plan would commence, but judging by her casual air, Rensler suspected they had some time yet. With nothing else to do, he settled down to wait and worked on putting his mind at ease. 399 Chapter 23 Luca grabbed a cluster of hardy grass sprouting from a crack in the stone and pulled himself up along a steep section of the game trail. Cresting onto a short ridge, he lay on his back for a few seconds, watching the sun climb ever higher, barely visible behind the fog that had blanketed the mountain pass all morning. Luca swished his arms through the fog in a vain attempt to shoo it away. He enjoyed looking back on where they had traveled and seeing the world below shrink. The vistas had been breathtaking more often than not, but, more importantly, the farther up they traveled, the farther he was from hurting anyone else. Except for Zandren, he supposed, though the man would never admit that Luca posed any threat. Some fifty feet below, the Guardian labored up the harsh angle, using rocks and gnarled scrub plants as handholds. His heavy breaths left momentary trails in the thick fog. Not for the first time, Luca felt a pang of guilt at Zandrens struggles. They had spent the better part of the past five days hiking along trails worn by countless animals, often twisting back on themselves but always snaking ever upward, and Zandren had at last grown sluggish this morning, though he made no requests for Luca to slow, whether from pride or the simple desire to reach their goal whatever that may be. The voice of Artras had been silent since the night in Taristown, offering no further explanation as to its cryptic message. Occasionally, Luca felt it nudge at him from the recesses of his mind, the barest reminder of its presence, but it never spoke. That suited Luca just fine. Growing up, hed heard of people who supposedly heard voices in their heads and talked back to them aloud. Those people were broken, some claimed, though Luca wondered if anyone actually tried to understand them. He certainly didnt think he was broken. 400 Luca stuck out a hand and helped Zandren up to the stone ledge, where the man sagged, breathing heavily. Ive always hated traveling in the fog, he got out. Water droplets clung to his beard, which had grown thick and unkempt in the time since Riandris, and Luca wasnt sure whether it were mist or sweat that beaded along the mans bald head. A moment later, Zandren made to stand. Luca waved his hands. We can rest here for a few minutes. Id rather stay on the move, Zandren said, though he settled down on the rocky ground once more. He took a long pull from his waterskin. Bah, I suppose youre right. This day isnt going to get any easier. He looked toward the trail as it wound its way upward. Maybe well get lucky and avoid more climbing today. Maybe, Luca said, hoping he sounded encouraging. He searched for something to say; silence with Zandren grew awkward quickly, and theyd had enough of that on the journey so far. What do you think made this trail? Goats, mostly, Zandren said. Maybe some deer or coyotes or wolves, though wolves would be the least of our worries up here. He raked a hand through his beard, then flicked the water from his fingers before letting out a long sigh. Soon enough, well need to be far quieter if we hope to avoid notice by predators. What kind of predators? Luca asked. Since they had set out, he had wanted to know more about the terrible beasts supposedly roaming the mountains. For once, being patient actually got him what he wanted. Zandren grimaced. Stonehounds. Birds of prey as big as a man full-grown. Serpents that burrow through rock. Not many, of course, not like what you would find in the lowlandsthere 401 has to be enough food to go around, after allbut any one of those is unlikely to pass up an easy meal. Luca had more questions to ask, but Zandren stood and tied the waterskin to his belt. That will have to suffice for now, he said, as though Luca were the one who needed the break. Lets keep going. The day is yet young. He started off, and Luca resisted the urge to run out in front of his companion, though he soon found himself leading the way again in short order. He glanced back from time to time, making sure he hadnt gotten too far ahead. The angle of the trail was not so sharp, at least, and the progress was easier on Zandren now. Wherever they were headed, Luca hoped his companion could finally have a thorough rest. The man still carried himself with a firm bearing, just as he had when he arrived in Salden in what seemed a lifetime ago, but Luca could see the unending fatigue digging its way deeper into Zandren with every passing day. The fog blanket lifted by midday, though a sharp wind picked up in its place, whipping Lucas cloak about his legs with every gust. Pinning the cloth against his leg, he paused at a bend in the trail where the mountain pass opened up, allowing him a glimpse of the green landscape below. Trees were nothing more than dark smudges against the hills from up here. He swore he saw a wisp of smoke from a far-off chimney and wondered if that were from Taristown. Hopefully Master Mellow could rebuild his barn. Maybe one day, when Luca had more control over his powers, he could go back and right that particular wrong. He turned to continue forward when a cracking sound reached him. With a start, he crouched low and scooted forward, rounding a boulder twice his height, and caught sight of two animals crashing into each other. They resembled the goats from back home, though these 402 sported coats of brown and gray, and a pair of horns, each nearly as long as Luca was tall, curved backward from their heads. The goats backed up and slammed their horns together once more. I wonder whats got them so riled up, Zandren said from beside Luca. He jumped, surprised to see the man there. Should be a bit early for the mating season. Is thisnormal? Luca asked. Zandren nodded. Of course. Humans are not the only ones who fight over land and resources. Luca watched, thrilled and a bit frightened of the powerful display. The beasts clashed together again and again, yet neither seemed to be close to backing down. What do we do? Nothing to do but watch, Zandren said. This isnt the sort of fight you want to get between. So long as theyre on the trail, it belongs to them. Luca pursed his lips as annoyance from the delay crept into his mind. Was the feeling his own, or did it belong to Artras? Patience, he reprimanded himself. Rushing into things without thinking was what had gotten them into the mess, and so many others, in the first place. Besides, no great hurry urged them forward, and A huge shape erupted from one of the scree-covered slopes hemming the path. Luca watched in fascinated horror as a long, sinuous form lunged forward, and a mouth full of fangs like swords snatched up one of the goats faster than Luca could blink. Its fellow let out a panicked bleat and darted off as the serpentine beast thrashed its prey about. Along its body where there should have been scales were instead thousands of overlapping rock-like plates, thickest upon the top of its head. All were colored red, gray, black, and a dozen others, nearly indistinguishable from the stone that suddenly seemed to press in upon them. 403 The snake threw its head back and gulped down the limp, mangled form of the goat, heedless of the fearsome horns. As quickly as it had come, the creature dove toward the slope, smashing into the earth with an explosion of stone and dirt, and in mere seconds, it burrowed its way out of sight once more. Chest heaving, Luca pressed his back against the boulder and drew his legs up to his chest. Fates, he whispered. Fates. How can something like be real? Zandren kept watch past the boulder. It is as I told you. The Cloudbreakers are home to many creatures we would consider to be unnatural in the lowlands. Ibuthow? was all Luca could manage. Im not sure, Zandren said. It would seem impossible, I agree. Nothing like that could be found in Odrema. Its made all the more strange up here in the mountains, where the air is thinner. He turned away from his study of the slope, evidently convinced they were alone again. The Churchs histories speak of the Sundering as a cataclysmic event, as the tearing apart of Artrass body and soul unleashed power never before seen upon the world. In the centuries afterward, some scholars deliberated the effects of such a thing, though with the passing of ages, such ideas faded into myth. Luca sucked in a breath through his teeth. Artras caused that thing to exist? he asked. If the Sundering had created such a monster, what horrors would the reunification bring about? No, dont think like that. Kahlia said its to create a better world. Surely creatures like that would not exist once the world was set to rights. Perhaps, said Zandren. Perhaps not. The why is not important, though, only that we move on before it senses our presence. 404 Luca drew back. How are we supposed to get past that? Wont it hear us as soon as we start walking? Not if were quiet, Zandren replied. Rockscales feel vibrations in the stone, but our footsteps are far from disturbing. He proffered a hand to Luca. As long as were careful, we can pass without worry. Luca regarded the man warily, unnerved by how calm he was about the whole situation. For a moment, the fatigue seemed to have left Zandren, leaving just the towering swordsman who had so impressed Luca in Salden. He was a fool to entertain the idea of Zandren growing too weak to carry on. With a sigh, he let the Guardian pull him to his feet. They continued onward along the trail, their footsteps slow and deliberate long after they passed beyond the sloping walls and the monster lurking within. Despite Zandrens reassurances, the fear of being ambushed by the mountain predators clung to them throughout the day, and they halted at every sudden noise, unmoving until the offending animala rabbit or a bird, usuallyrevealed itself. Luca chafed at how slow their progress became, and the presence in the back of his mind pulsed with an unspoken sense of urgency that only grew stronger as the day went on. We must be getting close to wherever it wants us to go, Luca thought. Evening had come on, the sun nearly touching the western horizon, and they paused for a short dinner and take care of other necessities. Luca sat atop a flat rock, munching on a piece of dried venison, vowing yet again that, once all of this was over, he wouldnt so much as touch dried meat and cheese for a month. For now, though, his rumbling stomach would have liked more. They were nearing the end of their stores, and in spite of Zandrens careful rationing, they would have nothing left 405 within a day or so. Luca hoped food was waiting for them wherever they were headed. The discovery would be worthless if they ended up starving to death soon after arriving. A faint scraping on stone announced Zandren returning from his scouting farther along the trail. His breath puffed out in wispy clouds, and Luca instinctively pulled his cloak tighter. The nights had grown frigid as they climbed higher, but Master Mellews gifts had proven to be enough to stave off the cold thus far. Another thing for which he must repay the man. Nothing seems to be lying in wait for us ahead, Zandren said. Good for us, though its too quiet up here for my liking. Any sign ofwell, anything? Luca asked. No. Nothing out of the ordinary, leastways. The Guardian began to eat from his own rations for the evening. Have you figured out what exactly we are hoping to find? Luca shook his head. The answer to that particular question had eluded him since they set out from Taristown, and no amount of prodding could get the voice to reveal its secrets. I can feel that were getting close, though. Artras hasnt said anything, but hes been stirring more today. I see, Zandren said slowly, obviously not wanting to discuss the subject the further. The concept of Artras speaking to Luca still made the man uncomfortable for some reason. Luca would have expected Zandren to be thrilled. After all, didnt he worship the god? Brushing a crumb from his beard, Zandren stood and said, Wed best be moving and try to find a better place to camp for the night. Maybe well get lucky, Luca said. Maybe well find what were seeking tonight. Zandren pursed his lips, but before he could speak, a distant cry sounded from somewhere down the mountainside. Luca cocked his head, listening to the far-off shriek, faint 406 yet piercing all the same. He looked to Zandren, who had frozen with one hand halfway to the hilt over his shoulder. God below, Zandren whispered. He grabbed his pack from beside the rock. We have to go. Now. Something about the cry tugged at Luca, rooting him in place until Zandren spun him around. Luca shuddered as a nervous feeling rippled through him. What is that? Zandrens face was grim. Not sure, but its not any animal Ive ever heard. Luca blanched. You dont think? Another demon, he wanted to say, but his tongue suddenly felt heavy and awkward, incapable of getting the words out. Lets not remain to find out, Zandren said. Another soft wail spurred them forward, and they set out at a brisk walk, any pretense of stealth abandoned, heedless of what other creatures might lurk along the mountain pass. Luca couldnt help but let out a nervous laugh as he realized that, suddenly, giant serpents burrowing through stone were the least of their concerns. Kahlia slitted one eye and peered at the two Marked, still seated outside their tent, their idle chatter too faint for heror the four Trackers carrying on around the fireto hear. Neither party had moved much in the past hour, and with dusk now upon them, she wondered when Ayla would at last set their desperate plan in motion. Patience, she thought. There was time yet for them to kill these men and escape. Indeed, their easygoing demeanor bespoke what the Seer had suggestedNegald and the others would not return to the camp until the morrow, whereupon they would find their comrades slain and their captives long since escaped. A small part of her wished to see the captains rage, if only to 407 show she had not been broken, that men like him could never break her. She wanted him to understand the depths of his failure before she ended his life. That she could still fall prey to such thinking frustrated her. Negald was an evil man, that much was clear, but killing another should never come readily. She regarded the Trackers at the campfire, laughing and sharing stories, unaware that they would soon be dead. Who were these men? What could their lives have been had they not dedicated themselves to the purpose of enslaving those they deemed cursed? Would they have turned out differently, had they simply been born to another culture? These men were victims of the shadow of Braskellar that plagued the hearts of all humanity. She would pray for their souls when they took their final breaths. Beside her, Rensler fussed with his manacles, though not too loud to draw the attention of the Trackers. What is she waiting for? he asked, not for the first time that evening. The others could be back any minute now. Peace, Rensler, she whispered. I trust there is a reason for the delay. I fear theyve decided not to go through with it. Kahlia shot him a quick glance. He had grown more restless with every passing minute, and her attempts to mollify him had stopped working. I believe they are simply abiding by the evening routine, so as to avoid rousing suspicion. Rensler drew his mouth into a flat line and fell silent once more, but he did not cease his fidgeting, leaning forward sharply every time one of the Marked shifted. His impatience was oft a source of displeasure for Kahlia, though she could not fully blame him for such, given the circumstances. A month ago, the Trackers were nothing more than a distant rumor to him, she reminded herself. Truthfully, it was a wonder he had handled recent events as well as he had. 408 Across the campsite, the two Marked climbed to their feet, Ayla clutching a bundle in her hands, Pellas wringing his. The Trackers eyed them with their usual distaste, but they made no move to stop them from carrying out their evening task. Absent their captain, the men still behaved according to his orders. With her back to the Trackers, Ayla halted between Kahlia and Rensler. Are you ready? she breathed. As she unwrapped the bundle, Kahlia caught the glimpse of a key hanging on a leather cord around Aylas wrist, concealed by her sleeve. Yes, Kahlia whispered. Rensler nodded, face pale. Good, Ayla said. She picked at the food before her, breaking up each piece with exaggerated care, and looked toward her companion. We only have one chance at this. Pellas, come stand over here. Rensler, keep watch on the men, and tell me if they move. Ayla slid the key into her hand, then leaned toward Kahlia and carefully snaked her arm around Kahlias waist. Beside her, Rensler kept an unwavering gaze on the Trackers. Kahlia heard the scraping of the key on the manacles as Ayla searched blindly for the lock, and the pressure on Kahlias wrists lifted a moment later. She resisted the urge to bring her hands round, instead twining her finger together behind her back. Hurry, Rensler hissed. Theyre starting to look this way. Nodding, Ayla placed her hands on the metal collar on Kahlias neck. Thisll only take a second, she said. Her fingers slid across the surface of the Binding, searching for something. Kahlia caught a glimpse of one of the men rising from the fireside. Hey, Ayla, he shouted in Myrandian. What are you on about over there? He started toward the Marked, his fellows watching. 409 There was a faint click as the collar fell away. Kahlia surged to her feet and threw her hands forward, feeling the power of her Mark rushing through her as bands of white-gold light coalesced around her arms. The Tracker could only stare, wide-eyed, as a beam of light tore through his chest like a fist, leaving behind a charred, steaming hole. With panicked shouts, the remaining men scrambled for their weapons. The first lost a leg in a torrent of white fire as he tried to stand, and he fell screaming, clutching at the ruined limb. The others were faster, dodging as Kahlia shot lancing rays of light at them. Jaw clenched, she strode forward with hands held high and focused on the man on her left, sending a blast his way. He tensed, readying to dive, but the light split into a dozen thin beams, and a shocked expression crossed his face as the light struck him. She turned to face the last man. He held his sword in shaking arms, though his stance was firm. Demon-blooded monster, he yelled. Kahlia held her hands at the ready, light encircling her arms. She could burn him to ash in an instant, but something held her back as she examined her foe. He cant be much older than Rensler, she thought. Hes had hardly any life to live. Her pity was foolish, yet she could not shake it. Throw down your sword, she said. Walk away from this. The man spat. Id rather die than see your kind unleashed upon Myrandir. Kahlia shook her head. Dont do this. Please. Shouting, he charged forward, blade held high. With a cry of her own, Kahlia threw her hands forward, and a column of fire erupted forth. The smoking ruin of a man crumpled to the ground. 410 Silence hung over the campsite, the only sound the crackling of the fire. Kahlia breathed lightly as she knelt beside the last man. His face and chest were burned and blackened, his now eyeless sockets staring blankly at the sky. Gingerly, she folded his hands across his chest and placed hers on top. You damn fool, she thought. A tear spilled down her cheek. You did not have to die like this. She would pray for his soul that night, just as she had done for so many others. Something touched her shoulder. She whirled to see an unbound Rensler swiftly withdrawing his hand, face full of fear. Are you all right? he asked softly. Beyond him, Ayla and Pellas stared at her, wide-eyed. With a sharp exhale, Kahlia climbed to her feet, brushing grass and dirt from her breeches. Yes, was all she said. The concerned look did not budge. Are you sure? You seemdistraught. Killing is never easy, Rensler, Kahlia said flatly. Nor should it be. The day it becomes so is the day you let evil consume you. Rensler opened his mouth, then shut it again and nodded. At last, the two Marked broke from their frightened trance and joined them. Together, they made quick work of rummaging through the Trackers belongings, taking the extra stores of rations and anything of value. Kahlia found her silver hair rings and stored them in her own pack, still tied to her mount. The horses danced from side to side, still nervous from the commotion. This ones still alive, Rensler called out. He crouched beside the man with the ruined leg. His eyes were shut, and his chest rose and fell in long intervals. What should we do with him? 411 The man had gone pale, his brow drenched with sweat; he was as good as dead already. Even if Pellas healed him, would the man survive the night, alone and maimed. Kahlia made to ask the Vitalist as much, but in one swift motion, Ayla bent toward the Tracker and plunged a dagger into his heart. Kahlia jerked to a halt. Rensler drew back from Ayla as she wiped the blade clean on the mans shirt. Dont look at me like that, she said. This man was a monster, just like the rest of them. He was defenseless, Kahlia hissed. Yes, and by your hand, Ayla retorted. You were ready to kill him minutes ago. Because of you, he would be dead by morning. Consider this mercy. It was different, Kahlia wanted to say, but she could not find the conviction to do so. Ayla stood and sheathed the dagger, then tossed the fallen Trackers sword and belt to Rensler. Enough dawdling, she said. The smoldering defiance she harbored before now raged like a bonfire. We should be away from this place. Theres daylight yet, and we should cover as much ground as we can tonight. She made for her mount, leaving Rensler and Pellas gawking after her before jumping into motion. Soon enough, they had smothered the fire and bundled up what they could on their horses. Kahlia cast a final gaze over the corpses of the Trackers. She had done what was necessary, now and dozens of times before, yet regret still burdened her as they set off. Beneath starlight and the crescent moon, they came upon a copse of trees thick with undergrowth and forged their way toward shelter. Rensler brought up the rear of their little column as Ayla, her sight still keen in the darkness, led the way deeper into the trees, searching for a safe place to 412 make camp. None had spoken more than few words in the hours since they left the Trackers camp. For his part, Rensler found relief in the tranquil ride, despite the lingering pain that flared across his body. At least this time, he was no longer tied to the saddle, like a deer being brought back to town for skinning. He could tolerate a few aches in freedom. Besides, his cluttered thoughts kept him too preoccupied to care. He kept an eye on Kahlia riding before him, her form barely visible in the shadows of the trees, their arching limbs creating an almost natural tunnel over the trail. The way she had dealt with those men earlier haunted him. Their burned and ruined bodies remained etched upon his mind, as did Kahlias words after. He had wanted those men dead, he was sure of it. But had the task fallen to him, could he have done it? He had always thought himself to be the protector of his family, yet since that night in Salden, he had needed rescuing again and again, and he had failed to keep Luca safe along the wayall because he did not possess the strength to take anothers life. So caught up in his ruminations was he that he nearly ran Saber into Kahlias horse, stopped at the edge of a thin clearing. Easy, he murmured to his mount. Saber snorted as he climbed down and hobbled her for the night, but she calmed as he brushed her down. Thankfully, the Trackers had taken better care of the horses than their prisoners, and the animals had not gone unfed. Pellas dug a shallow pit while Ayla foraged for dry wood, and they quickly had a small fire going, its flames dancing in the gentle breeze. For a time, they sat in silence. Rensler listened to the woods, comforted by the hoots of owls and the chirping of crickets, though he tensed at every cracked twig and rustling leaf, and a part of him expected a demon to come roaring out of the darkness at any second. 413 Pellas was the first to break the silence, leaping suddenly to his feet. Rensler was halfway up when Pellas said, Sorry, sorry. I just remembered something. He rounded the fire and placed a hand on Kahlias forehead. I should have done this when we left the camp. Soft blue light glowed from beneath his palm and appeared to seep down into Kahlia as faint lines, barely visible, spread out across her skin. She gasped, eyes shooting open. When Pellas stepped away, she felt at her cheek, then looked up at the Vitalist. Talented indeed, she said. Thank you. I need you healthy and whole if were going to make it to Myrais, Pellas said. He reached for Rensler. Both of you. Myr Rensler started, cutting off as Pellass hand touched his head, and a wave of heat rushed through him, rippling down from his face all the way to his toes. He felt as though he were back home surveying an oncoming thunderstorm, the air practically crackling in anticipation. Sharp pain flared in his face and chest as his very bones seemed to writhe. It was over in an instant. Rensler breathed in sharply, wincingthen froze as no pain cut through his chest this time. He blinked, wondering if the world looked odd suddenly, and realized that the swelling around his eye was gone. As Kahlia had done, he prodded at his cheek and found it restored to normal. His chest was next, and where he was certain the Trackers had broken his ribs, he found not even a trace of discomfort. Thatsincredible, Rensler uttered. He continued to poke at his chest. Surely something was still wrong. He almost felt too hale, as though he had just awoken from a monthlong nap. You could do that the whole time? 414 Pellas took his seat once again. Of course, though you would not have wanted that. Negalds men would have simply beaten you harder each day, were they to find you healthy and whole each morning. An effective form of torture, Kahlia said. Odd that he would not order as much. I can only assume he did not want to waste my strength on such frivolous efforts. Ayla nodded along, saying nothing and keeping her gaze on the fire. Rensler narrowed his eyes and turned to Pellas. What was that you were saying? he asked. About us making it to Myrais? Are we not making for Vendalar as quickly as we can? No, Ayla spoke up. Not yet. Rensler shared a bewildered glance with Kahlia. Why the Fates would we head for that city, of all places, rather than the border? I have business there we must attend to first. Ayla crossed her arms over her knees and placed her chin on top. My sister, Nira, she went on, voice quiet, is a prisoner there. Not in Rangavor, of course, but the military. They have a training compound for Eshtyl in the heart of the city. Those they cannot forge into weapons of war are given to the Trackers or sold to anyone who can pay the price. Nira is Lightmarked, and those like herlike you, Seeker Kahliaare the most prized by the armies of Myrandir. Nira especially. From what I hear, shes one of the strongest theyve found in a generation. All that talk about trust, Rensler said, unable to keep the anger from his words, and yet you were the ones who lied. Ayla shook her head sharply. I never once lied to you. We will make for the border, after we have saved my sister. Omitting facts isnt much better. 415 What difference would it have made? Ayla asked. Would you have refused to go through with the plan? Had you known everything, would you have elected to stay a prisoner? I thought not. Kahlia made a placating gesture. Whats done is done, though in the future, Ayla, I hope you will simply be honest with us. She turned to Rensler. She is right. We had no choice but to accept whatever terms they offered. That still doesnt make it acceptable, Rensler said. How was he possibly wrong for taking someone to task for lying? We dont need them. Surely we can find our way to the border on our own. Rensler, were yet hundreds of miles away, Kahlia said. Perhaps we could reach Vendalar on our own, but wed be crossing territory with which I am only passingly familiar. If it will ease your troubled mind, Ayla broke in, I do offer my sincerest apology. I figured you of all people would understand what its like to have a sibling be in constant danger. She held Renslers eyes with her piercing greens. Tell me truly, if you knew where your brother was at this moment, would you not do your best to convince us to find him, no matter the consequences? Rensler glowered at her as she broke out into a smirk. He could not deny the obvious truth, not after he condemned her for lying. They both knew she had the upper hand now, and that only stoked Renslers frustration. Damn it all, he muttered at last. Of course I would. No matter the consequences. They looked to Kahlia, who sat patiently, hands folded in her lap. It appears we have reached an accord, then, she said. I cannot deny that another Lightmarked would be a powerful ally to have on our side. 416 Ayla broke out into a grin, the first that Rensler had seen. Pellas, on the other hand, only appeared more nervous than usual. He doesnt like this plan any more than I do, Rensler thought. The Vitalist did not speak, of course; he seemed incapable of contradicting his fellow Marked. We should rest, Kahlia said. But first, Ayla, can you find Negald? I want to be sure we are not yet being followed. Ayla inclined her head and sat upright, her eyes clouding over. He sleeps, for now. In a bed. She banished the fog from her vision. Its as I predicted. He wont return to the camp until the morning. Then we should be away before then, Kahlia said. I suspect he will find it difficult to trail us, now that his prized Seer is gone, but he is a cunning man. Arrogant, yes, but we should not underestimate him. With nothing left to say, they snuffed the fire and made to sleep. The ground here was no more comfortable than any other night, but Rensler could have cried from the joy of having a bedroll again, and for the first time in a long while, he drifted off as soon as he shut his eyes. 417 Chapter 24 Darkness had fallen hours ago, yet still Zandren could not bring himself to slow. He was thankful for the clear sky and the stars illuminating the pass as it became ever more treacherous. He and Luca scurried along a ridge rising upward at a sharp angle as a fierce wind came in howling bursts, whipping at their cloaks and threatening to dash them on the stones below. Zandren was not the superstitious sort, but he could not shake the feeling that the mountain itself were against them this night. The shrieking that had haunted them since the evening sounded again, cutting through the gusts and chilling Zandren more than the cold wind ever could. They had not yet caught sight of their pursuer, and with the way noise echoed against the stone, he could not be sure how near it was. If providence were on their side, the creature would be far behind, and shelter would present itself around the next bend in the trail. He did not count on such luck. Ahead, Luca scrambled up the path, light on his feet and far quieter than should be possible. Every fifty paces or so, the boy would pause, realizing that Zandren had fallen behind, only to race on ahead again when he drew near. Something was urging Luca forward, something that only he could hear. The voice of Artras, supposedly. How odd that Zandren would doubt the possibility. Most of his life had been spent in service to the Church, and yet he questioned his beliefs more than ever before. The most tangible proof of his God walked before him, but it was still not enough. His foot caught a rock along the trail, and he staggered, grunting as pain flared in his big toe. As he regained his footing, he reprimanded himself for becoming distracted from the task at hand. He continued on, but he could not stop the doubts from taking shape in his mind, and his thoughts were drawn again back to Darrow. Were Luca and his family right about what had 418 happened? Had the Pentarchy truly sent Justiciars through the Glasslands, simply to destroy a backwoods village in another country? It defied not only logic, but also everything for which the Church supposedly stood. Another gust blasted into him, driving him to one knee. He pinned his cloak to his side with one hand and touched the ground with the other. Something was different about the stone here. He brushed aside some of the loose rock and brought his face closer. Its carved, he realized, drawing his hand over a rounded lump rising out of the stone. A stair, created long ago and weathered smooth throughout the ages. He scooted forward, staying low and running his hand over the path. More lumps jutted out haphazardly from the ground, little more than chunks of what must once have been a seemingly endless staircase. He glanced up the path, squinting to make out Luca ahead, with far more distance separating them than Zandren should have allowed. With a curse, he broke into a labored jog, his steps slowed by the slope of the ridge. A staircase. Who would have carved this, seemingly at random, in the Cloudbreakers? He had not been the best student of history, but he was certain no society had ever called this place home. Perhaps it was not the soul of God that called Luca onward, but an unknown entity with goals of its own. Luca, he shouted into the driving wind. A shriek answered from behind, louder still than the last. Up the path, Luca glanced back and, blessedly, waited for Zandren to reach his side. Zandren worked to keep his breathing under control as he knelt and scraped at the ground. Look at this, he said. The stone is carved here. Which means we must be getting close, Luca said eagerly. He looked to want to bound forward again, but Zandren placed a hand on his shoulder. 419 Yes, but to what? Zandren said. We must be cautious. I fear were walking into something for which we are not prepared. As he spoke, the boys gaze drifted back up the path. He gave Luca a gentle shake. Luca, are you listening? Are you all right? Luca nodded. Im listening, I promise. Its justthe presence is growing stronger. Insistent. It doesnt want us to stop here. On that, we agree, Zandren thought. Lets keep moving, but stay by my side from here on. The wind grew stronger, almost insistent, as they continued up the path, and Zandren became aware of the precariousness of their ascent. The stairfor there was no doubt now as to what they traveledwas etched into a thin ridge climbing upward along a sheer stone face. One slip, and Zandren would find himself plummeting hundreds of feet. Shortly, they came upon a jagged spire of stone, no higher than Zandrens waist, rising from the cliff edge. Another chunk of stone, this one no more than a foot-high block, stood on the opposite side, hard fast against the wall. Some kind of marker, he thought. Perhaps the chunks had once belonged to an archway, long since destroyed by time. As they continued on, they found more symmetrical pieces of stone resting on either side of the path, and Zandrens uncertainty grew stronger. Luca was a few paces ahead, but he had not rushed off like before, instead resigning himself to slow, measured steps. It was what Zandren had wanted, and yet he now suspected something was amiss by how easily the boy had capitulated. He shoved the unfounded suspicions aside. The days spent traveling in the mountains were making his mind cluttered, his thoughts muddled, and the dogged pursuit by a demon was keeping him in a constant state of anxiety. His body yearned for the rest that he denied it. 420 The boy drew up short suddenly, and Zandren nearly stumbled into him, caught up in his musings. Following Lucas gaze, Zandren peered out into the blackness, but the clouds that had begun to gather overhead turned everything into dark smudges. What is it? he asked. He wanted to whisper, but the winds fervor was growing stronger. Luca pointed at something Zandren could not make out. A bridge, he replied. And at the end, a gate. I think. With a lurch, he darted forward, his feet skimming the stone. Luca, wait! Zandren called after him, breaking into a sprint. The boy was quick, far faster than he should have been. Hes using the Passagemark, Zandren realized. As far as Zandren could tell, the Marks came to Luca by instinct rather than conscious choicewhich meant that whatever was directing him had taken over. Legs burning, Zandren pounded out a rhythm as he raced after Luca, already a blur in the distance, until he found himself on level ground once more and came to a skidding stop. The narrow stairway gave way to a wide clifftop on the side of the mountain. Two pillars stood at the edge of the cliff, and Zandren could just make out the flat surface of the bridge pushing forward into the dark. Between the two pillars was Luca, on his feet but unmoving. With cautious steps, Zandren approached, one hand reaching for the boy, the other for the hilt at his hip. Luca, he said, trying to keep his voice gentle. Luca, can you hear me? Luca glanced up at Zandren and grinned. Were here, he said, gesturing to the other side of the bridge, stretching off into the night. Zandren strained to see to the other end and could barely make out another imposing mountainside, though as he stared, the angular outline of something enormous jutting from the 421 rock became apparent. His mouth went dry as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, but without getting closer, the structure remained a mystery. Are you sure about this? he asked, keeping his eyes on the bridge. Luca nodded. Im sure. Zandren grabbed Luca by the shoulder and spun him around. Tell me truly. Are you Luca, or are you something else? A frightened look crossed Lucas face, and Zandren had his answer. What in Gods name is happening here? Its me, the boy said. His gaze slid back to the other mountainside. But Ihear the voice. We have to go inside there, Zandren. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. I dont know what Im supposed to do as the Vestige, but I think theres something in there that can tell me. I need to know what this all means. The wind tugged at Zandren as he hesitated, every instinct in his body screaming at him to run. If he did that, he could never face Kahlia again. He was certain she still lived and was striving to find Luca even now. What would she think of Zandren if he turned his back on his duty, on everything their lives had led toward? Even if his faith in the Church waivered, his faith in her would remain unshakable. All right, he said at last, letting go of Luca. I will be by your side, no matter what lies in wait for us. I know, Luca said with a small smile. Together, they started forward. The bridge was a good half dozen paces across, wide enough to fit several wagons side by side with room to spare. An intricate pattern of lines and swirls adorned the stones beneath their feet, though any color had been long since leached away, 422 leaving behind only an assortment of grays that blended together in the dimness. More pillars, shorter than the couple at the entrance, lined the walkway, a low wall running from one to the next. Despite its apparent age, the construction seemed sturdy enough as they made their way across. As they neared the other side, Zandren gasped as the structure in the mountainside filled his vision. The bridge spilled out onto another cliff, where a staircase as wide as the bridge itself led up toward a colossal archway, its blocky faces etched with angular patterns, protruding from the natural stone. On either side rose an armored figure, hands clasped over a sword hilt, the bladeeasily five times Zandrens heightresting upon the ground. What in Gods name is this place? Zandren said. He followed Luca up the long staircase, scrutinizing the flat surface of stone, carved with the same pattern of lines and edges, that filled the archway. Luca traced a line in the stone with a finger. There should be a door here, he murmured. Where? Zandren asked. He could find no seams in the unbroken surface, and the gathering clouds overhead were straining his sight to its limits. He gripped his sword hilt. The blade would provide light aplenty, but it would be a beacon for their pursuer as well. If we can get inside, wherever that may be, we will be safe. With a sigh, he drew the sword from its scabbard, and white light flooded the area. Details in the stonework jumped out at him. What he had assumed was one unbroken line was actually dozens of different patterns and depths. Hundreds, perhaps. In the spaces between, Zandren now saw shallow reliefs of people and animals and trees, on and on, each one distinct from the last. 423 A scream echoed across the rift, and dread rippled up Zandrens back. He spun away from the overwhelming grandeur and gazed across the bridge in time to see a black mass emerging onto the opposite cliff. Holding the blade to his side, Zandren descended the stairs as the creature prowled forward, staying low to the ground on all fours. As it drew nearer to the light, new fear gripped Zandren as he realized his mistake. The thing was not walking on four legs, but dragging itself along with four arms, each ending in a clawed hand that scraped against the stone. Bony spikes protruded from its elbows, and a serpentine tail, thrice as long as its torso, stretched behind it, whipping back and forth, and gray, oily flesh blended into black scales where the two segments of body met in their horrific fusion. The creature paused and regarded Zandren with the face of nightmares. Its mouth resembled that of a human, though it stretched to an impossible length, its lower jaw splitting down the middle as it did so. The flesh above the mouth had been stripped away, exposing the top half of the skull, a fire burning within its sockets. The demon coiled its serpentine body beneath it as it reared back and screeched at Zandren. With a brief glance back, he saw Luca still at the door, seemingly oblivious to the creature as he continued to draw his hands along the ridges in the stone. Then the demon threw itself at Zandren, and his world honed down to the whirling mass of evil before him. Both arms on the left swiped at him, jagged claws as long as his hand whistling through the air. Zandren fell back into a defensive posture and batted away the strikes, managing to shear through two of its claws. The tail lashed toward Zandren a second later. Leaping, he brought his sword down in a sweeping arc, and the demon bellowed as the radiant blade bit into its flesh. Dark smoke drifted upward from the seeping wound, only to be dispersed by the wind. 424 The demon dropped to all fours again and pulled back, its tail writhing and spattering black ichor on the stones. It rocked from side to side, its unblinking, burning gaze looking for an opening. Zandren gripped his sword in both hands and held his ground. Come on, you bastard, he growled. His earlier uncertainty had vanished, replaced by a firm resolve to destroy the abomination, overpowering the terror that gripped him. This was what he had spent his life preparing for. The horrific mouth split open as the demon hissed, then shrieked as it lunged once more. The blows came more quickly now, a barrage of bony knives raining down on Zandren. His sword was a blur of light as he deflected strike after strike, each one sending vibrations racing up his arms. The thing attacked with an unyielding fury, and Zandren was forced back a step, then another, as the blows never slowed. A claw raked across his upper arm, shredding the sleeve as though it were paper and scraping his skin. More fell upon his thigh, scoring three deep gashes. Zandren bellowed in pain. This isnt working, he thought. Itll wear me down before too long, and well both be dead. He had to try a new approach, fast; remaining on the defensive was no longer an option. Gritting his teeth, he parried another flurry of blows, then pivoted on his uninjured leg, slashing his blade across the demons unprotected chest. It screamed and clutched two hands to the wound. Zandren whirled, and, with two swift strikes, severed the still outstretched hands at the wrist. The demon crashed to the stone, its agonized shrieks echoing throughout the rift as it crawled backward, away from Zandren. Breathing heavily, he turned to Luca, who stood with both hands on the sealed archway now, drawing them along the different lines with sluggish movements, as though in a trance. 425 Luca! Zandren shouted. The boys head jerked, but he did not look back. God help me, what is happening to him? Fighting demons and Watchers, Zandren could handle. Dealing with the Vestige was something else entirely. Seekers were meant to guide the Vestige; Guardians were merely to keep both safe. Behind him, the demon stirred. Zandren cursed; he had hoped the last blow would have proven fatal. Luca, look at me, he called out as he bounded up the stairs. Whatever it is youre supposed to find, you need to do it quick, or we will both die here. Theres a way in, Luca mumbled, the words almost lost on the wind. I can feel it, but I cant figure out how to open it. Zandren considered the stone surface. A radiant sword could likely cut through it, if the stone were not too thick, but it would take far too long. He glanced back at the demon, just visible at the edge of the light, as it drew itself up on its coiled tail once more. Gray flesh heaved along its injured arms as the spikes pulled down from the elbows, and a bony scythe erupted from the stumps a moment later. The beast howled. I thought it was just a dream, Luca said, seemingly to himself more than Zandren. The demon slithered along the bridge, returning to the cliff. Were out of time, Luca, Zandren said. Are you sure you can open this? The boy nodded, though his uncertainty was plain. Then do it. Now. Hands tightening on the hilt, Zandren rushed down the stairs. If he were going to die tonight, he would see the world rid of this monstrosity first. The demon let out its baleful shriek. Zandren roared as he brought his sword down. At the base of the stairs they clashed, steel against bone. Zandren gave himself to the fight, striking with a recklessness he had thought tempered long ago. The beast slid back, its 426 whirlwind of limbs never slowing even as Zandren scored a dozen slashes across its hideous flesh. It returned the blows in kind, and Zandren soon found himself bleeding from gashes all along his limbs. Breath coming in ragged pulls, he danced away from a strike that would have run him clean through, then slashed through another limb, halfway up the forearm. The flesh writhed as the bone shard emerged, shorter though no less wicked than the others. Shit, he cursed as the demon now stabbed at him with the third protrusion. The last hand grasped at him, trying to hold him in place so that the beast could skewer him. As Zandren turned aside another bone shard strike, the claws at last found purchase on his cloak, and Zandren felt himself yanked backward. The tail thrashed forward, slamming into Zandren and sending him crashing into the stairs. Something cracked within his chest. The demon filled his blurred vision as it leaped for him. Dazed, he rolled to the side, one hand fumbling with the clasp of his cloak as the demon smashed into the stone. Zandren let the garment fall away as he lurched to his feet. The tail flicked toward him again. Zandren spun away and slashed through the end of the appendage, eliciting a scream from the demon as the wound smoked and spurted. Snarling, the monstrosity struck forward, arms a blur, scoring another deep gash along Zandrens thigh. He stumbled, a bone shard swinging where his head had been, and tried to regain his footing, only to slip in a puddle of black blood. Frantic, he scrambled away on his back, barely managing to turn aside the slashing spikes. His limbs felt heavy, and every deflection came slower than the last. He knocked aside another strike and knew he would be too slow to block the next. Searing pain exploded through him as a bone spike impaled him through the side. His arms 427 dropped to the stone, one hand barely clutching the sword hilt as his fingers went numb. The demon withdrew the jagged bone, lifting Zandren from the ground, his flesh tearing as the spike came free. Dropping, he howled, his free hand going to the wound as hot blood bubbled forth. No! Luca yelled. Through slitted eyes, Zandren saw the boy turn away from the door and race down the stairs, frantically waving his hands above his head. Run, you fool boy, Zandren thought weakly. If Luca could escape, then Zandren had not failed Kahlia. The skeletal head leered, the too wide mouth splitting into a grotesque grin, and the demon reared back as it readied to strike. Luca halted, fists clenched, and for a brief moment, spidering lines of burning red showed beneath his skin. STOP! he screamed with two voices, louder than should have been possible. The demon froze, its arms mere inches away from Zandren. Without thinking, he clutched his sword in blood-covered hands and, with a mighty cry, rammed the blade up through the demons still open jaw. The blade exploded through the top of its skull in a shower of bone and foul blood. Shrieking, the demon lurched back, yanking the sword from Zandrens grasp. Its remaining hand pawed at the blade, the radiant light burning the creature from within. At last, it shuddered and fell still. Zandren crawled toward the demon as its flesh began to slough away from its bones in slimy sheets. Thankful for the howling wind carrying away the putrid scent, he gripped his sword, heedless of the filth now clinging to him, and yanked it free. Attempting to stand, he instead stumbled forward, falling at the base of the stairs. He managed to rest his back on the first few steps before collapsing against the stone. 428 Bloodhis bloodcovered his midsection. He fumbled for one of his belt pouches, hoping he had something to stem the flow of blood coming from the gaping hole in his side, but the sensation was gone from his fingers. His chest heaved as a wave of pain wracked him. His vision began to blur as Luca dropped to his knees beside him. Im sorry, Zandren. Im so sorry. I couldnt get it open. Tears streamed down the boys face. That strange glow had faded. Had Zandren merely imagined that in his delirium? Luca placed his hands on Zandrens chest and scrunched up his face. Nothing happened. What are you doing? Zandren asked. He could only manage a whisper. I can fix you, Luca said. I just need to figure out how to make it work. Fates, why cant I make it work? Luca, its all right, Zandren said. You need to go. He seized as his side flared again. Grunting, he clutched his sword and pulled it onto his chest. Take this. Find shelter. Andif you see the others again, tell themtell Kahlia His head lolled back, and his hand slipped to the ground. Luca was shouting, but the words jumbled together into an indistinct hum. Zandrens eyes slid shut, and as his senses faded, he swore he heard the faint scrape of stone on stone. Luca shook Zandren as the man fell quiet and unmoving upon the steps. No, he moaned. No, no, no. It wasnt supposed to be this way. The voice had told him to come up into the mountains. It had promised that there was something here that would help them. Help him. But he had failed to find a way inside, and now the only companion he had left lay dying. There was no one else to help him. 429 He cast a wary eye at the demon. Its flesh and scales had melted into an oily pool that spread across the cliff, seeping into the cracks in the stone, and its bone now crumbled, swept away by the wind. Other than the head, the creature was identical to that in the last dream, the only one he vividly remembered. Were his nightmares now becoming real? But it had wanted to kill him in the dream, whereas here it had seemed focused solely on Zandren. And it had listened to Luca. What could it mean? Time for that later, he thought. He pressed his hands to the Guardians chest. Come on, he growled. He had done this before, hadnt he? When they were running from the Trackers, he took away his horses fatigue. Why had his powers worked for something so small, but they wouldnt heed his call to save Zandrens life? A rumbling came from the top of the steps. Luca jumped as a seam split the flat stone under the archway, and two slabs swung ponderously inward. The glow of firelight spilled out into the night, illuminating a robed figure emerging from within the mountainside. Luca grabbed Zandrens sword and held it before him, the weight awkward in his untrained hands. Who are you? he called out. Dont come any closer. The figure raised pale hands and pushed back its hood, revealing a mans face, wrinkled and lacking any trace of hair. I mean you no harm, Vestige, he said. I am glad you have found your way at last. Luca brandished the sword toward the man, though he stood a dozen steps above. You didnt answer my question. The man chuckled as he glided down the stairs. My name is Caarthas, holy one. My solemn duty is to await the coming of the Vestige, to help guide you toward the reunification. His tone was jovial, as though a strange man coming out of a rock were perfectly normal. 430 Were you the one calling me here? Luca asked. Perhaps it had not been the voice of Artras after all, but this peculiar, hairless man living inside of a mountain. Caarthas shook his head. Of course not. That was the divine soul you bear. He halted and placed a finger atop the tip of the blade, then pushed it downward. No need for that now. I promise I am only here to help. Luca didnt resist and let the sword tip drift to the ground. Keeping one hand on the hilt, he gestured to Zandrens unmoving form with the other. The mans chest still rose in agonizingly slow intervals as he clung to life, though Luca didnt know how much longer the Guardian had. Can you help him? Caarthas gave him a sad smile. Im afraid not. I possess not the proper Blessing to tend to the wounded. Then youre no help to me at all, Luca said, letting his frustration seep out. Something about the mans appearance bothered him. How did you know to come out now, as hes dying? Did you know what was happening out here? Could you have helped us then? Heat flushed through his face, and his voice grew louder until he was shouting. Yes, I was aware, Caarthas replied. He showed no reaction to Lucas outburst. I am afraid this door can only open for the Vestige alone and no one else. Your companion would not have been allowed inside. He held out a hand toward the still open door. Come inside, holy one. You must be weary, and there is much to do. The promise of shelter tantalized Luca, but he was not about to follow this man who was so willing to let another die. He hefted the sword again. Im not going to let him die. Either we both come in or neither of us do. 431 A flash of anger crossed Caarthass face, but it was gone in an instant, so quickly that Luca thought hed imagined it. Very well, the man said. I will bring your companion. He descended the steps and scooped up Zandren as though he were a child, then made for the door. Luca followed at a distance, bringing both the sword and Zandrens discarded cloak. Whatever Caarthas was, he was not an ordinary man. Was Luca making a mistake by following the man into the mountain? What other choice did he have? He couldnt save Zandren on his own. The doors slid shut with a muffled thud as Luca stepped into a wide corridor. Striations ran through the smooth hewn stone in the walls and ceiling, while the floor was covered in small tiles making swirling loops of red and gold and white. Statues stood in alcoves carved into the walls, each one holding a lit candle between permanently clasped hands. Lucas footsteps echoed down the hall, though Caarthas moved with but a whisper across the stone. They neared the end of the tunnel, and Lucas breath caught as they emerged onto a raised platform ringing an expansive circular chamber, with shallow stairs descending to a smooth floor, where the tiles formed a facethe sleeping visage of Artrasin the center, glittering in the light of a crystalline chandelier hanging from the shadowed ceiling. Three more tunnels dotted the wall, emerging from spaces between the five towering armored figures, nearly as large as the statues outside, rising toward the ceiling in deep recesses. Craning his head back, Luca gaped as he realized that everything, from the stairs to the statues, had been hewn in one continuous, unbroken pattern. Who couldve built such a place? He held himself back from asking their host as he descended the stairs. That would come later, once he knew Zandren would survive. 432 Caarthas set his burden upon the tiled floor and waved Luca over. He stood awkwardly beside the robed figure, glancing between him and the dying man on the ground. What now? he asked. The quiet words echoed around the stone wall. Now you must harness the Blessing of Vitality, Caarthas said. I cannot save him. That power lies solely within you, holy one. Luca knelt beside Zandren, placing a hand on either side of the mans head. His skin was ashen and cold to the touch. Luca concentrated for a moment, hoping for a different outcome this time. He looked to Caarthas. I dont know how. Please, help me. The strange man sat at Zandrens feet. Close your eyes and simply listen, Caarthas said. Luca did as he was told. To master your powers, you must first find the calm within yourself. Center yourself here, now, solely on this task before you. Bind yourself to the present. Luca breathed in deeply, concentrating. Bind yourself to the present, he repeated. Kahlia had said the same things in their lessons together. The things that cluttered Lucas mindhis fear for Rensler and Kahlia, for his aunt and everyone back home, for himself and the uncertainty of his burdenreared up from the depths of his thoughts. He struggled against them, pushing them back. Warmth blossomed within his chest, growing in strength as it spread through his body, racing down his arms and into his fingers, then surged into Zandren with the force of a thunderstorm. Suddenly, Luca felt Zandrens injuries as his own. His eyes snapped open as his breath left him. Blue light shone from beneath his hands and became a spider web of lines spreading through Zandren. The gashes and scrapes along his body knitted shut, and the gaping wound in his side became whole once more. 433 The light extinguished, and Luca fell back from Zandren, gasping. He put a hand to his side, checking for the wound but finding nothing. It had felt so real. Had he merely imagined it? Trembling, Luca rose to his hands and knees, then brought himself shakily to Zandrens side. The tears in his clothing remained, but the skin underneath was smooth and unblemished, no sign of the demons attack remaining. It worked, Luca thought. His eyes watered. Fates, it worked! He let out a ragged cheer before collapsing to the tiles beside Zandren. His body felt thoroughly drained, and thinking was like trying to wade through mud. Caarthass face swam into view, offering Luca a tight-lipped smile. You have done well, holy one. His voice sounded small and distant. Rest now. There is much to be done on the morrow. Rest. Yes, that was what Luca wanted. He shut his eyes and drifted in darkness. 434 Chapter 25 Luca bolted upright, panting as a harrowing dream faded from his mind. A normal dream, so far as he could tell, though no less terrifying. Again and again, he ran from the serpentine demon, but the steps on the cliff face transformed into sludge, sucking him down into the stone, holding him in place as the creature tore at Luca with its hideous jaws. He shook his head, trying to banish the lingering sensation of being eaten, then swung his legs over the bed. He froze before his feet touched the floor. Bed? Where had he found a bed? And why was he stripped to his smallclothes? With a start, he clapped a hand to his chest, sighing as his fingers closed around the locket still hanging around his neck. At least he still had that. Glancing about, he discovered he was in a boxy stone chamber, all surfaces one smooth, continuous piece of stone. There was no window, and what he had thought was morning sunlight was actually the glow of several lanterns spaced evenly along the walls. Aside from the bedwhich was remarkably comfortablethe only pieces of furniture were a plain desk and chair and a tall wooden wardrobe, beside which hung a white stone slab, polished so thoroughly that Luca could see his reflection. He was shocked to find that his face was free of the grime and dirt from the road, and his hair, grown shaggy throughout the journey, had been washed and combed. Memories of the night before came rushing back. The flight up the stairs, the door in the mountain. The demon and Zandren clashing as Luca tried to find the way inside. Caarthas greeting them as Zandren lay dying. Luca had saved him, with the help of their host, before everything went dark. Was that how Luca had been cleaned and put to bed? Then where was Zandren? The mountain dweller hadnt seemed too pleased to bring the Guardian inside. I need to find him, Luca thought, finally rising. Leather shoes and a pile of folded clothesdark blue breeches and a pale shirt, decidedly not what he had worn last nightsat 435 upon the desk. He dressed hurriedly, noting the fine make of the clothing, and stepped out into the corridor. Like the room, it was hewn through the stone in a long rectangle, leaving ample space for two people to walk abreast, and even someone of Zandrens size would have to stand on tiptoe to brush the ceiling. Nothing indicated where he should go, but the scent of something cooking wafted from further down the hall, prompting an angry gurgle from his stomach. Sniffing, he set off in search of the source. The corridor curved slightly as he passed several wooden doors, looking to have once been painted green. A bizarre choice, though after walking a short bit, Luca reasoned that the color stood out amongst the reds and browns and grays of the strata. Lanterns with glass bottoms hung from hooks set into the ceiling, emitting a steady pale glow. He paused under one, cocking his head to one side as he inspected it. No flame burned within the glass. Then what? Its like Zandrens sword, he realized. He glanced back down the hall, counting the lanterns he could see before the curve. There must be hundreds here. Thousands, maybe. More questions came to him, and he broke out into a jog, only to come to a sliding halt outside of an open entryway. Peeking his head inside, he discovered a wide chamber filled with a score of tables and benches, all rising from the stone of the floor. Huge cloth tapestries adorned the walls, their colors faded. There was but one other door in the chamber, and as Luca approached with quiet steps, the smells of food reached him, along with snatches of a hummed tune. You are welcome to have a seat, holy one, Caarthass voice came from the next room. Luca jumped back with a yelp, and the man appeared in the doorway a second later, garbed in the same voluminous brown robe cinched with a gray cord about the waist. I shall be out 436 presently with your meal. It has been quite some time since Ive had guests, so do forgive me if my cooking is not what it once was. S-sure, Luca said. He slipped into the nearest bench. A hundred questions raced through his head as he waited, examining the tapestries more closely in an attempt to quiet his thoughts. The same figure, now worn to a pale yellow, dominated each. In one, the figure spread its arms, shining light upon a gathered crowd, while in another, the figure rose above a burning city, a pair of outstretched wings behind it. The humming grew louder, and Caarthas appeared bearing a plate of steaming food meat of some kind and an assortment of roots and tubers. Lucas stomach rumbled violently, and he dug into the meal as soon as it was set before him, all thoughts of Zandren and demons and his powers tossed aside. The meat was savory, the vegetables crisp and fresh, and Luca was tempted to lick the plate clean as he finished the last bite. Caarthas stood with hands clasped behind him, waiting silently, a smile playing upon his lips. For a moment, Luca feared the man had poisoned the food, but he dismissed the silly thought. If he wanted me dead, he wouldve done it while I slept. Still, the Caarthas seemed almost too willing to play the role of host. Rensler wouldve demanded to know what the man wanted. Should Luca do the same? Um, would you like to sit? Luca asked at last. Theres plenty of room. Thank you, holy one, but I shall stand. Luca frowned. Why do you keep calling me that? Holy one. It is only proper, Caarthas said. Though if you prefer another title, I will use that instead. Title? Luca didnt have any titles that he could remember. You can just call me Luca. 437 Caarthas dipped his head. As you wish, Luca. Luca waited for more, but Caarthas resumed his silent staring. The man was decidedly odd, but at least he didnt appear to want to harm Lucaa small relief, as that didnt explain anything about his present circumstances. What is this place? he asked. And wheres Zandren? I need to see him. I need to tell him Im sorry. The smile faltered for a moment. Ah, I see. So you truly do not know to where you have come. There was a hint of disappointment in his soft voice, though at what, Luca was unsure. I had thought you a touch younger than usual. Perhaps that is why your powers have caused you such struggle. That makes our work more difficult, certainly, but regardless, you are here. But where is here? Luca asked. This is the Sanctum of Yusavan, Caarthas stated. Beckoning to Luca, he made for the door with silent footsteps. Come with me, please. There is much to explain and to show. Luca didnt budge. Hold on. What about Zandren? Im not going anywhere until I see him. Caarthas spread his hands, pale and bony and as hairless as his head. I have done nothing nefarious to your companion. I assure you, he is alive and well. I placed him in a bedroom not far from yours. I would expect him to sleep for some time yet. The wounds he survived were quite grievous, and the Blessing of Vitality takes a toll on both wielder and recipient. Luca drummed his fingers on the table. He had no reason to doubt the mans hospitality so far, other than his begrudging acceptance of Zandrens entry, but he had proven to be a consummate host since. With a sigh, Luca followed Caarthas, who led him through the winding 438 corridors, passing by more doors and intersecting tunnels, so many that Luca didnt think he could ever find his way out alone. Soon enough, they emerged from a corridor into another expansive square room that made Lucas breath catch. The walls were carved into row upon row of shelves, each one stuffed full of bound volumes, while a balcony held up by thin pillars ringed the space, containing yet more tomes. Bright tiles covered the floor in spirals, broken up by flat-topped slabs that rose from among them. A pillar of pure white stone stood at the center, stretching from floor to ceiling, veins of red and gold running all along its surface, marred only by two shallow, ovular indentations at waist height. Something about that stirred the presence in Lucas mind, and he quickly pivoted toward the rows of books beside him. So many, he whispered. How did one place contain so many books? He took a timid step toward the nearest shelf, jamming his hands in his pockets to keep from touching the spines. Some were bound with hard slabs of wood, some with stiff leather, while others still were not books but thin sheets of bronze tied together with twine. Most titles were in languages he couldnt understand. He paused and looked to Caarthas, waiting silently in the doorway. What is all of this? Caarthas waved a hand about the room. A collection of human history, dating back to the invention of the written word. Most everything concerns Ilden, of course, though you will find writings on other lands scattered among them. Many of these tomes are from the age before the Sundering. Nations, myths, people who have all faded from collective human memory can all be found within this room. Luca reached for a wood-bound tome, an etching of a bird taking flight the only design on the spine. May I? he asked, catching himself a hairsbreadth away. 439 Of course, Caarthas said. You may do whatever you wish with them. They belong to you, after all. Luca was thankful he had not yet touched the book, for he would have surely dropped it. His head whipped toward his guide. Theybelong to me? Oh yes, Caarthas said. This sanctum and everything in it, including me, is here to serve you, holy one. He bobbed his head. Luca, I should say. Lucas legs felt weak, his forehead hot. Nothing the man said made any sense. But Ive never been here, he said. I didnt know this place existed until yesterday. I dont understand any of this. He clutched his stomach, feeling suddenly ill. His head throbbed as the voice whispered in the back of his mind. Fates, what was happening to him? Caarthas adopted a sympathetic look as he came closer. It appears I have been careless in my haste. Perhaps it was too early to bring you here. He gestured toward the doorway. I think it would be best if we continue our conversation elsewhere. Sure, Luca mumbled. With an effort, he straightened and stumbled into the hallway, steadying himself on the stone. The tunnels, spacious before, now seemed to press in upon him. He needed out. Hoarsely, he said, Id like to go outside. Caarthas inclined his head. Of course. This way, please. An hour later, Luca had calmed enough to no longer fear losing his breakfast. He breathed deeply in the crisp air, happy to feel the light breeze caressing his face. The air inside the mountain was too still, too dry. He belonged outdoors. His host had brought him to another cliff stretching along the mountainside. The flat expanse of stone had long ago been transformed into a training grounds of sorts. Carved benches 440 surrounded a rectangular space in the center, and an eternally shining beacon, bright even in the morning sunlight, stood at each corner on a short pedestal. With his mind at easefor nowhis curiosity began to take hold again. There was so much mystery about the place. What was it like when it was built? Caarthas would know. The man seemed to possess an inordinate of knowledge about the Sanctum, far more than should have been possible. Luca couldnt quite place the mans age, either. He appeared an old man one second, then young and spry the next. Something was off about him, but Luca hadnt quite figured out what. I trust you are feeling better? Caarthass voice came from close behind. Luca nearly fell from the bench as he spun, beholding the man standing mere paces away. How is he so quiet all the time? Yes, much better, Luca said. Thank you. The pleasure is mine, Caarthas said. He held out a hand toward the bench. May I sit? Its your home, not mine, Luca thought as he slid over. He eyed Caarthas as the man settled onto the bench, the heavy robes bunching up around his scrawny midsection. The garment appeared awfully hotthe air was cold, yes, but not terribly soyet Caarthas showed no signs of discomfort. Luca hesitated, debating how to proceed. He had questions, and he needed answers. Theres nothing for it but to ask, he decided. Thats what Rensler would do. He cleared his throat forcefully. All right, Caarthas, he said, trying to adopt a confident tone, I need to know some things before I decide to stay here any longer. Caarthas inclined his head. Of course, Luca. I am at your disposal. Was that all the man ever said? Right, but why? Who are you? Why do you live here in this place, locked away inside of a mountain, all alone? The answer is complicated, Im afraid. 441 Luca frowned; the questions had been simple enough. Just tell me something. Are you actually human orsomething else? The other man hesitated, and Luca felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in anticipation. Not wholly, no, Caarthas said at last. He held up a hand to forestall Luca as he leaned forward. As I said, the answer is complicated. I was born a regular man, yes, more than two and a half millennia ago, before the Sundering. I served Holy Artras, attendant to His will from the heavens, rooting out the corruption of hearts who sought to weaken Him. Alas, the efforts of my fellows and I were not enough. I remember the day His vile brother, swelled with pride and power from the adoration of his masses, stole upon Him and split Him in twain, though at great cost to himself, for Braskellar was dealt a grievous wound from which he has never healed. The world trembled that day as Artrass body went to rest somewhere within the earth, leaving his perfect soul to eternally wander. Luca leaped to his feet and paced in a wide circle, hands to his head, which had begun to throb once again. How is any of that possible? He whirled toward Caarthas. You dont look two and half thousand years old. At least, he didnt think so; he wasnt quite certain what exactly someone so old should look like at all. Caarthas flashed his usual tight-lipped smile. Yes, I suppose I dont. He pointed toward one of the glowing beacons. Do you know why the light there can never fade? At a shake of Lucas head, Caarthas continued, These spheres have been imbued with the Blessing of Light the Lightmark, as humans tend to name it now. Your bodyguards sword is the same, and I suspect the scabbard has been Wardmarked in turn, so as to house the blade. The use of the Blessings does not have to be temporary, you see. A powerful Marked can imbue something that 442 does not live with their power permanently. An incredibly gifted Marked can do the same to living things. Humans, even, though such strength is rare anymore. Such is my tale. After the Sundering, when the world at last ceased its throes, the faithful feared what would become of mankind. But then, a miracle happened. The soul of God yet lived on and had found a way to meld with a human as it took its first breaths. We were unaware at first, of course, but in time, the Vestige became known to usand to the followers of Braskellar. They struck the first Vestige down before the body and soul of Artras could be reunited. Luca ceased his pacing and listened, enraptured by the tale. It seemed so unbelievably outlandishbut so did being chased by nightmare creatures that spawned from the earth. Maybe the stories he grew up on, the myths and legends of mighty heroes, were not simply stories after all. The faithful believed the cycle would continue, though, Caarthas said, and we made preparations. We knew the Vestige would need a teacher, someone who could guide them toward their destiny. By the hands of our most powerful Marked, I became that person. Time has stood still for me since that day. I know not if such a feat could be replicated again. He paused, and Luca took advantage of the quiet. So, youre immortal? And youve simply been living here for a very, very, very long time, always waiting for the next Vestige to show up? He crossed his arms. Doesnt that get lonesome? Boring? Sometimes, I suppose, though the memories of those I have known throughout the centuries are scattered and faint. I can no longer recall the faces of my companions from my era, nor their names. He tapped the side of his head. The mind can only contain so much before it 443 spills over or, worse, breaks entirely. I have learned to partition my mind to hold onto only what is essential. Clinging to mournful memories would only make my task unbearable. Oh, Luca said quietly. Such an existence sounded truly miserable. What do you do while you wait for someone like me to show up? I see to the needs of the Sanctum, Caarthas said, and I prepare for the next Vestige. The food you ate this morning did not appear from the air, after all. You knew when Id be coming? The undying man shook his head. No. I possess not the ability to peer through time, and thus I remain always at the ready. The same routine, over and over without end; Luca would go insane living like that. He frowned as the story sparked yet more questions. Has every Vestige found their way here, then? Will I be the last, or am I doomed to fail as well? No, Caarthas replied. In fact, you are the first in four cycles. I have had centuries to learn that the compulsion is different for each vessel. Some heed the call, while others never have the chance. His smile broke for a moment, his lips turning downward. Others still ignore it entirely. Your immediate predecessor was one of those, Im afraid. Her selfish ambitions turned her away from the path of destiny. Luca grimaced. He wondered how things might have turned out differently had the other Vestige done what she was supposed to. Maybe he wouldve been allowed to continue his normal, carefree life, never worrying about some strange cult coming to burn his village down in the middle of the night. He and Rensler would be back at the inn, helping Aunt Ophelia count their stores for the winter, listening to the farmers talking about their harvest. That life hadnt always seemed to fit him, but now he longed to return. 