The Recreators 5c142i

THE RECREATORS

by Désirée Nordlund

Copyright and Licence

Published by Désirée Nordlund at Smashwords.

Copyright © 2021 by Désirée Nordlund

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Second Edition, 2021

Cover design by Rebecacovers

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Chapter One

The boy who came from the desert

Vepresila sat on her heels in the shade of the bush and picked the small spiny berries with experienced fingers. She was hungry, but even if the berries were edible as they were, she did not touch them. It would shame her mother if she used the uninhibited access to common assets that was hers, and the last thing she wanted was to subject her mother to more than she already had to deal with. There was no shame in giving birth to a future priestess. The problem was that Vepresila was an only daughter, which meant no one would be around to take care of her mother and help her in old age once she left. She wanted to trust that the Goddess would ensure Sinita's future too, but she knew the world was not a fair place. As the day for her departure to the Temple inevitable approached, she found herself thinking more of her mother's future than her own. Chosen by the Goddess herself, her fate was in safe hands and something she knew she could not control. She could not remain with her mother, the person who still constituted a major part of her world. Vepresila was fourteen, and she knew the day she would be forced to bid farewell would come at any time. She got up, took the basket and went to the next bush. Their dwelling was truly a blessed place. She was grateful when she saw her bin would be full. There may have been a shortage of game for the men, but women and children were always busy taking care of what the land had to give them. The oasis was protected like a bowl made of red sandstone rock that reached towards the sky to the north and, from the oasis, looked like it was shielding their home with two arms. To the south stretched the desert, like a rocky blanket. Hills and mountains were not scarce, but between them, there was nothing but dry sand and pebbles. The mountains were not much more than red formations in soft curves that stuck out of the ground, desolate places without water or vegetation.

Had Vepresila had the privilege to bring knowledge of the past thousand years with her, she would have been able to tell about the water that had leaked and formed the mountain and oasis and the extensive cave systems they lived within. However, no one had such ancient stories and Vepresila, like all the others in the tribe, believed that the mountains were shaped from clay by the Gods themselves when the world was first created. Vepresila rose again with the basket and ed one of the small farmlands. She threw a pebble at her little brother when she walked by. He was on all fours weeding. He looked up, but as expected there was no more than a furious glance. Zollam knew better than to start arguing with her when the other boys were present. She had honed to perfection her ability to behave inappropriately and insult him in front of others. As a future priestess, no one bothered to teach her proper behavior. Why would they? She was to be priestess for life, and her fate would stay inside the sanctuary walls. Vepresila did not have much sympathy for boys and even less for men. The only person Vepresila had full respect for was her mother. Everyone else belonged to the sad crowd of people who had to be denied the proximity to the Gods that only priests and priestesses enjoyed. She waited eagerly for her new life in the Temple. With the basket under her arm, she walked through the cave's winding ages. Inside, in the darkness, the air was cool. Here and there were small lanterns, but everyone knew the aisles inside and out and was able to get around with sparse light. Light cost fuel and gave an unwanted heat in an already sunburned world. The soft, reddish sandstone had been shaped by generations upon generations of residents. Steps had been cut out of the stone, narrow ages widened, floors leveled out, and rooms made larger. Vepresila reached the grand hall that was used as a cooking area. It was the only place where an open fire was permitted. A crack in the rock above led the smoke out and made it bearable to be there. The tribe's women sat scattered around the room and prepared food for their families. Vepresila went straight to Sinita who, being the wife of their tribe leader, had the best and biggest seat in the room. It was not just because of status and rank that she had this privilege. With the position followed a responsibility to take care of the tribal's food resources, an incredibly important responsibility.

Vepresila sank to her knees and handed the basket to her mother and got a smile of thanks. Sinita was the only one who endeavored to always be nice to her. Everyone knew everyone in the small community, but even an outsider could quickly tell Vepresila was different, abandoned and closed off from the other females of the tribe. Other young girls had embroidery and beautiful stones sewn on their clothes. Everyone but Vepresila. No one ever wanted to waste their time and wealth on someone who would never had to be beautiful and married off, not even Sinita. If she was not sent off on an errand, Vepresila, like any daughter, followed her mother like a shadow. For the past two or three years, she had dragged on the time when she was away somewhere. She would never have a use for the household knowledge her mother ed on, but the primary reason for her prolonged absence was because the atmosphere between her and Sinita became more and more troubled and tense. She became increasingly aware of how poorly she was treated by all the of the tribe. To be alone, away from the others, was a relief she took advantage of to greater and greater extents. Many nights she sneaked out when everyone was asleep. It was not because of the night's cold air, but because it was unseemly. Because the world that met her out there, at night, was her own.

That night the tribe's men came back from the hunt after several days out in the desert. The reason for their early return was not due to filled bags, but because they had found a boy half-dead of thirst. Vepresila crept through the shadows, into the cave's darkness without being seen. She had appeared so innocent and slept in the girls' room when Sinita tiptoed inside and woke her up. They hurried through the aisles to the men's domains and the chambers where guests could stay. On a bed lay the unconscious boy. He appeared to be around her age, and had long raven hair. It was loose and was neither braided as a man nor in a hard tassel as a boy. Sinita immediately began to nurture the boy's burnt skin with ointments and wet cloths. Vepresila did not, of course, lay a hand on him. She was chosen after all and could not be tainted. Not only were men not allowed to touch her, but she was not permitted to touch them either. Small boys were an exception, as well as her father, but he had

hardly acknowledged her existence for years. When she sat next to her mother, she wondered where the boy came from. He was not one of the tribal boys, and she hardly believed he could be from any of the other tribes in the desert either. His precarious situation alone told that this boy had no habit of walking long distances. They had not found his water bottle, and he had wrapped his shirt around his head as a headdress and left upper body naked. She looked at the red, flaming skin that flaked in huge chunks from his body. While Sinita worked with her damp rags, Vepresila slipped her hand into the jar of ointment. She raised her fingers towards the boy's skin, too curious to resist, constantly watching her mother. When the lotion on her fingertips met its goal, Sinita grabbed her daughter's wrist and pulled her hand away. She saw the warning in the other's gaze and looked down at the floor. Resigned, she used the ointment on her own hands instead. Sinita loved her daughter, and although she knew the girl's fate from birth, she had attached herself to the little baby. She could not understand the women who could hold their newborn at a distance and not give them love. Small children were so dependent on care and a parent's presence. It felt so wrong to deny them that, no matter if the Gods had selected them.

She had always known Vepresila would leave her and had decided that the time she had with her daughter would be worth something for them both. But as the day of the girl's childhood began to reach its end, she had felt the anxiety growing more and more intense. It was not just that she would become older and stand without the help all women needed by age, but that she would lose a beloved child. Vepresila would certainly not die, but for Sinita the difference was marginal. To see her daughter go away without ever coming back, was basically the same thing as having to bury your own child. She would not even know if Vepresila lived and was well. When the entourage that would bring her daughter to the Temple returned, they would speak of the handover. But that would be the last she would hear about her child's life and destiny. Sinita kept it to herself, but it had been a long time since she ceased believing in

any of the Gods. If they existed, they certainly would not be friendly creatures and did not deserve her worship. Within, the civil and patient Sinita had made revolt against the higher powers. But it did not help her to keep her daughter by her side. What good would it do if she tried to do something radical like flee with the girl? They would face certain death in the desert. Women were not made to get around in the wilderness on their own. If only she had had her daughter's confidence that she faced a meaningful fate. Vepresila was so calm and confident that the future was safe and happy, and Sinita hoped with all her heart that this would be the case. But her own life had taught her that there was no reason to believe in such dreams.

Vepresila saw her younger brother by two years, Zollam, curiously stick his head into the room when the strange boy began to stir. He tried eagerly to stretch his neck and look over his mother's shoulders as she gently soothed the boy's dazed concern. It was not without disappointment he received his mother's request to go fetch their father. Vepresila met his gaze and teasingly stuck her tongue out at him. As often as he let her know she was worthless, she let him know all the times she actually was more privileged than he. Four or five years ago he had adored his sister. Then he had become more and more aware of the differences between his sister and the other girls, both in dress and behavior. His peers told him what he did not come to understand by himself. Subsequently, Zollam's big, broad smiles and loud laughter were no longer intended for her. He had chosen to fit in with the others, and dissociate himself from her. The only happy faces she received from him nowadays were those reserved for gloating. She missed his infectious grins and warmth. She missed having someone who ired her for who she was. It felt strange that she would be the target for all this mockery. She was supposed to be able to do something for the tribe's well-being. As a priestess, she would stand next to the Goddess and be able to have a direct link to their survival. Maybe she would even be able to create rain one day, to quench the desert people's burning thirst. The life-giving rain was so crucial for the tribe's food supplies. She saw no logic in that she was constantly told she had not worth.

Their disdain for her would have been far more logical if they wanted her to send droughts as revenge for everything they had done to her.

Sinita served the boy some soup when Mannestam, the tribal leader and also Vepresila's father and Sinita's husband, stepped into the cave with long strides. He was a tall, well-built man whose face bore a scar that cost him most of the sight in his left eye. He did not hide his injury. Instead, he had combed and braided his hair away from the wound, leaving a corridor for the scar to be visible all the way from the chin to the top of his head. It served as a reminder to the other tribe that he was a man of bravery and not someone to be trifled with. He stood with his arms crossed and contemplated the burnt, unexpected guest. "So, the crazy boy has awoken at last," he concluded. "What's your name?" The boy took a deep breath and tested if his voice would hold before he dared to answer. "Simmiolas, sir," he answered. Vepresila stifled a giggle. Both the name and to call the tribal leader 'sir' was weird things to her ears. "I'm Mannestam, leader of the tribe here." "Nice to meet you." Mannestam clenched his jaws, and Vepresila saw how Sinita gasped. Something in the tone of his words, however, gave her a feeling that behind the insolent answer was an attempt at a friendly greeting. "I can't say the same. You caused us big trouble." Mannestam spat out the words. "I'm sorry. It was not my intention." Mannestam's rising anger turned into frustrated confusion.

"This is a great inconvenience for us," he repeated as if the boy did not hear it the first time. The stranger gazed at Mannestam and then mumbled that he was sorry. He clearly did not understand what was expected of him. Mannestam sighed and told Sinita to let him know when the boy was alert. Then, as abruptly as he entered, he turned on his heel and left the room. Simmiolas warily, watched him leave. Sinita returned with more soup. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked anxiously. Sinita smiled, radiating security and friendliness. "It's not my place to interfere in the business of men, but I would say that he expected you to offer to replace the loss of food it caused them to save you." Vepresila could see Simmiolas break down the information into something he could understand. "I'm sorry, but I own nothing of value," he explained. "We request no belongings of anyone," Sinita reproached him. When she saw his confused face, she changed her tone. It was a tone one would use to explain things to a little child. "Are you a man?" she asked. Simmiolas blushed. "I guess you have seen that already" he murmured. Sinita sighed, and Vepresila felt her cheeks got hot. "Are you a boy or a man?" Vepresila saw the wrinkle between his eyebrows, and she leaned over and whispered to her mother. Sinita made a new attempt: "How many years have you lived?" "About fourteen or fifteen," he replied, adding: "I think."

Sinita exchanged a resigned glance with her daughter. "You have your hair down. Boys have a tassel, men braids. Which are you?" When she received no intelligible reply, she concluded: "Boy. To be part of the hunting party, you must be a man. Only a man can hunt and make up for the loss that you have caused. You have to stay here and become a man. Then you can hunt." "And then?" the boy asked, as if he thought there was something beyond becoming a man. "Then you're a man," Sinita replied. "A young man. You get a wife, and with the will of the Gods you'll have children." "Do I have to stay here?" Again Vepresila surmised he had not meant it as an insult, but Sinita pursed her lips and started to clear away the soup. Vepresila pulled her by the arm and whispered to her. "How can it not be meant as an insult?" Sinita hissed, outraged, without thinking of the boy. "Forgive me," he exclaimed, appalled. "It really was not meant that way. I just..." He stopped, and Vepresila took note how he tried to choose his words with care. "I'll be happy to hunt to pay you for your losses. I just wondered what would happen to me when the debt is paid. I don't know your manners. Everything is new to me." Sinita's posture softened, but her face remained grave and grim. "You do well to listen and learn fast, boy," she said with a bit of chill in her voice. "Your debt will never be paid." Sinita gathered her things and stood up. As she left, Vepresila followed her. Vepresila was amazed that the boy could not count. In the old days, she would have discussed this with her mother. But too often she found her and her questions being brushed off, told that she was thinking too much or being too weird. When she was about nine years of age, she had begun to keep her

questions to herself. But that did not mean she was thinking less. This boy could not understand what debt he had placed upon himself, and it left her puzzled. Yes, the boy had cost the tribe a good day's hunt, but the debt was surely not insurmountable. But what did he think he would eat before he became a man? A period where he could not pay back his debt at all. Being in hunting debt to a tribe meant that, in practice, he had to move to them for life. Had it been a man with a family, his tribe usually sent a younger, unmarried man to pay the debt on his behalf. Or they had sent some marriageable women. But this boy, Simmiolas, did not know this. He even told her he came from somewhere else and it made Vepresila curious. She knew there was something beyond the world she saw, but she knew nothing about it. Simmiolas however likely did. And she was determined to find out more about a world she probably would never see.

Chapter Two

The art of arranging a marriage

For the last six hundred years, the impressive edifice was the first thing that met the sun each morning. Lahall's castle swept the mountain in a web of bridges, ages, stairs, towers, and houses. At a distance, it looked like one huge building, a gigantic palace, rather than something built around a mountain. Even up close, when the road began to wriggle up between the towers and under bridges, it was hard not to be fascinated. How did the towers even get there? They sat like growths on the steep mountain – all with a system of stairways and bridges, carved or masonry, which led to other equally breathtakingly placed parts of the castle. On top of the mountain rested the largest and most famous of them all: the citadel. The citadel was built of glazed brick and shone like a blazing fire on the mountaintop in the early sunlight. It was not only a focal point, and a stunning sight at dawn, but also the center of castle life. Here you could find the great hall used for celebrations and audiences, and the kitchen which was an obvious point of attraction for all those who earned their living serving the court. Below the castle and its mountain, the city of Lahall spread out like a quilt of houses, still slumbering in the morning mist. The city had emerged along the road to the castle as a result of the court's constant need of goods – and therefore merchants – and the many people who went there to see the mighty castle to find work or request an audience with the regent. In the beginning, the city had only grown in length, but with time also in the width. The road no longer ed through the city center. Wooden houses had been built and later replaced, one by one, by new houses in stone as richer owners began to move in. The building style had changed over the years which has led to a patchwork of different kinds of homes and left a few streets straight. At the square came a few sleepy townspeople to fetch the day's first water at the city's main well.

In the capital, the evidence from the bad harvests was not yet obvious. The food had become more expensive, but there were enough resources in circulation to keep most people happy without grumbling. The problems that kept the King and hungry peasants out in the country awake at night were not yet their concern. On the ground floor of one of the castle's many towers, Filia stepped out of bed with a yawn. Dawn sent the day's first light through the narrow window's jagged glass, but Filia shut the view with dark curtains that left the room in gray twilight. The transformation into a gloomy and sinister place was just what she wanted. It was a home that suited her and the role she had at court. Few would have believed her to be only seventeen. It was simply not possible for someone so young to hold a position near the King – and with such influence and importance, too. It was unlikely that anyone with so few years could possess the abilities that she claimed to have. But no one dared to ask her about her age. If anyone would venture to start a conversation with her, it was never about who she was or how she got there. Filia herself nursed the mystery surrounding her person with great care. Although she tried to create a picture that showed otherwise, she was still a human being, and it meant that she had to shave her head and her eyebrows every morning to remove the straws which ventured out since the morning before. She kept her bald head out of the sunlight, and her pallor increased the feeling of unnaturalness. Besides the two tattooed serpents which twisted themselves up along the neck and up over each cheek, she had a third snake climbing over the back of her neck and across her head and to the front of her forehead where it opened its mouth, ready for a deadly blow. Its tongue ended on the tip of her nose. Filia had done everything possible to give a feeling of discomfort to everyone who saw her. Filia lit candles by the mirror and began to enhance the whiteness of her pale skin with makeup. The head, neck, hands – anything that could not be concealed by clothing. Her mouth looked like a thin line drawn onto her face, without any impression of lips. Filia had just pulled a long black robe over her head when someone knocked on the door. She delayed her response. She was not ready to meet anyone yet. "It's the Goddess of beauty," a voice announced on the other side of the door.

Filia opened and let Turpa in. Turpa was an unusually short woman with a face like a half-eaten apple that someone tossed in the compost. She was dressed like a buffoon in clothing with bright colors and that was of an unusual fit. Turpa was the court fool and had been there for at least twenty years. Turpa made a formal bow in front of Filia with a large measure of satire embodied. "Good morning, the all-powerful ruler of darkness." With a stiff smile, Filia returned to the mirror and began to put translucent jelly on her tattooed snakes. "Anything new?" she asked. "His Fartness is still asleep," Turpa replied while she climbed up on the table and began to juggle three balls. "Want to see my new trick for the almighty whoopee scrotum?" Filia turned around to see. For a fraction of a second Turpa kept two of the balls like a pair of breasts in front of her. Then she continued to juggle as usual for a while before she again held two balls in front of her for a brief moment, only to shortly after that continue to juggle as nothing had happened. Filia returned to the mirror with a shrug. "The balls are too small. Moreover, you can do it naked, and the King will still not see what you want him to see." Turpa's face hardened. She threw one of her balls as a projectile against Filia's back. Too fast for the eye to perceive Filia spun around and caught it. She met Turpa's gaze glowing with anger and bitterness and regretted that she had not been more tactful. "You know it's true." "I don't need your truths," Turpa spat as she grabbed the ball from Filia and strode out of the room. Filia rarely asked for forgiveness, and she felt no reason to do so in this case either. She had not said anything she could not be ed for, but she often

had to remind herself that most people did not want the truth served abruptly, but well decorated and camouflaged on a silver platter. In her role, there was no problem with the undeniable facts, but Turpa was different. Filia had difficulties grasping how anyone could devote so much of her life to nurture an inherent bitterness and treat herself as a victim of circumstances. But she felt a certain tenderness and respect for Turpa. She was almost as familiar with her as she could get. Filia swept a long, wide, black cloak around her and pulled the hood over her head. Satisfied, she contemplated her image in the mirror. The gel had the snakes gleaming menacingly under the hood where she hid the greater part of her face in mystical obscurity. She was a perfect picture of an unmentionable dark force. With confidence beyond one seventeen-year-old, she left the room as a cold, unpleasant chill running down the spine embodied. She locked the door behind her.

Crown Prince Idónnes walked with long strides through one of the many ages along the hill towards the tower which was the King's residence. He was well-groomed and perfectly dressed like a doll. A royal pup without the slightest flaw. He was barely eighteen and looked alarmingly boyish given the role awaiting him. His eyes, however, revealed more experience and knowledge than the soft features of his face. There had not been a day in his life where he had not been reminded of his future responsibilities and obligations. The duties that came with the role had become clearer with each ing year. The age swung out from the mountainside and became a bridge where the steep slope disappeared below him. The covered bridge had many large windows. The view was impressive, but Idónnes' interests lay in front of him. The bridge ended in a hall, three floors up in a tower. Much like Filia's room, the King's residence was in one of the towers which clung to the mountainside. Most of the people who lived in the castle had their homes in the towers, but few were privileged to have a whole floor to themselves. The King had, naturally, a full tower for his . Idónnes marched up to the guard who stood the outside of the King's chambers.

"Don't say he's still asleep." The guard shrugged in an apologetic gesture to show that he did not know and had no reason to know what was going on behind the closed door he was guarding. Idónnes slammed his fist into the door's polished wood. "Father?" There was no answer. Idónnes opened the door and strode into the King's upper chamber and continued down the stairs to the royal bedroom. Idónnes found his father entangled in the sheets, snoring in his bed. He shook the royal shoulder. "Father!" King Antes blinked and woke up. "Who died?" "The Council, Father. You called on them, ? They wait for you." Despite his forty-two years, he was still relatively young, and his hair had not yet begun to shift to gray. He was far more unmovable and looser in his flesh than several others at the court who were both ten and twenty years older. Getting out of bed took its time. Antes had been crowned King at twenty-two when his father died. Three years later, his mother had ed away. To rule the kingdom had not given him time for sadness, but an awareness of the constant presence of death. This experience had, in turn, imprinted an attitude to life which meant he took advantage of what life had to offer as much as he could. "I dreamt about your mother," the King reproached his son and ruffled with his hands in his hair in an attempt to wake up. "So it was Mother this time," Idónnes grumbled. He did not live in the illusion that his parents had had a happy, monogamous relationship. Like so many royal marriages it had been arranged without any of the parties' actual consent.

"She was a lovely woman," King Antes said dreamily. "When she was young. A genuine sweet for a man's soul." "Come, father. Put your clothes on. Please." "Yes, yes, yes. I'm coming. I'll be at the meeting. You go ahead. Start the meeting for me." King Antes was at least awake enough to see the doubt in his son's eyes. "I'll get there. All in due time. Don't worry." He waved his hand to shoo him off. Idónnes felt that when his father would finally emerge, the meeting time would be long gone. He left the tower with a new duty on his shoulders.

To move between the different locations of the castle took its time. There were many stairs and ages, and over the years the kings and queens had extended the castle, which led to an already complicated network transforming into a labyrinth. Most of its residents had the citadel at the top as a reference, and once there, they took out a new course to get where they were going. Despite the unobstructed views to locate where you were, it was far from tempting for most to find shortcuts around rather than walking up and down the mountain. Filia was one of the few who knew every age and staircase. She did not hesitate to choose the less lit paths and steep, narrow stairs to the benefit of the wider streets. She was one of the few who used the bridge between the tower she lived in, and the King's. Filia saw Idónnes leave the King's chambers from where she waited in the shadows. She caught up with him without a sound. "Was His Majesty still asleep?" Idónnes jumped at her sudden appearance. "I have to open the meeting," he summed up the situation and continued to hurry over the bridge and up the stairs on the other side. Filia followed him, one step behind, as any faithful servant would. Although she knew she had considerable influence, Filia was extremely careful to prove herself loyal to those she served. The moment the King or the Crown Prince saw her as a threat to their own power, she knew she would be annihilated, or even

killed. After her arrival at the court, the King had had no need of an assassin – which most saw as a blessing – but she was convinced that if the King felt the need, one would be called for. In front of her, Idónnes' confident feet slowed down. He looked around as if to be certain they were alone. "Do you know what the meeting is about?" He asked her with palpable desperation in his voice. "Stay calm, my prince. I can tell you what you need to know." A thin smile eluded Filia. She was careful with her facial expressions. She was not a charming young woman, let alone a sweet girl. Moreover, she had noted that her seemingly lip-less face could undoubtedly make her smile appear as mockery. It could be useful in the right context, but that expression towards the King or the Crown Prince was not to be regarded as such. Idónnes appeared only relieved. The King had a Council consisting of representatives from the six duchies in the country, and one from Lahall. They were elected by the people in their respective areas but without their duke's impact. They were ordinary people with ordinary jobs and represented the people who lived in the country. Seven was by means many, but the King was a practical and economically-minded man. He wanted them to be called together without having to have more than one tower available for the ' accommodation needs. The Council's tower had seven bedrooms in addition to the Council Room. Had it been a larger council, the King would have to expand. The Council had no decision-making function. They were there only as advisers and the King never gave them the illusion of anything else. The King alone made the decisions. To an outsider, the Council might seem unnecessary, but King Antes did his best to be ed as an excellent monarch. He wanted to hear what troubled the people as unfiltered as possible. One king before him had also given the Council the option to take decisions in some matters, but that had not been a good move. With the decision also followed liability. By taking responsibility for every decision, none of his Council suffered from reprisals or pressure, whether from their peers or from the local ruling dukes. If one of his dukes became displeased by a decision, it led nowhere to exercise their power over a Council member.

The system had been around for generations – apart from the short period where they had extended powers – and former could testify that at that point it was no risk participating. In contrast, the man or woman chosen had to drop what they were doing on short notice to come to the castle. For all but Múllirem who was elected by Lahall, this meant that the trip only to get there meant at least a day away from work, a bit longer for two of them. How long they would have to stay was often uncertain. Even if they were paid for the work they had not been able to do at home, it was still troubling for many to be away from their business at home, which made many to to commit themselves. Now all seven sat there in the uncomfortable chairs in the tower's upper room where they waited. Many of them had arrived late the night before, and they all had to get up early to be ready. The King, however, seemed to use lie-ins nowadays. When a servant appeared with water and dried fruit, they understood without exchanging any words that the wait would be long this time. They got up and provided themselves with refreshments, but had to hurry back to their seats when the Crown Prince came upstairs. He welcomed them while he went up to his place beside the King's empty throne. Behind him, slid the black demon, just as she used to when the King arrived. She stood just behind Idónnes' chair. He was the next in line; the demon knew how to remind everyone present of the fact. "The King will be here momentarily," declared Idónnes with a voice that cried out disbelief. "He asked me to open the meeting in the meantime." Idónnes looked down at his hands. He knew he had all Council ' eyes upon him. He was also intensely aware that this was the future awaiting him. Somewhere within, he hoped to find the strength needed to cope. "Proles!" The young man jumped when the Crown Prince stated his name. He was yanked from his thoughts on where the tattooed snakes could start on her body and what he had seen with his mind's eye had been inspiring. He was the youngest of the Council but still almost ten years older than Idónnes. "Yes, my prince," he replied and landed with a nasty thud into reality. He sensed what was coming next.

"What happened to the money?" The question was more direct than he had wished for. A loosely sustained response would not work. Proles wanted nothing more than to be in a different place. Proles had received a large sum of money to find out what they could do about the declining harvests, including traveling to a neighboring kingdom across the waters and learn from them. "We were robbed," he started his well-rehearsed story. "The money was stolen." He began to stutter and stumble on the words when he saw the black demon approach him and lost his cue completely when she stopped in front of him. He looked up in her face under the dark hood and knew at once that everything he heard about her was true; she actually could read his mind. "He's lying. He wasn't robbed." "What happened?" "He was fooled on Hadria. A faker sold him a miracle cure to get better growth. It turned out that he came home with the boat full of ordinary sand." The demon left Proles and returned to her place. "Thank you. It was sad news." Proles sat like a rag doll thrown upon his chair, his face red from embarrassment and shame. He felt like an idiot. He had gone for the bluff with sand and became exposed as a liar in front of others. He felt a nascent hatred for the black-clad creature who, with such ease, went into his mind. He had been forced to expose himself to her and had felt how something that could best be described as a giant, shadowy finger browsed around among his thoughts. He had felt utterly naked. But she had done more than that. She had seen his desire for this mysterious, fascinating woman – herself – but had not given him anything in exchange. She knew his innermost thoughts, his desires to have her, but refused to give him so much as a glimpse of herself to him. On the contrary, he rather felt an icy chill as an answer. The woman of his most private, secret, sensual dreams had rejected him. King Antes came stumbling up the stairs, unkempt with yesterday's stubble still

in his face. All rose while the King crossed the room. When he dropped down on his throne, they returned to their seats. They all waited for the King to take the command, but nothing more happened than his eyes focused on Múllirem. She was the only woman on the Council. Múllirem wrapped her shawl tighter around her in an attempt to shut out the King's hungry eyes. Before the situation became too awkward Idónnes took command again. "Father, Proles has wasted money intended for increasing our harvests." An uncomfortable silence followed when Antes continued to undress her with his eyes. She fought to ignore him. It did not help when everyone in the room was aware of his stare. "Father?" Idónnes voice was bordering on too hard in front of the audience. "My dear lady Múllirem," the King exclaimed. "Surely you want to add your motherly care to our fields?" Múllirem felt a knot tie itself in her belly. Everyone knew the King was not only fond of women but also changed his affections often. While others would have been content with one or two mistresses the castle had instead been depopulated of all women who were not interested in a short-term, intimate relationship with the country's ruler, or too ugly or too old to fall upon royal interest. Múllirem was certainly both unmarried and childless, but she had no plans to satisfy the King's lusts. She met his gaze without swaying. "No, Your Majesty." "Pardon?" spat King Antes with a hastily stirred anger. "My sister is sick. I care for her four small children now." The King stared at her like a lion ready to attack. "Since when do you have a sister?" he asked with scorn in his voice. Múllirem's heart sank when she saw the King waving his black incubus towards her. The dark figure stopped in front of her and Múllirem closed her eyes as she

felt the terrible finger poking around in there. It was not just the horrific realization that there really was someone who could read your thoughts. It was equally obvious that her lie was read like an open book by the demon. She braced herself for the humiliation, but she would never share the King's bed, no matter what. "She speaks the truth." Múllirem was not sure she heard it right. She looked up at the expressionless face in front of her. "Her sister will be sick for a long time." She searched for some kind of human in the shadows but found no response at all. The demon turned away from her. "I suggest Vetes or Vender instead, Your Majesty. Both are experienced enough." Filia took her position as a black shadow again behind the King and the Crown Prince. She threw a quick glance at Múllirem and saw she had recovered. Had the cow continued to stare that way the King would have been able to smell a rat. It was a big risk she had taken when she ed Múllirem's lie. Too big. She cursed herself that she had lied. The lie in and of itself was not a problem for her – she would not get far if she could not lie – but because Filia risked so much of what she had built up for something unimportant. Whatever Múllirem thought about it, she had not lied to protect her, but for Filia's own pleasure. The way the King treated women was not worth more than contempt, according to Filia. Not herself or Turpa, of course, because he did not see them as women in the first place, but all the other more ordinary women. To not give the King an excuse to get close to Múllirem was to punish him, not protect the woman who was the goal of the day for his desires. Filia bit her tongue in frustration that she had not been able to refrain from vengeance. What would she be worth in the eyes of the King if he could not trust that she truly expressed what she saw? Was it worth the risk because she could not tolerate that the King was an old lecher? No. No, no, no. She had grander plans than that. King Antes' thoughts were elsewhere, too distracted to note Múllirem's moment of complete surprise. If Idónnes had noticed something he

kept it to himself. "Well. Vender, solve it," the King commanded. Vender was a knowledgeable and demanding merchant who traveled to all parts of the world. But when his children began to grow up, he felt he could, and did, hand more and more of the responsibility of the business over to them. Filia knew he was pleased to receive the opportunity to be able to benefit from a broader perspective as one of the Royal Council. Solving the riddle of poor harvests and incipient famine was probably not the mission he had dreamed of. "Yes, Your Majesty," replied Vender without enthusiasm. As expected, he had no useful counter-arguments on why he should not undertake the job. As she had pointed out, he had practical experience in solving problems and was more than suitable for the task. It would remain to be seen if he could actually solve the issues with the harvests. The King heaved himself up from the throne. "Father, what do we do with Proles?" The King looked blankly at his son and heir. "Why should we do anything with him?" "He was careless with the money," Idónnes huffed. "We do not dwell in the past, my son," Antes said with sudden paternal tenderness. "It's the future that's important."

That night, Turpa went through the castle's darkest and emptiest ages with a person in a long gray cloak behind her. They hurried with quick, silent steps and slid in the shadows to avoid all the guards in the ages' hubs. Under the gray hood was the face of a pretty young woman, framed by a curly cinnamon-brown hair. The cloak covered a gold-embroidered dress worthy of a princess. She was on her way to a secret meeting with her future husband, and it was of the highest importance for the visit to remain unknown to everyone else. It was

not just that many had an interest in who Idónnes married, but also that the bride was nothing more than an illusion. The charming young woman following Turpa through the dark corridors would never be able to wash her face without revealing she had snake tattoos on her cheeks. They hid in the shadows and watched the guard who stood outside Idónnes' door. "He's usually asleep," Turpa whispered and cursed. Then she fell silent as the guard suddenly began to yawn. Less than a minute later the guard dropped in a pile on the floor, sleeping. "Tell me it wasn't you," Turpa hissed, shocked. "It wasn't me," Filia obliged her, and ran through Idónnes' door and sneaked inside. Turpa watched her disappear inside the chamber and had not the slightest doubt about who it was who had the guard falling asleep. She knew more about Filia than anyone else at the castle, yet she was alarmingly aware of how little she knew. The first year Filia stayed at the court Turpa had tried to convince herself that everything surrounding the King's witch only consisted of skillful tricks. Anxious to find out how she did it, Turpa had been too curious for her own good. When Filia caught her spying in her room, Turpa had become aware that the strange woman was more than pale skin and black clothes. But this experience had not led her to any knowledge about where Filia came from, or her full potential in what she could do – just that she could do so much more than others. When Turpa had thought her time had come, she had instead received a protective wing in exchange for being an extra pair of ears and eyes at the castle. Along with a hope that the future could offer a world without stupid men on the throne. But what made Turpa absolutely loyal to her was that Filia had never assumed Turpa was stupid just because she was ugly. Filia took off her cloak, made sure the wig was placed where it should, and then approached the sleeping young man. She pulled her fingers through his hair and touched his cheek. When Idónnes began to stir, she blew a small amount of emerald-green powder in his face. It was a mild drug, its effect would subside. But for a short while, it would keep his mind trapped in a dream-like state. Idónnes blinked and looked at her with a smile that grew wide, stretching from ear to ear.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered. Filia smiled at him and took his hands. This was not the demon. This was the stunning princess, who could laugh and be jolly. She guided him out of bed. "Are you floating too?" he asked. Filia nodded. They danced around the room together, close but with minimal body . The air between them vibrated with seduction and eroticism. "Are you for real?" Idónnes mumbled. "Do you want me to be?" Filia returned with a voice like honey. Idónnes, who could not take his eyes off her, nodded. "Then I am." She guided him back to the bed and got him to lie down. She let her finger slide against his cheek. When he closed his eyes, she whispered in his ear. "Wait for me. I'll come." She watched the sleeping Idónnes, the man she had to drug and meet in disguise to make him fall in love with her. This was just the first phase of her plan. They were not married yet. She had only been able to make him dream of the right woman. There had not been an opportunity where he could meet with the princess of his dreams in waking reality. She picked up her cloak from the floor, wrapped it around herself, and left the room.

Chapter Three

Unwanted visitors

The next day, a group of people came riding up towards the castle. At the front rode the King's cousin, Frater. Frater was one of the six dukes sustaining the law around the country. He, as well as the other dukes, made sure everyone paid what they could to the King, and the rest they claimed for their benefit. A few more of the dukes were relatives to the King, but it was common knowledge that Frater was the King's favorite. He often received benefits or rewards that the others did not. Frater himself was eager to show his close relationship to the Royal Highness and put his seemingly endless riches on display as well. His dress of the day was richly decorated with royal designs, and the cloak was stiff with all embroidered golden threads. Unlike the King himself, he kept his body in an alert condition and was physically fit. He sat straight and proud upon his horse. Beside him rode his sixteen-year-old daughter Saela, tight and well-groomed, drowning in gold embroidery like her father, but with a face that radiated disinterest and fatigue. A wealthy life had given her a healthy appearance, enriching her otherwise dull look. Behind the two of them rode Satéll, Frater's Captain of the Guard, and head of the household's safety. The rumor claimed he had had ample opportunities to demonstrate his unofficial skills of assassination. Frater was a man who neither appreciated setbacks nor obstacles. Satéll himself approached thirty and was stronger than he was agile. His shoulders and arms gave a considerable impression, which was beneficial in all settings, including close combat. There he could get an advantage by his size alone. Sometimes he avoided the fight entirely, scaring off the antagonist before the battle even started. It was easy to be taken aback when the same man knew how to move silently and disappear into the shadows.

Satéll had the face and the charm on his side. There had been rumors of a romance between him and Saela, but they looked upon each other like siblings. Satéll had been just a child when he ed Frater's household as a page and errand boy. He had been there as a big brother when Saela was born. He had often amused her with clever tricks to conjure coins or with thin wires that made her dolls move. Their paths had soon split in different directions. Behind Satéll followed numerous servants, which together ed for a sizable entourage. The locals murmured in disapproval as they ed. That size of courtship was fit for a king, not a duke. "A smile won't hurt," Frater hissed to his daughter with a voice dripping with acid. "Parva is tired," she replied. Satéll heard her irritation and saw Frater's jaws clench. The relationship between father and daughter was strained. "I didn't ask your horse to smile," Frater pressed between his clenched teeth. Saela answered him with a condescending look that got Frater to boil with rage. It did not make the situation better when Saela had dared to grow beyond Frater in length. "Smile!" he commanded, "or I sell your dear Parva." Saela's sullen face broke up and became as beautiful as a rose. Satéll saw the charade. The smile was not much more than a mask, but the cover was just as stunning as he knew Frater wanted her. His master cared far less about what was behind the facade. "You feel good to smile," he heard Frater say with strained friendliness. "Your mother would have said it gets your soul to shine."

The travelers reached the agora, the open space outside Lahall's citadel on the top of the mountain. No walls obscured the view from here. Besides some of the higher placed towers that ventured up the castle's height, there was nothing that broke the horizon. You could see the magnificent forests, villages, fields, and sometimes, when the weather allowed, the sea to the east. From the mountaintop, no bad harvests and unhappy life could be seen. There was only the best of

Halliakon. From the agora led a magnificent white stone staircase up to the gates of the citadel. From there, King Antes and Idónnes came together with their entourage to bid their guests a warm welcome. Both Filia and Turpa belonged to the group who were in the King's presence. But still, they did not belong there. They were no gilded suite, no discreet servants. They were left out. Filia because she chose the path of isolation. Turpa, because she had been born into a body that was not considered fit for more than a fool's. Usually, the group was three or four people. Someone wrote down what was needed, someone who kept track of the orders to be ed on, and someone who took care of where the guests would be accommodated. To that an outer sphere of available servants and errand boys who could be summoned quickly when needed. For this occasion, the King, who usually did not bother with showy gestures, amassed an entourage outshining Frater's – only for the sake of it, noted Filia. From the top of the stairs, she studied Frater and his daughter. It was the first time she had seen them. In the three years, she had been at the castle, she had heard a lot about this cousin, but had not the opportunity to see him with her own eyes. Frater was duke of a more remote part of the country to the west, with water on three sides. Filia knew, unlike most others at the court, that the reason the cousin had that particular duchy was not for its fertile soils, but because the King wanted him as far away as possible and with as few neighbors to annoy as geographically possible. Frater was not the King's favorite. When she saw the proud man arrive, she suspected that if any of the islands north of Halliakon had belonged to the kingdom, the King would happily place Frater there. She observed that Frater's clothes were verging on unacceptable decorated as they were with gold embroidery patterns so similar to the Royals' he could be taken for a prince rather than a distant relative. Filia grit her teeth at this disrespect, but the King walked towards his cousin with open arms. "Frater! Welcome!" "Cousin!" Frater smiled. "My dear cousin. I wish you a long and happy life." They gave each other a brotherly hug.