444 But now you are here, Caarthas went on, snapping Luca out of his thoughts, and my duty can continue. You have a choice, Luca. You may carry on with your travels, once your companion awakes. He held up a finger, and his smile returned. Or you may remain here, under my tutelage, and learn how to harness your gift. Luca sucked in a breath through his teeth. A real teacher, someone who knew exactly what being the Vestige was supposed to mean. He felt a spike of guilt; Kahlia had done her best in their short time together. But Caarthas possessed generations of knowledge that no one, not even Kahlia, could boast. I want to stay, but Thoughts of Kahlia and his brother tempered his enthusiasm. He still needed to track them down, make sure they still lived. How much time could he spare, when they remained in peril every passing day? I dont know if I can remain. There are others I need to find. Kahlia and Rensler, my brother. We were separated before I came here. I see, Caarthas said. That fleeting look of annoyance crossed his face again, though his face softened immediately. The decision is a difficult one, I understand, but I urge you to consider the broader needs of mankind, of all the world. You and you alone can bring about an end to the violence, the suffering, the chaos that plagues humanity. What is a handful of lives, Luca, weighed against the culmination of existence? Resuming his pacing, Luca kicked at an errant rock, sending it skipping out over the cliff. Theyre everything to me, he whispered. He watched the rock tumble away into the void, then spun toward Caarthas. Why did this have to fall to me? How am I to succeed where so many others have failed? I know not the inscrutable mind of God. Caarthas spread his hands. But I know that He does not choose without reason. Others have failed, yes, but that does not mean you will. 445 Perhaps you are the last Vestige, Luca. Remain here, learn, and you may very well be the savior of mankind. Lucas face was growing hot again, and the cool breeze proved insufficient to soothe him. Fates, what was wrong with him? He clenched his fists at his side. I dont want to be the savior of mankind, he shouted. I want to save my brother. I want to save the people I care about. I just want to live my own life! He turned toward the cliff edge once more, put his fists to his head, and screamed. The sound echoed among the mountains. Drained, Luca lowered himself to the stone, sitting with his legs tucked up against his chest, arms resting on top. Though he heard no footsteps, he sensed Caarthas standing nearby, silent and patient. What should I do? Luca thought. STAY, came the rumbling voice from within. LEARN. Luca jolted upright. Now it could speak again. He wasnt sure whether to be irritated or relieved by the intrusion. Both seemed fitting. He waited, expecting more, but the presence in his mind was already receding, and Luca was left with the impression of a mountain, trembling before falling still. Youre no help at all, he called after it. He sighed, shoulders slumping. All right. Ill stay. Caarthas nodded. I understand the weight of your decision, Luca. Duty is not always an easy burden to bear. He flashed a small smile. I am well acquainted with such a burden. I suppose thats true, Luca thought, feeling another twinge of remorse. Caarthas had elected to live a solitary existence simply to help people like Luca. To help save the world. 446 Standing, he brushed himself off and turned to the immortal man. I want to learn what it means to be the Vestige, he said. I want to know what Im supposed to do now. He jabbed a finger at the sky. But I need to learn as fast as possible. He would be the last Vestige. He would bring about the utopia that Kahlia had talked about. He would save everyone, including Kahlia and Zandren and Rensler and everyone else he cared about. Very good, holy one, Caarthas said. He beckoned for Luca to follow and made for the tunnel entrance. Come with me, if you please. Baffled, Luca shuffled after him and cast a glance back at the training yard. Arent we going to get started? Soon enough, I assure you, Caarthas said. But first, I would show you your companion, as you requested. Afterward, we shall begin your lessons in earnest. 447 Chapter 26 Kahlia waited two days before she allowed herself to entertain the notion that Negald and his men had lost the scent of her little group. Another day passed before she believed it to be true. From the start, as they set out on that first morning of freedom, Ayla insisted they would avoid pursuit, for without her, the captain possessed nothing by which to locate them. Other than their eyes and ears, Kahlia had pointed out. Weve come too far for them to find us that way, Ayla replied. They rode next to each other on the dirt road, curving between steep hills forested by trees growing in the shadow of the Cloudbreaker Mountains. The two men came next, Rensler keeping a weather eye out for any sign of followers, while Pellas fidgeted in his saddle, a scarf wrapped around his face to hide the scar upon his cheek. A wise decision, though Ayla refused to follow suit, in spite of Kahlias urging. Kahlia wondered from where the womans confidence stemmed. You seem quite assured that Negald will simply let us go. And that no one will find it odd for a Marked to be afield with such small company. Theres a handler for each of us, she said, gesturing between Rensler and Kahlia. Only Trackers and military officers would think to stop us, and we shouldnt be seeing either of those with the route were taking. You did not address my first concern. Ayla shrugged. He can only do so much without his Seer to lead the way and his Vitalist to keep the horses going. And if he were to acquire replacements for you both? Kahlia asked. 448 Ha. He would never, Ayla scoffed. To do so would be to admit his failure. Hell be fortunate to so much as bolster his ranks without causing a stir. Kahlia let the matter go after that, though she asked the others to be attentive for the telltale signs of a Seer spying upon them. Despite her sanguine words, Ayla used her Mark to find Negald, and with increasing puzzlement over the three days, she shared that the man had not yet departed Fiore. When they stopped that night, taking shelter beneath two fat trees with branches interlacing overhead, Kahlia finally began to feel at easeas much as she could, given the circumstances. Luca remained invisible to Aylas scrying, and peering upon Zandren found him unmoving in a stone-walled room, though Ayla assured the rest of them that the man drew breath. Wherever those two were, at least they were alive. Gathered around a little fire, they brewed tea and fed upon rations stolen from the Trackers, along with some foraged berries and a pair of fat squirrels that Rensler managed to bring down. Without Zandren, the man from Salden had taken it upon himself to ensure their bellies were full each night, and he was proving to be nearly as adept a hunter as the missing Guardian. The lean meat possessed a sweet, nutty taste, and Kahlia felt it as grand a feast as any she had seen. Rensler retrieved Zandrens swordhis, now, Kahlia supposedfrom the sheath on the saddle and, a good distance from the fire, flowed through a series of slow, rhythmic forms designed more for improving balance rather than for use in a duel. As the minutes passed, he moved through other forms, faster and more threatening, though the display appeared odd as he flailed about on his own, striking at some unseen foe. 449 Steel rasped on leather, and then Ayla was on her feet, scavenged sword in hand. You look like you could use a partner. Rensler furrowed his brow at her. Butyoure a woman? Am I? I hadnt noticed. Thats notI mean Renslers face flushed red, obvious even in the waning sunlight. Ive never known a woman to use a sword, thats all. Ayla cocked an eyebrow at him. Oh? Well, consider this a new experience. The look of uncertainty remained on Renslers face as his eyes flicked toward Kahlia. Are you sure? These arent practice blades. Im aware, Ayla said. She took up a stance opposite Rensler. Well just have to be careful not to swing too hard. Very well. Rensler held his sword before him with both hands. Youd better not cut me open. Thats what hes for, she said. She jerked a thumb toward Pellas, sitting across the fire. He scowled at both of them over the flames. Oh, sure. Of course Ill fix you up without being asked. Just remember I cant reattach your heads. The four of them broke out into laughter, even the typically brooding Pellas, and Kahlia felt her sense of melancholy begin to lift. Do be careful, please, she chimed in. Id rather not waste good Pellass skills on something so foolhardy. The duelists flashed her a mock salute and began their bout. Their jerky movements and awkward steps painted the two fighters as obvious novices, even to Kahlias untrained eye. Rensler had but a few weeks of tutelage with Zandren before they were separated, while Aylas 450 own training had come in snippets on days the Trackers felt particularly generous, though such sessions evidently became just another way to abuse the woman. Both combatants managed to come away weary but unscathed. Kahlia poured them each a mug of tea as they resumed their seats at the fire, and for a time, they sat in a companionable silence. From there on out, the evenings became a comfortable routine of tea and swordplay, and sometimes a story if anyone felt up to the task. Kahlia offered what tips she could to Rensler and Ayla, taking some pride in the small improvements they made each night. While they practiced, Kahlia chipped away at the shell surrounding Pellas, sussing out snippets of his life, learning how his parents gave him over to the Trackers when he was just a boy. Small wonder the young man was so timid and prone to mistrust. As the week passed, though, the walls began to shrink, and Kahlia found herself enjoying their quiet conversations. Ayla led them along a road that snaked its way through towering foothills that slowed their progress, but they came across no more than handful of little villages nestled into among the forest, and the only travelers they came across were common folk, seemingly too engrossed in their business to care about a Marked and her companions. Rensler cast a suspicious glare at everyone they passed regardless, no matter how unthreatening they appeared. Kahlia did not dissuade him, as she too kept an eye on the passersby. Their escape from the Trackers was ten days past when Ayla announced they would likely arrive at Myrais on the morrow. A bit after midday, Id expect, the Seer was saying. They sat around the campfire, waiting for the tea to brew. As long as the weather holds up, she added, pointing toward the tattered sheet of gray clouds peeking through the branches overhead, their undersides painted a dark red by the sunset. 451 She grabbed a stick from the ground and drew a rough circle in a patch of dirt. Well be coming in through the Mountain Gate, she said. She poked a dot along the circles edge, then etched out a squiggling line just inside. The post tends to be the shit duty, assigned to layabouts, so I dont expect to run into any trouble going in. Admirable though the womans confidence was, Kahlia wondered whether she had thought the whole plan through. Ayla, I do not believe they will let the two of you into the city so easily, especially with a couple of outsiders. Individually, perhaps we could attain entry, but together, I fear we will draw too much attention. I can wrap my head, just like Pellas, Ayla replied. I doubt theyd let even one of us do that, the Vitalist said. To Kahlia and Rensler, he added, The capital society forbids faces from being covered. We may be able to bribe the guards at the gate, but as soon as a Watchman spots us with obscured faces, wed have trouble. Rensler shifted on the thick log that was his seat for the evening. Could you simplyget rid of the tattoo? he said, tapping his cheek. Its a scar, isnt it? Cant you fix those? An interesting suggestion, Kahlia thought, looking to Pellas, who shrugged. Honestly, Im not sure, he said. Ive never really considered it nor triedsince I wouldve been beaten if I succeeded, as would whatever poor soul I worked on, and then the Trackers would tattoo them again anyway. Ayla scooted toward him. Im willing to try if you are. Hesitantly, he traced the pattern on her skin and bit his lip, a pensive look on his face. Im not sure it will work. Your scar is old. The body might not remember how its supposed to be. 452 Try, Pellas, Kahlia urged. You kept two dozen horses running fresh for hours. This is nothing compared to that. Ayla nodded. Shes right. Ive seen you knit a persons guts back together. You can do this. Well, really it was just the skin over the guts, he muttered. He placed his palm flat against Aylas cheek and narrowed his eyes. A gentle glow flashed between his fingers for an instant, and as he withdrew his hand, the dried residue of ink began to peel away from her cheek. Ayla scrubbed at her face, her palm coming away smeared with red flakes, revealing the now smooth skin underneath. No trace of the tattoo remained. A grin split across her face. You did it. Kahlia dipped her head toward the Vitalist, who seemed shocked by his own success. Perfectly done, Pellas. I knew it would work, Rensler said. Can you do that to yourself now? With a grimace, Pellas shook his head. Im afraid the Mark doesnt function that way. What I can do for others, I cannot do for myself. He laced his fingers together in his lap to keep them from moving. Thats why I was near dead from exhaustion when we finally caught up to you that night. Worry not, Kahlia said. This is still a victory. The presence of only one Marked will be far easier to explain. Ayla reached out and patted Pellass shaking hands. Thank you. He gave her a weak smile, and she took up her stick again, then began to carve out smaller circles within the larger one, humming as she did so. Thats one problem solved, but we still have the challenge of getting in and out of the training compound. Its at the heart of the city, close to Castle Thayde, 453 where the royal family resides. She gestured to the corresponding dots. Which means that the Watch presence will be high, and there could be Crimson Guards about too. We have the Trackers uniforms, so we might be able to stroll through the front gate unbothered. A little coin wouldnt hurt, either. But after that, well have to find Nira without drawing suspicion and bring her out. She huffed and shook her head. Honestly, I dont know how to accomplish all of that. Finding Nira will be easy; getting all of us out alive will be nigh impossible. No one spoke for a moment, and the only sounds were the hoot of an owl and the wind tickling the brightly colored leaves above. The others each cast a furtive glance in turn at Kahlia, waiting for her to say something, but she had no solution to offer. Myrais was foreign territory to her; she knew not its intricacies as she did cities like Riandris and Felwin. Rensler scratched at the unkempt beard covering his chin. How many Trackers would you expect to be in the compound? he asked. A few dozen, I would think, Ayla replied. Not too many. Just enough to keep the Marked in line. Rensler looked pleased with the answer, and Kahlia pondered what idea had taken root behind his calculating gaze. Do the Marked outnumber the Trackers? Rensler pressed on. At Aylas nod, he said, And if every Marked in the compound were to find themselves suddenly set free, what would they do? They would die, Kahlia thought. The same notion had already flittered through her mind, though she saw the folly at once. She had not wanted to offer such a solution for fear of the repercussions beyond those concerning the Marked. 454 Ayla sucked air sharply through her teeth. Some would stay in their cells. Those who are too frightened to cause any problems. Others would probably try to flee the first chance they find. But some would fight, Im sure. Beside her, Pellass eyes were wide, shimmering in the rising moonlight. Every one of them would die. Oh, theyd cause plenty of trouble first, of course, but once the military is turned upon them He shook his head. And not all Marked are like us, waiting for a chance to escape. Some gladly serve, their belief in Irianors purpose for them resolute. A god who exalts in the suffering of his faithful is one not worth following, Kahlia said. But I do not believe that to be our proper course. Renslers expression soured. And why not? What better distraction could there be? I do not deny the quality of the distraction, Kahlia replied. But there are broader consequences to consider. Events would ripple out of our control more quickly than you understood. The nation already teeters toward war with Vendalar; an attack from within the capital itself could easily be blamed on foreign agentsagents such as ourselves. Such an act may well provide the king an excuse to march his armies west, should he wish it. Her braids brushed her shoulders as she shook her head. There is far too much at stake. I would rather not put the lives of others at risk for our plan. Uncertainty warred on Aylas countenance. Nor would I, were the situation different. She clenched at the front of her breeches. But if thats what it takes to free Nira, then so be it. Slowly, both men nodded, though Pellas wore his hesitation openly. Kahlia drew herself upright. She would need to be firm. If we unleash the Marked, Kahlia said, the city will descend into madness. Any hope of escape may become blocked before we can flee. They looked to me for guidance before. Hopefully they will heed me now. I 455 cannot condone this plan. We need a solution that does not involve the Marked in the compound. For their sake and ours. Renslers face flushed as he prepared to argue, but Ayla spread her hands and said, Well scout out the area tomorrow. Its been some time since either of us set foot in Myrais. She spoke for all their benefit, though she avoided looking at Pellas. Once we have a better lay of the land, we can figure out the way forward. Slowly, the others nodded as a quiet tension settled over the group, the talk of the city and their plan bringing the conversation to an end, and within minutes, the fire was doused and each of them went wordlessly to their bedrolls. Kahlia stared into the darkness, her mind cluttered with thoughts of Zandren and Luca, of her companions here, of the dangers that awaited in the city. A part of her feared they were all doomed, regardless of the path they chose. In the silence of the night, she prayed for guidance and forgiveness in equal measure. It was still dark when they set out in the morning, though Rensler was sure they had slept just as much as any other night. The sun hid behind an ocean of black clouds churning overhead, swollen and looking as though they would burst with every gust rattling the tree branches. With cloaks pulled tight against the wind, the group put their horses to an easy walk. No one spoke that morning beyond a few tired grumbles and muttered greetings, the dark clouds holding back any cheer as well as the sunlight. As they rode, Rensler ran through last nights conversation again in his head and realized he was glad Ayla had cut in when she had. Pressing on with the argument late into the night wouldnt have done any good for any of them, and Rensler had had his fair share of going to bed angry along this journey. His plan was sound, 456 of that he was certain, but Kahlias reservations were equally so. Perhaps Ayla had the right of it after all, and gathering more information was the right path forward. They had ridden no more than an hour when the forest thinned, gradually at first, until only small groves dotting the fields remained. The first village appeared shortly thereafter, a cluster of several dozen buildings clustered along the road. Those who were out and about greeted the quartet of strangers with a kind word and a wave of the hand, though their eyes lingered on the scarf wrapping Pellass head. From then on, it seemed a town or village awaited them every other mile, lining the road and spreading into the sloping fields beyond. Always people worked the fields amidst the ongoing harvest season, striving to bring in the crop before the early frosts set in. Rensler almost felt at peace as they rode through each one. Any of them could have been Salden, with their tidy brick and timber houses and thatched roofs. The longing for home tugged at Rensler harder than it had in weeks. The villages remained the same as the morning wore on, but the people certainly did not, and they soon found themselves no longer the only travelers upon the roadnow called the Mountain Road, according to Ayla. People on foot and horseback, on rickety carts and sturdy wagons, began to fill the road a handful at a time. Those on foot had packs slung across their backs and a weary look upon their faces, while those on horseback were often guards accompanying a merchant wagon. The former skirted around the latter, staying well out of range of spear hafts and drivers whips. All journeyed west, though, headed for Myrais. Navigating around the more sluggish foot traffic slowed their pace, and the light rain that fell just before midday made them all the more sluggish. Rensler kept the hood of his cloak pulled up, thankful for the rain for that purpose at least. More people meant more opportunities for someone to recognize them. Who, though? He asked himself the question again and again 457 throughout the morning. Trackers? The ones who knew them were long behind, and the handful they chanced upon bothered them no more than the merchant guards. The Watchers? The group may as well have disappeared since the escape from Felwin, though perhaps they cared not about Kahlia or him any longer, now that Luca was gone. For all anyone knew, they were yet another group of travelers making for the capital, nothing more. The downpour came on in earnest before too long, sheets of cold water driven by the whipping wind, alongside bright flashes of lightning and deafening thunderclaps. They quickened their pace, at last halting in the next village they came upon. A two-storied inn hugged the road at the center of town, sporting a shingled roof and a wooden awning jutting out from halfway up the outer wall and running round three sides of the building. A brief plea with the innkeeper bought them time to shelter beneath the awning and tend to the needs of the horses. Rensler shook his cloak out and watched the rainwater form a tiny river around the inn. Blasted rain, he grumbled. A bath was all well and good when it was of his choosing. He looked toward the sky and saw only the white haze of the storm. What are the chances well still make it to Myrais today? Good enough, if we dont delay for too long, Ayla said, digging into her rations in a saddlebag. The others followed suit. Shouldnt be more than several miles now, if memory serves. Rensler was of half a mind to press on through the rain, but the idea of arriving at the capital soaked and miserable was unappealing, and the horses could use the rest. They had not been put to a hard ride these past ten days, but they had done the greater share of the walking. Rensler made sure to pat Saber on the neck after she finished feeding. 458 Figures appeared in the rain, a column of fifty or so, their cloaks hanging over the bundles on their backs and making them look like bizarre hunched beasts. They strode through the village, apparently undeterred by the deluge, and as they drew near, Rensler caught glimpses of a green insignia upon gray tunics, as well as the swords hanging from most hips. A few glanced at their little band as they walked past, but none stopped, and they were quickly lost to the rain once more. Rensler waited until the column had gone before asking, What was that about? Mercenaries, by the look of it, Kahlia said. She stared in the direction the column had gone as though searching for something. In Felwin, I heard rumors of troop movements throughout Myrandir, but they were supposedly making for Riandris, not the capital. She pursed her lips and turned to their companions. Do either of you know anything about this? The two Marked exchanged a look, then shrugged in unison. Beats me, Ayla said. They have the look of mercenaries about them, but I havent a clue why theyre on the move, nor why they make such haste. Whatever the reason, Rensler thought, it cant be good. Will they cause us any trouble? Ayla shook her head. They shouldnt, so long as we keep our distance. Her words proved true, and Rensler settled back against the wall of the inn, waiting for the storm to pass. An hour on, the lightning and the thunder ceased, and the rain reduced to an irritating mist rather than the howling torrent. Rensler would have preferred to wait it out entirely, but they had wasted enough time already. With a word of thanks to the innkeeper, they resumed their journey westward. The countryside grew more populated still as the trees became scarcer, the fields broader, the rise and fall of the land less prominent. Rainwater ran in streams off the embankment of the 459 Mountain Road, puddling in the dips between the hills. The road itself grew wide enough for two wagons to pull abreast as well as more well-kempt, with nary a hole to be found. Cresting a hill, Rensler squinted into the misty rain and let out a strangled gasp as he caught sight of a city in the distance, straddling a vast river. With every rise in the road, the city grew larger and larger, until at last it dominated Renslers vision as they paused on a hilltop overlooking the Mountain Gate. When he came to Felwin, he had thought it to be a grand city, with its wooden palisade and flagstone streets. Riandris had been grander still, larger than Felwin and surrounded by a real, stone wall. Both may as well have been just another quaint village along the road compared to the sprawling city ahead. A high wall of light gray stone, streaked with red and white, encircled the city in an uneven ring at a steady height, defying the rise and fall of the land. Round watchtowers stood all along its length, each one topped by a conical roof from which a green and gold banner hung limp in the rain. The Perashal River, as Ayla had called it, was a wide swath cutting through the eastern side of the city. The wall had been built hard by the riverbank on both side, and an enormous bridge arched across the gap to connect the stonework. Deeper into the city rose another wall, higher still than the first, and even from their vantage point, Rensler could not see what was inside save for the foreboding white slab of Castle Thayde looming above it all. Well, here we are, Ayla said, sweeping a hand outward. Myrais. The grandest city in this kingdom I despise. Rensler forced himself to blink before his eyes jumped out of their sockets. Itsbig, he got out. Indeed, though Id wager Thanalia is larger still, Kahlia said. She shot a look back along the road. Rensler tore his gaze away from the city and followed hers, noticing the 460 oncoming wagon trundling closer. We should move, lest we cause an incident before we ever set foot inside the walls. Buildings clustered together outside the outer wall, spreading against the stonework and down the road, shops and inns and warehouses and homes, all of brick and stone and timber. Tiled roofs and thatched ones rose side by side, and pens spanning between the structures housed all sorts of animals, pigs and cows, sheep and goats, chickens and pheasants, all of them squawking so loudly that Rensler could hardly think, even from a distance. He looked away sharply, and his eyes fell upon the collection of tents clustered together beyond the southern sweep of the wall, hundreds upon hundreds, stretching from the riverbank to somewhere out of sight. Those along the outer edges were arranged in haphazard patterns, while moving inward brought a sense of order to the rows of canvas. Figures moved amongst the tents, like a swarm of ants skittering through their tunnels, using makeshift lanes made from planks strewn across the mud-churned earth. He nudged Ayla and gestured toward the sprawling encampment. What do you make of that? That is where those mercenaries were heading, Id wager, she said, her expression souring. Damn it all. There must be at least ten thousand men down there. Been gathering for a while, too, by the looks of things. That kind of organization at the heart means professional soldiers; looks like theyve been here for months already with how entrenched they are. Mercenaries should come next, and then the peasant levies. She pointed to each section of the camp in turn. King Temerid must be up to something, to bring so many soldiers to the city. Lot of extra mouths to feed. Hes smart, though, to keep the brunt of them outside the city. Bored soldiers make for horrible guests. 461 Rensler suddenly felt exposed, even as they drew closer to the press of the outskirts town. To what end, though? Why gather this army here? An invasion, came Kahlias answer from behind. I would not be surprised if they marched west within the month. To the border? Rensler asked. You think they intend to strike at Vendalar? Ayla frowned. But that would be terribly unwise. Rellas Gate protects the Halain Gap. A hundred thousand troops would be no more use than ten when assaulting the wall. They could march the army through the mountains instead, but that would take months. All of you are young, Kahlia said. I say that not to insult, merely to illustrate a point. None of you know the time before Caliannas rebellion, when the armies of Myrandir did exactly what you say, Ayla. Months of siege brought the Gate no closer to ruin than a frontal assault. But the rebellion changed the way the king and his generals viewed Marked in this country. The two of you do remember a time when Marked were merely the lowest of citizens, not slaves. The rebellion saw to that. The power of a mad Vestige showed them of what Marked were capable. Recovering from a civil war takes time, but now nearly two decades have passed since, and the king has a fresh generation of Marked who have been raised as nothing but pawns for his machinations. They now stand ready to be sent off to war, to be used as weapons sent to destroy the enemies of Irianorwhoever convenience names as such. Kahlias words were nearly lost among the growing din. For once, Rensler was glad for the crowd; their little ban would draw far less suspicion surrounded by so many, and talk of war could go unheard. But why now? Pellas piped up. I understand your point, but I dont see what the king and whoever whispers in his ear gain from attacking the Gate now. 462 You underestimate the power of belief, then, Kahlia replied. And of lifelong grudges. The Vestige is central to the Church, and the last one wounded this country deeply. As far as Temerid is concerned, the conflict between our two nationsour two religions, ratherwill never end, so long as those responsible for unleashing such evil on his lands go unpunished. The cacophony around them swelled, drowning out any answer that may have come. That might be for the best, Rensler thought. This sort of talk was best done in secret, away from this sea of strange faces. They brought their horses closer together as they joined the traffic streaming toward the Mountain Gate. Trickling, more like. Progress ground ever slower the closer they came to the wall, the throng squeezing so tightly together that he worried for anyone who might fall underfoot. Most everyone was on foot, and most who werent sat at the front of a wagon or cart, flicking their reins futilely. Guards clad in green and gold tabards watched over all those who came through the gate, though they rarely moved, standing stiffly and with spears standing upright. They bothered none save those who caused trouble nearby, and all fear of being halted fled from Rensler. Still, he wished there were more to do but wait and move with the same ponderous pace as everyone else. He loathed doing so. Fates, he could see the gate no more than a hundred paces away, a wide archway sweeping through the stone with the spikes of an iron portcullis jutting down, growing larger with every step yet seemingly no closer until suddenly they were passing beneath the gate, cast in shadow by the thickness of the wall, and emerged into Myrais. Rensler felt the air rush from his lungs as he beheld the city proper. The thoroughfare widened within the wall, curving gently and rising over the low hills as it stretched toward the river. All manner of treesoak and elm, maple and ashrose from grassy circles strewn with blossoming flowers of yellow and orange and violet, the colors loud against the red and gray 463 brick, despite the misty haze that lingered on the air. Both leaves and petals alike had begun to drop in earnest, the fallen ones mashed underneath countless feet and slicking the rain-soaked street. Buildings, short and tall alike, lined the street, their tiled roofs as colorful and vibrant as the flowers. And the people, for that matter. The crowd was no smaller within the walls than it was outside, but now Rensler lookedreally lookedat the people. The street was filled with men in a dozen different kinds of coats, some cut short at the waist and others with tails nearly dragging along the ground, as well as women in more styles of dresses than Rensler knew existed, thick shawls draped over their heads and shoulders against the rain. Horse-drawn carriages, their drivers shouting out curses and menacing laggards with their whips, cut through the constant flow of foot traffic. Pale-skinned Myrandians and dark-skinned Vendalans walked together, and for a while, all the talk of animosity between the two countries felt like nothing but a passing fancy. Ayla nudged Rensler with an elbow before starting her mount forward. Follow me, she mouthed. Or perhaps she shouted; either would have gone unheard. Rensler flicked his reins, and Saber lurched forward, needing no urging, though she could do no more than match the pace of the people. The misty rain was nothing but an annoyance, not enough to push people indoors for the time being as Rensler would have liked. But if he and his band were out and about, why shouldnt the entirety of Myrais do the same? He only wished they wouldnt walk so close. Saber let out a disgruntled snort every time someone jostled her, and Rensler considered pulling his saddlebags into his lap, but he possessed nothing of value at presentother than Zandrens sword, sheathed and tied to the saddleand he figured hed merely make himself a greater target by acting so oddly. Instead, he resigned himself to the bumping and nudging of the crowd. 464 Whatever perceived insult he took was nothing compared to the welcome Pellas received. Those with a keen eye noticed the tattoo upon his cheek, and more than a few were sure to curse and spit as he rode past. Most kept their hands off of him, until a pair of men with sunken cheeks emerged from the crowd, one reaching for Pellass leg. Both started speaking at once, too low for Rensler to hear had he understood at all, and Pellas stiffened in his saddle as the men slowed him further. No one made to stop them, and the nearest of the Watch pointedly looked elsewhere. Ill see to it myself then, Rensler thought. Blinded by their contempt, the men did not see him angling toward the trio until he was upon them, forcing his way between the Vitalist and his assailants, who jerked back lest they be trampled. Their faces clouded with anger as they raised their fists and started after Rensler, but a hard glare and a hands length of drawn steel were enough to convince them to find easier prey. Thanks, Pellas said. His face had paled, the tattoo standing out more brightly than before. That couldve gotten ugly very fast. Rensler tried to widen the gap between the two of them, enough so that their legs didnt crush against each other. Is that how it always is here? People just attack Marked in the street and no one intervenes? No, not always, Pellas said. Well, the cursing and the spitting, yes, but most arent so brazen as those two, especially when a Marked is with their masters. He bared his teeth at the last word. Those men were probably thieves looking for an easy target, and it doesnt get much easier than a Marked. Rensler glanced over his shoulder, but the crowd had already swallowed the men up. They gave up awfully quick. Do you think theyll follow us? 465 I doubt it. Theyll just move on to the next poor soul they find. Thats horrible. Pellas shrugged. Thats life. Rensler felt a knot growing in his stomach. The sentiment was no less troubling to hear now than it was in Riandris. Just because thats how things are doesnt mean we have to accept it. Were it so easy, Pellas said, ignoring the sneer of another passerby. I dont think everyone accepts it, no. You can still find those who are charitable to Marked, but theyre vastly outnumbered by those whod rather crush us beneath their heel. A sour taste in his mouth, Rensler gave up on the topic for the time being, though it gnawed at the back of his thoughts as they journeyed farther from the gate, the clamor lessening the deeper into the city they delved. The street rose and fell with gentle dips, and for a blessed while it was not quite so crowded, though they still weathered a fair amount of bumping and prodding as people stopped and started in bursts. Usually it was due to a carriage trundling through or a wagon getting a wheel caught in a crack between flagstones. An anxious feeling caressed Renslers spine whenever they were forced to halt, but nothing untoward came their way. All the while, the crossing over the Perashal loomed ever higher, like a wave of stone rippling through the city. The greenery halted at the base of the bridge, and as they pushed forward onto the massive arch, Rensler felt as though he were climbing toward the sky. The Perashal ran beneath them, and Rensler saw ships docked at wooden wharfs jutting out into the water, rocking from the constant flow of the river. Minutes crawled by as they made their way to the peak, and then the entirety of Myrais was laid out before them. Renslers eyes went to the inner wall, where tidy 466 streets threaded between extravagant manors with meticulously kept yards. Atop the highest hill rose Castle Thayde, its white towers festooned with banners depicting a golden eagle on a field of green. Rensler tore his gaze away from the imposing castle and fixated on the short wall jutting out from the taller one that cut into the city in a lopsided hexagon. Another fortress, nearly as large as the castle, stood within the walls confines. Another banner, this one depicting three overlapping red circles, hung beneath that of the Myrandian eagle. The Trackers compound, Rensler could only assume. At least its not in the inner wall. The fortress was quickly lost to view as they neared the other side, once again finding themselves on a wide thoroughfare dotted with trees and flowers. Ayla waved them forward, and they soon turned down a side street, half the width of the main avenue yet wider than any in Felwin, and continued through the winding lanes. Strings of small flags hung between the tall buildings penning them in on either side, and the open markets that popped up occasionally made the streets seem narrower than they were. Rensler quickly grew disoriented, his brief glimpse from the bridge proving insufficient to map out the city. But Ayla pressed on, and neither Kahlia nor Pellas questioned her lead. They halted abruptly at a wooden fence lining one side of the street. A broad brick building waited on the other side, across what Rensler expected was a stableyard. He brought his face close to the fence, peering between the narrow slits, and confirmed his assumption. The foot traffic here was a mere trickle, but the cobblestones were maintained, if a bit worn, and the passersby who shot him odd looks were dressed well enough to indicate that they hadnt ventured into a rough area of the city. 467 Ayla threw one leg over and slid from her saddle, splashing softly in a shallow puddle between the fence and the road. Wait here, she said, handing her reins to Rensler. Wait, where are you going? he asked, but she was gone in an instant, slipping into an alley beside the building. He turned to the others. Do you know what shes about? Kahlia shook her head, and Pellas looked as confused as Rensler felt. They waited in relative silence, the only sounds the distant buzz of busier streets and the gentle tapping of the rain. Rensler winced at every sudden noise, his hand going to the sword hilt, but they remained unbothered until at last the sound of a latch coming undone came from the other side of the fence, and the hefty wooden gate swung inward. Ayla and a man stood inside, his scuffed apron and the straw clinging to his hair proclaiming him as one of the stablehands. Beyond them was the stout building. Half a dozen chimneys protruded upward from the gray slate roof, a pair of them puffing out smoke that was lost to the rain. Rows of windows ran alongside the second and third floors, and the wall was for the most part free of grime. A heavyset woman hovered near the rear door, staying beneath the cover of the eaves, and spoke to another pair of stablehands. Stepping back, Ayla beckoned the group inside, and the door was shut and latched once more. Rensler dismounted and set about gathering his saddlebags, though not before cinching the sword belt around his waist, the others doing the same. The men at the building joined their fellow in seeing to the horses. One scrunched up his face in Pellass direction but made no complaints otherwise. Quickly now, Ayla said, stepping toward the waiting woman. Rensler caught her by the arm, not terribly hard, but she whirled on him all the same. He held up his hands before him in a placating manner. Easy. Can you explain what youre doing before you do it? 468 The hard expression around her eyes slowly faded. Mistress Osena is a friend, she said. Or near as one as Ive got in this city. I was hoping shed remember me, and, wellshe did. She started forward again. Just come with me. There wont be a better place for us to stay than here. As long as I can get out of the rain finally, Pellas muttered, following. Kahlia lingered and placed a hand on Renslers shoulder. You have doubts about this, I can tell, she murmured. A bit of warning would be greatly appreciated, Rensler said. I cant help but feel were on a leash here, and shes the one yanking on it. She wants to save her sister, Kahlia replied. To be honest, Im surprised she has acted as rationally as she has. Though I do worry how that might change once we make our move. She sighed. But weve trusted her thus far, and she hasnt given us reason to doubt. Rensler frowned. I mistrust her no more now than before. But I dont like this being ordered about with no explanation. Ayla was already across the yard, almost to the building, but he dropped his voice to a whisper. I cant help but wonder whether shell throw us to the wolves to free her sister, when the time comes. I do not believe her motivations to be so dishonest, Kahlia said. Though I must admit to having pondered the same. She let her hand fall. Come. Debating this serves us no purpose right nowbut you would be wise to remain alert. Mistress Osena cast an appraising look over them as they approached as one might inspect a hunk of beef. A white apron flecked with a few crumbs strained across her large figure. Her brown hair was streaked with white and gray and held up in a thick bun atop her head. Without a word, she ushered the lot of them inside, passing through a short corridor and into the 469 kitchen, where a lone cook, a middle-aged man in an apron stained a dozen different colors, kept watch over several pots over fires and a brick oven. The scents of simmering meats, baked bread, and steamed vegetables assailed them, eliciting a lengthy growl from Renslers gut. But the innkeeper did not stop, pushing them into another back room and down a wooden staircase that groaned with each step. Standing between two shelves filled with casks, Osena finally rounded on the group Ayla, mostly, though her narrowed eyes touched on the rest of them as well. Six years, she said without preamble. Her low voice echoed softly in the cellar. Havent seen hide nor tail of you in six years, and then you here you are, wandering out of the rain like a wounded puppy. Youre lucky I even remembered your face, child. And without your tattoo. Irianor save me, if anyone knew you were here, theyd string me up. She wiped her hands down the front of her apron as if she had stuck them in something foul. And who might the rest of you be? Rensler wondered if he should have used a false name even as he spoke his aloud, but Kahlia and Pellas offered up theirs as well, and he felt not so foolish. Or perhaps they were all fools, and this woman would hand them over to the Trackers at the first opportunity. What Trackers in this city know were here? the rational part of himself asked. None could, he knew, but the worry was not easily pushed aside. Of all the inns, you had to choose mine, Osena said. How did you come to be here in the first place? Last I heard of you, you were being sent off east. Its along story, Ayla said, fidgeting more than Pellas did when nervous. Her eyes didnt seem to want to stay on the innkeeper. Too long to tell right now. A lot has happened, but, needless to say, Im free of that now. 470 The innkeeper placed her hands on her hips and squinted at Pellas, hanging back in the shadows. What about him? Hes still got his. She tapped a thick finger against her cheek. Good thing youre the right kind of Marked, or else you mightve found the city a bit less welcoming. She swept her gaze over Rensler, dismissing him with a flick of a handwhich suited him just fine at the momentand paused on Kahlia. The Seeker met the womans eyes with a blank expression. He cant remove his own, Ayla said, drawing the innkeepers attention once more. If he could, I wouldnt be here asking for a favor. Osena gave a brief shake of her head. And what favor is that? Food, lodging, a warm bath? You can pay for those like anyone else. Gossip, Ill give you freely. Other than that, I have nothing to give. Well pay, of course, Ayla said hurriedly. What we need is silence. Please, Mistress Osena. Youre one of the few who never threw me back into the street. I wouldve gone hungry many times over were it not for your kindness. I always knew feeding the strays would have them running back, the innkeeper grumbled. Yes, child, you know I wont say a word about you and your friends, but others will talk when they see him. She gestured to Pellas. I cant stop the other patrons from looking at him, and they chatter only half as much as the staff. I wont cause any trouble, Pellas said meekly. The innkeeper chuckled. Its not you Im worried about causing trouble. Soldiers camping outside the walls gets people worried, restless, thinking somethings about to happen. Some of those men have been here for months already, drifting in and out of the city. Not all the officers let them cause trouble, but the ones who do cause a right lot of it. Last thing I need is a 471 couple of bored soldiers beating on a Marked under my roof and working up everyone. More than they already are, that is. Talk of a new Vestige has been spreading through the city like wildfire for a week now. She scrunched up her face, her eyes nearly disappearing into her pudgy skin, and clucked her tongue. But that wouldnt have anything to do with you now, would it? Word of Luca had already come this far? How? Negald, he thought. It must be him. The man could have sent a Traveler from Riandris to the capital to warn them. And if the Traveler were strong enough, Negald himself might have come along Rensler held his breath as his heart began to pound. Osena continued, oblivious to his discomfort. Anyway, sounds as though the problem will solve itself soon. The whole armys supposed to march off in a few days, last I heard. Cant do anything about but worry till then, I suppose. She dropped her hands with a heavy sigh. Weve been down here long enough to get people talking already. Well go get your rooms figured out; I can give you two, unless you only have the coin for one. Youre a bit early for dinner yet, but Ill make sure you get your fill. You look like youve been living lean for a while. Ill be damned if a guest went hungry on my watch. She headed for the stairs but paused with her hand on the railing. Who else knows youre in the city? Not a soul, Ayla said. We dont exactly have friends here. Not many, that is. Osena narrowed her eyes. Youre certain? Trackers arent going to show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night now, are they? Ayla ducked her head. Its the truth, I swear it. 472 Lips pursed, Osena regarded Ayla for an uncomfortable few seconds, then broke away sharply. Very well. Come along, then. You cant stay down here all day. The stairs creaked as she ascended. Rensler waited until she was out of earshot before whirling toward the others. Fates, this is worse than I expected, he hissed. They already know about Luca. And as I feared, King Temerid plans to send his army west, Kahlia said. Was this my doing? Or is it purely coincidence? A terrible, tragic coincidence. Her braids swayed as she shook her head. It matters not, I suppose, but this means we cannot delay in our task. That was always the idea, was it not? Ayla asked. This changes nothing for us. Well scout out the compound this evening, then get Nira out tomorrow. Well be gone long before the army marches. Kahlia nodded slowly. Indeed. And do you trust Mistress Osena to keep her word for the time being? Ayla hesitated a moment before nodding. As much as I can. She puts on a tough show, but I promise shes a generous soul. So it would seem, Kahlia said. Let us hope no one else from your past recognizes you. I doubt everyone is as charitable as Mistress Osena, but their memory may be as sharp. Rensler frowned as the words stoked his disquiet further. What will we do if someone reports us to the Trackers? Well do what we have to, Ayla said, walking toward the light spilling down from above. We shouldnt dawdle. Mistress Osena doesnt like to repeat herself. The answer certainly did nothing to put Rensler at ease, but he followed behind her, wondering whether each of the sagging boards would break beneath him. The divine aromas 473 wafting from the kitchen grew stronger. Wait, he said as they came into the back room. Negald. Can you see where he is? The captain lingered at the forefront of his thoughts. Hes in Fiore, Ayla said. He was days ago when last you checked, Rensler countered. Just do this, please. I need to know. Ayla cocked her head to one side, but she opened her eyes wide. They had hardly finished clouding white before she shook her head sharply, a pained expression crossing her face. Rensler felt as though his guts dropped into his feet. Beside him, Pellass face went a sickly white. Only Kahlia remained unmoved by the pronouncement. Hes here, Ayla hissed. In the compound, best I can tell. She struck a fist against the doorframe. Shit. That certainly complicates things. At least we know, Kahlia said. She gave Rensler an approving look. We have the upper hand now. He may not suspect that we are in the city as well. She held a hand out toward the kitchen. As you said, Ayla, we should not dawdle. Let us be about our business. Pellas and I shall settle affairs with Mistress Osena, while the two of you will gather information about the Trackers fortress. She fixed each of them with a hard stare, though her lips parted into a small smile. We have come through worse together already. This is but another challenge along the path. Rensler swallowed past the lump in his throat, wishing more than ever to share her poise. There was something inspiring about her words, though. Shes right, he thought forcefully. We can still rescue Aylas sister and be on our way before anyone is the wiser. He clung to the sentiment as he followed Ayla through the inn and back out into the rainy street. Perhaps by the time they arrived at the compound, he would manage to have himself convinced. 474 Chapter 27 A biting wind battered at Zandren as he emerged from the tunnel onto the clifftop, finding Luca and their host in the carved out training yard, already engaged in their exercises for the day. Neither appeared to notice his arrival, though if they had, they were not like to acknowledge his presence anyway. The boy was supposed to remain attentive to the tasks at hand, lest he incur chastisement from Caarthas, and the man himself regarded Zandren with a reluctant ambivalence, as though he were an intruder upon something sacredwhich, in a sense, he was, according to the claims of this strange man in the mountain. Zandren moved to the far side of the cliff, several dozen paces from Luca and his instructor, and unsheathed his sword. The gusts tossed his cloak about, catching it upon the scabbard hanging from his hip. He was tempted to discard both already, but that would come after his muscles had warmed and he set about exercises in earnest. The blade glowed steadily, its shine overpowered by the bright sunlight. It still felt strange to have but the one blade. By now, Master Mellew had surely sold the one he had been gifted. The other was in Renslers custody, though it could now be lost as well, stolen by the Trackers. Not for the first time, he wondered whether the sanctum held an armory through which he could rifle. His inquiries had only been rebuffed so far. Caarthas had made it obvious he did not want Zandren snooping around anywhere he should not be. It was a wonder he was allowed to go anywhere in the sanctum alone. He took up a wide stance and flowed from one form to the next at a languorous pace, letting his muscles loosen with the stretches, noting once again how spry his body felt. The persistent aches and pains that had come along with age were all but vanished, evidently as a result of Lucas healing. But his mind felt more cluttered than ever, as though a fog had settled 475 upon his thoughts and would not let up. His memories came in fragments throughout the days, clawing to the forefront of his mind unbidden. He recalled his fierce duel with the demon outside the hidden entrance, the agony of the creature impaling him. Lying upon the stone, he had been powerless to fend off his impending death. But Luca commanded the beast to cease, and it listened. Zandren had killed it. Then he died. And awoke naked in an alien place with walls all of stone. His only instinct had been to find a way to escape the stony warren in which he found himself, but the sudden rush of memories sent him stumbling aimlessly through the corridors instead. Luca and Caarthas discovered him muttering and wandering the halls, sword in hand, his only garment a blanket. It was some time before he was able to listen to Luca explain all that had transpired. Four days. He had lost four days to the deep sleep of one close to death. But he survived, evidently thanks to Luca and their new benefactor. For all his complaints about Zandrens presence, Caarthas was a consummate host, providing for his needs well enough. As Luca told it, the man had fed Zandren broth and kept him free of sores while he slumbered, though simple kindnesses appeared to be the extent of his benevolence. In the week since Zandren woke, Caarthas only spoke to him when necessary, wasting few words. Zandrens sword whistled through the air as he increased his pace. The forms came to him by rote, every bit as normal as breathing, and the comfort of the routine provided clarity for his cluttered thoughts. The lost time vexed him. So much could have happened while he was locked in slumber. It was a miracle that nothing ill had befallen the boy. At the corner of his vision, he watched as Luca held his arms aloft, bands of white-gold light forming and undulating around them. He thrust out his hands, and the light surged forward 476 as a column of fire blasting out over the mountainside. Caarthas hovered nearby, hands tucked into the opposite sleeves of his brown robe, and spoke too quietly for Zandren to hear, though whatever it was made Luca break out into a wide grin. It unnerved Zandren how easily Luca had taken to their host. The man claimed to be immortal, the result of Marked techniques not seen in millennia, and was the sole resident of an ancient, labyrinthine temple large enough to be its own city. A man who had supposedly seen the founding of the Church, yet the Church had no records of such a man. Stranger still was Luca, usually so inquisitive, accepting all of this without question. And then there was the noise Zandren heard at night, the sound of something scraping within the stone, like a nest of rockscales coming alive. Something was wrong about the whole situation, though discerning between truth and his own tumultuous thoughts was becoming difficult. The sounds he heard could as easily be products of an overtaxed mind. With a grunt, he slowed his movements, at last coming to a halt. A patina of sweat covered his bald head, cold in the strong wind, though he did not wipe it away as he sought out a bench. Taking a pull from his waterskin, he settled down to wait for Luca to finish his exercises. Caarthas was in the act of throwing rocks at the boy, who was to conjure wards to deflect the missiles. The ageless man possessed an astonishingly strong arm, as he sent each stone zipping toward Luca from a dozen paces away. A handful of small circles shimmered in the air, solidifying into translucent discs that hovered before Luca. He shifted the wards about as the rocks cracked against them, blocking each projectile until at last one slipped between two of the discs, striking Luca with a meaty smack on the shoulder. Luca staggered and clutched the point of impact. Fates, that smarts, he shouted over the wind. 477 My apologies, Caarthas said. He did not appear to speak any louder than before, yet now his voice carried easily across the stone yard. As I have explained before, though, such is part of the process. Your ability to recover has only grown stronger as well. I suspect you shant have a bruise come morning. Well that doesnt make it hurt less now, Luca said. He glanced back at Zandren. Can we take a pause? Just for a bit. A flat expression stole upon Caarthass face. It is not yet noon, though if that is your wish, I will not stop you. Although he certainly wants to, Zandren thought. The man would have let Zandren die upon his doorstep, had Luca not been so stubborn. No one but Vestiges and Caarthas himself had set foot within the Sanctum in centuries, a rule which made Zandren all the more wary of this place and its caretaker. But so long as Luca wanted Zandren around, he could remain. He only hoped the boy did not change his mind. Itll be only a couple of minutes, Luca said, making for the bench. Probably. I promise. He plopped down beside Zandren and took a long drink from his own waterskin. Despite the rigorous activity, no sign of exertion showed on Luca, nor did he appear to notice the chill of the wind, though he wore no cloak. Youre getting better at that, Zandren said after a moment. I dont recall you having such control over each ward only a few days ago. Luca puffed up from the praise. Caarthas says Im progressing rapidly. Quicker than he anticipated, in fact. He wasnt sure how this would go, since hes never met a Vestige as young as me. 478 Zandren nodded in assent, idly tossing the waterskin between his hands as he considered his next words. He needed Luca to do something for him, but he was unsure the boy was capable at present. Start slow. Build to the question. That was how Kahlia would broach the matter. Have you begun to practice the other Marks yet? he asked, hoping that was conversational enough. Idle chatter had never been his strong suit. Sure, he knew how to gather information, how to start someone talking about the latest news and rumors. But that always felt purposeful, and he never asked those people for a favor. Not really, Luca said. Caarthas says Light and Ward are what I need to master right now, so that I can defend myself properly if were attacked again. When were attacked again, I suppose. His face twisted in discomfort. I still dont understand how the demons keep finding me, let alone where they come from, but Caarthas says theyll come for me again once we leave the sanctum. Zandren harbored the same fear, though he refrained from saying as much. That makes good sense, for the time being. And when does Caarthas believe you will be ready to progress? Luca shrugged. Im sure well get to them soon. Although I have practiced with the Vitalmark a bit already. He flashed Zandren a lopsided smile, and Zandren forced himself to return the gesture. I suppose thats true, he said slowly. And that shall be useful in the future. But you have not touched on Passage or Seer as of yet? I find that a touch baffling, considering their utility. He drank from the waterskin. If you practiced those, you may be able to locate your brother and Kahlia. We may be able to return to them. Caarthas says that isnt wise yet. 479 Of course he doesnt. The man sat at the center of the yard, his pose reminiscent of Kahlia when she meditated. Eyes shut and unmoving, Caarthas might as well have been sleeping, though Zandren was certain the man heard everything. He would have to take great care with his words. If he could get Luca to make the suggestion, then maybe But do you think its wise? Zandren said. It seems to me youre proving quite adept at what youve practiced so far. I have faith that you will master the other Marks as well. Luca shifted in his seat. I guess so, but What do you want to do, Luca? Zandren pressed. Do you want to find them or stay put in this mountain? Of course I want to find them! Luca snapped. But what if I mess it up and hurt them somehow? I dont want to hurt anyone else because I dont know how to control myself. He folded his arms around his chest and lowered his voice. Its better if I stay here for now, where no one can find me and I cant hurt anyoneespecially Rensler and Kahlia. Zandren cursed inwardly; he had prodded too sharply. His gaze drifted past the boy to Caarthas, his gray eyes now fixed upon Zandren. Luca, Zandren said, I understand why youre upset, but we cannot simply remain here in perpetuity. We have a duty to find the others. Luca grimaced. So many duties, and all pulling different directions. Caarthas says my duty is to master my powers first, in the order he says is best. Only then can I be ready to reunify Artrass body and soul. Caarthas is blind to the world beyond his mountain, Zandren said. He ignored the other mans unblinking stare, though it prickled the flesh on his arms. He dropped to a whisper. Theres something strange about this place, about that man. Im not certain all is as he claims. 480 The boy shot a confused glance at the other man. Why? Hes done nothing but help us. Help you. He would have let me die, had the choice been his. Luca shook his head. Well, he didnt, and thats what matters. Why are you always so mistrusting? Whenever someone wants to help us, you act like theyre out to kill us. Not everyone is as bad as you think. Such naivety will be the death of us. Perhaps not, Zandren said, but Ive lived too long to not sense when something is amiss. He wants usyouto remain here, and I need to know why. Luca scoffed and jumped to his feet. He wants me to stay here so I can learn. Thats all there is to it. His hands balled into fists, and he appeared poised to say more, but his expression softened, his gaze sliding toward the ground. I should get back to training, he muttered, relaxing his hands. Ill see you at supper. He trotted off toward the center of the yard, where Caarthas unfolded himself and rose in one smooth motion, like a serpent readying to strike. There were snakes everywhere upon this mountain, it seemed. Caarthas gave Luca a tight-lipped smile and began to speak, once again too quiet for Zandren to make out the words. A heavy sensation settled in his stomach as Luca resumed his lesson with Caarthas. Zandren remained for a few minutes longer, watching as Caarthas led the boy through another exercise. The man wore that congenial mask for Luca, but the brief glance he cast at Zandren was full of spite. I know what youre about, that gaze seemed to say. I will not let him go so easily. Zandren shuddered involuntarily. Gathering his things, he made for the entrance back into the sanctum. Chalk lines, scrawled by his own hand, along the walls guided him through the 481 winding corridors, eventually bringing him to his bedchamber. He paused with his hand upon the door, the rare piece of wood breaking up the endless stone. Out of the wind, his cloak now felt heavy and hot upon his shoulders, and he had begun to sweat through his underclothes. A bath sounded appealing, but there was another task to which he could turn his attention while Caarthas was yet preoccupied. Pushing open the door, he undid the clasps of the cloak and flung it toward the bed, returning to the hall before the garment had finished fluttering down. With great strides Zandren traversed the warrens of the sanctum, following the markings along the walls. On and on the sprawling network went, with tunnels winding every which way, sometimes turning back on themselves, other times running straight for fifty paces. No ladders or stairs were to be had, though the tunnels gently sloped upward and downward, making it all the more difficult to get a sense for how many levels the sanctum held. The chalk markings ended abruptly. He halted and dug into a belt pouch for the rolled up bundle of parchment and the stub of chalk Caarthas had lent him upon his awakeningnot without question, of course. Zandren had explained that if he and Luca were to remain in the sanctum, they would need a method for navigating their way through the maze of winding corridors. Their host had relented, though he warned Zandren to leave the sealed places alone. And so, each day, he ventured through the tunnels and slowly came to know the Sanctum of Yusavan. Zandren peered at the chalk marking until he was satisfied with his mork, then moved on. Several paces further, the hall intersected with another, likewise lit by the steady, soft glow of the infused lights embedded in the ceiling. Zandren drew two arrows along the rough stone, each 482 one pointing in opposite directions, and scribbled a mostly legible word above each. It would not do to become lost down here, for he was certain Caarthas would leave him to rot. Unfurling the parchment, he laid out the sheets in the proper pattern, connecting each of the lines representing tunnels. For a week now, he had wandered the halls, mapping out as much of the space as he could. Dozens and dozens of lines already ran across the parchment, with squares and circles branching off representing the various rooms he had stumbled upon. Some were merely for storage, some for gathering, and others still for seemingly no purpose at all but to illustrate the artistry of the builders. Whole rooms were dominated with statues and elaborately carved reliefs, using the natural strata to add color and depth to the artwork. The place had once been teeming with life, judging by the amount of bedchambers he had discovered. Some were full suites of rooms, practically whole houses carved into the stone. The complexity of the sanctum grew all the more staggering to Zandren as he discovered each new room. The creation of such a place must have taken decades. Ignoring the branching corridors for now, he continued forward, pausing every ten heartbeats to make another marking. He enjoyed the simple routine. Decades ago, when he was but a boy, he had dreamed of delving into ancient ruins and unearthing their mysteries. He supposed a part of him had never let go of that desire, even as his life veered from that path. His desire to root out secrets brought the interest of the Church upon him. The ideal Guardian, they claimed he could become. Perhaps a Justiciar, should he prove his worth. Had he done so by now? He certainly would when he brought Luca, alive and whole, to Thanalia. Few could claim to have accomplished such a feat. But do I still want that life? he thought. Another mark. The power the Justiciars wielded had once been enticing. Not so anymore. He was no longer certain what he would do, once this 483 long journey finally ended. Surely God would find another purpose for him. Kahlia would claim as much, at least. Ahead, the tunnel ended abruptly and without any apparent reason. By all appearances, it became smooth, unbroken stone, as though the builders had simply ceased their efforts here. Another one, Zandren thought, bringing his face close to the corner of the wall. Where other junctures were rounded, each tunnel and doorway blending seamlessly into the next, this one was sharp and distinct, with a thin crack running all around the rectangular slab. Zandren strained against it, but the stone did not budge. Damn. Strewing the parchment out again, he added the strange spot to his map, then tapped the others he had found. Four now, he whispered, glancing back down the corridor. Surely Caarthas cant hear me down here. So far as Zandren knew, Caarthas was not aware of everything that went on within the mountain, though he had not yet tested the theory. The mans warning still rang fresh in Zandrens mind, alongside his curiosity. What lay within these sealed stones? Did they keep something terrible at bayor was Caarthas hiding something from them? Something that he would not want even the Vestige to see, perhaps His fingers tightened involuntarily around his sword hilt. The stone would be thick, of course, and his blade was not indestructible, but surely with enough time and precise cuts If Caarthas discovers what Im about, hell have my head. The image of the kindly man was surely a faade. If he were truly an immortal being, he could possess abilities far beyond anything Zandren had witnessed before. But if he were hiding something from Luca, Zandren needed to uncover it, for both their sakes. Casting another look backand finding himself quite alonehe drew the sword, its glow blending with the other. Perhaps now is the time to test him. He pressed the tip of the blade 484 against the stone, at the seam where the walls met, and scored a shallow cut, no longer than his finger. The mark could easily go unnoticed, evident only to a trained eye or one familiar with the sanctum. If Caarthas worried about intruders into these sealed places, he would certainly inspect them with some frequency, and were he to uncover signs of tampering, he would not hesitate to accost Zandren. But, come morning, if the man spoke not of the matter, then Zandren would have his answer. Satisfied for the time being, he sheathed his sword, gathered his supplies, and set off the way he had come. He would have to be patient in the coming days. Weeks, more like. Luca needed more time to continue his training, and every day that Zandren spent without causing trouble would only lower Caarthass guard. His footsteps echoed along the corridor, drumming out a rhythm that ran round his head. For a time, he lost himself in the sound as he retraced his steps, until at last he found himself nearing his destination. Luca had brought him to the library shortly after he woke, and Zandren had returned each afternoon since. The collection of knowledge held in the clutches of the stone astounded him. If he were to bide his time, he would at least spend it wisely. The tomes were not all that drew his attention, of course, as his eyes fixed on the white pillar dominating the center of the room. It remained a mystery to him. Caarthas would not elaborate upon its purpose, even when Luca pressed him for answers. Zandrens fingers twitched as he considered placing his hands upon the indentations in the stone, though the uncertainty of what would happen held him back. Something about the pillar called to him, like whispers tickling at the back of his mind. For now, the mystery would remain unsolved. He turned to the hewn shelvesmarkedly free of dustand rounded the room, holding his finger a hairsbreadth from the spines as he counted the books, until at last he found where he 485 had left off before, a wood-bound tome containing accounts of the time after the Sundering of Artras. A familiar tale, though he had never laid eyes on this particular collection before. He took a seat at one of the slabs of stone that passed for a desk and thumbed open the tome, hoping to find the answers he sought. An hour passedhe assumed; it was difficult to tell while deep within the mountain and the book proved to be exactly as disappointing as he had feared. As with the last several books he had selected, it neglected to mention anything regarding the sanctum or its lone occupant. Not even Yusavan, the namesake of this labyrinth, could be found. He returned the tome to its place with a frustrated grunt. Rapping his knuckles against the stone shelf, he cast his gaze about the tall chamber. Thousands of books filled the shelves. The answers he sought could be here, scattered amongst the pages, but it would take a lifetime for him to read them all. Several lifetimes, in fact. The futility of the task crushed him with the weight of the mountain itself, and he slumped down into the seat once more. Why had he thought this would be a practical use of his time? He was not a scholar. The prospect of spending his days endlessly reading in the hopes of finding one scrap of evidence was overwhelming. Peace, Zandren, he thought, just as Kahlia would always say when he was agitated. He was not defeated yet. He still had time to find the answers he sought. With a sigh, he retrieved another tome and began again. The ideal Guardian, that was what he was. Loyal, obedient, and above all, patient. He would play his part until the time was right. It was all he could do. 486 Chapter 28 Rensler trailed at Aylas heels as the woman wended her way through the crowded streets of Myrais, giving little care for anyone she bumped and elbowed along the way. Muttering apologies as went, Rensler kept up as best he could and found himself wishing he were still on horseback. Most people moved out of the way for a horse without being told, and then he wouldnt have needed to feel so rude for nudging them aside. But Ayla strode along heedlessly, and rude though it was, he could handle jostling a few pedestrians if it meant not getting lost in this place. Gray clouds cluttered up the evening sky once again, casting the city into an early darkness, and the low rumble of approaching thunder reverberated among the buildings. The lingering mist that had seemingly marked a reprieve from the storm had betrayed them, the rain now coming down in fat droplets, plopping into the water pooling along the edges of practically every street, forming rivulets between flagstones or whole ponds where the streets were merely earth. Renslers cloak was soaked through from the days unending rain. He wanted nothing more than to hang up the garment by the fire while he sat nearby, basking in the warmth and enjoying a hot meal. Hopefully there wouldnt be too many prying eyes about when they returned, but on an evening such as this, the common room was like to be packed with plenty who shared in his desires. The notion might have been vexing were his attention not so dedicated to keeping pace with Ayla. Her disposition had darkened alongside the sky, and she had not spoken since they departed from the inn, focused solely on the path forward. Rensler couldnt help but feel responsible for her sour mood. He had expected his inquiry regarding Negald to amount to nothing but unfounded suspicion, but it appeared the captain was as shrewd as Rensler had 487 feared. His only solace was that no Seer had attempted to find themas far as he knew. Every itch at the back of his neck sent a nervous thrill coursing through him, but a few scratches banished each one, as they should. He doubted a Seer could be thwarted in the same manner. Ahead, Ayla stepped into a puddle, splashing dirty water at a couple of passersby, and stumbled as her booted foot sank deep into the pit. Rensler dashed forward and caught her by the arm before she went crashing to the cobblestones. Thanks, she mumbled, shaking out of his grasp and righting herself. The people she had spattered paused nearby, cursing as they brushed at their clothes. Renslers hand crept toward his sword, but they only flashed Ayla a rude gesture before moving on. Thank the Fates, he thought. The last thing he needed was a fight in the middle of a busy street. That would draw quite the crowd and have the Watch upon them quickly enough. To Ayla, he said, Are you all right? Its fine. She grimaced as she put weight on her foot. Rensler gave her a skeptical look. Its nothing Pellas cant fix later. We should keep moving. They continued on, slower than before, as Ayla tried to hide a wince with every other step. Rensler kept abreast of her now, and they moved with the flow of traffic instead of cutting through it. He could practically feel Aylas frustration mounting every time they slowed as a carriage rolled past or the throng grew too thick to force their way through. They were not far now, though, as the bridge loomed large off to their right, and Rensler caught a glimpse of the Trackers stronghold between the buildings ahead. Even still, at least a quarter hour passed before they at last halted at the base of the gigantic arch spanning the Perashal River. Are you sure this is safe? Rensler whispered. Wont it seem odd if we stand on the bridge in the rain? 488 Maybe, Ayla said. Lots of people do odd things in a city this size. That doesnt exactly make me feel better. Ayla rolled her eyes, then looped her arm through his. He stiffened, but he resisted pulling away. Even in the rain, the traffic along the bridge remained steady, and there were more than enough passersby to notice him acting strangely. Ayla smirked, obviously aware of just that. People wont pay as much attention to us if they think were a couple out for a stroll, she said. Relax and try not to act like youre wound so tightly for a change. Youre one to talk, Rensler thought. Odd time for a stroll, dont you think? he muttered, feeling the rain pattering on his hooded head. His sodden cloak hung heavy on his shoulders. Love makes people act weird, Ayla said. Were just another couple of strangers going about our lives. Thats not a crime for normal people. She tugged at his arm. Come on. Well need to get to the top for me to have a good view. They began the climb, and Rensler tried his best to act the part that Ayla had given him. She took every other step gingerly, and Rensler suspected that she had wanted the help more than she was willing to admit. The stone beneath their feet leveled out, and they pressed against the low wall at the side of bridge. A cart trundled past, so close that Rensler felt the air shift as it passed. He glared at the drivers back, but the hunched figure never looked back. Now what? he asked, turning to Ayla. She tugged at her hood with her free hand, trying to coax more cloth to hide her face. Irksome though the rain was, it was proving useful for their task. Now you give me a few minutes, she said. Keep an eye out, but dont look too suspicious. If anyone gets too close, put your arm around me and laugh. 