"Cousin, you my daughter, Saela?" Frater introduced. King Antes smiled, took her hand, and helped her down from the horse. To Filia's relief, he saw no hungry lust in his King's eyes, just a polite, broad smile on his face. "How could I forget her? Saela, you've grown up to be a beauty. Welcome to my humble home." Turpa bounced down the stairs and up to Satéll. She offered him her hand, bowed deeply and said, "You are the most beautiful man I've ever met. Welcome to my golden house." Then she farted loudly. King Antes burst into laughter, and when the King laughed, it obliged all others to tune in. Frater strained his mouth to something that could be associated with a grin.

Satéll himself did not care about what was politically correct. In his position, he was not expected to flatter anyone. The Fool's gambit was not addressed to him personally, but nothing more than a swipe at the King, although the King himself seemed to revel in the vulgar sense of humor. Ignoring the outstretched hand, he swung down from the horse. He saw Frater making attempts to get the young couple to say hello to each other. "Idónnes, you Saela?" "Of course. I wish you every success and happiness in life, Miss Saela," Idónnes replied stiffly. Satéll thought Frater probably went a little overboard with the familiar phrases. Idónnes was not only the Crown Prince but had also gone from child to adult since they met last. Saela did not seem overly enthusiastic when she replied, "I wish you the same, my prince." Satéll sought eye with the black-clad figure standing at the top of the stairs. There was nothing more to see than a mouth under the dark hood.

So this was King Antes' magician. He had heard the magician was a woman, but it was hard to tell based on what he saw. Of course, he knew about her existence. Who did not know about the black ghost, which was said to hover around the King consistently? Moreover, he had done his best to gain intelligence about this mysterious magician. Still, even though he was willing to pay well, the information he had obtained had been annoyingly vague and hesitant. Everyone was able to confirm with certainty the existence of this black-clad magician. Beyond that, the report was thin. He had not been able to tell precisely which function she had or what decisions she influenced. He had considered if she was a religious figure. Though it seemed that she was no priest or druid to King Antes, the answer was not apparent. His birds could tell the King was not a man seeking answers with any but the regular gods. It was not likely the magician represented some faith. He reflected that the King must pay her large sums of money if he could convince her to stay there, instead of creating her luck. What he saw impressed him.

King Antes gestured up the stairs and invited all to follow. Everyone began to move upwards when Saela declared that she was going to take Parva to the stables. There was general confusion and irritation among the assembled when they saw the girl walk away with her horse, alone. Filia saw how Frater put his arm around Idónnes' shoulders as might a close father, and murmured something to him. Idónnes moved away from the misplaced paternal tenderness. He sought his father's advice with his eyes, and he got a brief nod. While the rest of the party ed her on the way in, she saw Idónnes follow Saela. While careful not to show doubt, she swayed back and forth, indecisive. Suddenly, she came to think of Frater's notorious assassin, who Turpa tried to assist down from the horse. She scanned her surroundings. Where had he gone? Had he walked past her? Or had he taken another route? She cursed herself for being inattentive. With quick steps, she glided down the stairs and floated along the citadel's colorful glazed tiles to the stables. From the shadows, she saw Saela had taken off the richly decorated travel-cloak and groomed her horse with the hem of her dress standing in straw and horse shit. Idónnes underwent an inspection of the stable and chatted with those who worked there without caring about their guest.

Relieved, she left the young couple. Neither party was interested in marriage to the other, and it facilitated her planning. After all, she planned to get Idónnes for herself.

In the middle of the agora in front of the white staircase stood a monument of black stone. The base was as high as a man. On it, there was a mix of people and gods intertwined. Some gods drew people towards the sky; others pulled them down into the underworld. The statue was a commemoration of death's constant presence and transience of life. It was also the entrance to the royal crypt. Filia searched by her hand along the pedestal to open the door. The door was not locked, but it took a little experience to open it. The stone swung smoothly into the hollowed socket, and Filia slipped inside and shut it behind her. She stood in a narrow tunnel leading down into the mountain. Not that she saw it, she was in total darkness, but she knew the shaft. With no more than a couple of fingertips along one wall, she walked with safe footing. A short distance away, the tunnel took a turn, and behind yet another bend, she could see the light from the lamps. Stories and legends surrounded Lahall's crypt, and Filia had listened carefully to all of them. Many of them told about ghosts and demons and monsters and people who entered and never came back. None revealed the crypt's real benefit. It felt reassuring to know that if anyone else knew its secrets, he or she was at least smart and bold enough to find them on their own, as well as wise sufficient to keep it for themselves. Filia turned the corner and saw the smooth tunnel which drilled itself down into the mountain in full turns. On both sides were the royal tombs. In each burial chamber was a stone sarcophagus for the royal corpse. Once in place, the entrance to the doorway was blocked by a stone statue of the dead. Each figure held an oil lamp in their hands. The path in front of her was lined with stone statues every few paces, each with a flickering flame. Together with the mountain's jagged surface and the uneven floor, the lights created an eerie atmosphere with many long shadows. Filia stopped at one of the statues whose lamp was out. She searched with her hand behind the statue's legs and found a bottle of oil, which she poured into the

lantern. Then she took the lamp and went to the previous grave and lit it there. When the wick caught fire, Filia heard someone walking down the tunnel. She remained with the lantern in her hands and waited. Escaping was not an option. What if, whoever it was, saw her run away, like a mouse chased by a cat? No, then it was better to face the possible danger and behave in the way that suited her in her role.

Satéll rounded the corner and saw Filia further down the aisle. The flame flickered, and the shadows behind her danced menacingly. He was one of those who was not superstitious enough to believe she was something unnatural. It made him all the more impressed by her well-worked apparition. "Convenient place to find you." The light illuminated her face under the hood. It gave the whole scene a dramatic effect, but it also gave the visitor a chance to see her eyes for the first time. They shone like two green emeralds towards him, sharp and clear. He observed something else that made him puzzled. "You're younger than I thought." "And you're older. Your reputation had barely reached me before you did. One could almost think you were no more than a boy who just learned to carve with a knife." She walked down to a statue and put the lamp in its empty hands. Satéll had no interest in fighting for the position of the alpha male. He let the comment . Meticulously groomed, her voice was dark and articulate, matching the rest of her appearance. She had accomplished her role as a magician in every detail. The statue she stood beside depicted a young woman, no more than a girl, even. In silhouette, he saw the resemblance. "You?" he asked, pointing at the statue. First, he was met by silence and then: "This is a place for the dead." "Where's the grave?"

Behind the statue was no tomb. It stood alone in a niche without a room behind. "She was washed overboard in a storm. Three hundred years ago. Her brother was unwilling to inherit the throne." "Do you know the destinies of all your king's ancestral that well?" "You learn a lot when you wander around down here." Satéll noted more in the answer than he thought she surmised. Filia had just told him she took advantage of this crypt for something since she would have no reason to wander down here, as she had put it. "Few seem to use your name," he noted, not without curiosity. To his fascination, he had not managed to find out what her name was. "Few seem interested in talking with me." She faced him. The shadows were hiding her face once again. He found it incredible that anyone would not be interested in talking to her. Mysterious people fascinated him. He extended his hand. "Satéll."

Filia gazed at the outstretched hand and did not move. She had no friends. Could not have friends. Her hands clenched tightly. What did he want? "Don't fret," he grinned. "here's no obligations coming by revealing your name. I can still cut your throat, and you'll still be able to do to me whatever you're used to." She smiled. It was not often she met people who could distinguish between the role and the person. Although she had not the slightest intention to show him anything other than the wizard and the demon she was known as. It could be convenient to have a tie, albeit small, to Satéll. She pulled back the hood, revealing her shaved head and her snakes as a sign of trust and transparency. She was still closed like a clam, but on a purely professional level, she showed him respect.

"Filia," she replied and pressed Satéll's hand. He gave her a kind and boyish smile. "Filia, pleased to meet you. I wish you a long and healthy life." She snorted at the gallantry and took her hand back. She was not pleasant, and a crypt was a poorly chosen place to stand and grin like a sheep and shake hands. Though she reminded herself, an assassin might not care so much about being among old graves. "We are alone," he pointed out in response to her snort. She was about to say something in reply but kept quiet. Only two people had seen her bareheaded before: Turpa and King Antes. But she could not think of any way to explain what she felt without completely upsetting the balance in her role. It was not for her to defend or explain herself, yet she still felt, to her astonishment, tempted to start talking to him. He seemed open, honest, and fearless in a way she found appealing. She assembled her thoughts and kept her stable pose. "Where does this lead?" he asked and pointed down the crypt's winding age. Satéll would not have been who he was if he thought he would get an honest answer to that question. But from all replies, you could obtain information. Filia knew already she revealed she somehow used the crypt, although she did not know how. "Out," she replied, pointing in the direction from which they had come. She pulled the hood over her head again. Satéll's eyes followed her pointing finger for a moment, and when he turned his head back again, Filia was gone. She heard him laugh. "Neat trick, Filia. You have to teach me sometime."

Filia hurried through the ninety-steps-long, narrow, pitch-black tunnel until she felt the wooden planks in front of her fingers. This was the crypt's real use. There were few places in the castle you could not reach if you only knew where

the ages were. She wondered if even those who filled the statues' lanterns knew about the secret the lamps protected. For in the shadows the flames created, it was not always just a shadow. Sometimes, there was a narrow opening in the rock that led to assets like this. An extinguished lantern changed the pattern of the shadows, and an entrance could be revealed. The statue whose lamp she filled protected the age to her room. She pressed her hands against the boards and flung the secret door inside her wardrobe open. She closed it and walked out into the room. Turpa sat there, as expected, and she quickly jumped to her feet. "Where have you been?" she prompted. "A secret rendezvous," Filia replied. "It was so secret it didn't even happen. Idónnes and that misbehaving whipster." Turpa's face changed from moody to a grin. "Well, you should've heard Mr. Pompous, struggling and snorting like an ox in his attempts to get the King to approve a marriage between the two." "What did the King say?" Turpa adopted an over-dramatic pose and recited the haughty, excessive meeting. "He replied that he had promised his only son that he would be free to choose whoever he wanted as a bride." Turpa grinned. "He must have been drunk when he promised that." "Not so sure," Filia muttered. "There's a reason he's a lecher, and I can well imagine that he wishes his son a happier fate." Turpa harked her throat and shewed on the spit in her the mouth, something she often did when she was irritated. Her behavior was expected to be eye-catching and distasteful. She was so used to it that she had not reflected that some manners could be perceived as obnoxious when she wanted to spend time as a human being, and not as a fool. Someone knocked timidly on the door. Filia swept around the room and extinguished most of the lights. Then she went to the door and opened it. Outside stood a page that was nervous from the start. He began to shake all over the

whole body when he saw the black figure with her ghostly face in the doorway. He mumbled, lost it, and had a hard time keeping his hands still, but eventually managed to tell her that King Antes wanted to see her urgently in his chambers. Once the message was delivered, he turned around and fled.

Filia stepped into the King's chambers. When she saw they were alone, she pulled her hood off. It was an unspoken agreement they had; she showed she did not intend to use her powers on him, and he felt she was loyal to him. Both knew the hood was symbolic, but it was a significant gesture for both. The King put down his cup of wine and picked up a pouch. He threw it to her. "Your salary. And some extra." She nodded in thanks. It was not for the money that she was there. She knew the King could not grasp this fact. He grabbed his cup again and heaved the rest of the content. He filled it with more wine. "So, what should I do with my dear cousin?" "Are you afraid of him, Sire?" "Afraid?" asked the astonished King. "No. No, not afraid. But life is much easier when that dunghill is kept quiet and at ease. A retreat I seem to have used too often. For now, he believes it's his right to have his little lass married to Idónnes." The King turned the cup watching the wine. He drank in deep gulps. "Your son and Saela don't seem to share Frater's wish." Antes laughed in a short burst. "I thank all conceivable gods for that. The worst thing that could happen now is that Idónnes will come together with that mice-nest and say he'll marry her. Not that I could not stand her. I guess she's a fairly good girl by all means, but with her comes Frater, and him, I want to keep as far away as possible." Filia sensed she would soon have a mission to do something about the cousin. In

the tasks she had received until then, it had been enough to send a warning, be intimidating, and those missions had been unusual. The King was a kind soul who did not believe in threatening and killing people to maintain his power. Perhaps that was the reason there were so few problems that needed to be addressed by her. But with Frater, she figured she would have to go further. "What do you want me to do, Your Majesty?" Her heart pounded so hard behind her cold facade that she thought it must be visible through her chest. She was afraid of what he would answer. The King gazed into his wine goblet. "Do? I'm just a lonely old man with a carafe of wine for company. Maybe I just want someone to talk to." Filia felt the need to escape from the room. She would not be involved in this form of intimacy if she could help it. Being the King's security blanket was not her job. Antes must have sensed in her body language and facial expression that he crossed the line. "You can relax. I'll not be maudlin." Filia raised one eyebrow. He smiled sideways at her. "More than I already am," he added. "You know I'm not much for killing people just to suit my purposes. But I don't know how to solve this in another way." "Arrange a ball," Filia suggested, so rushed and impulsive she bit her lip. But when she had said it, she realized the idea was pretty marvelous. The King eyed her. "Sire, if the Crown Prince is already married, Frater has no claim. Invite as many young, unmarried women as possible and hope Idónnes finds the right one. Take this opportunity to invite potential candidates for Saela too. Maybe both will be married, with different people, and the only thing left is Frater, and he can sour as much as he likes." The King stared at her and heaved a burst of roaring laughter. "Filia, you are brilliant! Thank you!" "Just keep in mind, Sire, that your cousin can get angry."

Antes snorted. "Bah, yes, he can. But so what? What's he going to do? Unmarry Idónnes?"

Saela gazed out of the window. If she were to believe her father, this would be her future kingdom. The forest spread far below, far beyond the mountain the castle rested upon. A thick wall of trees surrounded the town. Trees had always had a calming and reassuring effect on her. If there were trees, things could not all be wrong. There was still something good to cling to when all else was tough. Throughout her life, she had known she would one day be pushed into the arms of a man her parents had chosen. Although her mother had claimed they would make the decision together, she had always known her father would have the final call. And he had never seen more than one possible candidate. He had firmly steered her to become queen. Although it was ten years ago her mother had left her earthly life, she still missed her very much. She had left an enormous void in her life, one her father's ambitions could not fill. And now she would soon marry into a family which also lacked a mother. The queen of the country had been dead for many years. Saela had heard that there was another woman at court who stood close to the King. The woman was probably the King's mistress, but it could not be helped. Maybe she could find a friend in her, someone who could give her some security and help her cope. She winced when she saw something move behind her in the window's glass. She turned and saw a black shape standing motionless in the middle of her room. "What do you want?" she asked in a voice like a hoarse whisper. "You called for me," replied the mouth under the black hood. Saela wanted to run away, but could not do so without ing the demon who appeared before her. She was cornered against the window. She had thought wrong thoughts, and now a monster from the underworld had revealed himself to punish her. "No. No, I've not. Why should I?" She felt a giant, sharp finger inside her head. She felt dizzy and nauseous when she tried to understand how a finger could be inside her mind.

"You called for the woman who was closest to his majesty," said the black-clad creature. Saela felt like a small child who was afraid that big, nasty goblins would come and take her, the naughty, disobedient little girl. What she had always feared was real, after all. "That would be me." Saela blinked. It dawned on her that the figure was a human of flesh and blood, not a demon from the underworld. Suddenly, she became angry and snapped, "Hilarious. You're not even a woman." When she said it, she realized the sex of the person in front of her was not apparent. The shoulders were a woman's, but her voice was dark enough to fit for a man. The body was well hidden in the black cloak and revealed nothing. "Are you a woman?" "I don't chat with a horse in a shrill voice if that's what you mean," the black shape replied. Saela felt herself blushing. "It's relaxing," Saela returned defensively. "And I don't get stupid answers." "I find stupid answers far more interesting than no response at all." The voice was cold and emotionless. It felt inhuman. "You've obviously never owned a horse," she declared and turned to the window again, seeking safety in the trees. "Only the ones I eat." Saela spun around, stunned. "Barbarian!" The straight line, which was the shadowy person's mouth shaped itself into a grin. In some ridiculous way, she found soothing in the mocking facial expression. It meant it was a real person under the hood. Saela could not find a friend in this... woman. But it did not say that the was insignificant.

The person was close to the King and the Crown Prince and could give her information. She reminded herself, it was a servant, and as such, a person who had no power over her. If she would be queen, she could not allow herself to be bullied by her servants. She again turned to the window to avoid seeing the figure and pretended she was talking to an ordinary servant. "So, the Crown Prince, what are his appetites?" she asked, trying to position herself in the mental superiority. "To eat?" Was the black-clad dumb, or rebellious? She chose the former. "No, what does he appreciate in a woman?" "You want to become someone else?" She gaped over the undisguised insolence. "Watch your mouth! I am your future queen!" "Really?" There was something in the response that made Saela uncertain. The little confidence she had melted away. "If so," continued the black "I suggest you stop assuming that everyone who doesn't let her voluptuous breasts stand for all action is a man." The dark cloak swept around when she turned to go. "How did you escape it?" blurted Saela impulsively with a vulnerability she did not want to show to anyone. "Escape what?" "Marriage." "Tattoos and black cloaks may have their part in it." A pause and Saela was alone. Saela noted the demon had to unlock the door to leave. It was no wonder since she always locked the door behind her. But how had the creature come in if the

door was locked? Rather than consider the idea there were other ways to get into the room than the door, she preferred to believe she had left the door unlocked, or that there was something supernatural with the creature after all. That anyone could go straight into her private chambers was a far too uncomfortable thought. It was moreover unlikely because the window was several floors up, and the opposite wall was towards the mountain. That part of the wall was solid rock.

It was such reasoning that made it possible for Filia to move to almost every part of the entire castle without anyone making conclusions that there was a secret network of ages inside the mountain. The tunnels were probably as old as the royal palace itself, and those who once had made them were long dead, the original purpose forgotten. If they were to constitute a secure exit, or if the idea was to sneak into the locked rooms, no one knew anymore. For Filia, it was a brilliant opportunity to maintain the mystique surrounding her. All that was needed was a moment of inattention from the one in the room, and she could manifest herself from nowhere. It was a carefully rehearsed series of movements she could carry out in a few seconds, along with the well-oiled, silent hinges. Filia had made sure there was not a single one of those who scourged when you opened the door. The only thing she lacked was a way in and out of the castle itself. She would have liked the crypt to go a bit deeper and have a age out, somewhere at the foot of the mountain. But as it was, it ended abruptly. She had searched in vain for a secret age out, but those who once planned the tunnels' system had not thought it was worth the risk that the enemy could exploit such an entrance. She hoped she was wrong, as it was hard for her to leave the castle at times other than at night, and even then, there was a prominent risk to be seen. To be caught running in a squatting position was not acceptable. Even less, she had no reason to leave, visible to the guard, in the middle of the night. Filia could not feel anything but contempt for Saela and everything she stood for. Filia had early in her childhood learned to take responsibility and face the consequences of her actions. Being so ive in her own life as Saela, and let others take control, was not for her and was a behavior for which she had little understanding. Saela may have had a shielded childhood, protected from everything Filia was forced to face early, but as she saw it, you could not blame

your life on your youth. It gave you a start, but then it was up to you to take charge. If you could think for yourself, you could create the life you wanted. If you did not succeed, it was nobody's fault other than one's own. To sit and cry over a marriage you did not desire, without doing something about it, was not worth any comion, as Filia saw it. You always had a choice. If you could not take the consequences of any other option, it was an active choice to take what remained. Filia could not understand people who said they had no choice. And she had even less understanding for people who behaved like children and let others decide their lives.

Chapter Four

A mother's betrayal

It was not many days before Simmiolas was on his feet again and Zollam showed him around. Vepresila saw them when they came out of the cave and went to the small patches of farmland. Simmiolas had his long, black hair in a boy's tassel, and his burnt skin was exposed to the sun as he had to go shirtless as the other boys. She thought Zollam should have had better sense than to let him go out in the sun when the skin was still sore. She sat by the berry bushes and ducked when they arrived so they would not see her. Experience had shown her that she could learn much more if she was invisible. Men were reluctant to speak about things in the presence of a woman. She listened unabashedly to their conversation as Zollam showed the new boy around the oasis. "It's strange," she heard Zollam say. "I can almost swear before the Gods that your skin has healed during the day." Simmiolas laughed in a way that Vepresila thought sounded evasive. "It's your mother's good soups." "Our mother," Zollam corrected him. "Who would have thought that I would get yet another big brother?" "Do you have any more?" "They're men now. Our oasis, what do you think?" Vepresila smiled at the change of subject and wondered if their new brother heard it, as well. Zollam was pleased to have a new brother. To be the youngest son could be a few years of grief and loneliness when your older brothers left

your company for manhood. "You've never seen anything like this, right?" Zollam added when the other boy did not reply. "Is this all? I mean, is this really enough to provide food for everybody?" "This, and what the men come home with," Zollam responded. "It's enough. Don't worry." Vepresila rose from her hiding spot, startling them. "Clearly he doesn't have anything to worry about," she said. "He's the son of the tribe leader. He'll be one of the last to go hungry." "No one goes hungry!" Zollam hissed with the impulsive anger she knew so well. She turned to the new boy. "You see, Simmiolas, if a man says that no one is hungry, all our tummies get full at once. Convenient, right? A man's word is really saturating." "No one goes hungry!" Zollam repeated. "I heard you the first time," Vepresila replied, unperturbed. "Tell that to Sanem and her daughters. That's exactly what they need to hear right now." She took her basket and started back towards the cave. Simmiolas caught up with her and stopped her by grabbing her arm; a daring and inappropriate touch. "You mean you don't have enough food?" She pulled away from him and took a step back. She looked into his dark eyes. It felt like it was a sincere question. She glared at Zollam. "It was a long time since we had that," she said and disappeared into the darkness of the cave. She heard Zollam sizzle that he hated her and the new boy's soothing, naive voice preaching about knowledge and understanding. The new member of the tribe was becoming more and more exciting.

When night fell, Vepresila sneaked out and enjoyed the coolness and the stillness of the evening air. She walked around the oasis, wandering around the few palm trees that grew there and looked at the sky, or the reflection of it in the shiny surface of the water. She heard the sound of steps. In the darkness, she saw someone walking away from the cave and the oasis. He climbed up on a big rock and sat down crosslegged. Fascinated, she saw his arms begin to move in a smooth, graceful dance around his body, while he hummed, or perhaps it was more like singing, a strange melody with sometimes high, sometimes low tones. She could not recall ever seeing such beautiful movements in the past. No one in the tribe would be able to move like that. Definitely none of the men. Unafraid, she walked up to him. When he saw her, he stopped and let his arms drop. "You've other gods than we, don't you?" she asked Simmiolas. "Maybe," he replied. "Are you really allowed to go out alone in the middle of the night?" "No." She climbed up and sat next to him. "But no one cares. Not when it comes to me." "Zollam said you will be sent to a temple." "The temple of Illu, yes. I'm chosen to become a priestess there. Illu herself chose me." "Do you want to go?" "Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I?" Vepresila looked the boy in the eye, and neither of them turned away. Zollam always did. Here is a soul-mate, she thought. Someone like her, who stood out and could not help it or cared about it. "Where's the Temple?"

"Ten, maybe twenty days' journey that way," she answered, pointing toward the northwest. She changed the subject, "Where are you from?" Simmiolas was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Don't you ?" she asked, intrigued. "Alsyone," he replied. "Alsyone?" she repeated and tasted the new word like salt sucks up water. "What's that?" "Another island." Another island. What was an 'island'? She asked, and Simmiolas answered. They jumped down from the rock, and he drew in the sand to explain. She was not sure she understood everything he told her, but it did not matter. It was enough to absorb, anyway. Suddenly it was apparent where the men went when they left to buy salt. They traveled to the sea, the sea was salt, and the towns along the coast – the border between the saltwater and land – took salt from the sea to sell. They were therefore dependent on the sea, yet she had not known of its existence. Men had traveled with hides and jewelry and came home with salt, but she had never been told where they had been. Simmiolas seemed to be a boy without the secrets and taboos surrounding everyone else she had met. They would have been able to sit all night and talk, but they both needed some sleep. Before the sky began to change color, they sneaked inside and lay down, each in their own place in different parts of the cave.

The next morning Vepresila sat alone by the fireplace. When Zollam and Simmiolas arrived to get breakfast, she found it hard not to tremble when she handed a bowl to Zollam.

"Mother's sick," she explained. When Zollam without hesitation brought the bowl to his lips, she added: "Father's with her." He stopped in the middle of the movement, brother and sister staring at each other without saying a word. "What?" Simmiolas did not understand anything. A man was never inside a woman's bedchamber. Never. If there were reasons for him to be there, grief was soon to be expected. Zollam put the bowl down and pulled Simmiolas out of there. She saw them speeding away. She took care of the leftover food and put out the fire. If they came back and were hungry, they had to feed themselves. Her place was next to her mother.

In the women's dormitory were all women with medical skills assembled together, along with Sinita's closest friends. They all washed the hot, thin body with cold water while they whispered prayers to Illu, the women's god. On the edge of the bed sat Mannestam holding his wife's burning hand in his. Sinita herself was barely conscious. Vepresila was, to her annoyance pushed away and ed Zollam and Simmiolas by the wall and watched. Simmiolas appeared absent in an offensive manner. If he cared so little, he should leave, she thought. Sinita began to move and wake up from the fog of the fever. Her eyes sought her husband's face and mumbled: "My Beloved. Forgive me." The women around them backed away to leave the couple alone. The three children were forced to leave at the same time. Vepresila moved back to her mother's fireplace where she prepared some root vegetables just to have something as a distraction. The time seemed endless. There was a subdued atmosphere in the cave. Everyone knew Sinita was seriously ill and Vepresila could feel their hostile glances at her. Perhaps she imagined what the others were thinking, but after a life of ridicule and ostracism,

there were few good thoughts in her with regards to the others in the tribe. It was Mannestam's eldest son's wife who would sit by that fireplace, after Sinita, not her. Angrily, she peeled the vegetable and thought her mother was not dead yet and she had the right to sit where she wanted. After what seemed like an eternity, she had everything sliced and hung on a string to dry. She was just about to prepare the next load when her father stormed into the cave. He came with such speed and aplomb that the children who played on the floor had to jump aside to avoid his rampage. Authoritative and bluntly, he stepped up to Vepresila, grabbed her by the arm, and shouted at her. "You're traveling to the Temple. Now. Today!" Her confusion gave way to anger, and she tore herself free from his grip. "I will not!" Defiant and cheeky as always, used to do as she pleased, against all etiquette between daughter and father. She added, not without disappointment, "I'm not yet a woman." "You would have been if you were not eating herbs to delay it." "I have not!" she hissed. "Your mother gave them to you, daughter," he replied in a voice that was subdued and soft in a tender way. For a moment she thought he would give her a hug, but the moment vanished. What he had said sunk in. She felt the defiance and spite evaporate, replaced with a sense of betrayal and deception. Mannestam leaned over and whispered into her ear, "May the Gods help us, but she did it because she loved you." She looked up in her father's eyes. The love she glimpsed was not intended for her. What she saw was mourning for her mother. Sinita was dead. Her mother's

betrayal would, therefore, be unexplained and for no one to forgive. That option had her father taken away from her when she was expelled from her mother's sickbed. "Dress for the trip, at once. We can not let Illu wait any longer."

The group of men and women who would follow her to the Temple, waited for her when she came out. She wondered how her father managed to get them in order so quickly, but figured all in the tribe were probably desperate to get her out of the way. If it was true what he said, she should have begun bleeding already. Illu should be upset, and her revenge was likely to befall upon them all. It felt strange that a goddess would be up for revenge when this was not supposed to be a female trait, but she assumed that a goddess, like a mother, punished her children when they did wrong. Soon she would learn everything about Illu and the power and the opportunities befit a priestess. In less than a lunar cycle, she would be in her new world with new people who all would treat her with respect and understanding, for they all came from the same situation as her. And she would finally leave these stupid people who surrounded her all her life. Of course, she turned and looked back as they went. But it was not because of longing. She had never got a chance to see her home from a distance. This was her first and only chance to do so. She would never see it again. She saw the mountain that the cave was in. It extended higher into the sky than she had thought, and saw the peak behind the top of the long, sloping ridge you could see from the oasis. She saw other mountains and valleys. And a horizon to the east that she never got a chance to see before. The world was suddenly so immense. And so deadly deserted. By the cave, they had the oasis with its green and lush bushes and palm-trees. Outside, the ground was dry and barren. She wondered where all the animals the men hunted were, for wherever she looked, the only signs of life were her traveling companions. Had they taken enough food and water to get all the way to the Temple? Everything had happened so fast, what if they had forgotten? What if they would never get there, but her fate was to be one withering skeleton in the dry desert sand and rock?

"Do we have food and water?" she inquired but got no answer. Tradition's final insult to the chosen one: no one would talk to her. She would not hear human voices until she met her new sisters in the Temple. None of the traveling party would have the chance to attach themselves to her and prevent her entry. All to protect the tribe's well-being and good-standing with the Gods.

Chapter Five

The ball

The day of the ball approached, and the whole court buzzed with excitement. Although nothing had been expressed officially, it was spoken about as the ball to Idónnes' and Saela's honor. It was whispered that their engagement would be announced during the evening. The decorations were unsurprisingly flowers and garlands in pink and yellow to celebrate the young love. The fact that so many young people had been invited was not seen as odd, but because the ball was to the glory of the unfledged. The orchestra rehearsed pieces more suitable for younger dancers, like Uven which required an agile and alert body to make the jumps and ducks needed when the man and the woman performed a pantomime where they would look like they alternately courted and sometimes chased each other. They also added Boven to their repertoire, a dance for two men who pretended to fight, which the King had not much sympathy for, but they hoped that the younger would find entertaining to participate in or watch. Young Miss Saela, the prospective bride, sometimes came into the hall and ired the work and spoke to those who busied themselves there. The fame of her solicitude and proximity to her future subjects spread at court. What was surprising was the absence of the Crown Prince, who used to be so responsible and organized. He had been seen only once in the citadel's banquet hall. The few who had been there at the time had gossiped that he had looked terrified when he saw the decorations, but instead of giving new directives, he had rushed out of there. If he had not approved of how they decorated why did he not say so? There were no comments at all from him. They wondered if he was nervous about the wedding. Someone pointed out they actually were not even engaged yet, but most people thought this was just a formality.

Idónnes had every reason to believe his father when he said he had not the slightest intention to trick him into marrying Saela. However, he found it harder to think that his father did not try to use the ball to get him to choose a suitable bride. He was well aware of his duty to marry and have heirs to the throne, but he still lived in the naïve hope of living in joy with his wife. Deep inside, he knew he could not wait for the woman who just came in his dreams. He was quite confident she was a creation of his imagination, but he had not been able to shake off the idea that she might actually be a real human being. He was not yet ready to move on and seek a bride among the women he met when he was actually awake. Of course, she came to his dreams the night before the ball. It was more intense and felt real in a way it never had before, and when he woke up, he could still smell her perfume. He had to it to himself that he was attracted to her physically, but at the same time, it felt quite far from the other dreams he had had about women. This, he felt, was something more, something more profound than on the purely physical level, where he, regrettably, had been left unsatisfied. This was a woman he wanted to know and spend his life with.

At the evening of the ball, a young, graceful woman arrived in a carriage. She traveled alone, and even if the page who ran up and opened the door and helped her out was taken aback by this, the vast party of guests took no note of the absence of an apron. In the mingle, no one asked for such things. It was expected that every young man and woman had an adult present, but it was not something anybody bothered to check. Filia felt exceptionally comfortable in a way she had not been for a long time. She enjoyed the feeling of finally be in her right environment without arousing fear in others. People smiled at her as she mingled and sent her friendly greetings. One made small talk about something inconsequential, another ired her dress. She glided through the hall, fascinated by how she could forget how it felt to be normal. With ease, she relaxed and felt the smile on her face spread from her facial muscles to the rest of the body. This was her day. It may be the first of many, or the last of its kind. Today was the day, and she

would enjoy it. To the sound of trumpets, the King and the Crown Prince arrived. Idónnes' smile was stiff. King Antes however, seemed to thrive and greeted everyone welcome. They ed through the hall and stepped up on the dais where four pompous chairs awaited the two royals and their two guests. King Antes declared he hoped they all enjoyed themselves. Then he wished his dear cousin Frater and his daughter Saela long lives and invited them in to . Frater and Saela entered to the sound of trumpets. This was the moment Filia was waiting for. With eyes only for Idónnes, she pushed her way through the crowd. As the other guests stood quite still and applauded Frater's and Saela's entrance, she stood out in her forward movement. It did not take much for Idónnes to see her. And he did. She met his gaze and stopped. They stood like two statues absorbed in each other's eyes. A calculated moment on her part. Instead of greeting the guests of honor, Idónnes stepped down from the dais and went straight for Filia. Guests hurried aside to clear a path and he plowed forward like a boat on the water until he reached Filia. Frater and Saela stared at him as they stood with hands outstretched in a greeting, completely forgotten.

It did not take the King long to perceive the situation. He did not know who the woman was or where she came from. All he knew was that his son just found someone who made him forget everything else, which fortunately also included Saela. Before anyone could do anything but gape at the situation, he turned to the orchestra and gestured for them to start playing. Whoever she was, she could hardly be a worse alternative as queen than his cousin's child. He could only think to launch the ball and get people to stop gawking and behave as usual, which would make it easier for Idónnes and the unknown. Pleased, he saw the two begin to dance, and other guests followed their example. He turned with a broad smile to his guests of honor and realized that he neglected them in total. Frater looked like he might explode at any moment and tiny Saela was like a tearful girl. He thought it served them right, but at the same time, he felt a stab of fear when he saw the hatred in Frater's eyes. For the first time, the King wondered if Frater was more than just a spoiled cousin with the

big mouth. Just as quickly as he handled the situation with Idónnes, he now guided Frater and Saela around to speak with all the dignitaries who had sons of the right age, and presented the young woman as an attractive option as wife to their sons.

Filia danced one dance after another and sent more than a grateful thought to her dance teacher. Her teacher had been old when Filia was a child. Now the teacher was long dead and tragically forgotten, but the old woman had been a singularly splendid teacher. Filia was amazed at how quickly the dances came back to her, even though it was so long since she practiced any of them. She had expected the same dances as she was used to, without thinking. What if they had had a different repertoire all together? Things did change over time. Idónnes was a skilled dancer and moved with security and boldness and made his jumps with astounding accuracy. Other guests followed them with their eyes, and she realized it was not only for their peculiar meeting. She and Idónnes represented a fantastic, well-coordinated couple who were a joy to watch for every dance enthusiast. She, the wizard, the demon, was dancing with the Crown Prince. What would happen if people knew? No one had any chance to come to the conclusion that the dark-hooded figure was a woman of charm and elegance. She was safe. Right then she did not care. This dance was as magical as it was in the stories, and she saw nothing but the handsome prince.

Later that night, they walked together in the castle's network of ages. Idónnes led the way and brought them to the more remote parts where they would be left alone. It was a age along the mountainside that swelled out into a balcony with benches and a floor laid with colorful mosaic. If she had had an adult with her they would not have allowed this. Not even if the man leading her away was the Crown Prince. Not the first night at least. Did he know this? Did he not notice the absence of an apron? Perhaps he had lived in such isolation that he did not know about this social code. On the other hand, no one would have expected the Crown Prince to leave with a woman on the first night, either. Not when he was one of the hosts and not with his social status as

all young men's role model. But there they were, alone in the night. He stood a long time, watching the night's sky without saying anything. Filia studied the young man beside her. "I'm also nervous," she whispered. Idónnes smiled. "What do you think about me?" he asked. "My prince?" Filia was startled by the direct question. "Idónnes." "Idónnes," she confirmed, embarrassed. "You're nice." She bit her lip and told herself to relax. What kind of response was that? What became of words such as breathtaking and charming? "Nice?" She nodded, still not capable of forming a coherent, intelligent answer. What was the matter with her? Was not her voice one of her most valuable assets? "Would you marry me?" he blurted. As he realized what he said, he continued, "I know it's crazy and that we've just met, and you don't know me, and I don't know you, either, but it feels like I know you. I've dreamt about you for a long time, and now it feels like I finally get to meet you in real life. Although it sounds crazy." Idónnes halted. His face flushed red. He turned away and took a few steps, seeking distance. Filia watched his back and the glitzy gold brocaded cloak reaching to his knees. He had proposed! Her heart pounded so hard she doubted that she had heard right. The plan had worked! She struggled to behave reasonably restrained when she rounded Idónnes' troubled figure and looked him into the eyes. "I know," he said, shamefaced. "I'm an impulsive idiot." Filia shook her head.