489 Rensler pursed his lips, already feeling his face growing warm. His companion appeared not to notice his discomfort, her focus on the Trackers fortress. Rensler squinted, trying to pierce the rain and the encroaching darkness. Thick stone blocks, a light gray with tinges of green in joins, made up the outer wall, and a good half dozen paces of grass stretched out to the nearest buildings. A watchtower rose from each juncture in the wall, towering over the surrounding city, though even those did not reach the heights of the inner city wall. The compound only seemed small by comparison, though; were it not for the inner city, Rensler would have assumed this fortress was the kings castle. A handful of rectangular buildings lay scattered across the sloping yard within, each one built from the same stone as the wall and topped with dull red slate, and flagstone paths crossed among them through stretches of grass and trees. Squares of hard-packed earth stood out amongst the greenery. A keep rose from the middle of the yard, soaked banners hanging from its spires. A handful of guards, little more than dark smudges in the distance, strolled about the tops of the wall, spears in hand. They reclined against the ramparts as often as they patrolled, and that was done with an almost casual air bred from confidence. Despite the rain, the yard bustled with activity. A pair of Trackers led a group of ten or so othersRensler couldnt tell for sure from so far awaytoward one of the earthen training spaces, while another group was already assembled in another square. The Trackers wore hooded cloaks over their uniforms to shield them from the rain, while the others were garbed in only drab clothing. Rensler could not make out the tattoos on their cheeks, but he was certain they were all of them Marked. The Trackers barked out orders, indistinguishable over the sounds of the city and the rain, and the Marked leaped to obey. 490 The minutes stretched long, and still Ayla stared, saying nothing. Rensler cleared his throat loudly. Have you seen enough? he murmured. No. Rensler grimaced. They have guards patrolling the walls, and the Trackers bring out the Marked to train. What else is there to see? My sister. Ayla leaned over the railing, going up onto the tips of her toes, and pointed toward one of the groups. Rensler pulled her back down. Dont do that, he hissed. What happened to not looking suspicious? I swear thats her, Ayla said as though she had not heard. Her eyes whitened and returned to normal in the span of a breath. It has to be her. She rose up on the tips of her toes again. Try as he might, Rensler could not distinguish the indistinct blur of people down in the fortress yard. Can you stop doing that? Were going to draw attention to ourselves. Look, I under exactly what youre going through, but you need to stay calm. No you dont, Ayla snapped. Her knuckles whitened on the railing as she gazed at the fortress. You think you do, but you dont. Youve been separated from your brother for how long? A few weeks? I havent seen my sister in five years. Red crept up her neck and into her cheeks as she finally spun toward Rensler, meeting his gaze with her piercing stare. I dont even know if shell recognize me now. What if theyve broken her, made her feel like this is exactly what her life is supposed to be? She could burn us to cinders, all in the name of a god and a king who despise her. 491 Rensler felt the accusation like a lash across his face. He remained silent for a moment, listening to the patter of the rain and the sounds of the foot traffic, and she slowly turned away. What was he supposed to say to all of that? There was only one thing to say. Youre right, he admitted. I suppose I dont know exactly how you feel. But I can imagine it better than anyone, I should think. Ayla grunted. Thats awfully presumptuous. You dont know how many families have been torn apart by the Trackers. There are countless others in my same situation. Well at least you can see your sister, Rensler said. I have no idea where Luca is right now or what hes doing. He could already be dead for all we know. Your other companion still lives, Ayla replied. I can only assume the same for your brother. Id rather know for sure than simply assume. He clenched his jaw to stop himself from speaking further. They could have this argument anywhere. He cast a wary glance about them, but no one on the bridge paid any attention to either of them. A small relief, though he frowned. He was somewhat skeptical of Aylas declaration, but he knew not the workings of the Seermarkany of the Marks, for that matter. He had no choice other than to believe her. He let out a long sigh. All right. We know shes alive and in the compound. How do we make it inside? Ayla drummed her fingers on the railing. I still think our best plan is to simply walk in through the front gate. You can see how attentive those wall guards are. If we play the part, they wont try to stop us from entering, and no one will be any the wiser to us. Probably because they dont expect something so idiotic, Rensler grumbled. But thats still only half of the problem. Getting inside would be worthlessnot to mention suicidalif 492 they didnt have a viable escape route. Supposing this ridiculous plan to get in works in the first place, and assuming we find Nira without issue, how do we get her out? You already know the answer to that, Ayla said. You suggested it yourself. Rensler drew his mouth into a thin line. Kahlia didnt approve of that idea, he said. Letting the rest of the Marked free would certainly provide an adequate distraction, but the Seeker was right in pointing out the violence that would follow. We might not have a choice, Ayla said softly. She tugged at Renslers arm. Lets head back to the inn. We can think upon this more after a bath and hot meal. Though tomorrows task weighed heavily on his mind, Rensler needed no further urging to finally get out of the rain. Rensler tugged at the collar of his coat, sitting a bit too snugly around his throat, as he waited in the stableyard, ignoring the occasional glance from one of the workers. Dusk had come again, and the yard was bathed in the dark red light of the setting sun, the rooftops of nearby building casting long shadows. The rain had finally ceased overnight, though he and his companions had not gone out to enjoy the clear weather. They had passed the day with little fanfare, gathering in one of their rooms to run through their plan again and again. The back door of the inn swung open. Rensler twisted toward it and felt the coat tighten around his chest. The Tracker whose uniform he now possessed had been smaller than him, as his sleeves only brushed his wrists, but the dark green cloak hanging around his shoulders, embroidered with the Trackers sigil a drawn bow, fit well enough. Maybe that was what the stablehand kept looking at. Did he think the bedraggled group that had shown up the day before was actually a trio of Trackers with a Marked in tow? 493 Kahlia, Ayla, and Pellas filed out into the darkening yard, with the innkeeper herself at their heels. Ayla wore her own Tracker uniform, the shoulder now bare of the patch deeming her Marked. In one hand, she clutched a short length of rope that ran ended wrapped around Pellass already manacled wrists, and the dull metal Binding was clasped about his neck. His face had gone a sickly pale. Im starting to have reservations about this plan, he muttered, shivering. Its been a long time since I wore a Binding. I had almost forgotten how miserable of an experience it is. Kahlia gave him a sympathetic look. Like losing a part of yourself. She turned to Rensler. And how are you faring? As well as I can be, I suppose, Rensler said. He tugged at the hem of a sleeve and glanced away from Kahlias knowing gaze. Im afraid. Ayla is confident this plan of hers will work, but everything has to go in our favor for that to happen. We both know how likely that is. Indeed we do, she said, nodding. But there is nothing to be done but to carry on and pray for success. Slowly, he met her eyes again. If we fail, if were caught by the Trackers, what then? I cant let them take me prisoner again. I have to find Luca. He gave his lips a nervous lick, then lowered his voice so that only Kahlia could hear. We could simply head west, tonight. We could make for Vendalar and leave them to this foolishness. Kahlia drew back, her expression darkening. No. We vowed to help them, Rensler. To abandon them now would be unconscionable. She shook her head, braids swaying. And I dont believe you would be capable to such an act. You are a better man than that. Nausea flared within his stomach, and he felt as though he would crumple under the weight of her expectations as she regarded him with her typical steady calm. His eyes flicked 494 toward Ayla and Pellas, standing before Mistress Osena, who was gesticulating broadly as she spoke. Could he abandon them, if it meant keeping himself free to find Luca? She gave his shoulder a light squeeze, and they joined the others as Mistress Osena swept back inside the inn. Pellas pulled at the metal collar, grumbling all the while. Stop that, Ayla said. You cant be acting like that once we leave the yard. I know, Pellas huffed, but he dropped his hands all the same. Lets be about this insane plan, shall we? Kahlia gave them all a tight-lipped smile. Ill be waiting for your return. Try not to be late. Well do our best, Ayla said, starting toward the back gate. She yanked on the rope, causing Pellas to lurch forward with a yelp and a glare. Sorry, but weve got to make this believable. Try to look as pitiful as you can. Ill take point. Rensler, you bring up the rear, and dont be afraid to smack Pellas if you see fit. Rensler looked into the other mans fear-filled eyes. IIll try. Good enough, Ayla said. They took the streets once more, Ayla leading the way. The evening crowd was not quite so thick, yet those who were about still gave the little group a wide berth, though more than a few expressed their ire for their prisoner. Ayla played her part with frightening ease, pulling Pellas along whenever he began to dally. Shadows gathered beneath the eaves of every building when they at last arrived at the Trackers fortress. A path of cracked flagstone ran from the street to the main gate, two tall iron doors set into an archway in the outer wall. Lantern light flickered across the stone blocks from 495 within, and a figure moved into view on the other side of the gate, garbed in a mail hauberk covered in a tunic much the same as the one Rensler wore. A mans face emerged from the darkness. He could not have been much older than Rensler himself, but his already thinning hair and scrunched up face made him look like an old man. Whats this now? he said in a reedy voice. He raised the lantern to the iron bars, his gaze darting to each of them in turn before lingering on Pellas. Caught one in the wild, I assume. But who are you two? I dont recognize either of your faces. Names Shielle, Ayla said. She hooked a thumb toward Rensler. This heres Raym. Rensler kept his face still, nodding slightly as the man examined him. Both of the names had belonged to dead Trackers from Negalds squadron, according to Ayla. Rensler wondered how exactly his new namesake had met his end. The guard twisted his lips further. Hmm. Well, its awfully late to be coming inside, especially for a couple of strangers. Where you from, anyhow? Fiore, Ayla said quickly. She hauled Pellas forward with the rope. This one belonged to one of the nobles there. Got out one night, apparently, and we were sent to bring him back. By the time we caught his trail, he was days ahead of us and made it all the way here, but we found him in the end. She gripped Pellas by the jaw. Isnt that right? He nodded awkwardly in her grasp, and Rensler forced his hands to remain by his sides. The way she clutched their companion reminded him of Negald. Pellas saw the resemblance as well, judging by his widened eyes. The man rubbed his chin for a moment as he weighed the account before breaking out into a smile, evidently convinced by the story and the harsh treatment. I like when they get crafty, he said. Makes the chase more fun. A lot more than gate duty, thats for sure. He 496 produced a heavy iron key from a belt pouch. Right then, weve got some spare beds in one of the barracks. You wouldnt be the first group traveling through wanting shelter. The lock undone, he pushed against one of the barred doors, which let out a grinding sound as it swung outward. Aye, seems like we get Trackers from all over the place making their way here these days. Not sure if its part of the army gathering or whatnot. Hell, a captain all the way from Riandris arrived, just the other day. Renslers breath caught in his throat. He had hoped Negald would have moved on by now. Is that uncommon? he asked, his voice hoarse. Course it is, the man replied as he ushered the three of them inside and locked the gate. Its rare to go too far outside your territory, after all. By the sounds of things, something bad happened out that way. He glanced about, then leaned in closer as though he were sharing a secret. I hear tell theres a new Vestige. This captainNegald, I think is his namehad a runin with the demon. Wiped out most of his squadron, apparently, just outside Fiore. Too bad you two were already on the road, else you might have been there to see it happen. Without warning, his hand darted out and smacked Pellas on the back of the head. Thats what you get for running off. Anyway, the captain came to report the news to His Holiness. Maybe youll see him in the morning. Maybe, Ayla uttered. But for now, wed like to put our runaway in a cell and get some rest. The man dipped his head. Ah, of course. My apologies. Gate duty gets a bit lonely. He pointed toward the central keep. Youll find the tunnels down to the Marked barracks are in there. Suppers probably winding down by now, but Im sure someone is around who can show you the way. Id take you myself, but Im not looking to get punished for abandoning my post. 497 Thank you, Ayla said flatly. Your hospitality is appreciated The Tracker grinned. Its Beloyr. After you get rid of this thing, he said, waving a dismissive hand at Pellas, youre welcome to come back and chat some more, if you want. I can always use the company. The mans eyes did not waver from Ayla. Something tells me he wouldnt want my company, Rensler thought. Ill consider the offer, Ayla said in a hollow voice as she started forward, yanking Pellas along the path. Standing within the walls, Rensler found the yard to be far more expansive than it had appeared the evening before. The southern half of the space was dominated by the packed earth of several training grounds, each one flanked by a row of benches. Grass and wild flowers grew between the spaces, tall trees rising from the greenery. The land sloped up toward the northern end, where half a dozen buildings, each one an unadorned block of faded brick, stood at intervals upon the gentle peaks of the hills. The central keep towered over the other buildings, its spires reaching for the sky like grasping arms. Sweeping lines decorated the stonework, and statues of eagles, some with wings outstretched, adorned corners and ledges along the length of the structure. All seemed poised to come alive in the blood-red light of the sunset. Stop staring, Ayla hissed. Youre dawdling. Rensler blinked, realizing that he had fallen several steps behind, and quickened his stride. Sorry, he said. He shot a glance back at the gate guard, reclining within the shadows of the arch. Rensler couldnt see the mans face, but he could feel his gaze upon them. Did that seem too easy to you? A bit, Ayla said. But he had no cause to turn us away. 498 Especially when youve got a Marked to push around, Pellas muttered. Ayla bit at her lip. I wouldnt have done that if I knew it wouldnt help. Ahead, the heavy doors of the keep swung open, and a small group of Trackers poured out onto the path, illuminated by the soft glow of lantern light from behind. Pellas clamped his mouth shut as one of the Trackers pointed toward them. Rensler tensed, worrying they would be accosted, but the group moved on with little more than a wave and a call of greeting. It was odd to see such merriment in this place. Youre staring again, Ayla reprimanded. Act like you belong, and theyll believe it. Rensler sighed and returned his attention to the path as the building loomed ever larger, until at last it was all he could see. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the iron ring, as wide across as both his hands put together, and pulled on one of the heavy doors. Yellow light spilled out into the darkness as they slipped inside. Rensler dragged the door shut behind them. A long chamber greeted them, as did the faces of the scattered dozen or so still seated at the wooden tables stretching the length of the room, stopping at the short stone dais jutting out from the far wall. A row of pillars ran along either side of the chamber, a green banner depicting a white bow and arrow hanging from each one. Chandeliers hung from the highest points in the vaulted ceiling, and timbered beams crossed between the pillars high overhead. Two doorways stood in the walls beyond the pillars, shaded by the shorter ceiling. Quiet settled in the hall for a few painfully long seconds before the occupants resumed eating, and Rensler let out the breath he was holding. He glanced about, squinting at the shadows in the corners of the chamber. What now? he whispered, moving his lips at little as possible. Without a word, Ayla thrust the rope into his hands and strode toward the nearest trio of diners. They gazed at her expectantly as she approached, their conversation quieting. Well met, 499 friends, she said, her voice echoing faintly. Rensler winced at the sound. Were from out by Fiore, tracking down a runaway from the city. She gestured toward Pellas, who kept his eyes fixed on the stone floor. Beloyr at the gate said we could keep the bastard in with the other Marked for the night. The seated Trackers looked at each other. Er, that door over there, said a young man with dark hair and crooked teeth. He pointed at the wooden door at the side of the dais. The stairs are just within. The woman across from him, her hair nearly as short as her companions, eyed Ayla, and Rensler was certain they would be discovered. Surely someone would grow suspicious at their sudden appearance. But she merely nodded and said, Maybe you should escort them down. Make sure they get to the right cell. The man paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. But Im not done eating, he protested. Its quite all right, Ayla chimed in. Im sure we can find it. The woman cocked an eyebrow at the third, who merely shook his head. She rolled her eyes and rose from the stool. Bah, you lazy it. Ill do it then. She beckoned for Rensler to come forth. With an effort, he forced himself to move, tugging sharply at the rope, though Pellas was already beside him. Come along, then. Its best you have a guide, else you could put him in with the wrong bunch. She snapped her fingers at her fellows. At least make yourself useful and tell the captain weve got some new arrivals. The captain? Sweat beaded on the back of Renslers neck, moistening the too tight collar as he followed their guide through the hall, his face growing hot as he ignored the stares of the 500 other Trackers. Did Negald know to expect them? Surely there must have been more than one captain at the stronghold. The corridor beyond was cramped and lit by a single lantern. A few paces beyond, a staircase wound down into the dark. The Tracker unhooked the lantern as she walked past. Come on, she said, one foot on the top stair step. Lets get him put away and get back to the meal. You two look like youve been living on scraps for a while now. Rensler didnt argue the point, seeing as how the woman was right, and followed her down the stairwell, keeping a tight grip on the lead. The air grew musty and stale as they descended deeper into the earth, though it was no cooler than night outside. You say youre out from Fiore, huh? the woman asked. Her voice bounced off the walls of the stairwell. Mustve been a dreadful journey, especially if you came in with the storm yesterday. It was not without its troubles, no, Aylas voice came from behind. Their guide glanced back at Pellas, who walked awkwardly half a step behind Rensler. You sure made it quite a ways, Ill give you that. And it was just the two of you who caught him? She let out an appreciative whistle, though it sounded insincere to Rensler. Howd you manage to find him in the city without a Seer? Rensler tried to speak, but the words died on his lips. He didnt make it the city, Ayla said quickly. We caught up to him in one of the roadside towns, about half a days march east. The woman nodded as she reached the bottom of the stairs, where the ground became a blend of rock and dirt that had been hewn and smoothed long ago, and came into a long corridor, its walls and ceiling made of gray stone blocks. The space was wide enough for half a dozen people to stand shoulder to shoulder. Archways fitted with wooden doors broke the plain 501 expanse of stone on either side. An iron wheel sat in the center of each door, with a thick rod protruding from both sides that stuck into the stonework. In the dim lantern light, Rensler counted twenty, each one only a few paces apart from the next, but the tunnel appeared to continue on into the blackness beyond. Rensler coughed, the sound echoing all around them. You keep all of your Marked down here? Where else? the Tracker replied. Theyre far too dangerous to be kept on the surface, especially the Radiants. She shot him a quizzical look. Isnt that how you do things out in Fiore? Of course, Ayla said. She drew up beside Rensler, Pellas fidgeting between them. She grabbed him by the arm. We can compare after we get this one in a cell for the evening. Id like to get off my feet soon. The other woman grinned, then spun on a heel, waving a hand for the three to follow. With her back to them, Rensler leaned his head behind Pellas and beckoned for Ayla to do the same. We have to lose her, he whispered, the words barely leaving his lips. Dont you think I know that? Ayla hissed through clenched teeth. When we reach the cell, grab her. Why me? Because I have to find Nira. They straightened as the woman glanced backward. Hurry up, now. Youre the ones who want to unwind. Another dozen steps, and she halted at a door. She set the lantern on the ground, gripped the iron wheel, and twisted it with a grunt. The rods sprang free from the walls of the archway. The woman pushed the door inward, revealing a square chamber. Rensler didnt 502 think he could extend his arms were he to lie on the floor. A bed and dresser, each looking quite worn, were the only adornments. Rensler scrunched up his face, unable to keep his disgust buried. Their guide noticed his discomfort and said, I assure you, he wont be getting out of here. But youre welcome to inspect the cell first, if you would like. I dont think thatll be necessary, Rensler said. She nodded before he had finished speaking, and Rensler got the sense she had expected the answer. She turned her attention to Pellas. Well, put him in, then. No use in standing around. She took a step back from the door as she spoke. Unless theres a reason you dont want to lock him up Rensler lunged toward her as she darted toward the stairwell, catching her around the legs and bringing them both crashing to the floor. She twisted in his grasp, trying to pull her legs free, but Rensler pinned them to the floor with his body. A fist came flying toward his head. He jerked back, barely dodging the first blow. Her other hand came away from her belt holding a knife, and she snarled as she slashed at Rensler. A booted foot smashed into the womans face with a sickening crunch, and the knife slipped from her fingers as she went limp in Renslers grasp. Blood spurted from her nose, broken and bent at an odd angle. Letting go, Rensler rolled to the side, looking from the unmoving figure to Ayla, her foot touching the ground once more. Damn it, she said. They knew something was amiss. Then we need to find Nira and go, Rensler said, standing. He nudged the Tracker with a foot. Is she dead? Ayla bent to retrieve the knife. Doubt it. But she will be. 503 Rensler stepped between her and the Tracker. You dont have to do that. These people are murderers and slavers, and yet youd protect them? Ayla spat. She thrust the blade through a loop in her belt. Fine. But if she stirs, she dies. She produced a key from a pocket and tossed it to Rensler. Untie Pellas and take off his manacles. Im going to find Nira. She strode off into the dark, and Rensler did as he was told. Pellas rubbed at his wrists as they were freed. Thanks, he mumbled. Now the Binding, please. Its making me ill. Rensler ran his fingers along the smooth metal band until he found the seams, then pressed. The collar popped open, and Pellas threw it to the floor as he danced backward. Easy, Rensler said. We might need that. Apologies, Pellas said. He shuddered, rubbing at his arms, and frowned. Wait. What do you mean by that? We dont know what her sister will do when freed, Rensler said. He scooped up the lantern and started after their companion. A moment later, Pellas scrambled after him. Both of you have said that some Marked believe in this system. That this is Gods lot for them. He hefted the open collar. In that case, Id rather be prepared than not. Pellas nodded. A wise precaution, I admitwhich is why shell already be wearing one. He sighed. But perhaps it is better to keep. Dont hold it where the girl can see it, though. Youre dressed like one of them, after all. I found the cell, Aylas voice echoed from farther ahead. Rensler broke into a jog, and Aylas figure slowly came into view, along with the wall of stone blocks that marked the end of the corridor. Are you certain? Rensler asked as he halted, Pellas beside him. 504 Ayla shot him a glare. Of course I am. She put her hands on the iron wheel. Stand back a bit. I dont want to scare her. She strained against the wheel, and the mechanism turned with a grinding sound. The lantern, please. Rensler placed the metal ring in her outstretched hand. With the other, she pushed against the door. Light spilled into the chamber, identical to the othersave for the small figure lying on the bed, curled up and facing away from the exit. Nira, Ayla whispered. She moved into the doorframe, lantern held high, and Rensler heard the girl within stirring. Whos there? came a high, quiet voice that was tinged with fear. She gasped, and when next she spoke, the terror had fled. Ayla? Is that you? Footsteps slapped on stone within the cell, and then the girl was pouncing toward Ayla. She staggered backward as the girl wrapped thin arms around Aylas waist. The girl was shorter than her sister by a good head and a half, but even in the flickering lantern light, Rensler saw she had the same dark hair and sharp green eyes. The familiar metal collar around her throat gleamed dully in the flickering light, and a bright red tattoo, three overlapping circles crossed by a series of wavy lines, took up most of one cheek. Nira hissed as she noticed Rensler and Pellas, and she darted behind her sister. Its all right, Ayla said gently. Hes not with the Trackers, I promise. Theyre both here to help. The girl leaned out and glared at Rensler. Then whys he dressed like one? she asked. She tugged at Aylas sleeve. Wait, so are you. I dont understand. Whats happening? How did you get here? Ayla held her sister gently by the shoulders. Ill explain everything once we reach safety. For now, you just have to trust me, all right? The girl looked at each of them in turn before nodding. All right. 505 Good, Ayla said. Pellas, will you get rid of her tattoo? Pellas nodded as he stepped forward, but Nira immediately shrank back once again. I wont hurt you, Pellas said, holding out his empty hands. He tapped a finger against his own tattoo. See, Im one of you. Your sister and I escaped the Trackers together. The girl shot a nervous glance at her cell as a tremor ran through her. But what if they catch me? Wont they hurt me if I dont have the mark? They wont catch you, Ayla replied. Were going to escape, all four of us. A faint noise drew Renslers attention. He turned away from the scenehis presence was only making the girl more anxious, that much was obviousand cocked his head to the side, listening as he took a few quiet steps. The sound grew louder, scraping and tapping intermingling. He paused, straining to hear something else. Voices, muffled by the stout doors. How many of these are occupied? he thought, spinning in a slow circle. And how many of them heard the commotion? An awed gasp came from behind, followed by the metallic click of the Binding coming undone and a squeal of delight, but Rensler kept his eyes on the doors, an idea forming in his mind. Nothing could stop him from opening every single one of the cells. Did he dare do it? Kahlia had warned him not to, afraid of what that would mean for her country. But Myrandian forces were already marshalling to attack Vendalar. Setting all these Marked free and causing chaos in the city could only help her countrymen. And, try as he might, he could not figure out another path for them to escape through the main hall upstairs. Their guide was incapacitated, and now they had two Marked in tow. This is the only way. He set the lantern at his feet and placed his hands on the locking mechanism. 506 What are you doing? Pellass voice echoed along the corridor, mingling with the sounds of footsteps. At the edge of his vision, Rensler saw the three of them approaching. We have to free them, he said. Some of them, at least. We have no other way out. Kahlia told us not Rensler rounded on Pellas. I know what she told us, he snapped. But there is no other way. We wont make it out of here without a distraction or assistance. He swept a hand out in a wide arc. We have both right here before us. And well be condemning many of them to their deaths by doing so. Im sure theyd prefer that to this wretched existence. Quiet, both of you, Ayla said. She stared at the far end of the hall, little more than a black smudge in the distance. Do you hear that? Rensler shared a perplexed look with Pellas, but he held still, trying to perceive the sound. After a few seconds, he said, Its probably the people in the cells. Ayla waved a dismissive hand. No, thats not it. Its The sound of footsteps and the jangling of chain armor drifted from the stairwell. An icy hand gripped Rensler as panic surged through him. They knew, Pellas whispered. They knew the whole time. His chest heaved as he sucked in rapid breaths. We shouldnt have come. This was a mistake. We shouldve known this wouldnt work Ayla shook him by the shoulders. Stop that! Were not dead yet. 507 Not yet, Rensler thought. He sought out Nira, hanging back in the shadows. Do you know whos in these cells? The girl winced and shook her head. Fates, of course she doesnt. What about other Radiants? Do you know where they might be? A moment passed, the footfalls growing ever louder, before Nira nodded, pointing at a handful of doors in turn. Rensler dashed toward one of them, shouting, Ayla, Pellas, help me get these open. Now! Theyre almost upon us. Metal squealed as Rensler twisted the doors mechanism. He shoved the door with his shoulder, finding a man, his features barely visible in the shadows, pressed against the back wall. Rensler barked an order for the man to follow and raced to another door. His hands clutched the iron wheel as the shadowy shapes of the first Trackers emerged from the stairwell. Fates! Only a handful of doors stood open, and the Marked were just beginning to peer out into the wide tunnel, uncertain as to what was happening. Rensler gritted his teeth and unlocked the door before him. He had a moments warning to move as a figure dove out into the light. The woman rolled and came up into a crouch, staring up at Rensler with eyes full of fury. The red tattoo upon her cheek matched the one Pellas had removed from Nira minutes ago. Im not one of them, Rensler said, tearing at the clasps of his cloak; he wouldnt need the garment once the fight began. The collars, he called out to the others. We have to take off their collars. He turned back to the woman, who now regarded him with confusion, and pointed at her Binding. Just dont burn me to cinders once that things off. More dark shapes of the Trackers spilled out of the stairwell, filling the end of the tunnel. Rensler could not discern how many there were. For the better, perhaps. Maybe if he didnt know how many they faced, his fear would not get the best of him. 508 I see my little sparrows flew back to their nest, a voice rang out from the darkness. Only to find the serpents jaws awaiting them. Rensler froze, the unlocked Binding slipping from his hands. That voice, so full of malice. It had haunted his every waking moment since their escape. Negald had found them. 509 Chapter 29 The air in the tunnel felt suddenly hot and suffocating to Rensler. Like a snared animal, every instinct told him to run, to claw his way to freedom, but the only way out was concealed by the Trackers waiting in the shadows. I cant let them take me again, he thought. A week in captivity had been terrible enough; he was sure he would go mad if they threw him in one of these cells. If they didnt simply kill him herewhich they would. Without a Mark, he was of no use to the Trackers. I can only assume this was your plan, Ayla, Negald said. His voice reverberated along the tunnel, the words dripping with scorn. Predictable, of course, but a beast always finds its way home. Finds its way home? Beside Rensler, Ayla stood with her fists clenched at her sides, teeth bared in a snarl. The white fog swirled across the surface of her eyes, obscuring everything but her pupils. Had she once been locked in a cell here, just like her sister? The Trackers started forward in lockstep. I expected as much from you, Negald continued, louder. But Pellas, you have surprised me. I didnt think you possessed the spine to flee as you did. It is not too late to return to the fold. Come forth and beg for forgiveness, and all can be made right. Rensler glanced at Pellas. The mans skin had turned ghastly pale, and he looked as though he would sicken at any moment. The other Marked, the handful they had freed so far, likewise were frozen in place, a mixture of terror and rage upon their faces. Thin strings of white-gold light, barely visible against the lanterns flame, began to swirl around the hands of the Radiant he had freed mere seconds ago as she stared at the oncoming Trackers. Her fingers twitched, and she began to raise her arms. 510 Wait, Rensler hissed. Something was wrong with the situation. Why would the Trackers come to them, when they could simply hold the stairwell? They dont yet know we took the Bindings off, he realized with a thrill. It was their only advantage. Mind racing, his eyes darted from one door to the next, wishing they bore some indication of who waited within. They could not unlock them all, not with the Trackers almost upon thembut they neednt do so if the doors were simply removed. The woman paused and shot him a furious glare. We should strike now, before they close the distance. Ignoring her ire, Rensler swept his gaze across both her and Nira. Hows your aim? he said quickly, raising his voice over the echo of the approaching footsteps. He had seen Kahlia split her light into a dozen beams before. Surely this woman and Nira could do the same. There are too many of them and too few of us. Aylas face lit up as he spoke. Break the locks, she said. Let out as many of the others, even the odds. She turned to her sister and the woman. Can you do it? The two Marked nodded in unison, then stood with their backs to each other, facing one side of the corridor. You should get down, the woman growled, white light appearing around her arms. Rensler dove to the hard floor, and suddenly bright light filled the corridor, as though the sun itself shone down on them. The hairs on Renslers arms stood straight as the air crackled with energy, followed by the sounds of wood and metal being smashed apart, over and over, mingling with the panicked shouts of the Trackers. Covering his head against the debris, Rensler waited until an eerie quiet settled on the tunnel before he dared survey the scene. A haze of dust lingered in the air, obscuring the two figures standing mere paces away, arms still outstretched. For a moment, no one moved, and then all along the tunnel, doors began 511 to open, some little more than splinters clinging to their hinges, as Marked emerged from their captivity. A deafening roar ripped through the air, and suddenly everyone was shouting and moving as dozens of Marked rushed toward the retreating Trackers. Rensler twisted as people streamed past him, joining those ahead. The soldiers struck outward with swords and spears, but the Marked possessed greater numbers, and those that charged forward attacked with an animalistic ferocity. Rensler caught a glimpse of the Radiant woman running through the choking dust, light flashing from her hands and smashing through more of the doors. He pushed himself up onto unsteady feet and helped Pellas, covered in a layer of dust, to stand. Are you hurt? Rensler asked. Pellass eyes were unfocused, but he shook his head. I dont think so. He looked toward the melee and groaned. Now how do we get out of here? Following his gaze, Rensler saw the swirling mass of bodies pressing against one another, slowly shifting back toward the stairwell. We either wait for them to kill each other, or we push through before they clog the stairs. Then lets be gone from this place, came Aylas voice from behind. She drew up beside them, clutching her sword in one hand, the other wrapped around her sister. Nira can cut a path through. If we can get the rest of the Marked to the surface, the Trackers will never find us in the mayhem. The four of them were alone in hanging back from the brawl, though a head peeked from a ruined door here and there, the few who either had no desire to fight or feared retribution too strongly to move. Rensler suppressed the urge to tell them to follow. They could not save everyone this night, only themselves. 512 Rensler gripped the lantern and drew his own sword, and the four of them broke out into a jog. Metals collars dotted the floor where some of the Marked must have removed the Bindings from their fellows. An acrid scent hung in the air from Travelers vanishing, unburdened by the mass of people. White-gold light flashed, crashing against translucent shields of air. The Trackers have Warders with them, Rensler thought. Even now, there were Marked who fought alongside their captors. The throng packed the tunnel from wall to wall. As they drew near, Rensler knew there would be no way through the press. He glanced at Nira, her wide eyes full of fright, and hoped the girl was as strong as Ayla claimed. Light coalesced around Niras forearms. Rensler shouted at the Marked at the back of the press, hoping to spare as many of them as possible from what was about to happen. Those who heard parted as Nira raised her arms, and a column of white fire, as wide as Rensler was tall, erupted from her palms, the flames roaring. Those who were quick enough dove aside from the torrent. Others were not so fortunate as the flames consumed them, the agonized shrieks of Trackers and Marked alike filling Renslers ears. But a narrow path appeared before them, and Rensler surged forward. He kicked at a Tracker reaching for him and slashed another across the face, blood spattering across his hand, but then he was through the archway and racing up the stairwell. He halted halfway up and slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. With a backward glance, he let out a relieved sigh as he saw his companions arrayed behind. The sound of the melee echoed up from below, growing louder as the combatants came closer to the stairwell. Whoever was still standing would be coming up momentarily. 513 Ayla pushed past him, Nira hard behind her. What are you doing? Rensler said hoarsely. Well lead the way, Ayla replied. If there are more waiting above, Nira can dispatch them far more easily than you. Rensler bristled at the remark. He couldnt let a child go first, though a part of him knew this child could burn him to ash in an instant. Gritting his teeth, he let them pass without argument. Stay close, he said to Pellas. And keep an eye out for those who follow. The other man nodded, and they ran after Ayla, coming up to the top of the stairwell and finding the short corridor empty, though the door to the great hall stood open, almost as though they were welcome guests. The spacious chamber was empty now, bowls and plates bearing half-eaten food left abandoned on the tables. Rensler wondered if the small number of Trackers who had been here before were now killing and dying downstairs. Voices echoed from behind as they pushed against one of the heavy wooden doors. A dark sky greeted them as they halted on the front steps, a faint trace of red still clinging to the western horizon. A cold gust whipped at Renslers face, and for a moment, he regretted discarding his cloak beneath the earth, but the concern vanished as his eyes caught movement in the dark of the yard. Small groups of Trackers, lying in wait, using the trees and brush as cover. More had gathered along the outer wall. Though Rensler could not see them clearly, their stances indicated they each held a bow at the ready, waiting to draw. Pellas groaned. Seems like the whole damn stronghold is awake. Well have to make a run for it, Ayla said. We cant, Rensler argued. Those archers will cut us down before we make it to the gate. 514 What other choice do we have? Ayla snapped. Rensler chewed at his cheek, thinking, when suddenly shouts rang out from within the hall behind them. Move! he hissed. He grabbed Pellas and pulled the startled man down the steps, then pressed against the side of the keep. A second later, people flooded out into the night, and dozens of shouts rang out in the air. Rensler froze, but the crowd wore the same drab clothes as Nira. The Marked had made it through the Trackers. They howled as they surged across the yard, dozens upon dozens, too many for the startled Trackers waiting in the dark to bring down. Arrows flew from the walltop archers, and several Marked fell with a scream. Bolts of white fire fired back in retaliation, crashing against the stone and sending the archers scrambling. Someone barked out orders to the Trackers, and the soldiers grouped together as they attempted to mount a counterattack. A rush of heat came from within the keep. Rensler pushed away from the wall, watching in horrified fascination as the great hall went up in flames. The long tables and benches were all ablaze, and the fire licked at the banners hanging from the pillars. Come on, Ayla shouted from the other side of the steps. Rensler sprinted after her along the path, dodging around the clusters of fighting. Radiants spat fire at the Trackers, while Warders formed shields in the air, deflecting incoming arrows and the steel flashing outward from the soldiers. The yard was thick with the fray, and the screams of the injured and the dying were all Rensler could hear. He danced around a Marked who fell to the ground clutching an arrow sprouting from her chest, then brought up his sword to parry the swing of a Tracker. The soldier hacked at him with wide, sweeping strikes, each one sending tremors through his arms. Rensler caught his foes blade on his own and turned it aside, then slashed the man across the thigh. He toppled with a 515 pained cry, and Rensler resumed his headlong run toward the gate. Just ahead, Ayla and Nira halted underneath a tree, waiting as another group of Trackers emerged from one of the other buildings, its roof already halfway consumed by white flames. Rensler heard a terrible scream from mere feet behind him. He skidded to a stop and, turning, saw Pellas staggering, blood spilling down his front. Negald stood silhouetted by the burning keep, sword held before him, the blade glistening in the firelight. Half the mans face was burned away, the skin blackened and bleeding, making his mocking grin all the more terrifying. Fear gripped Rensler with an icy hand as the chaos of the yard fell away, his attention entirely focused upon the man before him. Negald brought his sword up, flicking droplets to the grass. I take it you never found that brother of yours, he said, slinking closer. Thats too bad, really. I wanted the honor of killing this generations Vestige myself. Rensler took an involuntary step back, tightening his grasp on his sword hilt to stop his hands from shaking. The weapon felt suddenly heavy and clumsy in his hands. He had perhaps a month of training behind him, while the captain had been a soldier for as long as Rensler had lived. Even having half his face burned off did not appear to slow the man. How could Rensler possibly overcome such a person? He shot a furtive glance back, trying to find Ayla in the bedlam, and heard Negald pounce. Rensler planted his feet and deflected the strike, then darted forward, slashing at Negalds exposed midsection. With a laugh, the man caught the blow and turned it aside. Rensler pivoted hurriedly, narrowly evading being skewered through the gut, instead taking a shallow cut on his flank. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth and backpedaled, blocking another strike that would have opened his throat. 516 Negald barked out a laugh. Youre better than I expected, Ill give you that. Did that Guardian teach you? His blade whistled through the air, darting in and out of Renslers reach. I suspect hes dead now too, just like your brother. Theyre not dead, Rensler growled. His heart pounded wildly as his fury mounted. He stepped into a wide swing and realized his mistake too late. Negald danced out of the blades path, then struck forward, scoring another blow across Renslers shoulder. With a cry of pain, he stumbled, managing to catch himself before he toppled entirely. The captain was upon him in an instant. Strike after strike rained down at Rensler, so fast that he could do nothing but hold his sword in front of him as the captain drove him back. Too late, he felt his foot catch on something. His step faltered. Grinning, Negald batted aside Renslers clumsy guard, and pain exploded across his thigh as Negalds sword bit into his flesh. He collapsed, one hand clasping his leg, and felt warm blood weeping from the wound. Is that all you have to offer? Negald asked. He sounded almostdisappointed in Rensler. Hmm. Pity. I wonder. Does killing the brother of the Great Evil deserve reward? Rensler pushed himself backward, clenching his jaw as agony rushed through him, and clutched his sword, slicking the hilt with blood. He had to get away from this man. He tried to get to his feet, but his leg gave out beneath him. An admirable effort, Negald said, chuckling. A look of shock came upon him, and he leaped back as a beam of white light tore through where he had been. Ayla came running into Renslers view, sword flashing as she struck at Negald. Snarling, he dodged backward, and the clash of their blades mingled with the cacophony around them. Nira appeared beside Rensler a second later, hands still raised, though she hesitated. The girl had proven skillful, but Ayla and Negald danced in a tight circle, throwing off her aim. She 517 needs my help, he thought, watching Negald batter at Aylas defenses. The captain had regained control of the duel, and he kept Ayla squarely between himself and Nira. Rensler crawled forward, wincing every time his wound touched the ground, and hoped that the frenzy of the fight would keep Negald distracted. Indeed, his eyes were fixed upon Ayla. With every swing, his manic grin widened, the charred skin around his mouth cracking open. If Ayla could just get the man to turn away from Rensler I should have known the hounds would turn on me one day, Negald yelled over the sound of the battle. His blade darted forward, testing Aylas defenses, wearing them down, just as he had done to Rensler. Too soft, my fellows always said. Keep too long of a leash, and the hounds will find a way to escape it. Chest heaving, Rensler pulled himself closer, tensing as Ayla turned aside a blow that would have taken her leg. To the Hells with you, Negald, she shouted. You cannot play with human lives. Negald caught her sword on his and shoved, sending her stumbling to the side. You Eshtyl never learn, do you? Youre not human. You wear the flesh as a suit to hide the hideousness of your souls. Negald chased after her, his back to Rensler now. The tip of his sword caught Ayla along the forearm, sending a thin spray of blood arcing outward. She wont last much longer, Rensler thought. He shambled forward on all fours, sword clutched in his blood-slicked hand. The two fighters clashed together. Ayla flagged beneath Negalds onslaught, growing more frenzied with every blow, until at last he drove Aylas sword toward the ground, leaving her exposed. Gripping his sword in both hands, Rensler surged forward and drove the blade up through the mans thigh. Blood dripped down the steel. The captain roared in pain, his ruined face 518 twisting into a snarl as he looked down at Rensler. You filthy mongrel, he growled, raising his sword. He gasped as Aylas blade took him through the chest. Rensler turned his face to the dirt as blood splashed across his body. The hilt pulled from his grasp as the captain toppled, his mouth working, though not sound came out. Ayla stood over him, grasping her sword, still piercing the captain. Letting out a furious cry, she yanked the blade free, then plunged it into Negalds chest, over and over. Rensler watched in horrified silence as the puddle of blood spread out from beneath the ruined corpse. With an effort, he managed to get to his feet. Ayla pulled the sword free yet again, and Rensler grabbed her hands before she could stab the body again. Her face snapped toward his. Its over, he said. He shivered beneath the weight of her furious gaze. Hes dead, Ayla. We have to go. For a moment, Rensler thought she would strike him too, but at last she sucked in a shuddering breath. Pellas, she mumbled. Wheres Pellas? They scrambled toward their fallen companion, evading another group of combatants. Ayla dropped to her knees beside Pellas, his eyes staring sightlessly up at the violet sky. Damn it all, she moaned. She wrapped her arms around his chest, squeezing the limp body against her. Im so sorry, Pellas. I shouldve known better. Rensler heard a rustling sound, and then Nira emerged from a line of bushes nearby, coming to stand by her sister. The girls fear was plain in the firelight. Ayla, we have to go, Rensler said again, tugging at her shoulder. We cant just leave him here, she growled. 519 We have to, Rensler insisted, feeling ill. We wont make it more than a couple streets carrying a body. He pulled at Ayla again, more insistent this time. We can mourn later. For now, we have to go. She resisted for a moment longer before slumping in Renslers grasp. He helped her stand, almost stumbling himself as his leg betrayed him. Ayla pulled his arm around her, and they started toward the front gate, Nira trailing at their heels. As they headed down the gentle slope, Rensler shot a glance backward, his breath catching at the sight. More than half of the buildings within the stronghold had been set alight, the white-gold flames licking at wood and stone alike. The tall doors of the central keep were ablaze, and it was only a matter of time before the structure became a blazing beacon in the night. The shadowed figures of Trackers and Marked alike flitted before the flames as the struggle continued. Ayla brought them to a halt a good distance from the outer wall, waiting for the guards above to turn their attention elsewhere. The gate itself hung open, though no Trackers stood on the ground nearby. Suspicious, Rensler wondered whether this was yet another trap, but it appeared that fortune was finally with them, for they slipped out into the streets beyond without issue. Lights shone in windows of the houses nearby, and people had begun to trickle out into the street, some garbed in their nightclothes, all speaking in hushed whispers as they watched the flames climb higher upon the keep. A few eyed their little group, but Rensler and Ayla, still garbed in their uniforms, looked to be Trackers in distress rather than escaped Marked. Rensler breathed a quiet sigh of relief, thankful that Pellas had removed Niras tattoo before their escape. 520 A few streets later, Rensler asked for a pause. They slipped into a narrow alleyway cast in shadow. His leg throbbed something fierce, and his mind was clouding with every passing minute. Shit, Ayla muttered, looking at the wound. Thats worse than I thought. She removed the heavy Trackers cloak and, holding her sword at an odd angle, managed to cut a long ribbon from the cloth with Niras assistance. Thisll have to do for now, she said, wrapping the makeshift bandage around Renslers thigh. Well need to clean that before we leave the city. Cant risk you getting infected, now that Now that Pellas is dead, Rensler thought. He breathed in sharply as she worked. Will the western gate be open this late? he asked, trying to take his mind off the pain from both his leg and the loss. Good. Think about what comes next. Dwelling on their failure would do them not good at the moment. Ayla nodded. People can leave the city whenever they want. The guards might think it odd, but they shouldnt stop us. She tied off the cloth, eliciting another hiss from Rensler, and helped him stand. But we should hurry. Theres no telling what may happen now. Rensler gazed back at the stronghold. Obscured by buildings, the blaze seemed almost like a second sunrise. No, there certainly isnt, he thought. He leaned on Ayla, and they resumed their slow journey back to the inn. Kahlia stood in the stableyard behind the inn, hands clasped before her. A brisk wind chilled the midnight air, tugging at her cloak with every gust, and a bright moon hung high overhead. The night would have been pleasant, were it not for the distant glow rising over the city. She went over the tale again in her mind. Rensler and Ayla had stumbled back to the inn over an hour ago, the sister in tow, Pellas nowhere to be found. Slain, they had said, by Negald. 521 Kahlia mourned the loss; she had quite liked the timid man. The cruel captain had indeed come to Myrais ahead of them, anticipating their arrival, just as Rensler suspected, and in desperate need, he had decided to set free as many of the Marked as possible, the exact course of action Kahlia had warned against. But they had not time to spare, and Ayla was not to be talked out of rescuing her sister. And now, the Trackers stronghold burned in holy fire. A part of Kahlia wanted to be angry with her companions; she supposed she was, after a fashion. The consequences of this night would be dire. Catastrophic, perhaps. If Temerid had not planned to send forth his army before, he certainly would now. The blame for an attack like this was easy to lay at the feet of their bitter enemies to the west. But, Kahlia understood why Rensler and Ayla had acted as they had. Their intentions had been honest, and they were young. To them, the best solutions were the most straightforward. The young did not often see beyond the present, unaware of the ripples their actions sent out into the world. Kahlia herself was not blameless of that, even now. Behind her, the back door creaked, and Mistress Osena joined her, wiping her hands on a ragged towel. Hell want to keep his weight off of the leg for a while, but he should be all right, the innkeeper said. Just dont bother with the catgut, and change the bandages now and then. Itll leave a scar, Im sure, but hell be right as rain in a matter of weeks, I should think. She stared out at the distant glow and shook her head. I knew that girl wouldnt come back to this city for anything less than her sister, but I didnt know she had grown to be so foolhardy in her time away. It is unfortunate that events proceeded as they did, Kahlia said, choosing her words carefully. Ayla had readily divulged what had occurred to the innkeeper, uncaring again to what 522 may come. Mistress Osena had proven trustworthy so far, but Kahlia worried Ayla had divulged all their secrets now. Did the innkeeper know who Kahlia was, who Rensler was? The woman was always eyeing Kahlia when she thought she went unnoticed. Aye, thats one way to put it, Mistress Osena said. Ayla says youre heading out tonight, as soon as they limp down here. She folded her thick arms. Thats probably for the best. Im happy to help that girl, but I dont need trouble showing up on my doorstep on anyone elses behalf. Especially some Eshtyl running free. Kahlia inclined her head, certain the woman had included her in that count, and let the silence stretch. Soon enough, the innkeeper went to rouse a couple of stablehands. The horses stood saddled and ready by the time her companions shuffled out into the dirt yard. Rensler limped along, leaning on the walking staff he had been gifted, while Ayla kept her sister always within arms reach. They had shed their uniformswhich Mistress Osena had vowed to burn and were once again ordinary travelers, garbed in sturdy breeches and dappled tunics. Blessedly, the innkeeper had provided Nira with clothing that fit her. At first, the girl had been apprehensive of the change of garb, fearful of being caught wearing something unapproved, but some coaxing from Ayla eventually persuaded her. Their final farewells said, they at last mounted and ventured through the wooden gate, hooves clacking against the cobblestones as Ayla guided them west. Though the night wore on, people still cluttered the streets where they could view the Trackers stronghold. Kahlia listened to the quiet voices as wild rumors already took hold. The keep had been set afire by accident. It was assuredly an attack carried out by a group of rogue Eshtyl. Or maybe it was Vendalan spies. Kahlia had expected to hear as much. It was not too far from the truth, either. 523 Despite the crowds, they arrived at the western gate without incident, and though the guards remarked on the oddity of venturing past the wall so late, they did not arrest the group from departing. Beyond the wall, they set the mounts to an easy walk. With Pellas gone, his horse rode empty, led along by Rensler. Nira rode in the saddle behind her sister. The girl remained as silent as the rest of them throughout the ride. An hour on, Kahlia called for them to halt in the shelter of a stretch of woodland, where the trees grew close, their branches knitting together to form a natural shelter. Kahlia formed a ball of light in her hand to guide the way, and they quickly made camp in the leeward side of a rise in the land. They completed their preparations and arrayed their bedrolls in a close circle. As they sat, Ayla at last broke the long quiet. Im sorry that things turned out the way they did, she said. She seemed to be speaking to the ground more than Kahlia. I didnt think it would come to that. I didnt think wed lose Pellas. Pellas died bravely, Kahlia said. His soul will finally know rest, sheltered in Artrass caring embrace. Ayla nodded slowly. Lets hope your god is kinder than the last. Tears filled her eyes, and she pulled Nira closer. In the morning, Id like to do something for him. Some kind of ceremony. Its the least we can do. Kahlia shot her a tight-lipped smile. We can do that. Whats next for us? Rensler asked. Is there anything between us and Vendalar now? Just forests and farms, Ayla said. More of the former, the farther you go. Thats a good sign for us, right? Rensler said, looking to Kahlia expectantly. Less people to worry about, at least. 524 Kahlia pursed her lips, unsure how to proceed. She did not want to spark an argument tonight, but her companions were not blameless in the trials ahead. It shall be weeks yet before we come upon Rellas Gate. We cannot let our guard down. She met Renslers eyes. Negald came to Myrais with a Traveler. Another Tracker could follow us in the same fashion. She shifted to Ayla. If another Seer knows youor, more likely, Nirathey may ascertain our location in short order. They can spy on us all they want, Ayla said. Even if a Seer finds us, they would need a Traveler who has set foot where we do. Kahlia inclined her head. A fair point, but even still, we would be remiss to let our guard down now, after all we have endured. I do not believe the Trackers shall let young Nira here go so easily. She let out a long sigh. Of greater urgency is that we warn my countrymen stationed at the Gate. The little revolution that you began tonight will not go unpunished. I suspect we will find the armies of Myrandir but a few days behind us. She paused, waiting, but neither Rensler nor Ayla put forth a rebuttal. Perhaps they are learning after all, she thought. We should all get some rest, she said into the quiet. We leave at first lightafter we pay tribute to our fallen comrade. They settled down for the night, and the rest drifted off to sleep quickly enough. Kahlia lay awake in the darkness for some time, her thoughts grappling with the burdens of the morning. 525 Chapter 30 Again. Luca thrust out his arms at Caarthass command and sought the power within himself, like drawing water from a well. Doing so had become as easy and familiar as breathing over these past three weeks. He stood in the center of the clifftop practice yard facing a series of cairns built along the cliff edge, a good twenty paces away. The stones were of different shapes and sizes, some stacked more precariously than others, and atop each rested a rock, no larger than Lucas thumb. Caarthas had spent hours assembling the piles that morning. The purpose of the painstaking process had eluded Luca until now. White light appeared in bands around one forearm. With the other hand, he wove a shield, the air behind him solidifying into a translucent disc. He held his position, waiting for Caarthas to give the order. The hairless man, garbed in his usual plain robes, hovered off to one side, a small cloth bag dangling from one hand. Remember, Luca, this exercise is about precision and focus, not brute strength, he said in his friendly tone. The latter is meaningless without the former. He withdrew a small stone from the bag and bounced it in his hand. Are you ready? Luca nodded, unwilling to speak and risk losing his concentration. Precision and focus, he thought. His goal was to use the Lightmark to knock off the rocks atop the cairns while using the Shieldmark to keep himself protected from the missiles being slung at him. He had failed four times so far that morning, though he had at least managed to destroy fewer of the cairns with each attempt. His instructor began to meander out of his sight. Begin. 526 The light welled into Lucas palm as he concentrated on the first target. The power practically begged to be unleashed, battering at his control like floodwaters against a dam. It was easy to unleash the full force of the Lightmark at once. Too easy. With an effort, he shot the light outward as a thin beam that went streaking across the yard in a straight line. It struck the top stone of the first cairn, flinging the rock out into the void. Good, Caarthass voice came from out of sight. Now, the challenge. Luca swiveled his head toward the man, bracing as he threw one of his pebbles. The missile smashed against the shield of air with surprising force, creating a few wayward cracks along the surface. Keep your eyes on the cairns, Caarthas said. You must learn to trust your instincts to guide your shields. Luca gritted his teeth and returned his attention to the next stack of stones. He winced as he heard another rock strike against the shield, but he did as he was told and did not look back as he sent another ray of light toward the next target. His aim was not quite true, and the beam skimmed along the top of the stack, launching the small rock amidst a shower of stony shards. Another pebble came his way, and his shield shattered into mist before dissipating entirely. Frantic, Luca used one hand to materialize another ward in time to deflect yet another projectile. With the other, he sent forth another burst of light, but his concentration wavered, and the thin ray became a wide cylinder of flame that washed across his intended target, blackening half the stones in the stack. Sweat beaded along his brow. Fates, this is impossible! he thought, growing agitated. He couldnt focus on the targets with rocks being flung at his head. Breathe, Luca, Caarthas said, his tone irritatingly calm. 527 I am breathing. Luca narrowed his eyes at the next cairn, trying to push away the rest of the world. The light swelled in his palm, but a backward glance revealed Caarthas readying to throw another rock. Crying out, Luca let the light fade as he spun, throwing up both hands, warping the air into an oblong shield. He watched Caarthas through the translucent ward, waiting for the inevitable throw. Nothing happened. After a few breathless seconds, he dropped his hands and dispelled the ward, revealing the waiting Caarthas beyond. He clasped his hands before him, the bag of pebbles hanging from his interlaced fingers, and regarded Luca with an inscrutable expression. Under the mans unwavering gaze, Luca felt his face growing warm, despite the mountain chill. Im trying, all right? he said, throwing up his hands. You make this sound so simple, but its not. Using one Mark properly is hard enough, and I can barely do that, and now you want me to mix two together, and He let out a frustrated sigh. The words were getting tangled on his tongue, and his eyes were misting over like they always did when got too worked up. Why did this all have to be so damn hard? Caarthass expression didnt waverLuca wasnt sure the man was capable of getting upsetas he glided toward the nearest bench at the edge of the practice yard, away from the cliff. Luca jammed his hands in his pockets and stalked after him, his gaze sweeping the clifftop, noting Zandrens absence yet again. The Guardian hadnt joined them for his own morning routine for several days now. They had seen less and less of each other throughout the weeks, and Luca worried he had done something to upset his companion. Maybe he could find Zandren after he was finished here. The man had taken an interest in the Sanctums library, and Luca himself hadnt spent nearly as much time as he wanted exploring the tomes contained there. He deserved a break from all this confounded training, after all. 528 He lowered himself onto the cold stone slab and retrieved his waterskin, busying himself with a long, slow drink. Caarthas sat quietly, straight-backed, obviously wanting Luca to say something. But what? Maybe I should apologize, he thought. It seemed the right thing to do, even if the man hadnt taken offense. He was still working through what to say when Caarthas shifted. Luca, how do you feel about the time you have spent here? Now what did that mean? Umgood? he stammered out. He cleared his throat. I feel good about my time here. I guess. Caarthas nodded as though the answer made perfect sense. You have made great strides this past month. I am curious, then, as to why you are still so hard on yourself. Imnot sure. Luca paused. No, that wasnt right. I still need to save Rensler and Kahlia, he said, trying to sound confident. I cant do that if I dont master these powers, but it seems as though Im getting no closer to doing so. His dreams of late had been free of the mountain city and the strange man, but they had been replaced by visions of Kahlia and his brother, suffering at the hands of shadowy figures. More often than not, he woke in the dead of night, their screams echoing in his head. It is often difficult for us to witness our own accomplishments, Caarthas said. Think back to when you came here. Could you call upon your powers at will, as you can now? What is that if not progress? He flashed his tight-lipped smile. You have come along quite well, especially in such a short amount of time. Rarely have I met another Vestige so driven as you, Luca. Oh, Luca said quietly. Er, thanks. The praise felt undeserved. He could only bring his powers to bear when he had no distractions, no threats to his life. What would he do the next 529 time he was attacked? He frowned as another thought came to him. But Ive only tapped into two of the Marks in earnest so far. When will we work with the others? The easy smile faded, and Caarthass face was blank once more. In due time. You must be patient. Ive been patient, Luca said, more harshly than he intended. But the words were true; he was certain hed shown more patience here than ever before. I just want to know if theyre alive, Caarthas. Teach me how to use the Seermark. This will only distract from your purpose here. You keep saying that as if worrying about them constantly isnt distracting, Luca snapped. And what is my purpose here, if not to learn? He was on his feet now, glaring at Caarthas and his perfect composure. They had argued about this very topic too many times to count already. Sometimes he got the sense that the man expected Luca to simply throw aside his concerns for the others. An impossible task. Caarthas regarded Luca for a long while, then gave a curt nod. Very well, he said at last. He held out a hand toward the bench. Please, sit, if you would. You may find the experience disorienting at first. Finally! Luca couldnt keep the grin from his face as he took his seat once more. He folded his hands in his lap, forcing himself to sit still. All right, now what? Close your eyes, and listen, Caarthas said. You have already tapped into the Seermark before by instinct. In the darkness, when you see as clearly as though the sun were out. But a strong Seer can do more than simply see in the dark. More than any of the other Blessings, the Seermark relies on connection. Every person you have ever met, everything you have ever touchedall create an unseen tether leading back 530 to you. The more powerful your bond, the easier it is to follow the tetherto scryeven across great distances. But, your presence does not go unnoticed, and a wise individual will know when they are being spied upon. Luca bobbed his head. Ive felt that before, when the Trackers were hunting me. Indeed, Caarthas said. To see the tethers, you must detach yourself from your present surroundings, focusing solely on the connections you share. It will be quite overwhelming, I must warn you. Luca cracked one eye open. That sounds hard. Quiet, please. Yes, it is difficult to grasp initially, or so I have been told. But with time and practice, you will find it to be as simple as the other Blessings with which you are already familiar. To begin, look for the power within yourself, just as you have done before. Breathing slowly, Luca squeezed his eyes shut and turned his thoughts inward. The powers of the Marks floated at the edges of his mind, always waiting to be tapped into, each one different from the next. At first, they had felt cluttered together, and his attempts to consciously draw on one risked inadvertently pulling on another. But through Caarthass tutelage, he had managed to untangle them and saw them as distinct presences. The Lightmark was a spark ready to ignite, while the Shieldmark was as cool and steady as the mountain beneath him. He passed them by, seeking the soft glow beyond. Now, open your eyes, Caarthas said, and will yourself to see through the world around you. Slowly, Luca opened his eyesand found his sight swarming with threads, thousands of strands expanding from him in all directions, like the web of some gigantic spider. The shock 531 sent him reeling backward, and he cried out as he thumped to the hard ground. He shook his head, blinking rapidly, and the world was back to rights. As I warned, Caarthas said, peering down at him, the sensation can be quite disorienting. Luca nodded slowly and let his head fall back to the stone. How am I supposed to find the right tether? They all looked the same. A small smile spread on Caarthass face. The same as with all things. Practice And patience, Luca cut in. Of course. Coming to his feet, he brushed himself off, sat, and worked on breathing in a slow rhythm, the way Kahlia had taught him to focus his mind. All right. Im going to try again. I will do my best to catch you this time, Caarthas said, chuckling. Luca closed his eyes, seeking the power at the far reaches of his awareness, then opened them once more, gritting his teeth against the spider web of tethers filling his vision. He clung on as the sensation threatened to overwhelm him. I thinkI think Ive got it, he croaked. But its all a big jumble. How do I find anyone? Remember, your strongest attachments will stand out. Caarthass voice sounded muted, as though he were calling to Luca from within the mountain. But a great distance will obscure even the most profound connections. Luca reached for a tether at random, his hands passing through empty air. The tethers arent physical, he thought. They weresomething else. Emotions? What else connects people together? A dull ache began to press in on him. He extended his awareness toward one of the tethers, touching it with an invisible hand. The chord felt warm and vibrant, though he didnt 532 know to whom it belonged. Heartbeat quickening, he brushed across dozens more, a wave of colors and emotions washing over him, each one a mystery. But which one was Rensler? He fixed the image of his brother in his mind. The mass of tethers rippled, and a single strand rose above the rest. By instinct, Luca grasped it. The world became nothing more than colored streaks as everything blurred around him, his consciousness suddenly flung outward, the other tethers falling away. The flight halted in an instant, and his world came surging back as he found himself peering down at a man on horseback. The edges of his vision were an indistinct haze, but the man and his immediate surroundings were as clear as if Luca himself were there, floating just a few feet above. The man turned his head, and elation coursed through Luca as he saw his brothers face. Hes alive! Luca strained against the confines of his field of view, hoping to glean something about Renslers whereabouts, but he could see nothing beyond the tall grass at the edge of the road. A womans voice came from somewhere out of sight, followed by another. The first sounded like Kahlia; who was the second? Luca pushed harder, but the pain blossoming in his head became too strong. He released his hold on the ghostly tether, and the world shifted around him once more. And then he was seated on the bench once more, gasping and gripping his knees. His head was spinning, and keeping his breakfast down took a concerted effort, but he exalted in the victory. Caarthas offered Luca the waterskin. Are you all right, holy one? he asked, slipping into formality. He often did that when he was concerned about Luca. I found him, Luca said after a long gulp. He flashed a weak grin. I found Rensler. And I heard Kahlia, too. Theyre both alive. He had more questions than before, though. At the very 533 least, they did not appear to be prisoners. But where were they, and who had that other voice belonged to? Caarthas did not appear to share Lucas enthusiasm. Well done. I would caution you against doing that again too soon, not until you have had more practice. Luca nodded, remembering the odd pain that had crept into his head. A sign not to tax himself too much, he supposed. No matter. He had seen what he needed, for now. He would scry upon Rensleror perhaps Kahlia, to make sure he hadnt imagined her voicein the morning. Maybe he could discover where they were headed, or at least see when they at last arrived at their destination. What good will that do, though? he wondered. If they wound up somewhere Luca had never been, how was he to reach them? Unless He straightened, a potentially silly idea coming to him. Caarthas, he said, is it possible to Travel to a person, rather than a place? If he followed Renslers tether, could he then take himself and Zandren to his brother? The placid mask slipped from Caarthass face for a moment before he caught himself. I believe it is, yes, he said slowly. But I warn you, to combine the Blessings in such a fashion is nigh impossible. Why? Luca asked, though he felt he already knew the answer. Using two Marks in tandem had already proven troublesome, and those were the ones he most comfortable with. The Travelmark requires precision that I believe is beyond your current capabilities, Caarthas said. There is little room for error, and the slightest distraction can mean the difference between arriving atop the earth or beneath it. 534 Luca shivered at the idea of trapping himself in a tomb of his own making. But now I know its possible. He would need to find some way to practicepreferably one that didnt end up with him stuck halfway through the mountain. Perhaps Zandren could assist him. Surely the man would leap at the opportunity to return to their companions. He looked out along the clifftop, reminded again of the Guardians absence. What could he possibly be doing? Luca nearly laughed aloud at the idea of the big swordsman holing himself up in a library for hours on end. For a moment, he was tempted to channel the Seermark again, but he would likely drive Caarthas to hysterics if he tried again so soon. Luca took another pull from the waterskin and set it on the bench. He stood, pleased to find the world no longer spinning around him, and turned to his instructor. Thank you for teaching me, Caarthas, he said, dipping his head. I couldnt have done that without your guidance. Your thanks is noted, holy one, Caarthas said. He doesnt like that I deviated from his plan, Luca thought. Well, the best plans werent made to be followed exactly, and the ones that were deserved to be disrupted anyway. Im ready to resume our regular training, he said, hoping that would smooth things over. Caarthas regarded him for a long moment, and at last the easy smile crept back. Very good. He pointed toward the center of the training grounds. Take up your position and wait for my signal. Luca hurried to obey. Difficult though it was, he pushed aside thoughts of Rensler and Kahlia and forced himself to focus on the present. Later, he would find Zandren and tell him about the discovery, but for now, he only needed to worry about some rocks. 535 The omnipresent glow within the corridors belied the coming dusk outside as Luca ambled through the tunnels, brushing a hand against the red and brown strata streaking through the bumpy stone walls. With nowhere to be in particular, he took the long route to his bedchamber, enjoying the opportunity to simply venture unhurriedly through the mountain. After such a day, he needed the time to think. The days exercises had been long, longer than any before. He was sure it was some sort of punishment for disrupting Caarthass preferred sequence, though the odd man would never openly admit as much. Regardless, Luca was not nearly so drained as he should have been. Knowing that Rensler and Kahlia lived had kept him invigorated throughout the day, even as he failed more often than not at the challenges laid out before him. Now the day was nearly done, and he was still abuzz with excitement. His footsteps echoed along the tunnel, the only sound in the mountain, for all he could tell. What must the sanctum have been like when people still filled its warrens, in an age long past? Caarthas didnt speak of those he knew before, nor would he say when the last ordinary human lived within the stone. Decades, at least, or even centuries. Maybe that was why the man remained cold toward Zandrenhe simply didnt remember how to interact with regular people. Luca paused in an intersection and read the words scrawled in chalk along the corners. Zandrens handiwork. After waking from his long sleep, he had set about making the labyrinth less puzzling, and Luca was still finding new marks. He suspected doing so put the Guardian at ease. That, and the man was probably wasting away from boredom, like Luca did when the heavy winter snows came and they were made to hole up in the inn for days at a time. He always wanted to venture out into the snow-covered world when the storms subsided, but Aunt Ophelia never let him. Youll freeze your toes off, she would always say, and then Ill have to cut off your 536 feet. Then shed chase him around the common room, her hands miming a swinging axe, only stopping when their laughter made it hard to breathe right. Rensler used to join in too, before he got so old and boring. The memory set his eyes to watering. He missed those days, when life was only about having fun. He carried on, dabbing at the corner of his eyes with his shirtsleeve, and soon enough stood outside his quarters. He hesitated in the tunnel. He was still so full of energy, and it would be hours yet until he could sleep. Why should he hole himself up already? He wouldnt exactly be disturbing anyone by continuing to walk about; the sanctum was no emptier at nightfall than it was at daybreak. It was hard to tell the time of day anyway, what with the light in the tunnels never changing. And he still hadnt told Zandren the good news, though that was not Lucas fault. The Guardian hadnt shown for dinner for the first time in their month-long stay, leaving Luca to eat alone, since Caarthas didnt seem to ever eat, and if he did, he didnt do it where Luca could see. Their host usually left them to their meal anyway, and Luca didnt see him until morning when they started the routine all over again. Resolving to find Zandren, he followed the arrows to the other mans quarters, a couple hundred feet away. Luca still pondered why Caarthas had spaced them out so far apart, but he never asked to move, and the walk was nothing more than inconvenient. The door was shut when he arrived, and after his fourth round of knocking, he decided no one was within. Now where could he be? he said aloud. His echo was his only response. Hands on his hips, he looked up and down the tunnel, making sure nothing sinister lurked in around the bend, then closed his eyes. 537 When he opened them again, thousands of lines filled his vision, the web of colors pushing the real world into a gray haze in the background. He braced himself against the dizzy feeling and sought out Zandrens tether. It was easy enough to find, since it was the thickest one. There were no other people for miles and milesexcept for Caarthas, but he didnt seem to have a strand as far as Luca could tell. Odd, a small voice within him thought as he reached for the tether. The world shifted, and then his awareness was floating above the familiar figure of his companion. Zandren crept along a tunnel angling downward, radiant sword in hand. Its glow extended farther along the corridor, but it seemed to be the only source of light. Luca frowned. Where could he possibly be where there were no lights? Zandren halted abruptly, clapping a hand to the back of his neck. Turning, his gaze flicked toward the ceiling, and Luca swore the man could sense the unseen presence. But a moment later, Zandren spun about and resumed his journey. Luca banished the threads and waited for his vision to readjust to normalcy. A tunnel without lights. Wherever that was, Luca was certain Zandren shouldnt be there. He set off at a jog in the direction he had sensed Zandren, pausing occasionally to find the mans tether and keep on the right path. What would Caarthas do if he caught him snooping about? he wondered as he ran. Surely their host wouldnt cast Zandren out, not if he wanted to keep Luca content. He wouldnt remain without Zandren. Althoughwhy did he need Zandren now? He was learning to defend himself just fine with the Marks. What could the swordsman do that Luca couldnt? He hadnt even managed to kill that demon without Lucas help. Maybe it was for the best to let Caarthas find Zandren and do as he saw fit. Maybe 538 He stopped and put a hand to the wall, clinging to it as he suddenly felt he might collapse. Why would he think those things about Zandren? Unless they werent his own thoughts. Is that you? he demanded of the presence in the back of his mind. Always lingering, though it had been silent since he agreed to stay. He felt a thin tendril retreat from his thoughts, and the creeping doubt vanished. He resumed his pursuit, though the realization troubled him. The soul of Artras had never tried to manipulate him like that before; he didnt know it could do that. Dont do that again, he thought, hoping the reprimand reached its mark. Shadows filled the tunnel ahead, and Luca slowed as he came to a break in the tunnel where the line of lights halted, leaving nothing but darkness beyond. A band of stone, as wide as Lucas hand, ran up the length of one wall. The jagged edges were dark and glassy. On the other side of the wall stood another band of stone, bearing the same jagged marks. Luca brought his face closer. It almost looks like this was pushed into the wall. His eyes flicked between the two lines of stone. The stone slab had been a door at one point, designed to be pushed into a deep alcove in the wall. He ran his hand along the glassy edge. The uneven surface looked as though it had been cut in small sections, over and over, until finally it could be pushed aside. Rather than try to unstick it from the wall, whoever had done this chose to hack it apart instead. It could only be Zandren. Luca flew down the corridor, heedless of the pure blackness. He drew on the Seermark by instinct, and gray shapes stood out as his eyes adjusted to the dark. The tunnel began to slope downward, gradually winding back on itself. On and on he ran, the pounding of his footsteps hanging in the air. 539 A soft, white glow appeared in the distance. He came to a sliding stop, his heart drumming a lively rhythm in his chest. Ahead, the tunnel led into a chamber that grew steadily wider as Luca drew near. He sucked in a breath as he stepped through the archway and tasted dust in the stale air. Pillars of spiraling stone, white and gray and brown and red, rose unbroken from floor to ceiling, a good twenty feet overhead. An endless pattern of lines had been carved into the floor, creating overlapping circles that shrank and expanded as they swirled among the pillars and climbed the walls, and he realized the unending pattern covered the entire chamber, guiding the eye toward the only space that was differentthe far wall, awash with light from the glowing sword held in Zandrens upraised hand. The Guardian pivoted, blindingly quick, and fell into a ready stance. Luca, he said, brow furrowing. His deep voice reverberated among the pillars. He relaxed his posture, though his sword remained at the ready. Was that you spying upon me, back in the tunnel? Luca nodded, his eyes darting all across the chamber as he approached. What is this place? he asked. His voice sounded tiny. Carvings emerged all along the surface of the back wall, twenty paces wide. Humanoid shapes stood out from the relief by the hundreds. Near the center and along the right-hand side, other figures were scattered among them, bestial shapes with wings and claws that tore at the humans. The left portion of the relief was nearly as violent, though it was only humanoids who stabbed at one another. His eyes were drawn to the center of the relief. A massive being, its contours rough and rocky, rose above the scene of chaos and bloodshed, its clawed hands raised to either side, unleashing a torrent of fire. Five cloaked figures stood at the beings feet, untouched by the field of war. 540 Something about the wall felt wrong, though Luca couldnt quite place it. He shuddered and turned to Zandren, inscrutable as he studied the middle of the relief, his sword held beside his head. What is this, Zandren? he whispered. A prophecy, the Guardian said. Despite his placid demeanor, his voice was strained, and Luca felt a spike of fear as he realized the man was struggling to remain in control. Or a history. Both, perhaps. Beckoning for Luca to follow, he strode toward the left end of the wall. Luca complied, though he kept a healthy distance from the other man. Zandren noticed as much with a narrowing of his eyes, but he turned to the relief. This is the creation of the world. The scene depicted a ball of barren stone cradled in the hands of a colossal figure. Artras shaped the world with His hands, then breathed life upon it. He tapped the back of the relief, where a series of swirling lines ran between raised pieces of stone. This is High Kiltan. Its an ancient tongue, from before the Sundering. Luca gaped. Which means whoever made this might have been there. Possibly, Zandren said, stepping to the side and gesturing to the next section. Hundreds of tiny human figures farmed and hunted and raised cities, all beneath the smiling gaze of who Luca assumed was Artras. Humanity flourished under the watchful eye of God. Violence, hunger, fear. These things did not exist in Gods perfect creation. The slab beside it told a different story. Luca came as close to Zandren as he dared as he studied the relief. The humans took up more of the stone now, their numbers grown, but the depiction of harmony was no more, replaced by a field of battle. Artras grew small and distant in the background, though his gentle smile remained steady. What does that mean? Did he want people to kill each other? 541 A second figure had taken Artrass place, looking down upon the warring humans with a cruel gaze and a wicked grin. A thin shell seemed to surround the figure, as though it were entrapped within a gigantic seed. More text, a jumble of connected circles and loops to Luca, was carved alongside the relief. Lips moving silently, Zandren read from the wall, his brow furrowing as his eyes shifted. That cant be good, Luca thought. He took a few cautious steps back. What does it say? It doesnt make sense, Zandren muttered. Everything before is what we were taught, but thisthis proclaims that, after creation, Artras abandoned the world. That He left behind Braskellar toawaken when the time came. His hand went to the encased figure. When humans could no longer be at peace, Braskellar would emerge and fulfill his purpose. To purify the world. Werent they brothers? Luca asked. Thats what Kahlia told Rensler and me. Braskellar was jealous of Artras and attacked him, splitting him body and soul. He tapped his chest. And that immortal soul rests within me, now. Zandren didnt appear to hear as he returned to the center of the wall, reading. And he shall draw his children from the bones of the earth and the souls of the dead, and the world shall be cleansed in blood and ash. This is wrong. This is all wrong. Frantic, he darted to another cluster of words, then another, and another. At the last, he stiffened with a gasp and turned to Luca, the glow of the sword reflecting off his dark eyes, full of uncertaintyand anger. Its quite correct, I assure you. With a jolt, Luca spun away from the wall as Caarthas glided out from the shadows of the tunnel, his steps noiseless upon the stone floor. The sword light played across his face, seemingly young one moment and aged the next. He halted at the center of the chamber, hands folded into 542 the opposite sleeves of his voluminous robe, and regarded the two of them with a look of suffering patience. I warned you not to venture too far, Caarthas said, his gaze affixed on Zandren. I sealed those passages long ago, knowing what would come if humans discovered the heart of the Sanctum. Luca felt a ripple of fear course through him. He says that as if hes not human. Im sorry, Caarthas, he said aloud. He had to salvage the situation somehow. I was just looking for Zandren, and we stumbled upon this place. We didnt mean to come down here. A tight-lipped smile spread across Caarthass face, though the kindliness was gone. Oh? Is that right, Zandren? Did you stumble your way down here? Did the stone cut itself apart? Zandren scowled. What is this? he bellowed. Luca cringed at the booming force of his voice. He swept his sword toward the relief, then pointed it at the other man. What is the meaning of these lies? Ah, the tempestuousness of humanity, Caarthas said. I often forget your nature. Ignoring the sword, he slipped closer to the wall. Luca scooted farther away, though both men seemed to have forgotten him for the time being. He shot a furtive glance toward the tunnel. Maybe he should run, leave behind whatever was about to happen here. No. I cant abandon Zandren like that. Well? Zandren demanded. The corded muscles of his forearms stood out as he gripped the sword. Explain yourself. If you insist. Caarthas laid a reverent hand upon the relief. Humans have always thought themselves special, most gifted among all things in the cosmos, created in the image of God. He chuckled. Humans are fickle creatures. Your short lives are mere specks in the winds 543 of time. Your dreams can barely achieve fruition before you meet your end, hoping that those who come after will carry out your legacy. But GodArtras, as your people have named himis not constrained by such trivial things as time. His machinations extend across the millennia, ever in motion. He touched the gigantic, encased figure. Braskellar was to be the culmination of those machinations. The purifier, left by Artras to scour the world when the time was right. His awakening heralded a conflict that would bathe the world in blood, and every death would strengthen him. Luca shivered as a cold sensation drifted up his spine. His heart hammered in his chest. None of this makes sense, he thought. Had everything Kahlia told him been a lie? Had Rensler been right to mistrust them from the start? However, when Artras departed, He underestimated the tenacity of His creations, Caarthas went on. Your forefathers harnessed their Blessings in a way hitherto unforeseen, and they rent Braskellar, casting his body into the depths of the earth, leaving his immortal soul to wander eternally. His gaze flicked toward Luca. And to this day, the soul seeks to reclaim its body and complete its purpose. He turned his smile upon Luca, though there was no joy in his black, soulless eyes. The cleansing of the world. 544 Chapter 31 You lie! Zandren shouted into the lingering silence. Every word that dropped from the lips of this serpent of a man was false. It had to be so, or else everything to which Zandren had devoted his life would be undone. A few paces away, Luca stood frozen, eyes wide. The boy had been fearful since the moment he entered the chamber. Had he known what Zandren had uncovered? Was that why the boy had spied upon him? He glowered at Caarthas. Had this creature already filled Lucas head with these lies? The immortal manif he truly was onespread his hands. I assure you, Zandren, I speak no falsehoods this night. What reason would I have to lie to you, now that you have uncovered the truth for yourself? The truth? Zandren snapped. This is not the truth. Braskellar was the great enemy of Artras. It was he who sundered God. He threw out a hand toward the horrible relief sprawling across the wall. The immortal soul of Artras wanders eternally, longing to be reunited with its body to restore everlasting utopia. Caarthas regarded Zandren with that mocking smile of his. Ah, but of course. The Church of the Immortal Soul has been a most useful tool these past few millennia. I must admit, I was skeptical of Endelions scheming after the Sundering, but his successes are self-evident. The Artras that you believe slumbers within the earth is one and the same as the true self of Braskellar. The benevolent creator you cling to is the true lie. God cares nothing for the lives of humans; you are but worms to him, crawling in the muck, always striving to find some greater purpose in your short lives. I dont believe it, Zandren said, though the words rang hollow. 545 Humans always cling to that which gives them hope, and faith is often an unbreakable shield, Caarthas said. My brethren knew this to be the case. The Sundering left all of us weakened; continuing to shed the blood of humanity would amount to nothing with Braskellar broken. When the first Vestige came to be, we dared to hope for the reunification, but the memories of the war were still fresh in the minds of mankind. If we were to restore Braskellar, we would need to change out methods. He walked with muffled steps beside the wall, stopping at the center, and gestured to the five cloaked figures beneath the colossal being with arms outstretched. And thus the Church was born. Endelion, wisest of us all, realized we would never bring the Vestige safely to the body of Braskellar, not with our numbers so few. But humans are plentiful and more than willing to lay down their lives for a cause they believe in. He pointed to Zandren. You are proof of this yourself. You nearly died upon my steps to protect the Vestige. Zandren glanced at Luca. The boy had gone pale, and his arms were tightly wrapped around himself. What must he be thinking, hearing all of this? Zandren wondered. But again we underestimated your kind, Caarthas went on. A foolish mistake on our parts, though I warned Endelion of this. Humanity is incapable of uniting under one banner, especially in matters of faith. The Church became a useful tool, yes, but it did not capture the hearts of all, as we had hoped. Those who know the truth of the Vestige still plague us to this day. The Watchers, Zandren murmured. Caarthas nodded. Their roots are as old as those of the Church. Spawned by the king of ancient Kiltas. They will stop at nothing to prevent the unification. 546 Theyve tried to kill me more than once, Luca whispered. They tried to burn my entire village down. I wouldve died that night, if Rensler hadnt found me. His gaze finally lifted from the floor. Rensler said there was a demon there, too, trying to kill me. Caarthas shook his head. It was there to protect you, holy one. Zandren rounded on the other man. That cant be. The demons are the spawn of Braskellar, sent to kill the Vestige. That creature chased us to the doors of the Sanctum. Chased? Caarthass mouth twitched into an amused smile. Herded, more like. Demons, as you call them, are a manifestation of Braskellars will. He pointed to a piece of text carved into the wall. His children, born from the bones of the earth and the souls of the dead. In the beginning, they will emerge when the Vestige is in great need, but as their two souls intertwine, the demons become more numerous, to assist their creator. Zandren recoiled as though he had been struck. Thatsimpossible, he groaned. Why did it try to kill Luca, then? It was never meant to kill the boy, Caarthas said. The soul of Braskellar may be weak at present, but it is aware of the world around it. He wanted you removed, as did I. But Luca would not enter without you, and I capitulated. He glanced at the boy. There is a balance between the two souls, and just as Braskellar strives for control, the Vestige likewise draws upon his power. The five Blessings are merely the beginning. He started toward Luca, but the boy darted out of reach and pressed against the nearest pillar. Dont come near me, he hissed. He clutched the sides of his head, his fingers lacing through his shaggy hair, and snarled at Zandren and Caarthas in turn. Dont either of you come near me. Caarthas dipped his head. Apologies, holy one. 547 Dont call me that! Luca screamed. He sank against the pillar. His eyes were wide, and he sucked in air as though he were drowning. I dont understand. I dont understand any of this. I feared as much, Caarthas said. There seemed to be genuine concern in his voice. You are young, Luca. Quite possibly the youngest Vestige in history. The presence of Braskellars soul manifests in adulthood, when the body and mind are ready. Your predecessor forced this upon you. His lips pulled back into a sneer. Calianna learned the truth as well and was determined to expose it. The bloody campaign she waged against her countrymen was that attempt. She certainly succeeded. Myrandir was more hostile toward the Churchand Vendalar itselfnow than ever before. Perhaps they were wise to do so after all, but the theocratic kingdom was by no means faultless. The treatment of their Marked was reprehensible. You say she learned the truth, Zandren said, and yet you let her leave. The mountain dwellers face darkened. I did not let her leave. She accepted my teachings, then escaped when she learned enough. He sighed, and his face became impassive once more. But what is done is done. She shall not be the last to balk at the truth, I should think. His gaze slid back to Luca. Zandren moved to block Luca from the mans sight. How is it that none have ever succeeded? Two and a half thousand years had passed since the Sundering, and yet no Vestige had ever completed their task. Come, Zandren, you must already know, Caarthas said. The Watchers have harried your Seekers throughout the centuries. They remain vigilant, always watching for the signs. After all these years, I still do not know who leads them, but I suspect such a person is like me. 548 Ageless, impervious to the scourge of time. He shook his head. Not every Vestige meets their end as such, of course, though whether their lives are taken by their own hands or those of someone else, the result remains the same. He let out a long sigh. I had hoped this time would be different. The Vestige came to me freely, and younger than ever before. Perhaps I was mistaken. The air seemed thick suddenly, and Zandren felt the hairs on his arms standing on end. Luca, he said, keeping his eyes on the man before him. Can you stand? II think so, came the boys response. Clothing rubbed across stone as he rose. Zandren took a step back, keeping his sword at the ready, but Caarthas remained unmoving, though he regarded Zandren through slitted eyes. Were leaving, he announced, the words echoing throughout the chamber. He stopped beside Luca. The boy had a dazed look in his eyes, but he no longer recoiled. Caarthas raised his hairless brow. Oh? Where shall you go? To Thanalia, Zandren said. As has always been our goal. And, pray tell, how you intend to make your way there, Caarthas said. He stepped lightly away from the relief, giving Zandren and Luca a wide berth as he walked in a wide arc. Will you return to Myrandir, to the very spot where your comrades were stolen? Or will you descend the mountain and travel through the Glasslands? I am unsure which is more dangerous, the creatures that dwell there or the people of Myrandir. The route matters not. Ah, of course, Caarthas said. Do you intend to confront the Pentarchy, then? Demand to know whether I speak the truth? A grin spread across his face as he stopped in the center of 549 the cavern. I should think the Pentarchy will support my account, if you demand it, though I cannot say they will allow you to live afterward. Zandren grimaced. The Pentarchy would never do that. Caarthas let out a sibilant laugh as he raised a hand, pointing toward the middle of the relief. The Pentarchy are my brethren, you fool. They know full well the truth of which I speak. He folded the hands back into his sleeves and clucked his tongue. But I am afraid I cannot permit this, entertaining though it would be. My unending task is to prepare the Vestige for the convergence of the souls, so that Braskellar may take full control of this prison of flesh. Luca is by no means ready for that. Brandishing his sword, Zandren tugged at Luca with his other hand. The boy came forward with a sluggish step. You cannot stop us, Zandren said to Caarthas. I do not fear you. The arrogance of humanity never ceases to impress, Caarthas said. He darted forward, closing the gap between them in a blink. One hand struck toward Zandrens chest, the bony fingers arched like claws. Pushing Luca to the side, Zandren danced back and brought his sword down in a tight arc, aiming for the extended arm, but the blade whistled through empty air. Hes quick, Zandren thought. Far quicker than he should have been. But he was unarmed, and Zandren had the advantage of a longer reach. Now that he was on his guard, he would make short work of this strange man, and they would be free. He rushed at Caarthas, the glowing blade a blur in of light in the shadowy chamber as he slashed at his foe. The other man retreated before the onslaught, though he managed to remain unscathed as he duck and spun out of the way, but his steps were slowing. Zandren growled deep in throat as he increased the speed of his strikes. He needed to finish this. 550 With a roar, he stepped into a powerful swing. Caarthas tried to leap out of reach, but the tip of the blade slashed through cloth and flesh alike, and the man stumbled to his knees, one hand clutching his stomach, the other pressed against the stone floor. Sword at the ready, Zandren approached, wary. He didnt know what unknown abilities this man possessed, nor did he intend to find out. A gasp came from behind Zandren, and he grabbed Luca before the boy could rush past him. Luca struggled in his grip. Let me go! Wait, Zandren barked, his eyes on the wounded Caarthas. The man remained on his knees. Why doesnt he fall? You shouldnt have killed him, Luca yelled. I need him to teach me. A deep, rhythmic rumble resounded through the cavern. Caarthas was laughing. Do not fret, holy one. The sound boomed in the enclosed space, and his voice was like stones scraping together. He has not killed me. Caarthas climbed to his feet jerkily. The robe shifted, and Zandren caught a glimpse of gray fleshif it was thatthrough the tear in the cloth. The sword had left a blackened gash across the mans stomach, but he moved as though he was completely uninjured. The cold hand of fear gripped Zandren in his gut. What are you? he whispered. The rumbling laugh emanated from the other man once again. I have borne many names across the ages. Caarthas the All-Devouring, the Gray Bane, the Writhing Death. His skin began to sag as though he had aged decades, and it looked poised to fall from his bones at the slightest touch. I am of the old blood, from the time when Braskellar yet slumbered, before your kind rebelled against the will of God. 551 The faade of the kindly man faded, and gray spread up across his face. Zandren stared, horrified, as Caarthas began to grow larger, his hunched shoulders rising toward the ceiling, his flesh splitting to reveal hard, stony plates underneath. Run! Zandren shouted, dragging Luca toward the tunnel. With a frightened yelp, the boy at last snapped from his trance. Breaking free of Zandrens grip, he dashed into the dark corridor, pausing for a second to look back. Keep going, Zandren said, waving him on. We have to reach the surface before that thing catches us. Lucas face was full of terror in the sword light. I thoughthe waswhat is he? A demon, Zandren said. But far more dangerous than the others weve seen. He shot a glance back as the archway disappeared at the edge of the light. Their stampede carried them up the sloping tunnel, their footsteps pounding out a quick rhythm, and then they were past the stone slab Zandren had slashed his way through, back into the permanent glow of the imbued spheres in the ceiling. He halted, wondering whether they could seal the passage again, but pushing it into the alcove had been difficult enough, and time was not on their side. A faint scraping noise emanated from deep within the tunnel, and a weak tremor rose within the stone. Zandren shared a look with Luca, and they ran on once more. The rumbling beneath their feet grew stronger, the scraping sound louder. Whatever Caarthas had become was chasing after them, crawling its way through the warrens. What are we going to do? Luca asked, panicked. Zandren read his clunky handwriting upon the walls. Just keep going, he shouted over the growing rumble. He felt the reverberations through his boots, at every intersection, he 552 expected some nightmarish creature to burst from the stone and devour them. Well make for the door on the mountainside, get back out to the bridge. Maybe he wont be able to follow us. Luca did not appear convinced, but he fell quiet. Soon enough, they came out into the grand entrance of the Sanctum, and the rumbling faded to a murmur. From their deep recesses, the immense statues watched over the circular chamber. The floor tiles glittered in the light from the chandelier, the sleeping visage of Artras practically shining. Zandren felt his guts twist involuntarily at the sight. The benevolent god was nothing but a sham. Deal with that later, he thought forcefully. He rounded the raised outer ring, making for the wide tunnel that led outside, before he realized that Luca had not budged. Whats wrong? Zandren said. Luca held up a finger to his lips, then cocked his head to the side. Do you hear that? Holding his breath, Zandren listened, straining to hear whatever it was had grabbed Lucas attention, but there was nothing. The boy must have been hearing things. He had grown so erratic since they arrived at the God-forsaken mountain. The silence lingered, and Zandren sighed. Luca, I dont hear anything. Exactly, Luca said. He licked his lips, his eyes darting about the chamber. But why? Where did he go? Hes right. The rumbling had all but ceased, a whisper deep within the stone, so faint that Zandren no longer felt it shaking through him. Had they truly escaped? Or perhaps Caarthas had given up, unable to find them in the labyrinth. Whatever the cause, there was no sense in lingering. Luca, come The stone shuddered, so violently that Zandren was knocked to the ground. A deafening crack rent the air, and the floor exploded upward, sending up a shower of stone and tiles. 553 Zandren scooted back from the stairs as chunks of debris as big as his head crashed down. A wave of dust washed over him, and as he coughed, he gaped at the creature emerging through the haze. A dark, serpentine shape rose from the depths of the mountain. Bony plates, gray and glossy, ran the length of the beast, covering everything but a thin line of black flesh beneath. Each section of plate sprouted jagged spikes as long as Zandrens arms. The head was a mess of spikes jutting in all directions, surrounding a mouth full of teeth the size of his hands that jutted from stretched out gums. Zandren could see no eyes, but as the creature reared ever higher, its horrific head angled toward Luca, still standing beside the tunnel from which they had come. Did you think you could escape me? The creatures mouth gnashed as it rumbled. Caarthass voice intermingled with several others, a horrible sound that sent shivers running through Zandren. I roamed this world while your ancestors hid in caves, afraid of the terrors of the night. I have seen mountains crumble and stars wither and fade from the sky. I am Caarthas the All-Devouring. The head shifted toward Zandren. And I do not suffer the likes of you in my domain. Zandren forced himself to stand on trembling legs. He had never known a greater terror than what he felt now, gazing upon the monstrous worm towering above the chamber. The creature returned its unseen gaze to Luca, who flinched back. It does not have to end here, holy one. Rid yourself of this pestilence of a man, and remain here. I shall guide you to your divine purpose. Run, you fool boy, Zandren screamed within his mind. But, to his amazement, Luca clenched his fists and held his ground. I dont want that purpose, he shouted. I dont want to kill anyone or destroy the world or whatever else you want of me. 554 Hissing laughter resonated from the demon. Child, you have no choice. The immortal soul within will consume you, in time. You will enthrall those dearest to you, and when at last when Braskellar is made whole, you shall bathe this world in blood. Youre wrong! Luca screamed. I wont do such things. Bony lips twisted into a horrific sneer. Who are you, child, to defy the will of God? The giant head shook ponderously. Very well. If that is your choice, so be it. I have waited more than two thousand years for the reunification. The creature reared back, spikes bristling. What is another generation? Zandrens cry was lost to the creatures roar as it surged toward the boy, its mouth spread wide enough to swallow the boy whole. A pulse of energy crackled through the chamber, and the beast smashed its head against the hardened disc of air that now hovered above Luca. Cracks spread through the shield, like stepping on ice, but it held together. Ah! Caarthass interlaced voices boomed. The terrible mouth spread into a grin. Look how far youve come with my teaching, Luca. When you came to me, you were nothing. Incapable of saving even one you held dear. The great worm turned its eyeless gaze upon Zandren once more. I wonder, can you save him now? Zandren dove backward, narrowly avoiding being pulped against the stone as the armored head slammed into the floor. The beast pulled back, readying to strike again. Zandren scrambled to his feet. What could he possibly do against a force such as this? A burst of white-gold flame struck the side of the Caarthass head, eliciting a terrible shriek. Light swirled around Lucas outstretched arms, pooling into his hands as he prepared another salvo. Clutching his sword, Zandren dashed around the raised section of the chamber, sliding to a stop beside Luca. 555 Caarthas howled in pain as the rest of him slithered up from the gaping hole, his writhing body filling half the space. He slammed his plated body against the carved wall, rattling the chandelier. Such strength, Luca, he hissed. Imagine what you could become if you embrace your fate. The thick tail lashed toward them. Luca thrust out a hand, and a shield coalesced from the air to take the blow, but then the gnashing teeth came snapping at them. Zandren tackled Luca to the stone and felt the rush of air as the grotesque head passed over them. We cant keep this up, he said, springing to his feet. The great beast recoiled, preparing to strike at them again. He looked toward the tunnel leading to the outside world. Caarthas would crush them before they made it to the door. Think, Zandren. Stop cowering in the dirt. The creature had to have some weakness they could use. Luca had injured it, though the blast had left only a blackened mark upon a section of bone. How long could the boy keep up a barrage before the beast devoured them? His eyes went to the fleshy underbelly exposed between the curved plates of bone. If he could get close enough, he could drive his sword into the creature, but he would likely be crushed in the process. They leaped away from each other as the armored head smashed the pulverized the shallow stairs before them. I grow weary of this game, Caarthas said, the voices echoing in Zandrens head. You may be nimble, but you shall tire soon enough. Surrender now, and I will end your lives quickly. Continue to resist, and I will shred the flesh from your bones. The beast struck at them again and again, and the air grew thick with powdered rock. Zandrens chest heaved as he dove and rolled and stood once more, each time coming up more slowly than the last. Luca hurled blasts of light at the demon, striking glancing blows against the bone plates. Caarthas howled in pain from each, but still he did not tire. 556 Dodging beneath the thrashing tail, Zandren found himself beside Luca again. The underbelly, he shouted. You have to aim for the underbelly. He scurried away from Luca as the great head reared back. If he could keep the worm distracted, perhaps the boy could destroy it. The head surged after him, and as he leaped aside, he felt the teeth slice through his shirt, grazing his skin and leaving several long red streaks up the length of his back. He sucked in a breath at the surge of pain. He looked toward the boy as the shadow of the tail fell upon him. A thin beam of light surged from Lucas hand, slicing across the exposed flesh. Caarthas let out an earsplitting scream, so loud that Zandren felt something pop within his ears. The demon crashed through the legs of one of the towering statues, and a great grinding noise joined the agonized shrieking as the colossal figure toppled forward, its body breaking under the strain. The figures torso smashed into Caarthass head, crushing the writhing beast to the floor. Zandren gritted his teeth and staggered to his feet, pain flaring from gashes in his skin, deeper than he realized. Blood ran down his back, spilling down along his legs, but he lurched forward, his eyes locked onto the exposed flesh beneath the demons lower jaw. Its great length undulated as it strained against the weight of the statue. Zandren, Luca called out. What are you doing? His voice was muffled to Zandrens ears. A section of the body rolled toward him. He dodged beneath the jagged spikes and pressed on, gripping his sword in hands covered with sweat and stone. Each step was agony, but he would not slow. He needed to slay this monster. He would not fail this time. With a roar, he plunged the radiant blade into the beasts head, ramming the hilt up against the flesh. The intertwined voices screamed as the sinuous body roiled along the floor. 557 Dropping to his knees, Zandren pressed his hands to ears until at last the horrific wail faded, and an eerie quiet descended upon the chamber. Zandren ripped the sword from the demon and retreated. Black blood seeped from the beast, and dark smoke wafted from the flesh of its underbelly. Foul ooze pooled beneath the unmoving corpse, spreading across the lower floor and spilling down into the jagged shaft. Zandren collapsed against the stairs and pulled himself away from the liquid, then lay still, staring up at the domed ceiling high overhead. He set his head against the cool stone. Lucas voice pierced the fog of his mind, though he couldnt make out the words. Just let me rest, boy, he thought. His eyes snapped open as a jolt coursed through his body. Pain flared from the slashes on his back as the flesh knit itself back together. The sensation was gone as quickly as it had come, and Zandren bolted upright. Luca pulled his hands back, a faint blue glow drifting from his fingertips. Zandren patted his back, feeling for the wounds and finding unbroken skin. Thanks, he said, nodding to Luca. Seems youre getting better at that. Its easier when someones about to die, Luca replied. Hair clung to his forehead, matted down by sweat, and dust and stone painted him a pale gray, but he looked pleased nonetheless, despite the cloying stench hanging in the air. He sat beside Zandren on the stairs, quiet for a moment. So what do we do now? Zandren watched the decaying body of the creature that had been Caarthas. The flesh had all but sloughed away, leaving behind a husk of bony plates and spikes. Was the kindly man merely a faade all along? It must have been. This thing before them was the true Caarthas, had always been. An ancient demon from before the Sundering. How much of what he had spoken 558 was true? Zandrens head throbbed as he tried to reason through the revelations. He did not want to believe those things, but the already unstable foundations of his faith felt ready to crumble. Idont know, he admitted at last with a shake of his head. I need time to think. IIm not certain of anything now. He tossed a small piece of rubble into the black pool. It plopped into the ooze without a splash and slowly sank beneath the surface. Perhaps that was his fate as well, to be sucked down into a dark abyss from which there would be no escape. 559 Chapter 32 Kahlia had spent many years perfecting the ability to approach any situation calmly. Even still, she could not help but feel giddy as the immense walls of Rellas Gate appeared on the horizon, nestled in the gap between tapering mountain peaks. It would be some time yet before they reached Thanalia, but the idea of simply setting foot in her homeland had her spirits soaring, despite the grave tidings she bore. Weeks had passed since their flight from Myrais, and though the journey had been uneventfulsave for the nights when Nira woke screaming, poised to set the world around her ablaze until her sister pulled her close and sang for herKahlia feared unseen pursuers hounding them with every step. But the nights passed and the mornings came peacefully enough, and the rolling landscape grew thick with sprawling woodlands as they traveled westward. And now they sat their mounts on this hilltop, shaded from the midday sun by tall trees, the road leading toward the fortress city mere miles away. So thats the Gate? Rensler said from beside her. His hair had grown long, the shaggy brown curls covering his ears, and the beard covering his cheeks and mouth was in desperate need of a trim. Only months had passed, yet he seemed so much older now than the young man she had met in Salden. Kahlia nodded. For five centuries has it stood, ever watchful. Come. She set her horse to an easy walk. We should not tarry any longer than we must. Their companions rode behind them, as the road, little more than a pair of ruts carved through the dirt, was hardly wide enough for two to ride abreast. Ayla fretted over her sister at every bump in the road, though the girl never complained. In fact, she rarely spoke unless asked to, and even then she said nothing more than was necessary. But she was calmer now than when 560 they had first embarked, and she no longer cowered at every sudden movement, though there was always a glimmer of fear in her eye when Rensler came too close. Kahlia could tell the mistrust gnawed at him and assured him he had committed no wrongdoing. The girl simply needed time. Five years of torment could not be undone in mere weeks. The walls loomed larger as they rode on. Will we have any troubles gaining entrance? Rensler asked. I do not believe so, Kahlia said. Our two peoples are not prohibited from entering each others lands, despite this growing tension. For now, she thought. Much would change if war were declared. The Gate was the main trade route between the two nations, and even their history of hostility had never fully stopped the flow of commerce. That would likely change if the Myrandian army were marching toward the border. The common people on either side of the wall would pay the price. Rensler glanced back at the sisters, then lowered his voice. Will they allow the two of them to go about freely? If they try to put Nira in a cell The word of a Seeker holds more weight than you realize, Rensler, she said. The soldiers here will be more than agreeable, you will see. Her hand went to the amulet hanging about her neck. Rensler had reclaimed it from Negald during their flight from the stronghold. It was sinful to think ill of the departed, but that mans passing gave her some relief. She wondered how many more like him dwelled within the Trackers ranks. Blind zealotry was a dangerous thing. If you say so, Rensler muttered. Ever the pragmatist, Kahlia thought, although she could not fault him for his cautious nature. 561 The road swelled with traffic as they drew nearer to the wall, and their pace slowed to a miserable crawl. Carts laden with crates and people on foot were most common, stopping and starting as long trains of covered wagons barreled through, the guards barking orders for people to move aside. Kahlia led her little band in single file on the edge of the road, feeling much like a mother duck leading her children to water. The woodlands ended with a hard line about a mile from the Gate, leaving the hillsides covered in yellowed scrubland, and the land began to slope more steeply upward toward the low mountains. The first wall rose from among the foothills, a vast slab of white stone a hundred feet tall and a quarter mile long. Conical towers and rounded battlements stretched across its length. The earthen rode grew wider as it ran through the long tunnel beneath the wall, the huge portcullis gate standing open to allow the traffic to flow in and out. Another wall stood high upon the slope beyond the first, while a third brushed the sky in the distance. Two watchtowers stood on either side of the road before the gate, and a half dozen guards, garbed in blue uniforms trimmed with silver, were scattered across the road, halting the incoming crowds. Kahlia waited patiently as the traffic lurched forward a step at a time and smiled at the awed whispers of her companions. The sun had begun its descent by the time they came to the front of the queue. The guards gave the group a cursory look and waved them forward. Kahlia kept her horse in place and beckoned for the closest guard, a man who could not have been much older than Rensler, though his hair was already thinning. I need you to run a message to your commander, she said, drawing herself up in the saddle. Tell him a Seeker has arrived. I must speak with him at once. The man shot a look back at his fellows, then regarded Kahlia with confusion. Im sorry, what? he said. 562 Kahlia sighed. Covered in grime from the road, she did not exactly look the part of a Seeker. She unclasped the amulet and held it out for the guard to examine. He grasped the golden disc, eyes widening as he turned it over in his calloused fingers. My apologies, Seeker, he said. Forgive me for not recognizing your station. You need not apologize for attending to your duty, Kahlia said. The man dipped his head before hurriedly pulling aside one of his fellows. After a few whispered words, the second guard stepped away, leaving a faint acrid scent on the breeze. Go on through, please, the balding man said as he returned to Kahlia. Make for the third wall. Someone will await you there to take you to the commander. Artras bless you, sir, Kahlia said. Annoyed voices were growing louder behind her, and she urged her horse forward, staying to one side of the road as she entered the wide tunnel. The noise from outside became a muffled buzz, while the clopping of hooves bounced along the thick stone blocks surrounding them. Several dozen paces later, she blinked in the sunlight as they emerged from the other side, coming out onto a flagstone street running up the shallow mountainside. Buildings made of brick and timber lined the street, their slate roofs angled down toward the first wall. The buildings stood in clusters built upon terraces, fanning out toward the far edges of the wall, where the huge blocks melded into the natural terrain. The entirety of the space always gave Kahlia the impression that some giant creature had squashed the town between its fingers, squeezing it into a long, oblong shape made to fit snugly between the walls. Rensler let out a low whistle as his gaze traveled to the second wall, several hundred feet up the slope. Thick ropes hung at intervals across its surface, connecting to enormous pulleys 563 that hauled up stout wooden platforms from below. Theres a whole city here, he murmured. He turned to Kahlia with a furrowed brow. I thought this was a fortress. It is both, Kahlia said. These lands once belonged to a long faded kingdom. The people who lived then understood the importance of controlling this pass and laid the foundations for what became these walls. She swept a hand out in an arc. As it goes, the kingdom fell to another, and in time, both became part of what is now Vendalar. At the behest of Queen Rella, the first ruler of the united Vendalar, these walls were raised higher, made to stave off invasions from the tribes still roaming the hills to the east. But the remnants of that kingdom lived on within this pass, and the town grew alongside the walls. It seems a bad decision to allow this, Aylas voice drifted from behind. Wouldnt all these people be a liability in the event of an attack? Kahlia pursed her lips; she had wondered much the same. Not since the wall was but a pile of logs has it been breached. In the centuries since, no force has come through. But the Myrandir of the present is far different from that of the past, she wanted to add. One need not breach the wall, if agents open it from within. They pressed on along the sloping road, dodging around the people who were about, residents and travelers and traders alike, most garbed in thick coats against the autumn chill, and traveled beneath the second wall. This tier was much the same as the first, though now the flagstone street curved back and forth, like a giant snake slithering down the mountainside, as it traveled upward toward the third, and final, wall. What are those? Rensler asked as they drew nearer to the tunnel entrance. A shorter bulwark jutted out from the towering wall in a wide square on either side, nearly butting up against the terrace of buildings standing just below. Five conical spires were arrayed around a 564 domed structure peeking out of the enclosures, a long blue and silver banner flapping in the wind atop each. Barracks for the officers, Kahlia said, as well as those soldiers who do not have residences within the town proper. Rensler glanced back down the mountainside. The soldiers live among the townsfolk? Of course, Kahlia said. Many were raised here, I should think. Others come from Thanalia, assigned to remain for a year before they are able to return to the capital. That sounds like a punishment. Kahlia chuckled. On the contrary, it is a great honor to defend Rellas Gate. Professional soldiers need purpose. The greatest city in all the world Thanalia may be, but it offers little excitement for a standing army. A befuddled look crossed Renslers face, but he did not press further as they halted their mounts at the base of the wall, where the land leveled out at the height of the mountain pass. Through the tunnel, Kahlia caught a glimpse of the land beyond, a quilt of fields and forests stretching far into the distance, broken up by the thin lines of winding rivers and streams. The cobblestones ended just beyond the edge of wall, and the road became hard earth once again. A part of her longed to gallop clear through to the other side, if only for a moment, just to be back in Vendalar proper. A guard, the same one who had vanished from the first wall gate, waited at the edge of the street near one of the shorter bulwarks, beckoning for them. Greetings, Seeker, the man said. He gave a short bow. Follow me, please. Commander Tandrus is expecting you. He led them through the entryway into the walled enclosure, almost a castle. The central structure was three layers of whitewashed stone blocks topped by spires and domes, while 565 smaller buildings used for storage and other necessities stood against the outer wall. Pathways crisscrossed among the structures, weaving around small earthen sparring rings kept clear of shrub. A group of stablehands took their horses from them, giving them a few seconds to hurriedly untie their belongings. Rensler made to buckle his sword belt about his waist, but the guard halted him. I cannot allow you to go armed before the commander. Renslers hands tightened on the sheath. Im not giving this up. Not to you or anyone else. People in the courtyard paused, aware of the altercation. Before the men could come to blows, Kahlia stepped between them. Peace, both of you. Do not make fools of yourselves over a sword. She turned to the guard. My Guardian and I were separated upon the road. Rensler has taken his stead for the time being, until such time as we can be rejoined. I would ask that you allow my companion the same honors. Confusion shone in his dark eyes, but, blessedly, the man stepped back. As you wish, Seeker. In minutes, they were whisked up through the keep, traversing well-lit corridors and stairwells, and they came to an oaken door at the end of a hall on the third floor, flanked by two more guards. Their presence was announced with the iron knocker, and a call from within answered as the door swung inward. Claiming duties elsewhere, their escort trotted off, and the sentries waved them inside, dipping their heads to Kahlia as she passed. The study within was spacious yet austere. As plain a fireplace as Kahlia had ever laid eyes on sat in one wall, lonely save for the sword mounted sideways above the mantle. On the opposite wall hung a lone tapestry depicting the three walls stacked along the mountainside, the 566 sun shining large behind the last. Across the room, narrow windows looked down upon the courtyard outside. A heavy desk and a handful of chairs, all crafted with a simple elegance, were the only furniture. A suit of armor hung upon a stand in one corner, the mail and steel gleaming from where it showed beneath a blue and silver surcoat. A man larger than Zandren sat at the desk, his gaze flicking up from the papers scattered before him at the intrusion. Despite the chill outside, a thin sheen of sweat clung to the top of his bald head, glistening against brown skin. He regarded them with eyes like granite, pausing for a moment on Renslers sword, but his face split into a congenial smile as he rose to greet them. The light of Artras be with you, Seeker, he said with a deep, rumbling voice as he rounded the desk. Your presence honors us all. Kahlia dipped her head. The light be with you as well, Commander. I apologize for the unexpected interruption. A Seeker is always a welcome interruption, Tandrus said. He swept a hand toward the chairs arrayed before the desk. Please, sit. Years have passed since a Seeker has come to the Gate, and I would hear what brings you to my door by way of Myrandir, and how you came to hold such company. His eyes passed over her companions. Ayla stood stiffly, looking torn between staying and fleeing, while Nira ducked behind her. He frowned at Renslers sword again, then turned to Kahlia. Your Guardian isyoung, is he not? Rensler bristled, and Kahlia cut in before he made a fool of himself. He is capable, I assure you, she said. He acts in the stead of my Guardian. Unusual circumstances have forced this arrangement upon us. The commander took the statement in stride, returning to his own seat with a casual indifference as Kahlia slid into one of the empty chairs. The others remained on their feet, as 567 though straying too far from the door would entrap them within the study forever. If that is their choice, so be it, she thought. She would worry about their ill manners later. You must be weary from the road, Tandrus said. He produced a handbell, a childs toy in his huge hand, from the desk, and at its ringing one of the guards from the corridor poked his head in, receiving instructions to summon servants with water and food, while others were to ready the private baths. How long will you be staying? The Seekers suite has sat empty for some time, but you shall have it at your disposal. Thank you for your generosity, Kahlia said. I am afraid it is a long tale, and I would not keep you from your duties. The commander scoffed and pushed aside some of the papers, ledges and maps, by the looks of them. Id be glad for the distraction. The tedium of administration is unending. Servants in blue livery entered on quiet steps, bearing trays of grape and raspberries, while another poured water from a ceramic pitcher into matching cups. Kahlia accepted one with a nod of gratitude and clutched it between her hands. The show of hospitality broke the young people from their stupor, and they at last came to join Kahlia as the servants exited. Kahlia drained most of her cup before launching into the story. The commander sat with his fingers steepled, silent and still as she began with their arrival in Salden and all that had occurred since. The calm mask slipped from his face at the mention of demons, but the rest he took in with quiet stoicism, even their venture into Myrais. She described the army camped outside the city, though she hesitated in recounting other events. After a lengthy pause, Tandrus murmured, That is quite the tale. He stroked his chin between a thumb and forefinger. Our scouts in the capital had informed us of this host gathering at the capital these past months. I know not what occurs in the mind of Temerid and counsel, but 568 they would be foolish to mount an assault upon the Gate. A hundred thousand soldiers could not break these walls, and by all accounts he has but a tenth that number. Kahlia clutched her cup in her lap. When was the last time you received word from your men? A month or so, if I recall correctly. I would advise you to send scouts out immediately along the road to Myrais, Kahlia said. I fear that the army has since marched from the city. Her mouth had gone dry, but she did not refill her cup. We encountereddifficulties in Myrais. Due to our actions, most of the citys Marked found freedom, temporary as it may have been, and caused pandemonium. I believe the army is now following on our heels. The commander frowned. But why? Forgive me, Seeker, but that seems improbable. What cause would an entire army have to chase four individuals? They know about the Vestige, Lord Tandrus, Kahlia said. He escaped from the Trackersthank Godbut for all they know, Luca could be roaming free in Myrandir at this moment. The memories of Caliannas rebellion remain fresh in their minds, and many believe the Church sent her to destroy Myrandir from within. They have been preparing for retaliation these past two decades, and I fear they are now ready to act. Ayla cleared her throat, drawing the attention of both Kahlia and the commander. Nira was among the Marked we freed, she said. She grabbed her sisters hand as though the girl might flee at the mention of her name. Tandruss eyes lit up with understanding. And now they believe Vendalan forces have invaded their city, releasing their Marked. He looked to Kahlia. Destroying it from within, as it 569 were. He rang the handbell again. The guards head had barely come through the door as Tandrus said, Fetch Meliam and Entra. I have urgent need of them. The guard retreated, and Tandrus crossed to a window, peering down at the town with his hands clasped behind his back, saying nothing. They waited, listening to the muffled sounds rising up from the courtyard outside, the young people shifting in their seats in the uncomfortable silence. Kahlia eyed the commander, wondering what was going through his mind. He appeared to have grasped the nature of her fears, though it was unclear whether he considered them as serious as she herself did. Within minutes, a knock came at the door, and a pair of women entered, giving a crisp salute, palm pressed to the heart, and standing at attention. Sir, they said in unison. They carried themselves like the other soldiers, but they were unarmored, instead garbed in sturdy clothing made for the road, much the same as Kahlia and her companions. The commander turned from the window. Meliam. You have been to the second and third markers, correct? The woman on the left nodded and said, Yes, sir. All the way to the sixth. Good, Tandrus rumbled. Take Entra to the second, then to the third, if needed. I have received word that the Myrandian host has marched some weeks past. Gather what information you can, but do not tarry. Report to me immediately upon on your return. The women saluted again. Meliam grasped her counterparta Seer, Kahlia assumedby the wrist, and they vanished with a blink and a whiff of smoke. What was that about? Rensler asked. With a nervous glance at the commander, he added, Uh, sir. 570 Tandrus resumed his inspection of the town below. Was he looking for something, or merely trying to hide the troubled look in his eyes? One of my predecessors, long ago, possessed the foresight to utilize our Travelers as scouts. There are markerscurious little landmarks that can easily pass undetected, if one does not know to look for themscattered along the road to Myrais, about a days ride between each. Every Traveler has seen at least the first marker. Rensler frowned. Isnt that dangerous? What if theyre caught? Of course, Tandrus said. But far less so than sending out scouts on horseback. Do not fret for them, young Guardian. It would take an ambush and a Binding clapped around their necks to stop them from returning. The scouts returned within minutes, and their grim faces told Kahlia enough. The room felt suddenly small, as though the walls were shrinking in upon them. Entra snapped a salute. Sir, the army is on the march. I spotted them near the second marker, several miles east. The commanders face remained impassive. Two and a half days, then, by my best estimate, he said, more to himself than the rest of them. Their vanguard may arrive sooner, but the brunt of their force will be slowed by the camp followers and the supply trains. Well done, you two. I will have need of you again soon, but that is all for now. He returned their salutes, then waited for the door to shut before dropping into his chair, the wood groaning. It would appear your suspicions were correct, Seeker. Kahlia inclined her head. It would appear so, unfortunately. There must be more to this army than meets the eye, Tandrus said. He propped his elbows up on the desk, then rested his chin on folded hands. I have faith in these walls, but I 571 fear Temerid must be planning something, to be so bold. Would that I could bolster our ranks on the morrow, but Thanalia is weeks away. Rensler leaned forward, face stricken. What are we going to do? Do? The commander raised his brow. We will prepare to defend our home, as we have done for centuries. Temerid is not the first king to think he can destroy these walls, but he shall find my people as stout and unyielding as the stones themselves. His gaze shifted to Kahlia. What will you do, Lady Seeker? I would not ask you to deviate from the path of duty, but I would surely not turn away your assistance. Another Radiant upon the walls would be quite the boon. Kahlia considered for a moment. She desired to make for Thanalia, but without Luca, her homecoming would be empty-handed. A failure. Bringing the Vestige before the Pentarchy was in Zandrens hands, not hers. Artras has led us here, she said at last. To atone for our part in bringing this horde upon Vendalar. We will remain. You shall have not just one Radiant, but two. The others began to argue, their voices competing to be heard over the other. We cant stay here, Rensler said. We have to find Luca. We didnt volunteer to fight your battles, said Ayla. We need to continue Nira is not at your command Enough! Tandrus roared. Though he had not moved, he seemed to loom larger from across the desk, and the young people shrank back in their seats. Comport yourselves, or I shall remove you from my presence. 572 After a moment, Rensler, quieter now, said, But were not soldiers. Kahlia, we cant afford to be caught in this fight. I understand your fears, Kahlia replied. However, I am afraid this is a battle weI cannot abandon. I want to help, said a small voiceNira, sitting stiffly upright. All eyes went to her, and momentary alarm flickered in her face. She grabbed her sisters hand as she made to protest. It isnt right to leave, not when weve brought the danger to these people. I can fight. She looked to the commander. I will fight. Bless you, child, Kahlia thought. It was the most the girl had spoken at once since their flight from Myrais. The others were quiet, their turmoil plain, but Kahlia could see that they were caught. Ayla would not abandon her sister, and Rensler would not risk looking the coward. The victory felt hollow, though, and Kahlia did not revel in it. Its settled, then, the commander said, rising. I must see to the preparations. The baths await you, along with fresh clothes. He looked to Rensler, then to Ayla. Know that I understand the gravity of my request of you. I invite you all to dine with me tonight. I would hear more of your travels, Seeker Kahlia. He rang the handbell, and servants came to lead the group away. Kahlia cast a final glance at the commander, still sitting with his chin resting on his hands, his unfocused gaze seemingly staring beyond the walls of the fortress, and then he was gone from sight. 573 Chapter 33 Bathed, fed, and lounging within the vast solar of the Seekers suite as the night grew long, Rensler could almost forget the dire news they had delivered earlier that day. Despite the initial brusqueness of the commander, Rensler found their accommodations quite generous, as was the treatment they had received after their arrival. The servants had whisked them off to the baths, returning with fresh clothing that was soft and warm like a comforting embrace, and then they were off to sup with the commander and a few other officers. The dining chamber was nearly as stark as Tandruss office, though a low burning fire and jovial conversation more than made up for the lack of decoration. The commander himself seemed a different man then, laughing and jesting with the rest of them, and Rensler wondered whether he had misjudged the man. More surprising, though, was seeing Kahlia back amongst her own people. Rapt attention was paid to every word she spoke, and even the barest whisper could bring the soldiers to silence. Traveling for so long, especially through hostile lands, Rensler now understood he knew nothing about the Seekers place in Vendalan society. Seeing the immensity of their quarters had driven home the lesson. The solar was as large as the common room of the Lone Tree Inn. Heavy wooden bookshelves, smooth and lacquered, lined the walls wherever there was not a window or a wall hanging. The three bedchambers branching off from the main room made Rensler feel quite small beneath their high ceilings. The suite was like a house unto itself dropped onto the third floor of the fortress. And now, as he seated himself upon a plush sofa, he couldnt help but wonder if this was all a mistake. Or perhaps a dream. Any moment now, the servants would arrive to expel him and Ayla and Nira, and he would jolt awake, lying on the hard ground somewhere far away from any 574 sign of luxury. But the minutes passed without incident, and he began to finally allow himself to relaxthough the bickering sisters made a challenge of the task. Nira made laps around the edge of the room, pausing to marvel at something new each time, while Ayla stood with her arms crossed upon the lavish rug sprawling across the middle of the chamber, slowly turning as she followed her sisters every move. She drummed her fingers against one arm, and she twisted her mouth from side to side, on the verge of speaking for several minutes now. Why? Ayla said at last. Why did you agree to fight for them? She had been largely silent at dinner, nearly as quiet as the other. Humming, Nira stooped to examine a little statue of a soldier on horseback nestled in a shelf of books. She was an odd girl. Silent and terrified one moment, cheerful and curious the next. Less than a year stood between her and Luca, and yet she seemed half his age at times with the way she gawked at every little thing. You would too, if you grew up locked within a cell, he told himself. He imagined he wouldnt care much for strangers, either, especially if they wore a Trackers uniform when they first met. Maybe that impression was why the girl had remained leery of Rensler these past weeks. Nira, Ayla said. Look at me. The girl turned away from her inspection. Because Kahlia needs our help, she stated, as though the answer were obvious. But you dont need to endanger yourself for her, Ayla retorted. Or for anyone, for that matter. You dont have to fight their battles. Nira shrugged and moved to the next set of bookshelves. Thats what Im used for, though. Fighting. 575 Damn it, Nira, youre not a weapon. Ayla struggled to keep her composure. You dont need to be used for anything. You get to choose how to live now. And Im choosing to help. Nira crossed the chamber to Ayla as the older woman began to sputter a response. Its not just for Kahlia. Im choosing to protect you, Ayla, and even him, I guess. She turned slitted eyes on Rensler for a moment. The army might not be coming just for us, but I know they want me back. Ayla wrapped hear arms around Nira and muttered, Why do you have to be so damn stubborn? Feeling awkward, Rensler let his gaze roam around the room and kept his amusement to himself. How many exchanges with Luca had Rensler ended with that same question? Its because you are so damn stubborn, Ayla, he thought, the same as me. Luca could be headstrong at times, rushing into situations without thinking. Where would he have learned that from, though, if not Rensler? Watching the sisters argue brought Renslers worries for Luca to the forefront of his mind. A month and a half had passed since they were separated. He didnt think a day had ever passed in their lives before now where they were apart. For so long, he was adamant his brother needed protecting because of his propensity for trouble. How different would Luca be when they were finally reunited? The door swinging open cut through his melancholic thoughts, and Kahlia swept into the chamber. The preparations are underway, she said without preface. Commander Tandrus assures me their armory has equipment to spare. Hes asked for you to meet with the quartermaster in the morning, Rensler. Well be on the wall, then? he asked. 576 Kahlia nodded. Yes. A Radiant is most useful where others cannot come in the way. Rensler shivered, though the room was pleasantly warm. The commander had asked for Kahlia to join the defenses on the first wall, and Rensler, as her acting Guardian, was to accompany her. He regretted letting her introduce him as such, though he had little choice in the matter, and now he was caught in the snare of a responsibility for which he hadnt asked. And us? Ayla still had one hand around Nira, squeezing the girls shoulder. You are to remain on the third wall, Kahlia replied. As reserve defenses, should the worst come to pass. The elder sister breathed a quiet sigh, while the younger pursed her lips. I can fight at the front, Nira said. Kahlia smiled. I do not doubt your abilities, Nira. But keeping watch over those who cannot fight is just as important a duty. You are being entrusted with a most important task. The girl considered for a moment before nodding, evidently satisfied. She broke free of Aylas grip and resumed her studying where she left off. Tomorrow, we will be shown our stations, Kahlia went on. Afterward, the day will be ours to spend as we see fit. For now, I suggest we rest. We have had a hard journey. Rensler fought down a yawn and made to stand, but a sudden itch arose on the back of his neck, and scratching did nothing to banish it. He frowned, more curious than annoyed at the sensation. It had come and gone several times over the past few days; at first he suspected a rash, but the skin there was as it should be. Someone was scrying on him, then. Is that you, Luca? he wondered. Did he dare to hope it was? The question kept him awake for a long while. 