"I don't even know your name," he continued, embarrassed. "Somi. I'm called Somi." "Somi," he repeated. "And I would love to marry you, Idónnes." The first kiss was shy and hesitant, ignorant, and fumbling. But still hopeful. It was something Filia had never experienced before. For the longest time, she had thought it was something she would never be able to take part in. Now it felt like a double victory. She had been kissed. Her plan had worked, and she could soon become a normal person. Inexperienced, but in love they stood and held each other. Filia freed herself from his embrace, terrified by the sudden surge of feelings within her. She sat down on one of the rock-hewn stone benches. He sat down too, but on a seat opposite her. "Idónnes, I have to go home for a while." He nodded, understanding. "You need to think this over, I know." "No. I'm sure of my answer. It's just…" She could not find a suitable lie. Why did anyone need to return home? To get their things? "Happy journey, Somi. With the hope that you soon feel you're traveling home when you come here." "I do already," she assured him. With a smile she began to follow the age back but changed her mind and returned, snapping off the necklace she had worn all evening and handed it to him. "Take this. It belonged to my mother. If you should ever ask yourself if this evening was a dream or reality, you'll have the answer." He took the jewelry and

laughed. Filia frowned. "Sorry. I just came to think of what my father will say when I tell him I'm engaged to an unknown woman who traveled away." Filia disappeared in the shadows. The necklace had never belonged to her mother. She had bought it a few days ago because it was beautiful and fit the dress for the ball. There was nothing left of her mother's belongings. Nothing she could claim at least. The fact was that she had nothing left at all from her previous life. Everything that once had been was forever gone. She did not have a bad conscience for the lie to Idónnes. The truth was far too complicated and served no purpose to tell. She wondered if she would ever feel safe enough with him to tell him everything. It was something she hoped for. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, she longed for human . But she could not take for granted that she would ever be able to tell. During the three years she had known Idónnes she knew pretty much who he was in official matters, but she was not close to him, did not know him in private. Even if Idónnes was head over heels in love with the unknown princesslooking Somi, he had only known her for less than a day. Filia was fascinated by the decision of marriage, which would apply throughout the life of both of them. It was taken so quickly and with so little thought. Idónnes had in any case been able to decide for himself. She had never had any say concerning the time when her whole life was to be turned upside down.

Chapter Six

Clash of interests

When Filia left her room the next morning, Satéll snuck up behind her. "My master wants to see you." The tone was calm and humdrum, but his appearance and his physical presence alarmed her. There was a threat behind his words, though no one but she could perceive it. "It's not mutual," she replied and tried to keep him at a distance by increasing the length of her steps. Never before had she been threatened. She had not been prepared for it either, Filia confessed with irritation to herself. Satéll had been right when they met in the crypt: their meeting did not mean any obligations. Since then they had only seen each other in the company of other people. Now she knew with certainty that he would give her no privileges or exceptions. "You use the same perfume as a certain mysterious woman from the ball yesterday." Filia felt her heart freeze inside her body. "I don't use perfume. But with your nose, I would probably hallucinate smells too." Filia clenched her jaws. She must not let panic take her. What kind of an idiotic comment was that? She might as well have said Satéll was right. She felt the tip of a knife in the back. "I would hate to destroy the great mystery you built around yourself, but believe me, I will do it if I have to." Filia saw some people coming toward them from the other end of the age. They must not see her like that. Nor take note of Satéll's advantage. She turned her head slightly toward Satéll and gave him a nod. She felt the knife disappear

and she swung towards one of the windows to catch her breath and collect herself and her features. She ed to stand stiff and straight as a spear, without ing herself with her hands while the group of people ed. Nothing in her appearance told of her turbulent mental state. She gave Satéll a gesture to take the lead and show the way. She did not talk. Not now. She did not dare to trust her voice to be steady enough. He grinned and mimicked her gesture. He was not the one who wanted her behind his back. Neither of them trusted the other. She smiled at the situation. In the midst of it all, they had their own little battle. "Side by side?" he suggested. Yes, side by side would work.

Filia had barely got inside Frater's chambers before he stepped up to her and yanked her hood off. Satéll knew his master well enough. Frater thought he would diminish the black figure and make her human. On that point, Frater deceived himself. Satéll saw him shrink when the green eyes belonging to the white bald head with its black snakes hit him. Filia was not easily frightened, and Satéll watched with fascination how she dared to challenge his master. Just as Filia had reached her position unchallenged, Frater had never met anyone who could compete with him. He had met people who defied him, but they were all moved out of the way. Filia would not disappear as easily. "Stay away from the prince," Frater hissed like an angry panther. "Are you in love with him?" Filia asked. "How sweet." Satéll almost stopped breathing. Frater gave Filia a hard slap across the face. Satéll saw the glowing red skin shine through the white makeup and give her a hint of human color. Filia clenched her jaws and her eyes boiled with hatred. "Step aside, you little troll!" Frater commanded. "His Highness would surely appreciate knowing what you're doing. And I wouldn't hesitate to tell my dear cousin. So stay away!" Filia's eyes narrowed so that they reminded of the snake's on her forehead.

"You think you can come here, to my domains, and threaten me? You little worm! I'll never stand aside!" Satéll could almost see the air vibrate between the two of them. Without warning, the room was filled with black smoke. Satéll held his breath and fumbled towards the door. He did not get there until the smoke subsided. Filia was gone. Frater still stood on his feet, baffled. Whatever she had used, it was made to elude and distract, not to poison.

Filia walked straight and proud, but fast, up the stairs and through the ages. Running was for fleeing animals, and therefore nothing she would ever undertake. Nevertheless, it would have been nice if she could move faster without losing her dignity. It was one thing to throw a smoke-generating powder on the floor and take advantage of the confusion to disappear from the room, but it hardly looked like magic if one of them stuck his head out through the doorway and saw her. She would rather have chosen to take the route through the crypt, but the entrance was faster to open when you came from the mountain into the room than it was in the other direction. At least if she wanted to keep the door a secret. There was no way she could leave a place that way in the few seconds she had at her disposal. She had to rely on the confusion lasting long enough to get out of sight from the ordinary door. Her mind worked quickly. Frater was more aggressive than she had anticipated. He would without a doubt tell the King what he knew. Would King Antes believe him? The smallest seed of doubt could grow and destroy everything she had built up. She must ensure that the seed did not have the opportunity to sprout.

Idónnes stared at Frater. Had he heard right? Did the fool stand there and claim that his fiancee was his father's mystic? Could he not tell the difference between a pale, tattooed, hairless androgynous man and a long-haired, smiling, curvy woman?

"It's preposterous!" he exclaimed. To his surprise, his father did not appear as confident. "Father! It may be that I don't know her well, but I'm quite sure it's not the same person as your wizard." "Who knows what the witch could have done to your son to believe what he saw?" Frater argued. "As far as I know, cousin, you were there also. You saw her. So was I," King Antes replied. "And all the other guests." "But did you see the little bitch there?" Frater retorted. King Antes pounded his fist on the armrest so hard the wood protested at the treatment. "Use respectful language about my subjects or get out of here!" "I was not present at the ball." Idónnes heard Filia's voice and turned in its direction. There she stood, black as a shadow in the room, and none of them noticed that she entered. "My presence is generally not desirable at banquets. I dampen the atmosphere. Can't imagine why." Filia glided past Satéll and Frater and took command of the situation. "I ask Your Highness to look at your esteemed cousin's right palm. You'll find glimmers of the jelly I use on my snakes. It came from when he slapped my face because I did not want to work for him." "You're lying, you witch!" Frater snubbed, but the King rammed his fist down on the armrest again. "Why do you wipe your hand?" he growled and rose like a bear would stand on its hind legs ready to challenge and attack. Frater froze, his right hand behind his back as he rubbed it against his clothing. "I would not like to hire your trash even if they paid me for it," he spat. "Show your palm," Idónnes commanded. Frater held out his open palm. It

glimmered, just as Filia had said it would. Idónnes' eyes met Frater's, the latter of which's eyes filled with a wave of hatred and fear. Had Frater felt threatened by Filia? There was probably no one who found her pleasant to be around, but if he had hit her, it indicated she was encroaching on an area he claimed. His eyes went to Filia, but all he saw in the shadow of the hood was a pure white chin and a mouth like a straight line. What had made Frater scared enough to attack? Had she protected his father's interests? Or had they both ambitions for the same post? Who was she?

Filia felt suspicion radiate from Idónnes. She did not use her powers to perceive it. She turned her attention to Frater. It was time to find out what plans he really had and how far he was prepared to go. She saw Frater sway when she penetrated his consciousness. What she saw made her bounce away and spun around toward the King. "Watch out, your Majesty! Frater—" She made it no further before a knife pierced King Antes abdomen and he fell to the floor. Idónnes rushed forward. Frater stood frozen in a pose that spoke its own language: he had thrown the knife. He began to move and appeared dazed. Then he stared at his cousin on the floor. "She bewitched me! It was she! She got me to throw my knife!" Filia jumped at this. She turned to Idónnes, who stared from his father to Filia. She shook her head, unable to utter a word. Frater continued, "Arrest the witch then! She made me throw a knife! Oh, I've killed my cousin! She got me to kill the King! Incredible! What a shame! Oh, all the Gods, let your punishment fall on those who are guilty of this." Filia saw and understood that the seed of doubt was sown and now sprouted in Idónnes. Everything she aspired to achieve collapsed under her feet like a house of straw. In a panic, she did something she had never done before. She ran.

Chapter Seven

The priestess

The terrain had become mountainous the last few days, and it was therefore unsurprising it had not been possible to see the Temple from afar, as it was wedged between two ridges. They were high and steep, and it felt as if the Temple's black wall, which went across the valley, prevented the mountains on each side from being merged and crush everything in between. The wall was there for all to see and stood like a shield of pitch-black darkness high above their heads—a remarkable sight, and frightening. Solid blocks of stone carved out of a mountain dark as night somewhere, and then stacked at high altitude, like they would tip over and fall. Vepresila itted to herself that she probably expected something more glamorous and inviting, but it was, after all, what was on the other side that was of the essence. For her, the wall felt more like a portal than an obstacle. Her future was waiting for her on the other side, and she was one of few who would be able to this wall and reach the eternal proximity to the Goddess. In the black wall was a small door. The party approached. A ring of copper, green with verdigris, was mounted on the door. Their leader used it to knock on the wooden gate. Nothing happened. He knocked again. After what seemed like a long while, the door finally opened. What was on the other side made Vepresila wince. The priestess' eyes were completely white — entirely blind. Her hands and face were pale and so thin that she looked like a skeleton. Her body was covered in something that once could have been a dress but now seemed like a jumble of rags around her head and body. "May the selected one come with me," the woman wheezed, and for the first time, Vepresila felt an urge to escape her destiny.

The smell greeting her when she approached was nauseating, and she wondered if the priestess was, in fact, dead. The woman stepped aside and let her in. Behind her, the door closed, and Vepresila stood in darkness. The farewell had been non-existent, and her old life was now forever gone. The priestess mumbled something unintelligible, and Vepresila saw sparks from two stones hit against each other, and a small fire was lit. The woman waved to her to come and fumbled for her upper arm. She took a firm grip. Vepresila had to repress her feelings that she wanted to move the opposite way. "As you can understand," hissed the other and turned her unseeing eyes towards the wall next to Vepresila, "you're better than I am with handling a fire. Make sure the pot is filled with water and a fire to get it hot. Understood?" Vepresila nodded. The other woman grabbed her even harder and asked again, sharper, if she had understood. Then Vepresila realized her nod could not be seen and gave an audible affirmative answer. She was released and began to search the room for firewood and water. She found the wood at once because there were several baskets of dry branches in a corner, but where was the water? At home, she had gone down to the oasis, but it did not feel like it was an option to leave the room for the task. "The water is in the well in the corner," the skeleton woman said from across the room. Vepresila went to the oddly placed well and looked down into a black hole. She shuddered. Beside was a bucket with a rope, the other end firmly tied to an iron loop in the wall. With a trembling hand, she held the bucket over the hole and dropped it. With a splash, it hit the water down below, and Vepresila began to heave. Soon, the pot was filled, and the fire burned to heat it. "Come and sit here. Back against me," the priestess commanded, pointing at a stool in front of her. In her hand, she held a sinister, sharp knife. "What will you do with me?" Vepresila felt insecure and miserable. "Shave your head." She sat down. The other's skinny fingers had long nails, and she felt the hands searching over her head through her hair. She winced in pain when her hair was pulled together to form a tassel and bound together.

"Your hair is your first gift to the Temple. Here we do not afford frivolity. Everything here is either for food or clothing. We have to cover ourselves and not run around like lustful animals." Vepresila felt the knife's sharp edge slide along the scalp and cut all hair in its path. "We don't touch each other and don't look at each other's bodies. Gaze to the floor, or the Goddess, or what you work with. The mouth should be closed and your fingers nimble. The Goddess will be honored in everything you do." The thin fingers searched over her bare scalp for missed hairs. "Take off your clothes, girl, and sit in the tub." The tub looked like a box of stone, and it closed cold and hard around her body as she sat in it with outstretched legs. The priestess began to pour in buckets of cold water directly from the well, and her skin grumbled. The temperature shock hit her when the pot with hot water was poured on top of the cold. Even if the boiling water did not touch her skin, it forced itself through the cold water. She sat with steaming water up to her shoulders and wondered if she was being boiled alive. Then the woman took a bucket and started pouring water from the tub over her head. When she was told she could step out of the bath, she almost cried with relief. When she looked around for her clothes, she saw the priestess had thrown her dress into the fire. To bring her shaved hair along was expected, but the use of functional clothing was not. Vepresila hoped it would make sense to her someday. From a pile, the blind woman picked a piece of cloth that could be called a dress and several rolls of strips, all uncolored and grayish. The priestess helped her into the new clothing. It covered as much as possible and hid her female attributes. Not that she had so much of it to squeeze in. The head was wrapped, the neck was concealed. Remaining visible was her face, hands, and feet. She was led to a closed door opposite the one she entered through. When she pulled the thick braided rope hanging beside the door, Vepresila heard a bell ringing far away on the other side. The priestess opened the door and shoved Vepresila over the threshold without further discussion and closed the door behind her before she had time to reflect on where she was going.

The first thing she noticed was that the entrance had no handle on the other side. Whatever the Temple consisted of, she could not go back the way she had come. But did it matter? She had arrived in the place she always dreamed of going to. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom inside the previous room, and the light that streamed in here made her blind for a minute. When her eyes had adjusted themselves, she scanned her surroundings. The room was small, built of the same black stone as the wall and the room behind her. Before her was an archway bathing in sunlight. She ran to see what was outside and gasped with wonder. In front of her were trees, bushes, and fields. All with green leaves and colored fruits. And among all this beauty, people were working, women dressed like herself, fellow priestesses. She had not been wrong. Life in the Temple would be amazing. She would be working among all these incredible plants and pick fruits and berries, the likes of which she'd never seen before. A priestess came towards her, walking along the wall. Her posture was quiet and humble, but something changed once she arrived. Her gaze was raised from the ground and stretched in Vepresila's with such force that she was confused. Until she realized that she met the gaze when she had been instructed to look down. At once, her eyes rested on the pavement in front of the other's feet. She ed the bundle with her hair, which she held in her hand. "I was to give this." She held the well-constricted bundle out to the other, without looking at anything but the ground before her feet. It felt awkward. The priestess took it from her without a word. "Come with me." Vepresila followed, and they went along the long stone wall. She let her gaze go exploring. They now went along the black stone wall as she entered through, which stretched from one mountainside to the other. She could not see the wall opposite, at the other end of the valley, which concealed the area she would live in for the rest of her life. How far away could you go to reach the other wall? She would find out. In front of her, built against the mountain, stood a long house in black stone with small openings to the garden and the fields. She turned her head. In the other

mountain on the other side was also a large building whose walls unlike the others had had their black stones polished blank. It was undoubtedly there they would meet Illu, she thought. She turned her head back and again met the second priestess hard gaze. Vepresila was quick to study her bare feet. "It is there to praise Illu, not to please yours or anybody else's eyes," rebuked the priestess before her. Vepresila found it best not to argue. At home, she would have. "We sleep in here," the priestess continued and turned toward the house with the many small openings. "Pay attention now so you'll find your cell tonight." They went in, and Vepresila understood at once why she was asked to be observant because the building's four floors looked the same with a long corridor to the right and to the left with similar doors on both sides, all with the same distance from each other. The priestess brought her up to the fourth floor and opened a door and showed her inside. It was a small cell with a single sleeping mat on the floor, an oil lamp, and a small altar. No window, since it faced the mountainside. She felt the oppressive heat that prevailed on the whole level, so high up under the roof in a black building. "Shall I sleep here for the rest of my life?" She could not hide the disappointment in her voice. "It depends on you," she got as an answer. "All novices live up here. The high priestesses live on the first floor with windows. All others have cells in between depending on the position." "How many priestesses are there?" Vepresila had once again raised her eyes when she asked her question, but ed, and instead studied the other's bare toes sticking out from under the worn hem. "We've room for four hundred. Right now, we're three-hundred and twenty-two." It felt strange to talk to another woman without being allowed to see her in the eyes. Talking to her toes and the floor felt wrong. "We avoid unnecessary talk here," added the priestess. Vepresila thought it would not be difficult if they persisted in keeping their eyes off the ones they were talking to. The priestess motioned for her to follow, and they went down

the stairs to the bottom floor. She knocked on one door and opened it. "The High Priestess," she explained and let her in. Vepresila wanted to make a good impression and tried to remind herself to keep her eyes on the floor. But as she stood there for a while and nothing happened, she began to wonder if there was someone in the room and her gaze slid upwards. On the floor of the small cell, sat an older woman who sliced root vegetables with a small gilded dagger. "Sit," commanded the High Priestess. Vepresila sank on the floor and watched the deft hands slice thin, precise slices. "Everyone here was chosen by the Goddess so that pride you put aside now." The High Priestess's voice was like a dry leaf. "We're not talking about what is or isn't outside the walls. Everything we need is here. Illu provides us, as long as we care for the soil she bestowed upon us. Do not waste anything; take care of everything. You work the first ten years in the weaving room. Then it depends on you and how you managed so far." Vepresila blinked. Ten years? In the weaving room? Would she not be allowed to work outdoors with the plants? "But..." she began but was immediately interrupted. "You will also be aware that we have corporal punishment and fasting for disobedience. That was all." Her thoughts went into a jumble. The still nameless priestess who met her showed her out of the cell in silence. No one had asked for her name either. She had never thought about how long a life could be until the High Priestess talked about her first ten years there. Would it take ten years before she got a chance to move to a slightly cooler room to sleep in too?

They ed the kitchen, and Vepresila was greeted by a room of silence and organization, far from the community and the small talk at home in the cave. A community she had not been allowed to be a part of. She tried instead to see

herself as part of this new, quiet family. Whatever it took, she was determined to fit in. To live the rest of her life as an outcast was more than she could handle. When she saw a bowl with salt on the bench in the kitchen, she was reminded of a strange, exciting boy named Simmiolas and how they sat outside at night and talked. It felt long ago. To her surprise, she wondered how he was. Finally, the door opened to a weaving room. There sat about ten young women who wove under the supervision of a senior priestess. The heat was dense, and the air was thick of dust from all the fibers. The door closed behind her, and she belonged to the weaving room. The elder priestess shoved her to a vacant loom. The priestess showed her how to pull the wrap from the crossbar in the ceiling to the floor and how she would roll the yarn on the bobbin. These were familiar things because she had helped her mother to weave for several years, but when she pulled out the coil between the warp threads and yanked to stretch, the yarn snapped. The fibers were too fragile for the treatment. The older woman slapped her with a stick over her hand, so she dropped the coil in pain. Vepresila inspected the material and saw that the fibers were short, too short to ever result in a useful fabric. At the cave, they had used textures from the fur from some animals. Where did these come from? The material did not come from any fur, she was pretty sure of that. Then she realized she had not seen any animals at all inside the Temple. She thought of her bundle of hair. Did she make fabric out of hair? She fumbled to learn how much the thread sustained while getting an even, acceptable result and hoped the fibers at least came from plants and not hair. In her old home, they had used the stalks to feed the animals, but her mother had told her they could be used for cloth as well. The idea seemed so silly she was on the verge of letting the corners of her mouth slide upwards, but stopped; the likelihood for a smile to be appreciated felt minuscule. Vepresila sat the rest of the day and struggled to learn how to handle the weaving. In the afternoon, she began to wonder when they would eat, but did not dare to break the silence with a question. Not a word had been spoken in the room since she arrived. When the sun sunk towards the horizon, a gong sounded somewhere, and everyone rose from their seats and moved outward. Vepresila was not slow to follow suit. Outside, she saw priestesses walk toward

the large, polished building she guessed was the Temple. She forgot hunger and approached the high, open gates with reawakening anticipation. At the door, she got a bowl of water that she greedily drank and returned the vessel to the priestess. Inside, it was dim, despite the oil lamps. The ceiling was far up and the pillars of dark stone united with the shadows there. In front of her were rows of priestesses. Before them was a giant statue in stone of Illu, their Goddess. When her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she saw the wall behind the statue was solid rock, and the Goddess had been carved directly out of it. Illu sat on her knees with a big sword resting against her body. The bracket and the blade were painted, as well as her eyes high up under the ceiling. At the front stood the High Priestess who held her gleaming, golden dagger above her head. Seeing the female part of the divine couple carrying a sword felt strange. Women did not carry weapons. The only ones she had ever seen had belonged to essential and courageous men. Women were nursing and healing, the men punished. The High Priestess was the first woman she had seen as carrying a knife without performing any tasks that demanded it. And not just any knife anywhere, but a dagger that resembled the ones men used when hunting, with a thin blade edged on both sides. Illu handled soil and crops. How was it that she was shown with a sword in her hands? The High Priestess began to sing, and the other priestesses ed in. Vepresila knew neither text nor melody, but tried to listen and learn. It was her first day in the Temple. She had a lifetime to master. There was undoubtedly a reason why it felt harsh and hard and merciless for the first days. In time, she would understand. She would accept and be a good priestess.

Chapter Eight

Rite of manhood

Simmiolas and Zollam went out together in the dawn with the other boys of the same age. This day they would prove they were men, old enough to take an adult's responsibility. Simmiolas had understood the future included more than hunting. He was also expected to marry the girl the women's council selected for him. There was no part of the tribal life he could absorb, feel that he was part of, and fully understand. A life that consisted of rituals to confirm or deny things were incomprehensible. Stuff like manhood and love were not things moved from one place to another at an instant. They were things grown over time. Still, he and the other boys were supposed to be ready to take responsibility as adults overnight. When he woke up that morning, he was considered to be a boy. If everything went as it was supposed to this day, he was ready to contribute not only to the supply of meat and hides but also to become the father of a small child tomorrow. In his world, this was madness. On the other hand, it was precisely what he had been told when he left Alsyone to come to Etion: he would find it hard to fit in. He did the best he could. Just so, he was not ready to take the actions expected of him by those on Alsyone. The boys lined up in front of Mannestam. Men handed out water bottles, spears, and a cloth to tie around their heads. When they were ready, Mannestam's voice boomed out over the oasis. "Boys! If you kill an animal and return with it before sunset, your mother will comb your hair for the last time, and for the first and only time braid it for you. They'll do anything to make you beautiful. The young women who are eagerly waiting to care for you will be proud of you when you dance tonight. Go, and may Ilem's hand guard you and bring you success."

The boys cheered and wandered off into the desert with the cocky attitude of young men who knew the world lay at their feet for them to conquer. They spread out. It was not an exercise in teamwork but proof of the individual's ability. After a quick exchange of compliments between him and Zollam, Simmiolas was alone. The others would all need to walk until almost noon. On the other hand, the prey's size did not matter. The important thing was that they came home with an edible animal. Simmiolas thought it was probably for the best because there was barely anything other than lizards to go back with. He stepped into the shade between some large rocks. Spiders and scorpions were not considered as food for humans. Yet. He sat down. Simmiolas whistled a tune, barely audible, with many low notes. After a while, a monitor lizard walked with slow steps toward him. He caught it. The animal tried to wriggle free. It did not take long until he could let go of his grip. He hoped there were more of its kind still around here for this one to find a mate. He saw his ticket to manhood trot off and disappear among the stones. He drank some water from the bottle and peeked at the sun. He had plenty of time still. But he had never done one like this before and needed some margins if it would not go as planned. He held his arms out in front like he was carrying something in them and began to hum a tune, like the one he whistled before, but with some parts changed. At first, it looked like a fog was gathering above his outstretched arms. As the cloud got sharper and looked more and more like the varan he had released. It lost its transparency, and Simmiolas sat with a dead thing in his arms. He examined the lizard and felt its weight. It was nothing more than an illusion, built of air and water. Yet it could be cut up, roasted, and eaten without anyone noticing. If they only ate that, and nothing else, they would soon be hungry again because water and air did little to diminish hunger. No one would draw any conclusions. To do so, they had to know it was possible to do what Simmiolas had done. Without that knowledge, they would never be able to guess why the meat they just ate left them hungry. They would come up with all possible and impossible causes, but never imagine who he was. True, he was about to be declared a man on dishonest grounds, but his real task

was to not cause more damage to an already dying world. It was not to follow people's destructive edicts about how life should be lived. He had a mission to fulfill.

At sunset, Simmiolas was back at the oasis. He was not among the first. Or among the very last. His effort would not stand out, and it pleased him. The latest to return was Zollam, and to Simmiolas' dismay, he came emptyhanded. The chief's youngest son had failed his test of manhood. Simmiolas walked to meet him, but the boy dodged him and ran into the caves alone. When he surveyed the others, he saw that Mannestam had seen Zollam, too. Not to stare, Simmiolas turned his eyes to the approaching feast instead. The facial expression he had seen in his foster father's face was not anything Mannestam wanted anyone to see. They had had their odd meetings, he and Mannestam, since his arrival at the tribe. All to the chief's dissatisfaction. The expected relationship between father and son was something Simmiolas could not understand. He had no problem with respectful behavior, except his responses were not considered polite when held against their standards. Once, he had even been threatened with a sound lashing for doing the wrong things. When Simmiolas had asked Mannestam why he had not turned the threat into action, Mannestam had replied that he did not intend to humiliate his sons by treating them as small children, like they were too young to understand how they should behave. "Zollam could behave like you five years ago," Mannestam explained. "He got to taste the stick many times. More than any of his brothers. But you're older than he was then. And no matter where you come from, you should know better. Just as Zollam does now." It was not easy to know better when you grew up with an entirely different set of ideas of what was appropriate behavior. Neither did he experience Mannestam or any other of his tribe as particularly tolerant, nor forgiving. Considering they lived in a limited world, without much with others, it was not surprising. It was in meeting with other cultures that you could learn those things. There were other tribes with which they socialized, but Simmiolas guessed the visitors' behavior was not far from what they were used to.

Sinita, who had shown him a degree of tolerance and tried to explain things to him, had died. The only one who had stood out and demonstrated some kind of curiosity and understanding was Vepresila, and she had left never to come back. Now he celebrated his manhood in a culture he should call his, but felt no part of. His closest friend would remain a boy until the next time a group of boys would undergo the test. Enjoying the feast was hard. He glanced at Mannestam. Nothing in the man’s face revealed his disappointment over his son's failure any longer. As a tribal leader, he led the feast and made sure to welcome all the new men into the community. He was a remarkable host. Since Sinita was dead, another woman combed and braided his hair. It felt strange to have someone meddling with his hair, but it was something he had gotten used to since he arrived at the tribe. Now his hair was formed into two thick braids that hung behind his ears and down the back. Mannestam had several braids, including two in his beard. Those braids were decorated with beads of bone; decorations befit a leader. He had to settle with two simple, unadorned ones. Not that he cared. A race for status, empty bragging, was nothing he strove for nor understood. All people made mistakes and had faults, just as everyone did good things. To build up an image of himself as infallible and immortal was asking for failure, in Simmiolas’ mind, because it would become increasingly difficult to live up to the image. After getting their braids, they got their shirts. They were handed over by the young women who stitched and embroidered them. Sinita had once explained to him that the women's council usually made up their minds about the couples to be formed at least a year in advance. This way, the prospective brides could get a chance to get an opinion about who they were to marry. However, it was informal and without any vows until the day the leader of the tribe announced the couple. Simmiolas took note that the women got to know who their prospective partners would be, but not the men. A woman with an evasive glance handed a shirt to Simmiolas. It was the woman

he was supposed to take as his wife. Poor thing, Simmiolas thought. What had she done to get the strange boy, and on such short notice? Was she happy? Desperate? Her face revealed no answers. He unfolded his shirt and ired its embroideries before he put it on. He smiled at her and said he was honored that she sewed his shirt. She gave him an awkward laugh and hurried away. Simmiolas thought it was too much to ask that he make up his mind about his life companion on such a short meeting. To seek her out was impossible. Not only did he not her face, but men and women lived so separately that he was surprised that there were any children. Even as married couples, men and women lived separately. Men had one dormitory, women another. Only Mannestam as chief had a room of his own. Simmiolas was unsure if he had ever seen the woman who had given him the shirt before. He did not even know her name.

That night he slept in the men's cave for the first time. The difference was minuscule. He had as little privacy as before. Everything he owned was still on public display. The boys had been curious about his backpack and his diary, but after a while, they stopped fiddling with his things. Now it was the men's turn to stare and examine his things. Simmiolas was sincerely happy that no matter how many people that browsed his book, what he wrote remained private. No one seemed to know the arts of reading and writing here. At least, not with the characters he used. The next morning felt like the morning before. People snoring and farting like the night before, but no one woke up and cried in the middle of the night, which sometimes happened in the boys' room. Simmiolas dressed and left. When he went through the dark aisles, he wondered what he was expected to do with his time. The day before yesterday, he had cleared the weeds with Zollam, but it was a task for boys. He thought about what he had seen men do, but the only thing he could think of was that they set off hunting from time to time. What were they doing in between? Get to know their

wives, maybe? Well, he had no idea where to find his future bride. He went out to the oasis to find Zollam. But Zollam was not there. He asked the other boys and went to the boys' dormitory, where he found him alone, still in bed, his back to the doorway. Simmiolas went in and sat down beside him. "How are you doing?" It was a stupid question, and Zollam had no urge to respond. Simmiolas tried for something else. "Life has many roads, Zollam. It was just one of the many tests in life. You'll succeed with others." "Go away," the boy replied. "There'll always be a place for you. Life is what you make of it." "Go away!" came the expected answer, but not what he had hoped for. Simmiolas sighed, got up, and walked away. He strolled around in the cave system when he met the gaze of a woman who seemed familiar somehow. It was she who gave him the shirt, his prospective wife. He felt himself blush before her eyes and looked down to the floor. He heard her giggle, and then she was gone. He hoped she was not planning to giggle through their life together. He was not much better, looking down at her feet. Suddenly he felt a tremendous longing for Vepresila.

It was among the men's tasks to sit on the council. The men's council. For this purpose, there was a large room deep into the mountain that was cool despite all the people there. As a new, young man, he was sitting in the rear parts. If he followed suit, his job in the next few years would be to listen and learn, not to be heard. He never saw one of the other youngsters even breathe a syllable publicly. It was rare that they would even whisper among themselves. At the first council meeting he attended, a stubborn and sinister man brought up the issue of the women being late about the marriage decisions. Of course, this was because of Zollam. As a son to the tribe's leader, even if he was the youngest, it probably left a noticeable gap in their planning. Mannestam took the issue with a calm and businesslike attitude, explaining that because one of the

boys did not make it this time, it was quite natural the women needed some time to rearrange the marriage plans. Simmiolas wondered if the man who asked the question intentionally had brought the issue up to degrade their leader. If that was the case, he had not succeeded. Mannestam kept his feelings to himself, and if Zollam's failure was something people expected to fall back on him, he gave no shine thereof. It would not have been strange if Zollam's shame also could become his father's. Simmiolas suspected failure in the manhood test landed right between two ways of looking at things. As a man, you were free from family ties backward, and parents no longer had any responsibility. A man who disgraced himself included his wife and children, but not his parents. But as a boy, you drew shame on your parents if you did something wrong. Failing his test of manhood ended up in between who should suffer the humiliation except for the one failing. Zollam was alone without anyone to share it with. Another man on the council suggested that because the harvest had been so plentiful, they would change the abundance for some gems. Mannestam protested that they did not have an opulence just because they had had more than last year. Instead, he wanted to see that the abundance led to fewer children dying during this year's cold period than the previous. Simmiolas noted how council meetings not so much consisted of constructively discussing, but rather how to outdo each other in debate techniques and make each other lose face. He thought that in a culture that demanded so much masculinity and status, it should be natural not to challenge or undermine others. Sooner or later, it would only fall back on oneself. Considering the situation where he was, he knew he was alone in that kind of thinking.

Since Simmiolas was not one who followed suit to keep himself from being a fool, he stood up one day at the council to get the floor. All fell silent and stared at him. There were no excited or puzzled gazes, but questioning and negative stares. There were even a few who tugged at his pants to get him to sit down again. "I, Simmiolas," he began, as he heard the other men start their speeches, but he did not get further before he was interrupted by Mannestam, who, without

acknowledging at him, declared: "No one else wishes to speak then? Well, then we're done." Gaping and mute, Simmiolas stood alone when the others got up and walked away. He went to Mannestam's room. He peeked inside. "Will you threat to flog me again if I come in?" Mannestam waved for him to enter. Simmiolas did and pulled the curtain closed over the doorway, which was more a symbolic image of privacy than a useful one. "I'm certain you'll never learn good manners," Mannestam growled. "I thought I had the right to speak. As you—" "You're a young man. How will you know what's wise when several of the older men would still rather see beautiful rugs to sleep on and jewels for their hair than to feed the tribe's children?" "Age is not always what determines insight, I guess." "It was not meant as a question you should answer," Mannestam sighed. "Especially not with a suggestion saying you are wiser than older men. So, what was it you wanted to say in there that was so infinitely wise?" Simmiolas gathered himself. "The desert out there could blossom and become fruitful if we work for it together." Mannestam raised his eyebrows but said nothing. "As it is, you take more from nature than you repay, causing the soil to be depleted for both plants and animals." Mannestam held up a hand. "That's enough," he snapped. "I know how it works out there. Where there's water, there are plants. We cannot take an unlimited amount of water from the

oasis. Let alone go and water the stones in the hope that they start to grow. Ilem and Illu help us to keep the balance. Had they wanted the desert to blossom, they would not have given us a ground of stone to live upon." Simmiolas attempted to make another try but changed his mind when he saw Mannestam's body language. It was of no use. He would not convince him. Not that way, anyway. Simmiolas left. When he approached the men's dormitory, Zollam sat outside. He got up as soon as he saw Simmiolas and asked if he could talk to him. Simmiolas nodded and continued into the dormitory, but Zollam remained standing in the doorway. "You don't have permission to go in here?" Zollam shook his head. Simmiolas led the way to the boys' sleeping quarters instead. "This is the boys' cave," Zollam commented. "Yes?" "You're a man. Don't you mind?" he asked in amazement. "I don't care about letting the room's rules shape me. I rather shape the rules of the room," Simmiolas replied while he sat down on what was his old sleeping mat. "I don't understand..." Zollam was confused. Simmiolas assured him that there was nothing to worry about and wondered why his brother wanted to talk to him. Zollam's zeal returned, and he sat down opposite him with enthusiasm shining in his eyes. "I've thought about what you said about life has many roads," he began. Simmiolas nodded. "Can I become a mage like you?" Simmiolas gasped. Ever since he succeeded in suppressing Sinita's fever enough for her to regain consciousness, Zollam had known he had powers beyond the ordinary. They had talked about it, and his brother seemed to have kept his promise not to tell anyone.

"No," he replied with a deep sigh. Zollam's wild enthusiasm dropped in an instant to profound disappointment. "Why not?" "Because you know about it." "Know what?" "You cannot get to the school if you know where you're going." "School? I just wanted you to teach me some of your tricks, so... I... can be respected... " If only the world were a little more straightforward, Simmiolas thought. Or rather the people in it. Why would they so often build such complicated systems? "I understand, Zollam. But I can't. It took me several hundred years to learn what I can. Mirabilis on Alsyone is no ordinary place. I'm sorry." Zollam gazed at him. "I don't need your sorriness," he hissed. "And you can keep your tricks and lies, too."

Chapter Nine

Dem, the defender of all damsels in distress

Whatever she lay on was not her bed. It bounced and swayed, and the mattress was hard. Saela opened her eyes, but the world was black. She fumbled with her fingers and found that she had fabric over her head. She yanked it away. She blinked toward daylight and the blue sky above her. Day? Not morning? Where was she? Had she not been combing Parva's mane? Now she lay in the back of a wagon in a simple trolley. Before this reality could befall her and cause panic, the cart stopped. The tailgate at the end fell, and some monster from her childhood stared at her with green eyes. Its head was swept in rags and what she saw of the skin was pale as a corpse. "You're awake. Good," the monster said and walked away. Saela felt her heart beat so fast and frightened like a scared rabbit. The dazzle from the dream released its grip, and she awoke fully. If whoever it was who was with her wanted to hurt her, why was she then unharmed and unguarded? Saela gathered her thoughts. She saw the black cloak beside her. Suddenly she knew to whom the voice belonged. She slid out of the trolley. "You!" she accused. What had once been a black demon in her room turned to her. The dark robes were gone and replaced with a farmer's dirty clothes. Instead of a hood was a wide-brimmed, frayed straw hat jammed down on the bald head. The demon freed herself from the many shawls she had over her face. She gazed at Saela with a confidence that Saela did not care for at all. "Calm down. No harm will come to you." There was something in her voice that made Saela uncertain. Not for her safety, but of who it was she had in front of

her. Sure, it was the black-clad creature from her room, but now, without the drama and with emotions in her voice, it ought to be an ordinary, harmless woman. Her gut instinct told her otherwise. "Filia,” the demon said. Saela jumped at the outstretched hand. "I already know yours are Saela." Saela mustered her courage and shook the hand. Filia freed the horse from the trolley and led it away. Saela viewed her surroundings. The road cut through a forest, and the wagon stood in a clearing with a piece of farmland and a dilapidated house. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Although she loved the woods, she rarely had the chance to be there. The opportunities to get away from her duties imposed by her father became fewer and fewer. There was something bizarre about being abducted, only to wake up where you most of all wanted to be. The realization came as a shock. "You abducted me!" she burst. "Yes." Completely unperturbed, Filia continued to take the harness off the horse. Saela marched toward her with legs as rigid stilts, with a warning finger wagging in front of her as if she wanted to teach Filia manners. A bestial roar came from inside the battered house and out rushed a man with a giant sword raised over his head in an attack. Saela knew at once she was the target, but instead of running, she was as frozen in the middle of a stride with her finger still in the air. Considering what just happened to her, an attack from a wild-man with a sword should be entirely natural, she thought. She managed to skip a few steps backward, only to stumble on her skirt and fall flat on her back. At an instant, Filia placed herself as a protective barrier between her and the attacking man. "Dem!" she commanded. "Drop the sword, Dem!" The man, who apparently was called Dem, did not listen.