577 The Wall of the Ancients was much the same as when Luca had laid eyes upon it, though the chamber itself was another story. A mound of shattered stone cluttered the middle of the cavern, the remnants of the transformed Caarthass burrowing up through the mountain. Black ichor had dripped down all the way to this place, leaving dark stains upon the rubble and a foul stench in the air. Luca lifted his lantern, illuminating a path forward, and gave the debris a wide berth as he approached the wall. Two days had passed since its discovery and the frenzied battle that followed, and after several unsuccessful attempts to persuade Zandren to accompany him, he had decided to return to the site alone. There was more to be learned, he was certain, even if he could not read the ancient language etched within the relief. Though what that might be was unknown, but he hoped to find something, anything, that could tell him what he was supposed to do now. His thoughts wandered as he studied the wall carvings. For so long, he had dreamed of leaving Salden and seeing the world, uncovering ancient places like this one. The journey didnt really go as planned. Separated from his brother, with peopleand other thingstrying to murder him. His purpose as the Vestige had never been clear; so far, it seemed that purpose was merely to avoid being killed time and time again. Kahlia had told him he was supposed to reunite the body and soul of a god. How absurd that had sounded at the beginning. But then people kept trying to kill him, and it gradually felt more real. He had spent so much time wondering why so many would want him dead. Now he understood. The reunification will destroy the world, not save it. He almost felt he could forgive the Watchers for what theyd done, if they hadnt tried to burn down his village and kill his family and friends. Although even that seemed pragmatic, considering the Vestige 578 supposedly enslaved peoples minds, but Luca didnt think he had done that to anyone yet. Saving the world was all well and good, but harming innocents was indefensible. They could be lying, you know. Maybe the Vestige really would bring about a perfect utopia, free of pain and strife. Maybe the Watcher really were just a deranged death cult, as Kahlia regarded them. Entertaining was comforting, but he could feel the falsehood in it. Caarthas had no reason to lie; in fact, Luca questioned why he had acted as he had, rather than maintaining the charade. The Watchers were right in wanting to stop the soul and body of Artras from coming together. Perhaps it would easier for Luca to give himself up to them now wherever they wereand be done with it. Even if I die, the soul will just find a new host. There had to be a way to stop this from happening again, but as he examined the relief, no answer was forthcoming. He let out an exasperated sigh. The artwork told only half the tale. If he wanted the whole story laid bare, he needed Zandren. The Guardian had hardly spoken since their victory, growing more withdrawn in the aftermath. The revelation had been hard on both of them, but Zandren more so. Luca wondered what was happening within the mans inscrutable mind. He had done nothing drastic as of yet, though Luca worried remaining in the sanctum would only eat away at the other mans sanity. This place was nothing but a reminder of the lies they had been told, and though they pained Luca, he had not spent his life steeped in these beliefs. He opened his eyes to the unseen tethers. Renslers strand jumped out at him immediately, easy to find now. The last he observed, his brother looked to be in a castle with Kahlia and some others whose voices he didnt recognize. He worried he was scrying upon Rensler too often, driving him to worry about who might be spying on him, but after more than a 579 month apart, it was good simply to hear his brothers voice again. The more Luca practiced, the more certain he became that he could find a way to reach Rensler. For now, though, he latched onto the thickest strand, and his awareness was launched up through the mountain, coming to rest behind Zandren. The man sat at a table rising from the stone floor, several books scattered before him. The library. Zandren was thumbing through one of the tomes now, muttering curses as he skimmed through page after page. He swatted at the back of his neck, and Luca let the tether go. He stood before the Wall once more. For now, there was nothing more to be learned here, and so he made his way upward through the tunnels. Their curved walls now made sense to Luca, considering the true nature of their host. He was curious as to why Caarthas had chosen to burrow through the stone, rather than simply slither through the empty space as he must have done countless times. Even if he had killed Luca and Zandren, he would have to deal with the damage he had caused to the sanctum. There had to be more to it. Perhaps the ancient demon had simply wanted to die at the hands of another. The library was in disarray when he arrived. Books lay scattered across the floor along the walls, while others stood in haphazard arrangements along the shelves. A stack nearly a foot high sat on the table before Zandren, who sat facing the door. His face was haggard and strained, though there was an almost feverish glint in his eyes as he pored through whatever book he now held. I knew youd come looking for me, Zandren said. He did not look up as Luca entered with quiet footsteps. 580 I was worried about you, Luca said. He hovered in the doorway, wincing as he noticed the pages that had fallen from some of the older tomes. How long have you been at this? By Lucas best estimate, it was mid-afternoon, though time was hard to track within these halls. I dont know, Zandren replied. He snapped the book shut and held it aloft, finally meeting Lucas eyes. More regurgitated lies. Every history regarding the Church speaks to its founding and its beliefs, but none reveal the truth. The book dropped from his hand, fluttering to the floor like a wounded bird. He grabbed the next one on the stack. One of these must contain the truth. They must. Luca felt the hairs on his neck stand. Something in Zandren had snapped, and Luca didnt know how to help the man. Could he heal him of this mind sickness, just as he had tended to his physical wounds? He took a hesitant step forward. Maybe you should take a breather, Luca said, hoping his unease didnt slip out. Have you, uheaten anything today? Or you could take a walk outside for a bit. The sunlight and the open air are goodfor He trailed off as Zandren was no longer listening, now flipping through the pages, too quickly to really read them. Luca swallowed hard and steeled himself. Zandren, you need to stop. All youre doing is destroying these books. I dont With a shout, Zandren toppled the stack of tomes, then rose sharply and fixed Luca with a hard glare. Luca stood his ground, clenching his fists against the chill of fear tickling his spine. They regarded each other in silence for a moment, neither speaking nor moving, until at last Zandren slumped down into his seat once more. There was a long pause before Zandren spoke. I have spent my life in service to the Church. Everything I do, everything I amall of it was built on that foundation. But now it is 581 crumbling. He looked to Luca, sadness in his eyes. I laid down my life for you, believing in the holy purpose of the Vestige, only to find it was all a lie. You were never in any danger from that demon at the bridge. He rubbed a hand over his bald head. Nothing I have done has mattered. You were always meant to come here, and I was simply dragged along. I could have died out there in the dark, and the world would be no different. Luca felt an ache within him at the mans plight. Say something, a part of him urged. What, though, could he possibly do to make this right? He could start with speaking the truth of his heart. How can you say that? he said. I wouldnt have made it out of Salden alive if you and Kahlia hadnt been there. My family, my friends, the whole village. All of them would have died without the two of you. Unsure of what he was saying, he let the words tumble out as they came. The Watchers, and those like them, only seek to hurt others, but you protect people, Zandren. Thats not nothing. You dont need the Church to tell you thats the right thing to do. You do that because you already know it is. His nails dug into his palms as he squeezed his fists tighter, and he realized his voice was growing louder as his anger flowed. Anger at Zandren, anger at himself. Anger at this Fatescursed mountain. Since we came here, you warned me to be suspicious of Caarthas, and I didnt listen. If you hadnt been here to find the truth in the first place, I wouldve ended up becoming exactly what he wanted. He sucked in a breath. Sometimes I can feel its presence, Zandren. The soul. Artras. It lurks at the back of my mind. I think it wants control, just as Caarthas said. But I wont let it. I wont let it use me to hurt others. I will protect people, just like you. He felt drained from outburst and listened to his voice bouncing around the walls before fading. Zandren rested his face in his hands. Youre a wise kid, Ill give you that. 582 Luca frowned. Im not a kid. Im fifteen. My mistake, Zandren replied, a smile tugging at his mouth, to Lucas immense relief. It was not easy, seeing the truth exposed like that, but you are right. I need not let the Church define me. He stood and bent to gather the scattered books. Luca joined him, smoothing the pages as best he could, though some were so brittle they had already crumbled to powder. When they were finished, Zandren heaved a sigh. I fear how Kahlia will react when she learns the truth. Her faith has always been stronger than mine. Though I know not how to tell her, separated as we are. He turned to Luca. Have you spied upon your brother as you have me? Yes, Luca said. I know theyre alive, though I havent a clue where he is. But I have an idea for how to reach them. When I was training with Caarthasbefore he tried to eat usI learned how to combine Marks. He held out both hands. In one, he summoned a ribbon of light swirling about his fingers; with the other, he warped the air into a finger-width shield. If I can do so with these two Marks, it stands to reason I could work the others in the same fashion. Zandrens brow shot up. You want to attempt to Travel to your brother while you scry upon him, is that it? Luca nodded. Caarthas himself said it was possible, though it would be difficult. Indeed. And have you practiced that technique? At a shake of Lucas head, Zandren folded his arms. Then I find it to be too risky to attempt. It makes me nervous, Luca admitted. But what other choice do we have? To journey to them on foot would take months. He spread his hands. Caarthas was a great teacher, regardless of what else he was. I could hardly draw on these powers when we first arrived. 583 Zandrens hand scraped against the stubble on his chin. The Traveling to Darrow felt as though it would rend me to pieces, and that was a place you had seen for yourself. To go somewhere based on scrying. Failure in this might see us killed. We have to try, Luca insisted. Zandren hesitated, then nodded. Very well. We should make our preparations, then. If this works, we can be reunited before the day is out. If it doesnt He grimaced. Gather your things and meet in the entrance hall. Id like to feel the free air again, in case this is the last time. In his bedchamber, Luca hastily crammed several changes of clothing into his pack, followed by the blankets from the bed and the heavy cloak from Master Mellew, the only possession he had brought to the mountain, save for the locket brushing against his chest. It felt wrong to thank Caarthas for his generosity, but he had been a consummate host, providing for Lucas needs without question. Leaving anything behind would simply be a waste. The pack bulged against his back as he made his way to the entrance hall, where the enormous husk of bony plates and spikes still filled half the chamber, crushed beneath the broken statue. A black stain covered the remnants of the tiled floor, marred by the jagged hole in the center. Luca wrinkled his nose at the lingering stench; at least it was weaker now. He picked his way across the ruins of the outer circle and waited in the cavernous tunnel leading outside. Zandren soon joined him, carrying two packs stuffed as full as Lucas. Garbed in a crisp black tunic with silver scrollwork across the breasts and hems, his sword resting upon his hip, the tip of the sheath fluttering his cloak, he at last seemed once more the imposing man who had come to Salden. He gave Luca a sharp nod. Are you ready? 584 Luca looked back at the ruined chamber, feeling an odd pang of sorrow for what had occurred. I think so. At the end of the tunnel, they pulled at the iron handles jutting from the giant stone doors. Despite their weight, the slabs swung inward with more ease than seemed possible. Bright sunlight spilled into the mountain, accompanied by a rush of wind that billowed Zandrens cloak behind him. Shading his eyes, Luca took a hesitant step outsideand froze as his gaze fell upon the man standing stiffly at the base of the carved stairs, one hand wrapped around the hilt at his side. Lucas chest tightened as recognition struck him like a fist. This man had set fire to his village. This man had tried to kill him in Felwin and again on the road, under the night sky. A grin split across the face of Tasavar of the Watchers. Ah, we meet again, Vestige. Its been some time. 585 Chapter 34 The wind howled, tousling the dark curls upon Tasavars head, but the sound was a whisper compared to the sound of Lucas heart pounding in his ears. Tasavar is here! he thought. Panic and fury rose together within him. Are there other Watchers here too? His eyes swept across the clifftop. Off to one side, nestled up against the mountainside, was a square tent, a ring of rocks sitting before it holding the leftovers of a fire. Steel rasped on leather as Zandren dropped his packs and drew his sword in one swift motion. You will come no closer, he said, moving down a step. Tasavar released his hold on his sheathed weapon, then held up his hands, showing empty palms toward them. Fear not, loyal Guardian. I had no intentions of doing so. I am merely here to talk. I have nothing to say to you, Luca shouted. He balled his fists at his sides, arms shaking as his anger mounted. Youve tried to kill me more than once. You tried to kill my people. You set fire to my village. Did you burn down Darrow, too? Confusion flickered across the mans face. Darrow? Im afraid I dont know that one. But I do offer my apologies at the circumstances fate has pushed us toward. Save your words, Zandren growled. How did you find us? Tasavar motioned toward the tent. My companion. Shirna, come on out here. Leave your weapons. Our esteemed guests have arrived at last. He definitely is acting like he expected us. Luca had to admire the mans boldness. He doubted many people would be so at ease with a glowing sword pointed toward them. The tent flaps were pushed aside, and a woman emerged from within. She and Tasavar were garbed much the same in sturdy breeches and tunics, with fur-lined cloaks draped around 586 their shoulders. A thin wooden bracelet adorned each of the womans wrists, a pale band against the dark skin peeking out from between sleeve and glove. She appeared unfazed at finding two people emerging from the mountain. Tasavar unsheathed the dagger at his side. Easy, he muttered, glancing at Zandren, who looked ready to pounce. The Watcher tossed the dagger just out of reach. See. Unarmed and ready to talk. Might you return the courtesy? Absolutely not, Zandren replied. Luca nodded. Answer our question first, and well consider it. I would have thought my answer already sufficient, Tasavar huffed. He held out a hand to woman at this side. Shirna is a Seer. She saw you both in Salden and has kept watch on you from time to time. Just you, Shirna said with a melodic voice. She pointed at Zandren, then to Luca. You I can no longer find. Not since you made for the mountains. Not since we made for the mountains? What could that mean? Nothing had changed about himwell, nothing drastic. He certainly had not learned how to block a persons scrying. What had happened before they ventured this way? The flight to Darrow. Meeting Master Mellew and burning his barn down. He had decided to start wearing his mothers locket again that night, after months of keeping it in his pocket. Was that it? Its my fault, he realized. Its my fault they found me in Salden in the first place. With trembling fingers, he pulled the locket out from beneath his collar. Is this whats stopping you? Can you tell? Clouds flashed across Shirnas eyes for a second. She blinked, and the natural hazel color returned. Yes, she said. That is why. Tell me, how did you come to obtain such an item? 587 Luca slipped the locket under his shirt once more. Its a memento from my mother. She died when I was very young. Shirna nodded as though she had expected as much. I would keep that about your throat until the end of your day. Thankfully, your Guardian bears no such defenses. When I could no longer find you, Vestige, I watched your companion. Weve heard of this place, you see, Tasavar chimed in. Throughout the ages. Agents of the Watchers once sought to uncover the secrets of this strange mountain sanctum. Those who returned could never manage to get inside, so the stories go. Those who did not return were presumed lost, though the whispers of a terrible creature roaming within the rock reached the others. With success never forthcoming, the desire to breach the impregnable faded in time. Shirna pieced together where you must be headed. Theres a mining town a few days hike from here that Ive visited in the past. For weeks, we waited there, wondering when you would descend, but you made no signs of leaving, and so we decided to come to you. He grinned. And here you are, alive and well, and us only having to spend a few nights in this frigid weather. Shirna caught glimpses of your battle against that thing. When we felt the stone tremble beneath our feet, we wondered whether the whole mountain would go. A gust tugged at Lucas clothes. So you saw Caarthas. Tasavars brow rose. The creature had a name? How peculiar. He cupped his chin with a gloved hand. I must admit my curiosity is growing ever stronger now. May we enter the sanctum? I should love to have a look about. Zandren did not budge, nor had he sheathed his blade. You are a bizarre sort of man, full of chatter. What reason can you give for why I should stay my hand and not simply strike you down where you stand? 588 And here I felt discarding my weapon was a good show of faith, Tasavar grumbled. Shirna gave his arm a squeeze. It was. The ill-mannered are often hard to please. Indeed, Tasavar said. I will swear whatever oath you wish that we are not here to kill you. I have questions for you, that is all. Perhaps a request, if you are feeling charitable. Luca looked up to Zandrens hardened visage. Confronted by these two, he seemed restored to the firm, unflappable man who had accompanied Luca here in the first place. The mans instincts hadnt steered them wrong so far, but something about the boldness of these Watchers tugged at Luca. Zandren, he said, Id like to hear what they have to say. Please put away your sword. The Guardian shifted his narrowed eyes among the three of them. By your command, Vestige. He slid the blade into its sheath. Know that I will not hesitate to destroy the both of you, should you step out of line. I do not doubt it, Tasavar said. He gestured toward the passageway. Shall we? Luca shook his head. Not yet. We can have our conversation out here. He caught Zandrens approving nod at the edge of his sight. After that, well decide what to do. Tasavar and Shirna exchanged a glance. Youve grown since last we met, it seems, the man said. Since you last tried to kill me, you mean. That is one way to put that, yes, Tasavar replied. Very well. We shall converse here in the bitter wind. He made for the tentprompting an inch of bared steel from Zandrenand returned with two stools, handing one to Shirna, then swept a hand toward the stairs. Please, sit. Who knows how long this may take. Its not every day you have the chance to interrogate the bearer of a gods soul. 589 With a shrug for Zandren, Luca lowered himself to the top step, and the Guardian followed suit. All right, Luca said. Ask your questions, and then Ill ask mine. Tasavar propped his elbows up on his knees and leaned in. Start with what happened here. You ascended the mountain a month ago, but you fought that creature only a few days back. I would know what occurred between then and now. Luca hesitated, unsure where to start or if this course of action were wise. But there were things he wanted to know from the Watchers, and this was the only way. He launched into the story of how they came to the sanctum, starting with their Traveling to Darrow. Certain details he held back, chiefly that the voice of Artrasor Braskellar, he supposedhad spoken to him directly, guiding him up the mountain path. He spoke of Caarthas and his training, of Zandrens discovery of the wall deep beneath the sanctum, and of the ensuing clash against the great demon. He had scarcely finished the tale before Tasavar spoke. So now you know the truth of it all, and you have destroyed the monster that dwelt within the sanctum. He smiled at Shirna. A fine day for us, wouldnt you agree? The Seer inclined her head, though she kept her attention on Luca. What do you intend to do, armed with this knowledge? I will return to Thanalia, Zandren cut in. I must bring this revelation before the Pentarchy. Caarthas may yet prove to be full of lies, but I would hear so from the Pentarchy themselves to confirm the truth. Shirna frowned. You would let them fill your mind with more of their poison, or you will risk the brand of a heretic. We shall see. 590 I pray your death will be swift, then, she said. With a slight shake of her head, she turned to Luca. And you? Will you go with him? When you find yourselves before the Pentarchs, and the magnitude of their deceit is unveiled to youfor a time will come when they must reveal all to the Vestigewhat will you do? Luca had asked himself that very question a dozen times already, and no answer had been forthcoming. Imnot sure. But I wont hurt anyone else, I swear. Tasavar chuckled. I appreciate your sentiment, but in time the choice will not be yours. The longer you live, the more your soul entwines with the other, and its power will seep into the world more strongly with every passing day. Those closest to you will become nothing more than thralls, evangelized against their will to the cause of a terrible god, and you will be overcome with the desire to find the body at whatever cost. I wont do any of that, Luca insisted. I dont know where the body is to begin with. Not yet, no, Tasavar said. But if a Vestige lives long enough, the souls presence will overwhelm them, and then the knowledge shall be revealed. He sighed. This is why we do what we do, Luca. The longer a Vestige remains unchecked, the closer we all come to destruction. You may have years yet, but in time, wars will rage, demons will rise, and an endless night will blot out the sun and the stars. And then it will all end. Luca pressed his forehead into his hands. No. Youre wrong. I wont destroy the world. I wont! The Watchers gave him a pitying look, and he felt a hand come down on his shoulder, heavy yet gentle. Enough, Zandren rumbled. You claim to come to us not with the threat of violence, yet you speak of nothing but your desire to see Luca dead. What is it that you want of us, here and now? 591 Tasavar spread his hands. I will not deny our purpose, though I assure you again, that is not what we are about this day. Yes, one day, I will kill you, Vestige, and I will mourn your passing as we have done since the time of the Sundering. He held up a forefinger. But not today. No, I want you to return safely to Thanalia. I want the people of Vendalar to learn the truth of their Church and their God, to see the lies laid bare. The words of the Watchers mean nothing to persuade such steadfast hearts, but were the Vestige to deliver the truth to the masses, well. I must admit Im curious to see how deep the schism may run, and so for now, Im inclined to let you live. A generous sentiment, Zandren muttered. His hand rested on his sword hilt. I should cut the two of you down now and be done with this. Tasavar shrugged. You may try, but even if you succeed, others will take our place. You know that better than most, Guardian. Alive, I may be able to convince some of our fellows to stay their hand for the time being, though certainly not all. No ones killing anyone right now, Luca said. With a grimace, Zandren let his hand fall. For now, we only want to find our companions. Youre welcome to explore the sanctum, after were gone. That is all weve wanted from the start, Tasavar said, standing. This place is an important monument to the truth. We must act swiftly to secure it. I fear your Pentarchy may swiftly learn of the demons demise, and I have no desire to fight their Justiciars. Luca sprang to his feet as well. Wait. I have something you can help me with. The other man cocked his head to the side. Oh? Whats that? I need to Travel somewhere far from here, Luca explained. But I dont know how. I brought us to Darrow by instinct, not by choice. 592 Ah, Tasavar said. It can be tricky, I must admit. The farther you go, the clearer your focus must be. Lose track of that for even an instant, and you may find yourself somewhere entirely different than you intended. Or worse, scattered. He tugged off the glove on his left hand and wiggled his thumb and fingersall three of them. His fourth finger was gone entirely, a knuckle that ended in only smooth skin. A reminder of my first attempt. I was lucky to lose only that. Luca blanched at the sight, and what little confidence he had in his plan withered. Wherever Rensler was, Luca had never laid eyes upon the place. How could he possibly Travel there without killing both himself and Zandren? Tasavar pulled the glove back on. Of course, a strong connection will help bridge the distance, in a sense. That is how you found your way to Darrow so easily, even though you hadnt laid eyes on it since you were an infant. He gave an apologetic shrug. It all sounds so esoteric, I know, but there isnt much more to it than that, Im afraid. Focus and connection. Caarthas said much the same. A part of Luca wished he had more time with his former instructor. Surely he could have helped Luca to understand. All fell quiet, the only sound the howling of the wind. The Watchers stowed their stools within the tent once more, then waited at the base of the steps. Zandren loomed before the towering archway. Well, Tasavar said after a moment. Our conversation has certainly been enlightening, but we have business to be about, so if you would be so kind He motioned for the big swordsman to move aside. 593 Zandren crossed his arms. I suspect I shall feel your eyes upon me again, he said, glaring at Shirna. Know this, both of you. The next time our paths cross, I will not stay my hand. He moved aside, and the Watchers climbed the stairs with cautious steps. I hope your promise need not come true, Tasavar said as he passed the Guardian. He cast a last glance back at Luca. I wish you both good fortune in whatever endeavors await you. And when you at last find yourselves before the Pentarchy, I hope you may finally accept the truth. When the Watchers were deep within the tunnel, Luca turned to Zandren. Are you all right with this? he asked. Letting them roam freely? I shouldve asked first. Zandrens gaze lingered on the far-off pair. This place does not belong to me any more than it does to them. I do not believe anyone has a greater claim to it than you, Luca. He scooped up his discarded packs, then started down the stairs. We should not linger here. Let us be about this plan of yours. Luca followed, the warning of Tasavars severed finger fresh in his mind. Focus and connection. It seemed so simple, yet he felt numb with dread that the process would go awry, and he and Zandren would end up somewhere as a pile of severed limbs. Concentrate and breathe. His eyes came open, and his vision was filled with the vibrant tethers. Three stood large now instead of only one, but he skirted around them, following the strand that connected him to Rensler. Battlements stretched across his limited field of view. Rensler leaned upon an opening in the stone, looking down at the land far below, a blur of green and yellow and brown to Luca. Muffled voices drifted through his sphere of awareness. He frowned as he realized his brother 594 wore a mail hauberk beneath a surcoat of blue and silver. One gauntleted hand cradled a steel helm against his side, while the other tapped at the sword hilt at his side. Luca. Piercing through Lucas distant awareness, Zandrens voice sounded quiet. What is it? What do you see? Its Rensler, Luca said. His own voice was strange to his ears. Hes on top of a huge wall. I think hes getting ready for a battle. I hear lots of other people too, but its hard to tell too much beyond him. The sides of his forehead began to throb, and he let the vision drop. Hovering nearby, Zandren adopted a troubled look. A battle? What could they have possibly stumbled their way into? Ill need to check again, Luca said. He set his pack to the side and lowered himself to the clifftop, folding his legs beneath him and resting his hands on his knees, palms facing the sky. The connection to Rensler had been strong enough, he was sure of it. If he could throw aside all distractions, he could Travel to his brother. He simply needed to concentrate. Eyes shut, he drew in a slow breath and pushed away the world around him. Something tickled at the back of Renslers neck, but it hardly registered on him as he stared down at the horde in the field below Rellas Gate. The sea of bodies had halted a good distance from the first wall, staying well out of range of arrows and the trebuchets waiting to launch from behind the wall. Dozens of banners flapped above the army bearing all many of sigils, animals and trees and flowers. Greater still was the black hawk of the Crown soaring upon a field of red, flying larger than any of the others. Sweat clung to Rensler beneath his many layers of leather and steel, yet the sight sent shivers running through him. So many, he whispered. Ten thousand strong, the commander 595 had said. Before leaving Salden, Rensler wasnt certain he had ever seen more than a couple hundred people in one place. Even in the cities, crowded though they were, he could sometimes forget how many people there were. But here, on the open field, the gathered force was more immense than anything he had ever witnessed. Peace, Rensler. Kahlia stood beside him, hands entwined before her, peering down at the Myrandian army, as calm as though she were browsing wares at the market. She was not armored as Rensler was, though she may have been better protected. She was garbed in magnificent cloth of all black and gold, with Wards imbued into the fabric itself that would repel a blow as well as any armor. A leather cord wrapped tightly around her braids, pulling them back into a tight bundle. Try as he might, Rensler was unnerved by the shifting shapes in the distance. What do you think theyre planning? I dont see how throwing themselves against the wall will do any good. The commander had been right in that regard. Standing a hundred feet above the sloping land below, Rensler now understood why Tandrus had such confidence in the towns defenses. The immensity of three walls would hamper any army, no matter how large. I suspect we will learn soon enough, Kahlia replied. Do not concern yourself with such worries for now. When they march, you need only watch until ordered otherwise. His orders were simple enough. Stay by Kahlias side and dont make an easy target, as the commander had told him. Glancing about, he couldnt help but wonder what the other soldiers along the wall thought of him. Some were stringing bows and counting arrows in standing quivers, while others busied themselves with polishing spearheads and swords. Many were of an age with himor youngerbut they had been trained for this sort of thing. Not him. 596 Their probing stares saw through his charade. They knew he was no Guardian, whether he looked the part or not, but they did not question the Seeker who had brought him to the wall. Kahlia must have sensed his unabating disquiet, for she flashed him a small smile. All will be well. I have faith in our soldiers, and you as well. Her faith would have to do for the both of them. Movement at the front of the army drew his attention, and he shaded his eyes against the sun to watch as a dozen horsemen rode out from the column, loping across the cleared fields. Rensler held his breath at their slow approach. At the center rode a figure in resplendent plate armor, crimson cape stretching behind him. On either side was a man holding aloft a banner, one of the black hawk, the other of a white tower encircled by a blue band. Minutes passed before the riders drew up between the towers standing before the gate far below. They milled about for a few moments before one stepped his mount forward and threw open the faceguard on his helm. To the commander of the Gate, shouted the rider, his voice echoing up the great stone face. I am Iyandur, Lord of Dihlara. I request you come down from your wall so that we may treat with each other as equals. Heads turned as one toward Commander Tandrus, standing at the center of the wall. Well met, Lord Iyandur, the man called out in turn. I am Commander Tandrus, and I must decline your request. You may speak so that all may listen, as will I. You wound me, Commander, came the response. Very well. Four fugitives cower behind your wall. Two are Marked sworn to the service of the Crown; one brought the demonblooded Vestige to our lands. These terrible actions are not the extent of their crimes. Through their actions, the great city of Myrais came under attack from within. These four instigated a deadly riot, leaving hundreds dead and a scar upon our city. His Holiness, King Temerid, 597 demands they be given to my custody, so that they may be returned to him to face their just punishment. His words resonated across the walltop until the wind carried them away. Rensler tore his gaze away from the man below. Whats happening here? he whispered to Kahlia. Why the formality? It is tradition to greet your opponent before the battle, Kahlia replied. Its a test to see if either side will cede the fight before it begins. Rensler frowned. Seems were putting a lot of innocent people in danger by being here. Perhaps, Kahlia said. But Lord Iyandur does not tell the whole truth of their purpose nor their intentions. This army would have marched upon the Gate regardless of our actions; we merely give them the pretense to attack. They mean to take this city, not merely make off with us in chains. They fell quiet as the commander boomed out his response. You speak of supposed crimes carried out against your people yet offer no proof of these actions. You say your Marked are in service to the Crown, yet the ones who came to me were slaves to your kings whims. You profane our Seekers with your cruel words. As such, I cannot honor your request, Lord Iyandur. Commander, I beseech you, the rider called. Do not condemn hundreds to die for the sake of but a few. Tandrus waved a gauntleted hand toward the Myrandian army. Return to your soldiers in peace and ride back to Myrais. When next you approach this wall, you do so under the flag of war. 598 Lord Iyandur dipped his head. As you would have it, so it shall be, he shouted. Despite the refusal, Rensler heard no animosity in the mans voice. He drew his sword and held it high for a moment, then whirled his horse about, leading his contingent back to their waiting forces. Thats it? Rensler asked. He tracked the horsemen across the field, waiting for some trickery, but they held to a steady trot, never looking back. Iyandur had to know the commander would refuse. Would it not be wiser to dispense with the pageantry and simply press the attack? Perhaps, Kahlia said. There is a certain honor to be had in greeting your opponent as well as a tactical advantage. Commander Tandrus now knows who leads the Myrandians, unless this was a ruse on their end, and Lord Iyandur knows the commander intends to give orders from the front lines, in a sense. Rensler looked toward the huge figure of the commander, his features hidden beneath burnished steel. He gave orders to waiting messengers, who turned and vanished while others appeared and took their place. It was odd that the man would remain here on the first wall; if the enemy breeched their defenses, the commander would be in grave danger. There must have been a plan to which Rensler was not privy. Best not to worry about it, he chided himself. Unlike him, Tandrus was a seasoned soldier and could handle himself. Rensler neednt concern himself with anything beyond watching Kahlias back for whatever mysterious threats came their way. Movement from far out across the field drew his attention, and with a great ripple, the sea of men and fluttering banners began to march. 599 Chapter 35 Kahlia gripped the stonework before her, watching as the enemy force came on at a steady, inexorable pace, like a great wave on the oceandistant for the time being and possessing a certain elegance, yet the larger it grew, the more its destructive nature was revealed. When she had ventured out from Thanalia all those years ago, she had never expected her fate would lead her here. Artrass path for her had been to locate the Vestige and guide them to the Pentarchy for safekeeping. An impossible task, it would seem, but she had craved purpose for a shattered life, and for a time the undertaking had given her that. As the years stretched, though, the failures of countless Seekers before her weighed heavy on her shoulders. But then she found the Vestigeand subsequently lost him. She had failed just as all those others had. Not yet, a part of her thought. Not so long as Luca and Zandren still live. The notion gave her some comfort. Perhaps she had never been destined to be the one to guide the Vestige to Thanalia. Perhaps this is merely my atonement. Artras would not have led me here without reason. A burst of wind howled along the walltop, whipping at her garb but finding no purchase due to the protective Wards within the cloth. Below, the multitude of banners snapped into a straight line in the gust, but the tide of men did not slow. Even from this distance, Kahlia could make out the haphazard armor worn by the infantrymen in the front lines. There looked to be more metal in their spearheads than in their brigandines of heavy cloth and boiled leather. Those would be the peasant levies, called to march to war by their liege lords or suffer the consequences if they refused. Most would be farmers and fishermen, masons and carpenters. Men who wanted nothing more than kind weather and a good life for their families, although 600 Kahlia did not doubt that some were blinded by patriotic fervor. How many would meet their end today? How many would die by her hands? Behind them came the mercenaries. Most would be companies from Myrandir itself, though some would be from foreign lands across the Lyresi Ocean. They flew their own banners bearing the sigils of their self-styled lords who possessed no lands. Their armaments and protective gear was of better quality, though, and as long as they were compensated, they would fight as hard as any soldier. The standing army of Myrais brought up the rear of the force, clad in mail hauberks and burnished helms, clutching long spears and oval shields. Iyandur would test the Vendalan defenses with the conscripts and mercenaries first before committing the real soldiers to the fight. Kahlia recognized the prudence in such an action but despised it all the same. Curiously, she did not spy any siege weapons amongst the oncoming wave of soldiers. Either Iyandur did not believe such things would work against the wall, or he was attempting to take the city unspoiled. Or theres something else, she thought. Why bother with catapults when you have living weapons? Kahlia swept her gaze across the front lines, but the soldiers held to a tight formation, obscuring her view. Rensler, she said. The young man stirred beside her. Sweat plastered hair to his forehead, squashed down by the steel helm. Be wary. There are Radiants among them. They will wait until they draw near before revealing themselves. Frowning, he peered at the army. How can you tell? Look to their back lines, she explained. They have no weapons with which to break the walls. Rensler followed her gaze and nodded. Will they try to climb the wall, then? 601 It would be quite the climb, Kahlia said. But if they have Warders among them, it is possible. Off to her left, Commander Tandrus barked out orders, evidently coming to the same realization. The Vendalan soldiers along the wall leaped to obey, archers with arrows nocked and ready to draw, swordsmen with their shields held high. Among them were other Marked, Radiants and Warders primarily. The former waited for the command just as Kahlia did. Loose! came the call. Arrows whistled through the air, arcing high above the field before dropping into the men below. Shields went up against the incoming missiles, but those that found their marks elicited screams that echoed across the battlefield. The second set of archers stepped forward, then drew and loosed at the commands. Myrandian soldiers fell by the hundreds, but the army continued on. Those who were alive as they fell to the ground were trampled underfoot by their fellows. Faint shouts arose from below, and then a hail of arrows came soaring up toward the wall. A handful of shrieks arose, but most of the arrows fell short, clattering into the stone face, or flew high, whizzing off into the city. Kahlia offered a quick prayer for any citizens who might still have been about in the first tier. Thankfully, Tandrus had the good foresight to evacuate the lot of them up the mountainside, regardless of his assuredness in their defenses. From behind came the sound of clanking metal, following by rushing wind that filled Kahlias ears as the trebuchets hurled boulders larger than any man. The air shimmered above the Myrandian forces as their Warders erected shields, and the rocks pummeled against the hardened air. Some shattered against the defenses, while others plunged through the wards, smashing the soldiers beneath into a bloody mess. Another salvo whooshed overhead. This time, bursts of white light rushed up to meet them, exploding the huge projectiles into a shower of 602 stones that pelted against the wards, though now they lacked the power to break through the translucent discs. Radiants, ready! Commander Tandrus bellowed. The order was passed down the line by the waiting officers. Kahlia and a dozen others along the wall positioned themselves in gaps in the crenellation. Kahlia drew in a slow breath and quieted the trepidation clawing at the back of her mind. Now was not the time to concern herself with that which was beyond her control. With each exhale, a sense of calm flowed over her. Bands of light swirled about her arms as she tapped into the power of her Mark, and the usual thrill of anticipation coursed through her. Release! Light gathered in Kahlias outstretched palms, and like a river swollen from the rains it surged forward, a raging ball of white flame that crashed into a cluster of soldiers. Those at the center were immolated in a flash; those at the edges of the blast were less fortunate. They screamed as the fire consumed limbs and licked across their bodies, leaving them mangled upon the earth. Their screams climbed the face of the wall and slapped at Kahlia, but she did not flinch from the ruin she wrought. She prepared for another volley. Streaks of light coursed toward the wall. Where they struck the stone, the air rippled as they met the old wards imbued into the bulwark. More bursts roared upward, one coming so close she felt the heat wash across her skin, and she heard the jangling of armor as Rensler threw himself to the stone. The young mans eyes were wild as he climbed to his feet. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were lost to the wind as Kahlia released another salvo. For a time, Kahlia lost herself in the rhythm of the battle. Back and forth the arrows flew and the flames erupted, and the thumping of the trebuchets launching pounded out a steady beat 603 in her ears, accompanied by the screams of the injured and the dying, though as the Myrandians drew ever closer, their numbers dwindled less and less as the Marked among them adapted to the resistance thrown against them. There has to be something more to this, she thought. Even if the army reached the wall, they could do nothing but huddle within its shadow. Gritting her teeth, she released a burst of light, then scanned the front lines yet again. There must have been something that had escaped her notice. A sudden acrid scent tickled at her nose, and instinct forced her to the side as a blade streaked through the air, clanging against the now empty crenel. Whirling, she beheld the two soldiers, clad in Myrandian colors, standing in their midst. One struck at Rensler, battering at the mans shield, while the other held Kahlia in his gaze. The open front of his helm partially revealed a red tattoo etched upon one cheek. There was no joy in the mans face, only a look of grim determination as he rushed her. He came in with quick, darting strikes that forced Kahlia back, away from Rensler and toward the edge of the wall overlooking the city. Kahlia thrust one hand forward, sending a torrent of flame toward her attacker, and brought the other sweeping upward, light coursing from her fingers in thin streaks. The soldier dodged the first burst, but the second swept low against the walltop, then shot upward, the slender beams of light stabbing through his legs and sending him toppling with an agonized hiss. He grasped for his sword as he tried to rise, but his legs were blackened and mangled. With a grimace, Kahlia directed a narrow bolt into the mans forehead. He convulsed for a brief second and lay still, a wisp of smoke rising from the hole in his skull. She spun toward Rensler, still locked in his duel with the other soldier. The two men traded swings, each one thrusting and parrying as they tested the others defenses. The Myrandian looked to be the better fighter of the two, but Rensler held the advantage of a longer 604 reach. There was hesitancy to his movements, though, as if he were uncertain whether to commit to each strike. He does not wish to kill, Kahlia realized. An admirable sentiment, one that would only bring him to his end. Rensler knocked aside a strike with his shield, then thrust toward the soldiers exposed underarm, but the blow came too slowly, and the man righted himself. With a wave of her hand, Kahlia sent a lash of light at the back of the soldiers neck, aiming for the narrow gap between helm and armor. The light seared through flesh and bone, leaving the mans half-severed head lolling forward as the corpse staggered toward Rensler. Her companion jerked backward with a stifled yelp, and he looked toward Kahlia with widened eyes as she approached. You cannot hesitate, Rensler, she shouted over the pitch of the battle. Either you kill when you must, or you will die here on this wall. Renslers eyes were full of fear, but he nodded regardless. It is not easy, I know, Kahlia said. But if you wish to see your brother again, you must do what is necessary this day. She turned to survey the wall, taking advantage of their momentary pause. Pairs of Myrandian soldiers, at least a hundred in total, had appeared all along its length, striking for the Radiants. Travelers bringing regular soldiers with them, she thought. As she watched, more pairs came into being several feet above the walltop, dropping to their feet and springing into motion. From below, the Travelers could not see the walltop itself, but the air above lay open to them, so long as the Marked possessed the skill. And with the defenders attention focused on the force below, the materializing attackers were able to strike freely. Iyandur knew they would be unprepared for such a tactic. His attempted parley with the commander now seemed more taunt than attempt at diplomacy. 605 The strong scent of burning announced the appearance of another pair of Myrandians mere feet from Kahlia, though they faced away from her, toward the larger press of bodies farther along the wall. It was foolish on their part, and a beam of light sent both crashing to the walltop as they were still getting their footing. She studied the skirmish growing nearby, then observed a similar clash taking place on her other side, back toward the center of the wall. Too many of the enemy were gaining ground atop the wall, but the defenders possessed no means to halt the attack. The Vendalans were adjusting quickly, forming up in ranks and advancing as bristling rows of spears, only to have interlopers assault from behind, and any semblance of tactics became a frenetic brawl. Men screamed as they fell from the wall, shoved over the parapet. The lucky ones struck one of the long staircases and tumbled the rest of the way, though most plummeted to the streets below. Kahlias eyes followed one of those as peered down at the city, and her gaze drifted toward the cavernous tunnel at the base of the wall, where several dozen soldiers in silver and blue battled against a growing amount of Myrandians. The gate! she thought. They mean to open the gate from within. Come, she said to Rensler over her shoulder. She pointed toward the nearest staircase, the top steps blocked by a group of combatants. Rensler paled as he followed the gesture. We must assist our fellows at the gate, else we will lose the wall. Without waiting for an answer, she strode forward, light swirling around her arms. The sounds of the battle were distant, but to Ayla, it might as well as have been unfolding in front of her. She could see the entirety of Rellas Gate laid out before her from atop the third wall. The buildings with their angled roofs, the streets wending with the slope of the land, the 606 people clustered in the shadow of the wall. A small group of soldiers stood with them, while others were atop the wall with Ayla and Nira, as well as another half dozen Radiants who the commander had ordered to hold back. The sun shone through a scattering of puffy clouds, and though the wind gusted too strongly for her liking, the day would have been a peaceful one overall, were it not for the army outside the gates. From the safety of her vantage, she saw the Myrandian soldiers appearing above the first wall as though she herself were there. She saw the surprised Vendalans falling to sword and spear. People shouted all along the walltop. Light flashed from the hands of Radiants and the air shimmered before the Warders, while the other soldiers adjusted to the new threat in their midst. The Myrandian plan lay plain before her. They know they outnumber the defenders, she thought. If they can get men down the walls, they can open the gates from within. If that came to pass, the battle would be over as quickly as it began. The Myrandians would flood into the city, blocking off the only avenue of retreat for those on the walltop. The rest of their soldiers would march up the streets of the first tier uncontested, overtaking the trebuchets and reaching the second wall with ease. They would lose some of their Travelers in this first assault, of course, but Ayla knew they would have plenty to spare, and they would attack the second wall in the same manner. Not a man amongst the Myrandian leadership would care how many Marked they needed to throw against the Gate, so long as the walls fell. Marked were nothing more than weapons of war to such people, placed in their cruel land by their crueler god, made to be used however they saw fit Nira wrapped a hand around Aylas shaking arm. Whats wrong? Nothing, Ayla said, keeping her voice calm with an effort. Nira scrunched up her face, obviously unconvinced. The girl was more perceptive than Ayla had expected for someone kept 607 prisoner for so long. Maybe Im just that easy to read. She pointed toward the first wall. Theyre in trouble down there. Enemy soldiers are on the walltop. Theres a lot of fighting happening. Nira leaned in a gap in the parapet and squinted at the distant combatants. They all look the same from here. Ayla forced out a chuckle, hoping that Nira wouldnt press the issue further. The first walltop was alive with motion as groups of soldiers fought against the Myrandian interlopers. At the center, between the two tallest watchtowers, Tandruss command post had become a frenzy. The commander himself fought with sword and shield alongside his personal guard. They held close in tight quartets as more enemies appeared near the towers. The newcomers held fast, waiting for more of their fellows to arrive. Movement at the base of the first wall drew her attention. Vendalan soldiers were forming a tight phalanx around the tunnel, where the great iron portcullis remained closed, as would the other two leading through to the other side, though by now the Myrandians might be close enough to assault the gate. Kahlia claimed there were wards imbued into the stones on the far side of the wallbut what of the inside? She watched the gate guards for a moment longer, then saw them tense, spears at the ready. Enemies yet unseen to Ayla, obscured by buildings, were surely approaching. So thats the plan, she realized. The Travelers and their counterparts were not merely coming in to cause chaos. They were to open the gate from the inside. Her hands clenched atop the parapet. Theyre going to overwhelm them, she murmured. With the element of surprise gone, the Myrandiansthose who could move on from 608 the walltopwould simply throw themselves at the soldiers at the gate, overrunning the defenders before help could arrive. Who? Nira asked. Whats happening? Ayla gave no response as she turned, looking for anyone else along the wall who saw what she did. Surely I cant be the only Seer here. No one stood out from among the soldiers, though, all clad in the same armor and bearing the same swords and shields and bows. Motioning for Nira to follow, she started off toward the center of the walltop; if she were to find an officer, it would be there. A handful of the soldiers eyed her as she walked by, but no one made to stop her as she passed through the base of a watchtower that doubled as an armory. Nira hurried after her. Ayla, where are we going? I have to tell someone about whats going on down there, Ayla replied. Why had they not yet sent more men to the front? Maybe there arent any more to send, she thought. Surely Tandrus had kept more in reserve than was necessary. They need help, dont they? Nira said. She put on a strong face. They need us. We should help them. They need the help of trained soldiers, not us. And yet Ayla intended to do exactly as Nira said. Truthfully, she did not know what she was doing. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, to take Nira and run off into the Vendalan countryside. They could follow the road until it eventually brought them to a town. The people there would never know she had abandoned their countrymen. All she and Nira needed to do was descend the wall, and theyd be free. Except for some damned reason, her sister had taken it upon herself to stay and help these people, which meant Ayla had to remain, too. Frustrating though the situation was, she could not deny the pride 609 she felt for her sister. Nira had always been a compassionate child, and the years of punishment and training with the Trackers had not taken that away. Beyond the watchtower, she found the officers, a small group with insignias designating ranks on their shoulder plates. A man with a graying beard engulfing half his face and bearing the mark of a captain looked to be in charge. He held a spyglass to one eye and spoke in a low voice to the soldier beside him. Captain, Ayla said as firmly as she could. The man lowered the spyglass, and a dozen heads turned her way. No turning back now. I must speak with you. A couple of soldiers moved to block her way. The captains nostrils flared as though he caught whiff of something foul. Go back to your post, soldier, and do not speak to me in such a manner again. He frowned as he caught sight of Nira, and then recognition softened his expression. Youre the young Radiant, yes? Is there something amiss? The commander is in danger, Ayla said. She pointed down toward the first wall. Tandrus and his guards were still holding their own just fine, but more pairs of Myrandians were materializing above the walltop. The soldiers down on the wall cant see whats happening on the other side of the towers. They dont know the commander is about to be overwhelmed. You see it, dont you? The two soldiers reached for Ayla, but the captain waved them away, then raised the spyglass once more. After a moment, he muttered, I see it. Artras help me, I see it. To the waiting soldiers, he shouted, Zala, bring as many Travelers as you can find, now. Milare, gather your five best swords. 610 The two soldierslower ranking officers, Ayla assumedsnapped a salute and set about their tasks. The captain returned his attention to Ayla. Your assistance in this matter is appreciated. Now, return to your post. Ayla shook her head. We need to go to the wall. Absolutely not. I am ordering you Im not one of your damn soldiers, Ayla snapped. Jabbing the air, she gestured to the gate far across the city. The commanders not the only one in danger of being overwhelmed. Youre going to need everyone you can get down there to protect the gates. She hooked a thumb toward Nira. This is Lady Kahlias apprentice. The Seeker who arrived a few days ago, the one whos out fighting on that wall right now. If youd like to avoid her fury, I suggest you send us to the first wall. Nira nodded and put on her best stern face. The captain glanced between the two of them, his expression warring between annoyance and uncertainty. Fine, he said at last. But I wont be to blame for whatever happens to you down there. Of course not, Ayla replied. The captain moved away, doling out more orders and leaving Ayla and Nira to stand in the midst of soldiers bustling about. Did Kahlia really call me her apprentice? Nira asked, a bit too eager for Aylas liking. I made that up, she replied. She certainly hoped it was a lie, or else she had given voice to an as of yet unspoken truth. Kahlia and the Church were a better lot than the Trackers, but Ayla did not doubt the Seeker had plans of her own for Nira. Worry about that later, she chided herself. After weve made it out of here alive. 611 The fighting along the first wall thickened, though the appearance of more Myrandian pairs had slowed. Ayla tried to keep herself from fidgeting as minutes passed, agonizingly slow, before the soldiers returned. Eight Travelers, designated by the white band wrapped around an arm, and a scattering of ordinary men. Not nearly enough to make a difference on a real battlefield, but with a Radiant in tow, they could make do. The officersZala and Milare, the captain had called thempaired up the Travelers with one of the others. When Ayla and Nira stepped forth, the officers tried to shoo them away, but a bark from the captain stayed their hand. Ayla gave Niras hand a squeeze as they beside their assigned Traveler. She felt a hand grasp her armand gasped as found herself stumbling forward, the clash of swords and shouts of men fighting suddenly raging against her ears. A blade swooped toward her a second later, and she narrowly dodged backward, finally managing to yank her own sword free, but another strike did not come as a spear took the man through the gut. Nira, she thought, frantic. Wheres Nira? She spun and spotted the girl, only paces away but blocked by several soldiers. Neither side had seemed to notice her presence yet. There was alarm in her eyes, but it was tempered by fury. White light swirled around Niras arms, and with a cry, she unleashed a torrent of flame upon the nearest Myrandian soldier. The man became a blazing beacon as the force of the blast pushed him over the wall. Ayla forced her way to her sisters side, prepared to strike anyone who came too close. The nearest Vendalans rallied around the two of them, bolstered by the presence of a Radiant, and they began to push their way toward the center of the wall, where the commander and his guard still fought. Through the press, Ayla caught sight of pairs of Myrandians leaping over the inner parapet and vanishing. Are they retreating? Or going to help the others at the gate? 612 The frenzy of the battle demanded her attention. She made quick, darting strikes when the opportunity presented itself, falling back every time a sword slashed toward her. With the reinforcements and Nira, they made quick work of the remaining Myrandians. As the last attacker fell, the defenders let out a ragged cheer, though it was swept up in the sounds of continued fighting on the other side of the watchtowers. Ayla slipped between soldiers, who began to fan out to secure the space they had carved out, until she found Tandrus. The huge man passed a quizzical eye over her as Nira joined them. What do the two of you think youre doing? he rumbled. Seeker Kahlia wanted you to remain on the third wall. Civilians do not belong here. We came to reinforce your position, Ayla said. I saw you needed aid. Not your men. Tandrus shook his helmeted head. Ill expected more of Captain Yedrow than to send a child to the frontlines. Ayla pulled Nira close. This child saved your life, so maybe you could show a little more appreciation. But thats not all. We came to warn you about the gate. The mans skepticism was plain even within the confines of the helm. The gate? he asked. A sharp breath followed. These troops were not to kill us upon the wall, but to open the gate from inside. Exactly, Ayla said. We have to get your men down there, or else well be overrun soon enough. Metal creaked as the commander inclined his head, and then he bellowed out his orders over the cacophony echoing up the wall as the remainder of the Myrandian army drew ever closer to the wall. The soldiers formed up into ranks, half their number positioned at either 613 watchtower. Unsure of where to stand, Ayla hovered near the parapet, her head snapping in every direction as she watched for arrows or errant Radiant flame arcing overhead. You two, the commander barked, pointing at Ayla and Nira, then at the stone before him. To the front. We may need your light, Radiant Nira, to clear the way. He eyed Ayla. You may remain at her side, but leave the fighting to my men. Fine with me, Ayla thought. She knew when to admit she was out of her element. She could hold her own in a duel, but the frenzy of a battle like this was beyond her skill. She and Nira stepped into the front of the lines, and the nearby soldiers closed in around them, leaving a narrow gap in front of the young girl. Are you all right? Ayla whispered to her sister. Nira bobbed her head. She seemed far calmer than a childfor she was one, no matter what Ayla saidshould have been. Calmer than Ayla herself, even. She flashed a smile at Ayla as the commander ordered the column to march. The soldiers surged forward with a great jostling of steel, and they rejoined the fray. The fighting had swelled around the staircases. Rensler shoved his way through the press, slashing at any Myrandian soldier who came near while trying to keep himself alive. His arms were heavy and numb, his breath scraped against a raw throat, and sweat and blood threatened to blind him, but the thrill of fear raging inside him kept him moving forward. A Myrandian stepped backward into Renslers path, his arm raised to block another opponent. Without breaking stride, Rensler thrust his sword up into the mans exposed underarm. He ripped the blade free, and the man fell with blood streaming down his side. Nausea clawed at Renslers gut. He could not stop the sensation from rearing up every time he killed a man; he 614 could only focus on the fight. On surviving. He had not crossed the entirety of Myrandir to die this day. He couldnt. Beside him, Kahlia lashed at the attackers with small bursts of white flame, her movements graceful even in the thick of battle. Men burned before her, their chests seared open or their faces melted into unrecognizable, charred lumps. The stench of burned flesh and hair mingled with the smell of sweat and blood and bodies amidst their death throes. Rensler bashed aside another Myrandian, then felt something crash into him from behind. He stumbled into a Vendalan soldier, unable to stop himself from bringing the other man to the ground with him. Mumbling an apology, Rensler rolled off the cursing soldier and came up in a crouch, raising his shield in time to block a sword whistling toward him. A short cry sounded from the other side, and a heavy weight collapsed against his shield a moment later. He lurched to his feet, pushing off the now dead man, his head a ruined mess. Rensler gave Kahlia a grateful nod and pressed on. For how long he fought, he did not know, as his world became nothing more than a mass of bodies and flashing metal, but he suddenly found himself at the top of the stair, staring down at the mostly empty steps leading to the ground a hundred feet below. A few fighters had spilled out onto the stair, pairs of enemies battling for the high ground. Rensler hesitated, unsure how to get past the Vendalan soldier locked in combat half a dozen paces down. Step aside, Rensler, Kahlia said. Slipping past him, she swept a hand out to the side. Light flared about her arm, then burst out from her in a wide arc and slammed into the Myrandian soldier on the other side. The light hit him like a fist, knocking him into the side of the wall. The Vendalan, taking advantage of the unexpected aid, grabbed his foe and flung the man over the low stone rail of the staircase. 615 The soldier turned toward Kahlia, his eyes widening with recognition. Thank you, Seeker, he said, ducking his head. Now is not the time for formality, she said, already descending toward him. Come with me. We are needed at the gate. The man cast a befuddled look after, then at Rensler. He shrugged as he moved past the man and followed after the Seeker. He was glad for the reprieve from fighting, even if it lasted only a few minutes. His chest heaved as his breath came in shuddering gasps, and the fresh scar on his leg throbbed. He hoped it had healed enough not to tear open. They worked their way down the stair, Kahlia making quick work of any Myrandian who stood in their path. The Vendalan soldiers still fit to fight joined Rensler in trailing behind her, and, slowly, they came ever closer to the ground, though the gate was still some ways off. Rensler watched with growing worry as the two sides clashed, a wave of black and red crashing against rocks of blue and silver. The defenders held their ground in a tight cluster of spears and shields. Movement from the stair on the other side of the gate caught his eye, and he saw a band of soldiers likewise descending, led by the towering figure of Commander Tandrus. A girl came close behind him, followed byAyla? Fates, what are they doing out here? The sisters were supposed to be on third wall, not up here where the fighting was thickest. How had they managed to come this far? Worry about that later. Just get to the gate. In moments, he, Kahlia, and the rest of their little band touched solid ground. They sprinted alongside the wall, following the curve of the street, and were nearly upon the attackers when the Myrandians broke off from their assault upon the gate guardians, hurriedly pulling 616 back toward the main thoroughfare. Somethings not right, Rensler thought. Why would they break off the attack now? Too late, he noticed the newcomers amongst the attackers. Ten pairs of Myrandians stood in the street; all wore light armor yet unsoiled by the battle, though Renslers eyes were drawn to the dull red marks etched upon the cheeks of half the group. He had seen it enough now to recognize the Lightmark. The ten Radiants held their arms high, bands of light rippling around them. Rensler cried out a warning to the men with him as he reached for Kahlia with his free hand. His fingers brushed her arm, and he pulled her to the ground just as a pillar of white flame as wide as the street itself surged forth from the Radiants, incinerating half the defenders before smashing into the portcullis with a deafening boom, sending chunks of iron and stone flying through the air. Through spotted vision, Rensler watched in horror as the wall shuddered. 617 Chapter 36 A haze of powdered stone lingered before the gate, along with the pungent scent of burned flesh and the groans of dying men. Rensler let out a ragged cough. The wave of stone dust had made his throat raw and clogged up his nose. Pulling his shield over himself hadnt blocked much, but it had repelled a few errant chunks of debris that had flown his way. He moved it aside and tried to assess his surroundings. White dots flitted across his vision, and dust clung to his lashes. He blinked rapidly, wishing he could rub at his eyes. The area before the wall was eerily quiet, and Rensler wondered whether the explosion from the Radiants attack had broken something within his ears. He shifted onto his side, forcing himself up onto his hands and knees. Kahlia lay beside him, arms wrapped around her head. The other soldiers they had gathered were scattered about. Some had come away unscathed other than for the powder now plastered to their sweat-covered faces. Others had not been so fortunate. Men sat screaming, clutching ruined limbs that had been crushed by bits of stone and iron. More than a few lay unmoving with heads smashed open, blood and brain oozing out onto the flagstones. Rensler turned away sharply from the sight. A breeze sighed through the streets, tugging at the dust cloud, and it at last began to fade. Renslers breath caught at the sight, and this time he could stop the bile from forcing its way up. Dozens of men had become a pile of ruined steel and charred flesh sagging against bones. Next to them were those still clinging to life, their limbs and skin burned away. Few of the gate defenders had come away unharmed, though even those glanced about with vacant expressions, blinded by the attack. 618 The gate itself was gone, the remains of the portcullis strewn all about, and huge cracks ran through the stone from the mouth of the tunnel. Rensler squinted, trying to pierce the shadows. Did they destroy the other gates as well? His thoughts were sluggish, as though he were wading through a thick bog. Need to get closer. He inched forward Another pillar of fire roared from the enemy Radiants. Rensler threw himself to the ground once more, squeezing his eyes shut and clapping his hands to his ears against the deafening sound. The flagstones beneath him quaked, and he heard the sound of tearing iron and cracking stone from within the tunnel. Theyre going to get in, he thought, desperation taking hold of him. Its over. He reached for Kahlia and shook her by the shoulder. Like him, gray powder covered her, and bits of stone clung to her hair. She jerked at the touch. We have to fall back, Rensler said. His voice sounded muffled to his ears, like he was speaking through several layers of cloth. Definitely broken. Sitting up, Kahlia swept her eyes across the scene. It was all a distraction, she moaned. To keep us occupied on the walltop, while the real assault came from below. Seems that way, Rensler said. Along the street behind him, the other soldiers were beginning to stand. Rensler did the same, his shaking legs. His armor felt far heavier than before. We have to make for the second wall. The last gate still stands, Kahlia argued. She rose, far more composed than Rensler. We cannot let it fall. Rensler looked past her to the Myrandian Radiants, striding toward the wall, their Traveler companions close behind them. The group appeared to be ignoring the dazed defenders, focusing solely on their task. 619 Kahlia, theyll kill us before we can get to them, Rensler said. You cant stop them all. Youre one against ten. He gestured to the Vendalan soldiers behind them. These men know these streets. We can fall back and harry the Myrandians as they move in. Its the only way. Kahlias face was smooth and calm as trails of light formed around her arms. A spike of fear shot through Rensler, and he could do nothing as the Seeker pivoted toward the Myrandians. The light pooled in her hands, and a column of white flame erupted toward the enemy Radiants. The closest one had time only to regard the fire with fear as it slammed into his chest, consuming him in an instant. The others reacted quickly as Kahlia let loose another blast. They dove aside as the flames roared past, and they came to their feet with the same light gathering in their hands. A cry rang out from the Vendalan soldiers as they rushed forward, coming to the aid of the Seeker. With a groan, Rensler realized he could do nothing but join them. He hefted his sword and shield as chaos broke loose in the streets. Ayla clung to Nira, hardly daring to breathe in the lingering stone dust as they lay in the street beside the wall, still held in the commanders grasp. Descending the stairs, they had seen the Radiants too late to do anything but cower as the wall itself shook. Some of the soldiers, along with Ayla and Nira, had been flung over the short stair guard. Tandrus vaulted after the two of them, pulling them into his giant armored embrace and cushioning the fall somewhat against the flagstones. The drop had not been too far, thankfully, and the commanders deep grumbling let her know he was at least conscious. She squirmed out of his grasp, towing Nira with her. The girl regarded the scene before them with shock. What happened? she whispered. 620 Enemy Radiants, Ayla said. The gate was not too far, but the dust turned everything into vague shapes that even her enhanced vision could not discern. Still, the sound of the dying was unmistakable, as were the unmoving lumps on the ground. Metal creaked as the commander rose. Hells, he cursed. Radiants let off the leash, and they attack us instead of turning on their masters. He adjusted his helmet, which had been turned to one side. They kept us busy on the walltop for far too long. I didnt think Iyandur would have so many Travelers with him. Behind them, the other soldiers who had reached the ground were coming to their feet, while the rest of their troupe hurried down the stair at the commanders urging. Ayla kept her eyes on the main thoroughfare as the dust slowly dissipated. Blackened bodies, their clothing burned away and their armor melting, were strewn about before the wreckage of the first gate. She could hear muffled shouts, but her ears still rang from the first explosive blast. A great flash of light announced a second torrent that went howling down the tunnel. The wall shook again as the force tore into the iron gate, and another cloud of debris and powdered stone shot forth from the opening. Ayla could do nothing but stare, dumbfounded by the display. One more, and its finished, she thought, turning to Nira. A small voice in her mind screamed at her to grab her sister and flee, as she should have before instead of coming to the commanders aid. We didnt abandon them before. We cant abandon them now. Ahead, the enemy Radiants came into view. Ten of them, along with their Traveler companions. How had they gotten inside in the first place? They must have made for the walltop where the fighting was sparse, then come down here. She supposed the how was unimportant now. 621 The men had finished gathering in rows four across, as wide as the street would allow. Tandrus gave the order to approach, but they would not be able to reach the enemy in time. The Radiants raised their hands, light appearing before them. Ayla braced herself. A burst of white flame struck one of the Radiants. The rest scattered as more blasts launched at them, and then beams of light filled the street. A great cry arose as Vendalan soldiers charged from behind the cover of the far buildings, Kahlia at their fore, a look of serenity upon her face. The soldiers with Ayla saw the Seeker as well, for they let out a rallying cheer. Seeker Kahlia fights on, and so shall we, Tandrus bellowed from beside Ayla. For the wall! The men surged forward, sweeping Ayla and Nira along with them. Rensler twisted mid-stride, barely evading a line of light that ripped through the spot he had just been. The heat brought more sweat to his brow, turning the patina of dust there into a paste. Chest heaving, he righted himself and pressed on. Kahlias unexpected attack had disrupted the Radiants, who now turned to meet the Vendalan soldiers head-on, while their Travelers moved to intercept the oncoming defenders. They outnumbered the enemy by a significant margin, but the nine Marked lashed out with deadly power, slashing and searing the defenders with thin beams and great bursts of light. Either the defenders would overwhelm the enemy, or the Radiants would destroy them. Rensler wondered if the attackers felt his same fear. Shouting arose from beyond the Radiants. Rensler looked past the attackersnarrowly evading losing an arm from another burst of lightand saw the towering figure of the commander leading a charge of yet more Vendalan soldiers. Within the press of armored figures, 622 Rensler thought he caught sight of the sisters, and a moment later, a volley of white flame shot forward from the group. We can beat them, Rensler thought, elation blossoming within him. There were far too many soldiers now for the small group of Myrandians to fend off A weight crashed into him, and he cried out as he was dragged down. An arm wrapped around his neck, while the other grabbed at his helm. Rensler jerked his head from side to side and managed to crush the hand against the flagstones. The attacker drew back, hissing in pain. Twisting, Rensler pushed his foe away and rolled to his feet, then brought his sword around in a wide arc. The blade caught the man across the gut, slashing through the leather brigandine and drawing a shallow cut across the skin beneath. He staggered back, one hand going to his stomach, the other raised in a plea. Rensler hesitated. A foolish mistake, he realized, as the man leaped for him once more, a shortsword in his hand. Panic flared within Rensler as he backpedaled, dodging out of the mans reach. You have to kill him, he railed at himself. Before he kills you. The man came at him again. This time, Rensler stepped into the attack, bashing aside the shortsword with his shield. His opponent reeled, shock showing on his face as Rensler thrust his blade through the mans exposed midsection. He ripped the sword free, a feeling of disgust coming over him as the Myrandian slumped, blood flowing from the wound. The man stared up at Rensler with a pleading look. Disgusted, Rensler turned away from the dying man and tried to make sense of what was happening. More Travelers had appeared in their midst, some bringing their partners with them. Steel sang as blades clashed. Rensler glanced toward the top of the stair, where a line of 623 Vendalan soldiers were hurrying down the steps to reengage the Myrandians. Soon the streets would be thick with battle. Kahlia, he thought, spinning. Wheres Kahlia? The Seeker had led the charge, and they had quickly gotten separated in the pandemonium, worsened now by the additional enemy soldiers. He pushed forward along the street, weaving between clusters of fighting. He found her quickly enough. The tails of her battle garb whipped as she dodged the attack of a pair of Radiants, then sent beams of light streaking back at them. The other Radiants were engaged with the Vendalar soldiers, keeping them at bay with wide swaths of flame, but the arrival of the Myrandian troops within the defenders ranks allowed the Marked to break away from the brawl. Theyre going for the gate! Rensler rushed forward, but the press of bodies had grown too dense for him to push his way through. A blade came swinging from the edge of his vision. He brought his shield up, then thrust at the new foe and was rewarded with a cry of pain. Turning, he narrowly deflected another strike, but his own counterattack threw him off balance. The attacker battered at his shield, rattling his teeth with each blow. With a growl, Rensler pushed into the enemy soldier, pinning the mans blade between them. He swept his sword low, bashing it against an armored leg, but it was enough to take the man to one knee. Rensler followed with a final thrust through the opening at the neck. Frantic, he returned his attention to the tunnel, where five of the enemy Radiants had gathered, standing atop the corpses there, a dozen or so Myrandian soldiers fanning out around them, pushing back the nearest defenders. Rensler cried out, but his words were lost in the melee as the Radiants thrust out their hands. Light flared and roared down the tunnel, and then Rensler, along with the other combatants, was flung to the quaking cobblestones. 