"That pledged-bitten bitch attacked my lady," Dem answered with such a theatrical voice that Saela almost laughed. She got to her feet. Dem immediately pointed the sword at her over Filia's shoulder. "You, you feeble substitute for the female being, a container of infected foxes and murderous revelation, know your place you frog-like arse." Saela gaped in amazement at this unrestrained range of unique insults. "Dem, put the sword away, so that I may present Saela, daughter of the esteemed Frater, cousin of our beloved king," Filia soothed and pushed the sword off her shoulder. "Behave yourself, Dem. Saela is a lady who needs your protection." Saela gasped in protest but got a stern eye from Filia, and chose to keep quiet. Dem put the sword back into its sheath. He rounded Filia and knelt in front of the amazed Saela. He took her hand in his. "Astonishing Saela, fragile as a straw of grass on the field, I am your humble patron. I will defend you with my life if I must. If you threaten my lady again, I chop you into little pieces and feed you to the birds." "Saela, may I present Dem, protector, and defender to death of all damsels in distress. Which now also includes you." Dem rose, and with a broad, dramatic gesture toward the house, he greeted them welcome to his palace.

Filia took the horse to the paddock behind the house, well protected from view from the road. She waved to Saela to follow. "There's one thing you need to know about Dem," she began. "He does not live in the same reality as us. He does not play theater or pretend. Everything he says and does is just as true for him as what you say or do." "That man's crazy!" "An easy explanation that does not help or solve anything."

"Does he make a habit of running a sword through all his guests?" "I don't know. It's the first time I've had someone with me. But when I'm not here, Dem shouldn't have any reason to feel that someone threatens me." "I didn't threaten you." "Oh yes, you did. It was a dangerous finger you attacked me with." She mimicked Saela's reprimanding finger. “A threat was a threat, even if it only consisted of bleached empty words and an extended finger. Such details are not essential information for Dem.” "You cannot escape the fact that you've abducted me," Saela reminded her. "I've no intention to escape it. Yes, I abducted you, little spoiled Saela." Filia met Saela's gaze, steady and controlled. She may have left her outfit and its atmosphere, but she was still Filia, and Filia stood up for her actions, fearless and with a straight back. She saw how Saela seemed bothered by this. It pleased her that the little goose lost confidence for so little. That she thought she could become queen indicated poor self-knowledge indeed. Filia snorted and walked back to the front of the house. "You may think that you've done something to be proud of," Saela commented with a tone that suggested more strength than Filia believed she had. "But you owe me an explanation to why you did it." Filia grinned. She was not obliged to explain anything, but well-chosen words would increase her chances of getting what she wanted. Filia did not for a moment consider revealing that the last hour had been the most harrowing and least planned period in her whole life, but she had all the reasons to get Saela to cooperate. "We can talk about that over dinner." Filia and Saela sat on either side of Dem's table while their host strutted around and fuzzed about. In his world, he had laid the table like dinner was worthy of a queen. Both Filia and Saela could see and appreciate his thoughtfulness, but the plates were of wood, tablecloths and napkins were worn and dirty, the cutlery bent and buckled.

"Your father's plan for you is to marry the Crown Prince," Filia began. Saela nodded. Filia continued, "My plan is also to marry him." Saela stared. "You?" Filia nodded. "But... you're... " "A demon with snakes tattooed on my face," Filia concluded without circumlocution. "Yet, Idónnes proposed to me," she continued, not without pride in her voice. Saela gazed at Filia. "You were the unknown woman at the ball?" Filia noted Saela did not have the confidence to come up with it as a statement, but put it as a question. She concludes what only one other person had figured out, and she does not understand how smart she is. How depressing. She did not spend long feeling contempt until Saela continued. "But then it was not you he proposed to." "Excuse me?" "You were in disguise. The woman he proposed to doesn't exist in reality. You did nothing but cheat him!" "Who do you think you are to judge what's my true self and who he wooed?" Filia hissed. Saela met her gaze but did not hold it for long before she turned her head away. Filia was boiling inside of anger and bitterness. How could anyone even think of judging what a person's true inner self was? And why was one's inner self expected to be straightforward and simple? The soul was not a solid core all other emotions revolved around. The soul was like a universe inside the body, and just as faceted and multi-layered as the night's sky. That someone could claim that he or she was aware of another person's soul was

utterly absurd. At the same time, she could never look like the woman she introduced herself as. She knew that at the comfortable, superficial level that Saela was right: she had cheated Idónnes. Both through dres and disguise, going so far as to provide a false name. She had deliberately prevented him from seeing who she usually was. "What has all this to do with the two of us being here right now?" Saela whispered. "If you're here, you can't marry Idónnes." "Why be so drastic?" "Because I could no longer remain at the castle," Filia explained, trying to sound lighthearted, so it would not show she wanted to avoid the subject. "And I want to be sure you and Idónnes aren't married in the meantime." "You could have asked me. I don't want to marry Idónnes. I'd gone with you voluntarily. Well, maybe not with you, but I would have left without a fuss." Filia wrinkled her nose. "Poor little thing. Not wanting to become a queen when she grows up. There are worse fates." Saela glared at her and directed the conversation back to the fundamental question. "Why could you not remain at the castle?" Filia was good at lying, but this time she had nothing trustworthy to say. It was probably because the last few hours had been tumultuous and unplanned. She could not think of any fanciful answer, and she did not know if the truth was the best she could say right now. Saela was not one who gave in easily. "They found out the woman at the ball was you, right?" Saela had figured it out alright. Filia wondered if she heard a hint of gloat in the other's voice, or if she was just excited about the story. Filia felt tired of all of it.

"Your Satéll found out. He told Frater. Frater told the King." "And he drove you out?" "The King didn't believe him," Filia corrected her. "Nor did Idónnes. And then Frater threw a knife into the stomach of the King and blamed me for bewitching him to do it." Saela gasped as the statement sank in. "Are you saying that my father tried to assassinate the King?" Filia nodded. "Why would he do that?" "To get me out of the way. And to get Idónnes in a more vulnerable position. With the King immobilized in bed, Idónnes has to take on more responsibility than he's ready for. Then Frater will be there to him. And manipulate him." "You make it sound as my father had planned for this. As if he would walk over corpses to get me married to the Crown Prince," Saela protested. "No. I believe his ambitions extend far beyond that. He'll be at your side and make sure that you control Idónnes in the direction he wants. He knows he can never be king, but he can still be the one pulling all the strings."

Inside the castle of Lahall, Frater exploded in a fury. Satéll stood patiently and listened to the rage. Everything was about how incompetent he, Satéll, was. He was apparently the one who let Filia slip away. Of course, Frater did not call her by her name, but all sorts of derogatory words instead. Satéll swallowed a smile, wondering if he even knew her name. He saw her as a dangerous, intimidating foe, left with no other alternative than to minimize her with insults in front of others. Satéll could withstand the blast any time. Other people's opinions about his work did not interest him. Sure, it happened that he failed on a mission, but then he

was aware he had done so. An angry reproach made no difference. From his point of view, his master did nothing but waste energy and time. He also knew Frater was of the opinion that such methods were needed to gain respect. Satéll had respect for the money Frater paid. He had no respect for Frater as a person. Even less now. To throw a knife at someone and then claim he had been bewitched was weak. It was a cheap trick without finesse or intelligence. It did not bother Satéll he was now in the service of someone who attempted to assassinate the King. He was more than capable in this field himself because he kept his feelings and values out of it. If he did mix them with what he was paid to do, he would soon his dead colleagues. Finally, Frater's ranting came to an end. "Your daughter is also missing, sir," Satéll continued where he left off before his master's outburst. "Her horse was left in the stable, but she's not to be found in the castle." Frater, already red in the face after his rage, began to grind his jaws so intensely that he could have been able to crush stones in there. "Connection?" "Don't know, sir. They both disappeared at the same time, that's all." "Find them and bring them back here. Both of them. As alive as possible." Satéll was an average tracker, but he was thinking logically. A horse and a trolley were missing. If Saela had left on her own, she would have taken her beloved Parva. He found it reasonable that Filia had brought Saela along and left the castle by the horse and trolley. He rode down the road along the mountain under ages and bridges. But where? He looked out over the city that lay at the feet of the hill. Either Saela had wanted to escape from her father and Filia had helped her, or Filia had fled and taken Saela hostage. If Saela had been the initiator of it all, it was not likely it had coincided with Filia's need to run away. And besides, she would not have wanted to be separated from her horse. It was more probably that Filia had been the one behind it all. But where were they most likely to go? Filia's face stood out. A face like Filia's could not go unnoticed in the city.

That night Saela woke up and could not fall back to sleep. The bed was uncomfortable. It was a strange house. She saw Dem sitting by the hearth in the light of the remaining embers of the fire carving a figure. When she got up, he looked at her and drew his sword. "I'll not flee anywhere, Dem," she whispered. "It's dark outside, and I don't know where I would go in the middle of the night. May I sit next to you? Maybe offer some company? And protection?" Dem put the sword back and nodded. Saela sat down as far away as possible from him, but still within the warmth of the fireplace. Filia kept sleeping in what probably was Dem's bed. "Did Filia ask you to guard me?" Dem shook his head. "My lady kept watch for hours and let me sleep. Eventually, I could no longer sleep when I saw how tired the queen of my dreams was. So I carried her to my bed." Saela could not imagine Dem carrying Filia to bed and wondered if it had really happened. "What are you carving?" Dem held up a slender, nude female figure made from a long branch. To fit the branch's shape and thickness it stood with her arms above her head in a graceful pose. The figure had long hair coiled all the way down on the back. "It's beautiful." "It's my lady." "Filia?" she asked in amazement. Dem nodded. Saela studied the naked body with the long hair and threw a glance at the sleeping Filia. It did not feel like it was the same person. She wondered if and when Dem had seen Filia naked. And the long hair? Dem rose and placed the new wooden figure along with several others on the same theme.

"Are they all Filia?" Dem nodded. "You must really love her." "She's my world, my life. I would do anything to protect her. Anything. She's my universe, my Goddess." Saela felt a shiver down the spine. Dem was an odd man, no doubt, but it sounded like he literally worshiped Filia. It made her uncomfortable. "Can you tell me more about her?" she begged. Dem shook his head with a big smile. "No words can describe her. She is who she is."

In the morning Saela took a bucket and went to fetch water from the stream while Filia made a fire in the fireplace. "Is the delicate lady not your prisoner?" Dem asked. Filia watched Saela disappear among the trees and wondered if she would try anything as silly as escaping. The brook was in the opposite direction of the horse, and she had a clear view of the meadow all the way to the trees, and they stood right by the water. If Saela tried to leave, she would have to follow the stream through the ravine. Filia counted for herself when Saela disappeared out of sight. One, two, three, she bends down for water, four, five, six, seven, the bucket is full, eight, nine, ten, eleven, now she should be seen. Twelve. She was not seen yet. Thirteen fourteen. Filia started to walk across the meadow. Then Saela reappeared between the trees. She crossed the plain with the bucket hanging heavy in hand. Back at the house, Saela poured the contents into the water barrel and turned to go back to the stream. "Fill the bucket next time," Filia suggested with a huge hint of irony. "You'll

have to go hundreds of times if you only take a few drops every time." "If I was able to carry more," Saela snapped, "I would." Filia took the bucket from her hand. "If it's not too heavy, maybe you can help Dem to prepare the breakfast." Filia went down to the water. It was still chilly in the shade under the trees. She squatted down and washed her face in the cold water. She poured water with her hands over her bald head when she felt the tip of a blade between her shoulderblades. "On your feet, slowly," she heard Satéll's voice behind her. She sighed. Of course! How could she be so stupid? Not even scrawny, wimpy Saela was so weak she could not carry a bucket of water. She should have seen the task looked excessively burdensome for her, that she did no more than acting badly. She rose with her hands in plain view and turned around. They looked at each other, Filia and Satéll. She was glad that at least it was he who traced them and outwitted her, and not some idiot. Saela appeared. "I'd never thought you to be so easily tricked," she mocked, grinning. Filia clenched her jaws. She felt personally scorned. Satéll had caught her, but the reason he did so was because it was his job, and how strange it might seem to others, it was nothing personal. Saela's comment, however, was aimed at her and in a way that she could not dodge. Saela was glad she had been able to trick her, not proud of her work as such. Saela enjoyed to scorn, not the satisfaction of skillful conduct. "Saela, stop it," Satéll ordered. Saela shrugged. "And I recommend you not tell your father you were here voluntarily." "She kidnapped me!" Saela protested. "If you tell him how you went down to the stream to fetch water, your father will think differently." Saela fell silent and looked like a sullen child. Filia exchanged a look with

Satéll. Had he said that to spare her the gossip? Hard to tell. He could protect Saela as well. Satéll brought out a rope. Filia turned around and put her hands behind her back. It was not something she wanted to do, but she did not try to convince him it was not needed, let alone beg or seek to avoid it. She was well aware that Satéll would not let her have a chance to escape. By not giving him the opportunity to command her, she had at least a little dignity left. She felt the ropes, and the knots tighten around her wrists. Satéll knew what he was doing. He did not tie her so hard it would be painful, but made safe knots. Astounded, she also received a gag. She turned around and gave Satéll a furious glare. "Saela said you have an armed ally in the house, so we keep a low profile along the creek. I'll remove it when we're out of earshot." Filia realized about the same time as Satéll that Saela was gone. Smiling with a mouth full of fabric was hard. Frustrated, he tied her to a tree and set off running toward the house.

Saela hurried across the meadow toward the house. It was too much to say she was fully aware of what she was doing, but she knew with certainty that she did not want to go back to Lahall again. Although she did not have much sympathy for Filia, the former demon had nevertheless shown her what liberty was like; and in addition, told her things about her father. Although they might not be entirely accurate, it was alarming. She would never be a part of her father's plans again. She aimed for the back of the house to take the horse, but Dem appeared in the doorway and strode out with the sword pointing straight at her. "Dem, let me ," she pleaded. "A pathetic attempt to fool me, you bitch from the abyss," Dem replied, and his eyes narrowed as he stepped closer. Saela backed to avoid being hit by the sword.

"What have you done with my lady, ugly witch?" "Nothing," she replied, fumbling to find the key to the right phrase. She continued backward. Her foot buckled under her, and she fell to the ground. Satéll appeared out of nowhere. Dem focused on him. "You, nobleman in a warrior's clothes, your appearance is timely. This beast from the abyss has enchanted my lady, and I humbly ask you to assist me in the beheading of this monster." Saela saw Satéll's baffled face. "He's crazy!" she cried. "Who are you?" Satéll wanted to know. Dem smiled and made a majestic gesture as a greeting as he bowed. "I, I am the protector of all damsels in distress and their noble defender to death. I'm the one who selflessly throws himself in front of the deadly spear to save the woman I love." "Defenders of damsels? But miss Saela here, is she not a lady in distress?" Saela saw how the sword lifted from her chest and she crawled away from Dem. Then the man turned the sword towards Satéll instead. "I have been mistaken about you, sir," he said. "You take a bitch in defense and call her friendly names that no real man would ever give the creature. You are scum, and only worthy of falling dead upon my sword." Satéll backed a few steps and drew his sword, prepared for battle. Saela tried to leave on foot, but the ankle shouted in protest, and she fell to the ground again. The two men were both prepared to stab the other to death when Filia flew in between the two, freed from both rope and gag. "Dem, my beloved, put down your sword," she begged. "That is an impostor as despicable as a poisonous spider."

"No, Dem, he came here with a message to me. I need to leave again, Dem." His pose slumped. "Should my lady leave me already?" he asked as a small, sad boy. The sword fell to the ground.

Filia's heart bled. She hugged him and kept him in her arms for a long moment. He responded to the hug as a worried child grasps his mother who will soon leave him. Although there was an endlessness of love in his embrace, Filia wished the response had been from a grown man. She hugged him as she would have hugged a lover or a spouse. The answer she received was from a child. There would never be anything else, and she had herself to blame. The man she had once loved was no longer there. That man had seen her as a child and acted as a father. Nothing could be more ironic. She motioned to Satéll to move towards the horse. Saela still lay like a broken doll on the ground. Satéll helped her to her feet and lifted her up in his arms. Filia freed herself from the embrace and prepared the horse and the trolley. Satéll placed Saela at the back and helped Filia. Dem hovered close by, swaying from one foot to the other. When Filia began to lead the horse up to the road, he disappeared into the house and came back with her black clothes, neatly folded. "I hoped I would have time to wash them for you." He blushed. She accepted them. "There'll be another time. Thank you, Dem. Now we have to go. Thank you for this time. You've been a great host, as always." She gave him one more hug, took the horse by the halter and moved away from him, up to the road. Dem stood as a sad and abandoned boy. She waved to him, and he turned and went into the house. Filia was relieved. They stopped by Satéll's horse down the road, out of sight and earshot of the house. "Exactly what happened there?" Satéll demanded. "Dem would not stand a chance against you," Filia explained. "Even if he's

convinced of the contrary, he can't handle a sword. Or any other weapon, for that matter." "And you protected him, instead of running away."

It was apparent that Filia had a special relationship with that fool, but at the same time, she had placed herself in a situation where she once again was a prisoner. Not exactly something a person like her — or himself, for that matter — often volunteered to. "Frightened people flee," she hissed. He gave Filia a thoughtful gaze. She was a strange woman in many ways. Odd in ways he had never encountered before, though he had met several assassins and royal advisers, guessing she was a little of both. Ever the practical man, he turned his attention to Saela's damaged foot. He examined it, twisting and turning it gently to learn just how damaged it was. "Don't worry. It will heal soon." He picked up bandages from the saddlebags and put a cast around the ankle. Then he pulled out a rope. "Your hands," he commanded. Saela stared at him. "My orders are clear. I'll bring both of you back to Duke Frater. 'Reasonably alive,' as he put it. Saela, you've amply demonstrated you're not interested in coming back voluntarily. Your hands, if you please." "You can't do this to me!" Saela roared. "Do you think you can convince him of that?" Filia wondered. "He has no right to tie me!" "He thinks he has," Filia argued. "And if you don't think you can get him to realize he's wrong, it's quite pointless to argue about it. Hold up your hands or run for it. Everything else is a waste of time and effort." Satéll could not help but smile. He was astounded about Filia's utterly objective way to handle the situation.

"Run with this foot?" Saela spat. "Then it's pretty obvious what you should do, isn't it?" Filia retorted. Satéll waited patiently with the rope. He saw how she realized Filia was right, but her whole mind probably protested it. He did not blame her for being reluctant. Most people were not as objective as Filia. Saela held out her hands towards him. "I never thought you would do this to me." Tears were running from her eyes. He tied her hands and checked the rope was not too tight. He was doing his job, but he did not want it to be painful. Then he wiped away a tear running down her cheek. He had no words to explain, did not have the ability to make her understand. She had never had to work to get money for food. Even less been in a situation where she had to decide to deprive people of their dignity or even their lives. Even if they were friends, they lived in different worlds with entirely different sets of rules. He understood her feelings and wished for her to follow his. She slid further up in the trolley and turned his back to him. He focused on Filia. She had seen his and Saela's emotional exchange. Somewhat taken aback, he was unsure why he had not tied Filia first before he took care of Saela. Something subconsciously had told him he did not have to worry about her. She turned and put her hands on her back. "I recommend better knots this time." Satéll could hear the pride in her voice. "Don't worry. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve." He picked up a blanket roll-out of the saddlebag. "Jump up and sit in the back of the wagon and hold up your hands in front of you." She did so. Satéll tied her hands and lower arms together on each side of the blanket roll. It was not painful in itself, but uncomfortable. So far, he had not seen anyone escape it. Filia studied the arrangement with interest. "Impressive," she said approvingly. "One hand can't tie up the other. And..." She tested some movements with her hands. "... The knots tighten up if you try. Not

bad." "Thank you. One would think that you ired the work of a woodcarver or a weaver. Not the knots that keep you a prisoner." Filia swung her legs up into the trolley. "I see things for what they are. It doesn't mean I'll be your prisoner longer than I must." "Must? You had every chance to escape." "I told you: scared people flee." He brought up the tailgate, tied his horse to the wagon and got up in the seat. He got the horse moving and began the return trip back to Lahall. "If I had not had the intention to go back with you, I would not be sitting here now," Filia told him with such a steady voice that Satéll almost believed her. "So you had planned that I would stand by the creek and surprise you?" "Just because things don't always go as planned, it doesn't mean the outcome will be for the worse." He glanced back at her, and she gave him a sly smile that made him feel inferior, much to his annoyance.

Chapter Ten

Zollam's revenge

Simmiolas found that two pages had been torn out his diary. Disappointed and frustrated, he slammed the book shut and put it back in his backpack. Then he walked out to the oasis and to find Zollam. "Give them to me," he demanded. "Now!" Zollam rose and glared at him. "Only if you start teaching me," he hissed so none of the other boys would hear. "I can't. Your threats make no difference." "Then I'll show the pages for my father." "Zollam, stop this. It's leading nowhere." "Leading nowhere? Do you know what leads nowhere? Do you know what it means for me that I'm still a boy?" Zollam's voice was strained. It had turned into a shrill, whiny voice that made the other boys stop their work and watch to see what was going on. "It means you'll become a man at another time." Apart from his perspective, it was what would happen. There was nothing more to it. Zollam did not listen. "Since my mother is dead, it means I must go to other women to get food. The chief's son must beg!" "I'm sure you won't go hungry." Simmiolas thought it might be time for him to learn to cook his own food, but also knew it would not be viewed kindly by the tribal . Neither boys nor men cooked when there were women in the

vicinity. "You almost died out there before, but now you're a man! And I have to go between women and ask for some of their food!" Zollam bellowed out the words in despair, oblivious to how many children around them were listening. This, if anything would lower Zollam's status within the tribe. A boy screaming out his dissatisfaction over his failures could not have a positive impact on how people would treat him. "That's just jealousy, Zollam. Leave it behind you. Nothing good comes from envy." Zollam was beyond all rhyme and reason. He was angry, which made him deaf to everything else. "You killed my mother!" "No, I didn't. You know that's not true." "How do I know that? Because you said it? Why should I believe you? Why?" Zollam began to move towards the cave. "I'm going to tell my father. He'll ensure that you'll be banished!" He turned around and ran. Simmiolas watched him leave. He looked at the boys and saw that they watched Zollam and not him. They seemed shocked by Zollam's inappropriate behavior, unbefitting a tribal leader's son. "My father said he was surprised Zollam even survived the test of manhood," said one of the boys to another in a hushed whisper. "The reason he didn't the test is because there is hardly anything left to hunt out there," Simmiolas rebuked him. "The hardest thing is not to hunt and kill. It's to find an animal at all. Soon you'll all remain boys when the animals are gone." The boys stared at him, terrified. "Don't worry. You'll continue to grow and get beard and hair all over the place. No matter if you kill an animal or not."

It did not take long before Mannestam called for Simmiolas. When he arrived, the leader of the tribe sent a woman for tea and then sat down on some pelts with a small low table in the middle. He invited Simmiolas to sit down opposite him. The woman came back with the tea, served, and drew the curtain shut as she left. Mannestam put the two torn pages from the diary in front of them on the table. "Are these yours?" he asked. Simmiolas nodded. "Yes, they are." "These characters are unknown to me. What are they?" Simmiolas could not but ire Mannestam. Not only because he dared to show his ignorance, but also because he did not draw conclusions without as much knowledge he could gain first. "They're torn from a book where I write down ideas and thoughts and things that happened during a day." Mannestam looked surprised, and Simmiolas guessed that just the mere idea of writing down such things was preposterous in his world. For hundreds of years, he had written in that book only to see the ink vanish from the page. In a timeless world, nothing ever changed. Simmiolas blew on his tea and sipped it. Mannestam did the same. "Zollam came in here today with grave accusations against you." "His accusations and the pages have nothing to do with each other." Mannestam studied him. "Do you know what he accused you of?" "To be a magician, and for killing Sinita?" Simmiolas had no reason to hide what he believed. Had Zollam not told his father that much yet, he would some other time. His step-father bounced at the straight honesty.

"I must say that even if you act disrespectfully all too often, I find your honesty uplifting. It makes things easier." He smiled a moment at the young man in front of him. "But at the same time more complicated. It means that if my son has not gone crazy, there's some basis for his allegations. Did you kill Sinita?" Simmiolas shook his head. "No, I tried to save her." "You tried to save her?" "By lowering the fever. But Sinita was too ill. Her body had reacted by raising the temperature to kill the disease. No matter what I did, she would probably have died." Mannestam listened in silence. Then sat lost in a thought drinking his tea. "So, you're a magician?" he asked at last. "It's not what we call ourselves, but, yes, I suppose it's a good word." "Then who are you, in your own words?" "A Recreator." "Recreator?" Simmiolas nodded. "There's a long history to it, but the essential part is we repair nature when people have damaged it." "Can you create the rain?" "Yes, but it may not be done discreetly." Mannestam picked up the keyword in what Simmiolas had said. "I take it that you made other more discreet things then." "Your harvest has increased."

"Easy to say it was your work after the fact, right?" he got in response. Simmiolas smiled a little embarrassed. It was he who influenced the outcome of the harvest, but there was no way he could prove it. Mannestam pondered the contents of his teacup for a moment. "There are two ways to react to the situation," he said. Simmiolas thought that there were many more and that not everything needed to be hung on marked hooks to work. He guessed it was part of the way he was to not be able to see things in simplified ways like that. "Either I take what you say seriously, or I let it be and see it as merely the result of Zollam's obvious jealousy. I'll give him a serious flogging for the lies and intentions to disgrace a man. He has clearly shown that he's not ready to be a man yet, so he can take the punishment as the boy he is." Simmiolas did not like the idea of punishments and flogging because someone found a lie more convenient. "You know what I say is true." Mannestam gave him a look. "If I do take what you said for truth, we face a much more serious problem. It means I've got a member of the tribe who actively opposes the will of the Gods. And as such, causing danger to us all." Simmiolas frowned and tried to keep up with his reasoning. "I'm afraid I don't understand..." "Sinita gave my daughter herbs to prevent her from becoming a woman. Vepresila was chosen by the Goddess to travel to the Temple when she got her bleeding. Sinita wanted to stop it and was punished. With death. You tried to interfere with the Goddess' punishment." Simmiolas found it difficult to accept the argument, though he did understand the line of thought.

In his world, the Gods Mannestam was afraid of did not exist. As a Recreator, it was Simmiolas and his peers who had the divine powers appearing in the world. Not that they were there to be worshiped - they were no gods - but there were no any other gods who could be upset. Simmiolas ed they talked about this in the school, that situations like this could arise. He nodded. "And if you would take me seriously, what happens to me?" "I'll call for a council meeting, and you'll likely be banished. If I'm to be honest, it'll not need much in your case. You already have a bad reputation for your strange behavior. Many would be happy to have an excuse to get rid of you." "Do you agree?" Simmiolas wanted to know. Mannestam studied him for a long time. "I don’t know, Simmiolas," he said. "If you have powers, I think it does more good than bad to use them. But my job is the safety of my tribe. And I can't risk the wrath of the Gods upon us. I can't pretend I don't know now. The Gods know I know. But, I ask you to leave by your own choice. Leave now. Go and search for any other tribe and try again. If we banish you, you don't have that chance." Simmiolas considered for a moment. "No, I choose to speak at the council." "By Illu, why?" "Because in the end, you must all change your way of life. You must be made to understand that if you continue, you'll soon die of starvation. I can't save you all on my own. There's too much damaged and destructed because you don't listen to nature!" Simmiolas wished he had not said the last remark. Accusations against someone who had not considered to have done something wrong never fell into good grounds. "And you think the men at the council will accept what you say?" Mannestam asked with a certain coldness in his voice.

"Of course not. People don't change overnight. I'll probably still be banished." Mannestam sighed. "I call to a meeting tomorrow morning."

When the men gathered in the innermost cave the next morning, Simmiolas and Zollam were in the middle of the room in front of Mannestam. Zollam, because it was he who had brought the accusation, and Simmiolas because he was the accused. Before the meeting, Simmiolas had heard Mannestam instruct Zollam to be quiet and let him, as a father and a grown man, speak for him on his behalf. Zollam seemed to be excited and proud to be among the adult men. Although the reason he was there was to get his brother banished. As if it would buy him a place among the men. When everyone had sat down, Mannestam called out, "I, Mannestam, leader of this tribe, have summoned you here. The boy Zollam has accused the man Simmiolas of being a magician. Simmiolas himself does not deny the allegations, but he claims he does not upset our gods and that his actions do not pose any threat." A mumble among the gathered radiated out, echoing off the cave walls. Simmiolas sent a grateful glance at Mannestam. He had chosen his words well. He had done his best to keep the Recreator's skills in the tribe, without explicitly taking a stand and risking his position as leader. The mumble did not stop. "Silence! Let Simmiolas himself now speak for his cause." The noise ceased, and all eyes turned to Simmiolas. "I, Simmiolas, thank you for listening. You'll not believe what I'm about to say now, but I lived here, on Etion, not far from here, several hundred years ago." Simmiolas ignored the whispers among the men. "Back then this island was a sea of trees and greenery. But people cut down tree

after tree faster than new ones could grow. The trees turned into planks and boards to large boats. The land was left naked and without protection and the soil was washed away by rain and wind." "What is this?" a man interrupted and got to his feet. "I, Urevatt, want to know why we should listen to this… man, whose shirt is still not even stained by blood from hunting. All he can do is tell stories." Others murmured in of him. "No one can live for several hundred years. Even a small child knows this," said another. "He's too young to have such knowledge that he claims," was heard from a third. Simmiolas held out his hand in front of him. "Let there be light!" he commanded. A glimmer hovered over his palm. It grew stronger, more focused. A little sun was floating in the air above his hand, barely with the size of a pea. The silence could be cut with a knife as all stared at the magic revealed in the little pearl of light. "I am what I say I am. And I can give you the greenery and rain again. But only if you help me!" He let the sun go out and stood for a moment to catch his breath. All acts of recreation had its price in strength and power. "So," he gasped. "Now, when I've made things clear, maybe we can start talking about what we should do for nature, so it will be able to recover." No one answered. "As I see it," he continued, "the balance must be restored. No more hunting, until the animals have had a chance to multiply to a greater extent..." He was doing it again, he noticed. Taking for granted that all people could see clearly and beyond their own interests. To forbid men to hunt was like taking away their significance, their use, their manhood. Had he not wondered himself what he would undertake while waiting for the next hunt?

But the damage was already done. He could not make them listen now. "I, Tremp, heard my son telling me the man Simmiolas had something to do with the death of the woman Sinita. Does this accusation here match my son's telling, Mannestam, our leader?" "Simmiolas has told me he wanted to save her, yes," Mannestam confirmed. Zollam winced. "No, he killed her," he objected. Mannestam hushed him to be quiet, but Zollam did not take the advice. "I begged him to save her, but he killed her!" A man rose and pointed at Zollam with a face full of hate. "You go against the will of the gods, boy!" he shouted. "No," Zollam protested. "I just wanted Simmiolas to save her." "Silence!" Mannestam's voice boomed, and everyone fell silent at once. "It's time to vote. The man Simmiolas has itted that he is a magician. He has shown us he has powers. And he tried to save the woman Sinita from Illu's punishment. Hands up, those who want to see him banished." Every man stretched up his hand. Simmiolas was not surprised. The failure was solely his. Two men stepped forward and tied his hands on his back. He wondered why, but did not protest. "And how many want the boy Zollam banished for trying to save the woman Sinita?" The question came from the man who at a previous council tried to embarrass Mannestam. "Simmiolas is the one who stands accused, not Zollam," Mannestam rebuked. "Yet, your son has just itted the same offense. His crime against our gods is equal to that of Simmiolas' offense. Hands up, those who want to see the boy Zollam banished."

More than half of the men raised a hand and Simmiolas, Zollam and Mannestam were stunned at the unexpected development. When two men began to tie Zollam's hands, the boy began to protest, fencing with his arms. The two men had to push him down to the floor by force to secure him. "Bring them out," Mannestam ordered.

Men lit a fire outside. In the fire, they placed a branding iron. Simmiolas and Zollam were forced down on their knees, and their heads held firm. Mannestam took the iron out of the fire, and Simmiolas closed his eyes. He felt the hot metal pressed against his forehead, but managed to take deep breaths and prevent himself from screaming. Then he heard Zollam roar with pain and terror. Within, he felt Mannestam's anguish and hatred of the man who put him in the situation, forcing him to brand his son. Simmiolas sent him a few words that hatred does not heal any wounds. He felt the hands leaving him and the ropes removed. Still, eyes closed, sitting on his knees, he heard the people leaving. Zollam sobbed beside him. "Father! Please, father, forgive me!" Simmiolas opened his eyes and saw Mannestam turning away from them and from the cave. Zollam cried and held one hand across the burn mark and wiped his tears with the other. "Father, please, don't send me away!" Simmiolas saw Mannestam hearing the heartbreaking words. The man bowed his head, and his shoulders rose. In such a short period of time, he had lost his wife and two of his children. Three if he counted himself, the adopted son, but he did not think Mannestam would be mourning the loss of his foster son. With heavy steps, Mannestam turned and went back into the cave. Simmiolas got to his feet and tried to get Zollam standing. Their place was no longer here. They would have to move on elsewhere. But Zollam was not reachable. He was gone in grief and confusion.

Mannestam returned with two full water-skins, Simmiolas' backpack and something wrapped in fabric. He handed it all to Simmiolas. He grabbed Zollam's upper arms and pulled his son to his feet. With a gentle hand, he wiped the boy's tears. "I'll always love you. Wherever you go and do in life, you should know I love you." Physical proximity was not typical for the men in the tribe, so Mannestam did not hug his son, but for Zollam, his father's words were like a salve for the soul, and Simmiolas saw how he pulled himself together. "Your life is not over yet," Mannestam continued. " Simmiolas and may the all gods be gracious to you." He shoved Zollam in Simmiolas' direction, and Simmiolas handed him one of the water-skins. Mannestam's gaze lingered on the magician. "Live well, Simmiolas," he said at last. "Take care of the boy." Simmiolas nodded. "I wish you a long life and good health, Mannestam." They gave each other a nod, and Simmiolas brought Zollam away into the desert. He did not look back. Neither did Zollam. There was nothing left for them there.

In the evening a few days later, Zollam sat and thumbed at the stigma on his forehead as he watched the lizard roasting on the fire. "What do exiled boys do?" "They grow up to become men. Probably find someone to love and a meaningful occupation," Simmiolas replied. Zollam kicked a stone into the fire and caused a rain of sparks. "Is everything so simple to you?!"

"If you learn to see life without prestige, you'll find things easier too." "Why can't you be like ordinary men?" Simmiolas rearranged the fireplace after Zollam's little outburst. "That road is closed." "Open it then," Zollam hissed, "if everything is as easy as you say." "Unknown hands guided me there, but I knew nothing about it nor had any saying. And once there, it was too late. I cursed them and swore and insulted, all to no avail. They took away my family, my future, everything I cherished.” Simmiolas met Zollam’s eyes. “But while they took, they gave something back. And the gift was grandiose beyond all understanding, a knowledge I had never imagined existed. Whether the price was too high or not, it was paid and the score settled. But who I was, or thought I would be, was gone. I was left as a Recreator, a magician, who never wished for the power now given him. And life could never return to what it once was."

Chapter Eleven

Divine powers

In the evening Filia, Saela and Satéll sat around the campfire. There was no chance to get back into Lahall within half-a-day's travel, so they camped for the night. It would be spartan, but the late summer night was warm. Filia sat with her hands bound and realized with surprise that she was rather pleased. Not to be tied up, of course - it was just impractical - but the rest, to sit by a fire on a night out with some friends. Maybe they were not friends in the usual sense, and none of them would probably think of calling her a friend, but it was pleasant to pretend for a moment. Perhaps it was this atmosphere that made the evening evolve as it did when Satéll began to question her about who she was and how she had built up her magical image. It was something she never discussed with anyone. Not even Turpa knew that much. And usually, she had not responded to such questions. This time, she leaned her head to the side and asked Satéll in return if he thought all she did was illusions and tricks. "There are those who believe in magic," he replied, "but I'm not one of them. I know all so-called magic consists of the ability to trick the viewer's eye." Filia said nothing. As she looked at him in silence, the fire blazed up with a roar and became taller than a man. Satéll recoiled back, Saela screamed. Filia let the fire return to its standard size. "She just threw something into the fire," Satéll reassured Saela. "She's bound!" Saela spat back. "If she'd thrown something on the fire, she would have had to carry it in her hand before you tied her. She did it, and it was not any secret powder!"

Filia watched Satéll, and she could see he was hesitant but far from convinced. "You don't know how I did it, but you're still certain it was something I threw into the fire. That I could make it bigger with only my mind is impossible," Filia stated. "And you would like a rabbit to lay on the coals for supper." Satéll winced. "She read your mind, didn't she?" Saela asked. "She did it with me at once, though I didn't understand it then, because I thought she was a demon, but—" "You can't read someone's mind" Satéll interrupted. "Was it like a big finger for you, too?" He stared at Saela. Filia smiled. She knew deep down he began to find it difficult to stick to his version of the truth. They sat in silence for a while. Filia listened to all the sounds from the fire and the woods around them. "Where did you learn it all?" Saela wanted to know, with a mixture of curiosity and fear. "On Alsyone. They have a school for Recreators there." "Alsyone?" echoed Saela. "Is that another kingdom?" "It's a different country altogether. Another island." Both Satéll and Saela looked confused at her. "Saela, you must surely have traveled the world?" Saela shook her head, no. "Satéll?" He gave her a negative shake. She had more knowledge about the world in ways she had not known before. "My parents made sure I got to travel," Filia begun. "I learned what was out there. It gave me the proportions of things." Filia watched the sparks from the fire rise with the warm air and went out. "To make me as good regent as possible."

"Regent?" "I was born as crown princess in Lahall." Her eyes had never been steadier when she met Satéll's and added, "For over three hundred years ago." Satéll laughed, at first, but Filia had never been more serious. "Whatever trick this is, it won't work," he assured her. "You noted the similarity. In the crypt. Between me and the statue." Filia knew it would be hard to prove she was telling the truth. She studied the knots around her wrists. Was she an idiot telling them? Perhaps. Maybe not. They had seen her in a situation no one else had ever done. They had seen the woman behind all the black cloaks and white creams. If she would have any chance to sustain the myth of herself when they got back to Lahall, she would either have to buy their silence or to convince them she was more than an illusion. Apart from the absence of adequate sums of money, a bought silence was a fragile alliance. And a hold on her. No, better to tell something that held up the mystery. In this case, what could be more suited than the truth? She felt Satéll's irritation grow. Not a strange reaction at all. She wanted him to believe her when she claimed she was over three hundred years old. A little girl, a lass, barely an adult, unusually mature in mind and stunningly talented, sure, but what she claimed was not possible. In the ordinary world, people were not snatched from time and returned hundreds of years later. He had thought the statue the crypt did look like her but dismissed it as an impossibility. "I was swept overboard in a storm and washed up on the coast of Alsyone. I survived, but to those I left behind, I was dead. I was never found or heard of again. So the crown princess was declared dead. When I came back, life had moved on without me." Later, in the school, she had learned that the wave taking her was no accident. Someone had chosen her and made sure she got there. Everyone who left the school had a duty to bring a new student back some day. A former student had picked her. There was no option to first ask the prospective student if she was interested. The point, it was told, was no preconceptions which came with awareness.

"According to them, God created the world and then gave the people the Word and the Free Will. The Word is the divine power creating everything. When the people had this power, they became arrogant and thought that God was not needed. Then God left the people to their fate. The people forgot the Word but kept the Free Will, and so the world of men began to decay. Those who still ed the Word gathered and decided to do what they could to save the world. They called themselves Recreators." Filia fell silent. It was not the story word for word as it stood on the scroll in the library, but close enough. Saela and Satéll gaped at her without saying anything for a long moment. "Recreators?" Satéll repeated. Filia nodded. "And these Recreators have divine powers and acts as a replacement for our gods?" Filia frowned. She had never seen it that way, but she could not deny that that was what the story had said. She nodded again. A fictional story, no doubt, to explain their unacceptable behavior towards all children they abducted, but she had just used it to add to her image of mystery. "And you spend your time walking around as a black-clad monster and scare people? Excuse me, Filia, but for me, it doesn't feel like you're some goddess in disguise." Filia had never claimed she was a goddess. The idea was preposterous. What she was, however, was the rightful queen. Had this anonymous person not had the idiotic idea to snatch her away from her world of royalty, her descendants would be sitting on the throne today. Against her will, that life had was traded for the ability to poke into the soil and pat the trees. It was not a fair trade; much like selling silk for some dry peas. Filia was a person who was accustomed to take responsibility and face the consequences of her choices. The idea that she could get into a situation where she had no choice was utterly foreign. From childhood, she was taught that there were always different choices. But the day when she was swept overboard, she had not had any choice. And when she had ed into the school's timelessness

ceased every opportunity to get out of there. It was beyond her power to break the bubble and return to the world until the Masters let her go. She had never got over the feeling of powerlessness when she was there. The fact that someone else would inevitably control her life was — for her — completely unacceptable. The worst part was that once she was considered trained and was released, it turned out that time had not stood still at school, as she had presumed. It had moved on without her. Timelessness had meant time stood still inside the bubble, and continued as usual outside. When she returned home to Lahall, no parents were waiting for her, no brother, no sister. The life she had lived had nothing left except the stone statue in the crypt. Her brother had inherited the crown — he who always said he was glad to be born second — and on the throne sat someone who was a descendant of her brother, who was ten generations her junior. She had been convinced she would return to her future as a queen, only to find she no longer existed. Fourteen years old, she had been standing there without legal existence and deprived of the future that was rightfully hers in front of the castle where she was born and raised, and declared dead. "How did you meet Dem?" Saela asked. She jerked from her thoughts and found her desire to talk had disappeared. Without answering, she arranged her black robe around her the best she could with her hands bound, lay down and turned her back on them to sleep.

In the morning, Filia awoke to the smell of fried meat. She sat up and saw two rabbits roasting over the fire, watched by Satéll. Beside her, Saela was still asleep. She heard a 'good morning' escape from Satéll's lips, but she was not interested in courtesy phrases. "What did you use and how did you get it in me?" she demanded. Satéll raised his eyebrows. She felt humiliated enough as it was to be tied but that she could keep in a reasonably impersonal level. That he would take her for a fool was an attack on her and entirely unnecessary for his mission. "If you think I'm stupid, you're highly mistaken!"

"Filia, I've never encountered anyone who was less stupid than you. However, I feel pretty stupid right now, because I've not a clue what you're talking about." Filia blinked and rubbed her eyes. Was she not fully awake yet? "You've been hunting." "Yes?" "You hardly left us unattended!" "You were asleep. And I set snares in the woods five steps away from here." Filia felt unsure of what to think. "So you haven't drugged me?" "Oh, so that's what you thought. No, I haven't drugged you. If I had thought that was a good solution, I would've done so right way and transported you as two bags of potatoes. It would've been easier." "You haven't slept," she realized. "Ah, but there's a difference. It's my own decision to keep myself awake and the methods I use to do so." Satéll took the meat from the fire and checked if the rabbits were cooked. He began to cut the meat. He handed a piece to Filia. She accepted it and took a bite. She was happy Saela was still asleep so she could talk with Satéll in private. "Are you this considerate when you kill people too?" A direct question. Too direct, but it saved time. She wondered if Satéll would answer it. He proceeded to cut the rabbits and said nothing for a moment. "Murder is never considerate," he replied and met her gaze. "Nothing is more ruthless. You can go into someone's bedroom with the belief that the poison you give makes them stop breathing and die in their sleep. But what you get is a painful and anguished death. It might only last a short time, but for him who gave the poison, it's like standing there all night and wishing you could undo things. Others pray for their lives and cry out of agony or even wet themselves

with fear, aware that whatever they say and do, I will kill them." Filia shuddered. For the first time, she felt the presence of Satéll, the killer. She had ired his skills and knew he was considered one of the best. At the same time, she had never had to fear for her life in his hands. The man she saw now, would kill her if he was ordered to do so. He would do it, no matter what he thought of her. Even if she saved his life ten times, she doubted he would have a moral struggle before slitting her throat. "I take it you've never killed anyone" he grunted. "I thought you had." "I've never had to take it as far. I thought that the day would come when I had to, but not yet." "Let's hope you never have to. I wasn't smart enough to put on a robe and wave some magic. But if it may please you, I've had my chances to pull out." Filia felt she had had enough talk and gave Saela a nudge. She sat up, still drowsy, and tried to massage her wrists. She did not answer Satéll's early morning greeting either. She tore at the meat he offered and turned her back to him while she ate. They all ate in silence. Filia wondered about what Satéll had told her. She had not seen herself as pleasant or a willing socializer in general, neither before nor after her life on Alsyone. But at least, she had not the social stigma Satéll had received. Once a life of another human being was taken, it was never going to be undone. Although he was not Frater's assassin officially, everybody knew he was a killer and treated him accordingly. He met people who were scared of him, just as she did, but no one ever looked down on her. Never did she get worse treatment than the common man. On the contrary. If that was respect or fright, she was not sure. She had picked up enough from the staff in Lahall to know what some said about Satéll behind his back. Killers were not off limits because of the danger, but because they were considered scum. Filia felt sad. There was so little difference between them, and yet such a gap. "Why don't you quit?" she asked, forgetting that Saela heard. "Even if he does, everyone knows what he did," Saela replied. She knew. Of course, she knew.

"I couldn't bare the thought of having to go to a foreign country far, far away. Learn a new language, a new way of life. Always stand out as the strange guy who can't speak properly. No, Filia, this is what I do. I never learned another trade. So I'm marked for life. I've learned to live with that a long time ago. It's not that the people I kill would live if I hadn't killed them." If he refused, Frater would surely hire someone else instead. Satéll would still stand with the consequences of his past actions anyway. She guessed Satéll long since ed the threshold when he felt it would have any bearing difference on his soul and future if he stopped. As crazy as it felt, Filia thought she understood Satéll. He knew his role, and it gave him security and stability. To get his life overturned by entirely new situations was nothing she wished for anyone. "Besides," he continued, "this is part of my job too, and I'll keep you alive." When they finished eating, they extinguished the fire and packed up what little they had. Satéll cut Filia's ropes. "I assume you would rather return wearing these." He held her black clothes that she used as a blanket that night. "It depends. I might prefer to wrap it around my head and return without being recognized." "My orders are to take you directly to Frater. No show offs. No spectators." "How do you plan to do that?" "Where's the crypt's second entrance?" he demanded. Filia replied that there was no second entrance, but Satéll did not believe her. "The fresh air must come in from somewhere. Otherwise, the lights would not be able to burn as they do and people could not stay in the crypt for long." Filia could not help him and if he believed her or not, did not matter. She had something to think about, at least. Maybe there was a age to find, after all. "Then we get in through the entrance on the agora instead," Satéll decided.

"Are you so concerned about my appearance that you don't want to walk me bound through the castle?" she teased. "I'm more concerned about Saela's reputation than yours," he snapped. "Bringing her back during the daytime is the same thing as declaring that she's been away from the castle. If Saela is seen tied up, the gossip will ruin her father's plans." "I don't mind," Saela muttered. "Not you, maybe," Satéll replied, "but I do. I've got a job to do, and I do it well. Believe it or not, but I want to keep my job." "Poor you," Saela snorted. Filia and Satéll exchanged a look. "I can take us up to the agora at night and inside the castle through the crypt," Filia agreed. He approved. "Thank you. You can change clothes behind the bush over there." She went there and began to strip off her rags. "Please, don't do something stupid, like trying to escape." Filia straightened up. How stupid can he be, she thought. "I'm naked," she pointed out, well aware that her bare shoulders were visible over the branches. Amused, she saw Satéll blush. She pulled the black dress over her head. When she came back wearing her familiar black clothes, Satéll waited for her with a rope in his hands. Filia met his gaze. She could not be a prisoner dressed like this. For a moment she wished she kept her other clothes instead. But given what she said to Saela the day before, she could not ask him not to. She hoped he could trust her, that she planned to return to the castle as well — at least, as long Saela did.

What she saw in his eyes did not speak to her advantage. Satéll would tie her. Filia gave in and let Satéll bind her hands. He chose the same method as the last time, and she only had herself to blame for that.

They sat in the back of the wagon all day. They had a blanket to hide under if needed. In the afternoon, they waited in a grove of trees below the castle and watched the sunset. Then they started up towards the agora. Satéll had no problem ing the guards since he was well-known, and both horse and wagon belonged to the castle. It was dark, and no one looked in the back of the trolley. He stopped the cart right next to the entrance to the crypt. He brought down the tailgate. Filia scooted toward the edge, but Saela was not as cooperative. Satéll made a decision. He cut off Filia's ropes and gave her a nod toward Saela. She crawled over to her and whispered, "Are you going to make it easy or hard?" "If you so much as touch me, I'll scream!" she replied. Filia put a rag in her mouth. "Thanks for the warning." Without regard to anything but their own interests, Satéll and Filia brought Saela as unnoticed as possible into the dark crypt where they put her down on the floor. Satéll removed the rag from her mouth. Saela sobbed. Filia sensed Saela's problem right now was with the thick darkness. It was dark outside too, but there was still some light. And although it was minimal, it was enough. There was no light at all in the top part of the crypt, and it did not matter if they closed their eyes or had them open. "Walk behind me, keep your hands on my shoulders," Filia advised Saela. "Close your eyes if it feels better." When she felt the other woman's hand on her shoulder, she hurried down the path towards the lit-up area. Saela took a grip on her clothing to keep up. Filia could still hear her sobbing.

Satéll had no problem with the darkness. She heard his footsteps behind them without the slightest hesitation or stumbling. When they approached the graves and their lanterns she stopped and told Saela she could open her eyes. "Where do you want to go?" she asked Satéll. "Can we come directly to Frater's chambers from here?" Filia hesitated but hoped he did not notice. There was a age to Frater's chambers, but she did not want to expose any more than necessary of the aisles. If Satéll knew how to make it to Frater's room, soon Frater would know too. "Blindfold her," she told Satéll. "Why?" the little girl protested. "Because these ages have been a secret for hundreds of years and I intend to ensure that they continue to be so. Now, please shut up." Satéll tied a shawl over Saela's eyes. Filia went down the aisle and to the statue of her. Then she slipped into the shadows. She hurried the ninety or so steps down the length of the aisle. Satéll and Saela were behind her. It was not that easy to escape, but she could stir the situation a little. She ran into her room and fell stumbling to the floor.

Turpa jumped in fright. She had more or less lived inside Filia's chamber since she disappeared without a trace. It was partly to defend Filia's interests and partly because Filia's bed was both bigger and more comfortable than her own. And to some extent to protect herself because there was an unpleasant atmosphere in the castle in recent days and Frater was one of few who understood the jester's primary function at court was to be someone's eyes and ears, so Turpa had found it fit to stay away from the best she could. Turpa helped Filia to her feet. She barely had time to do so before two more bodies crashed into the room: a blindfolded woman and a man. She drew her hidden dagger in defense, but when she saw it was prissy Saela and the handsome Satéll, she lowered her guard.

Saela tore off her blindfold and saw Turpa with a knife in hand. She held out her bound hands. Turpa hesitated and looked at Filia, who nodded. Turpa cut Saela's ropes. "This is your room!" burst Satéll, outraged. Filia nodded. She walked over to the sink and washed her hands and head. Turpa grinned at Filia's assertiveness when she took out a razor and started shaving her head as calm as she would any normal morning. "We're back on my domains now," she explained. "And here I make the calls. But don't you worry. We are going to your master. Everything in due time." "Worries are for sissies," Satéll muttered, and Turpa guessed he was more bewildered than he had ever felt in his life. "What about King Antes?" Filia inquired. "Is he alive?" Turpa nodded and told them the King was in bed in his chambers. Idónnes had taken over his duties until he was well again. "But Frater is holding a dagger against his back," she whispered so Satéll and Saela would not hear. "The guards outside the King's chambers are Frater's. It's the same faces, but another crest on the clothes." Turpa made a face of disgust. She did not care much for their apparent loyalty to money rather than honor. Who would trust a guardsman who could turn against you if your enemy paid more?

Filia would have lied if she said she was not afraid. The truth was she had never been more terrified in her whole, extremely long, life. She had been unchallenged at the King's court before Antes' cousin Frater came to visit. She itted bitterly to herself that she had it too easy for her own good. When she had been washed up on the coast of Alsyone, she had been confused more than scared. She had taken control of herself and acted accordingly, and that was what she was about to do now as well. Even though the foe this time did not care for her wellbeing, as they had in the Recreator school.

She walked up to the door to Frater's chambers with Saela and Satéll close behind. Without asking the guards or knocking, she flung the door open and walked in. She had hoped to take him by surprise, to obtain an advantage, but she saw Frater had found himself all too fast in the new situation. He was a warrior at heart, if not in practice. Saela rushed to her father and pointed at Satéll. "He dared to tie my hands!" Frater did not search for confirmation with Satéll. He only raised an eyebrow at his daughter. "If so, you obviously didn't act loyal to me and your place here." Saela protested, but Frater smacked a finger to her mouth and demanded her silence. "You're still a virgin. You've not much to complain about. I, however, have a lot to say about your behavior." Filia saw how Saela's insolent pose sank, a tremor went through her body. Frater turned to Satéll and ordered him to bring Saela to her room and put a guard outside to make sure she stayed there. Satéll nodded, but before he left, he handed a rolled-up paper to his master. Filia struggled with posture and facial features when she was left alone with Frater. He smiled at her and poured himself a cup of wine. "We both want the same thing, but there's only one winner." Filia met his gaze and stayed calm. "The situation is very simple: my daughter will marry the Crown Prince and one day become queen. If the Crown Prince refuses, I can't threaten to kill him, for he's one of few most useful alive. I can't threaten my dear cousin, either. Killing him will make the Crown Prince king, which favors Idónnes more than me at this very moment." Frater took a long sip from his cup of wine and gazed out the window.

Filia toyed with the idea that he was quite desperate, squeezing her lips together to fight against a smile. Had he said the situation was simple? If he were the one who gave up and went home, well, then it would have been easy. The situation was what it was. The ease or pain arose when you tried to influence in a desired direction. Where did she come into his plan? And how long would she be allowed to live? "I could let Satéll kill you," he said as if he was trying to sound noble. She wanted to ask why she was still alive but felt it was just what he wanted, and she was not interested in giving him the feeling of control. She stood silently as a black demon, as she had done so many times before and made people talk of pure nervousness. But not Frater. He opened Satéll's the document and took his time to read what it said without being disturbed. He put it away with a smile. "I do believe you're sufficiently loyal to King Antes to prefer him alive." Frater's eyes froze on her to look for a reaction. "And you're certainly in a position where you can get Idónnes to agree to a marriage with Saela." He pointed to the document. "You think you belong to the royal family. Had you not been aiming for Idónnes, I had almost thought you were one of the royal bastards." Satéll had written a report. Instead of increasing the mystery around her, it seemed that what she had divulged to Satéll had become leverage by her enemy. It was only natural if Satéll had removed the magical aspects and kept to facts, so as not to make him appear as a fool. "So! Arrange for Idónnes to accept a marriage with Saela, and King Antes may live as long as he pleases," Frater finished as if he thought the matter settled. "As you pointed out, you can't kill the King." Filia puzzled. "You're without power." The corners of Frater's drew up in a horrible, cold, triumphant grin. "Perhaps. But you don't want to see the King dead. And you don't want to die yourself. And believe me, witch, I am bold enough not to stay where it's safe. If the King dies, perhaps my plans die with him, but then I can think of something new. But neither you nor little Antes will be there to stop me. Right now, you're the closest option to my goal. If it turns out you're an impediment…"

Filia felt an unpleasant shiver through her body. This man would not let anything stop him. "What makes you think that you could get me killed? You would find your killer dead." With a wide gesture, Frater swept out a sword and Filia had time to think that she would die before he ran his sword straight through her foot and pinned her firmly to the floor.

Chapter Twelve

Insight and solution

Vepresila struggled day by day, month by month in the weaving mill. She got smacked for the slightest infringement or mistake. She was often starved as punishment. It was hot in the small room, and the dust was like a fog. She wove the thread into cloth; a piece of fabric that would turn to rags as soon as it came into use. It was not due to her negligence the material was useless, but due to the short fibers which were not suitable to be used for weaving. Her dress was already patched in several places. The many strips of fabric around her arms and body did not have any other function than to hold the clothes together as long as possible. Nudity was forbidden, even in her own cell. There was not enough water to wash with, and she could sometimes be overwhelmed by her body’s odor in the evenings when she lay down to sleep. Somewhere deep inside, she hoped the hard work, the punishments, and the mortification would mean she came closer to the Goddess. She had learned the songs and the prayers and participated with all her heart in the sessions in the main temple. But another side of her began to whisper wicked thoughts that she would not survive for long. She would be too withered when the day came for her to have any benefit from her daily experiences. To survive, Vepresila began to wander in the garden at night, as she had done at home. She got less sleep than she needed, but the cool and fresh air did her good. It felt unreasonable that it could be something wrong doing so. The garden was not for flair, although it was the most beautiful place Vepresila ever seen. And because she was alone, she stopped to enjoy it properly and looked at the stars high above her head. Except for the soft grass, every plant there was beneficial to their household. It did not make them less graceful. She was fascinated by how dense and thick the soil was and how green it became when you could place the plants so tight. The home in the oasis - which she no longer was allowed to even think about,

because it was outside the walls - they had had both trees and shrubs, but not so tight and not rooted in such a black and moist earth. What they did have, grew among the stones and sand in a thin layer of coarse soil. The garden in the Temple was indeed a special place. During her nightly walks, Vepresila had reached the fourth and final wall. It had been closer than she had thought it would be. When she came to think about it, it was verging on the incredible that the small area could give food to all three hundred twenty-two priestesses. It was within reason that starvation was a standard punishment. They had no abundance of food, and everyone who renounced her share was a desired addition to the others. Reluctantly Vepresila could also understand why flogging was part of everyday life. What would have happened if all of them were reminded of how unique and special they were, chosen by the Goddess herself? More than three hundred people with their own free will, and a desire to make their voice heard. Three hundred who would compete to see which one of them was the most special and treasured by the Goddess. And nowhere to go if there was trouble. They had only this one place to be. They could not afford the risk of a fight among themselves. There was no way out. By force, the High Priestess kept all priestesses downtrodden and prevented rebels and dissidents from spreading discord - a discord that could turn into a dangerous war, as they were trapped inside the four walls. Despite this realization, Vepresila felt disappointed and wronged because she had never been given a chance to show who she was before the oppression began. It was not a question of keeping a few rebels subdued here. Since unnecessary talk was prohibited, she had no idea how the other priestesses' viewed the issue, and she guessed that it was also part of the repression: if you thought you were alone in your opinion, you dared to do nothing.

One night when she wandered among the trees, she heard the sound of hurrying feet. She ducked into the bushes and scanned in the direction the sound came from. Four priestesses rushed into the room she and all the others once entered through. It was useless to go there because there was nothing except a door that could not be re-opened. She wondered in amazement if they were about to flee from the Temple. But how? The thought that it was possible had not even

occurred to her. She was fully committed to her faith and believed she would remain there the rest of her life. She crept closer to learn more, but dived out of sight again when the four came back, though this time rolling two barrels. They pushed them along the paved path and disappeared into the shadows. When their footsteps faded in the distance, Vepresila got out from her hiding spot. Barrels from the outside? She saw something white gleaming on the ground where they had rolled the barrels. She took her fingertips and dipped them into it. It looked familiar. She tasted the substance on her fingers. It was salty. They got salt. Just like at home, they needed salt, and growing plants could not exist with salt. Simmiolas had explained this. Salt killed the vegetation. If the Goddess blessed the Temple, should she not then have been able to arrange with the salt in a more miraculous way than send it to them from the outside? The forbidden outside that they learned was of no significance. Vepresila returned to her cell and sat down in front of her small altar. The priestesses were not allowed to leave the Temple area. They were taught that all they needed was there. But salt was delivered to them from outside. Why did they not provide more? What would happen if they stopped coming? She searched her little statue of Illu for guidance. All she saw was her motionless face. She raised her hand and let it hover towards the statuette like an illness would strike her at any time. Her fingertips touched what was not to be touched. She grabbed the figure and lifted it. While she turned and twisted it in her hands it transformed from being a manifestation of the Goddess, who could see and hear everything she did in the room, to a beautifully carved and polished stone, painted with a skilled hand. Vepresila felt everything she believed in, everything that she sought in her life, ran away from her like sand. In its place came a feeling of being locked up and humiliated for life, and this for no other reason than to worship. She could express her prayers to her little idol no longer. She got up and went to the main temple. She must get an answer - if there was even something there. She needed someone who cared about her prayers; Someone who saw her and wanted her to be there. In the large hall, all the lights had burned out, and the moonlight from the windows could not provide enough light. Vepresila approached the Goddess. She

saw the statue's sword held in her hands disappearing into the darkness. She did not see its end, much less the face above it. She waited for some sort of sign response from Illu. Something that gave her the feeling that this place was full of life and not oppression. She felt like she was waiting for ages. Finally, she realized that here and now, in this place, there were no answers to receive. Distressed and filled with worry, she went back to her cell for a few hours of sleep before dawn.

When she heard the sound of the gong, she left her room with everyone else. This time she went straight into the arms of two priestesses who halted her until the other women had ed. When the corridors were emptied, they took her to the High Priestess' cell on the first floor. Without explanation, one held her hands, and the other tied them together with a rope. Vepresila cringed away and protested, but it was useless. Up in the ceiling along one wall was an iron loop through which the rope went towards it, they hoisted her arms up until her toes barely reached the floor, with her body against the rough stone wall. It was both inconvenient and painful. Compact silence met her questions and protests, and without having said so much as a single word, they left her. Vepresila tried to yank and tear on the rope to get free, but this was not a rope made of delicate fibers. It was a solid piece of craftsmanship, made to last. Every muscle in her body began to ache. To her horror, Vepresila realized that no one would come back until morning prayers had ended. Whatever she was accused of, the High Priestess preferred to have her safely tucked away until she had time to talk to her. But that was ridiculous because there was nowhere to escape. And talk? Vepresila almost smiled at the thought that the High Priestess would come to speak to her. Her father had been talking; her mother had talked; none of them tied her hands to the ceiling to do so. No, she would be punnished. It was only to accept that something else was not to be expected. Considering the build up of drama, someone must have seen her last night when they brought the salt. It was clear they wanted to make sure she did not talk about it to anyone, that was why they took her aside at first chance. She leaned her face against the wall and hoped there was someone who heard

her prayer of getting it all over with as soon as possible. When the High Priestess finally came, she brought the two priestesses who took her there. At least she guessed it was them. They all looked quite alike in their uniform, rag-looking clothes, and Vepresila's field of view was somewhat limited both by her position against the wall and from the pain and fatigue. "You were seen when you returned from the shrine tonight," the High Priestess informed her. "At night, all priestesses shall be in their cells." She nodded to the other two, and one lifted up her dress at the back, while the other slammed down a bundle of long stick across her buttocks and thighs so hard that Vepresila fought to keep the tears back. She received blow after blow and somewhere among the tears that inevitably came, she thought of the absurd idea that a priestess would take the bundle to the kitchen covered with blood and use it as firewood because nothing went to waste. When the lashing was over, she could hardly stand. The two priestesses drag her back to her cell and locked the door. She was severely punished because she had left her cell at night to visit the main temple after hours. Not a word about salt. What had happened to her if she had been caught then? And there had been no questions about why she visited the shrine. She had not even been spared a word of comfort or , despite being one who was losing faith. She had only been given a painful and degrading punishment because she believed that she was in a place where she should have every right to be at whenever she wanted. She thought of all the illusions she had built up about what it would be like to live in the Temple of Illu and spend her life as a priestess. How close the Goddess she would be, and how she could help out with the harvest and rain. The reality was that she got whipped because she - at the wrong time of day - asked to the Goddess she was selected to serve.

It would be several days before she was released from her cell. All she got during that time was a bowl of water a day. The morning her door was unlocked, she sought out the shrine with the other priestesses, and she sang the songs, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She wondered why the women sang. Did they sing because they thought the idol carved out of the rock in front of them listened? Or because they were cowed and afraid to do anything else? One thing she knew: if

she failed to act subdued, she would not survive. In her painful and hungry isolation, she had come to the conclusion that they all moved as nameless shadows. No one would miss her, just as little as she would notice if any of the women in the weaving room disappeared and was replaced by someone new. They rarely spoke to each other, they did not use names and were dressed alike. She wondered if the High Priestess in the front of them believed in the force of prayer and singing. Did she do what she did because she thought it was best for the Temple? It was not impossible. Although the position gave her power, it was a power of no use, for no one but the other priestesses saw and heard her. The High Priestess could live with the full conviction she served Illu in the best possible way. She could even believe the idol in front of her was Illu herself. Would she be able to kill a priestess who stood up against the Temple's rules and laws? Vepresila looked at the sword in the statue's hands. Yes, it was part of the world of the Temple to make the sacrifices needed. If she had ever been hesitant about what would happen if the High Priestess knew she had seen the salt delivery or understood what was going on inside her head, she was at this moment entirely sure. She stood in front of a goddess with a sword in her hand. From this moment, Vepresila's thoughts were focused solely on how she could get out. For many days, she was content with eating the best she could on the meager diet as she observed her surroundings. She did not venture out at night again. Although she had done it many times before she was discovered, it was not worth the risk. Even if the security guard sat there only when the salt was delivered, she could not take that chance. It might have been pure luck she did not get caught earlier. Moreover, they knew now that she had been out there and would likely keep an extra eye on her. Once she had slipped into the room with the entrance. She had seen, once and for all, it was not possible to open the door from her side. Nor was it an option to get up on a roof and over the wall. In any case, it would be too far down on the other side. She considered digging a way out, but all bare ground was in broad daylight. Both the wall of the entrance and the wall opposite was wide enough to contain rooms and storage areas, and all the land in front of them was paved. She would only have a chance to dig herself out if she could find an empty room

against the cold wall. There was no realistic option. She had no opportunity to roam freely. She moved between the cell, weaving room, dining hall, and shrine. A plan shaped itself in her head. It was bold. Reckless, yes - and maybe downright idiotic - but Vepresila had come to the point where she had to either escape or die.

One day when the morning prayers were ended, and the priestesses went off to their work, she took her chance. The High Priestess stood by the altar and did her chores. Vepresila gathered all her confidence and stepped up to her, grabbed the High Priestess by the shoulder, and turned her around. She was met by a surprised stare that changed to an intimidating glare within a blink of an eye. "How dare you?!" the older woman hissed. "I want out of here, and you'll help me." The High Priestess' eyes narrowed, and Vepresila saw her hand sought the small dagger that hung by the woman's belt. "You can get me flogged instead, but I'm going to kick, scream and bite and make myself heard. You'll not succeed in doing some discreet business out of this. But if you and I go together to the entrance and you release me, you'll keep your little kingdom of obedient priestesses." "Your ignorant piece of soulless flesh!" the woman growled. Vepresila had just enough time to jump clear of the knife as the High Priestess made a quick, sweeping motion from the hip in a full arc. Vepresila got some distance as the woman strode toward her. "Put the knife down, or I'll rush out screaming and tell everyone about our salt." The High Priestess halted. "What do you know?"

"Two barrels with salt arrived recently through the entrance." "You've just sealed your death sentence, soulless." "Or bought me my freedom," Vepresila countered. "Can you risk exposure? Would the many young priestesses out there understand that Illu does not deliver the salt directly into the kitchen, but people from outside comes with it?" "You'll not get far. Illu will not allow it. And I'm good at throwing the knife if I have to." It was, in a way, nice to know the High Priestess believed in the Temple and her duties. "Why do you think I would be a threat if you let me out?" The older priestess gave a throaty sound that resembled a laugh. "Don't overestimate yourself. I don't care about the soulless. But the Goddess has chosen you, and if you leave us and die somewhere else, it falls back on us who are still here." Vepresila stood behind a pillar and estimated how far it was to the doors and how long she would have before she felt a knife in her back. On the other hand, her opponent had only one chance. What would she do if she missed? She would rush forward, take the knife and throw again. How many throws before Vepresila got to the entrance door? What would happen to those who saw her escape, or death? How much was her life worth? She stepped forward and held out her hands. "So, here I am. Come and put a knife in me if you dare." She marched towards the High Priestess, who raised her knife, but astounded took a step backward. Vepresila was not slow to exploit the element of surprise and grabbed the other's wrist, preventing the oncoming blow. The older woman went ahead with another stumbling step back and soon rammed straight into the socket of the Goddess. Vepresila pounded the priestess' hand into the stone until the dagger fell out of her hand. Then she gave the woman a ride into the wall so she hit her head and fell dazed to the floor. Vepresila kicked the knife away to a dark corner and sped away. Outside the shrine, she kept a low profile but hurried to the entrance room. The

sickly, ghostlike woman was on the other side of the door. Would she open to any knock? She banged her fist at the door several times and held her breath. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened ajar. Vepresila swung it open and ran through. She slammed the door shut behind her and searched for a lock with her hands in the pitch-black room. "You're safe now," the blind woman's voice hissed beside her. Vepresila jumped. She felt the other's hands search over her. When the long fingers closed around her upper arm, she felt the same discomfort as when a spider crawled on her. Reluctantly, she let herself be led through the room's darkness. The priestess opened the door on the other side. The sunlight streamed in and dazzled her. "But where shall I go?" Vepresila wondered. "My dear, it's not my problem. It's not I who abandon the Temple which Illu called you to serve. Now go." Vepresila stood for a moment in doubt. No option felt attractive. Not returning inside, staying with the gatekeeper, nor step out into the desert. There was just one option with hope, though. She went out and heard the door close behind her without a word. Her eyes scanned the desert where she had been born. It was a place she could die in if it came to it.

Chapter Thirteen

Wedding plans

"Satéll had put a dressing on the wound before he brought you here," Turpa explained, sitting beside her. "But I replaced it. I don't trust him." Filia found herself in her bed. She had vague memories of her screaming and Satéll rushing in. She pulled up the blanket and inspected her foot. It had a proper bandage on it. "Satéll brought me here?" Turpa nodded. "Did anyone see me?" She shrugged in response. Filia took a deep breath. She could not do anything about an unfavorable reputation now. The thought was disturbing. "How will you kill him?" Turpa's question snatched Filia from her thoughts. "I don't kill." If there was anything the meeting with Satéll had taught her, it was this. She would never be a murderer. Turpa stared at her. "Frater is destroying everything we've built up and worked for. And he is also a complete maniac! But you don't intend to kill him? What kind of chicken are you?" Turpa was upset, but it was nothing compared to the spark she lit in Filia. Whatever she was, she was not a coward. "Bravery has nothing to do with it." "So? Has it not?" Turpa replied with an angry challenge in her voice. "You're

nothing more than white cream on the face and a black coat, after all. Were you not the one who could do something? To make a difference?" "My methods do not involve killing other people." They had disagreed before, but never quite like this. Turpa felt cheated. Not only by Filia, but of the world she had the impression Filia would create. Throughout her life, she had been mocked, scorned and betrayed. She had never been good enough as a woman, never had to show herself as something other than a clown, never got to feel beautiful and desirable. Filia had dreams and plans that could have changed that. With Filia as Queen, women would be judged for other dimensions rather than their beauty. Now Filia's willingness to reach that goal swayed, which meant everything Turpa had struggled for at Filia's side had been for a naught. The only person who could have given her a life worthy of her intelligence and femininity was now about to betray her, too. A vast wave of bitterness welled up within Turpa. She rose and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Filia sighed. Whatever she had done to Turpa, had not been intentional. If the other was not interested in an explanation as to why she did not want to kill, there was nothing she could force her to understand. She got out of bed and jumped on one leg to the door and locked it. What she was about to do now, she did not want anyone to witness, not even her friend. She sat up and pulled up her injured foot so she could examine it. She hummed a tune with sounds alternating abruptly between high and low tones in a way that could hardly be regarded as musical. At the same time, she moved her hands around the foot like a dance. Sweat broke out on her forehead. It was harder than she ed it to be. But on the other hand, she had never had any practice on a real injury. She finished the song, panting hard as if she had been running. Eagerly, she pulled off the bandage. It became more stained with blood the closer she came to exposing the wound. When the last piece of cloth slipped off, she revealed a foot that was almost healed. There remained a small indentation with a bruise where the sword penetrated. She massaged and squeezed her foot. A bit of pain was still there, but it was nothing she could not handle. She stood up and leaned on the foot - she could walk without problems. Grinning, she

thought of Frater's face if he had known his pinion had come undone. Eventually, he would realize her abilities were true and grander than he ever suspected, but until then, it was essential to use the time well.

Dressed as the woman Idónnes courted, Filia hurried under the cover of the night through the castle's stairs and ages. Without Turpa's help, the risk to be seen was too high for Filia's taste. Turpa was a master at distracting anyone they might meet. But Turpa was not there for her anymore. Now she had to rely on her ability to hide in the shadows if someone came too close. It would have been easy in her black clothes, and besides, her black shape was a well-known figure. Idónnes' unknown princess had, however, no reason to run around alone in the castle in the middle of the night. Filia peered toward Idónnes door. This time, the guard was sleeping on his own and Filia sneaked past him and into the Crown Prince's chambers. She looked at the sleeping young man and shook him gently by the shoulder. His eyes opened and widened as he immediately recognized her. The dazedness was gone. He sat up and took her hands in his. "Where have you been? I've missed you." There was such tenderness in his voice. She looked at him in amazement. "This is not a dream," she blurted. "Yes, I know." "But don't you think it's strange that I come to your home in the middle of the night?" Idónnes seemed startled, then thoughtful. He released her hands and rose. He wandered around the room. "I've dreamed so often about you, so I guess I thought it was quite natural that you would come when I slept." He leaned against the edge of a window and stared into the night. "No offense, most things with you are weird," he whispered.

Filia gathered her strength. "Idónnes." He turned and met her gaze. She saw his shocked face when she pulled the curly wig from her head and the anger that grew when she wiped the makeup from her face, revealing the tattoos. He stared at her. "Get out of here," he growled. "Idónnes…” she pleaded, but was hushed. "Out. Now. Pack your stuff and get out of here. If I see you here tomorrow, I'll order the guards to seize you." Filia once again tried to say something, but Idónnes raised a finger of warning at her. "Or the dungeons at once!" Filia nodded and put her wig on again. She left the room without a word.

On the way back to her room, she heard the sound of commotion and raised voices. Turpa's harsh tone topped them with a roar of abusive words. Filia drew closer. The argument took place in the tower room outside Frater's chambers. Hidden in the shadow of an unlit age, she saw two of the palace guards drag Turpa behind them. She shouted and cursed at them and did her best to kick them, even if it was pointless with their armor. Frater's door was ajar, and soon he came out himself, accompanied by one of his guards. He looked amused at the ferocious jester. His focus had shifted from Turpa to the guards who held her. "Tried to bribe you to be let into my chamber, you say?" They both nodded. "Armed with these," replied one and showed some weapons to Frater. Filia saw there were no less than three daggers in the soldier's hand. Frater took one of the daggers and pulled it out of its sheath. He sniffed at it. "Sikuta-poison," Filia heard him say in surprise. Where had Turpa learned about

such things? Twenty years in the castle had inevitably left few things unseen by her. Frater drew his sword. "Hold her." The guards forced Turpa down on her knees and changed their grip so that one of them held her arms behind her back and the other kept a firm hold of her hair to expose her neck. Turpa's insults turned into panic, and she screamed like a man when Frater raised his sword. Filia clenched her hands and turned away. Turpa's screams stopped abruptly. The air in the castle fell upon stunned silence. Although Filia did not look in the direction of where Turpa's headless body now lay on the floor, she knew what had just happened. Frater's voice took any hope away for anything else: "Throw that stuff in the waste." She heard the sound of many coins clinking and thank yous exchanged. "You're welcome to change the color of the uniform if you like, by the way."