624 Dazed, he raised his head, trying to peer through another cloud of dust. He could see nothing more than vague figures, but the sound of the Myrandian army from outside the wall filled his ears. The last gate had fallen, and the real assault was beginning. Zandren paced before the stairs, nearly traveling the width of the clifftop with each pass. He alternated between watching the great doors to the sanctum, still standing open, and the huge bridge spanning the chasm. Part of him expected somethingmore Watchers, Justiciars, maybe a demonto simply appear on the other side, but nothing disturbed the tranquility of the mountains. Likewise, the two Watchers had not reappeared from within the sanctum. As the hour had passed, Zandren grudgingly came to accept that they would hold true to their word. He wondered what discoveries they had made. Had they found the Wall of the Ancients, buried deep beneath the rest of the sanctum? Were they already deciphering the ancient Kiltan tonguefor he did not doubt one of them understood itand finding the terrible truths etched there? What else might they uncover? he wondered. He had not ventured down there since Caarthas caught them. Surely there was more to be learned, though the question was whether he wanted to. The past few days continued to haunt him. He had never trusted the strange mountain dweller, yet he had not been prepared for the mans true intentions, nor for his horrible revelations. Zandren had tried desperately to cling to hope after the demons defeat, but the creatures words were stuck in him like hooks unable to be ripped free. What would the Pentarchy say when at last he stood before them? Did Tasavar have the right of it? Would they brand him a heretic merely for bringing the accusations to light? 625 Zandren. Lucas voice cut through the clutter of his thoughts. Zandren, somethings happening. I think its a battle. Zandren stopped mid-stride and pivoted toward Luca. The boy still sat on the hard stone, legs folded and hands resting on his knees, staring upward at nothing with eyes obscured by the shifting clouds sliding across their surfaces. For the better part of an hour, he had been watching his brother, pausing only when the discomfort of having his awareness so far from his body grew too great. Other than the occasional muttering, the boy had barely spoken, taking in whatever he was observing in silence. A battle? Zandren asked. What do you mean? Luca cocked his head to the side. They were on top of a wall. Kahlia was casting flame at something below. An army, I think. They were so far from Rensler, it was hard to tell. But now theyre on a street, running. Shouting about Radiants. He stiffened and sucked air through his teeth. Something just exploded. Something within the wall. A gate? I cant tell. He fell silent for a minute, then another. Zandren wondered whether the boy had forgotten about him when Luca winced and wiped across his face, though there was nothing there. Rensler killed a man. People are fighting. Therere bodies and blood everywhere. Can you see anything about the attackers? Zandren said. He halted a few steps from Luca and crossed his arms. Any colors or sigils that you can see? The armor all looks about the same, Luca replied. But the one Rensler killed had a crest. A black hawk on a red background. Myrandians. Why in Gods name were Rensler and Kahlia fighting Myrandians? And where? A high wall, and Kahlia attacking something far below. Which can only mean Rellas Gate, he whispered, more to himself than the boy. Theyre fighting at Rellas Gate. 626 Luca blinked rapidly, banishing the smoke from his eyes, then squinted at the afternoon sunlight shining through the scattered clouds. Wheres that? The border of Vendalar and Myrandir, Zandren said. To the west from our current location, by my best estimate. Which means theyre closer than I thought, Luca said. And that explains why Renslers tether has been so easy to hold. A smile broke across his face as he stood, shaking out each leg. Zandren shot a perplexed look his way, and the boys grin only widened. His brother is fighting for his life, and he smiles? Dont you see? Luca continued. The closer they are, the better our odds are that we make it to them. Are you sure it will work as intended? Zandren said. He knew he was only repeating himself, but Lucas idea could easily kill them both. The last time they had traveled, he had felt as though he would be torn to pieces. Luca bobbed his head. If it were anyone but Rensler, maybe not. But our connection is strong enough to see us through. I know it is. He certainly is eager to try, Zandren thought. Perhaps hes right, though. Looking down at the boys excited features, it was easy to see he possessed a confidence in his powers that he had not prior to their time in this place. All right, he said. Do you have what you need? He glanced at their packs, stacked together at the base of the stairs. They would not need those if they were venturing into a battle. If they survived, they could return for them. Luca nodded, then held out a hand for Zandren. Whatever happens, dont let go. I wont, Zandren said. He gripped the proffered hand. I have faith in you, Luca, he added, and meant it. 627 The boy smiled again as his eyes clouded over. For a moment, he remained unmoving, gazing blankly at the sky. The world went suddenly dark, and Zandren felt only pain. Kahlia let loose a volley of white flame, immolating a handful of Myrandian soldiers. The dying men did nothing to stem the flow of soldiers coming through the tunnel, like water spilling over a dam. She turned and ran up the sloping street, accompanied by Rensler and several dozen Vendalan soldiers. At the next intersection, they stepped into the shadow of a building. She caught a glimpse of other soldiers in the distance likewise falling back through the city. It wont be enough, she thought bitterly. Some of the defenders had still been on the wall when the last gate fell, and they would now be pinned down by the attackers streaming through. Even if the full might of their force could make it to the second wall, they were far too heavily outnumbered. Gathering their men around the gate would leave the walltop open, and sending their forces to the battlements would leave the gate too lightly guarded. She could already see the battle playing out in her minds eye. No matter what path they took, they were doomed. She would not give in, though, nor would the men with her, no matter how terrified and uncertain they might appear. Eight of the menarchers who had escaped the walltopstrung their bows and arrayed across the intersection, drawing and releasing at the command from the lone officer among them, a sergeant no older than Rensler. Kahlia pressed against the brick face of the building, breathing heavily and listening to the bowstrings snapping. Their plan was to harass the invaders with arrows and Radiant light as they made their way up the streets. Their efforts had little effect so 628 far, but if they could whittle down the enemy even by a few, they might yet turn the tide. It was a comforting thought, though Kahlia knew it for a lie. Rensler huffed as he drew up beside her. Sweat lines ran through the powdery mix of rock and dust clinging to his face, like cracks running through old stone. I think I spotted the commander, he said between breaths. To our northeast, but heading this way. We can meet them a few streets up, if were quick. Kahlia nodded. He had a keen eye, and she had asked him to keep watch for Tandrus. More importantly, it gave him something to focus on beyond the army slowly encroaching upon them. Like some of the others, Rensler wore his fear openly. Would it have been better to send the three of them off? she wondered with a pang of regret. Instead of telling them to stay and fight? Footsteps echoed between the buildings, announcing the approach of Myrandian soldiers. Kahlia pushed off from the wall, and they pressed on, following the winding streets. She directed the sergeant toward where Rensler had indicated. The man appeared uncertain, but he did as she insisted. Soon enough, they came into a wide square built in several terraced sections with the slope of the land, and the commander and his men emerged on the other side. He halted his company with a raised fist as Kahlia and the others approached. To her surprise, she spotted Ayla and Nira within the press of soldiers. How had they come to be with Tandrus? By Artrass holy name, Tandrus said. Youre alive, Seeker Kahlia. Kahlia dipped her head. Commander. I see my companions are with you. 629 Tandrus beckoned for the two sisters. They came to my aid on the walltop, and to warn me of the Myrandians strategy. But we were too late to prevent it. He heaved a sigh. But so long as we stand, so does the city. Kahlia appreciated the mans optimism. What will you have us do? There are natural bottlenecks in these streets, the commander explained. We secure those, and a handful of men can fend off a much larger force. For how long? Kahlia wanted to ask, but she said nothing as Tandrus gave his orders to the gathered soldiers, nearly two hundred strong. He split them into a dozen groups and assigned an officer to each, save for Kahlias. Rensler remained with her, while Ayla and Nira stuck with the commander. Kahlia gave each of them a quick embrace before parting ways. Within minutes, the groups were racing through the city once more, each one making for their designated place. Kahlia led her men, twenty in total, back to the main thoroughfare. A few carts had been abandoned from the earlier evacuation, and the soldiers set about strewing the vehicles across the road, creating a barricade from behind which they could attack the invaders with spears and bows. The natural incline of the city streets would give them the advantage of high ground, allowing their archers a clear vantage as they rained arrows. The first Myrandians appeared around a bend in the street. These infantrymen were of the peasant levies, their mismatched brigandines scrounged from whatever armory had spares, their polearms showing signs of rust, their shields pitted. Remorse tugged at Kahlia. Men like these fought not for the love of their king but for the fear of him. Invaders they might be, but they deserved a better fate than this. A bitter taste in her mouth, Kahlia gave the order to loose. Arrows whistled through the air, each one finding a mark. The soldiers at the front cried out in alarm, raising shields as the 630 archers drew and released again. Those struck staggered and fell, tripping up the ones who came behind. The street here was only wide enough for about eight men to comfortably walk abreast, and though the procession did not halt, they slowed considerablyexactly as Kahlia had hoped. She hoisted herself up on the wheel of a cart, then thrust her arms out, sending forth a pillar of swirling flame, striking like a fist at the center of the column. The soldiers at the front screamed as they burned, their shields virtually useless against the flame, while the men behind them jostled one another to avoid the now charred remains. Shouts rose up, calling for Warders. You should have led with those, Kahlia thought, instead of sending your men to their deaths. Light leaped from her hands again, now as several streaking lines that tore into the soldiers legs, while more arrows arced into the press. Kahlias next strike came as another torrent of fire, but this time it dashed upon the rough circle of solid air erected before the Myrandians. She had expected as much would happen from the start; as soon as the officers caught whiff of a Radiant amongst the defenders, they would bring their own Marked forward, rather than let all of their frontline troopsno matter how expendablebe slaughtered. Bolstered by the Warders, the enemy advance picked up speed once more. The arrows still felled more than a few of the attackers, but Kahlia herself was stymied as shields of air formed wherever she struck. She did not let up the assault, though her skin had grown hot and her breathing heavy from the constant exertion. Kahlia! Renslers shout came from behind. She turned in time to see him turn aside a blade that was meant for her. Past him, more Myrandian soldiers, a couple at a time, appeared in the street and charged at her little force. Hells. She should have known the enemy would not suffer this obstacle for long. 631 Rensler pushed back the would-be assailant, and Kahlia hopped down from the cart. She called to the archers to turn and meet their new threat. The men obeyed, drawing swords and jumping to the aid of their spearmen. Turning, Kahlia eyed the soldiers hurrying up the street, their strides now unfettered. She needed to buy time for her men to flee. Stepping back from the line of carts, she threw her hands out wide. A wave of white flame fanned out before her, spreading across the wood and catching the carts ablaze in an instant. That will only give them pause for a minute or so, but it might be enough. She heard an abrupt shriek and whirled toward the attackers in their midst, light encircling her arms. The Myrandians outnumbered her soldiers by double, but her gaze went to the woman farther up the street, whose hands were likewise aglow. One of Kahlias soldiers lay motionless, his face burned away, exposing the cheekbones beneath. Kahlia clenched her teeth and trod forward, ignoring the clashing blades all around her. The enemy Radiant matched her stride. As one, they unleashed their power upon the other. Rensler shrank back from the heat of the burning carts, catching a blade on his shield as he did. Half-blind from sweat and grime, he struck back at his attacker and managed to carve a deep gash upon the mans thigh. The soldier dropped his weapon and collapsed, clutching at his leg. Hes as good as dead, Rensler thought, pivoting away, his eyes finding Kahlia as she marched up the street. Light flashed from her hands and collided with the enemys volley with a thunderous boom that staggered the fighting soldiers. Rensler blinked against the giant splotches in his vision. The display terrified him. He wanted to go to Kahlias aid, but her battle was beyond him. 632 Something brushed at the back of his neck. Not the wind, he was sure, but something else. He ignored the sensation and started forward. A few paces away, a trio of defenders wilted under the assault of five Myrandians. A Vendalan went down in a spray of blood as Rensler rushed to their aid, tackling into one of the attackers with his shield. The man went sprawling, but his fellows were quick to adjust to the newcomer, and Rensler found himself pushed back by two men. Their blades darted at him, testing his defenses and keeping him off balance as he backpedaled. He tried a few countering swipes, but his assailants kept out of reach. His heel caught against a body stretched upon the street, and Rensler flailed as he toppled. His head rang as he struck the flagstones and scrabbled back by instinct, evading a blade plunging toward his thigh. Get up! he screamed at himself. Get up! He raised a hand against the next swing, knowing it was useless. The sword halted a foot above Rensler, clanging against the solid hunk of air that had suddenly appeared above him. The soldier drew back in confusion, and he jerked as a blade, wreathed in white light, burst through his chest. Rensler blinked, his mind sputtering as tried to understand what had happened. The sword pulled free of the man and whipped toward the second, felling him before the first struck the stones. Zandren, his savior, stood over him. With his glowing sword held aloft and cloak blowing in the wind, he looked much the image of a hero of legend. No time for lazing about, Zandren said. He grabbed Renslers hand and hauled him to his feet. Rensler retrieved his sword. A Guardians sword. Howwhatyoure here! he managed. His words didnt want to come out right. How? 633 Zandren pointed up the street, where another newcomer had come to assist Kahlia, defeating the enemy Marked in moments. Rensler stared at the Radiant. No. Not a Radiant. Luca. Rensler sprinted after his brother, only dimly aware of the Myrandian soldiers lying dead and the Vendalans walking among them. Luca turned at the sound of Renslers approach, his face lighting up. Before he could speak, Rensler wrapped his arms around his brother and lifted him off the ground, spinning and letting out an elated cry. Fates, Luca had found him. He set the boy down, finally letting him go. Luca beamed up at him, and Rensler felt himself grinning back. His euphoria waned as he brought himself back to the present. There would be time to celebrate later. The burning carts cracked, falling to pieces as the flames consumed them. We dont have much time, Kahlia called out. She beckoned for the others to approach. Only a quarter of their men remained, Rensler noticed with dismay. We must be on the move, before the barricade gives way or more Travelers come to greet us. We shall make for the gate and prepare to make our stand. She held out a hand toward Luca, a smile tugging at her lips. With the Vestiges help, we shall overcome. The men exchanged curious glances as they nodded. Rensler hoped the news would bolster their spirits enough to continue fighting. For his part, he was unsure what exactly Luca could do that would turn the tide of the battle. The Myrandians would be whittling down the other defenders retreating through the city even now. Luca stared at the soldiers beyond the carts, now poking at the burning wood with their polearms, then looked to Kahlia. I cant go to the gate, he said, shaking his head. Kahlia stiffened. What? Luca, we need 634 I know what I have to do, Luca continued as though she hadnt spoken. And I cant do that from the gate. He gestured toward the second wall. Im going up there. I can put an end to this. A chill ran across Renslers back, despite the fact he felt he was being cooked alive in his armor. Lucas tone was gravely serious, and there was distant look in his eye, as though he were seeing something the rest of them could not. Fall back to the gate, Luca said, still staring at the walltop. Stay there until its finished. The rest of them regarded Luca warilyall except for Zandren. He eyed Luca not with suspicion, but with caution. Rensler laid a hand on his brothers shoulder. Im coming with you. He knew not what Luca had in mind, but he was not about to let the boy out from his sights again so soon. Luca gave a slight nod. Kahlia began to speak, but her words were lost to Rensler as the world around him blurred. Luca landed atop the wall on light feet. His brother fell beside him with a heavy clang, stumbling and catching himself on the front parapet. That wasunpleasant, Rensler muttered. The words sounded distant to Luca, despite Renslers closeness. Lucas joy at seeing his brotherand at having his plan finally succeedhad been pushed down by the presence encroaching upon his thoughts. The soul of Artrasor Braskellar, rather. Part of him believed they were simply different names for the same being. The presence seemed to pulse at the edge of Lucas mind. It knew Luca needed its help. Needed its powers, and not simply those of the Marked. He required something further. 635 Before his death, Caarthas had spoken of the things the Vestige could accomplish as the immortal soul entwined with his own. Luca hadnt been ready to learn what that might be, but he no longer had a choice. If I dont act here, they will all die, he thought. Kahlia. Zandren. Rensler. Every single person living in this city. He might be able to save them all, but the cost terrified him. The first tier of the mountainside city lay before him, angling down toward the colossal outer wall. From up here, he could see everythingthe groups of Vendalans fleeing up the sloping streets, and the Myrandian invaders, far greater in number, wending their way through the unfamiliar terrain. The brunt of the army still waited in open field beyond the city as soldiers churned through the outer gate, evidently destroyed by enemy Radiants before Luca was able to Travel to his brother. With the Myrandians now within the city, the defenders would fall in short order. He closed his eyes, turning his thoughts inward, prodding at the presence. I know you can see whats happening, Luca spoke to it. I know you can help me save these people. A stillness settled over his mind, followed by the impression of a dark vastness, as though he were floating amongst the stars in the night sky, and then the deep, rumbling voice spoke to him. THIS FIGHT IS NOT OURS. THESE ARE NOT YOUR PEOPLE. Luca was surprised to hear more than a single word this time. That doesnt matter, he replied. I caused all of this. You caused all of this. There wouldnt be a war if you hadnt driven Calianna mad. CALIANNA ACTED AS SHE WISHED. HER ACTIONS BROUGHT RUIN, NOT MINE. But you would bring ruin, in time, Luca insisted. You want to use me so you can destroy everything. 636 A sense of hesitation came from the souls presence. YES, it admitted. THAT IS MY PURPOSE. I CANNOT BREAK FROM MY PURPOSE ANY MORE THAN THE WIND CAN STOP BLOWING. Luca felt dread settling in his gut. The soul did not appear to lie; he didnt know if it could. In fact, it felt to him like it was more of a force of nature than a person. Something brushed against him. He snapped his eyes open and found Rensler standing beside him, hand on his shoulder. So whats this plan of yours? Rensler asked. Worry was etched across his face as he looked out over the wall. Following his brothers gaze, Luca spotted the Vendalan soldiers gathered at the base of the wall. Most of them had reached the gate by now, as far as he could tell. They were several hundred in total, though Luca knew they had lost a good number of men already. The gates below were open, letting through the wounded, while the other soldiers were arrayed in semicircles facing outward, spears and shields at the ready. The nearest enemy soldiers would be upon the defenders within minutes. Luca glanced at his brother. He was hardly recognizable under all that armor and with his unshaven face, but he was still the same man. He would stand by Luca, no matter how foolish of a choice he made. And he was about to make a very foolish decision. Youre not going to like it, Luca said with a shake of his head. No matter what happens, justdont leave my side. Renslers confusion was obvious, but he nodded stiffly. Never. To the presence in his mind, Luca said, Its time you found a new purpose. Help me defend these people, or I will go down there and die with them. 637 For a moment, he felt indecision from the soul. VERY WELL, it said at last. OPEN YOURSELF TO ME, AND I SHALL AID YOU. Clutching the parapet, Luca shut his eyes once more and laid his thoughts bare to the presence. It seeped into his consciousness, like water flowing through cracks in stone. His awareness seemed to expand beyond him, and he felt rather than saw the city and the field below, appearing to him as though swathed in darkness. People became specks of white light, hundreds upon hundreds, but there was another light running beneath their feet, a deep red that thrummed beneath the city like veins, stronger where men had met their end, as though it was their blood coursing through the ground. And he shall draw his children from the bones of the earth and the souls of the dead. Caarthass words echoed through Lucas mind. The souls of the dead. There would be plenty of those about now. His consciousness suddenly lurched toward the broken gate, hovering above the soldiers skirting around the pile of corpses. Where the men had fallen, a black, viscous ooze leeched out of the cobblestones, bubbling upward like a fountain. Those closest cried out in alarm, leaping backward. The pulsing red lightunseen by the soldiersquickened as the dark liquid rose higher, and a terrifying form began to take shape. The creature resembled a wild boar, though eight elongated legs tipped with grasping claws sprouted from its massive body, and its torso ended with a humanoid face emerging from the dark fur. It opened its eyes, their surface a pale yellow, and let out a high-pitched shriek from its tusked mouth. And then Luca was the demon. Men filled his vision. Some brandished weapons at him, while others cried out in horror at the beast now towering over them. Luca pounced at those closest to him, exalting in the power of his new form. He lashed outward with claws that ripped 638 the soldiers open from hip to neck as easily as tearing through paper. Men stabbed at him, but the wounds were the bites of insects, nothing more than an annoyance. He clawed and gored all who came near, and the soldiers screamed and died in droves before him. He felt his awareness leave the rampaging demon, and he once more floated unseen above the city. Revulsion washed over him as he realized what he had done. Had the demon killed those men, or had he? Was there any difference? Within him, the presence rumbled, and his disembodied self rose higher above the buildings. More black ooze seeped from the cobblestones throughout the city, the pools forming into more demons, while outside the wall, the same dark substance rose from the earth. A hawk with tendrils instead of feet and a beak longer than Lucas arms took flight, crushing soldiers in its grasp. A humanoid figure, twice as tall as a man and wreathed in a slick, dark film took form within a city square, then slashed at the invaders with the long bony scythes sprouting from its arms. All manner of horrific beasts, dozens upon dozens, arose from the gathering darkness, and they set about the slaughter with brutal efficiency. Luca could do nothing but watch with equal parts disgust and fascination. He turned his attention back toward the second wall, where the Vendalan soldiers were still slipping through the gates, though many had paused at the first screams from the enemy. Those at the front of the shield wall let out panicked shouts as a hulking beast emerged in the street only a hundred paces away. A pair of curved horns sprouted from a too-wide human face, and the claws of its muscled arms, as thick as tree trunks, nearly dragged across the ground. Not them, Luca thought, urgent. Turn back. The demon froze midstride, then took a jerking step. Luca felt it straining against his command. 639 The presence weighing upon Lucas mind hummed, and the demon lurched forward once more. What are you doing? he demanded. THIS IS MY PURPOSE, the soul repeated. Luca swiveled his awareness toward the huddled soldiers. He viewed them from above, yet he could see every face etched with fear as though he stood with them. Your purpose now is to save those people. The presence did not respond. Luca pushed outward toward the demon and felt the connection to its thoughts, filled with the singular intent of butchering the humans at the gate. He wrapped his own will around the creatures like a net and pulled. The demon turned in a wide arc, stumbling into a building and knocking bricks frees as it scraped across the face. With a great shudder, it yielded to Lucas control and lumbered off down the sloping street. Luca retreated, moving to watch over the city from on high once again. The dark, grotesque figures of the demons cut through the Myrandian soldiers, but no others appeared to be moving toward the defenders. Every time the soldiers slew one of the beasts, another arose to take its place. Corpses of both men and fallen demons littered the streets, their bodies ruined and rent, their blood staining the flagstones. Those who remained of the enemy force were breaking and fleeing for the outer gates, unaware of the same struggle happening beyond the wall. The brutality of it all made him sick. He hadnt wished to do something so terrible, but it was the only way to end the battlewasnt it? Thats enough, he said to the soul. His voice was a whisper in his head. Return us to my body. I dont want to watch this anymore. The vague form stretching across his thoughts did not budge. THERE IS NO RETURN, came the reply. THE CLEANSING HAS BEGUN. 640 The words sent a wave of panic coursing through Luca. He sought his own body, still standing on the second wall, and sent his awareness toward the spot, but the air grew thicker, holding him in place. A sudden sluggishness overcame him, and then he was sinking in a pool of darkness. Rensler was thankful he had sickened earlier, for now his stomach had nothing left to give as he surveyed the terrible scene below. The Myrandian soldiers abandoned all sense of order as they ran through the city. Their dead filled the streets in droves, surrounding the demons they had managed to bring down. The flesh had begun to slough from the creatures, melting back into the dark ooze from which they had spawned. Below, the Vendalan soldiers remained wary, though only one of the beasts had approached them before bizarrely storming off. The field beyond the outer wall was much the same. The beastshundreds, by Renslers counthad emerged among the waiting army, taking the men by surprise and tearing into them. He could not be certain how many Myrandians still lived, now fleeing toward the distant trees, but there could not have been more than a few thousand left. Over half their army had been slaughtered in a matter of minutesand it was all Lucas doing. But how did he do it? Rensler glanced at his brother, then recoiled. Faint red lines pulsed beneath his skin, as though his veins had been filled with burning coals. The lines spread across his face like thin tendrils, running toward his eyes, staring vacantly at the sky. He was still for a moment, and then he fell back from the parapet as though he had been struck. 641 Luca! Rensler yelped. He rushed to his brothers side. Every muscle in Lucas body tensed, trembling as he struggled against some unseen force. Rensler gave the boy a gentle shake. Luca, can you hear me? Whats wrong? Luca remained unblinking. Something was very wrong, but what? Rensler wasnt even sure what Luca was doing. Rensler? he whispered, lips barely moving. Im here, Luca, Rensler said. His armor clinked as he sat, yanking at his gauntlets, and grasped his brothers hands. Luca clamped down with a crushing grip, eliciting a hiss of pain from Rensler. Whats wrong? Tell me how to help you. Luca! A tremor ran through Lucas body, then another, and another. Rensler whipped his head back and forth, looking for anyone who could tell him what in the name of the Fates was happening to his brother, but the soldiers stationed on the walltop had descended to assist their fellows. I dont know what to do, he thought, staring down at the dark red pulsing through Lucas face. How can I protect you if I dont know how? Luca, he murmured. Come back to me. Please. He felt Lucas hands tighten on his. Had he actually heard Rensler? He spoke the boys name again, and again Luca squeezed. He could hear. Whatever is happening to you, Rensler said, whatever youre facing, I know you can overcome it. He drew his brothers still form closer. Im with you, Luca, and I wont let go again. 642 Luca drifted in an endless expanse ofnothing, a still blackness that stretched off to the horizon in every direction. He tried to sit up, but the liquid clung to his body, holding him fast against its now rippling surface. Where was he? Thoughts drifted through his mind like fog, slipping through his grasp every time he reached for one. Maybe that was for the best. He was so tired, after all. He didnt need to concern himself with the world beyond this place. This place. This place was wrong. Tattered memories flitted before him, memories of the city and its walls, of the creatures stalking through the streets. Memories of Kahlia and Zandren andRensler. My brother. He thrashed, his body arching as he struggled against the force pinning him down. Let me free, he shouted into the emptiness. You cant control me. I wont let you! I CANNOT RELINQUISH THAT WHICH HAS BEEN GIVEN. The rumbling voice echoed from everywhere at once. I MUST FULFILL MY PURPOSE. I MUST CLEANSE THIS WORLD AND BRING ABOUT THE NEXT. Luca screamed. He was powerless against the presence bearing down on him, overtaking his mind and body. Everything Caarthas said was true, he realized. The immortal soul living within him would bring about the end of all things, and it would use Luca to do so. Luca. The word was faint, barely perceptible in the darkness. It came again, louder this time. Someone was calling his name. Someoneoutside, beyond this prison in his mind. Rensler. Help me. A pinpoint of light appeared in the black sky. It spread outward, becoming a winding crack that split the darkness like lightning and cast a bright glow across the infinite darkness. To 643 Lucas surprise, the presence began to lift from his thoughts. He pushed himself up, the liquid still clinging to him but no longer dragging him down. As if in response, the crack in the sky widened, its light brightening, and Renslers voice pierced the void from the other side. The soul of Artras raged, sending tremors coursing through the black liquid beneath Lucas feet. Waves surged in the distance, growing as tall as mountains. Luca turned and ran toward the light as it spread ever downward. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE? the vastness said. THE CONNECTION WAS SEVERED. Luca ignored the voice. Tendrils sprouted from the black liquid, wrapping around his feet, trying to drag him beneath the rippling surface. He tore at them and didnt slow. Ahead, the light touched the horizon, then expanded outward, racing toward Luca. The world around him shook as the dark presence let out an inhuman shriek, a hundred voices intertwining together. Desperate, it clawed at Lucas mind, attempting to take root one last time, but then the light was upon him. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw not unending darkness but instead a blue sky. A cool breeze brushed against his face. Luca, Rensler whispered from above him. He twisted and found his brother sitting beside him, clutching his hands in his own. Are you? Luca nodded, his hair scraping against the stone. I heard your voice, in the darkness. Calling me back. He propped himself up on his elbows with no small amount of struggle. His body felt thoroughly drained, but he smiled weakly at his brother. You saved me, Rensler. He yelped as Rensler crushed him against an armored chest. Id just gotten you back, Rensler said. And then I thought Id lost you again. He was crying, and then Luca was crying, too, but their tears soon gave way to tired laughter. 644 We should find the others, Rensler said, wiping at his eyes. Theyre waiting for us, down there. Waiting for you. Lucas legs gave out as he tried to stand. Wordlessly, Rensler hoisted Luca up onto his back, the way his brother used to carry him when they were younger, and started down the long staircase toward the weary crowd below. 645 Chapter 37 For three days, the bells in every tower rang out over Rellas Gate, tolling a song of both celebration and mourning. Rensler sat in the window nook of the Seekers suite, listening to the ringing brass and enjoying the cool evening breeze flowing through the open panes. The winds would soon grow too cold for such a thing as winter approached, but for now, he would appreciate the simple pleasure. A particularly sharp gust blew in, tugging at the fine clothes hed been gifted before fluttering the edge of the grand rug sprawling across the floor. Sighing, he pulled the window shut and stood, then groaned after sitting still for so long. His body was more bruise than flesh, the splotches now a deep purple tinged with yellow, and his muscles still ached days after the battle. Every Vitalist in the city, soldier or civilian, tended to the wounded, leaving those like Renslerthe ones fortunate enough to come away with only minor injuriesto heal naturally. Which was quite all right. He had never had Marked healing until he met Pellas. He would get by just fine without. Here in the commanders stronghold, he could not see past the second wall, far down the slope of the mountainside, but he knew the citys residents would still be dealing with the fallout of the battle in the first tier. Whole buildings had been smashed by demons in their frenzy, and the amount of bodies littering the streets had been staggering. It would take weeks yet for the fallen to be put to their final rest. By the commanders best estimate, some three hundred of his soldiers had met their end, but the enemy had lost perhaps seven thousand of their force. In death, Myrandians and Vendalans were the same, and Kahlia had seen to it that the former would be treated with the same respects as the latter. 646 Of the demons themselves, none appeared to have survived the battle. Huge bones and puddles of black ichor mingled with the fallen soldiers both within the city and in the field beyond. In the immediate aftermath, the people had approached the monstrous remains with trepidation, expecting the creatures to take form once more and continue their butchery. Rensler didnt blame them for their unease. The scene of devastation would be forever carved upon his mind. The whispers had begun the first night as one question passed from every lip. How had the demons come to be, and why had they slaughtered only the Myrandians? Theories soon followed. The Myrandians themselves had summoned the demons, but their inability to control the creatures was their downfall. It was the Vestige, others argued. His holy presence had turned the demons upon their masters. Or perhaps the Vestige himself had spawned the beasts. That particular rumor was only spoken in hushed tones, but it had reached Rensler all the same. Was it really a rumor, though, if it seemed to be the truth? He folded his arms as he stared out the window. He still didnt know what to make of what he saw, but he had been there with Luca. There was no mistaking what had happened. Luca had called the beasts, drawing them from the earth itself. What does it mean, though? he wondered. If the demons came to serve him, wouldnt Kahliaher whole Churchhave it wrong? The notion unsettled him. Back in Salden, on the night of the attack, he had witnessed that demon protect Luca from the Watchers. Kahlia had insisted he was mistakenbut now it appeared he had been correct all along. For once, he didnt want to be. The door opened on quiet hinges, and he turned from the window and his ruminations as Ayla and Nira slipped into the huge solar. The elder sister wore a woolen blouse with thick 647 sleeves and a pair of trousers tucked into the high tops of her boots. Her short hair had grown enough to cover her ears, and she let it hang freely. Nira, on the other hand, was garbed in a bright, elegant dress of blue and silver, and her hair had been put up in a collection of braids adorned with bronze rings. Kahlias touch could not have been more obvious, but the girl looked thoroughly pleased as she swung the hem of her dress back and forth. The feast will be starting soon, Ayla said, closing the door softly behind her. Kahlia and Zandren are with the commander. We probably wont see them till then. Rensler nodded, unsurprised by the news. The Seeker and her Guardian had spent nearly every waking hour since the battle in conference with the commander or down in the city, helping where they could. Rensler had offered to assist them on the first day, but he had been soundly scolded and sent back to rest. Kahlia needed to recover as much as he did, but the woman had been adamant about her duty in aiding those in need. She had visited Luca, resting now within one of the bedrooms in the suite, once and only for a brief moment. Rensler suspected she had come to the same conclusion he had. How could she not? It still feels strange, he said. Having a feast just a few days after He shivered. Ayla frowned. I know. But its simply to celebrate the victory, but to honor the dead as well. It will be good for us. For you. Youve been holed up in here for a while. Im where I need to be, Rensler said. He shot a glance sideways at the door to the bedchamber he shared with Luca. Ayla followed his gaze. You should wake him. Hes expected as well. Kahlia says itll do the people good to see the Vestige with their own eyes. 648 Will it, though? He supposed it would, though he couldnt quite reckon the image of his brother with that of the Reforged savior. Not many had glimpsed the boy yet. He had slept more often than not these past few days. Ill check, Rensler said, starting for the door. Tell him I want to apologize. He paused and turned back. For what? Ayla looked abashed, something Rensler wasnt sure hed ever seen. I saw him in Riandris, she explained. He doesnt know that it was me who led the Trackers to him in the first place. I cant help but feel responsible forwell, all of this. She gestured broadly, and Rensler got the sense she was not speaking of the suite. Im sure hell forgive you, Rensler said, smiling. I managed to. The bedchamber lay in shadow as Rensler stepped inside. He left the door open just enough for a sliver of light to fall upon the room. Like many chambers in the stronghold, the chamber was austere, containing little furniture and decorated only by a single tapestry. With careful steps, Rensler made his way to Lucas bedside, then gave the boy a light shake. Lucas eyes snapped open, and he tensed for a moment before relaxing beneath Renslers hand. Hes never been such a light sleeper, he thought with a touch of amusement, though it was troubling as well. What else might have changed about his brother? You know, I was having a rather nice dream, Luca said, yawning. And you just had to come along and ruin it. Maybe nothing had changed after all. My sincerest apologies, Rensler said with a smirk. The feast will be starting shortly, and apparently everyone wants you there for some strange reason. 649 Luca sat upright and stretched, the blanket falling to reveal his lanky torso. He had grown an inch or two in their time apart, if Rensler werent mistaken. Oddly, he had not removed their mothers locket from about his neck. Well I suppose thats fine, Luca said, grinning. I hope they have enough food. Im starving. His hands dropped to his lap, and his smile faltered as he looked at Rensler. Do they know aboutwhat I did? Rensler shook his head. There are some rumors floating about, thats all. Most people dont know your part in it all, and those who do think you drove back those creatures. Thats good, Luca murmured. Worry came over Rensler. Are you feeling all right? I can leave you be, if you want. Everyone else can wait to see you. No, no, Im coming, Luca said. He swung his legs over the bed and rose slowly, then made for the lone wardrobe leaning against one wall. Several sets of fine clothes had been delivered for both of them, though Luca hadnt worn any of them yet. Rensler waited by the door as his brother dressed. Where did you go that night, when the Trackers found us? he blurted out. The question had been burning within him since Lucas return, and now seemed a good enough time as any to ask it. Ayla said you were in a ruined building that had burned a while ago. Was it? Darrow, Luca finished. He slipped into a silk shirt with fanciful embroidery around the hems. The soul of Artras helped me. It said Darrow was the safest choice, but it lied. It wanted me to gosomewhere else. He let out a long sigh. I have so much to tell you. Darrow. The name brought memories rushing to the forefront of Renslers thoughts. He recalled the night they fled as readily as though he lived it now. The fires, the screams, the steelclad soldiers. He would never forget. 650 With some effort, he forced the memory to subside. And I you. We can swap stories tonight, after the feast. He swung the door open wide as Luca pulled on a light coat that was a touch too large. It was odd seeing his brother dressed like a nobleman. Maybe that was what he was to these people nowand perhaps more than that. He supposed they would find out. Come on, he said, stepping into the antechamber. I think weve kept everyone waiting long enough. A fire crackled in the hearth of the commanders study, though it did little to warm Zandren. He should have felt exuberant about the victory three days past, but an unshakable sense of worry made the triumph hollow. Empty. And he wished those blasted bells would cease their endless ringing. Kahlia sat beside him before the huge desk. She sat with her typical poise, straightbacked, hands clasped in her lap, not a hair out of place. Her placid expression projected the air of calm one expected of a Seeker, but Zandren knew the woman too well to be fooled by the faade. She had spent the past few days keeping busy, avoiding the uncomfortable truth that had been thrust upon her. To him, her stony features may as well have been screaming. Across from them, Tandrus finished whatever he had been scribbling and set the letter aside, then leaned back in his stiff chair, chin resting on his folded hands. A few bruises stood out along his thick arms, but he had come through the battle relatively uninjured. Ive requested that His Majesty send more men to bolster our defenses, he said, eyes flicking toward the parchment. Well need more soldiers while the gates are restored. It will be several months before even one is completed. A lamentable situation, but I should think we are in no immediate danger, God willing. 651 Kahlias gaze lingered on the letter. And what of the battle itself? How detailed of an account have you provided? Detailed enough, the commander said stiffly. I cant say I know for certain what happened, but he will know the Vestige appeared and won the day for us. The how is unimportant, as far as I am concerned. What does he suspect? Zandren wondered. The commander had not beheld Luca until after the Myrandians had been routed; for all he knew, the boy had simply waved his hand and driven back the enemy. Only the handful who had witnessed his arrival knew he had played a role in their victory, and even those had been as unaware as the rest of the soldiers when the demons began crawling from the ground. The multitude of rumors circulating through the city were testament to that. Zandren alone knew the full truth. For now, it would stay with him. The answer appeared sufficient for Kahlia as she inclined her head. I must apologize again for my role in all of this, she said, a slight frown upon her lips. The Myrandians intended to assault the Gate eventually, yes, but I cannot help but feel my actions exacerbated their attack. Tandrus scoffed and waved a hand. It matters not. More attacks will come, and we shall be better prepared for when they do, though I should think it will be quite some time before then. My spies in Myrais claim the city is still in disarray, with Marked running free. Theres even whispers of revolution. I would much like to see that, Zandren said. The others turned to him; he had not spoken since their arrival. He had little to say as it was. More attention than he desired had been paid to him of late, as word of his connection to the Vestige spread. Luca was not the only one 652 about whom the people whispered. The man with the glowing sword must have been someone of great importance, to have been traveling with the boy. Pure foolishness. Agreed, the commander said. If I may be so bold, what will you do next, Lady Seeker? Will you leave for Thanalia on the morrow? Kahlias braids swayed as she shook her head. We shall remain here, until your reinforcements arrive. I would not seek to remove good men from your command at present. For the time being, we will assist in the reconstruction as best we can. The commander gave her a grateful smile. My thanks. Some fear those beasts still roam the lands beyond the wall. I think the people will be at ease with another Radiant among our number, as well as the Vestige. He glanced at the solitary window and squinted at the orange light spilling through, then sighed. Time has gotten away from us, it seems. Let us attend to the feast and turn our minds to lighter fare. They rose as one, and Zandren and Kahlia stepped out into the hall to leave Tandrus to his preparations. Their footsteps echoed upon the bare stone floor as they wound their way through the corridors for the stairwell. No one else was about; every servant would be busy with the evenings festivities. Zandren paused in the hall. Kahlia, he said. Wait. I must speak with you abouteverything. His hand drifted to his side, seeking the comfort of his sword, before recalling he had left it in his chambers. He folded his arms instead. Luca and I discovered something in the mountains. A terrible truth that needs unveiling. There was a quiet anger in Kahlias eyes as she turned to Zandren. She already knew all was not as it seemed. Of course she did. After the feast, she said. I would hear it all. 653 Zandren nodded grimly. They both knew what he had to say would only bring her pain. Night had fallen upon the city by the time Luca could make his exit from the feast. A hundred soldiers and several dozen important citizensmerchants and artisans and Reforged clergyhad packed into the grand hall, and every single one wanted to speak with the Vestige. He had not a moment to himself since setting foot in the hall until now, stepping out the front gates of the stronghold and into the crisp air. A shiver ran through him, but it passed quickly enough as his body adjusted to the cold. He knew enough now to recognize the Shieldmark at work, reacting to his needs. He set off across the courtyard, lit only by torches and a thin sliver of moon. It was empty save for a few guards assigned the nightly patrol. He gave them a wide berth, sticking to the shadows cast by the outbuildings, and quickly found the chapel tucked away at the back of the courtyard, standing beside a long tree climbing into the night. At the sound of the rustling leaves, he realized that the bells had finally stopped. He hesitated before the front doors, dark wood strapped in iron set into an arched front, and wondered whether he should simply return to the Seekers suite. Rensler and Zandren and the two sisters who Luca hardly knew waited there now. But not Kahlia. She had slipped away from the feast some time earlier, Zandren in tow, though he alone had met them afterward. Luca should have let her be, but he needed to speak with her, needed her to know the truth about her god. Shed probably hate him for it. She wont, he assured himself. Shes a better person than that. With a heavy sigh, he pushed his way inside. The chapel was a squarish room, large enough to fit perhaps two dozen comfortably. Figurines cast from bronze filled little alcoves 654 along the walls, their surfaces dimly lit by the handful of candles resting on the low dais at the back of the chamber, where a larger statue emerged from the wall. A long figure knelt before the dais. I presume thats you, Luca, Kahlia said, her head turned ever so slightly. She tapped the tiled floor beside her. You may join me, if you wish. The cold outside hadnt bothered Luca, but he felt a chill now as he lowered himself beside Kahlia. A minute passed in silence. Luca shifted on the uncomfortable floor. Was she waiting for him to speak first? Maybe he should Zandren has told me of your journey, she said, staring ahead at the statue. The sound startled Luca, though her voice was barely more than a whisper. Lucas face grew hot. How much did he tell you? Everything, I should think, she said. She sat back on her heels. I must say it isdifficult to take in. I would have been loath to believe it, had I not seen what you accomplished upon your arrival. It was the only way to save everyone, Luca said. I didnt have any other choice. I know. It nearly consumed me, he went on. The soul of Artras. Braskellar. Im not sure which it is now. But it tried to take my body from me and trap me within my own mind. He swallowed hard. I dont think I could ever do that again. I fear it would control me forever if I did. Kahlia nodded. That is probably for the best. Rumors abound already, Luca. Most are harmless, praising you as the savior of the city, even if they do not understand why. But there are some who know what you did. I fear what will happen, should such talk spread. Your discovery could break the Church apartpossibly Vendalar along with it. She let out a long breath and at 655 last turned to him. Tell me, what do you intend to do now? Will you tell the people the truth? What do you want? He hadnt given the thought much consideration as of yet. No, he said, shaking his head. Not right now, at least. I think it would only cause more harm than good. That is a very wise decision. Luca forced a smile. In Salden, you said you came to take me to Thanalia, that it would be the safest place for me in all of Ilden. He hesitated. What did he want? He wanted to be rid of the thing lurking within him, but he had no idea as to how. The Pentarchy might, though. For now, I want to complete your mission, he said at last. I want to go to Thanalia. Thank you, Luca, she murmured. I knew you were special from the beginning, from when I first saw you come bounding through the crowd. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, but there was no joy in it. Only sorrow. I would like to be alone now, if you would be so kind. I have more to pray on this night. Luca bobbed his head and stood. Of course. Goodnight, Kahlia. Her eyes were fixed on the statue once more, and he was already at the door when he heard her whispered, Goodnight. The doors shut behind him with a muffled squeak. He leaned against them, breathing as though hed just run around the stronghold a dozen times. Thankful for the cool wind, he remained for a time, his thoughts aflutter. He was not entirely certain how Kahlia felt about him, but at least she didnt seem to hate him. Soon enough, he made his way back up through the fortress and came to the Seekers suite. The solar was empty and dark, but a yellow glow emanated from beneath the door to his bedchamber. Of course Rensler would still be awake. He hadnt wanted Luca to go off on his 656 own even for a short while; there was no chance his brother would have gone to sleep before his return. Luca smiled to himself as he crossed the room. He had actually grown to appreciate his brothers overly protective nature. He was prone to getting himself in trouble, after all. Opening the door, he found a square table shoved between the two beds, a familiar wooden board and carved pieces atop it beside a single lantern. Rensler sat on one of the beds, placing a few final figurines on the table. He turned as Luca shut the door. It took some asking around, Rensler said, but I managed to dig up a Gedek set. He beckoned to the other bed. Care to join? We dont have any chairs, Im afraid. The servants only brought the table. Its perfect, Luca said with a laugh. He took a seat upon the other bed and tucked his legs beneath him. Ill even let you have the first move. A moment passed with Rensler doing nothing, and Luca noticed the pensive look on his face. Whats wrong? Did you find her? Rensler asked, voice quiet. Luca frowned. Yes. She knows everything already. She knows more than me, then. Zandren told her, not me, Luca retorted. He drummed his fingers on his knees. He supposed he hadnt told Rensler much of anything yet. What would he make of it all? Would the truth drive him away, for fear of what Luca might become? Rensler must have sense his hesitation, for he said, You know Im with you to the end. Whatever that may be. Of course, Luca said, and meant it. We might have to play more than once, if you want the whole story. He grinned. You might even win one. 657 They laughed until tears came to their eyes. Silence hung heavy in the chapel. Kahlia had lost all sense of time, but the candles were burning low, and her knees ached fiercely. Still, she refused to move, not until she had received the guidance she so desperately needed. A fog seemed to lay upon her mind, a heavy cloud formed from the words Zandren had spoken earlier. The revelation he had brought from the mountain sanctuma place enshrouded in mystery, a secret kept from even a Seekerwormed its way through her thoughts, demanding her attention. The Pentarchy had lied to them, to all of the Reforged. It was a carefully crafted deception carried out over the course of two and a half millennia. But why? Why had no other Vestige found the body of Artras? Perhaps they are as unaware as the rest of us. But could it truly be so simple? Zandren wanted to make for Thanalia and confront the leaders of the Church, though he warned her they risked being branded as heretics. She had been hesitant at first, but now, after her conversation with Luca, she found herself in agreement. She had devoted her life to the Church, to fulfilling the ultimate calling of any Reforged. She deserved to hear the truth from their lips, just as the people deserved to hear the truth. Vendalar would fracture from such a revelation, of course. Perhaps it would be better to allow the people to continue living as they did now, filled with the promise of utopia that the reunification would bring. No. They deserve the truth. 658 She resumed her prayer, begging for guidance, but no answer came. Of course. Her prayers would fall on deaf ears, it seemed. Perhaps they always had. She could not force herself to continue, for she was no longer certain to whom she prayed. THE END 659 BIBLIOGRAPHY Islington, James. The Shadow of What Was Lost. Orbit, 2017. Jordan, Robert. The Eye of the World. Tor, 1990. Maas, Donald. Writing the Breakout Novel. Writers Digest Books, 2002. Maum, Courtney. Before and After the Book Deal. Catapult, 2020. McClellan, Brian. Promise of Blood. Orbit, 2013. Percy, Benjamin. Thrill Me: Essays on Fiction. Graywolf Press, 2016. Sanderson, Brandon. Mistborn: The Final Empire. Tor, 2006. Winter, Evan. The Rage of Dragons. Orbit, 2019.  ...

... An Examination of Occupational Therapy Telehealth Service Delivery Among Novice Users During the COVID-19 Pandemic Hannah T. Tyger, Alexandra M. Reckers, Megan Johnson, Lauren Ober, Analicia M. Morales, Mackenzie A. Williams December 16, 2022 A research project submitted in partial fulfillment for the requirements of the Doctor of Occupational Therapy degree from the University of Indianapolis, School of Occupational Therapy. Under the direction of the research advisor: Lori E. Breeden, EdD, OTR NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES A Research Project Entitled An Examination of Occupational Therapy Telehealth Service Delivery Among Novice Users During the COVID-19 Pandemic Submitted to the School of Occupational Therapy at University of Indianapolis in partial fulfillment for the requirements of the Doctor of Occupational Therapy degree. By: Hannah T. Tyger, Alexandra M. Reckers, Megan Johnson, Lauren Ober, Analicia M. Morales, Mackenzie A. Williams Doctor of Occupational Therapy Students Approved by: Research Advisor Date Accepted on this date by the Chair of the School of Occupational Therapy: Kate E. DeCleene Huber, OTR, MS, OTD Chair, School of Occupational Therapy Date 1 NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 2 Abstract The COVID-19 pandemic allowed for widespread implementation of telehealth as a delivery method for occupational therapy (OT) services. The purpose of this study was to investigate the perceptions of novice telehealth OT practitioners regarding telehealth as a delivery method for occupational therapy services. Quantitative data was collected through a modified version of the Telehealth Usability Questionnaire and analyzed via descriptive statistics. Qualitative data was collected by open-ended questions and analyzed via thematic analysis. OT practitioner responses revealed four major themes: logistics of telehealth practice, role of client champions, capacity of occupational therapist, and styles and approaches. The study revealed that OT sessions delivered via telehealth increased access to clients and continuity of services. Client champion engagement, effective coaching strategies, and practitioner flexibility supported the success of OT telehealth sessions. Keywords: Telehealth, Occupational Therapy, Coaching, Client Champion NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 3 An Examination of Occupational Therapy Telehealth Service Delivery among Novice Users During the COVID-19 Pandemic With the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, use of telehealth as a delivery method for OT services expanded. Telehealth was usable for practice in less than 30 states in the US before the COVID-19 pandemic. (Bierman, et al., 2018). Access to telehealth services increased with the COVID-19 pandemic and public health emergency. Immediate action was needed and Congress, the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services (CMS), State governments, and private insurers reacted quickly to allow OT services to be provided via telehealth (American Occupational Therapy Association, 2022). Permanent legislation has not yet reached every state, and of legislation beyond the end of the public health emergency is necessary for the continuation of telehealth services (American Occupational Therapy Association, 2022, May). Quickly evolving legislation of this delivery format during a health emergency has resulted in the use of Telehealth by many practitioners who were novice users. Traditionally, occupational therapy practitioners utilize telehealth to provide access to therapy when traditional services were not feasible (Renda & Lape, 2018). In the states allowing the use of telehealth as a delivery method prior to the pandemic, occupational therapists work with clients in environments that are familiar and provide interventions that translate to their daily lives (Cason, 2015). Shulver et al.(2016) found that clinicians had positive outlooks on the potential of providing occupational therapy services to a wider population of clients using telehealth, especially in more rural areas where clients may have limited access to health care resources. This positive practitioner outlook is an important step to establishing and sustaining telehealth as an OT service delivery method. NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 4 Wade, et al. (2014), developed a theory on the uptake and sustainability of telehealth practice and identified clinician acceptance as the most important element in adoption of this service delivery method. This model indicates that a positive attitude, adequate technology, and good relationships between providers influence the willingness of a clinician to use telehealth. Through the lens of this theory, health care organizations should consider the perceptions of telehealth practitioners, which may be strongly influenced by their experience during the COVID 19 pandemic. Therefore, it will be important to understand factors that foster positive regard for telehealth as it becomes a more widely used delivery method for occupational therapy services. The purpose of this study was to investigate the perceptions of occupational therapy practitioners, who were novice telehealth users during the COVID-19 pandemic, and their experience of telehealth as a delivery method for occupational therapy services. The principal questions that guided the study were: What are the perceptions of occupational therapy practitioners who were novel telehealth users on the quality of telehealth as an occupational therapy delivery method? How did the telehealth delivery method support or hinder the provision of OT services? What are the perceptions of occupational therapy practitioners who were novel telehealth users on the usability of telehealth as an occupational therapy delivery method? Methods Study Design The study, a mixed methods design, utilized a modified version of the Telehealth Usability Questionnaire (TUQ) to quantitatively assess OT practitioner perceptions of usability of telehealth (Parmanto, et al., 2016). Open-ended follow up questions to the TUQ were NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 5 administered to collect qualitative data about aspects of occupational therapy practice that were supported or hindered by telehealth as a delivery method. Participants 23 Licensed OT practitioners who were novel telehealth users during the time of the COVID-19 pandemic were included in this study. Occupational therapy students, or practitioners with more than one year of telehealth experience prior to the COVID-19 pandemic were excluded from the study. Recruitment Participants were recruited electronically via a posting in American Occupational Therapy Associations (AOTA) online community called communOT, various OT-specific Facebook groups, direct connections, and state level resources such as professional associations. Survey responses were collected using Qualtrics XM software. Copyright (2021). Measures This study utilized a modified version of the TUQ survey instrument. Per the authors of this tool, the TUQ utilizes questions that can be modified to correctly address the participants (clinicians or patients) and the telehealth system (Parmanto, et al., 2016, p. 4). Our modification included changing items on the instrument to measure perceptions of OT practitioners on the usability of telehealth via Likert scale (Parmanto, et al., 2016). Participants rated each question on their level of agreement with the statement using a scale from 1 (disagree) to 7 (agree). Subscales of usefulness, ease of use, effectiveness, reliability, and satisfaction were found to be internally consistent and were used to guide the question creation in the original TUQ (Parmanto, et al., 2016). Table 1 contains the modified TUQ questions that were used in our survey. NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES Table 1 Modified Telehealth Usability Questionnaire Question Subscale Usefulness 1 Telehealth improves my clients access to healthcare services. 2 Telehealth saves my clients time traveling to a hospital or specialist clinic. 3 Telehealth provides for my clients healthcare needs. Ease of Use 4 It was simple to use this system. 5 It was easy to learn to use the system. 6 I believe I could become productive quickly using this system. 7 The way I interact with this system is pleasant. 8 I like using the system. 9 The system is simple and easy to understand. Effectiveness 10 This system is able to do everything I would want it to be able to do. 11 I could easily talk to the clinician using the telehealth system. 6 NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 12 I could hear the clinician clearly using the telehealth system. 13 I felt I was able to express myself effectively. 14 Using the telehealth system, I can see the clinician as well as if we met in person. Reliability 15 I think the visits provided over the telehealth system are the same as in-person visits. 16 Whenever I made a mistake using the system, I could recover easily and quickly. 17 The system gave error messages that clearly told me how to fix problems. Satisfaction 18 I feel comfortable communicating with the clinician using the telehealth system. 19 Telehealth is an acceptable way to receive healthcare services. 20 I would use telehealth services again. 21 Overall, I am satisfied with this telehealth system. The survey concluded with open-ended follow-up questions which warranted written responses to assess how OT services are supported or hindered by using telehealth as a delivery method. 