Filia hurried back to her room. She stood a long time against the inside of the door as she struggled to regain any sense of control. Too much had happened all at once. Too much had led in the wrong direction. She took a deep breath. If she would regain control, she needed to act immediately. She changed back to black and hurried through the secret ages of the crypt to the King's tower. She had never used that opportunity before. She had explored all the ages she had found and knew where she was going but had never needed to sneak into the King's chambers uninvited. Since she did not know if the King knew of the system of ages she had chosen not to tell him about them either. The more she had the tunnels for

herself, the more benefit they were for her. Most of the entrances were hidden in the closets, but the King's ended in the floor under a sideboard. A ladder led her up to a hatch, and from that, she crawled up and out from under the cabinet. There was no way to get out gracefully or even quickly. The King himself would probably not make it through, even if he had known about its existence. The room was in the tower's ground floor and acted as a storage room for the King's belongings and clothes. Filia went up the stairs where the King had his bedchamber. She felt like an intruder. King Antes had her loyalty and paid her salary, and she had never been asked to attend the lower floors of the tower. Even less to stand and watch the King when he was asleep, unaware of her presence. But there was nothing she could do about it. She needed to talk to him, and she could not go through the official channels, because then Frater would know. She looked at the snoring man. It struck her that she had never touched him. She could not just grab and shake the King awake. "Your Majesty?" she called. No reaction. "Your Majesty," she repeated a little louder. King Antes continued to sleep. She did not dare to light any candles because it would be visible through the windows. On the writing-desk lay a quill. She took it and ventured to tickle the feet hanging out outside the edge of the bed. The foot kicked and after ceaseless tickling, the King snorted and woke up. His facial expression reflected the pain from his wound. He grabbed himself over the stomach glaring at her. "The woman who tried to kill me with a knife is now trying to tickle me to death with my own quill." He grimaced when he attempted to correct the pillows behind his head. "Not the best way to bring someone down." "I never got him to throw the knife, Sire." "I never believed you did. If you had wanted to cause me harm you would have chosen other methods, I'm sure. But everyone knows how high Frater values me,

and right now I don't seem able to bring any action, so what I think is of little use for your cause." "How are you, Sire?" "You've more important things to do than to be my shoulder to cry on, is that not so, Filia?" the King replied. She wondered if she heard a thorn of bitterness in his voice. "I could help you with the injury, Sire," she tried. The King made a face. "I'm sure you could. But I'm fine. If I get out of bed hale and hearty in the morning, Frater will no doubt accuse you of witchcraft. He stir up a mob which does away with you. I've better use for you alive." The King clenched his jaws as he forced his body to move a little more. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised if you say you didn't take the usual entrance in here." The King frowned at her. Filia was ashamed she felt so reluctant to answer him. She ducked the question because it was not a request to tell. "So how did you get in here?" A direct question. She answered honestly that she had gone through the crypt and the tunnels that were there. The King laughed before he felt the unbearable pangs of pain radiate through his body. "I had almost forgotten they existed. Never liked the darkness and the dead in there. So, then you can get to Idónnes' chamber, too?" To the King's apparent surprise, she shook her head. "It's one of the few chambers I haven't found the way to yet, Sire." During one of her nocturnal visits, she had examined his wardrobe after he had fallen asleep again. But to her surprise, she did not find a secret door. Either it had been rebuilt and shut, or the door was elsewhere in the room. Or that room was one of the few that had no such a age.

"Maybe I should change rooms with him." "Pardon me, Sire, it was the only way to reach you, and I thought it was important. I've never used it before." The King waved his hand. "Spare me your excuses, Filia. They don't suit you. I highly value your presence here and now. I usually don't worry about the past. So let us find out what to do to move forward." "Frater killed Turpa just now. Beheaded her." Filia blurted. "Turpa? My fool? Why kill that poor creature?" "She tried to kill your cousin, Sire." "Ah, look at that. There was indeed some spirit in her after all. Well, may the Gods give her better luck in the next life." "There are no Gods, Sire." "No Gods, you say? We'll see once we get there, won't we? But I recommend you to stop robbing an old man of all hope and instead concentrate on Frater's plans for the future." Filia nodded. "Frater wants me to get the Crown Prince to marry his daughter." The King rubbed his stubble. "What leverage does he use against you?" "Your life, Your Majesty. And mine." "So he's going to kill us if Idónnes doesn't agree to a marriage. Does Idónnes know about it?" Filia hesitated.

"I don't know." "You have to tell him. Make the whole situation clear to him as quickly as possible." Filia's eyes flickered, and she turned her head away. "Idónnes has demanded I leave the castle. Tonight." The King gave her a questioning look, and she felt her cheeks heat up. She had used his first name, exposing a relation that should not be there. The feeling of embarrassment became even greater by the knowledge that her white face now shifted in pink. "I think there's a story here I should be told," the King demanded. "Frater guessed it. I was the woman at the ball, Sire. She who danced with the Crown Prince. And the woman he proposed to later. I went to him tonight to tell him about Frater's threat. But I wanted to show him who I was first. I got no further than that." Filia heard how she sounded naïve and blue-eyed. A lovesick maiden who wanted to be honest with the prince she seduced. As if she ever thought she would do as a bride. "It was dumb. I should just have told him about Frater." The King smiled. "No, it was honest. And honesty is something I think my son appreciates in the long run. Me too, for that matter." The King pulled a ring from his finger. "It may be how it may be between you and my son, but it's important he listens to you on my behalf. Take this ring and show him." Filia took the ring and ran her thumb over the mist-green gem. Idónnes would not hesitate about where the ring came from. "We have to get Idónnes here as soon as possible," King Antes continued. "Can you get back to him tonight?" "I've no problem getting past the guard. But I think they will soon fall asleep a little too often outside that door to go unnoticed."

The King laughed before he quickly stopped and hissed in pain with clenched teeth. He swore. "One would have hoped that laughter would prolong life, not take it," he grinned. "Well, then you return with Idónnes here tomorrow night instead. He'll hardly make a big deal out of the throw-you-out-thing if you don't give up on your own accord. You have the ring; it will do. And Frater will not expect you to have the marriage sealed in the morning. Then it's decided. Any objections?" Filia shook her head. "Away with you," he said, with a tired wave of his hand. When she was on the stairs, he called at her again. "Sire?" "Whatever happens, the important thing is to keep Frater away from power. My life in this context is unimportant. Don't save me in exchange for him expanding his powers. Understood?" Filia nodded. She felt tremendous respect for the King. It may be that he had a weakness for good-looking, young women, and did not care much about his hygiene at all times, but he did not press his people for more money than they could give him. If it was a year of poor harvests, he lowered his demands. If the year yielded good harvests, he gave an opportunity to every farmer to have a small surplus for their future needs. He had a right mind for running the business of a country. And, which was perhaps just as crucial for Filia, he was a descendant of her brother. He was the closest relative she had and although she realized the absurdity of it, felt some protective instinct, like a big sister looking after her little brother.

When Filia opened the secret door into her room, she swallowed a cry of surprise. She wondered for a second if she was hallucinating and that fatigue was taking its toll. In her room sat Crown Prince Idónnes half asleep in a chair opposite her secret entrance. She had time to stare in wonder at him for a few moments before he became aware of her presence.

Filia felt around the pocket of her dress and found the key to her room. It was the only key there was. At least that she knew of. She tried the door; it was locked. Idónnes smirked. "I've been playing down the tunnels since I was seven." Filia felt an icy chill through her body while she felt anger for the intrusion. "What do you want?" she spat out without any trace of the formal, respectful language she used to use towards him and the King. Idónnes mouth became a straight rigid bar. "You had all the chances to marry me in disguise without revealing anything to me until afterward when it was too late. You don't strike me as someone who gets pangs of bad conscience. Why unmask?" Filia let a long exhale escape her lips. He had thought things over, had questions instead of pure anger. This was a far better outcome than she had hoped for. "If you married me, your father would die." "Frater and Saela, have they threatened you?" "Just Frater, my prince." Idónnes rose from his chair and walked toward the closet and the secret door. "Stop with the formalities. We're of the same age and did almost become a family. I think we know each other well enough for you to dare call me by my given name even when you're not angry with me." Filia felt her cheeks redden again under the white makeup. At last, the spell broke, and Filia ed her mission. "Wait! The King, your father, wants to meet with us tomorrow night." "Have you met with him?" Filia nodded and told him briefly about the meeting. She handed him the King's ring. He took it and looked at it.

"He should know I would never marry Saela." "But I think he knows it'll be worse if you don't." "What?" "Don't look so worried, Idónnes. There are solutions to all problems. Now I must go to bed and sleep if you do not mind. Will I see you tomorrow night in the King's chambers? You'll find the way there?" Idónnes snorted. "I think I preferred when you were formal," he said and disappeared through the secret door. Filia got out of all her clothes and stood naked and washed in front of the mirror. It was dawn, and the room was chilly. She got goose bumps all over her body. It was tantalizing to know that Idónnes at anytime could step into her room and find her without a stitch of clothing on. She knew what was expected to happen in a married couple's bedroom. Somewhere within her, she reminded herself that if she and Idónnes were to be wed, those things would also take place between them. The thought made her confused. She looked upon his father, King Antes, as a brother. She viewed his son, Idónnes as an attractive young man of her age although she was three hundred years older and superior to him in many ways, including mentally. All the same, the seventeen-year-old young woman was there in her. She leaned forward and poured water over her head. You could go crazy for less, she thought to herself.

Filia stood in the place Turpa had lost her life the night before. Only vague traces of blood on the floor told about what had happened; notable only for someone who knew what it was. How many had heard the deadly affray? Likely, most of the castle slept but some ought to have woken up. If they had known what was about to happen, would they have come to her rescue? Filia doubted it. Either they were afraid of Frater, or did not consider a mere court jester was worth the trouble and risk. Would anyone of them miss Turpa, the fool whose body now

lay tossed in a garbage heap among other slaughterhouse waste and carrot tops? Turpa had been bitter and hateful to a degree she had had difficulty to grasp. She knew she was bitter herself, but she tried at least do something active about her situation. Turpa had indulged in her sourness and her hatred without doing anything to bring about a change. When she, at last, decided to do something, she ran straight to her own grave. Filia sighed. If there had been any Gods would they not have rewarded her instead? Filia had always found it difficult to assimilate people's talk of Gods. For her, life was always your property. No matter what happened around you, it was one's own choices with the situations that arose that caused your life. And everyone was responsible for their feelings too. None other than Turpa herself had decided she would devote her life to be bitter and behave like a victim of her unfortunate physiognomy. Her thoughts drifted to what Satéll said out there in the woods at the camp about her being a goddess. The story she had told about a god who left them to their fate had been nothing but a fairy tale for her. She had learned many strange things at the school, but that her powers would make her a goddess was an utterly absurd thought. The Masters at the school had never made any such assertion. "I heard what happened last night." Satéll stood behind her. She did her best to smother all traces of surprise. "Heard? Or heard about?" "Heard." "And you did nothing?" She felt him come closer to her. He spoke in a low voice. "The only thing I could have done was to kill her myself. It's my job to protect Duke Frater. With my life if necessary." "Good morning, Witch" Frater interrupted. "Nice to see you on your two feet. Last time I saw you, you were an unattractive sack of potatoes over Satéll's

shoulder. Does the foot hurt?" Filia turned her green, intense eyes to Frater. When he met her stare, he fired off a wide mocking grin. "Come, come, little friend. We both know that you fainted from pain just the other day. Don't try to make it appear as if it were bearable." Filia returned his grin with one of her own. She knew her mimic well enough to know there was no hint of charm in it. Only triumph. With delight, she saw Frater's mouth tense as he had to force his smile to stay on. Then she walked, without a limp or the slightest uneven footing. In the corner of her eye, she saw him turn as she ed him. Whatever the Masters at the school were, they had not provided her with eyes in the back of her head. Of all the stupid things they talked about, they could at least have given her what she needed best. She'd given anything to see their faces.

The following night, Idónnes sat by his father's bedside. He was there early to get a moment with him alone before Filia arrived. He had just told the story of how the demon tricked him to propose to her. To his surprise, the King nodded and said Filia told him everything. "Did she tell you how she played with my emotions too?" he snapped. "Did she tell you how she first got me to love and cherish her, only to tell me that what I loved, never even existed?" Antes did not answer, and Idónnes raised his voice and whined: "She was just playing with me!" "No, Idónnes. She did not." Idónnes grumbled back that his father had not been there to be able to determine it. The King shook his head. "No, I was not there. But can you imagine Filia indulging in feelings? Let alone play with yours to amuse herself?" Idónnes fell silent and almost laughed at the thought.

"I understand you're upset and sad, but most of us get our hearts broken at some point in life. Just look ahead, my boy." "But why did she want to marry me? If it was for power—" "It's one of the things I would like to talk to her about." Just as his father, Idónnes had found it difficult to see Filia as a woman. She had been more like a black asexual demon who followed his father on all essential meetings. That this ghost could be anything else had somehow not occurred to him. It was ridiculous, he realized, for it was a human being — man or woman — under the black hood. He thought that last night in her room when she revealed herself was the first time he had seen her without a hood. He had known who she was, even though the clothes were different and though he had never seen her face properly. It was as if he subconsciously had stored the information and when he saw her face and heard her voice the pieces of a puzzle fell into place. He was the Crown Prince and would become king one day. And with the position came power. She had never seen him as a person, but what he would one day become: an attractive position. "Father? Did you never suspect Filia could pose a threat?" "I still don't think Filia is a threat." "She tried to lure me to make her this country's future queen." "But because of that, she does not necessarily pose a threat. Think a little, boy. What is a threat? Has she threatened to kill us? Did she somehow indicate that you would not get to be king? Has she been unfair? In anything other than your feelings, I mean?" Idónnes could not think of anything. Filia had in everything — except the emotional mess she caused in him — been thoroughly loyal. Frater throwing the knife was his own doing, he was sure of it because nothing Filia had done had indicated that she had the powers to do what Frater had claimed. It felt far from what she would do if she wanted to assassinate the King. Still, while his father was not there to him and Frater had influenced their guards, it was not a good time to arrest him. And now the question of Filia on top of the current problem.

"But at the same time, father, she tried to fool us. And that is no good sign." "No, it's a black blot on the sheet, I it. But how crucial the blot will be for her future here, it remains to be seen."

When Filia crawled out under the cabinet, she heard voices from upstairs. Idónnes had arrived before her. It was expected. To not surprise them, she went noisily up the stairs. Whatever they talked about, it was not necessary for her ears. She felt she was in trouble enough already without having to make them believe she eavesdropped on them. She reached the bedchamber. The King waved away her question about how he was doing and went straight to the point: why she had wanted to marry Idónnes, and thereto falsely. Filia had expected the question. And she had tried to invent a right answer. Not that she was going to lie, but she wanted to find something they would believe in. When she had sat with Saela and Satéll out in the woods, she had not lied, but then she did not need to be accepted. The only thing she sought then was to build on her mystery. Now she wanted to tell the straight, honest truth but the truth would not be the one expected. They would probably think she was trying to fool them, and it would mean her days at the court would end. She bit her lip. "Well?" For every second that went, she lost credibility. She had nothing to lose. "I've lived here in the castle for just three years, but I know almost every path down in the crypt. I knew they were there, although no one spoke of them to me. You said you played down there as a child, Idónnes. I have too." King Antes and Idónnes exchanged glances with each other. "Three hundred years ago, approximately. I was Crown Princess then. As a teenager, I was washed overboard in a storm, and my brother had to inherit the throne instead. Your ancestor." Filia had difficulty keeping her hands still. What could she say that could make them understand what she said was true?

"My dance teacher named Salti Bant, my writing teacher Rebil— " "That's enough," the King interrupted. "There's no use to rattle off a bunch of names of people. If they existed, they have been dead and forgotten for a long time. If there's documentation about them, you may have learned it by heart, so it doesn't prove anything." "So what do you want me to do to prove what I say is true?" "First of all, why did you want to marry my son?" "Because I once was born to the throne, just as he is. I just wanted back the life that was stolen from me." "Why not just kill us?" "We are the same family. I am faithful to Lahall and Halliakon just like you! Idónnes has no less right to the throne than I have. I just thought I would make a good queen, for the benefit of my country." "And you begin this path by becoming my closest adviser in the magical guise surrounded by mystery and tattoos on your face?" Filia fidgeted. "That was how I felt I could serve you in the best way. And to be near you. To protect you." "Protect me?" King Antes laughed. Idónnes did likewise. She stood alone and vulnerable, with no mystery to hide behind. She felt more naked than she did when she washed herself the night before. "Can you tell us about this ring?" The King held out the ring with the mist-green stone he had lent her before. "My brother had it. But then it was a necklace. It was alleged that it was taken from a mine under the seabed, hence the color, but it's just a fairytale." "Thank you, that's enough." The King fingered on his ring.

"That tale, I heard it when I was a child too. And it was my mother who made it into a ring when I got stuck with the chain in a tree and choked." Idónnes gaped. "And if you don't mind," King Antes continued "I would like to know how you show up here several generations later. I don't think you'll be surprised when I say that what you claim is impossible." "True, Sire. At the same time, you know I have abilities that are beyond the ordinary." "I was hoping deep down it was just a delusion and fun games." King Antes grunted. "People usually try to understand what they don't understand by fitting it into what they already know. Or blame the Gods." "In your case, I suspect you'll say that you're one of the Gods." Filia took a deep breath and told the story of the Recreators and how she came to their school. She felt only curiosity and fascination from her two listeners. She had ed the test.

Chapter Fourteen

New plans

Vepresila stood in the little strip of the Temple wall's remaining shadow and tried to collect her thoughts. "Vepresila?" She heard a voice, and she spun around, almost a full lap before she could see from where the sound came. She stared at the bearded, unkempt person next to her. "Do you me?" he asked. Vepresila met his gaze. "Simmiolas?" It had been so long since she allowed herself to even think about her old life. "But what are you doing here?" Simmiolas withdrew his headscarf and showed the burn mark on his forehead. "We were banished, and..." "We?" she interrupted, looking over his shoulder, but saw no more. Simmiolas realized he was alone; he asked her to wait. He walked over to some large boulders. He talked to someone, but she could not hear what was said. Eventually, a person got up from the shadows and followed Simmiolas back. It was a small, short boy with a little fuzz on his upper lip. "Zollam?" She met her brother's angry, sulky look. "What did you do to be banished, little brother? Cheating on your manhood test?" Simmiolas caught the now furious Zollam and prevented him from punching her. "You're standing in the middle of the desert without food and water. Have you nothing better to do than to bicker with your little brother?" he rebuked her, and

she was ashamed. "Sorry. It just feels so surreal to see you here. I didn't think. Forgive me." "Sure," Zollam muttered. "And I know it's stupid to listen to a woman's cackle." "Zollam," warned Simmiolas. "Stop it." "So, what are you doing here?" Vepresila wondered. "Maybe we just walked by to see where you ended up," Simmiolas responded in some form of half-question. Vepresila grimaced. "I don't believe that you just happened to be out here when I break my vow and step out through a door that allows no exit." "It's just a door. It works both ways." Vepresila growled. "You didn't answer my question." "There was no question," Simmiolas returned. "They were statements." He walked away and waved at them both to follow. "He's still like that," Zollam sighed to her when she did not know if she should laugh or get angry. "Speaking in cryptic riddles and complicating everything you say. He's weird." Vepresila ed the conversation they had the night at the stone and how she felt she finally found someone like herself. She pushed the irritation away. They followed Simmiolas. "Where are we going?" she asked. "To Etifad," he replied. "The port city." "What are we going to do there?" Zollam moaned. "Take a boat from this place, of course," Vepresila snorted, to provoke his narrow-minded brother.

"We get there for a start. One thing at a time," Simmiolas said, and so they began their trek.

During the day, Zollam managed to catch and kill a lizard. He held it in his hands, arms stretched over his head, and roared with happiness. "I am a man! I. Am. A. Maaaan!" Vepresila stared as if his brother had become completely mad. "Congratulations," Simmiolas grinned. Zollam beamed. Simmiolas began to remove the entrails. "What are you doing?" Zollam protested. "It's her job." Vepresila sighed. Simmiolas seem to have done the job throughout their walk to the Temple, but now, there was a woman among them. "Would you like to do it?" Simmiolas asked her. She looked at him and realized the question was sincere. Taking care of berries, fruits, and herbs was no problem. But meat had something obnoxious about it when you touched it. She shook her head. Without further discussion, Simmiolas continued to take care of the gutting. "What is it with you two?" Zollam yelled. "Why should I do it when he has no problem with it?" Vepresila spat back. "Can you give me any other answer than that it's because I'm a woman? My ability to carry a baby doesn't make me better or worse at taking care of your lizard. I can assure you he does a better job than I, even though he pees standing." Zollam blushed up to the hairline and said no more. She could see he was angry, maybe even confused and a little scared. The world was rocking all three of them. Perhaps not for Simmiolas, though. It was hard to tell with him. He seemed so calm and stable, although this must be at least the second time in his life, he had the conditions of his life turned over in a short time. First, he got his old life, whatever that was, replaced by the tribe's, and then he was banished from there about a year later.

Simmiolas cooked the lizard over the fire, and Zollam glowed of pride when he received the first and best bit. Vepresila tasted the meat. It did not feel so much as she thought it would. It was so long since she ate meat she was unsure if she perhaps had enlarged her memories of the taste. Or if it was this lizard who only lived on pebbles. That could explain why her brother managed to catch it, she thought to herself. She had never seen Zollam as a hunter. He was too loud, too much in every way. In many social contexts, it was an advantage, but not when it came to hunting. Now he had become a man. Not that it would make him notably different, she guessed. Not now, when there were no young women who sewed shirts, and they could change dormitory from the boy's to the men's. Out here, it would make little difference. Simmiolas picked up a piece of cloth and unfolded it. Zollam made big eyes. It was a shirt, beautifully embroidered, as the women back home used to sew them. "Your father sent me this," he said, and handed it to Zollam, who greedy and solemnly pulled it over his head. "He knew you'd get it one day." Vepresila saw his brother overwhelmed by emotions turn away so they would not see him cry. Vepresila rose and sat down behind Zollam. She worked with his tassel and made her best to comb and braid his hair. From behind, Zollam hugged her hand with his. They continued the meal in silence, and then it was not long before Zollam turned his back on them and lay down to sleep. Too much emotion processing Vepresila thought and hoped his brother would get a good night's rest. Sleep sorted many thoughts. "So, how came you were just outside the door when I got out?" she asked Simmiolas. "Did the Gods send you?" "Not really." Vepresila realized she had expressed two questions, which he answered the last one. He did not want to talk about the actual question she asked. "You were outside the door when I came out. Why? Answer me." "Some time ago, there was a delivery of salt. I thought if you were unhappy, you might want to get out. If you were reminded of the outside, you might consider

your situation. And I didn't think it was fair you should stand alone in the desert." Vepresila sighed. He was a lousy liar. There was something more behind, but if he had intended to tell her, he had done it now when she asked.

"What shall we do in a port city?" Zollam asked the next day. "I was thinking of going to Alsyone." "Your home island?" Vepresila ed. Simmiolas nodded. "How did you know?" Zollam asked. "A splendid idea!" she exclaimed. "Away from all this. Away from all the ideas of what is the right and wrong way to be." "Such ideas are found everywhere," Simmiolas laughed. "They just look different." Vepresila had never thought of it that way. She was tired of all those who had decided she was not worth anything. How she all her life felt left out, even in the Temple. She had never considered other places could also think she was odd and unusual. For her, all the world except her country were places for those who did not fit. That was where they went when they were exiled or disappeared. "But if all places have different ideas about what's right and wrong, how do we know what really is right and wrong?" "Right and wrong, good and evil, those are concepts created by man," he replied. "In nature, there are no such words or meanings. If you believe another person does something wrong, it's because you've learned since you were small what to do and don't do." She had once heard her mother comment about some guests from another tribe with contempt because they changed beds at night. It had been two women and

two men, and they had, of course, got two of the guest areas in the cave. In the morning, her mother had gone into the women's room only to find a man and a woman in the bed. Sinita had refused to utter a word to them during their stay, even though they never changed places again. Now Vepresila began to wonder if her tribe behaved equally strange in the visitors' eyes, as guests of theirs. "Are there places where it's right to kill other people?" How and where to sleep was an easy thing to handle. To kill someone was undoubtedly something that was always regarded as wrong, Vepresila thought. "There's no place where it's acceptable to kill whoever you want whenever you want. What kind of society would work if you at any time could be killed? So, people create rules for social interaction between people to make things work. However, this can include people killing each other. Or themselves. Older people who can not take care of themselves, deformed children, beaten enemies, sacrifices to the Gods. There are many examples where, under certain conditions, it's considered correct to kill another human being. There are even places where you kill one who has killed another, as punishment." "Death as a punishment? If you don't have to live with the shame, where is the punishment?" She asked, surprised. "What makes one killing more right than the other?" "Well, let's say you have a deformed child, and where you come from, it's expected of you to kill it, so you do. But where you live, it is against the law to kill a deformed child." "And so they kill me for killing the deformed child?" "Could be." "You've not killed anybody," Zollam protested. "Nor will you. So what are you talking about?" Vepresila ignored Zollam's inability for abstract reasoning. "So they'll kill me for a misunderstanding? I mean, it's not like I'll kill the next

deformed child." Simmiolas shrugged. "I can't explain all. Sometimes the rules people build around themselves are too complex for anyone to understand." "Listen to me; she hasn't killed anyone!" Zollam yelled. It can't be healthy with such complicated rules that no one could grasp them all, Vepresila thought. "Were the tribe's rules too complex?" she asked but changed her mind at once. She was not sure that she wanted to know. "Sometimes," he replied very diplomatically. The thoughts swirled in Vepresila's head. So there were places where she could be killed, and it was called punishment. What happened if she felt that she was within her rights to kill another man and did it, but someone else wanted to kill her for it because he thought that he was within his rights to kill her? She was not supposed to believe that the other had the right to kill her so she would defend herself. What would happen if she killed those who tried to kill her? Would she be killed twice? What an awful lot of dead people, and no one left to be pilloried for it all. "So, each island has its own right and wrong?" "You don't even have to go that far. In Etifad, the port city where we're going, roasted spiders are considered a delicacy." Vepresila felt she turned green in the face and felt like she wanted to throw up. To look at a spider was terrible enough. Eat it was not to think of and that anyone could get the idea was terrific. She saw Simmiolas smile. "You said that to tease me." "Well, I was a little provocative," he itted. "But it's nevertheless true."

Many, many days later, they saw the sea. Zollam and Vepresila gawked. Zollam mumbled something about how gigantic, vast, and infinite it all was and asked

how far down the water reached under the surface. For Vepresila, the glittering, moving blue cover was a hope and an opportunity. It was the way to other places, new worlds, to people who did not know about her background. She could hardly wait until she got to board a boat and leave. That evening, when they all three sat around the fire, Vepresila felt it was something she must sort out. "Simmiolas, you said that right and wrong was people's own rules," she began. "But what about the Gods then?" Simmiolas cocked his head and looked at her. "I guess there's a more specific question you have in your heart." Vepresila nodded. A nagging question, as well. "Was it right to send me to the Temple?" "What do you mean?" Zollam interrupted, without tact, and unable to listen as always. "Would you rather have stayed and brought shame and the Goddess wrath on all of us all?" "Be quiet for once," Vepresila hissed. "It's not you I'm talking to." "Right from what perspective?" Simmiolas steered the conversation back on the track she wanted. "Did your Goddess wanted you to be in the Temple?" Zollam began to sizzle about her being selected, but Simmiolas had a remarkable ability to hush the boy. "As I see it, there are no Gods," Simmiolas said. "Then you would, of course, have no reason to live the rest of your life as a slave pushed around in the Temple. But that's not how you and the other tribes of this island see it. For you, and for them, there are gods to be worshiped. In many, many generations, women have been sent to that Temple. Why did those infants who gave their mothers fever at birth deemed to be selected no one knows anymore? Whether it was right or wrong? No answer tells an absolute truth. The only thing I can say is that I do not think an unhappy priestess makes any avail."

"What's all this talk about right and wrong?" Zollam wondered. "Vepresila was selected. By Illu. Making her Illu's property from the day she became a woman to her death. Would a god be wrong? Is that what you're saying?" "Are you saying a gods' wrath has come upon us since we left?" Simmiolas asked in return. "We're displaced, cursed, despised, everything! No gods protect us anymore. We aren't even worthy of their anger." "Perfect!" Vepresila grinned and gave her brother a provocative look. "Then, I'm free. And you too, for that matter." She had never thought that it would be her stupid little brother who would say the words that got the stone in her heart to go away. If no gods cared anymore, she was free from their regulations.

Chapter Fifteen

Shift in power

The castle of Lahall and the whole town was buzzing with wedding mania. The Crown Prince's engagement with Saela was now official, and the marriage ceremony was planned just a month ahead. Idónnes and Saela had been seen riding along the city streets more than once, and everyone who saw them could tell the young couple was in love and held hands as often as they could. The townspeople also welcomed King Antes back from his illness to retake the reins. Idónnes had done well during the monarch's convalescence, but some had been aware of an alarming clampdown attitude. Now there was hope that the old King could teach Idónnes many more years before he had to take the crown for good. Inside the castle, the decoration of the main hall was in full swing. Moreover, every corner of Lahall was cleaned and furbished, and many busy feet hurried everywhere. Guests arrived like never before, and every available bedroom was filled with excited noble families and their servants. The kitchen's capacity was stretched to its limits. The staff did their utmost to satisfy everyone's needs. The King himself had invited jesters and minstrels to entertain the guests each night. He mingled with his cousins, distant relatives and other nobles who were visiting. Sudden movements and laughter were still painful for him, but it was nothing to be worried about. The King would recover fully. Duke Frater seemed to enjoy the attention and the fawning as many devoted themselves to win his favor. The Crown Prince and his fiancée attended the entertainments every evening and sat close together to everyone's delight.

Saela watched the woods from her window. She did not understand the world. It was as if she took part in a play written by someone else. The people around her seemed to rule their lives, while she felt as if she watched her life at a distance, unable to do anything. Her thoughts drifted to the remarkable Dem in his cabin.

It was insane, but she had felt more alive there, as abducted, than she had ever done before. The strange thing was that she had not noticed it until they returned. A brisk knock on the door pulled her back to reality. She unlocked the door, and her father stepped inside followed by two maidservants who carried a large gold embroidered bundle. "A wedding dress worthy of the Queen you are," he presented the dress they unfurled. It was fit for a queen with all the layers of thin fabric carefully sewn with gold threads in royal patterns. It was also a dress more suited for her father's taste in clothes than hers. She found it difficult to see anything other than bragging and ostentation. "It's magnificent," Saela praised him "but not now, Father." Frater waved the handmaids away and then left the room. "I'm not a queen yet." Frater misconstrued her expression and tone of voice, and he took her chin. "Soon enough. Just have some patience, little girl." She jerked away from the nip and turned away. "Father! Stop it. You make an overly big deal of being the father of the future Queen, don't you think? It's still Idónnes who will become king one day, not you." She gave her father a steady gaze. Frater met it. "Maybe," he replied with an undertone that made shivers go along her spine. "Try the dress on today so that we know it fits." He turned and left. Saela bolted the door behind him. The next moment Filia was in her room. Although this time she was prepared, she was still astonished how quick and smooth Filia could move. She had just turned her back to the room a moment, and yet Filia had managed to sneak out of the closet without her notice anything. It was not a pleasant thought that there were secret routes into her room. Both Idónnes and Filia had assured her it was just the two of them who

knew about them. She was comforted with the thought that she could always bolt the entrance through the closet or get the hinges to squeak a bit if the door was misused. "He wants power, doesn't he?" she asked Filia. "It seems so." "How far will he go?" "Further than you, I guess. Though that doesn't say much." "I'll go back home with him immediately after the wedding," she said, well aware that it might not be the most natural thing to do. She hoped his father would see that his ability to reach the power would be gone. Filia nodded. "But right now we'll see if this gold embroidered snowstorm fits." Filia pointed at the dress. Saela giggled.

The night before the wedding Filia had a hard time sleeping. She stayed in her room though, since she was probably not the only one awake that night. If she walked around like a black ghost, someone would take it as a bad omen for tomorrow. Sometimes she had taken advantage of their superstition, but this night she preferred to stay away. The whole staff of Lahall needed as many positive thoughts as they could evoke. For it would be a spectacular day no one would ever forget. A gaucherie or a great scandal catching everyone's attention would ruin it all. Eventually, she managed a few hours of sleep before she got up at dawn and followed the secret ageways to Saela's room. At the same time, Satéll was called into Frater's chambers. He had barely time to close the door behind him before Frater commanded, "Change your clothing. You'll be at the wedding." Satéll was surprised. He had no natural place at parties, least of all the family gatherings. Even without having Filia's dark exterior his reputation gave him sufficiently discredited to most people. Usually, his master made sure he did not appear in the same contexts as cheerful and happy settings.

"He has invited his councilors," Frater informed him with a grin. "A childish, generous gesture to the simple townspeople. But they can come in handy. You should make sure they stay. Afterward." Satéll bowed his head and left. Frater would not answer any questions. The mood of his master made it not worth the risk to ask. Satéll himself doubted that the King invited the council in a spirit of goodness. Council were excellent and credible witnesses. But what would they witness? What was the King planning? That Filia would reveal anything to him was just as likely as a horse stopping to talk about the weather. Moreover, he had hardly seen her since the day after Turpa's execution. But what worried him more was not so much the King's plans, as his master's. What did he have in the offing?

The great hall was full of people dressed in their best formal clothes. The seven of the council were not of noble birth and their formal-wear simpler and less expensive than the others. They had nevertheless been welcomed by both the King and the Crown Prince himself, although a wedding was a family gathering and the council's presence had no official role. They had all been flattered by the invitation and accepted. Among all the nobles they felt alienated and had gathered together to give each other the security of not being alone among strangers. Accompanied by the sounds of joyful music from the orchestra King Antes and Duke Frater made their entrance. Although Frater had done his best to decorate himself as rich as possible, the general opinion among the guests was that the King won that contest. Frater with his heavy jewelry could only dream of the power and dignity a royal golden crown gave. They sat down together on the dais, the King on a golden throne, Frater on something more ordinary. If the two young people who would be married had had their mothers alive, they would have been there as well, but now it was two lone fathers who shared the honor. The Master of Ceremonies gave the leader of the orchestra a gesture, and the music stopped immediately. A tense and curious murmur spread through the hall and eyes turned towards the door where the couple would make an entrance. To the sound from golden trumpets, the gate opened, and Idónnes and his bride appeared. The guests clapped; the couple was outstanding.

The Prince was dressed in bright colors with a gold embroidered jacket in several layers of lightweight fabrics. On his head was the Crown Prince's crown - a beautiful heirloom with a long history. It had been used very little, as there was no need to prove the status in that way nowadays, and the Prince himself had said he found it cumbersome and uncomfortable. But now it adorned the young man's head, and he wore it with the dignity of the next king. Beside him walked their future queen in a dress that very much made her look like a glittering cloud drifting across the floor. The many layers of veils over her head reinforced the impression of fluffiness. They went up to the dais holding hands. Idónnes made a formal bow to his father. "Father, I wish to take this woman to be my wife. Do you accept this marriage?" "Yes, I accept your choice of wife," replied the King with a satisfied smile. The bride turned to her father and made a formal curtsy. "I wish to take this man to my husband. Do you accept this marriage?" Frater nodded. "Yes, I accept your choice of husband." The two young people turned to each other and took each other's hands. "Do you accept me as your husband?" Idónnes asked. The bride replied with a yes, and then it was her turn to ask, "Do you accept me as your wife?" "Yes." The whole hall erupted in cheers and applause. The King stood up and asked for silence. A servant had appeared with a wine goblet each to the two fathers. Antes grabbed his cup and declared that he wished the couple every happiness and success in life. Then he drank a gulp and held the cup to his son. He took it, and with a few words of gratitude to his father for all that he did for him he drank of the wine. Frater did the same with his cup, and when he held it to the bride, she took it, lifted all veils and drank. When she lowered the cup, a terrified murmur spread through the hall. It was not Saela

under all the layers of fabric. Frater stared as if his eyes would fall out, but the King and the Prince smiled. Idónnes took his bride in his arms and kissed her on the cheek. It dawned on the visitors that the woman with the tattoos on her cheeks was King Antes demonic counselor. Taken out of context without black clothes and white makeup she was first difficult to recognize. And with a face surrounded by hair, she gave a vague feeling of familiarity. But then, someone made the connection and whispers spread through the hall. Idónnes took Filia's hand, and they went out on the floor while the orchestra struck up for the dance. Filia hardly dared to breathe. She was scared and joyful at the same time. It was as if all her wishes came true at once, and they were not at all as contradictory as she had feared. Instead, they merged into one happy whole. She was not the woman of his dreams, and she was not in love with Idónnes, but there was something between them that she knew could develop into something warm and loving. At the same time, she was about to have the power and the position that was rightfully hers. She got her life back, finally. The life that the Recreators had stolen from her. Hardly had the murmur after the scandal died in the hall when the King clutched his stomach in pain and fell off his throne. He got to his feet and with a blaring cough, he sprayed blood on the floor. Some guests screamed others stared as petrified. Idónnes stopped in the middle of a dance move. The music halted. Idónnes had time to react to his father's condition and hurry towards him. Then he folded and fell to the floor as well. He gave Filia a terrified gaze. What had hit the King had also hit him. The wine they shared had been poisoned. He vomited blood, downing his clothes and the person who bent down to help him. Horror spread through the hall. People fled. Filia threw herself down next to Idónnes. The little she could do, she must do. "Murderer!" Frater yelled and pointed at Filia. "Seize the murderer!" She did not hear it. Her whole focus was on the dying Idónnes. When guards pulled her away, she woke up and struggled to get back to the unconscious prince. The King was already dead in his chair, hanging over an armrest with wide-open, unseeing eyes.

The guards overpowered her. She was dragged away to the castle dungeons.

Múllirem and the other Council were pushed back into the banquet hall by Satéll and his guards. Frater waited for them. Idónnes' corpse lay on the floor where she had seen him fall, the King hung over the throne. His cousin had not a hint of dignity or kindness left for either the dead or for them. He moved in the hall as he owned it, like the country's ruler did not exist and the dead men in the hall had been killed to protect the duke. All she saw was cynical greed for power. Saela was hauled into the hall by two guards. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw the dead men. Múllirem noted with terror that the girl's hands were tied and her father did not attempt to change it. On the contrary, he grabbed her chin and yanked her head up with force. They looked at each other, father and daughter. "Where did you find her?" Frater asked Saela's guards, still glaring at her. "Alone in her room, Lord Duke. She had packed her clothes and belongings." "She was not locked up or forced to stay in the room?" "No, Lord Duke." He let go of her and spit on the floor in front of Saela's feet. He turned to the of the council. "You, gentlemen and lady, are here as witnesses. According to the King's will. Today's festivities developed not according to his Highness' plans, but it's also my will that you should be witnesses. You've now heard that my daughter remained in her room by her own free will, even though she was aware of the impending wedding that would stand between her and the Crown Prince. She voluntarily chose to let the demon and witch who calls herself Filia take her place. The witch caused the violent deaths of our king and our dear crown prince and my son-in-law! Saela is, therefore, an accomplice to these bloody and ruthless deeds." Duke Frater fell silent and glared on them. Múllirem wondered what they were meant to do. There was no question in

Frater's statement, just allegations. Saela herself had not received any chance to speak, and this was no proper time for justice. All said were statements about what had happened, without any opportunity to assess what was true or false. The others in the Council seemed to think alike, though none of them spoke, stood silent. Frater nodded. "Good!" He spun around toward Saela. "I disown you as my daughter now and for all time, and the last thing you will feel in life is how the rope tightens around your neck. You and that witch you've ganged up with will be hung in public." "Father!" Saela cried. "You caused this on your own! No one should ever be able to accuse me of not sacrificing myself for the common good." "I just wanted for us to go home together! But you, you planned this all along? You planned to make me a widow. On my wedding day! I'm ashamed to have you as a father!" Tears ran down her cheeks. Frater was not affected. "I'm not the one who's behind this plot. It's you." He turned away from her and walked over to the dead king. The royal crown had fallen to the floor during Antes' violent convulsions. Frater took it up and placed it on his head. "Now, I'm your king" he declared. Múllirem bit her lip and hesitated. Then she took a bold step forward and shook her head. "You are not a king, Duke Frater," she said in a firm voice. Frater crossed the room and stopped right in front of her, close. She did not sway with her eyes but met his gaze. "So, you were not a bunch of wimps after all. At least one of you has the guts to speak. Let's hear it. Tell us, why I'm not king." Múllirem had not Filia's practice of hiding her emotions. Everyone could see she was scared, but she was still there, taking a stand. "If the king dies without an heir, the people have the right to choose a new king. The crown does not to any available cousin."

"Does it not?" Frater grinned. "But when the King so unfortunately died, there was an heir in Idónnes. And his wife inherited him." Múllirem found herself grinning back at him. "In what way would Filia's inherited power give you the right to become king? As far as I know, you're not related to Filia. Besides, she's still alive." Frater's smile froze. He knew he had made a blunder; Múllirem saw that in his eyes. The discussion was structured and rehearsed on the basis that it had been his daughter under all the veils. If his daughter had married and thus inherited Idónnes, the chain had led to him. Doubtful purely legal, even if he had been innocent to their deaths, but still an option. Múllirem thought that Duke Frater was aware that no one believed in his fictional story about who was behind the killings. With enough power to instill fear most were willing to change their minds about the truth; until someone came up with the obvious logical argument against it. It was only possible to fool oneself to a certain limit. When the obvious was made visible, it became apparent even to those who had chosen not to see. She saw him fumbling after an argument that would give him the rights he demanded. "So the people have the right to choose a new king, you say? Then we ride down to town at once and get the formality over with."

The city's square and obvious meeting place had a large well at the center. It was no small, narrow dug out well. It had once been a natural spring that had been excavated and dammed up, and then a wall had been built around it for safety and convenience. The brim of the well was wide, and it was a long way down to the water. On this wall stood Múllirem with her hands tied on her back, forced there by Satéll, who was also the only thing that prevented her from falling headlong into the water. Behind him sat Frater on his horse, and the royal crown on his head. The townspeople gathered. "The King and the Crown Prince were both murdered today," Frater declared. Satéll understood by the reactions in the crowd that so much had already spread down to the city by fleeing servants and guests. "Múllirem here," Frater continued, "had the goodness to inform me that you

have the right to choose your new king. I suggest that you do best to choose me." Satéll felt the woman's pulse against his fingers. He felt the too rapid heartbeat, the smell of the sweat, the small vibrations that steadily went through her body. He had never liked to kill other people, but what he did now was among the worst he had done in all his life. He was an assassin. His deed was between him and his victim. To contribute to a public spectacle of someone's agony was not only under his dignity, but it was also disgusting no matter whoever stood ready to shove her down. He noticed he took a firmer hold as if he would never let go. Would he let her fall if he got orders? It was not his task to determine who would die. That was why he managed to do his job. But the orders came from a man who was crazy. It struck him with a force that almost made his knees buckle. "Do you choose me as king?" Frater roared from his horse. Satéll neither saw nor heard what answer the townspeople gave. Frater himself grabbed Múllirem's clothes and pulled her from the well's rim and let her fall to the ground, saved. Satéll, unprepared for the shift in balance nearly fell over himself, and was unable to catch her. While Frater proclaimed himself King, Satéll pulled Múllirem to her feet. He freed her from the ropes. "Are you unharmed?" He felt boyish. She rubbed her wrists and other sore spots on the body. He got no answer. Satéll saw his master riding off towards the castle again with the rest of his guards. He walked to his horse without looking at Múllirem. When he sat up, he was captured by the woman's gaze. They said nothing to each other, victim and executioner, but Satéll felt her eyes said quite enough. If you work for him, you are as guilty as he is. He shook off the thought and rode after the newly appointed King.

Chapter Sixteen

The trial

Filia sat chained to the wall of the dungeon. Her arms hung in chains above her head. She had lost the sense of pain in them a long time ago. Now she did not feel them at all. Darkness, hunger, humiliation were all things breaking you down. Just a few days ago she would have said she was strong. Nothing could break her. It had taken a few hours. The world had been turned upside down when Idónnes had been murdered before her eyes. The life as she knew it ended when she was locked up in the dark. There was nothing to live for left. It was over. All she sought had been crumbled to ashes. She heard the door unlock and saw Satéll come in with a lantern in one hand and chains in the other. The door was closed and locked again behind him. He dropped the chains next to her and put the lantern on the floor. Satéll unlocked her handcuffs, and her arms fell into her lap as two dead fishes. He sat down on a stool. It was as if he did not know what to say, and she was not interested in helping him out. "Frater has crowned himself King," he told her. She had guessed as much. Now she got it confirmed. He glanced toward the door. For safety's sake, he lowered his voice. "He's crazy. Totally insane." As if she cared anymore.

Satéll looked at the ive woman whose eyes lingered toward the cell's darkest

corners, without emotion, avoiding him. Had she given up? He looked at her bare feet. He slid off the stool and lifted her foot. It was the same foot that Frater ran a sword through. He had put bandages on it himself to stop the bleeding. There was no way the damage could have healed so fast. Still, it was what he saw with his own eyes. He thought of everything she told him. All he had rejected as stories to build her mystery. Sure, he had experienced something, which he interpreted as mind reading. But he had found other explanations to protect his sanity from what he did not understand. Was she who she said she was? Someone with divine powers? Yet she sat here, ive. It did not work out with the image. If she was a so-called Recreator with everything it might mean, well, she had no reason to sit and wait for death. On the contrary, she was their best hope now. Saela was in the cell next door. He had not been able to put the chains on her. Like a coward, he sent another to fulfill the task. He had known her since she was a small child. When he tied her hands at the house of the strange Dem something between them had broken. Even if he could claim that she placed herself in the situation when she tried to escape, he had also understood Saela still saw him as a big brother. He had grown up and taken paths in life Saela would never need to consider. He had created a necessary distance between him and what he did, something of which Saela had no experience. She had seen a brother who betrayed her. That realization had hit him harder than when he killed people on the orders of a man. Now the only woman who saw him as a member of her family would die. "Frater will ensure you end up dead. But first, he must take your magical appearance away from you in public. Reducing the stigma of you and show you as a simple mortal. He'll hang you. After he hung Saela." He was looking for a reaction. "Now, if you're more than you appear to be, then it's time to bring out those forces." "Had I had those forces Idónnes would be alive and Frater would have been dead," Filia whispered. Satéll gasped and let out the air in a long exhale. She might face the rope anyway. He had no idea how far her power could extend. "If…" He hesitated. "If it would go as far as you'll be taken to the gallows… Frater has made me his executioner. I can avoid it and give the assignment to someone else, someone you've not met. Would you like that, someone

unknown?" Filia shook her head without hesitation. "You want me to bring you to the gallows, pull the bag over your head, and put the rope around your neck, is that what you want?" "Yes." Satéll bolted from the stool. Not only for the task as such but because he suspected Filia would not protest but welcome death. He sighed. Change was part of life. Nothing ever remained the same. He could not prevent it as little as he could stop the sun from setting. He knelt beside her and snapped the chains around her wrists and ankles. Then he rose again and pulled her to her feet. "Let's go, then." He thought Frater was not the only one who had become completely mad.

The square was full of people. It was a strange atmosphere. Their new king had become a hated man as fast as he made himself ruler. That he was about to hang his daughter was a scandal, regardless of her crime. Never the less, no one had commanded them to the site to witness the execution. No matter how ashamed they felt, their curiosity to see the scandal and also the woman behind the black demon was stronger. Somewhere within, everyone knew if nobody showed up, the effect of Frater's intended grotesque act would be diminished. However, no one believed the other to be able to abstain, so everyone came to the day's spectacle. A gallows had been built high up so everyone could see. To the opposite was a platform where the new King and the of the old King's council had their seats. A murmur went through the crowd when the two women were brought in chains from a cart to the center of the square, in front of the now royal King Frater. The crying woman was his daughter. Some recognized her as she had ridden through the town with the Crown Prince.

That the bald, shrunken creature beside her had until recently been the former royal confidante and magical adviser felt like an absurdity. Had it not been for the famous snake tattoos there would have been severe doubt as to whether the new King tried to trick them. But the baggy pose despite there was enough left of the demon to be accepted as her. The King spoke in pompous and fiery manners about the accusations of the two women. Murder of King Antes. Murder of Crown Prince Idónnes. Saela cried and scolded her father to the same extent as the former magical creature did not make a sound. She stood silently before the allegations. No magic, no lightning, no sudden deaths — she just stood there like any broken human being. The aura she had of magic around her was gone. Fabrications, all of it, for sure, been so from the beginning. The old King must have been an idiot, easily fooled. She was nothing more than a dull, skinny girl. When Frater's flaming verbiage was at its best, something happened which changed the game board. Filia herself did not see when he arrived. Her eyes were fixed on a stone on the ground and tried to shut out everything else. Whatever would happen to her, it did not matter anymore. She would be hanged, and Satéll would make sure it was done fast and painless. But even if she had wanted to turn off the sound around her, she could not help hearing what was going on. And what she heard was the murmur of the crowd turning to silence. The man up there on the stage came to a halt when one to Filia familiar voice interrupted the show. "You scurvy son of a rat! How dare you accuse my lady love?" Filia saw Dem standing in front of her, facing Frater with his sword ready. "Who are you? How dare to walk in here and defend these scums?" Frater inquired, terse and amazed at the same time. "I, my yelling, miserable lord, am Dem, the defender to Death of all ladies in distress. And you, you viper's stool, will soon be dead for my sword!" Dem took a dramatic pose as if he expected of Frater to step down and meet him in single combat. Filia swallowed hard.

"Dem" she pleaded. "Dem, listen to me! Go home." He turned toward her. "Home? My home is where you are, you, my noble lady who carries my heart in her hands. Thus, I am at home now and just in the place where I really want to be. If it costs me my life, I'll give it cheerfully to save you." People laughed, but Filia could not have cared less. She loved Dem and was willing to give her life for him. Her only goal was to get him out of there alive. "Guards! Kill that man!" the false king commanded. "No!" Filia shouted with sudden energy and vitality. "Don't you touch him! Let him go." The grin she got from the monster on the stage brought all the anger and frustration she had thought fled her forever back in full power. "Ask me not to budge now, my lady!" exclaimed Dem and with a sweeping gesture turned to the guards who approached him. "I warn you, rats from the dunghill! I'll defend these noble women with my life!" One of the guards took a step forward and drove his sword through Dem's chest. Filia screamed and in a two-step jump was on the soldier's back with chains and all.

Satéll saw the startled guard about to fall of the sudden weight. He managed to stay on his feet while he tried to get the woman off. Filia smacked him over and over with fists and chains on his helmet. Satéll rushed forward and managed to seize Filia around her waist and tried to pull her away from the guard. The only result was that they fell in a heap all three. While he came to his feet, he heard people in the crowd had begun to laugh. Somewhere in the middle of the mess, Satéll felt disgusted to have contributed to making the execution into an entertainment. With a powerful jerk, he tore Filia off the guard. This meant she attacked him instead. For that, he was prepared, and he was superior to her in strength. Soon held her firmly. "Stop it, Filia!" he hissed in her ear. "Dem is dead. There's nothing you can do

about it." His words had no calming effect on Filia. He had hoped she would be able to direct her outward behavior in a more constructive direction. But it did not seem to interested Filia as she screamed insults in a never-ending verbiage and resisted his grip as much as she could, although it did not affect. "Satéll!" his master and king roared from the stage on top of Filia's yelling. "Hang the witch! Immediately!" Satéll confirmed the order with a nod and began to force Filia towards the gallows. "You're not a real king! You'll never be!" Filia shouted with the full force of her lungs. "You murdered King Antes and Idónnes, not me!" "Satéll! Put a gag on her." He heard Frater's orders, but he thought it was pretty obvious he had his hands full. Besides, Filia was right. Unfortunately, one of the guards tied a firm cloth in her mouth and silenced the verbiage. Satéll forced a nod to the other and began to get Filia up the stairs to the platform. He heard the mob down below become silent. He hoped it was because of a feeling of horror and not a charmed excitement. He placed Filia on the trapdoor and took the bag he was supposed to pull over her head. But he hesitated. He did not want her to become an impersonal object. He wished they would see what happened and who was affected. "I don't want to use this. Any protests?" Filia met his gaze, and it was as if they in the midst of the tragedy felt a consensus. She shook her head. She had no protests. He felt a chill. How obvious he interpreted her. It was not a no, don't hang me, but a yes, no sack, but please hang me. That it was anything else was wishful thinking on his part. The job he had before him was what he least wanted to do. If he did not do it, someone else would. Filia had explicitly asked him. If Satéll helped her to escape, he would undoubtedly be hung in her place; something he could have been considering if he had thought Filia had been able to do anything about Frater, preferably before he was hanged. To rescue her in the condition she was in now would result in two dead and Frater remaining on the throne. He pulled the noose over her head and was grateful she closed her eyes when she did so.

Filia felt the loop of rope being pulled over her head and laid in place around her neck. She knew he did it reluctantly and wanted to spare her more emotional ramparts than necessary. When he was done, and he took a few steps away, Filia opened her eyes again. She wanted to see. She wanted them to see what was about to happen to her. She wanted her fright and horror to become entrenched in everyone who came to her execution. Hatred and bitterness welled up within her like from a volcano. Filia chewed on the gag with disgust and insight that the last taste she would feel in life was one of sweat and horse. She waited for the floor under her feet to disappear. She would fall to a rapid death. But nothing happened. The crowd below her was silent. Some began to move, impatiently. Was it Satéll who would pull the lever? She was tempted to turn her head to check but wanted to spare him her eyes. Why did he wait? She looked down at the planks under her feet and saw she had peed on herself. What rat could not treat her with the dignity to avoid having to stand half-mad with fear and relieve the bladder before all the people? With murder in her eyes, she saw Frater with a rope in his hand. He grinned at her, and she became aware the string went through the air up to the platform she stood on. Frater was the one who would kill her. She saw his mocking, triumphant smirk. He yanked the rope. She heard the mechanics and felt the floor disappear below her feet.

Chapter Seventeen

Resistance

She fell. And fell. Filia had time to think she soon must feel the rope tighten and her neck break; it would soon turn black. But she continued to fall. Her feet hit the ground, and she tumbled over. She rolled over on her back and looked up. The noose hung high above her, intact. When she rose, she discovered that the chains fell off her and the gag must have come loose when she landed. Some of the spectators began to scream, and panic erupted with people running in all directions. In despair, she realized she had survived. And done so by her own powers. Her mind had worked on its own to save her. Filia leaned her head back and screamed with her lungs' full force, straight out. With the scream came all her bitterness, her hatred, and her discouragement. No one would have counted on the effect. The sound was like a blast in all directions around her. People were knocked to the ground, planks from the gallows were ripped loose from each other and collapsed like a house of sticks behind her, Frater's platform capsized with everyone still on, the roofs of the nearest houses had straws and tiles ripped off. When Filia's lungs had no more air to squeeze out, she sank to the ground and cried. The square was deserted. All had fled, and no one dared to come near her. Filia sat alone with her tears, abandoned by everyone, including herself. She did not want to live, but still, she could not let herself die.

Múllirem fell with the collapsing platform. When she stood upright again, bruised and confused, people rushed in panic in all directions. The square looked as if hordes of animals rushed right through it. She had not had time to collect her thoughts before Frater's executioner snatched hold of her. He asked where she lived, and commanded her to take him there. He held a knife, and she obeyed him without discussion. It was not far. When they arrived, she saw it was not just Satéll she had taken over her threshold but also Frater's daughter Saela. Satéll put the knife away. "Forgive me for threatening you, but it was urgent to get out of there," he explained and sounded sincere. "I needed to get away with Saela as quickly as possible. Can you hide her here?" A blunt, straightforward question. She wondered if he knew she lived alone and found it plausible. His type of people got the information they needed. Not without reason, she asked why she would do him a favor. "It's not for my sake as much as for Saela's. You know as well as I do that my master was about to hang his own daughter. I can't just leave her adrift out there." He fumbled around in his pockets. He found some money and handed it to her. She stared at the gold coins and then at the girl. The little princess was dazed, confused and destroyed by tears. What relationship did the man before her have with his master's daughter? If they were lovers, they had kept it secret. She nodded. He turned to Saela. She saw him take the girl's face in his hands and tell her she would be safe there, that he would arrange some things, but that he would come back. She jerked free and backed away. "I know you feel I've betrayed you," he told her, "but I'll try to make amends and prove myself worthy again." He got ready to go, but Múllirem stopped him. "When can I expect you back?" "I don't know. But if you want to do something about the new regime, you better wait until I'm back. With a bit of luck, I'll bring reinforcement. But it may take

some time." She nodded. She was not sure of him or his intentions, but she was confident he was no follower of Frater any longer. He had just told her things that would put him into trouble if it reached the wrong person. "I'll collect as many as I can in the meantime. Don't delay too long." Satéll nodded and disappeared out through the door. Saela appeared more helpless than ever. Múllirem went upstairs to set up one of her guest rooms. She left the shutters closed so no one would have a reason to suspect the room was in use and ask about it. She was glad the window was to the back of the house. Not that a light would go unnoticed there either, but fewer people ed in the narrow alley outside her backyard. The room was simple, and she knew Saela was accustomed to having more. Múllirem was not interested in whining from spoiled children. Perhaps it was easy for her to think so when she had no children, but she would never tolerate complaints about her hospitality. Múllirem prepared the bed and left an extra blanket. When she came down the stairs, Saela stood in the same place. She just stood there with a confused, desperate look in her eyes. "Well, of course, the whole world wishes to destroy you," Múllirem grunted. She would take care of the girl, but not mother her. "Believe it or not, but life goes on, and you're actually in the middle of its movement no matter if you like it or not. Come on, move your legs now and go up the stairs and I'll show you to your room." She was pleased when Saela showed she heard her and went up the stairs.

Filia had lost the concept of time. All she knew was her own misery and loneliness. Satéll came up to her and put a coat over her shoulders. Somehow he got her to her feet and carried her to a wagon full of hay. She felt the delicate aroma of some pleasant memory from long ago and fell asleep.

Later in the evening when the city had come to rest, Múllirem left the house to seek out Vetes, the eldest of the King's council . She hoped he had not gone to his home village yet. The probability was not high, given what had happened. On the other hand, this evening it was not likely to find any council staying where they used to be: in the Council's Tower at the castle. Vetes had, just as she, stood on the platform when it collapsed. Had he or someone else been injured? She did not know. It had happened so fast, the confusion was too great, and Satéll had abducted her away before she could perceive the situation accurately. She asked around at the inns. There was nothing strange in such request. She was a member of the old King's council and wanted to inquire as to where the other of the board were found. An entirely natural request and she saw no strange looks or questions. But no one knew where Vetes was. Eventually, she went up the hill to the castle. The guards let her through without questions, and she walked the familiar aisles and ages to the council's quarters. There, she found Vetes with Vender and Proles. It turned out that Vetes had injured his leg in the fall. Vender and Proles had helped Vetes back to the tower lacking a better alternative on short notice. The leg would not be a problem for long, Vetes said as much himself, but it needed to rest a few days. "Do you think we'll be locked up, forced away or forgotten?" Múllirem inquired. When she met their gazes, she sensed she had acquired of the resistance. None of them showed confidence in their presence at the court. Those who had believed Frater to be good and great would probably have thought and expressed they were safe in the castle. They agreed Vender and Proles would take Vetes down to the city the next morning and stay in different inns. From there, they could then communicate with Múllirem. The seed was sown. The resistance could begin.

Chapter Eighteen

The delta

When Simmiolas, Vepresila, and Zollam had the port city of Etifad in view, Simmiolas ed his last meeting with the place with a feeling of discomfort. Then he had traveled from Alsyone back home. At least that was what he thought. He was born and raised on Etion, just as Zollam and Vepresila. Though several hundred years ago. His father had been a boat builder, and when Simmiolas was fourteen, he had managed to convince his father to leave on a journey with the ship just completed. Hardly had he imagined it would take so long before he came back. When he had left Alsyone, he had believed he would be back with his family within a year. Though a long time had ed, it had been in a place without time. He did not know how long he had been gone. His family may have heard that he left the ship on Alsyone and understood why he was late. Or perhaps he would come home before the vessel with which he had left had returned. He did not know. The first sign something was wrong was the delta that met him. He heard the captain complain that it started to become shallow again and they should move the docks further out. He had inquired among the sailors where they were, refusing to accept it was Etion and the port of Etifad they arrived at. Eventually, he had seen evidence of what they said was true. He recognized the mountains: the steep red cliffs with its waterfall down to the sea. Though the water now dropped into a river and a delta. It was still the same waterfall. Maybe it had dug deeper into the rock, but there were not two waterfalls alike. The city was no longer above the precipice, but downstairs in a delta. Astounded, he had walked through a town full of guards, inhospitality and suspicious glances. The shops had a lean supply of goods and were all guarded

by the owners. They seemed to see anyone who did not immediately bring out their money as potential thieves. He had walked the familiar steep road up along the mountain, up on the plateau, only to find a desert instead of a forest and ruins where the old Etifad and his childhood home had once been. There was nothing left of his life on Etion. It had been a hard blow for him. It had not taken him long to realize there was hardly anything left of its people, either. Centuries of shipbuilding had taken its toll. Soil that once covered the land was now down in the delta to no avail, soaked in salt water, unusable for many years to come.

They continued down towards the city. Zollam stopped. "What do we do with these?" he asked, pointing to his stigma on his forehead. Simmiolas pulled down the cloth Zollam covered his head with and tied it tightly. He made sure his own was also covered. He could handle the burn mark of a banned man on his forehead, but they would hardly be let into the city, and it was highly desirable that they were. "It's still there, even if it's not visible," Zollam protested. "Only in your mind," Simmiolas replied and smiled at the stunned boy. "What's not seen, doesn't exist until you show it. Pretend it's not there, and no one will see it. Act as banished, everyone will see it." They reached the gateway and were stopped by the guard. "No beggars," he shouted. "We are no beggars," Simmiolas replied. "Only long-distance travelers who have had the misfortune to suffer from robbers. We intend to stay in one of your inns for a night or two and then proceed with one of your prestigious ships." "Well, how are you going to pay for this if you've been robbed?" the guard smirked. Simmiolas put a hand inside his shirt and brought out a purse, which he opened. "With gold of course. Robbers don't always know where to search to find what

they are looking for. It's far less than what we had before they attacked us, but enough for our current needs." Zollam and Vepresila stood silent and kept a dignified countenance without appearing surprised. The guard could only confirm that the three of them probably spoke the truth and more importantly could pay, so he let them in. Simmiolas did not blame Vepresila when she showed reluctance to go through the gate. It was, after all, a place surrounded by a high wall and guards, like the Temple that almost cost her her life to leave. He had to assure her the guards were there to keep the unwanted out of town, not to keep them inside. Although he knew she trusted what he said, the fear of being locked inside behind the walls was strong. She walked with slow steps through the arched gate and out on the other side, into the city. Simmiolas smiled at Zollam's excitement when he saw the houses. For Vepresila there was nothing new that homes could be built in stone, but what she saw was something unusual even for her. None of them had seen houses of wood. Many of the buildings had a ground floor made of stone and one or two floors on top of wood. Given that wood was scarce on the island now, Simmiolas guessed they dismantled the old houses and built new ones with the same material, the style of the homes were the same as those when he was a child. Sills and stocks looked old and worn out. The city wanted to reflect a richness and abundance that no longer existed. There was no money to maintain the buildings. Zollam and Vepresila did not see what it had once been but the current luxury and wealth they represented to them here and now. In the center of town were larger buildings entirely constructed in stone. Simmiolas saw they were built on a base little suited to the weight. The towering buildings had sunk into the soft ground. The houses were initially placed on bedrock. When demolished to be moved they had been rebuilt in all its splendor on land where a different flair would have been more appropriate.

Simmiolas found a seamstress who agreed to sew a simple dress for Vepresila the same day while Vepresila stayed there waiting. In the meantime, Simmiolas took Zollam down to the harbor to find a trading vessel that would call at Alsyone. They located one and Simmiolas spoke to the captain and settled on a

price. Simmiolas knew Zollam was still reluctant about the whole idea of leaving Etion. He did not want to appear cowardly or ignorant and kept most of his opinions on the issue to himself. Simmiolas did not mind. They bought some bread, salted meat and beer. Vepresila beamed in her new dress when they picked her up. Simmiolas understood the seamstress' awe of joy. It was a simple dress of the cheapest cloth in the store. But it was colored, and it made all the difference. Vepresila had never had a dress of dyed fabric before. Every roll of material in the store had been dyed. Poor people did not go to a seamstress, and wealthier people wanted their wealth to show. Though not intended he had given Vepresila a dress of higher status than her means. Not that it mattered. Simmiolas rejoiced with the former priestess even more by giving her the confidence to carry their little supply of money. He thought it most convenient since her new dress had pockets. He himself had never become comfortable to the tribal custom of hanging everything needed to the belt, or inside the waistband. He had missed his pockets. They went back to the dock, where Simmiolas pointed out to her which boat they would go on board. In a quiet place by the end of the row of ships, they sat down on some barrels and ate their food. Vepresila pointed and asked about boats and the sea. Simmiolas, though being a son of a ship-builder, soon ran out of answers. The first time he had sailed across the waters, he had been far too busy with the adventure to learn how to navigate his father's ship. The second time he had been eager to get home. When evening came, they walked up and down the streets without visiting any inn. Simmiolas two traveling companions had no experience of such and did not know there were places to stay for those who could pay. Simmiolas had only the illusion of coins, but he could use them, just as he used them for payment earlier in the day. The question of not paying real money did not concern Simmiolas as much as what he was about to do next. The coins he paid with would, someday, when no one thought about them, disappear, lost in the big picture. Something that would not befall those who had little money and always had an eye on the contents of their purse. What he would do with Vepresila was much worse.

As darkness fell, the streets emptied and the trio walked alone. The rattle of a guard patrol echoed between the houses. In an instant, Simmiolas seized Zollam and shoved him into a side street and left Vepresila abandoned. She barely had time to notice their disappearance until the guard patrol came in sight. The captain in the lead saw her. "You there! Stop!" he commanded. Simmiolas had a tough job to keep Zollam quiet, especially when his sister got her hands tied and was abducted by the guards. Only when they got out of earshot, he released Zollam, who spat out a series of angry insults and profanities. Finally, he asked what Simmiolas thought he was doing. "Vepresila has to go to Alsyone alone." "She just got dragged away by those men as a prisoner!" Zollam yelled back. "She'll say she has a place on a vessel to Alsyone tomorrow. She's well dressed and has the money for the trip. They'll be happy to make sure she gets on the boat." "We could've seen to it ourselves. Why would she go without us?" "Zollam, your sister can't know why." Zollam stared at Simmiolas, and he whispered shocked: "You're going to send her to that school for magicians." Simmiolas nodded. "But she's a woman! You denied me to travel, but let her go!" "That's just jealousy, Zollam. It doesn't lead to anything worth your energy." Zollam gave him a hateful look and ran after guard patrol. Simmiolas was not slow to follow suit. A bit ahead the captain ordered halt because he and the others heard the echo of a shout behind them. Simmiolas hid in the shadows and watched the captain of the guard, Vepresila and most of the patrol turn around and scan along the street. He knew why they seemed confused. It had appeared as if someone came running, but now the road was deserted and silent.

They waited a moment to see if anything happened. The captain ordered them to continue and they disappeared out of sight. Simmiolas went up to Zollam who stood in the middle of the street, frozen in mid-step. They had not seen him since Simmiolas had influenced them not to notice. Fortunately, the patrol had been minor. He took Zollam's hand, and the solidified pose softened, and the boy came to life. Zollam yawned wide and asked if they could go to bed soon. Then, to Simmiolas horror, he put his thumb in his mouth and sucked, like a small child. "Please Zollam, come back," he begged, but there were no gods who could hear his prayer and Zollam himself did not understand the request. There was only Simmiolas himself, and it was beyond his ability to do what had been done undone.

Chapter Nineteen

Meeting with Gods

They slept in an inn for the night. The following morning Zollam was still behaving like a small child. Simmiolas went down to the harbor to ensure that Vepresila was sent away with the vessel as he had hoped. A guard was with her, but otherwise, she did not seem to be battered. She scanned the people around her, searching for someone. It was no wonder. She had imagined the three of them would travel together. The captain welcomed her aboard, and he saw him shaking his head when she wanted to pay. Simmiolas smiled, eased. The captain was honest. Simmiolas had already paid for the crossing. The captain took her below deck, probably to show her to her cabin. Then he saw how she came back out on deck again and stood at the railing and gazed out over the docks. The guard remained because he, like Simmiolas, wanted to be sure she stayed on board until the time of departure. Simmiolas reckoned the guard would do his job and went off to buy some breakfast for himself and Zollam. When he came back, the ship was fully laden, and the captain gave orders for departure. Vepresila was still standing at the railing, hoping to see them. The gangway was withdrawn, the ropes were loosened, and tugs helped out to get the ship from the dock. The guard waved, and Vepresila raised her hand in answer, then she turned away and walked to the bow. The sails were hoisted. Simmiolas went back to the inn. Zollam waited for him. He invited the boy to eat, but Zollam picked absent in the food and chewed without much interest. "I plan to return inland," Simmiolas explained. "Would you like to me?" "?" Zollam asked.

"Will you go with me, or do you want to do something yourself?" "Do?" the question bounced back. "Beloved brother, what have I done to you?" Simmiolas whispered. "I don't know." Zollam's eyes filled with grief and confusion as if he knew something was lost and that things had not always been as they were now.

Vepresila stood in the bow and watched the horizon. Simmiolas had wanted her to embark on this journey on her own, but why? And why abandon her, instead of saying straight out what the plan was? The whole story was weird. Where had Simmiolas and Zollam disappeared to? She could have sworn before the Gods she heard Zollam shouting her name, but he never appeared. When she was shown to her cabin on the boat there was only one bed, and the captain said the man who paid for the trip had demanded one place to sleep and said it would be for a woman. A company of three had never been discussed. But why Alsyone? Why not give her the money and say she was allowed to travel wherever she wanted? He had arranged for her to end up on this particular vessel, without giving her ample opportunity to select for herself. Part of her was defiant and wanted to get off in the first port they arrived at. When she learned their first port was at Alsyone, she figured she could pay to stay on board for the next instead. Part of her was immensely curious about what Simmiolas had in mind and what would await her. As she stood there lost in thought, the captain came up to her. "Young miss is not the first youth standing at the bow of my ship on their way to Alsyone," he grunted. "If you ask me, you should stay away. There's something fishy about that island." "In what way?" She was worried and curious at the same time. "Young people, they go ashore, continuing inland of what I've heard. Other young people embark. Nothing strange in that, perhaps, if it wasn't for the story going in the harbor. Those who go ashore disappear without a trace out on the

moors. And others come out from the moors like pale ghosts." Her curiosity had gained the upper hand over the unease. After all, she only needed to fret about herself. No one cared whether she lived or died. And she had no obligations to anyone. Why worry then? Had she not longed for the freedom to do as she pleased? "Thanks for the information, Captain, but I'll nevertheless leave this ship on Alsyone." "If it's money, young miss," the captain said, "I can offer you to cross to the next port for free." "Thank you, it was very kind of you, Captain, but Alsyone is the place I want to go." The captain sighed. "I thought so. Let me know if you change your mind." Simmiolas wanted to see her to that particular island. The island from which he had claimed he was from. If it was true or not, she could not know, but he must have known there was something special about the island and probably what it was. Had he been one of those returning pail as ghosts? What had he then faced? The risk was that he was not as amicable as he seemed but she dared to take that chance. She had been locked up in a temple and just wanted to get as far away from that place as possible. Out and see the world. Now that option was open for her, and she would probably be stupid if she did not take the chance. The port town was smaller than the one on Etion and not surrounded by any walls. It was a collection of buildings of various kinds, scattered along a gently rounded cove and along the waterfront where the piers had been built. The town lay on a green slope with grass and trees and appeared friendly and inviting to Vepresila's eyes. The captain had reminded her of his offer and added that they would be at the port for three nights. If she returned, she should not take any chances but leave with them, he begged. Without a pack of any kind, she would have to accept that offer if she did not find whatever it was she was supposed to see. She had bought some food and a cloak but did not want to carry more than necessary.

Two roads left the settlement, both following the coast, one in each direction. Without knowing where she was going and why she set off along one of the roads. The road had two muddy furrows that the wheels had formed. Soon Vepresila had left the houses behind her, and she walked alone on the road. On her right, she saw the sea, when no hills were in the way. On her left, she had a billowing landscape with lots and lots of low flowering ling which made the land bright purple. It was about this heath the captain had told. A path turned off the road and out into the softly shaped, yet harsh landscape. The tiny flowers and soft dunes stood in contrast to the rustic, low sharp shrubs and the hard soil they grew on. Without hesitation, she chose to follow the path. After a while, she went up on a hill to get a better view of her surroundings and found that she had a lilac landscape with dunes like waves on the sea on all sides. She had followed a path, she knew how she got back to the road and the sea again. If not? Could it be that all these young people just lost their way? But it seemed too unlikely. Why would people go out on the moor to begin with, if they had no purpose? What purpose did she have? To find out why so many went out here and without coming back again? It felt as if she was helping to keep a legend alive. An undramatic story about people who went astray to find the reason why so many went astray. The sun began to set, and Vepresila thought about how she would solve it for the night. It did not feel like it would be cold, as it always was at home at night. A fire would still feel good, both as protection against animals and any cold. Though animals… Had she seen or heard so much as a mouse or a bird since she left the road? It was hardly any monster on the lose at night. And if it were, it would not care about a fire, she thought. How should she keep a fire from spreading and not turn the rest of the heather on fire too? Better to find a good place to sleep. Her new coat had to be enough. She found a dry and protected area and curled up. The nights at the Temple had been bad at best. This night would not be worse. She fell asleep. The next morning was overcast and gray. Vepresila searched for the path she had followed, but it was not to be found. She wondered how tired she had been yesterday when she was searching for night quarters. Had she gone off the trail

before she discovered her camp, she would indeed have pursued it in vain. She went up to the top of a hill again and took out the directions after guessing where the sun was behind the clouds. Should she try to find her way back to the road, or continue inland? Reluctantly, she was forced to realize her only chance of survival was to get back to the town. Not to take the boat away from there, but to buy more supplies and try again. So she turned in the direction she thought that she had come from. The day went without her seeing a glimpse of either sea or road. The landscape became significantly flatter, and finally, it was a completely straight horizon all the way around her. She knew she had gone the wrong way and turned back, but the flat landscape did not seem to end. From the clouds above her came a persistent rain which soon made her cold and drenched. After changing direction a couple of times in an attempt to get back to somewhere where she recognized she had been before she saw a house in front of her. Cold and wet as she was, she would have thought the smallest hut was like a palace. This house was bigger than the main temple, three stories high and solid gray stone. It had many windows, and they shone with a welcoming, warm light toward her. She knocked on the door. It was opened at once by a woman who seemed to be in her age. "Welcome to Mirabilis" she smiled. "I'm Leola. Come in." Vepresila was not slow to obey and stepped over the threshold with chattering teeth. "Come, we go to the refectory first," the woman who called herself Leola invited. "So you get warmed up and get a little in your stomach." They went through a long, gray stone corridor. Vepresila now saw the other woman was dressed in pants. She could not recall she had ever seen a woman in pants. She had both jacket and tros of the same material, in a warm amber hue. Around the waist was a wide black belt and on her feet high, black boots. The jacket had a wide hood that hung down her back. Her long hair was gathered in a ponytail and swayed back and forth across the fabric. Leola pushed a large door open. On the other side was a grand room filled with long tables and benches to sit on. Pillars and arches held up the ceiling high in the gloom above their heads. The rain outside drummed on the high windows in

the hall. Most of the refectory lay in shadows. "We eat in here," her guide told her and brought Vepresila to a generous, brick fireplace, high enough to stand in. There hung a huge, black pot above the burned-out ashes. It was empty. Vepresila sank down on a stool and wished she could get a blanket to wrap up in. Leola picked up a large, shaggy blanket from a pile and laid it over Vepresila's shoulders. Before Vepresila had time to think much of it, Leola pointed to the ashes in the fireplace, and a small flame slid away from her fingertip and lit a big, roaring fire under the pot. Vepresila blinked. Uncertain if what she had seen had been in her imagination. Leola picked up a bowl and spoon and served porridge out of the pot which had just been empty. She handed it to Vepresila. Unable to say a word, she accepted it. It was hot in her hands. The fire warmed. In spite of what she expected she felt almost back to her normal self again if it was not for what the other woman had just done. The pot had been empty, of that she was sure. And there had not been an ember in the ashes either. The fireplace had been as cold as the rest of the room. Leola sat down and regarded her. "This is not a dangerous place," she told her. "It's just different." The smell of the porridge was too tempting for Vepresila's hungry belly, and she put a spoonful in her mouth. "Tastes good?" She nodded in reply and Leola smiled. "If there's anything you'll get here it's good food. Plentiful and hot, so you keep the cold away from the body. Unfortunately, this place is always chilly and gray." Vepresila's thoughts gathered. She watched the room. The hall was drab and cold, with seats for several hundred people. The porridge she ate tasted not only tasty but amazing. So Simmiolas came from this place. "What kind of house is this?" she asked. "A school, you can say. Or lyceum, if you prefer that word." Vepresila was not familiar with any of the words. "It's a place where you learn things," Leola explained. "This is a school for Recreators. Is your hunger satisfied?"