7 NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 8 The following questions were asked to gain more insight into OT practitioner perceptions on telehealth as a delivery method: How did the telehealth platform support or hinder the administration of OT evaluations? How did the telehealth platform support or hinder the delivery of OT interventions? Did you perceive any population specific differences (ie age, diagnostic group) in the practicality of using telehealth as a delivery method for occupational therapy services? Do you perceive any intervention specific differences (ie therapeutic activities and exercise, ADL training, neuro-re ed) using telehealth as a delivery method for occupational therapy services? How did telehealth change the way you work? Do you see OT service delivery via telehealth as an important part of your practice moving forward? If so, how will you use it? An expert in the field of occupational therapy delivered via telehealth recommended the use of the modifiable TUQ survey to help ensure construct validity of the study. The open-ended follow-up questions devised were also assessed by the expert to ensure content validity. Procedure Recruitment of survey participants occurred by way of a posting in AOTAs online community, communOT, state occupational therapy association resources, and licensed occupational therapist Facebook groups. The TUQ survey was administered using Qualtrics software to OT practitioners who were novel telehealth users. The survey was open for eight weeks, sending reminders once a week (Andrews, et al., 2005). NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 9 Data Analysis The quantitative data used descriptive statistics to analyze the views of novel telehealth users on the usability of telehealth as an occupational therapy service delivery method. Descriptive statistics were calculated for the dimensions of usefulness, ease of use, effectiveness, reliability, and satisfaction of telehealth delivery systems. The qualitative data collected from the open-ended questions was analyzed using Braun and Clarke Style simple thematic analysis. Simple thematic analysis is, a method for identifying, analyzing, organizing, describing, and reporting themes found within a data set (Braun & Clarke, 2006). The six phases to simple thematic analysis include Phase 1: familiarizing yourself with your data, Phase 2: generating initial codes, Phase 3: searching for themes, Phase 4: reviewing themes, Phase 5: defining and naming themes, and Phase 6: producing the report (Braun & Clarke, 2006). Trustworthiness of the study was ensured by triangulation of collected data and corroboration of current evidence. Additionally, researchers maintained an audit trail throughout the qualitative analysis to ensure confirmability of the data. Data Protection No identifying participant information was collected from survey responses or connected to survey results. The data collected from the Qualtrics-issued survey was stored on a passwordprotected computer that remained stored in a locked office. NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 10 Results Quantitative Data Table 2 Descriptive Statistics Dimensions Mean Standard Deviation Usefulness 5.12 1.326666667 Ease of Use 4.586666667 1.5 Effectiveness 3.968 1.546 3.173333333 1.573333333 4.74 1.49 Reliability Satisfaction Table 2 shows the means and standard deviations of participant perceptions on the usability, ease of use, effectiveness, reliability, and satisfaction of telehealth as a delivery method for occupational therapy services. Participants had the most positive perceptions of the usefulness of telehealth, indicated by having the highest mean. Participants had the most negative experiences with the reliability of telehealth, indicated by having the lowest mean. Overall, the means are centralized, and the standard deviations indicate high variance showing that many of the participants had polarized views on telehealth as a delivery method for OT services. Qualitative Data The responses to the open-ended questions revealed four major categories related to occupational therapy practice via telehealth: (a) logistics of telehealth practice, (b) role of client champions, (c) capacity of occupational therapist, and (d) styles and approaches. Logistics of Telehealth Practice. Logistically, occupational therapy practice via telehealth is supported through increased access to services, continuity of care, improved NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 11 efficiency, and the ability to visualize the home environment. Participant 14 commented As a part of a service when either practitioner or client is unable to meet in person due to injury, illness, or inconvenient timing. Telehealth is more flexible and allows for other times that may not be able to be seen in person for sessions. Participant 3 shared that telehealth improves timeliness of service, stating the patients are able to start their therapy services sooner. Participant 2 shared that telehealth allows OT practitioners to see the person in their home environment and to help them with set up. Participants also shared various logistics of telehealth practice that created barriers to successful service delivery, including technical difficulties, distribution of materials, and the nature of the virtual environment. Technical difficulties included internet issues (Participant 15), controlling background noise (Participant 5), and clients not being computer literate (Participant 2). Many participants mentioned that It was hard to ensure the client had the needed materials (Participant 20), and if clients needed materials, they needed to come in to get them (Participant 2) or needed to be sent prior to OT (Participant 12). There are several challenges created by the nature of the virtual environment, especially overcoming the inability to be hands-on, difficulties visualizing the client, or struggling to demonstrate activities properly. Multiple participants stated that one of the largest barriers was not being able to provide hands-on intervention (Participant 22) and not being able to physically cue and correct mechanics of movement (Participant 2). Participant 2 also stated that It was often difficult to see what some clients were actually doing, while Participant 10 shared that it was harder to demonstrate certain activities and tasks. Role of Client Champions. Client champions refer to the caregiver, parent, or support person helping the client within their environment during a telehealth session. Client champions, NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 12 engagement and ability level are two influential components to the success of occupational therapy services delivered via telehealth. Participant 19 stated that pediatric settings required the parent to assist with all aspects of treatment, and Participant 14 shared that Clients with parents willing to participate in sessions benefitted the most. According to Participant 7, the effectiveness of the session was dependent on the quality of [the] support present in [the] person on the other end of the line. Communication developed between OT practitioners and client champions via telehealth can create positive changes during in-person services. Participant 14 commented that telehealth practice changed the way I interacted with clients online and in-person and their families regarding language used to describe strategies for intervention, and that they experienced increased parent coaching and parent involvement in the session once met in-person. Occupational Therapist Skills. Occupational therapists used their clinical skills to adjust their therapeutic approach for the client when delivering a session via telehealth. Occupational therapy delivered via telehealth required more flexibility (Participant 1) and the therapists had to be more creative (Participant 10). Therapists adapted the language they used to communicate with the clients and client champions during telehealth sessions. Participant 22 claimed that services via telehealth made therapists better at communicating strategies to parents and more resourceful with interventions. Participant 3 identified that therapists used their clinical knowledge to upgrade or downgrade sessions quickly and reevaluate based on the patient presentation during telehealth sessions. Occupational therapy practitioners discussed the importance of acting as a coach during telehealth sessions. Participant 7 shared that When you can't be there, you have to hand over that control and really coach, and that the success of the session is reliant on the ability of the NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 13 OT to coach the client and carer. Participant 14 noted that OT practice via telehealth was supported using parent education and coaching models. Through the implementation of coaching skills, clients can experience increased self-efficacy in their abilities. Participant 7 described the capacity of the clients and their support network to take an increased ownership of activities, tasks, games, practice opportunities and strategies strongly influences the difference in success experienced. For example, Participant 7 claimed it can be a really powerful way to empower and upskill parents/carers and boost their confidence as their child's first educator. Styles and Approaches. Participants in this study identified styles and approaches to delivering occupational therapy services via telehealth that supported or hindered the success of the session. Several participants mentioned the assessment style chosen affected successful OT evaluation via telehealth. Participant 10 noted that verbal interviews and assessments were easy to administer. Participant 3 shared that they like to use assessments that have objective numbers and can be easily reassessed. Participants shared several specific intervention ideas that were successful during telehealth OT sessions. When asked about interventions utilized, participants shared that Education via telehealth seems to work well (Participant 10), therapeutic exercise or therapeutic activity [interventions] were most practical (Participant 23), and working on visual perceptual skills, handwriting, feeding skills were great treatment uses for telehealth. (Participant 12). Participant 18 suggested that telehealth necessitates a more creative approach to intervention sessions, and Made me think of more basic activities like using a washcloth or dish towel to work on hand strength. Participants disagreed about the effectiveness of ADL interventions performed via telehealth. Participant 4 shared that ADL and home related occupations were easier to address NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 14 via telehealth, while Participant 9 noted that ADL training is hard. Participant 23 shared that dressing can easily be done over clothes but toileting/bathing arent practical. Participant 10 spoke about the difficulty of engaging the clients, stating it's harder to engage fully in therapeutic activities and definitely not the same for group work and social skills training. Discussion When in-person services were not available, OT practitioners valued the use of the virtual platform to access clients via telehealth. Practitioners indicated that telehealth supported increased service continuity and efficiency, and increased access to populations which allowed them to continue OT services when in-person services were unavailable. This aligns with findings from Tenforde et al. (2020) that telehealth increased continuity of care within the home environment, and efficiency for OT practitioners and clients as virtual platforms eliminated travel time and increased convenience. Given that the nature of the virtual environment prevents the use of hands-on interventions, occupational therapists must develop alternative approaches to connect with their clients and facilitate skill development. Several participants expressed that OT delivered via telehealth was more effective when client champions participated and were engaged during sessions. Similarly, Gately et al. (2022), found that OT practitioners using telehealth felt that caregiver involvement during sessions improved practitioner visibility of the patient and their home set-up, increased knowledge about the functioning of the client, and mitigated difficulties patients had using the online platform due to age or health status. Participants identified that when OT practitioners are unable to do handson interventions with clients, they must have the ability to effectively coach their clients and client champions through intervention sessions. Hall et al. (2021) revealed that physical therapists who used telehealth during the COVID-19 pandemic felt that the success of the session NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 15 was heavily impacted by the therapist's ability to implement a coaching model to empower caregivers. These findings support the idea that therapists rely on coaching and communication skills to overcome the barriers of the virtual environment. Previous researchers in the field of telehealth found that OT practitioners who implemented occupation-based coaching into their telehealth practices built more self-efficacy within clients and their caregivers (Little et al, 2018). The success of OT services delivered via telehealth therefore can rely heavily on the skill of the practitioner to act as a coach, resulting in the ability of the client and client champion to take increased ownership of their own progress. OT practitioners have the capacity to adjust their communication and physical demonstration approach to match the needs of the client through a virtual platform. Flexibility of the OT practitioner is important to overcome challenges from logistical circumstances, like technical difficulties. Being flexible and client-centered helps to build the rapport between therapist and client creating a strong foundation for successful use of telehealth (Hines et al, 2019). Participants in a study conducted by Hoel et al, (2020) indicated that transitioning to telehealth services required a large amount of flexibility initially, but after the initial adjustment period, found high levels of satisfaction with telehealth-delivered services. This supports our findings that effective communication skills and flexibility are important contributions to the safety and success of the session. Practitioners found success with the delivery of OT interventions via telehealth with the utilization of effective coaching to guide clients. Areas of successful telehealth implementation that practitioners noted were ADL in pediatric populations, home-based ADLs, education across all populations, as well as therapeutic exercise and therapeutic activity across all populations. Some OT practitioners have found increased success in areas of ADL and home-based NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 16 occupations due to the session taking place in the clients natural environment. Modifications or grading of activities needed for a successful and safe completion of an ADL session in the home are more easily implemented when you can see the home environment. Renda & Lape (2018) study supports that, telehealth occupational therapy home modification interventions improve functional performance (as evidenced by improved home safety) and perception of performance of daily activities (Nakamura et al., 1999; Sanford et al., 2006). Intervention styles and approaches implemented by the OT using telehealth are more successful when client champions are engaged, effective coaching of the client and client champions is implemented, and logistics allow continuous access to services. The purpose of this study was to investigate occupational therapy practitioners, who were novice telehealth users during the COVID-19 pandemic, and their perceptions of telehealth as a delivery method for occupational therapy services. The main findings identified four themes including logistics of telehealth practice, role of client champions, capacity of the occupational therapist, and styles and approaches. Practitioners' perceptions indicated that telehealth as a delivery method for OT services increased access to populations and was most successful when client champions were engaged, practitioners were flexible and able to grade interventions based on virtual circumstances, and effective coaching and communication was used. As the use of telehealth in the field of occupational therapy continues to expand, it is important to continue research and spread knowledge related to effective service delivery in this format. Limitations and Implications for Practice There is potential for implicit negative biases from participants as the practitioners surveyed in this study experienced the implementation of OT practice via telehealth in context of high stress due to the global COVID-19 pandemic. Additionally, due to the nature of the online NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 17 survey format, qualitative responses tended to be more categorical in comparison to phenomenological discussion that is typical of data collected via focus groups or interview-based research. Of note, this study intentionally focused on novice telehealth users' perspectives, however, future research into OT practitioner perspectives may benefit from the inclusion of participants with a wider variety of experience using telehealth. OT practitioners shared important perceptions of their experiences as novel telehealth users. Overall, the findings of this study reveal that telehealth as a delivery method for occupational therapy services is supported by intentional preparation by the practitioner, flexibility, effective client coaching skills, and education. Intentional preparation by the OT practitioner before sessions can support effectiveness of services delivered and minimize logistical challenges that may arise. Aside from preparation, flexibility is also vital to overcoming the limitations of the virtual environment. Occupational therapists ability to act as a coach to their clients and client champions supports engagement, empowerment, and effective delivery of services. Implementation of education for OT practitioners regarding effective coaching methods would support practitioners successful use of telehealth. Occupational therapy education and continuing education may better prepare practitioners to deliver services via telehealth by fostering coaching skills to empower clients and client champions. NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 18 References American Occupational Therapy Association. (2022). Advocacy Issues: Expanding Telehealth. AOTA. https://www.aota.org/advocacy/issues/telehealth-advocacy. American Occupational Therapy Association. (2022, May). Capital Report: Congress takes first step to expand telehealth after public health emergency. AOTA. https://www.aota.org/publications/ot-practice/ot-practice-issues/2022/capital-reporttelehealth. Andrews, D., Nonnecke, B., Preece, J. (2005). Conducting Research on the Internet:: Online Design, Development and Implementation Guidelines. Athabasca University. https://auspace.athabascau.ca/handle/2149/1336. Bierman, R.T., Kwong, M.W., & Calouro, C. (2008). State Occupational and Physical Therapy Telehealth Laws laws and regulations: a 50-State survey. International Journal of Telerehabilitation, 10(2), 3-53. https://www.cchpca.org/2021/04/50-state-scan-ofoccupational-therapy-and-physical-therapy-policies-FALL-2018.pdf. Braun, V., & Clarke, V. (2006). Using thematic analysis in psychology. Qualitative Research in Psychology, 3(2), 77-101. https://doi.org/10.1191/1478088706qp063oa Cason, J. (2015). Telehealth and Occupational Therapy: Integral to the Triple Aim of Health Care Reform. American Journal of Occupational Therapy, 69(2), 18. https://doi.org/10.5014/ajot.2015.692003 Gately, M. E., Waller, D., Metcalf, E. E., & Moo, L. R. (2022). Occupational therapy practitioner perspectives of the role of caregivers in video telehealth. Journal of Gerontological Nursing, 48(10), 1520. https://doi.org/10.3928/00989134-20220908-02 NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 19 Hall, J. B., Woods, M. L., Luechtefeld, J. T. (2021). Pediatric physical therapy telehealth and COVID-19: Factors, facilitators, and barriers influencing effectivenessa survey study. Pediatric Physical Therapy, 33(3), 112-118. https://doi.org/10.1097/PEP.0000000000000800 Hines, M., Bulkeley, K., Dudley, S., Cameron, S., & Lincoln, M. (2019). Delivering quality allied health services to children with complex disability via telepractice: Lessons learned from four case studies. Journal of Developmental and Physical Disabilities, 31(5), 593609. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10882-019-09662-8 Hoel, V., von Zweck, C., & Ledgerd, R. (2021). Was a global pandemic needed to adopt the use of telehealth in occupational therapy? Work, 68(1), 1320. https://doi.org/10.3233/wor-205268 Little, L. M., Pope, E., Wallisch, A., & Dunn, W. (2018). Occupation-Based coaching by means of telehealth for families of young children with Autism Spectrum Disorder. American Journal of Occupational Therapy March/April, 72(2), 1-7. https://doi.org/10.5014/ajot.2018.024786 Parmanto, B., Lewis, Jr., A. N., Graham, K. M., & Bertolet, M. H. (2016). Development of the Telehealth Usability Questionnaire (TUQ). International Journal of Telerehabilitation, 8(1), 310. https://doi.org/10.5195/ijt.2016.6196 Renda, M, & Lape, J.E. (2018). Feasibility and effectiveness of telehealth occupational therapy home modification interventions. International Journal of Telerehabilitation, 10(1), 3 14. https://doi.org/10.5195/ijt.2018.6244 Shulver, W., Killington, M., Crotty, M. (2016). Massive potential or safety risk? Health worker views on telehealth in the care of older people and implications for successful NOVICE TELEHEALTH OT PRACTITIONER PERSPECTIVES 20 normalization. BMC Medical Informatics and Decision Making, 16(1), 131. https://doi.org/10.1186/s12911-016-0373-5 Tenforde, A. S., Borgstrom, H., Polich, G., Steere, H., Davis, I. S., Cotton, K., O'Donnell, M., & Silver, J. K. (2020). Outpatient physical, occupational, and speech therapy synchronous telemedicine: A survey study of patient satisfaction with virtual visits during the COVID19 pandemic. American Journal of Physical Medicine & Rehabilitation, 99(11), 97798. https://doi.org/10.1097/PHM.0000000000001571 Wade, V.A., Eliott, J.A., & Hiller, J. E. (2014). Clinician acceptance is the key factor for sustainable telehealth services. 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... Teach Me About Myself: A Case Study Exploring Racialized Institutions CariAnn Grace Freed Thesis Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree Master of Arts in Applied Sociology in the Department of Sociology University of Indianapolis January 16, 2023 _________________________________________ Colleen Wynn, Ph.D. Assistant Professor of Sociology, Advisor _________________________________________ Mary Moore, Ph.D. Professor of Sociology, Reader Abstract There are clear differences between majority and minority groups when it comes to who goes to college, who can afford it, and who will graduate. Like many primarily White institutions, City University (CityU) historically serves a White population and successfully graduates a primarily White population as well. If it is true that CityU is an institution that is racialized on the meso-level, then it must be true that these incoming students of color and first generation students are facing large barriers to success at the institution. How can CityU and universities like it prepare for the organizational shift that will need to take place in order to successfully retain these students? I explore the racialization of higher education through a case study of City University using the 2021 NSSE data wherein I use linear regression analyses to explore students perceptions of diversity and inclusion in coursework, institutional emphasis on diversity and inclusion, and institutional environment in regard to diversity and inclusion. I find Asian students report less focus on diversity and inclusion in their classwork relative to White students, they also report less institutional emphasis on diversity and inclusion and an institutional environment that was less diverse and inclusive relative to White students. Relative to straight students, LGBQ students are less likely, relative to straight students, to report that the institutional environment is diverse and inclusive. Finally, connections with faculty outside the classroom and better quality interactions with university employees increase students' reports of diversity and inclusion on campus. Introduction Higher education plays a crucial role in social and economic development and especially in the development of generational wealth (Haveman 2006). Historically minoritized students are met with far more obstacles in terms of academic achievement (Mudge 2011). Currently, about 37% of White college-educated people have a bachelors degree or higher, compared to 22% of the Black population and 17% of the Latino population (Carnevale 2018). Nationally, 11% of Pell Grant recipients entering public colleges do not enroll for a second year of college, and about 80% do not receive a bachelors degree within four years, while only another 20% earn that over 6 years (Goldrick-Rab 2016). These statistics show that many students who want to attend college and for whom college could be life-changing are systematically excluded and fall out of the degree completion pipeline. Approximately 20-30% of all enrolled college students in the United States are first generation college students (Pratt et. al 2019). Seventy-one percent of those students are likely to unenroll within their first year compared to their non-first generation counterparts (Ishitani 2003). Overall, any students lack of financial security, academic competence, and social belongingness can lead to attrition and dropout (Pratt et. al 2019). Disproportionately, this affects first generation college students who often face all three risk factors. There are clear differences between majority and minority groups when it comes to who goes to college, who can afford it, and who will graduate (Hanson 2022a, Hanson 2022b, IPEDS 2019). Like many primarily White institutions, City University (CityU) historically serves a White population, making up 62% of undergraduates in the fall of 2021, and successfully graduates a primarily White population as well (Internal Data 2021). In recent years, there has been a tilt of the scale as more and more students of color, and first generation college students are being accepted and matriculated into the university. While the number of students of color increases, the university is seeing a rather quick decline in retention rates from year one to year two, from 75% in 2017 to 61.5% in 2022 (Internal Data 2022). However, increasing diversity alone cannot solve education issues. Colleges and universities need to do more than just seek out and admit diverse students. They must provide knowledge about how to be successful in college, information on financial aid and debt, and help students be able to be successful by effectively integrating students into the campus community. Students all over the country are being pressured by the need to obtain a college education in order to secure a quality career path, but those who are systematically excluded from equitable education often lack the necessary resources and overall ability to persist through their higher education degree. Students looking to pursue higher education are being asked to pay a high price for a system that was not built for their success. If it is true that CityU is an institution that is racialized on the meso-level (Ray 2019), then it must be true that these incoming students of color and first generation students are facing large barriers to success at the institution. This raises many questions for colleges and universities like CityU, such as how can they prepare for the organizational shift that will need to take place in order to successfully retain incoming students of color and first generation college students? These institutions must also ask themselves, how are they currently doing at assisting historically marginalized students in navigating a higher education system that was not built for them? Changing demographics, both within higher education broadly and at CityU specifically, lead to questions about the impact of racism in the higher education system and at CityU specifically. Where has CityU failed to name the contours of systemic racism within its own institution? Where has it failed to identify with its changing demographics, and where does it continue to minimize its own part in both present and historic racism? In recent years, CityU has established an office dedicated to equity and inclusion. However, the institution has only acknowledged the ways that Whiteness and systemic racism create issues and barriers for students on campus. They may acknowledge racial and ethnic disparities and attempt to provide opportunities for students of color to overcome these disparities, but these opportunities are often on an individualized level, through one on one coaching or relationships built by a small, inadequate number of faculty and staff that share their lived experience, and which does not address the systemic nature. While addressing demographic changes in the college-going population (both at CityU and more broadly), there is a fixation on the decreasing number of college-going students, often referred to as the demographic cliff. However, in the state, there is an increase in students of color who want to go to college. Is CityU accounting for this potential recruitment opportunity, or has a history of colorblindness allowed them to fail to see students of color as viable candidates? CityUs institutional commitment to equity and inclusion is, on paper, robust and up-to-date with other universities best practices. But how do students actually feel about the environment they are in? In theory, CityU looks like a progressive institution, but how have their policies played out for their underrepresented groups? As a racialized institution with increasing numbers of students of color and first generation college students, how will CityU and institutions like it respond to the changing demographics? Do students of color see themselves in their curriculum? Does the institutional emphasis on diversity and inclusion match the institutional environment? How do students of color feel on their college campuses, and what more can be done to dismantle systems that perpetuate the racialization of higher education? In order to begin to explore these kinds of questions, I explore the racialization of higher education through a case study of CityU, a small private Midwestern teaching-focused university1. CityU is an ideal setting in which to study the racialization of higher education as there is a large first-generation student population (52%, Internal Data 2022), and the student body has become more diverse in recent years. In 2011 the student body was 75% White, and by 2021 that percentage had fallen to 65% (IPEDS 2022). These changing demographics indicate that CityU, along with many other institutions, is now serving a different student body than they have historically. In order to explore the racialization of CityU, my research uses data from the 2021 National Survey of Student Engagement (NSSE) and asks, are there differences by race and ethnicity in how students perceive diversity and inclusion at City University? Specifically, I use a series of linear regression analyses to explore student perceptions of diversity and inclusion in coursework, institutional emphasis on diversity and inclusion, and institutional environment in regard to diversity and inclusion. Literature Review CityU as a racialized PWI with changing demographics Eduardo Bonilla-Silva (1997:5) introduces a structural interpretation of racism and racialized social systems referring to societies in which economic, political, social, and ideological levels are partially structured by the placement of actors in racial categories or races (Bonilla-Silva, 5:1997). Education is one such racialized institution. There are very clear gaps among students of color, when compared to their White peers, at every level of the educational system (Lee 2002). Higher Education is not absolved of racism. The original institutions of higher education only 1 In 2019, the university became classified as a Doctoral/Professional University in the Carnegie Classification of Institutions of Higher Education and was previously classified as a Masters Large institution. The only doctorate degrees currently offered are a Doctorate of Health Science, a Doctorate of Nursing Practice, a Doctorate of Occupational Therapy, a Doctorate of Physical Therapy, and a Doctorate of Psychology. allowed White men to be students and faculty and were built with the intention of educating these men to be leaders in society (Byrd 2015). Over time through policy changes such as, Disability Discrimination, Title IX, Race and National Origin Discrimination, Dear Colleague Letters, and various other policies, access to higher education has been expanded to historically underrepresented groups. Despite efforts to create more equity in the education system, there are still many barriers preventing underrepresented populations from gaining a college degree. Victor Ray (2019) theorizies and explains four tenets of racialized organizations; 1.) racialized institutions enhance or diminish the agency of racial groups, 2.) legitimate the unequal distribution of resources, 3.) Whiteness is a credential, and 4.) The decoupling of formal rules from organizational practice is also racialized. Ray explains diminished agency through the use of time, Individuals locations within racialized organizations influence the amount of control they exercise over their time, their ability to plan non-work time, and their ability to plot the future (Ray 2019). Racial opportunity cost highlights the experiences of students of color in many schools who pursue academic success but lose something in the process (Chambers et al. 2014). In education, how do students of color and first generation students use their time compared to their White, non-first generation peers? Relative to their White and non-first generation peers, students of color and first-generation students work more hours, are more likely to be caregiving, and are more likely to be on academic probation. Racial opportunity cost highlights the experiences of students of color in many schools who pursue academic success but lose something in the process (Chambers et al. 2014). Racialized organizations limit people from acting within their constrained, socially prescribed roles (Ray 2019). When institutions increase the costs of tuition, housing, and meals, fail to provide on-campus jobs that pay students well, and when they require students to fully immerse themselves into academia in order to graduate on time, they are not considering the ways in which students who cannot afford otherwise are spending their time. Racialized institutions legitimate the unequal distribution of resources. There is a long history of unequal distribution of resources in higher education. The first colleges and universities were exclusively open to White men (Byrd 2015). Historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs) were conceptualized as a response to not being allowed at existing White institutions. However, in todays context, not all students can or want to attend HBCUs. Additionally, across institutions, there is a lack of representation of faculty and staff of color. Just as these issues play out across institutions of higher education, they can be seen at CityU. CityU is a primarily White institution among 60 other primarily White institutions in the state, while the number of minority serving institutions remains at 3 (U.S. Department of Education 2020C). These minority serving institutions are developed and adapted to support students of color. However, it is not possible for all students of color to receive the necessary resources to be successful from so few available institutions, and expecting these institutions to bear the weight of such an ask would further perpetuate segregation. CityUs increasing minority demographic and the lack of access to critical mass institutions with adequate resources and prestige means that there will be students of color whose best option will be to attend a PWI and that PWI might be City University. The barriers to success are not enforced and brought on by the students themselves but by City U and its racialized policies and practices, both intentional and not. Whiteness as a credential Whiteness is a normative structure in society that marginalizes people of color and privileges White people (Cabrera 2017: Feagin 2006, 2010; Omi and Winant 1994). Cabrera speaks of three central components of the discourse of Whiteness: (a) an unwillingness to name the contours of systemic racism, (b) the avoidance of identifying with a racial experience or minority group, and (c) the minimization of the U.S. history of racism (Cabrera 2017). Because of discrepancies in the educational experience for students of color when compared to their White peers, achievement gaps and inequities are prevalent (Elliot 2020; Valant et al. 2016; Han et al. 2022 ), therefore certain criteria for admission, access to financial aid and support, and access to staff and faculty that look like them are limited. Colorblindness is still very prevalent in academia. Rankin and Reason (2005) empirically demonstrated that White students are significantly more likely than students of color to see campus environments as welcoming and equitable along racial lines. Predominantly White institution (PWI) is the term used to describe institutions of higher learning in which Whites account for 50% or greater of the student enrollment (Lomotey 2010). CityU has always been an institution that falls into this category, and until recent years, has been overwhelmingly White. The identifier Predominately White Institution alone indicates an underlying insinuation that CityU is a White place for White academics. While the identifier of PWI is not one that the university necessarily claims with pride, it is an identifier that can be used to describe the institution and is a statement about who is represented on the campus. When universities are PWIs, their staff, faculty, and student body are all primarily White, and therefore students of color are othered in programming, coursework, content, and general campus environment as their voices and perspectives are not often represented in spaces where this planning takes place, and they are not the typical student at the university. When thinking of an institution that is primarily thinking about process and implementation in one way, it is possible that the people who experience those processes experience contradictions. Ray (2019:42) mentions that decoupling occurs when there is a contradiction between existing organizational routines and policies adopted to placate external constituencies. For example, faculty members recognize that students need to commit 30 hours a week to class and coursework to be successful and therefore require all students to commit 30 hours a week to their education. They also agree that living on campus is the ideal way for students to be successful on campus. Students are charged for housing at a certain rate and required to be in 4-5 classes per week, charged at a certain rate. Though these policies are in place to aid students in their success, they fail to consider a students need for agency and create an environment in which students do not have enough time in their day to pay their bills, balance their school schedule and truly reap the benefits of higher education. The students this more often effects are students from underrepresented backgrounds. Therefore, the lack of representation of people from underrepresented backgrounds among the administration, faculty, and staff generates policies and processes that only work for students whose lived experience matches that of their leadership. CityUs demographic breakdown in the fall of 2016 enrolled was 67% White students, 9% Black, 5% Latino, 2% Asian, 3% two or more races, and 14% nonalien and race unknown combined. In the fall of 2021, White students have decreased to 61%, Black students have increased to 12%, Hispanic to 9%, Asian to 3%, two or more races to 4%, 10% nonalien, and race unknown combined. CityUs first generation student population has also increased. The freshman class in the fall of 2017 welcomed 40% first generation students, compared to 52% in the freshman class just 5 years later in 2022 (Internal Data 2022). Its clear that CityUs environment is changing quickly, and we can only suspect that we will see steady increases in the population of students who are not adequately represented by the CityU administration and leadership. How does its institutional commitment to diversity, equity, and inclusion compare to its environment? As a racialized institution with increasing numbers of students of color and first generation college students, how will CityU and institutions like it respond to the changing demographics? Do students of color see themselves in their curriculum? Does the institutional emphasis on diversity and inclusion match the institutional environment? How do students of color feel on their college campuses, and what more can be done to dismantle systems that perpetuate the racialization of higher education? Method My analyses use data from the 2021 National Survey for Student Engagement. The NSSE is a student survey that annually collects information at hundreds of four-year colleges and universities. It collects data from first-year and senior students and measures their participation in programs and activities that the institutions provide for learning and personal development (NSSE 2021). I limit my analyses to data from CityU. I use variables from the NSSE core questions as well as the Inclusiveness and Engagement with Cultural Diversity Module. More specifically, my analyses explore students' perspectives on inclusion and diversity on CityUs campus via coursework, institutional emphasis on diversity, and the institutional environment in regard to diversity. Measures Dependant Variables My analyses use three dependent variables, coursework, institutional emphasis, and institutional environment, constructed from a series of questions. These three variables are all additive indices. All three indices range from 7 to 28 (higher scores indicate more inclusion and diversity), and all questions included in each of these indices have the following response categories, very little=1, some=2, quite a bit=3, very much=4. Coursework (=0.93) is measured by a series of questions asking how much of a students coursework in the current year emphasized developing skills to work effectively with people from various backgrounds (ICD01a), recognizing your own cultural norms and biases (ICD01b), sharing your own perspectives and experiences (ICD01c), exploring your own background through projects, assignments, or programs (ICD01d), learning about other cultures (ICD01e), discussing issues of equity or privilege (ICD01f), and respecting the expression of diverse ideas (ICD01g). Institutional emphasis (=0.92) is measured by a series of questions asking how much your institution emphasizes demonstrating a commitment to diversity (ICD02a), providing students with the resources needed for success in a multicultural world (ICD02b), creating an overall sense of community among students (ICD02c), ensuring that you are not stigmatized because of your identity (racial/ethnic, gender, religious, sexual orientation, etc.) (ICD02d), providing information about anti-discrimination and harassment policies (ICD02e), taking allegations of discrimination or harassment seriously (ICD02f), and helping students develop the skills to confront discrimination and harassment (ICD02g). Institutional environment (=0.94) is measured from a series of questions asking how much your institution provides a supportive environment for racial/ethnic identity (ICD03a), gender identity (ICD03b), economic background (ICD03c), political affiliation (ICD03d), religious affiliation (ICD03e), sexual orientation (ICD03f), and disability status (ICD03g). Independent variables The key independent variable for my analyses is the student's self-reported race and ethnicity. I create a series of dummy variables (1=yes, 0=no) for Asian, Black, Latinx, multiracial, and White. I also include variables measuring (strongly disagree=1, disagree=2, agree=3, strongly agree=4) if students feel they can be themselves at the institution, feel valued by the institution, and if they feel part of the community at the institution. Controls My analyses include a series of control variables measuring gender (woman=1, 0=not woman), international student (1=yes, 0=no), class level (1=senior, 0=first year), transfer student (1=yes, 0=no), LGBQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, queer) student (1=yes, 0=no), if students live on campus (1=yes, on campus, 0=no, off campus), students age, if students are a first-generation college student (1=yes, 0=no), students self-reported average grades (higher values indicate better grades), and a series of dummy variables measuring students educational aspirations (aspire to some college but less than a bachelors degree, aspire to a Bachelors degree, aspire to a Masters degree, aspire to a doctoral or professional degree). I also include indices measuring students' connections with faculty outside the classroom (=0.80, ranging from 3-12) from a series of questions asking (very often=4, often=3, sometimes=2, never=1) during the current school year about how often have you talked about career plans with a faculty member, worked with a faculty member on activities other than coursework (committees, student groups, etc.), or discussed course topics, ideas, or concepts with a faculty member outside of class. Finally, I include an index measuring students quality of interactions (from 1 (poor) to 7 (excellent)) with advisors, faculty, staff, and administration (=0.85). Descriptive Results Descriptive results can be seen in Table 1 below. Students perception of their courseworks focus on diversity and inclusion ranges from 7 to 28 (higher values mean more diversity and inclusion) with a mean of 19.20. Students reports of an institutional emphasis on diversity and inclusion range from 7 to 28 with a mean of 20.79, and students reports that the institutional environment is diverse and inclusive range from 7 to 28 with a mean of 21.01. Ninety-one percent of students feel they can be themselves at CityU, 79.43% feel valued at CityU, and 77.11% feel part of the community at CityU. Seventy-five percent of the sample is White, 4% is Asian, 9% is Black, 5% is Latinx, and 6% is multiracial. Seventy-one percent of the sample are women, 4% are international students, 44% are seniors, 8% are transfer students, 15% identify as LGBQ, 55% live on campus, 44% are first generation college students, and the mean age of respondent is 20.07 (range 16 to 54). Eight percent of students in the sample do not aspire to any degree, 36% aspire to a Bachelor's degree, 36% to a Master's degree, and 20% to a doctoral degree. The range for a students average grades ranges from 1 (C- or lower) to 8 (As) with a mean of 6.52, which is the B+/A- range. The scale for student-faculty connections outside of the classroom ranges from 3 to 12 (higher values indicate more outside connections) with a mean of 6.62. Quality of interaction with university employees ranges from 4 to 28 (higher values indicate better interactions) with a mean of 21.32. Table 1: Descriptive Statistics, 2021 NSSE Data Standard Mean/Median Deviation Coursework 19.20 5.43 Emphasis 20.79 5.38 Environment 21.01 5.56 I can be myself at CityU 90.81 0.29 I feel valued at CityU 79.43 0.41 I feel part of the community at CityU 77.11 0.42 Minimum Value 7 7 7 Maximum Value 28 28 28 260 263 263 0 1 283 0 1 282 0 1 284 N Table 1, continued: Descriptive Statistics, 2021 NSSE Data Standard Minimum Mean/Median Deviation Value White 0.75 0.43 0 Asian 0.04 0.19 0 Black 0.09 0.29 0 Latinx 0.05 0.23 0 Multiracial 0.06 0.24 0 Woman 0.71 0.45 0 International 0.04 0.19 0 Senior 0.44 0.50 0 Transfer 0.08 0.26 0 LGBQ 0.15 0.35 0 Live on campus 0.55 0.50 0 First generation student 0.44 0.50 0 Age 20.07 3.33 16 Aspire to no degree 0.08 0.27 0 Aspire to bachelors degree 0.36 0.48 0 Aspire to masters degree 0.36 0.48 0 Aspire to doctorate degree 0.20 0.40 0 Average grades 6.52 1.59 1 Student/faculty connections 6.62 2.40 3 Quality of interactions with university employees 21.32 5.28 4 Maximum Value 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 277 277 277 277 279 279 279 261 278 268 278 1 54 1 278 391 280 1 280 1 280 1 8 280 281 12 331 28 262 N Coursework Table 2 shows ordinary least squares regression results for diversity and inclusion in coursework. Model 1 shows the independent effect of race/ethnicity on coursework, no results are significant. Model 2 adds variables measuring if students can be themselves, feel valued, and feel part of the community. Relative to White students, Asian students report less (-3.81) of their coursework focuses on inclusion and diversity. Students who feel part of the community report more of their coursework (3.34) focuses on inclusion and diversity. No other results are significant. Model 3 adds all the control variables. Relative to White students, Asian students report less (-3.70) of their coursework focuses on inclusion and diversity. When students have connections with faculty outside of the classroom, they are more likely to report that their coursework focuses on inclusion and diversity (0.61). Similarly, when students report their interactions with university employees are of better quality, they report more of their coursework focuses on inclusion and diversity (0.28). No other results are significant. Table 2: OLS Regression showing relationship between Race and Ethnicity and Coursework using 2021 NSSE Data Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Coefficient/ Coefficient/ (s.e.) Coefficient/ (s.e.) (s.e.) Race/Ethnicity (reference: White) Asian -3.6029 -3.8134 * -3.7670 * (1.8423) (1.7535) (1.7089) Black 0.5758 0.64358 0.2150 (1.1909) ( 1.1316) (1.2631) Latinx 0.6193 0.6209 1.3478 (1.4477) (1.3836) (1.3821) Multiracial -1.9521 -0.2434 0.1116 (1.4949) (1.4496) (1.5052) I can be myself at CityU 1.3053 -0.3610 (1.2735) (1.4349) I feel valued at CityU 1.2385 1.0521 (1.0634) (1.1189) * I feel part of the community at CityU 3.3375 * 2.0234 (0.9852157) (1.1156) Woman 0.4025 (0.7493) International student -0.3763 (1.6518) Senior -0.0714 (1.0288) 1.1416 (1.4379) Transfer student * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 2 continued: OLS Regression showing relationship between Race and Ethnicity and Coursework using 2021 NSSE Data Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Coefficient/ Coefficient/ Coefficient/ (s.e.) (s.e.) (s.e.) LGBQ 1.2656 (1.0314) Degree aspirations (reference: aspire to bachelor's) Aspire to no degree 1.2849 (1.6291) 1.3852 (0.8099) 0.0147 (0.9253) 0.3480 (0.2542) 0.4261 (0.7173) 0.3890 (0.2631) 0.5843 (0.1501) 0.5142 (0.7126) Aspire to master's degree Aspire to doctoral degree Age First generation student Average grades Student/faculty connections Live on campus Quality of interactions with university employees Constant F-Statistic R-Squared N * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 19.3807 (0.3851) 1.53 0.0235 258 *** 14.4516 (1.1678) 5.76 0.1404 255 *** *** 0.2158 (0.0758) -2.5002 (5.1340) 5.57 0.3913 204 *** ** *** Institutional Emphasis Table 3 shows ordinary least squares regression results for diversity and inclusion in institutional emphasis. Model 1 shows the independent effect of race/ethnicity on institutional emphasis. Relative to White students, Asian students report less institutional emphasis (-3.99) on diversity and inclusion. No other results are significant. Model 2 adds variables measuring if students can be themselves, feel valued, and feel part of the community. Relative to White students, Asian students report less (-4.67) institutional emphasis on inclusion and diversity. Students who feel like they can be themselves (2.85), feel valued (2.85), and feel that they are a part of the community (2.46) report more institutional emphasis on diversity and inclusion. Model 3 adds all the control variables. Relative to White students, Asian students report less (-5.02) institutional emphasis on inclusion and diversity. When students have connections with faculty outside of the classroom, they report more institutional emphasis on inclusion and diversity (.462). Similarly, when students report their interactions with university employees are of better quality, they report more institutional emphasis on inclusion and diversity (.275). No other results are significant. Table 3: OLS Regression showing relationship between Race and Ethnicity and Emphasis using 2021 NSSE Data Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Coefficient/ Coefficient/ Coefficient/ (s.e.) (s.e.) (s.e.) Race/Ethnicity (reference: White) Asian -3.99 * -4.672 * -5.0219 ** (1.732) (1.6018) (1.7141) Black -1.4628 -1.2401 -1.2828 (1.2006) (1.1086) (1.2876) Latinx 0.21 0.4283 0.6761 (1.4309) (1.3289) (1.3853) Multiracial -2.39 -0.5057 -1.4427 (1.4309) (1.3439) (1.5106) * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 3, continued: OLS Regression showing relationship between Race and Ethnicity and Emphasis using 2021 NSSE Data Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Coefficient/ Coefficient/ Coefficient/ (s.e.) (s.e.) (s.e.) I can be myself at CityU 2.8578 * 2.3189 (1.2217) (1.4391) I feel valued at CityU 2.4641 * 2.0657 (1.0022) (1.1029) I feel part of the community at CityU 2.4552 ** 1.0851 (0.9382) (1.1026) Woman -1.1571 (0.7466) International student -0.9759 (1.6589) Senior -0.7778 (1.0333) Transfer student -1.3033 (1.4959) LGBQ -1.5949 (1.033) Degree aspirations (reference: aspire to bachelor's) Aspire to no degree -1.4206 (1.6327) Aspire to master's degree 0.2769 (0.8084) Aspire to doctoral degree -0.4614 (0.9160) Age 0.2292 (0.2536) First generation student -0.3698 (0.7158) Average grades 0.1218 (0.2624) Student/faculty connections 0.4622 ** (0.1503) * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 3, continued: OLS Regression showing relationship between Race and Ethnicity and Emphasis using 2021 NSSE Data Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Coefficient/ Coefficient/ Coefficient/ (s.e.) (s.e.) (s.e.) Live on campus 0.4968 (0.7129) Quality of interactions with university employees 0.2754 *** (0.0755) Constant F-Statistic R-Squared N * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 21.19 (0.3780) 2.19 0.033 262 *** 14.5864 (1.1195) 8.91 0.1990 259 *** *** 3.6658 (5.1394) 5.42 0.3119 206 *** Institutional Environment Table 3 shows ordinary least squares regression results for diversity and inclusion in the institutional environment. Model 1 shows the independent effect of race/ethnicity on the institutional environment. Relative to White Students, Asian students are more likely to report less (-4.03) diversity and inclusion in the institutional environment. No other results are significant. Model 2 adds variables measuring if students can be themselves, feel valued, and feel part of the community. Relative to White students, Asian students report less (-4.55) diversity and inclusion in the institutional environment. Students who feel valued (2.57), and feel that they are a part of the community (2.45) are more likely to report an institutional environment that is diverse and inclusive. Model 3 adds all the control variables. Relative to White students, Asian students report less (-4.87) diversity and inclusion in the institutional environment. Relative to straight students, students who identify as LGBQ (-2.46) are less likely to report an institutional environment that is diverse and inclusive. When students report their interactions with university employees are of better quality, they are more likely to report an institutional environment that is diverse and inclusive (0.222). No other results are significant. Table 4: OLS Regression showing relationship between Race and Ethnicity and Institutional Environment using 2021 NSSE Data Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Coefficient/ Coefficient/ Coefficient/ (s.e.) (s.e.) (s.e.) Race/Ethnicity (reference: White) Asian -4.0266 * -4.5524 ** -4.8682 * (1.7910) (1.6828) (1.9141) Black -0.7614 -0.5742 -0.5717 (1.2171) (1.1419) (1.4145) Latinx 0.9591 1.2026 0.7632 (1.5281) (1.443) (1.5886) Multiracial -2.1266 -0.3544 -0.9591 (1.4797) (1.4125) (1.6861) I can be myself at CityU 1.6735 1.9296 (1.2862) (1.6069) I feel valued at CityU 2.569 * 2.2204 (1.0728) (1.2531) I feel part of the community at CityU 2.4479 * 2.1895 (0.9931) (1.2493) Woman -0.4926 (0.8426) International student -1.6723 (1.9669) Senior -1.6813 (1.1526) Transfer student -0.0733 (1.6114) LGBQ -2.4648 * (1.1553) * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 4, continued: OLS Regression showing relationship between Race and Ethnicity and Institutional Environment using 2021 NSSE Data Model 1 Model 2 Model 3 Coefficient/ Coefficient/ (s.e.) (s.e.) Coefficient/ (s.e.) Degree aspirations (reference: aspire to bachelor's) Aspire to no degree -0.8799 (1.8229) 0.7896 (0.902) 0.2424 (1.04) 0.1911 (0.2842) -0.4745 (0.8025) -0.2288 (0.2931) 0.2501 (0.1681) 0.0295 (0.8025) Aspire to master's degree Aspire to doctoral degree Age First generation student Average grades Student/faculty connections Live on campus Quality of interactions with university employees Constant F-Statistic R-Squared N * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 0.2217 (0.0844) 21.3266 0.3918 1.91 0.029 261 *** 15.6514 1.1771 6.82 0.1603 258 *** *** ** 8.8567 5.7435 3.58 0.2911 205 ** * Discussion Using data from the 2021 NSSE, I conducted a case study of CityU, a small private Midwestern university, to explore racialization in higher education. Specifically, my research asks, are there differences by race and ethnicity in how students perceive diversity and inclusion at City University? To investigate this question, I use regression analyses to explore racial and ethnic variation in student perceptions of the focus of their coursework on diversity and inclusion, institutional emphasis on diversity and inclusion, and if the institutional environment is diverse and inclusive. I find Asian students report less focus on diversity and inclusion in their classwork relative to White students. They also report less institutional emphasis on diversity and inclusion and an institutional environment that was less diverse and inclusive relative to White students. I also find that when students have connections outside of the classroom with faculty, they are more likely to say their coursework is focused on diversity and inclusion and that the institution emphasizes diversity and inclusion, but they are not more likely to say that the environment is diverse and inclusive. When students have better quality interactions with faculty and staff, they are more likely to say that the institution emphasizes diversity and inclusion. Finally, LGBQ students are less likely, relative to straight students, to report that the institutional environment is diverse and inclusive. My research asks, are there differences by race and ethnicity in how students perceive diversity and inclusion at City University? The answer is yes. There are statistically significant differences between Asian students compared to their White peers across all analyses and some differences between LGBQ students compared to their straight peers. These findings indicate that students are experiencing diversity and inclusion differently on this college campus. My analyses indicate that CityU is a racialized institution. I review this more thoroughly using the tenets of Rays (2019) theory of racialized institutions in the Analysis and Recommendations for CityU sections below. Analysis of Findings for CityU After examining my analysis, I believe my results could be possible side effects of a racialized institution and might account for the way these students are experiencing CityU. The following discussion will examine a possible path of action to lessen the impact of racialization and create a more inclusive and welcoming environment for underrepresented students, as well as limitations to my research, implications for the future, and large-scale intervention recommendations. Of note, this discussion is based on my findings, as well as my experience as a student at CityU and an employee working on campus for the last four years in the areas of diversity, equity, and inclusion. Limitations of Using NSSE Findings to Evidence Racialization This research finds a disparity between students perception of racialization using NSSE indicators (only Asian and LGBTQ students indicate it) and evidence of racialization supported by extensive data demonstrating unequal retention and graduation outcomes by racial and ethnic groups (unequal outcomes for Black and Hispanic students compared to Whites). This leads to the question of how well institutional surveys, such as NSSE, are able to reflect the diverse voices of those who are least successful academically and how well these students are able to connect their struggle to their institutional experiences. Note that NSSE is scheduled in the spring which favors students who have been retained through the second semester. If students do not perceive that the institution is racialized, then is it the case that it is not racialized? Should institutions interpret positive scores on NSSE items related to diversity as sufficient evidence of their success in inclusion and equity? No, this research would support the use of multiple indicators for determining the extent of racialization and institutional change. Student perception is one indicator. Addressing Diminished Agency A traditional semester at CityU asks a student to complete, on average, 15 credit hours, with an average course being around 3 credits, to graduate on time in four years. Studies also show that students should study on average 2-3 hours for every hour they are in class. If a student takes 15 credit hours in semester one, and studies on average 2 hours per class, they have devoted 30 hours of their 168 hours per week to class time alone, CityU does allow students to work on campus through Federal Work Study, but at a maximum of 20 hours per week, 19 if they work more than 1 job, and have an average pay of federal minimum wage $7.25. If a student adhered to the desired class schedule, and worked a part time 20 hour work week, they are already working more than the average full time job, often do not have the benefits of healthcare, paid vacation, etc., and may struggle with housing and food security. An on-campus job at a 20 hour per week rate would generate a maximum gross paycheck of $290 per pay period. With the total cost of attendance from tuition, room and board, and student fees coming in at $48,552, students who do not have outside support from parents or who are not interested in accruing student debt are not looking for campus jobs to help them afford their education, though the on-campus job is more ideal for a traditional 40-hour full time work and course load. Instead, they are committing their nights and weekends to jobs that are less accommodating and often conflict with their school work. If CityU is not able to increase on-campus wage, how can coursework and courseload be modified to allow for enhanced agency for underrepresented groups? With outside stress and pressure to show up in the way their White peers do, students of color might not have time to participate in diversity-related activities, stay after class to connect with their faculty members, connect with like-minded and familiar cultured peers, and so on. Are underrepresented students free to engage in the way that they need to in order to see themselves reflected in classwork and feel valued and a part of the community? Redistributing Resources Towards Greater Equity This tenant could be the most challenging to manage, as it deals with various levels throughout the institution and cannot be fixed with a one size fits all solution. I challenge anyone who reads this to think about equity as giving someone help that caters to their needs. It is not a bandaid that magically stretches to fit the size of any type of wound. Imagine you broke your finger, and someone gives you a bandaid. How will a bandaid help with your broken finger? Sure, you had somewhere to go to get your finger looked at, surely someone listened to your concerns and cares about your experience, and sure, band aids are helpful, but they are not the solution you needed for your problem. Though there is a distinction between equality and equity, equity does not always solve the problem; sometimes, it provides a temporary solution to a recurring problem. University policies and practices are put in place to create fairness and allow for justice to take place when needed, but if a student is seeking justice, or a service, or aid in a system that wasnt built by people who share their lived experience, and if the specific solutions cant be solved by that same system, is there potential to create a system that allows students to utilize their time as they need? If its not bandaids that they need, and all we have are bandaids, how can we create less of a monopoly in the time market to create more choice in where to go to get their finger looked at? Merit-based scholarships, an office dedicated to DEI, or a designated counselor for recruiting students of color will all fall short if they are not backed by intentional, individual, and informed customer service. Redistributing equity could look like increasing a students agency. Reimagining the way classes are scheduled could be an example of redistributing equity through increasing a students agency. Instead of asking students to spread their attention across 4-5 classes, what if CityU only asked them to focus on 2-3 courses over an eight-week period? What would that do for a students GPA alone? Their ability to work and manage other responsibilities? To meet and engage with faculty and staff? To pay their bill? What if there were no classes on Fridays? How could faculty and staff better utilize that time to engage with students, to enrich their practice? What kind of flexibility is there to enhance the way the organization uses time to its advantage? Eliminating Whiteness as a Credential When looking into the ways in which Whiteness has been credentialed in CityU, I draw connections to the experience of students of color, in particular in their classwork. As my research shows, Asian students, compared to their White peers, report less focus on diversity and inclusion in their coursework. This could be an area where students are experiencing Whiteness as a credential, as they are being taught by a faculty that is 86% percent White (IPEDS 2022a), and their classes are reflective of that lived experience. My analysis shows that when students have more positive experiences outside of the classroom with their faculty, they are more likely to report more focus on diversity and inclusion in their coursework, as well as when they have quality interactions with university employees. Students might not feel connected to their professors in this way and might not want to engage in the quality connections that faculty and staff do have to offer. If it is not possible that more faculty and staff can be hired at the rate at which this population is growing, it is ever more important that students feel seen by the faculty that are interacting with them, and if those faculty are only talking about a lived experience that is not that of students of color, students fail to see themselves reflected. Enhanced emphasis on diverse populations within the curriculum can only create spaces where students can feel seen and might even feel encouraged to engage and interact with faculty and staff. Managing Decoupling My results demonstrate that when compared with their White peers, Asian students did not feel there was a strong institutional emphasis on diversity and inclusion and diverse and inclusive environment, while LBGQ students are less likely than their straight peers to report an environment that is diverse and inclusive. So how does CityU manage this decoupling that is occurring? Across both the emphasis and environment analysis, students who can be themselves, feel valued and part of the community are more likely to report more institutional emphasis and an environment that is diverse and inclusive. Interactions with faculty outside of the classroom as well as quality interactions with faculty and staff, show potential increased perceptions of institutional emphasis and environment in regard to diversity, equity, and inclusion. The answer seems obvious, encourage more interaction with students, and bring together more opportunities outside of the classroom for students to engage with staff and their peers. In theory, that sounds pretty simple. Though I would argue that any university wants its faculty and staff to engage positively with its students, is there something more intentional that can be done to create the space necessary for not only students from underrepresented backgrounds but also faculty and staff of underrepresented backgrounds as well? Recommendations for City University Anticipating a changing demographic While overall student college-going rates are decreasing especially amongst Black and Latino men (Jaschik 2022), Indiana is seeing an overall increase in its minority populations, specifically the Latinx population. This community is seeing population growth in 89 of its 92 counties (Thelin and Sapp 2016), with five high schools in the state at 50% Latinx. While things are looking bleak for the state of higher education, especially in Indiana, there is also an increase in the Latino population across 82 of the 92 counties in the state, and a 7% increase in Latinx students in high schools from 4% to 11%, with 5 high schools being over 50% Latinx students (ICHE, 2022). While there is a growth in the number of Latinx college students, not all students are equally prepared for college during their high school careers. Only about 63% of Latinx students in Indiana will graduate with a Core 40 diploma, the Core40 is the number of electives required by the state of Indiana as the minimum requirement for college admission t for the states public four-year universities (DOE, 2022), and only about 26% will finish with Academic honors (ICHE, 2022). Latinx students have an overall lower one-time graduation rate compared to completion rates overall, 35%, compared to the Indiana average of 44.4% (ICHE, 2022). Key efforts could be made to hire and retain faculty and staff of diverse backgrounds and work to engage them in a way that allows for their work to include positive relationships and meaningful connections with their students. How are faculty and staff also asked to spend their time? What is the difference between how faculty and staff of color are spending their time versus their White colleagues? Pipeline Programming as a means of support and potential funding Research has found that providing support for supplemental programs through the educational pipeline was not only cost-effective but yielded the greatest results for underrepresented students (Contreras 2011). Most importantly, when done correctly, a pipeline program has the potential to increase academic preparedness, increase social preparedness, and increase personal preparedness (Contreras 2011; Burke 2013). The idea is that students of targeted backgrounds get engaged and build relationships with key personnel at the university before enrolling. Students who engage in this sort of pre-college preparation are set on a path to college graduation and given the opportunity not just to graduate but thrive in school and beyond. The dream of college is demystified, and students are able to move forward with the appropriate tools and resources needed to apply for admission and financial aid and eventually graduate successfully. Research shows that pipeline programming should include a variety of interventions. In terms of content, these programs should include dual credit components, financial aid workshops, reinforce the importance, cultural relevance, and marketability or language and culture, utilize community resources, expose students to various learning opportunities, foster peer to peer connections and group collaboration, and provide extracurricular activities like leadership development, professional development, and networking. Such programs should also provide external support through regular engagement with parents (often and in different ways), multiple forms of assessment, and create connections among school staff and faculty (Gandara and Contreras 2009). High School Edge Scholars as a Pipeline Option While working to navigate inherently racist systems, the High School Edge Scholars program works to increase a students interest in attending college using social justice pedagogy. The program would be facilitated by trained college and career coaches and current student mentors and would begin in a student's freshman year of high school and conclude their senior year of college. They engage in a two-phase program: Phase One: High School Edge Scholars and Phase Two: College Edge Scholars. During Phase One, students meet with coaches and mentors to discuss and analyze social problems that most impact the world and themselves. They would participate in workshops that teach them how to identify social problems in any field or environment, and then encourage them to cultivate their own ways of mitigating or eliminating these barriers. Students receive scholarships for their participation in the program as well as specialized housing upon enrollment. During Phase Two, students enroll in the Edge Institute, an interdisciplinary program offered through CityUs career services. These courses give students opportunities to learn from and work with UIndy faculty, staff, alumni mentors, and professionals in their fields and beyond. Students will have practical and applied learning experiences to pair with their major curricula and will have the opportunity to network beyond their departments. The courses are a series of seven half-credits based on the National Association of Colleges and Employers (NACE) career competencies and designed to prepare students for the workplace. Each course incorporates practical application of skills learned across CityUs curriculum with an eye to knowledge transfer and career readiness (NACE 2022). For more in-depth questions about the Edge Scholars Program, see (Freed 2022). The High School Edge Scholars program is one way that CityU could engage in the process of deracialization, but also a way that it could capitalize on the changing demographic, increase its enrollment, recruit and retain more qualified students and better engage and maintain students, staff and faculty of color and underrepresented populations. By teaching students about their lived experience and engaging in shared humanity, students might change how they feel about seeing themselves in the curriculum, and might even feel as if CityUs emphasis on diversity and inclusion matches their environment, as more underrepresented students feel valued and part of their university community. Conclusion My analyses explore an application of Rays (2019) theory of racialized organizations and provide a case study of a small Midwestern school, a type of institution not often examined in the literature. Further, my analyses can be replicated at any institution participating in the NSSE to examine racialized institutions across various university contexts. My analyses are not without limitations, though. The 2021 NSSE sample was less racially and ethnically diverse than CityU is as a whole. It is likely that the most marginalized students did not participate in the survey, and therefore, their perceptions are not captured in these analyses. Further, while I use Rays (2019) theory of racialization, my analyses cannot directly test if CityU is a racialized institution. Instead I explore symptoms of racialization. My analyses first examine student reports of diversity in coursework, and then student reports of the institutions emphasis on diversity, as well as student reports about the environment of the institution. Future research could potentially focus on one tenet at a time. This disaggregation of the tenets in future research could help identify ways to deracialize CityU and serve as a template or model for other universities like it. I would also suggest that future research look at faculty and staff perceptions of diversity at CityU, for their experience, perceptions, and attitudes about CityU will only translate to the student body. If faculty already feel like CityU is diverse and inclusive, what could be done to encourage more efforts? If not, what could be done to improve their experience on campus? Despite these limitations, my analyses have made important contributions to the literature. My results offer indirect support that CityU is a racialized institution. Further, I find that there are racial and ethnic disparities in students perceptions of inclusion and diversity in coursework, institutional emphasis, and institutional environment with Asian students reporting less diversity and inclusion than their White peers. Additionally, LGBQ students report that the institutional environment is less inclusive and diverse than their straight peers do. When students have more connections with faculty outside the classroom and report a higher quality of interactions with university employees they are more likely to report that the campus is diverse and inclusive across the dimensions of coursework, institutional emphasis, and institutional environment. These findings have important implications for creating a welcoming and inclusive campus. As colleges and universities compete for smaller numbers of students, campuses that can offer students welcoming and inclusive environments where they can form lasting relationships with faculty and staff are likely to be the winners. References Bonilla-Silva Eduardo. 1997. Rethinking Racism: Toward a Structural Interpretation. American Sociological Review 62(3):46580. Byrd, W. Carson. 2015. College Diversity Is (But Doesnt Have to Be) for Whites. 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... Reasons for Fast Food Consumption and its Effect on Health Kamryn Schmidt Thesis Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree Master of Arts in Applied Sociology in the Department of Sociology University of Indianapolis December 4, 2022 _________________________________________ Elizabeth Ziff, Ph.D. Assistant Professor of Sociology, Advisor _________________________________________ Colleen Wynn, Ph.D. Assistant Professor of Sociology, Reader Food choices are not only related to personal decisions and desires but are impacted by the social world around us. There are influences beyond an individual's control such as the number and type of food places prevalent in a neighborhood, to the quality of food an individual is able to afford to eat. All of these influences not only affect an individual's diet but also greatly impact a person's health. Having access to high-quality, healthy food is a form of preventative medicine, and preventative medicine has been shown to be an effective way to save billions of dollars and millions of lives (Maciosek et al. 2010). Better nutrition, such as reducing sodium intake to the daily recommended level could save between 280,000 to 500,000 lives in 10 years (Deitz, Douglas, and Brownson 2016). This is just one example of how better nutrition could save lives. Even with this information, there are societal factors that have an influence over the food that individuals are able to consume Fast-food consumption and how it relates to the prevalence of certain diseases is important as food choices may be beyond an individual's control. The number of food establishments and the kinds prevalent in a neighborhood are largely impacted by the wealth of the neighborhood (Morland et al. 2002). Along with this, as the percentage of people of color increases within a neighborhood, the number of grocery stores available decreases (Morland et al. 2002). There tend to be more fast-food restaurants in low and middle-income areas, and Poelman et al. (2018) has shown that living closer to fast-food restaurants is related to an increase in cardiovascular disease and coronary heart disease. With this information being known, it leads to the question, How do the reasons why people consume fast food affect the prevalence of food-related diseases? Based upon the unequal distribution of food places and the kinds of food available in neighborhoods, I believe that fast-food consumption does impact the health of individuals and increases food-related diseases. For example, one reason that this likely occurs is there can be a discrepancy between the food label and the actual nutrition of the meal (Stender, Dyerberg, and Astrup 2007). Even while trying to make healthier food choices at fast-food restaurants, individuals still may be consuming worse food than they thought. Food insecurity is another issue that leads to those who consume fast food having the possibility of worse health outcomes (Van Der Velde et al. 2022). Fast food is often a cheaper option for individuals, sometimes the only option they are able to afford, which could lead to greater fast food consumption overall. Knowing more about how food consumption, and specifically fast food consumption, affects health is important not only for each individual but also for population health. Since population health is the distribution of outcomes within a group, knowing how fast food is more common within certain neighborhoods and how its prevalence affects health could help to improve the health within areas and provide better food options (Kindig and Stoddart 2003:381). This information will not only be helpful to improve personal health but it could be used to advocate for better distribution of food sources within a community. By using data from the 2007-2008 National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey (NHANES) publicly available data, I have explored the relationship between why individuals choose to consume fast-food, and the prevalence of any food-related diseases that they may have. Individuals decided to consume fast food for different reasons including its cost, nutritional value, taste, convenience, and its ability to help people socialize. I have explored if there is a relationship between these different reasons for consuming fast food and food-related disease prevalence. The relationship between the reason for consumption and health supports the argument for a more equitable distribution of food sources throughout a community. LITERATURE REVIEW Within the medical community, there has been a transition from preventative care to reactive care (Adams et al. 2010; Deitz, Douglas, and Brownson 2016). A similar phenomenon is occurring with individuals as Fryar et al. (2018) have determined that of Americans consume fast food on a given day. This large consumption of fast food can be viewed as individuals moving away from a healthy diet being a form of preventative care. This trend is problematic as it allows individuals to become ill and need treatment, rather than preventing the illness or disease in the first place. The lack of preventative care, especially in terms of diet, is creating health disparities between different populations. These disparities not only come from within the medical system, but they also occur due to unequal food access which is largely based on race and income (Morland et al. 2002; Powell et al. 2007). Lack of preventative care, specifically relating to diet and unequal food access, is perpetuating health disparities. The transition away from preventative care is connected to multiple structural factors. The transition away from preventative care and lack of behavioral/nutritional knowledge, in the medical community, begins in medical school (Adams et al. 2010; Deitz et al. 2016). While this lack of knowledge is problematic, increased knowledge will not help to address health inequalities until there is equal food access. Different social categories such as socioeconomic status put some individuals at greater risk of health inequalities (Link and Phelan 1995). Socioeconomic status, income, and race play a role in food access. This is evident as low-income, majority-black neighborhoods have less access to grocery stores and more access to fast food (Morland et al. 2002; Powell et al. 2007). This inequality affects personal health and denies people the option of a healthy diet as a form of personal health. What is frustrating about this is that preventative care is a cost-effective measure that would not only save billions of dollars but would also save millions of lives (Craig and Robinson 2019; Maciosek et al. 2010). Society would not only see these benefits, but it is also a feasible way to begin to address health disparities (Woodward and Kawachi 2000). All individuals deserve equal access to healthy food as a form of preventative care. Allowing for inequalities to occur within the medical field is indicating that some individuals deserve more care than others since we are capable of addressing the current healthcare disparities, and yet we allow them to continue. The place to begin is working on educating both individuals and physicians on how nutrition impacts health and how to make healthy food choices (Deitz et al. 2016). There is not only a need to focus on education but there is also a need to create more equal food access among different neighborhoods. Following this, there needs to be a transition back to preventative care. Preventative care is not only cost-effective but is effective in improving and maintaining population health (Craig and Robinson 2019; Maciosek et al. 2010). Preventative Care and Nutritional Knowledge Both physicians and individuals are responsible for keeping one healthy. To be able to do this, both physicians and individuals need to have knowledge about how nutrition affects ones health. Deitz et al. (2016) argue that there has been a shift from preventing behaviorally caused diseases (such as ones that a person gets through poor nutrition), to treating these diseases only after they occur. Similarly, Adams et al. (2010) argue that the shift from preventing diseases to treating diseases is also happening within the training that physicians receive in medical school. Physicians need training in behavioral change--i.e. teaching patients how to make better nutritional choices--to allow them to guide patients on how to make healthy decisions (Deitz et. al 2016). Without the knowledge of behavioral changes, physicians are not getting the proper training in healthy nutritional decisions. One reason why this is occurring is that medical school students are regularly not receiving the recommended amount of nutritional education, as 25 hours of nutritional training is recommended to be able to provide adequate care, but on average only 19.6 hours were provided (Adams et al. 2010). Since medical schools are not offering proper nutritional education to students, this offers an opportunity for medical schools to have an impact on patient health outcomes through nutrition. While medical schools can have an impact, grade schools can have an impact as well. Deitz et al. (2016) states that nutritional education should begin in the classroom. Young children spend about 35 hours outside of the household in the care of others, and this could be an opportunity to begin teaching proper nutrition (Deitz et al. 2016). While Deitz et al. (2016) are generally referring to individuals who are not in a healthcare classroom, more education could also be provided to medical students or healthcare workers in general. Since academic medicine is where health professionals are trained, it also provides an opportunity to address inadequacies (Betancourt 2006). It provides an opportunity to address health disparities between races and ethnicities, specifically with cultural competency; which is extremely important when it comes to behavior changes such as improving an individuals diet (Betancourt 2006). Medical schools have the opportunity to improve nutritional education as well as help eliminate healthcare disparities. Thus, to address health disparities within preventative care techniques that involve nutrition, medical schools could be the first step. Food Access Link and Phelan (1995) examine which social factors put someone at a risk of risks for developing diseases beyond individual factors. They argue that social factors are responsible and should be considered fundamental causes of disease as they limit the health resources that one has available (Link and Phelan 1995). Social factors such as low socioeconomic status and low social support lead to worse health outcomes (Link and Phelan 1995). Not only are the social factors themselves responsible for worse health outcomes, but the stigma surrounding these social factors also influences an individuals health. Hatzenbuehler, Phelan, and Link (2013) argue that stigma based upon an individuals social factors such as income, access to healthcare, and neighborhood makeup allow for worse health outcomes, especially when it comes to mental health. It also allows for health disparities and inequalities to continue, and even possibly be passed generationally (Hatzenbuehler et al. 2013). One important social determinant of health is food accessibility. Morland et al. (2002) determined the distribution and type of grocery stores within an area differ by the wealth of the community. Low-income neighborhoods only had 75% of the number of grocery stores compared to median-income neighborhoods (Powell et al. 2007). Low-income neighborhoods that have less access to grocery stores in the first place, also often have a higher density of residences (Morland et al. 2002). What this indicates is that more people have less access to grocery stores because the stores are not available within their neighborhood. This puts more people at risk of nutrition-related diseases as it is harder to access nutritionally sound food. Neighborhoods of less wealth also had a higher percentage of people of color (Morland et al. 2002). Disregarding income level, majority-Black neighborhoods had 52% fewer supermarkets available when compared to White neighborhoods (Powell et al. 2007). The opposite is true with alcohol establishments as they are inversely associated with wealth and race. Alcohol establishments are more common in low-income and majority-Black neighborhoods (Morland et al. 2002). Low access to supermarkets and grocery stores indicates that it is harder to access healthy food. Another problem related to food access is the distribution of fast-food restaurants within different neighborhoods. There are more fast-food restaurants within low and median-income neighborhoods when compared to high-income neighborhoods (Morland et al. 2002). Poelman et al. (2018) determined that living closer to fast-food restaurants and having a higher density of them within your neighborhood is related to negative health outcomes. Living closer to fast-food restaurants was related to higher rates of cardiovascular disease and coronary heart disease (Poelman et al. 2018). Individuals who already suffer from a lack of access to healthy foods are more likely to be provided with more unhealthy options (i.e., fast food) which has been linked to negative health outcomes. One reason for the worse health outcomes could be due to the continuity between the stated nutritional values of an item compared to the actual nutritional values of the item served. Stender et al. (2007) determined that both McDonalds and KFC had calories vary by up to 40% when compared to the calorie value stated on the food label due to the fat content. Not only are those in low-income neighborhoods less likely to have access to grocery stores and more access to fast-food restaurants, but the nutritional information provided can be wildly inaccurate compared to the food served. Lack of access to grocery stores, increased access to fast food, and a lack of continuity in food labels all allow for continued health disparities that are food-related. Why Use Preventative Care As previously mentioned, healthcare has been transitioning from preventing diseases related to personal behavior to treating them after the fact (Deitz et al. 2016). This transition shows the change from preventative care to reactive care. One reason why this change is occurring is that physicians are not adequately trained in behavioral change health strategies (Deitz et al. 2016). Addressing the lack of knowledge on how to make sustainable behavioral change, would allow physicians to better help keep their patients healthy rather than treating them once they are already sick. Behavioral changes are a part of preventative care because they would allow an individual to make the necessary changes in their life prior to needing medical care. Focusing on teaching physicians how to help patients make sustainable behavioral health changes would be the first step in transitioning back to preventative medicine rather than reactive medicine. Preventative healthcare techniques will not only allow for better individual health outcomes but would also lead to better population health as well. Population health is the distribution of health among individuals in a prescribed group (Kindig and Stoddart 2003). An improvement in population health will not only allow for better lives for individuals, but it would also help to save money as healthcare costs continue to rise (Craig and Robinson 2019). Maciosek et al. (2010) determined that $3.7 billion dollars could have been saved in 2006 alone if preventative techniques were implemented rather than reactive ones. While this number is staggering, another 2 million people could have also still been alive in 2006 if they had received preventative care (Maciosek et al. 2010). Furthermore, saving 2 million lives would have all been possible without increasing the net cost of treatment received (Maciosek et al. 2010). Preventative care techniques are not only cost-effective, but they are life-saving measures that could be implemented to save millions of lives yearly. There is another reason why there needs to be a focus on preventative care techniques rather than reactive care, and that is because of how much the population will continue to rise. As the population increases, there will be more of a need for preventative care (Craig and Robinson 2019). There are two reasons why Craig and Robinson (2019) argue for the increased use of preventive care. First, it is possible to allow there to be a renewed focus on preventative care through policy changes (Craig and Robinson 2019). Second, it is cost-effective for improving health, and healthcare inequalities (Craig and Robinson 2019). Since we know that preventative care techniques would help to lessen healthcare inequalities, by not using them, we as a society are indicating that we are ok with healthcare inequalities continuing. As mentioned, preventative healthcare techniques would allow us to lessen healthcare inequalities. Woodward and Kawachi (2000:923) argue that the reason why we should care about lessening healthcare inequalities is that inequalities are unfair, inequalities affect everyone, inequalities are avoidable, and interventions to reduce health inequalities are cost effective. The most cost-effective measure explored is preventative care. Both Craig and Robinson (2019) and Maciosek et al. (2010) demonstrated that using preventive care techniques is cost-effective, necessary, and will save lives. Preventative healthcare will allow individuals to seek treatment prior to having exacerbated health problems which lead to worse health outcomes and a higher cost of care (Christiansen 2017). There are disparities and inequalities within our current healthcare system. While this is a sad reality, it does not have to be this way as healthcare inequalities are avoidable (Woodward and Kawachi 2000). Three actionable steps are education, working towards equitable food access, and moving towards a model focused on preventative care rather than reactive care. Health education is the first step as it is something that can begin at a young age and be carried on through adulthood. As previously stated, children under six spend an average of 35 hours per week outside of parental care, often at an early childhood center, and this provides an opportunity to begin to teach young children about the importance of behavioral changes such as eating right and getting enough exercise (Dietz et al. 2016). Teaching children this is a form of preventative care, even if it is not presented in that light. Moving through life towards adulthood, all schools--elementary, middle, and high--have the opportunity to continue to teach youth about nutrition. During adulthood, workplaces could implement policies that encourage healthy living (Dietz et al. 2016). To be able to make nutritional education worthwhile though, people must be able to act on it by having access to healthy foods. Morland et al. (2002:27) discovered that food choices are not completely personal and are influenced by the availability of food stores and food services. With this being the case, there must be access to healthy options for individuals to be able to make healthy choices. Lastly, there needs to be a shift back to preventative care as it would save millions of lives and billions of dollars (Maciosek et al. 2010). Obesity screenings, which are highly related to diet, could save $5 per person per year for those who are screened compared to if they went without the screening (Maciosek et al. 2010). Not only is preventative care, such as obesity screenings cost-effective, but it will also save lives and improve individuals quality of life. THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK The theory of Fundamental Causes of Disease evaluates what puts individuals at the risk of risks of developing certain diseases (Link and Phelan 1995). There has been a focus in epidemiology on individual causes of disease such as diet, cholesterol, hypertension,... lack of exercise while the social aspects of a person's life have largely been ignored as risk factors of disease (Link and Phelan 1995:80). This is largely based on the cultural ideals of individual responsibility rather than viewing what social factors may be influencing a person's health (Link and Phelan 1995). Individual responsibility, in regards to health, is the quality of choices that an individual makes that are within their control that impacts their health. Rather than blaming individual choice or behavior as the sole reason for bad health outcomes, one must understand why some individuals have more health risks and social conditions that negatively impact health. The risk of risks is the social factors and conditions that affect one's health (Link and Phelan 1995). The risk of risks needs to be contextualized such as, does an individual know the healthier option to take, but perhaps does not have the resources available to take it, does the individual lack the knowledge to make decisions that impact health, or is there a lack of government responsibility in terms of protecting public health (Link and Phelan 1995). Without contextualization, one could argue the solution to preventing health issues is to inform individuals of a healthier diet and expect people to act on it, but this could be impossible for some due to the social factors around them such as a lack of money or lack of available food. Fundamental causes of disease are those that show continual associations with health issues despite using different avenues to address them (Link and Phelan 1995). One such avenue is addressing certain risk factors that may have an impact on a disease, but without also addressing the social factors that impact the disease, it will not have a sustainable, long-term impact. The reason why social conditions are fundamental causes of disease is that they are directly related to accessible resources (Link and Phelan 1995). Resources are not just money, but could also be things like knowledge and power (Link and Phelan 1995). Those with more flexible resources tend to have greater health (Phelan, Link, and Tehranifar 2010). With a lack of access to resources, an individual may suffer worse health outcomes compared to an individual who has greater access to resources. Examples of social factors include socioeconomic status, race, gender, social structure, and social support (Link and Phelan 1995). There is also a concern that it could be health that affects social outcomes rather than social outcomes affecting health. While this can not be ruled out entirely, it has been shown that social conditions such as social support prior to a heart attack allow for better recovery when compared to individuals lacking social support (Link and Phelan 1995). Other social determinants have similar outcomes on health. The theory of Fundamental Causes of Disease is rooted in four main ideas. The first is that fundamental causes of disease impact many disease outcomes, not just one (Phelan et al. 2010). Next, it causes multiple risk factors (Phelan et al. 2010). Third, there is an association of access to resources that would assist with treatment and disease outcomes (Phelan et al. 2010). Lastly, the relationship between social causes and disease is continual and occurs even with greater medical advances (Phelan et al. 2010). With the fundamental causes of disease being social factors that limit access to resources, medical advances will just cause larger health disparities as those at the bottom still cant access resources while those at the top have access to continually improving resources (Phelan et al. 2010). Those with greater access to resources have more flexibility to make necessary health changes when compared to those with access to fewer resources (Phelan et al. 2010). In the end, those who have access to better, more reliable, and flexible resources, tend to have better health. This trend will continue until the societal inequalities that perpetuate health inequalities are addressed (Link and Phelan 1995). DATA I have used data from the 2007-2008 National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey (NHANES). This is a continual survey maintained by the National Center for Health Statistics which is a part of the Center for Disease Control. NHANES data is a representative study of the US population and does not include those who are institutionalized. It includes both in-person interviews and physical examinations of the participants. Even with this, not every participant participated in both the interview and the physical examination. Each year, approximately 5,000 individuals are selected to participate through multistage probability sampling. The primary sampling units were 15 counties selected from around the United States. Next, census blocks from the 2000 census were selected, as this was the most recent census at the time of data collection. Individual households were next selected and then lastly, individuals from within each household were selected. From 2007 to 2008, four major groups of the population were oversampled. The four groups that were oversampled were Non-Hispanic Black persons, Hispanic persons, low-income white persons, and persons 80+. Oversampling of these four groups was selected to be able to distinguish more detailed information about them. I used the 2007-2008 NHANES because it contains the specific questions (independent variables) related to fast food. With the sheer amount of information available in the data set, the data is broken down into specific files. The five files that I used are demographics, consumer behavior phone follow-up, blood pressure and cholesterol, diabetes, and medical conditions. These five files selected were used due to them containing demographics data, diet consumption data, and health data that is related to diet. Due to having five separate files, I combined the five files from 2007-2008 to create one data set to use. Measures Appendix A has the independent variables, dependent variables, and control variables that were used. The chosen variables were used due to their relationship to food, and or health. The independent variables all have to do with fast food consumption. All of the independent variables have been selected from the consumer behavior phone follow-up data file. The following six variables were selected as independent variables: if the respondent has eaten fast food in the past 12 months (1=yes, 0=no), eaten fast food because it is cheaper (1=yes, 0=no), eaten fast food because it is more nutritious (1=yes, 0=no), eaten fast food because of the taste (1=yes, 0=no), eaten fast food because it is convenient (1=yes, 0=no), and eaten fast food as a way to socialize (1=yes, 0=no). An example of how an independent variable was recoded is CBQ525 which asks the question do you buy food from fast food or pizza places because it is more convenient than cooking at home?. CBQ525 is originally coded as 1=yes, 2=no, 7=refused, 9=didnt know. All of the independent variables are coded in this way, making it so that all of the recodes were completed in the same manner. I recoded CBQ525 as 1=yes, 0=no, 7=., 9=.. Seven and nine will be recoded as . to remove these data points from the data as they will not be included in the analysis. Following this, I generated a new variable known as convenient. Dependent variables All of the dependent variables came from the blood pressure and cholesterol, diabetes, and medical conditions data files. Not every variable within the data file was used for analysis. I selected the variables from these files due to their relationship with nutrition and its impact on an individual's health. The dependent variables selected are as follows: if the respondent has high blood pressure (1=yes, 0=no), if the respondent is taking a prescription for high blood pressure (1=yes, 0=no), if the respondent has had their cholesterol checked (1=yes, 0=no),if the respondent has high cholesterol (1=yes, 0=no), if the respondent has diabetes (1=yes, 0=no), if the respondent has been told they are prediabetic (1=yes, 0=no), if the respondent has been told they are at risk for diabetes (1=yes, 0=no), if the respondent has congestive heart failure (1=yes, 0=no), if the respondent has coronary heart disease (1=yes, 0=no), if the respondent has angina pectoris (1=yes, 0=no), and if respondent has had a heartattack(1=yes, 0=no). See Appendix A for a list of dependent variables selected, how they were originally coded, how they were recoded, and the question the variable represents. All of the dependent variables were recoded in a similar fashion. As an example of a recode, take the variable BPQ020 which represents ever told you had high blood pressure. It is originally coded as 1=yes, 2=no, 7=refused, 9=didnt know. To create the dummy variable needed to run a logistic regression, I recoded BPQ020 as 1=yes, 0=no, 7=., 9=.. I generated a new variable known as highbp to represent this variable. All of the dependent variables had a similar recoding process. For both diabetes and high blood pressure, I have created a variable representing if the individual has the disease, or if they are at risk for the disease. As an example, DIQ010 asks the participant doctor told you you have diabetes. It is originally coded as 1=yes, 2=no, 7=refused, 9=didnt know. This variable was recoded as 1=yes, 0=no, 7=., 9=. and I generated a new variable known as diabetes. To create the at risk variable for diabetes, I used DIQ160 (ever told you have prediabetes) and DIQ170 (ever told you have health risk for diabetes). Using these two variables, I generated a new variable known as atriskdiabetes. Both DIQ160 (dummy variable of prediabetes) and DIQ170 (dummy variable of riskdiabetes) were added together. The following code was used to do this: gen atriskdiabetes = prediabetes + riskdiabetes. By doing this, I created a scale with answers equaling 0 meaning the respondent answered no to both questions indicating no risk of diabetes, answers of 1 indicates that the respondent answered yes to one indication of diabetes while an answer of 2 indicates that the respondent has answered yes to both questions that indicate a risk of diabetes. A similar process was used to create the at-risk variable for high blood press (atriskhighbp1). There was only one risk variable associated with high blood pressure, which was high cholesterol. With this, a respondent answering yes to high cholesterol was coded as having one risk factor for being at risk for high blood pressure. Control variables Lastly, the control variables have been selected from the demographic data file. Please note that all of the control variables are presented as dummy variables based upon sex, age, race/ethnicity, education level, marital status, and annual household income.The dummy variable representing the control variable of sex is male (respondents sex).The dummy variable representing the control variable of age is age2 (respondents age at time of screening), The dummy variables representing the control variable of race/ethnicity is: Other_Hispanic2 (respondent identified their ethnicity as other Hispanic), White2 (respondent identified their race as White), Black2 (respondent identified their race as Black), Other_Race2 (respondent identified as another race that had not been included). The dummy variables representing the control variable of education is: lesshs2 (respondent had less than a high school degree), hs1 (respondent had a high school degree but no further education). The dummy variables representing the control variable of marriage status is: marriage2 (respondent is currently married), nevermarried2 (respondent has never been married). The dummy variables representing the control variable of annual household income is: under25k2 (respondent makes under $25,000 a year), middleincome2 (respondent makes between $25,000 and $45,000 a year), highmiddleincome1 (respondent makes between $45,000 and $75,000 a year), and highincome1 (respondent makes greater than $75,001 a year). See Appendix A for a list of the control variables as they were originally coded, what they represent, and the dummy variables that now represent them. All of the NHANES release cycles and methodology were approved by the National Center for Health Statistics Research Ethical Review Board prior to data collection and release. METHODS With the data set being quantitative, it was practical to use statistical analysis to analyze the data. Due to the data set and types of variables present, I used logistic regression as the primary form of data analysis. Furthermore, bivariate logistic regressions were the primary kind of statistical testing used since the majority of dependent variables are categorical with the options of 0 being no and 1 being yes. This type of regression will allow me to compare the odds of being in one nominal category compared to another. I used multinomial logistic regressions to test the significance of the variable atriskdiabetes since there were three different options for it to be coded as (0 not at risk, 1 one risk factor, and 2 two risk factors). The results were considered significant if the probability value (p-value) was less than 0.05. This analysis was completed using STATA/BE 17.0 (StataCorp LLC, College Station, TX). For each dependent variable, I ran seven different models. The first six models were a logistic regression of the dependent variable along with one of the independent variables (eatff, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize). The seventh model included the dependent variable, all six independent variables, and all of the control variables. As an example with diabetes as the dependent variable, the first model I ran had the independent variable of eatff (have you eaten fast food within the past 12 months). It was coded as logistic diabetes1 eatff. The next independent variable I used was cheaper (logistic diabetes1 cheaper), and the pattern continued until I ran regressions using each independent variable with the dependent variable. For the 7th model example, I used logistic diabetes1 eatff cheaper nutritious taste convenient socialize male age2 Other_Hispanic2 White2 Black2 Other_Race2 lesshs2 hs1 married2 nevermarried2 under25k2 middleincome2 highmiddleincome1 which includes dependent variable along with all of the independent variables and control variables. I used this same process and codes for each dependent variable. The same process occurred with the only multinomial logistic regression I used which was for the dependent variable atriskdiabetes. RESULTS Descriptive Results Table 1 shows descriptive statistics (the median, standard deviation, minimum and maximum value, and the number of respondents) for each independent, dependent, and control variable. The reasons why the respondents had reported eating fast food in the past 12 months include that it is cheaper, it is more nutritious, it tastes better, it is more convenient, and it is a way to socialize. Sixteen percent of the respondents reported eating fast food as it is cheaper than eating at home. Three percent of the respondents reported that they ate fast food as it was more nutritious than what they prepared at home. Fifteen percent of the respondents reported that they ate at fast food restaurants because it tastes better than what they prepare at home. Eighty-one percent of the respondents reported that they ate fast food within the last 12 months as it was more convenient than cooking at home. Lastly, 48% of the respondents reported eating fast food to socialize with others. In regard to health problems, 32% of the respondents reported that they have high blood pressure (hypertension). Of those who do have hypertension, 88% take prescription medication for it. Seventy-four percent of the respondents reported that they had had their cholesterol checked. For those who had been checked, 46% of the respondents reported that they did have high cholesterol. For diabetes, 8% of respondents reported that they have been diagnosed with it. Lastly, in regard to cardiovascular health concerns, 4% of the respondents reported that they have congestive heart failure. Four percent of the respondents also reported that they have coronary heart disease. Three percent of the respondents reported that they have angina/angina pectoris (temporary chest pain due to a temporary lack of blood flow to the heart). Lastly, 5% of the respondents reported that they had suffered from at least one heart attack. The sample was 50% male with the median age of the respondents being 50 years old. The youngest was 20 years old while the oldest was 80 years old. Forty-one percent of the respondents were white while 22% were black, and 21% were Mexican American. Of the respondents, just over 86% reported that they had eaten fast food (including take-out pizza) within the last 12 months. Table 1: Descriptive Statistics, National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey (NHANES) 2007-2008 Variable Median Standard Deviation Minimum Value Has eaten fast food in the last 12 months 1 (yes) 0.342 0 1 4817 Ate fast food due to its being cheaper 0 (no) 0.368 0 1 4163 Ate fast food due to its being more nutritious 0 (no) 0.178 0 1 4159 Ate fast food due to its taste 0 (no) 0.362 0 1 4160 Ate fast food due to it being convenient 1 (yes) 0.39 0 1 4161 Ate fast food due to it being a way to socialize 0 (no) 0.5 0 1 4156 Taking a prescription for hypertension 1 (yes) 0.321 0 1 2141 Has had cholesterol checked 0 (no) 0.441 0 1 5736 Has high cholesterol 0 (no) 0.498 0 1 4183 Is at risk for high blood pressure 0 (no) 0.498 0 1 4183 Has diabetes 0(no) 0.272 0 1 9657 Has prediabetes 0 (no) 0.192 0 1 6294 Has been told by physician they are at risk for diabetes 0 (no) 0.319 0 1 6390 Has been told they have prediabetes and are at risk for diabetes 0 (no) 0.396 0 2 6280 Has heart failure 0 (no) 0.188 0 1 5190 Has heart disease 0 (no) 2.03 0 1 5906 Has angina pectoris 0 (no) 0.164 0 1 5913 Has had a heart attack 0 (no) 0.213 0 1 5924 Male 1 (yes) 0.5 0 1 10149 Age 50 18 20 80 5935 Mexican American 0 (no) 0.409 0 1 10149 Other Hispanic 0 (no) 0.323 0 1 10149 Maximum Value N Table 1, continued : Descriptive Statistics, National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey (NHANES) 2007-2008 Median Standard Deviation Minimum Value Maximum Value N White 0 (no) 0.491 0 1 10149 Black 0 (no) 0.412 0 1 10149 Other race 0 (no) 0.209 0 1 10149 Did not finish high school 0 (no) 0.464 0 1 5928 Has a high school degree 0 (no) 0.431 0 1 5928 Has a degree beyond high school 0 (no) 0.496 0 1 5928 Is married 1 (yes) 0.499 0 1 5931 Has been married, but no longer is 0 (no) .427 0 1 5931 Has never been married 0 (no) 0.424 0 1 5931 Makes under $25,000 a year 1 (yes) 0.476 0 1 9422 Makes between $25,000 and $45,000 0 (no) 0.424 0 1 9422 Makes between $45,000 and $75,000 0 (no) 0.4 0 1 9422 Makes more than $75,001 0 (no) 0.289 0 1 9422 Variable Multivariate Results For the following results, Model 1 represents each independent variable ran alone with the dependent variable. Model 2 shows each dependent variable with all of the independent variables and controls added in. Table 2 explores the relationship between eating fast food and having high blood pressure. The results of Table 2, Model 1 show that those with high blood pressure have 48.3% lesser odds of eating fast food within the last 12 months compared to those who do not have high blood pressure. In terms of the reason for eating fast food, people with high blood pressure have 17.5% lesser odds to eat it with the main reason being taste. In Model 2, folks with high blood pressure have 43.3% lesser odds of eating fast food due to its nutritional value. In regards to age, every year accounted for a 6% increase in the odds of having high blood pressure. Black respondents have 143% greater odds of having high blood pressure relative to Mexican American respondents. Those who had never been married had 32.1% lesser odds of having high blood pressure compared to those who had been married before but are no longer married. No other results were significant. Table 2: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food in past 12 months, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having high blood pressure using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) Ate fast food in past 12 months 0.517 *** Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) Omitted (0.044) cheaper nutritious 1.09 1.26 (0.98) (0.146) 1.11 (0.207) taste convenient socialize male 0.825 * 0.567 * (0.137) 1.11 (0.079) (0.137) 1.08 1.07 (0.094) (0.118) 1.04 1.06 (0.07) (0.086) 0.966 (0.079) age 1.06 *** (0.003) other Hispanic 1.09 (0.185) Table 2, continued: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food in past 12 months, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having high blood pressure using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) White Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 1.26 (0.165) Black 2.43 *** (0.349) other race 1.28 (0.335) less than high school 1.13 (0.114) high school 1.13 (0.114) married 0.914 (0.095) never married 0.679 ** (0.094) makes under $25,000 0.979 (0.121) middle income 0.966 (0.115) high middle income 0.938 (0.111) CONSTANT 0.02 (0.005) Psuedo R-Squared 0.162 N 3472 * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 3 shows the relationship between eating fast food and having a prescription for high blood pressure. Model 1 for respondents taking a prescription for hypertension (high blood pressure) shows that respondents taking hypertension medication had 56.6% lesser odds of eating at a fast food restaurant within the last 12 months and had 46.9% lesser odds of eating fast food due to its taste compared to those who do not have a prescription for hypertension. In Model 2 for hypertension medication, each year increase in age represents a 9% greater odds of taking hypertension medication. Along with that, Black respondents had 192% greater odds of taking medication for hypertension when compared to Mexican American respondents. Married respondents had 126% greater odds to report taking a prescription for hypertension compared to those who had been previously married but no longer are. While those who make under $25,000 a year had 105% greater odds in the likelihood of taking prescription medication for hypertension when compared to those who were considered high income. No other results were significant. Table 3: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having a prescription for hypertension using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) ate fast food in past 12 months 0.434 *** Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) Omitted (0.112) cheaper nutritious taste convenient socialize male 1.21 1.59 (0.285) (0.473) 0.946 0.452 (0.422) (0.266) 0.531 ** 0.778 (0.112) (0.22) 1.08 1.7 (0.232) (0.482) 1.01 1.19 (0.169) (0.245) 0.815 (0.17) age 1.09 *** (0.009) other Hispanic 1.08 Table 3, continued: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having a prescription for hypertension using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) (0.467) White 1.16 (0.372) Black 2.92 ** (1.08) other race 0.586 (0.336) less than high school 1.33 (0.365) high school 1.07 (0.275) married 2.26 ** (0.598) never married 1.38 (0.447) makes under $25,000 2.05 * (0.673) middle income 1.39 (0.426) high middle income 0.734 (0.209) CONSTANT 0.012 (0.008) Psuedo R-Squared 0.238 N 1191 * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 4 represents the relationships between eating fast food and respondents having their cholesterol checked. Model 1 for having a respondent's cholesterol checked showed that eating fast food within the past 12 was not statistically significant in whether or not their cholesterol had been checked. For those who had their cholesterol checked, they had 23.8% lesser odss of eating fast food due to it being cheaper, had 33.9% lesser odds of eating it due to its nutritional value, and had 47% greater odds of eating it due to fast food being convenient compared to those who had not had their cholesterol checked. In Model 2, respondents had 55.9% lesser odds of eating fast food due to its nutritional value compared to those who did not have their cholesterol checked. Those who had had there cholesterol checked had 35% greater odds of eating it due to its taste compared to those who hadnt had it checked. Males who had had their cholesterol checked had 34.6% lesser odds of eating fast food compared to females. In regards to age, each year of age increase indicated an 8% greater odds of having their cholesterol checked and eating fast food. Race was also statistically significant as White respondents had 58% greater odds and Black respondents had 94% greater odds to have consumed fast food and had their cholesterol checked compared to Mexican Americans. Respondents who had not completed high school had 48.8% lesser odds of having their cholesterol checked compared to those with a college degree, while respondents who had completed high school had 48.9% lesser odds compared to those with a college degree. Respondents who were married had 56% greater odds of having their cholesterol checked compared to those who had been previously married but are no longer. In regards to income, respondents making under $25,000 (65.3%), middle-income respondents (55.1%), and high-middle-income respondents (40.3%) had lesser odds of having their cholesterol checked as compared to high income earners. No other results were significant. Table 4: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having cholesterol checked using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) ate fast food in past 12 months 0.836 Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) Omitted (0.088) cheaper 0.762 ** (0.077) nutritious 0.661 * (0.134) taste 0.876 (0.095) convenient socialize male 1.47 *** 0.988 (0.13) 0.441 ** (0.119) 1.35 * (0.19) 1.19 (0.139) (0.153) 0.881 0.906 (0.067) (0.086) 0.654 *** (0.063) age 1.08 *** (0.004) other Hispanic 1.37 (0.238) White 1.58 *** (0.214) Black 1.94 *** (0.299) other race 1.27 (0.343) less than high school 0.512 *** (0.063) high school 0.511 *** (0.06) married 1.56 *** (0.208) Table 4, continued: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having cholesterol checked using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) never married Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 1.01 (0.152) makes under $25,000 0.347 *** (0.051) middle income 0.449 *** (0.067) high middle income 0.597 *** (0.089) CONSTANT 0.156 (0.045) Psuedo R-Squared 0.258 N 3376 * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 5 explores the relationship between eating fast food and respondents having high cholesterol. In Model 1 for respondents having high cholesterol, those with high cholesterol had 30.2% lesser odds of eating fast food and they had 30.1% lesser odds of eating fast food due to its taste compared to those who did not have high cholesterol. In Model 2, respondents with high cholesterol had 25.6% lesser odds of eating fast food because it is convenient when compared to those without high cholesterol. Males had 20% greater odds of having high cholesterol when compared to females. Each year increase in age had a 3% greater odd of having high cholesterol. No other results were significant. Table 5: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having high cholesterol using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) ate fast food in past 12 months Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.698 *** Omitted (0.071) cheaper nutritious taste convenient socialize male 0.986 0.995 (0.109) (0.126) 1.42 0.787 (0.341) (0.214) 0.996 1.05 (0.114) (0.134) 0.699 *** 0.744 * (0.073) (0.089) 0.954 0.949 (0.074) (0.081) 1.2 * (0.103) age 1.03 *** (0.003) other Hispanic 0.874 (0.159) White 0.891 (0.124) Black 0.895 (0.134) other race 1.2 (0.329) less than high school 1.07 (0.126) high school 0.994 (0.106) married 0.911 (0.099) Table 5, continued: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having high cholesterol using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) never married Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.841 (0.126) makes under $25,000 1.03 (0.133) middle income 0.887 (0.109) high middle income 0.982 (0.117) CONSTANT 0.209 (0.054) Psuedo R-Squared 0.054 N 2502 * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 6 represents the relationship between eating fast food and having diabetes. Model 1 for respondents having diabetes indicated that those with diabetes had 46.5% lesser odds to have eaten fast food within the past 12 months. For those with diabetes who had eaten fast food though, they had 39% greater odds of eating it due to it being cheaper and 99% greater odds of eating it due to it being more nutritious when compared to those without diabetes. In Model 2, being one year older in age had 9% greater odds of being diabetic. Being White had 32.6% lesser odds of being diabetic as compared to Mexican Americans while being Black represented 73% greater odds of having diabetes compared to Mexican Americans. In regards to education, those respondents who had not completed high school had 62% greater odds of having diabetes compared to those with a four year degree. No other results were significant. Table 6: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having diabetes using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) ate fast food in past 12 months Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.535 *** Omitted (0.061) cheaper 1.39 * (0.177) nutritious taste convenient socialize male 1.99 ** 1.34 (0.204) 1.1 (0.453) (0.309) 0.901 1.07 (0.13) (0.187) 0.854 1.01 (0.107) (0.147) 1.12 1.1 (0.113) (0.127) 1.09 (0.127) age 1.09 *** (1.27) other Hispanic 0.92 (0.212) White 0.674 * (0.124) Black 1.73 ** (0.325) other race 0.543 (0.248) less than high school 1.62 *** (0.237) high school 1.01 (0.151) married 0.951 (0.131) Table 6, continued: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having diabetes using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) never married 0.742 (0.15) makes under $25,000 1.32 (0.244) middle income 1.23 (0.222) high middle income 1.23 (0.226) CONSTANT 0.007 (0.002) Psuedo R-Squared 0.12 N 3474 * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 7 explores the relationship between eating fast food and having prediabtes. Model 1 for prediabetes did not show any statistical significance. For Model 2, being one year older in age indicated 3% greater odds of being pronounced as prediabetic. For respondents who had identified themselves as another race (not White, Black, Mexican American, or an Other Hispanic), had 205% greater odds of having been pronounced as being pre-diabetic when compared to Mexican Americans. No other results were significant. Table 7: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having prediabetes using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) ate fast food in past 12 months Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.846 Omitted (0.181) cheaper nutritious taste convenient socialize male 0.807 0.914 (0.192) (0.241) 0.406 0.182 (0.292) (0.187) 0.723 0.89 (0.18) (0.243) 1.23 1.43 (0.272) (0.364) 0.876 1.01 (0.142) (0.173) 0.823 (0.145) age 1.03 *** (0.006) other Hispanic 1.28 (0.492) White 1.2 (0.367) Black 1.24 (0.426) other race 3.05 * (1.38) less than high school 1 (0.237) high school 1.04 (0.22) married 0.958 (0.205) Table 7, continued: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having prediabetes using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) never married Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.653 (0.207) makes under $25,000 1.3 (0.338) middle income 1 (0.255) high middle income 0.849 (0.225) CONSTANT 0.007 (0.004) Psuedo R-Squared 0.057 N 3023 * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 8 represents the relationship between eating fast food and being told they are at risk for diabetes by their physician. For those who had been told they were at risk for having diabetes by their physician, Model 1 indicates that those at risk with diabetes had 41% greater odds of having eaten fast food within the past 12 months when compared to those who had not been told they were at risk. Respondents at risk had 61.4% lesser odds of eating fast food due to its nutritional value, but had 39% greater odds of eating it due to taste and 37% greater odds of eating it due to convenience when compared to respondents who were not at risk. In Model 2, those who had been told they were at risk for diabetes had 71.8% lesser odds of eating fast food due to its nutritional value, but still had 64% greater odds of eating fast food due to taste and had 41% greater odds of eating it due to convenience when compared to those not at risk. Males who are at risk for having diabetes had 37.2% lesser odds of eating it when compared to females. Respondents who had less than a high school diploma had 57% greater odds to be at risk for diabetes when compared to those with a college degree. In regards to income, middle-income earners (28.4%) and high-middle-income earners (35.3%) had lesser odds of being at risk for diabetes when compared to high income earners. No other results were significant. Table 8: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and being at risk for diabetes using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) ate fast food in past 12 months Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 1.41 * Omitted (0.22) cheaper nutritious 0.897 0.862 (0.125) (0.143) 0.386 ** (0.163) taste 1.39 * (0.175) convenient socialize male 1.37 * 0.282 * (0.15) 1.64 ** (0.241) 1.41 * (0.198) (0.228) 0.993 0.949 (0.098) (0.104) 0.628 *** (0.071) age 0.995 (0.003) other Hispanic 0.975 (0.207) White 0.883 (0.145) Black 0.883 (0.168) other race 1.5 (0.441) less than high school 1.57 ** (0.225) Table 8, continued: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and being at risk for diabetes using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) high school Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 1.08 (0.153) married 0.838 (0.124) never married 0.71 (0.129) makes under $25,000 0.803 (0.13) middle income 0.716 * (0.115) high middle income 0.647 ** (0.105) CONSTANT 0.24 (0.076) Psuedo R-Squared 0.028 N 3079 * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 9 represents the relationship between eating fast food and having heart failure. For individuals with heart failure, Model 1 indicated that they had 60.3% lesser odds to have eaten fast food with the last 12 months. Model 2 indicated that males had 116% greater odds of having heart failure when compared to females. For age, each year older indicated 7% greater odds in the chance of having heart failure. Race and income also played a role in the chance of heart failure. Black individuals had a 234% greater odds of having heart failure when compared to Mexican Americans. In regards to income, those who made under $25,000 (253%), middle-income earners (259%), and high-middle-income earners (160%) had greater odds of having heart failure when compared to high-income earners. No other results were significant. Table 9: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having heart failure using NHANES 2007-2008 ate fast food in past 12 months Model 1 Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.397 *** Omitted (0.075) cheaper nutritious taste convenient socialize male 1.52 1.31 (0.372) (0.369) 1.96 0.887 (0.846) (0.436) 1.14 1.16 (0.314) (0.373) 0.815 0.919 (0.199) (0.251) 0.811 0.837 (0.163) (0.186) 2.16 ** (0.491) age 1.07 *** (0.009) other Hispanic 0.963 (0.599) White 1.49 (0.698) Black 3.34 * (1.56) other race 2.66 (1.98) less than high school 1.08 (0.303) high school 0.901 (0.245) Table 9, continued: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having heart failure using NHANES 2007-2008 married Model 1 Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.796 (0.203) never married 1.23 (0.448) makes under $25,000 3.53 ** (1.58) middle income 3.59 ** (1.57) high middle income 2.6 * (1.19) CONSTANT 0 (0) Psuedo R-Squared 0.163 N 3463 * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 10 explores the relationship between eating fast food and having heart disease. Model 1 for heart disease indicates that respondents who have heart disease had 39.6% lesser odds of having consumed fast food within the past 12 months. In model two, males had 287% greater odds heart disease when compared to females. Each year increase in age also indicated 8% greater odds in the likelihood of heart disease. Respondents who identified as other Hispanics had 77.8% lesser odds of having heart disease while Black respondents had 56.9% lesser odds when compared to Mexican Americans. No other results were significant. Table 10: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having heart disease using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) ate fast food in past 12 months Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.604 * Omitted (0.115) cheaper nutritious taste convenient socialize male 0.932 0.659 (0.229) (0.196) 1.68 0.635 (0.673) (0.334) 1.17 1.15 (0.277) (0.326) 1.18 1.33 (0.279) (0.356) 0.949 1.1 (0.165) (0.214) 3.87 *** (0.856) age 1.08 *** (0.009) other Hispanic 0.222 * (0.144) White 0.804 (0.259) Black 0.431 * (0.175) other race 1.87 (1.01) less high school 1.28 (0.346) high school 1.26 (0.301) married 0.709 (0.162) Table 10, continued: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having heart disease using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) never married 0.547 (0.231) makes under $25,000 0.905 (0.268) middle income 0.695 (0.203) high middle income 0.687 (0.211) CONSTANT 0 (0) Psuedo R-Squared 0.209 N 3462 * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 11 represents the relationship between eating fast food and having angina pectorisis. In Model 1 representing respondents with angina pectorisis, those with angina had 42.6% lesser odds to have reported eating fast food within the past 12 months when compared to those who do not have angina. In Model 2, each year increase in the age of the respondents indicated 5% greater odds of having angina. Along with this, respondents making under $25,000 had 187% greater odds of having angina. No other results were significant. Table 11: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having angina pectoris using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) ate fast food in past 12 months Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.574 * Omitted (0.132) cheaper nutritious taste convenient socialize male 0.794 0.569 (0.259) (0.215) 1.49 0.425 (0.773) (0.323) 1.49 1.66 (0.408) (0.511) 1 1.1 (0.28) (0.34) 1.19 1.28 (0.256) (0.298) 1.53 (0.367) age 1.05 *** (0.009) other Hispanic 0.597 (0.335) White 0.958 (0.372) Black 0.811 (0.367) other race 1.71 (1.18) less than high school 1.12 (0.338) high school 0.827 (0.248) married 1.17 (0.331) Table 11, continued: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having angina pectoris using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) never married Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.837 (0.376) makes under $25,000 2.87 ** (1.16) middle income 1.71 (0.71) high middle income 2.09 (0.848) CONSTANT 0 (0) Psuedo R-Squared 0.099 N 3465 * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 12 explores the relationship between eating fast food and having suffered from a heart attack. For respondents who indicated that they had suffered from a heart attack, Model 1 showed that they had 50.2% lesser odds of having consumed fast food within the past 12 months. In model two, males had 198% greater odds of having a heart attack when compared to females. Each year increase in age represented 7% greater odds of having a heart attack. Being White (123%) or another race (271%) had greater odds of having a heart attack when compared to Mexican Americans. No other results were significant. Table 12: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having a heart attack using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) ate fast food in past 12 months Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.498 *** Omitted (0.085) cheaper nutritious taste convenient socialize male 1.31 1.05 (0.277) (0.26) 1.27 0.433 (0.544) (0.223) 1.15 1.21 (0.261) (0.316) 1.05 1.15 (0.227) (0.28) 1.02 1.09 (0.167) (0.2) 2.98 *** (0.594) age 1.07 *** (0.008) other Hispanic 1.48 (0.747) White 2.23 * (0.889) Black 2.04 (0.872) other race 3.71 * (2.26) less than high school 1.54 (0.37) high school 1.23 (0.282) married 0.793 (0.17) Table 12, continued: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and having a heart attack using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) never married Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.821 (0.282) makes under $25,000 1.74 (0.505) middle income 1.07 (0.318) high middle income 0.905 (0.289) CONSTANT 0 (0) Psuedo R-Squared 0.176 N 3470 * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 13 represents the relationship between eating fast food and having multiple risk factors for diabetes.When comparing the likelihood of having one risk factor versus no risk factor for diabetes, those with one risk factor had 72.5% lesser odds to have eaten fast food due to its nutritional value. Males had 31% lesser odds of eating fast food compared to females. Lastly, high-middle-income earners had 31.5% lesser odds of having one risk factor compared to none when compared to high-income earners. Model 2, comparing two risk factors to no risk factors did not show any significance. Model 3, comparing two risk factors to one risk factor did not show any significance. Table 13: Multinomial Logistic Regression Analysis of risk factors for diabetes using NHANES 2007-2008 (N=3020) One risk factor for diabetes Two risk factor for Two risk factor for vs no risk factor diabetes vs no risk factor diabetes vs one risk factor rrr/ (s.e.) rrr/ (s.e.) rrr/ (s.e.) ate fast food in past 12 months cheaper nutritious taste convenient socialize male age other Hispanic White Black other race less than high school high school married Omitted Omitted Omitted 1.04 0.518 0.497 (0.167) (0.249) (0.247) 0 0 (0.146) (0.001) (0.002) 1.24 1.72 1.38 (0.195) (0.602) (0.513) 1.31 2.41 1.84 (0.209) (1.09) (0.869) 1 0.742 0.741 (0.109) (0.201) (0.211) 0.59 0.857 (0.077) (0.167) (0.256) 1.01 1.01 1 (0.004) (0.009) (0.01) 1.13 1.01 0.9 (0.242) (0.548) (0.512) 0.993 0.934 0.94 (0.168) (0.387) (0.412) 0.993 0.809 0.815 (0.192) (0.402) (0.426) 1.72 2.73 1.58 (0.513) (1.73) (1.07) 1.3 1.67 1.29 (0.189) (0.571) (0.466) 1.02 1.11 1.09 (0.141) (0.379) (0.395) 0.914 0.757 0.829 (0.135) (0.249) (0.29) 0.275 * 0.69 *** Table 13, continued: Multinomial Logistic Regression Analysis of risk factors for diabetes using NHANES 2007-2008 (N=3020) One risk factor for diabetes Two risk factor for vs no risk factor diabetes vs no risk factor rrr/ (s.e.) never married makes under $25,000 middle income high middle income rrr/ (s.e.) Two risk factor for diabetes vs one risk factor rrr/ (s.e.) 0.819 0.463 0.565 (0.15) (0.214) (0.275) 0.852 1.32 1.56 (0.138) (0.533) (0.659) 0.768 1.12 1.47 (0.122) (0.448) (0.615) 0.798 1.16 (0.009) (0.52) 0.685 * (0.11) * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 Table 14 represents the relationship between eating fast food and being at risk of high blood pressure. When looking at Model 1 for the risk of high blood pressure, those at risk for high blood pressure had 66.4% lesser odds of having eaten fast food when compared to those who are not at risk. Those who are at risk for high blood pressure had 31% greater odds of eating fast food in the past 12 months due to convience when compared to those not at risk. In Model 2, those who are at risk for high blood pressure had 25.6% lesser odds of having eaten fast food within the past 12 months due to its convenience when compared to those not at risk. Males had 20% greater odds of being at risk for high blood pressure when compared to females. Lastly, every year of age increase represents 3% greater odds of being at risk for high blood pressure. No other results were significant. Table 14: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and being at risk for high blood pressure using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) ate fast food in past 12 months Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 1.29 Omitted (0.184) cheaper nutritious taste convenient socialize male 0.92 0.995 (0.121) (0.126) 0.336 ** 0.787 (0.142) (0.214) 1.13 0.105 (0.142) (0.134) 1.31 * 0.744 * (0.169) (0.089) 0.956 0.949 (0.089) (0.081) 1.2 * (0.103) age 1.03 *** (0.003) other Hispanic 0.874 (0.159) White 0.891 (0.124) Black 0.895 (0.139) other race 1.2 (0.329) less than high school 1.07 (0.126) high school 0.994 (0.106) married 0.912 (0.099) Table 14, continued: Logistic Regression showing relationship between eating fast food, cheaper, nutritious, taste, convenient, socialize, and being at risk for high blood pressure using NHANES 2007-2008 Model 1 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) never married Model 2 Odds Ratio/ (s.e.) 0.841 (0.126) makes under $25,000 1.03 (0.133) middle income 0.886 (0.109) high middle income 0.982 (0.117) CONSTANT 0.209 (0.054) Psuedo R-Squared 0.054 N 2502 * p < 0.05, ** p < 0.01, *** p < 0.001 DISCUSSION How do the reasons why people consume fast food affect the prevalence of food-related diseases? is the question that this analysis is trying to answer. The results have determined that race, income, and the highest level of education a person has all impact the prevalence of health-related disease when compared to individual fast food consumption. This has to do with the theory of the Fundamental Causes of Diseases as different social factors influence health outcomes (Link and Phelan 1995). As a general note, all comparisons of race are to respondents who identified themself as Mexican American. In regards to race, Black respondents had the greatest odds of having a disease that could be related to fast-food consumption. Black respondents had the greatest odds of being diagnosed with high blood pressure, and they had the greatest odds of being on prescription medication to help manage high blood pressure. Along with this, Black respondents had over two times greater odds of having heart failure and greater odds of having diabetes. One reason why Black respondents may have a higher prevalence of nutritionally related diseases is that higher percentages of people of color within a neighborhood are inversely related to the number of grocery stores present (Morland et al. 2002). This means that as the percentage of people of color increases, there are fewer grocery stores available. This is one explanation for why Black respondents have a higher prevalence of nutritionally related disease because if they live within a majority Black neighborhood, they have less access to grocery stores which increases their chance of consuming fast food. While Black respondents did have a higher prevalence of some diseases, others races also were likely to be at a greater chance of having certain diseases. Black respondents had the highest prevalence of diabetes, but respondents of other races (respondents who did not identify as Mexican American, Other Hispanic, Black, or White) had 205% greater odds of being prediabetic. One might expect that Black respondents would also have the greatest odds of being prediabetic, but this is not the case. Some factors that may influence the difference in the prevalence of prediabetes and diabetes among different races include a range of things such as financial resources and opportunities to change eating habits, food's role in ones culture (the type and health value of food eaten within one's culture), and access to healthcare. Those who lack access to resources to be able to change social habits, including limiting fast food consumption, have worse health outcomes (Link and Phelan 1995). When looking at White respondents, they tended to have a lower prevalence of a nutritionally related disease. Out of all respondents, White respondents had the lowest odds of having diabetes. The only health problem that White respondents had a greater odds of when compared to Mexican Americans was having a heart attack (123% greater odds). Respondents who identified as another race also had greater odds of having a heart attack when compared to Mexican Americans (271%). This shows an interesting outcome since White respondents had lesser odds of having diabetes while those who identified with another race category had the highest prevalence of prediabetes, while both White and respondents from another race had the highest percentage of having a history of a heart attack. What this indicates is that different health problems are present at different levels within different races, yet being of one race does not necessarily mean you would have fewer or less serious health problems. One race may tend to have fewer indicated diseases, but it may have a higher prevalence of a certain disease. This could be due to lifestyle differences that lend towards having one disease over another, or a lifestyle that lends towards having more diseases compared to others. This helps to show how Fundamental Causes of Disease including predetermined factors (age, race, sex, etc) and socioeconomic factors impact a persons risk for developing different diseases. As determined by Link and Phelan (1995), being of a low socioeconomic status puts individuals at a higher risk of health inequalities, and in essence, a higher chance of health problems. For respondents who make under $25,000 a year, they had the greatest odds of having a prescription for hypertension, having angina pectoris, having heart disease, and having heart failure. While hypertension is not considered a cardiovascular disease, it is a contributing factor to having a cardiovascular disease which includes angina pectoris, heart disease, and heart failure. When considering those who make under $25,000 a year, you must consider what limitations their income makes on their lives. In this case, one must consider how such a low income impacts the availability of affording healthy food, but also just being able to afford food at all. According to Van Der Velde et al. (2022), food insecurity can lead to consuming more fast food. In turn, this consumption of a higher amount of fast food can also lead to worse health outcomes. The amount of food places and the kind of food available is determined by the income of the local neighborhood (Morland et al. 2002). With this in mind, lower-income neighborhoods have more fast-food restaurants available (Poleman et al. 2018). When considering low-income respondents, it makes sense that they have a higher rate of cardiovascular disease compared to any other income as living closer to fast food restaurants is related to higher rates of cardiovascular disease and coronary heart disease (Poleman et al. 2018). Some of the reasons for this include not being able to afford more nutritious food, not being able to access it as food insecurity is related to transportation insecurity, and the convenience of access. The social influences, in this instance the accessibility of food around individuals, is affecting the respondents health outcomes. One other social determinant of health that must be considered when speaking of income is the ability to access healthcare, specifically being able to afford access to healthcare. When looking at the prevalence of heart failure, those who make under $25,000, middle-income, and high-middle-income were all had greater odds of being diagnosed with heart failure when compared to high-income individuals. Along with this, those making under $25,000, middle-income, and high-middle-income had significantly lesser odds to have their cholesterol levels checked. One reason the lower-income brackets have a higher prevalence of diseases and lesser odds of having their cholesterol levels checked is access to healthcare. Those in the high-income bracket generally have the ability to visit a doctor when needed as they are able to take time off of work without it affecting their income. Along the same lines, they are able to afford initial doctor visits, follow-up appointments, specialist appointments, etc. If individuals are unable to see a doctor due to their work schedule or are unable to afford care, they are less likely to have preventative care done, which in this case would be considered having their cholesterol checked. Lack of access to preventative care perpetuates disease, seen in this instance as the higher rate of heart failure among those who are not in the high-income bracket. Access to preventative care such as cholesterol screenings is a cost-effective way to improve population health, and it also works to address healthcare inequalities. As seen here, a lack of access to resources leads to higher precedence of disease (Phelan et al. 2010). Education is also highly linked to an individual's past income and earning potential. Thus, the level of education a person has is related to the diseases they have been diagnosed with. For those respondents who had not completed high school, they had 49% lesser odds of having their cholesterol checked when compared to those who had completed a four-year degree. Similar to those who had not completed high school, those who only had a high school diploma had again 49% lesser odds of having their cholesterol checked. Again, having access to cholesterol checks is a form of preventative care. While it can not be assumed that those who have not had their cholesterol checked do not have any access to healthcare, it could be understood that they may have less access to preventative care. Based on this conclusion, it is understandable that those who have not finished high school, or those who have a high school diploma have greater odds of being diagnosed with diabetes. Those without a high school diploma had 62% greater odds, while those with a high school diploma had 57% greater odds of being diagnosed with diabetes when compared to those with a four-year degree. In regards to education, a higher chance of nutritional-related diseases could be linked to a few things. First off, those without a high school diploma or only with a high school diploma generally have less earning potential than those with a degree. With this in mind, they would more likely be a part of a lower or middle-income bracket that has already been shown to have a higher prevalence of diseases. Along with this, schools offer a chance to gain more education about nutrition (Dietz et al. 2016). For those who do not have as much education, it is possible that they did not receive instruction about the importance of nutrition, and what is considered to be healthy. Again, relating income to education, those in a lower income bracket often may not be able to afford classes or services as an adult that would provide them with more education about nutrition and its effect on health. One last idea that has yet to have been explored is how knowing that you have a nutritionally related disease would impact an individuals decision to consume fast food. For respondents to indicate that they suffer from a nutritionally-related disease means that they have had enough access to healthcare to have been diagnosed with the disease. It is possible that some respondents may have indicated that they do not have a nutritionally-related disease, even if they do because they have not been diagnosed with it. The knowledge of having a disease may impact if an individual decides to consume fast food. Those who have been diagnosed with hypertension (high blood pressure), and who are taking medication for it have almost 57% lesser odds of having consumed fast food within the past 12 months. One possible reason for this is that they are aware that they are suffering from hypertension, and are taking steps to address this health problem. Even with this in mind, respondents taking prescription medication for hypertension reported that they had almost 50% lesser odds of eating fast food due to taste rather than for its nutritional value. This is similar for those who have high cholesterol as they had 30% lesser odds of eating fast food within the past 12 months and had 30% lesser odds of eating it due to its taste. What this may indicate is that individuals with diagnosed health problems may not choose fast food at all, but if they do choose it, they had lesser odds of choosing to it eat due to its taste. Similar to those with hypertension and high cholesterol, respondents who have been diagnosed with diabetes had almost 47% lesser odds of having consumed fast food within the past 12 months. For those respondents with diabetes who had consumed fast food, they had 39% greater odds it due to considering it to be cheaper than cooking it at home, and 99% greater odds of eating it due to its nutritional value. One reason that respondents with diabetes may consider fast food to have a better nutritional value when compared to cooking at home is that the kinds of fast food restaurants are not delineated within this data. Respondents may be eating at restaurants that focus on providing healthier options, rather than a standard burger and fries meal that is often associated with fast food. Along with this, it does not take into account the cooking ability of the respondent, so compared to what respondents are capable of cooking, they may consider fast food to be the healthier option. When considering respondents' fast food consumption compared to their risk factors for diabetes, those with one risk factor for diabetes had 73% lesser odds of eating fast food when compared to those with no risk factor for diabetes. What this may indicate is that respondents may make a behavioral change (change what they eat) when they become aware that their health is being negatively impacted by their food choices. With this in mind, those who were told they were at risk for diabetes by their physician had 41% greater odds of having eaten fast food. This may indicate that for individuals to make a behavioral change, they may need to be suffering from the disease, not just at risk for it. The risk factor alone might be enough for respondents to make changes, but a higher percentage of individuals with the disease did not report eating fast food within the past 12 months. What this indicates is that there is a need for physicians to be trained in assisting with changing patients' nutritional habits (Deitz et al. 2016). If physicians are able to help patients while they are still at risk, it could help to prevent patients from developing the full disease. Those who have been diagnosed with cardiovascular disease had lesser odds of having eaten fast food within the past 12 months. Respondents with heart failure had 60% lesser odds, respondents with heart disease had 40% lesser odds, respondents with angina pectoris had 43% lesser odds, and respondents who had suffered from a heart attack had 50% lesser odds to have eaten fast food. One possible reason why individuals with cardiovascular disease may have lesser odds of eating fast food is that they may consider heart conditions to be more serious when compared to other conditions such as diabetes. Poleman et al. (2018) discovered that living closer to fast food restaurants was related to higher rates of cardiovascular diseases. With this in mind, it could indicate that those suffering from cardiovascular diseases may have consumed more fast food sometime in the past due to living closer to the restaurants but have now stopped due to having knowledge about their diseases. LIMITATIONS AND FUTURE CONSIDERATIONS While it has been shown that fast food consumption is associated with a multitude of diseases, this research is not without limitations. Due to the wording of the question that was presented to the respondents, fast food consumption was only based on if they had eaten it within the past 12 months. This means that there is a possibility that an individual who had only eaten fast food once within the past 12 months and an individual who may eat it daily are considered within the same category. This large difference in the consumption of fast food would impact the diseases that an individual may have, thus how often a person consumes fast food was not considered in relation to the diseases that they have. Other limitations apply directly to certain medical conditions and care. First, diabetes was not differentiated between type I and type II. Type I diabetes is related to a lack of function of the pancreas where it does not produce insulin. This is not nutritionally related, rather it is genetic. Type II diabetes is affected by an individual's nutrition, and would be impacted by their consumption of fast food. Since respondents with diabetes were not separated into type I and type II, it is possible that some respondents are type I diabetics and do not suffer from diabetes due to nutritional decisions. Another consideration that was not used was the impact of comorbidities. Comorbidity simply means having more than one disease at the same time. Respondents could have comorbidities such as having both diabetes and heart failure, but this possibility was not taken into consideration. Lastly, the frequency of doctor visits was not considered for analysis. As mentioned earlier, it is possible that some respondents may be suffering from diseases that they are not aware that they have. This could be due to a lack of access to medical care, not being able to afford to see a doctor, lack of willingness to see a doctor, etc. Whatever the reason may be, some respondents would be more likely to regularly have medical care while other respondents would not. As for future considerations of this work, the main aspect that I would want to explore is the frequency of fast food consumption and its relation to disease. As stated before, all fast food consumption in the past 12 months was grouped into the same category. To be able to better explore the relationship between fast food consumption and its effect on health, I would like to explore how often individuals consume fast food by breaking it down into the categories of daily, weekly, and monthly. Along with this, I would also like to explore the convenience aspect of fast food more closely. Exploring the relationship between the distance between a respondent's housing to frequented fast food restaurants will allow me to see if proximity increases the likelihood of consumption. By examining the impact of proximity to fast food and nutritionally-related diseases, it could have a larger impact on public health overall as it could impact the placement of fast food establishments. 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Journal of Epidemiology and Community Health 54(12):92329. APPENDIX A: Variable Recodes Original Variable Description Recode CBQ505 In the past 12 months, did you buy food from fast food or pizza places? eatff CBQ510 First, do you buy food from fast food or pizza places because it is cheaper than cooking at home? CBQ515 Do you buy food from fast food or pizza places because the foods there are more nutritious than foods cooked at home? nutririous CBQ520 Do you buy food from fast food or pizza places because the foods there taste better than foods cooked at home? taste CBQ525 Do you buy food from fast food or pizza places because it is more convenient than cooking at home? convenient CBQ530 Do you eat at fast food or pizza places instead of cooking at home to socialize with family and friends? socialize BPQ020 Ever told you had high blood pressure (hypertension) highbp cheaper BPQ040A Taking a prescription for hypertension rxhypertension BPQ060 Ever had cholesterol checked cholescheck BPQ080 Ever told you cholesterol was high highcholes DIQ010 Doctor told you you have diabetes diabtes1 DIQ160 Ever told you have prediabetes prediabetes DIQ170 Ever told you have health risk for diabetes riskdiabetes MCQ160B Ever told that you had congestive heart failure heartfailure MCQ160C Ever told that you have coronary heart disease heartdisease MCQ160D Ever told you had angina/angina pectoris aginapectoris MCQ160E Ever told that you have had a heart attack heartattack RIAGENDR Gender male RIDAGEYR Age at screening adjusted age2 RIDRETH1 Race/Ethnicity Mexican_American1 , Other_Hispanic2, White2, Black2, Other_Race2 DMDEDUC2 Education level - adults 20+ lesshs2, hs1 Marital Status marriage2, nevermarried2 Annual household income under25k2, middleincome2, highmiddleincome1, highincome1 DMDMARTL INDHHIN2  ...