Vepresila blinked and saw that Leola held out her hand for the bowl. She had eaten all the porridge. She nodded, and Leola took the empty bowl. "Come, I'll show you to your room." Leola rose, but Vepresila remained. "You sound as if I should stay here." The other woman smiled, but Vepresila continued to wait for an answer. "It's late, and you must be tired. I encourage you to get a good night's sleep and be refreshed when I tell you about who we are and why you're here. It'll feel better, I promise." Vepresila did not like being told she was tired and what was best for her. Neither to not get answers to her questions when she wanted them. On the other hand, she was tired and would rather not get anywhere but into a bed. She got to her feet without an argument. Leola brought her up a spiral staircase to a new stone corridor. This had trees painted on the walls and with such finesse that they almost seemed real. "It's so difficult to find the right door without any kind of markings." Leola sounded almost apologetic about the decorated walls. On both sides of the corridor were doors. They turned left only to follow another painted age. "How big is this house, really?" wondered Vepresila who found the inside no longer fit into the building she had seen on the outside. "You'll soon learn to find your way. It's not as difficult as it may seem. Here's your room." She opened a door, and Vepresila went into a narrow chamber, barely larger than the cell she had in the Temple. But this had a window and a fireplace built as a cylinder of stone in a corner. The hole for the fire could be covered with two shiny brass shutters. They were ajar and behind them were a fire which gave the room a warm ambiance. And there was a bed. A real bed, not directly on the floor but a bit up, on wooden legs, which would keep the insects away from you when you were asleep. "This keeps the heat well." Leola patted on the cylinder. It went all the way from the floor to the ceiling, as if the chimney started directly on the floor, ed the

fire and went straight through the roof. "So there is no need for a big fire. Not that you need to worry about maintaining it of course, but we try to make things feel reasonably normal." Vepresila sat on the bed and felt the soft blankets and sheets. "I leave you now. I'll come and pick you up for breakfast in the morning. Will it work for you?" Vepresila nodded, and Leola left. Too tired to think straight Vepresila lay down on the bed and fell asleep. When Vepresila and Leola arrived at the refectory the next morning, it was full of people along the tables. Everyone had the same kind of clothes as Leola. Vepresila felt she stood out in her dress though no one was staring at her. Every eye she met belonged to a friendly, smiling face. They filled their bowls by the fireplace. When they sat down at a table, Vepresila noted they were all young. She saw a few who could be as young as twelve, but no one seemed older than sixteen or seventeen. There were no adults and no younger children. They were a mix of both boys and girls, although it was a bit difficult to see which because they all had the same clothes. The boy sitting next to her stretched out his hand in greeting and said: "You're new. I'm Nomas." "Vepresila." They used names here at least. That was a positive thing. She eyed him after they shook hands. His hair was neat like a bowl around his head. She guessed that he was about twelve. "Would you rather have had the same clothes as the rest of us?" asked Leola. Vepresila shook her head. No, she was not ready to disappear as part of a homogeneous mass yet. She had had quite enough of that. Full stomach and warm clothes by all means, but she was not going to enter the flock. "Everyone's so young," she whispered. Leola nodded. "Something you should know is that here is no time. You'll not grow old, no matter how long you stay here. The clothes will not become worn; candles never burn down."

"The rest of the world?" "I really don't know," Leola replied. "However, we're all young, because when we come out, we'll have time to do our jobs before we grow old and die. It takes many years to train a Recreator. Much longer than a lifetime, they say. So if the time is to be profitable, we've to have pretty much left of life for our work." "Simmiolas never asked if I wanted to go here," Vepresila protested. "No one can be asked first," Leola explained before Nomas on her other side interrupted: "Simmiolas? Did you say Simmiolas?" Vepresila nodded. "It was he who helped me feel at home when I was newly arrived" he gasped. "How is he? Does he manage?" Vepresila shrugged. "I guess so. He managed to get banished from the tribe with my brother." "Is that a good sign?" the boy asked in surprise. "He's doing well," Vepresila ensured him. Vepresila and Leola went to what Leola called a library and Vepresila gazed in wonder at all the shelves with scrolls and books. There were shelves on every wall and across the floor, squeezed in between tables and stools. "Can you read?" Leola asked. Vepresila shook her head. "It'll be easier for you if you can read. You want to find out things on your own. May I teach you? Through the Recreator way?" "Now?" Leola nodded. Vepresila shrugged. Leola took her hand and closed her eyes. Within, Vepresila felt as if she dreamed, though she was awake. Images rushed through her mind as when you dream but faster. Somehow she associated it with

how it would be like to get a bucket of ice cold water poured over her head in slow motion, like you had time to feel the water gush over you before it reached the ground. The whole thing was an incredibly surreal experience. She could tell right away it was not pleasant. Leola released her hand and pulled a scroll out of a shelf. She spread it out on one of the many tables and asked Vepresila to sit down and read. To her surprise, the characters formed words and sounds in her brain, and she could understand what it said.

In the beginning was the Word And the Word was with God And the Word was God And all things were made by God In the Word was Life And Life was the light of humankind

And God gave the Word to the people to be used as they saw fit.

God also gave humankind the Free Will With the Free Will humankind could fully understand the Word And without the Word the Free Will is boundless and thoughtless And scatters more than gathers

With the Word and the Free Will humankind felt a great arrogance And felt they did not need God They built themselves an image, called it God And claimed to own God

Then God left humankind. The people forgot the Word But ed the Free Will That without the Word is boundless and thoughtless And scatters more than gathers

The world of humankind was soon to come to an end Those who ed the Word came together And agreed to try to save the world of humankind And they called themselves Recreators.

"You are chosen to become a Recreator," Leola breathed. "You'll get divine

powers if you want to call it that." Vepresila felt the world spin around her. She turned away, threw up her breakfast, and fainted.

Chapter Twenty

Visitors

When Filia woke up, she was in a soft bed, and she could hear the sound of chirping birds. She opened her eyes and saw she was in Dem's house. No other home could appear the same as his. If nothing else, she knew his figurines in wood well enough. The door was open, and the sunlight flooded inside. She got out of bed and found she was still wearing the dress she was hung in. Disgusted, she pulled it over her head and threw it into the ashes on the fireplace. Naked, she scanned around for something else to put on. In Dem's wardrobe, she found pants and a shirt. Dem had been taller than she, so she had no problem using the clothes. She heard familiar sounds outside and went out. Satéll sat on the bench outside, sharpening his sword. He looked up. "How are you?" She sat down beside him and leaned against the wall. How was she? What was the answer to that question? She felt better now when she had slept, but she still felt the eruption of hatred and resentment smoldering within. Satéll pointed across the meadow. "I buried him over there. Dem." "For someone who kills people, you have a fascinating ability to care about people's dignity." She felt the acid sizzle on the tongue. Satéll's eyes burned against her skin, but when she turned her head, he did not watch her at all, but his work with his sword. "What happened when you were hung was an impossibility; we both know that. No one can sneak out of a hanging noose. Not as long as it's intact. How did you do it?"

"I don't know." "You don't know?" There was a wave of anger in his voice that surprised her. "No, I don't know. I wanted to die." "Who stopped you?" "Myself." "Yourself. But you don't know how?" His voice faded into resolute frustration. "You don't need to get angry." "If you are who you claimed you were by the campfire, you've powers beyond human reason. Forces you could use for something useful. And what you do is go around and be intimating, bumming for the throne and then long to die when your plans come to naught. It's feeble! You're the most self-centered person I've ever encountered! Did you never feel like helping other people with your powers? The only thing you seem to have done with them are things benefiting yourself." Filia flew from the bench, blazing angry. "I was born to be Queen! It is my right!" "That was a long time ago! You didn't become queen. You became something much more than that, but you're too blind to see it." "Much more," she sneered. She sat down on the bench again with arms crossed and eyes the other way for lack of better things to do. She could hear Satéll stifle a laugh. She turned her piercing eyes towards him. "Did you say something?" It seemed as he had difficulty keeping the corners of his mouth under control. She felt she began to steam up the inside. "Sometimes it's so obvious that you're still a child, that's all," he explained and smiled in a way that made her so furious that she did not know what she would do next. She stormed away from him, out into the woods.

Unlike Saela, the forest had never had a calming effect on her. A forest was timber. A walk in a forest was usually a stumbling experience with ruined clothes and bites from small annoying insects. But despite this, she had rushed out into the woods only because she wanted to avoid being close to Satéll. Eventually, she stopped and sat down on a rock. Everything was so confusing. Filia had known who she was and what she did, and where she was going, but now the world had collapsed around her. Or rather, her world had run away from her, while everyone else's reality went on as usual. She almost felt like when she came back to Lahall after all the years on Alsyone. And Satéll's accusations! What right did he think he had to accuse her of being one or the other? Everyone had the right to be who they were. That she was born to be a queen was something he just had to accept; it was who she was. "Well met, Filia," a familiar voice saluted her. Amazed, she bounced up and stared at the Master of Water as she stood in her blue-gray robe beside her. "Master," Filia greeted back, dazed. "I did not know you ever left Alsyone." The Master smiled. "It happens. In necessary cases. Like yours." "Because I was about to be executed?" "No. Unfortunately, that's something that happens to our Recreators from time to time, and if we showed up, we would not make things better." "So, you let them be killed?" "Yes. My visit is not about your execution. It's about something fundamental we missed in your education." The Master made a gesture with her hand to move back to the cottage. "We decided it was our duty to correct it." Filia obediently followed her Master. She was still angry and upset. The sudden arrival of Master of Water did not change this. When the first surprise subsided, anger welled up again.

"I don't want anything to do with you!" she hissed. Master of Water turned with a hard stare. "We train young people, sometimes even children, for hundreds of years for them to be able to use their skills and keep the world alive for perhaps sixty years. We know what you think of that, that we take these children from their homes and families. But when is it ever an appropriate time to leave life for three hundred years? If those years are of any use, it must at least be reasonable to expect sixty active years; otherwise, we must train more than we can handle. And if we stop to pick up students, the world will die. The world cannot survive without us." "Oh?" replied Filia and strode past the Master. "I think the forest and meadow here do well without my involvement." "The next generation will not agree with you. And the generation after that will have no forest at all if no Recreator takes care of it." "I'm not a forester. Install someone else to take care of it." "Don't you hear what I'm saying? We train as many as we can, but that doesn't mean we have an abundance of Recreators to deploy when someone doesn't want to do what they should. You're one of the few who so obstinately refused altogether. Some do a worse job than we hoped for, I it, but at least they try. You, on the other hand, have completely neglected your duties. You are the cause of the poor harvests!"

Satéll sat on the bench and stared at the two. He had long ago forgotten he was sharpening his sword. Filia had come back out of the woods, as angry as she went, but she had managed to find someone who barked back. It also happened to be someone she was willing to listening to, even if it seemed reluctant. The other person was wearing strange clothes. They were blue-gray pants and a long shirt with a belt, together with knee-high black boots. The shirt had some extra layer of embroidered fabric that seemed to shimmer like waves on water. The clothing wore no trace of dust or wear, which felt unnatural, considering she hardly conjured on the spot there. Or had she?

Filia and the woman were talking about Recreators, and Filia referred to her several times as Master. Was it possible this was one of those who had given Filia the power she had? He wanted to say much about that choice, but right now, he preferred to sit on the bench and watch. He did not want to it it, but if Filia had divine powers, the teacher had it in even greater extent. He did not wish to begin the meeting with a god by scolding her. Satéll was not a frequent visitor to the Temples, but he had always been convinced about the existence of the Gods and some form of existence after this life. If Filia's story was right, there were no gods, only these Recreators. It felt strange to pray to a human, and Filia seemed not to be the one who was interested in her role as a goddess. If that was what she was. A deity could not walk around and fiddle with small local affairs, could she? Would they not care for the overall things? But on the other hand, how many farmers did not ask for a good harvest in just their little piece of land? Maybe it was such things Filia managed if she wanted to.

Filia struggled with herself. At a distance, she could see how childish she behaved, like she couldn't control it. No matter how angry she was, Master of Water was right; she had neglected the duties they imposed on her. She did not consider them important enough. Without being asked, she had been given a task that would claim the rest of her life. At school, at Alsyone, she felt enlightened. As King Antes' adviser, she had felt enlightened, too. She felt older and wiser than all the others. Now she only felt silly and stubborn. She took a deep breath and let the air out. Anger prevented her from thinking clearly. She let out the frustration in the exhale and felt the negative feelings leave her. She still had a lot to say and ask. Here, she had a unique opportunity with one of the masters. She would take advantage of this. There were better places to put their time and effort than arguing. "Feel better?" the Master asked. Filia nodded.

"We'll start with something to eat, I think." Filia nodded again and went ahead towards the house.

Filia stood by the fireplace to make a fire when she began to cry. Satéll, who had followed the two women inside, asked what the matter was. Filia muttered something about Dem. Satéll led Filia to a chair and continued the fireplace duties, glancing at the blue-clad woman. She did not seem to be bothered by his presence, but did not confirm it either. "Who was Dem, anyway?" he asked her. Partly to point out that he was there, and partly because he was curious about the strange man. "I met him when I came back to Lahall," Filia began. "I was fourteen and without home and family, thrown into a world that moved on without me." The bitterness filling her words was aimed at the blue-clad woman, but she did not hear it or chose not to take the bait. "Dem was a kind soul who gave me food and shelter in exchange for household chores. I fell in love, but he could not see more than a child. I was older than that, but he did not see. It took me some time before I could bring myself to understand it was how everyone saw me. Right then, I just wanted to have his love, one adult to another. So I used the powers I had and tried to make him understand, to get him to love me. I did the job well. But still not. The man I loved was gone, and instead, I had someone who would love and protect me until death. Someone I could not love any other way than as a faithful dog. The roles were reversed, of no use to anyone." "So it was you who made him such?" Satéll asked. "How did you do it?" "Like when I read minds. It's like a book to read. However, I can write in the book too. And blur things out. With Dem I... did too much." Satéll did not like the idea that the finger he had felt scouting around inside his head had been able to do so much more than it did. "I've not dared to do it since. I didn't mean for him to become like that. Something went wrong."

Master of Water nodded. "It's dangerous to make changes in a person's mind. All your accumulated experiences and memories result in who you are. If you change something, you also change your personality. It's inevitable and difficult to survey." Filia attempted to dry her tears, but a flood of new ones came. "Filia, you have to accept what has happened has happened. Repentance helps nothing. Let it go and move on." The Master's voice sounded cold. At the same time, Satéll realized what the woman was talking about. He would never be able to survive intellectually if he felt remorse for all the people he killed. Regret was a poison capable of distorting the mind of anyone. If you do not listen to the little voice within before doing something irreversible, it was just crazy to listen to it afterward, when it never fell silent. "It's so easy to say," Filia sighed. Satéll caught himself nodding, though the comment was directed to the other woman. "You have to get past your remorse before we can move forward," the blue-clad said. Filia struggled to keep the tears back. "I don't know how," she whispered. Satéll frowned. It was a crazy idea, but perhaps it could work. "Would you be able to cure yourself if a poisonous snake bit you?" he asked. Filia shrugged. "I should be. I've never tried, but it ought to work." "I've always seen the remorse like a poison. Imagine your remorse for Dem is a poison rushing through your veins. Get rid of it as if it was poison from a snake." "But it's not the same thing," Filia protested.

The woman in blue nodded approvingly toward Satéll, and she continued his train of thought. "We're not who we are because we see things for what they are, but what they could be. God created the world from what she had inside her mind. She created matter from the Word. You learned the Word, Filia, and you can shape matter from what you have in your mind. Make the regret into poison and then burn the poison from your blood." Filia sighed. "You know I've never believed in that." "And it comes from one who fell through a hanging noose without dying? Who broke her chains and overturned people and buildings with a scream? You can believe what you want about the forces you have, but you don't have them less because you deny what they are said to be," the blue-clad insisted. Satéll saw how confused and stunned Filia got over all this.

Chapter Twenty-One

Journey inside

"Maybe a cup of tea first?" he offered her. Filia nodded. A couple of cups of tea later, Filia had thought everything through. She felt formative and focused enough to do the job. Master of Water had promised to sit with her and help her if needed. To do what was inside her mind into something real, tangible, was something only she could do, but to have mental was comforting. Though they had not yet been together for even a day, she found herself understanding there really was something she had missed in training. She could not quite get what it was, but she had been reminded she could, or should be, so much more than she ever bothered to make use of. Why had she not? She sat down on the bench outside, with a dead straight back and hands in her lap. While humming a tune, she began her walk into her mind. Somewhere far away, she knew she complemented the humming with hand movements, but she left the interest of her shell behind and continued into the rarely visited regions. She did not have to go far. Black tack covered all she found. It had run into many nooks and crannies. Her remorse had darkened her more than she ever imagined. There were large lumps that blocked the paths in multiple directions. With sudden insight, the similarity between her and Turpa was evident as daylight. Uncomprehending, she had faced her friend's bitterness without seeing they were two of a kind. She could see the regret in materialized shape in the state she was in now, but she could not do more than inspect the mess. It was her vision of it, but it was not real tack. How could she turn it into the actual matter? She wondered how she did to create a small sun in her hand and how she could make an illusion out of nothing—everything she did by thinking.

She closed her eyes and imagined the black goo floating down and disappear out into her blood. She opened her eyes and saw how big drops of goo were sucked up and disappeared around her. The roads opened, and everything got brighter and brighter. Without warning, she fell into a black, bottomless pit.

Satéll saw how Filia collapsed, her body plagued by convulsions. He rushed to her aid, but there was little he could do. The woman in blue grabbed her hands and squeezed them hard. She then appeared to be as absent as Filia. Satéll fetched cold water and a rag and wiped Filia's sweaty forehead and waited. It felt like an eternity before the blue woman returned to reality. Exhausted, she fell on the floor next to Filia. "She'll be fine," she assured him, out of breath. "What happened?" "She wasn't able to take care of the poison when she created it. If she forgot or didn't have time before it took hold of her, we have to ask her. But I managed to burn out enough for her body to manage what's left on its own." Satéll sat astonished at what he had just witnessed. "Can't you stay here for good? You seem to know your things better than Filia." "When I've helped her with what we missed in her training, she'll hopefully perform her duties, now when she's got all her remorse out of her system. Give her a chance, and don't despair."

When Filia woke up, she felt light-hearted in a way she could not recall she had ever had before in her life. It was still early morning, and she saw Satéll and Master of Water sleep on the floor on makeshift beds. Filia tip-toed past them and out to the meadow. She felt the cold dew on her bare feet. She wiggled her toes in amazement and watched the droplets slide off and onto the ground. Was this the way she would have felt in recent years if she had not done as she did to Dem? She felt no regret any longer. Done was done. But she was curious.

She ed the black tar in her mind and shuddered. "Feeling better now?" She heard the Master's voice behind her. Without turning around, she nodded. Filia felt she was still ambivalent about the Master's presence and the power the school had had on her life. A thought flashed through Filia's head, and she swung around. "Do you get older now?" The face she got in reply was evasive. "You've left the timelessness, right? So now you're totally normal, just like me." "None of us is normal in any significant sense," Master of Water pointed out. "We're still human," Filia returned. Master of Water leaned her head to the side and watched Filia. "I am human," Filia insisted. She knew the lack of agreement was a way for the master to say there were no fixed answers. In this matter, Filia was certain even if her master was not. She was human. Filia wondered if Master of Water was equally enthralled by the colors and the warmth and the scents as she had been when she left the timelessness behind. On the school grounds, inside the bubble beyond time, everything was gray and chilly. There had been days and nights, but the sky was always overcast, and the sun was forever hidden behind thick layers of dense, gray clouds. There had been light, and the fires had been burning in all fireplaces, but it was as if the light and warmth could never reach as far as it was supposed to. The clothes were warm, so she did not have to freeze in a physical sense, but the gray notime was challenging to ignore. "Will it be difficult for you to return?" she asked. "After seeing how it is out here, I mean." When she got no response, she continued, "Are you a part of the World's Mind while you're here? Does your mind still hang together with the other masters? Can they hear what we say?" "Are you going to fill your mind with new bitterness, or should you try to do the best you can of the situation?" the Master asked in return. Filia had never ceased to be fascinated by the calm objectivity in all the masters'

voices. It was rare that anger or irritation crept into their tones. Joy was the only feeling that occurred regularly. The master would have had every reason to sizzle at her, but the question was asked with soft objectivity without rancor. Filia herself still had a long way to go. She tried to wipe away the vinegar from her thoughts. "What did you forget in my education? To remove my feelings?" She bit her lip. What was it about her? "There are so many more emotions than aggression and hatred and sadness. Joy and hope are more creative feelings, and that's what we focus on. It doesn't make us insensitive. You know we don't oppress feelings. But we've learned — and do our best to teach our students — to manage and exploit them." Filia nodded, afraid to open her mouth, spilling more vitriolic words. Within, she knew she needed the Master to get a grip on herself and her life. She could not escape whatever it was the school's Master had prepared for her. "Shall we begin?" she asked and smiled. Master of Water nodded. "We have to wake your friend first. I think we're going to need him. And he would probably want to have breakfast before we get started." "Is it not you who want breakfast?" "Maybe so." The Master grinned.

"What do you want with me?" Satéll asked when they finished eating, and Master of Water waved at him to follow with them. "I think you've something Filia lacks," the blue-clad replied. Satéll could think of many things he had that Filia had not, but he found it hard to believe any of them were the right answer. "We teach our students to take care of nature," the woman began. "Take care of, in a way, no ordinary human can. We use the powers that God gave us a long time ago, which is almost forgotten by humankind in general today."

"You're some kind of Gods," he summarized. The woman shrugged. "Not in a sense, the one who created our world was a god. But together, we have the same kind of power over all living things. A sort of World Mind." Satéll shivered. He was not a person who was interested in issues surrounding the Gods. Even less have such a discussion with someone who claimed to be part of a collective deity. Given his employment, maybe it was even better if there were no gods at all to judge him when that day came. He asked her to get to the point. "You," she said and turned to Filia, "grew up in a sheltered world as a princess. We believe you never got the natural feel of the living like most get when they're young." Satéll saw Filia hostility spike. "There was nothing wrong with my childhood!" "You know we never talk about right and wrong, Filia," the blue replied. "I'm not here to accuse you or anyone else," Filia muttered an apology and got an encouraging smile back. "So, what do you mean?" "I think the lady in blue was wondering if you ever climbed a tree as a child," Satéll added to the dialog. "Of course not," Filia replied, puzzled. "Picked herbs and vegetables in the garden?" "No." "Swam in a creek?" "Please!" Filia exclaimed. "What would that have looked like?" "I did it as a child," Satéll enlightened her. "Swam in a creek?!" Filia shrieked, terrified in a way that almost got him to laugh. "Not just washed yourself?"

"No. Swam. And climbed the trees and helped my mother to pick what was needed from the garden. It's the most natural thing in the world." "That's what I thought," the blue-clad eased. "Your friend here was close to nature while you were kept away from it. None of our students have had that background before, what we know of, so we failed to teach you the basics. We handed you the Word without foundation." Filia spent the rest of the day with Satéll. She lay in the grass and watched the clouds, practiced on climbing a tree, which for the most part, according to her, was a quite nervous and uncomfortable experience, and waded in the creek. When she stood with the water a bit up on the calves, she became aware of the birds' song above her head. Satéll watched her as she leaned her head back to see them. After a while, she told him about the trees' greenery; it had different shades of green, and the sun behind shining through the thin leaves revealed a beautiful network of wires in each leaf. He could almost see how, somewhere within her, something began to wake up. Terrified, she told him about the feelings she had, which had never ed her body before. It was a pleasant sensation in itself, but it was not entirely agreeable for her. She was afraid of this new sensation. To address this fright, she did not return to Dem's house as Satéll thought she would. She remained with her feet in the creek watching the treas. "It was something I learned early as a child," she told him. "The best way to cure fear of the unknown is to it what caused the fear and watch it until it's no longer something strange. To exclude the alien is nothing but limiting at all levels. As a future queen, I needed to learn to make decisions on the most accurate basis as possible. I couldn't shut out and refuse to learn about things unpleasant or uncomfortable." So she opened up for the new emotions. "I began to understand why Saela loves the woods and doesn't see the market value of the timber when she stays here." They laughed. Satéll also stood with his feet in the water. He caught Filia peeking at him in a way she never had before. Perhaps he looked silly. "Did you swim naked in those creeks?" she asked. "Well, of course. How else? We were just kids, you know. Kids don't care."

"I want to swim. Would you be so kind as to leave me?" Satéll nodded and left.

Satéll encountered the blue-clad woman outside Dem's house. She sat on the bench and seemed to enjoy the sunshine. After some hesitation, he sat down beside her. He thought of Saela who, despite her background, always walked in the woods and swum in every lake since she was young. It was such a difference between Filia and Saela; it seemed unlikely both came from privileged homes where no expenses were too high. The difference was there before Filia became who she was today. What had Saela become as a Recreator if they had chosen her instead? He glanced at the woman beside him and saw she watched him too. "I don't want to be rude," he started, "but do you have a name?" By the look she gave him, he found it difficult to determine if she was amused or just considering whether she should tell or not. "Ulleas. I'm Master of Water." There was silence for a moment. She laughed. "That must have sounded overly dramatic in your ears." Satéll nodded and ed the laugh. "I'll call you, Ulleas if you don't mind." "That'll do," she replied, still close to laughter and Satéll's eyes wandered away to the forest. This was not some little girl but a grown woman, and an attractive one too. Not so much to the body's shape and face perhaps, but the eyes and the laughter went straight into his soul. "I heard before you named your god as she." He found himself staring at the ground and forced his eyes to face her. "As I it, you've female gods in your culture," Ulleas replied. He nodded in agreement. "It's true. But if there were only one, I would've thought that it was a man."

"Why?" Satéll shrugged. "The life-giving seed, I guess." Satéll cleared his throat, embarrassed and expected a laugh from Ulleas but she responded with another question: "With this reasoning, it must be a divine couple, right? A man and a woman together." His cheeks turned red and hot. He tried to blur the image he got of depicted copulating deities in the Temple. "I refer to the Creator as she because I'm a woman. It's nicer and more personal with a sex than naming the Creator as it. Meanwhile, I find it quite strange to think that a god would have a sex in the first place. But we like to think they are as human beings, don't we? But God is a broad sense, a great mind, a consciousness. The Word. It's no human being with human needs." "Didn't your god left when the people became arrogant and felt he was not needed? It feels like a human trait to get angry." Satéll grinned. He had punched a hole in what deep down he hoped would be a fictional story and nothing more. "I hadn't thought Filia had interest enough to tell you that much," she mused. "I'm glad she made an effort. If you see God as a person in the story of the world's creation, then yes, then God became angry and left us. If you see the story as metaphorical, one can interpret it differently. Imagine the Creator as a big cloud. The cloud is a consciousness, a power of creation, or whatever words you want to use. That awareness created our world and all who live here. "And I don't mean that it said plop and it all came out all ready to go. Everything took its time, but the Consciousness — God — was at work, urged on and developed this world. And the people. The cloud surrounded everything, and the people shared consciousness with all life. But we also got a Free Will, and this meant many chose to step outside our collective consciousness, for it felt more important to be an individual than to be part of something bigger. The cloud became thinner and thinner as people withdrew from it. In this way, one can say that God left the people. We Recreators retain the small glimmer of the cloud that is left." "And if you lose it?"

"Probably, life will die. But obviously, no one knows for sure." The urging feeling he had in his lower abdomen was long gone.

Filia watched Satéll disappear between the trees towards Dem's cabin. She was not the only one displaying new sides to the other during the day. He was quite handsome too. She undressed and dropped naked into the cold water with a shiver of pleasure and the childish delight of doing something forbidden. She lay in the cold water and looked up at the sky while listening to the water with the ears below the surface. She had dipped her head in a bathtub before, but it was just like hearing less. The creek had a different sound. Did everyone hear whispering voices from the water, or was it only those with her magical skills? She ed the lessons of Alsyone, how enlightened she had felt, privileged over all other simple people. What a queen she would be. Queen, the Queen. Master of Water had said she never got a grip on what the knowledge they gave her meant. As she listened to the quiet voices, she wondered if they were part of her path toward greater understanding, or if it was just she getting cold. Filia rose out of the stream and walked up the river bank. She picked up her clothes and stepped into a spot of sunlight near the forest edge to let the sun dry her. Surprised, she noticed there was life around her, everywhere. First, she took for granted it was a swarm of some flying insects, but she neither saw nor heard any. Somehow, she knew there was a gray bird with a blue spot on the head in a nest in the tree next to her. He was brooding on eggs. Four, no, five eggs. The female speckled in gray and brown colors. A squirrel hid behind the trunk, afraid of humans, even though there was a stream between them. It was not without all this frightened her. If this were going to be a new permanent feature in her life, she would never get a chance to be alone. Maybe free of other human presence, but she felt a hundred different pairs of eyes staring. Somehow they signaled their company and their emotions to her. Suddenly she felt incredibly naked and exposed and put her clothes on. "You should have chosen someone else than me," was the first thing she said

when she returned to Master of Water, who sat together with Satéll. "We don't have the habit of returning to our old students and blame them for their choices. Everyone has their reasons for choosing a particular student, and we want it that way. If only we masters would choose, the pupils' differences would become insignificant and the abilities fading out. Only by teaching a large number of diverse individuals can we thrive, and life remains." "Is it former students who send new students to the school?" Satéll asked. When he received an affirmative answer, he turned directly to Filia. "Can't you send Saela?" To his surprise, she shook her head. He asked why. "She knows it. The one I send must be ignorant of the Recreators' existence. She would understand what was happening and not get in." "How convenient of you to tell her, then," Satéll snapped. "It didn't occur to you she would be a perfect Recreator?" Filia shook her head. "No. She's too old. And I've never considered sending a new student, either." She caught the Master's gaze. "Is it so strange I felt that way?" "No. But let us return to what you said when you came back, that we should have chosen someone else. Why did you say that?" Filia fidgeted and did not know how she would explain it without sounding completely crazy. "I like to be alone. I must be alone sometimes. And now, now I feel life all around me. They don't really care about me, and even fewer are actually watching me, but I know they are there, what they know and where they are going and what the grassroots whisper to the earth under my feet. I'll go mad if it goes on like this for long." Master of Water gave Filia a hug, which was warm and safe, and spread a sense of tranquility within her. "You've taken a big step today, my friend, and opened many new doors you

never even knew existed. Be happy and proud if you can, Filia, and sleep well, knowing that you'll soon be able to manage your abilities better. You've now learned what we thought everyone could when they come to us, and the result is what you describe. Others learn to get into it step by step. You use your powers in full for the first time today. The storm in your body will fold, and you'll what we've learned about controlling your senses."

Chapter Twenty-Two

From the top of the mountain

Simmiolas stood on top of the mountain and contemplated the distance they traveled. The coast had long since disappeared. Now it was only rocks, stones, pebbles, and sand in all directions. At the foot of the mountain was the oasis and their old home in the cave, but it could not be seen from up where they were. Simmiolas had made sure they took a detour to get up on the mountain unseen of any tribe . "Are you going to make rain now?" Zollam giggled beside him. Simmiolas nodded and sat down. There was no valid reason why he chose to be near the tribe which banished him. They could make his work difficult if they knew he was there. From their point of view, he was a danger to them. His reasons for choosing this particular location was on an emotional level far more than practical; He knew the people and wished them well. "Aren't you starting soon?" Zollam was impatient. Simmiolas began to hum and move his hands in a smooth pattern. His voice rose as he felt the clouds gather over their heads. When the sunlight was hindered, it became chillier. "If it'll rain, shouldn't we get a shelter?" Zollam exclaimed. Simmiolas stopped in the middle of a movement. The boy had a point. Soon they would sit in the pouring rain. He got to his feet. "Well, sure. Thank you for thinking of it. May I help you build one?" Zollam liked to feel he was the one who ruled and Simmiolas asked for advice and help to keep him pleased. In many practical things, Zollam was also witty and handy. Simmiolas scanned up at the clouds. They would manage without him for a

while. If he waited too long, they would dissolve and disappear instead of releasing their content as rain. It was worth the risk to have somewhere to stay dry. To build a shelter was easier said than done. Their building materials consisted solely of stone. It was not suitable for quick construction. Eventually, they found a crevice they could exploit on the side of the mountain. It was narrow and would not work in the long run, but was a functional place for the moment. Simmiolas squeezed out of the cave and went back up to the top. The clouds remained. It surprised him, for they had spent a lot of time to find shelter. He searched for the sun's position. Something was not right. If he had gathered the clouds so quickly, they would take just as short a time to dissipate. Nevertheless, they remained. He called for Zollam. The boy came. Still, with his eyes on the sky, Simmiolas asked: "Where was the sun when I began to gather the clouds?" Zollam pointed, and Simmiolas shook his head. "It's impossible. The sun doesn't go in that direction." "It went from there to there," replied Zollam and pointed to the horizon in the west "and then went on up there again. And went there," he added, pointing to where the sun stood. Simmiolas felt the ground sway under his feet. "You mean you were sitting out here all night while I was singing?" He closed his eyes when he saw Zollam nod. He had gone off in his evocation and lost the concept of time. He thought he had sat there for a just moment. It had been a full day and night. He fell to the ground and fought for breath. Zollam sat distressed next to him and asked what was wrong. Simmiolas tried to collect his thoughts. "Zollam. I'll not get through this without your help."

A few days later, they sat in the cave and listened to the rain. Zollam had made sure Simmiolas received food, water, and sleep. In between, he had been

working on their cave to make it more livable. It was still cramped, but Simmiolas preferred they had a bit to eat and drink than sleeping comfortably. With his forces, Simmiolas had found a spring of water not too far away. The difficulty was the food. Although Simmiolas could attract animals, it would take time from his work. Zollam loved to hunt, but the animals were few. It was also scarce of vegetation. Simmiolas considered the mere presence of man right then was nothing but destruction, his own included. Perhaps that was the solution, he thought. To let the people get extinct and then allow nature to repair itself. But what would happen if humankind was destroyed beyond any possibility of recovery? And furthermore, it assumed people had other islands to survive on. Today there were many islands in balance but how would the situation be in two or three hundred years? If Etion were left to its fate humankind would survive in other places, if all the other Recreators did their job. Humanity was for all time dependent on the Recreators. Since the people had forgotten the Word but held on to the Free Will, they had lost the ability to manage the World sustainably. People's rampage was a devastating force, even though no single person had the intention. They tried to live functionally, but without the Word, their efforts were no more than guesses of the needs. They could no longer hear and understand. Simmiolas had once been one of them, and he understood beyond any doubt that without the Recreators, their life was doomed to decay and disappear. To protect nature without the Word was like without sight, hearing or hands try to take care of an animal. All you had then was a rough idea there was an animal, but you would be unable to sense its mood or even know with certainty whether it was the right animal. With vision, hearing, and hands, Recreators were in a better position to understand the needs of nature. It was precisely what made him know they were in a hurry before they starved to death.

"It looks as usual," Zollam expressed his disappointment when they pondered the result from the mountaintop. It had stopped raining, and the ground became dry in the sunshine. "Where's the green? You said it was going to be green." "Over time, yes," Simmiolas assured him. "Patience. For it to become green, it

needs something to grow in. First, we have to arrange soil. Do you know how to create soil?" Zollam shook his head. "Decomposed plants." "But the plants need soil," Zollam stated confused. "Not all plants. Mosses and lichens do without." "So now you make moss?" His voice sounded morose. Simmiolas guessed he felt cheated because he thought that everything would be green in a flash. "I make nothing," Simmiolas explained. "I help. The spores must come from somewhere. I can not conjure them up out of nothing." "You got money out of nothing." The protest was justified. He could do illusions. But the illusion was precisely nothing more than an illusion, which looked to be something it was not. Simmiolas tried to explain the difference, but was unsure how much Zollam grasped. "There's father," Zollam interrupted and pointed. And walking up the mountain Mannestam came indeed. Zollam's thumb disappeared into his mouth, and he sucked on it like a baby. "I guessed I would find you here." He came up to them and gave Zollam a puzzled eye. The boy returned his father's glance with a broad smile with his thumb in his mouth. "We've made rain! Did you see it, father? Did you see? It rained!" Simmiolas saw Mannestam's gaze move from his mentally rejuvenated son to him, and his eyes were hard. "Can I find your actions behind this?" he asked, and Simmiolas knew he was not asking about the rain. "He... " Simmiolas began but broke off. He had not intended to say anything but the truth, but it struck him that what he had done to Zollam was such a cruel act on his part. He had made a mistake that could not be undone. Simmiolas had left it behind him and moved on, but Mannestam who just now was confronted with the result of Simmiolas' action had not.

"He didn't listen, and I had to stop him. I misjudged the strength of my actions." "I let him go with you. I thought he'd be safe," Mannestam hissed. "That he might be able to learn from you and to build his life with honor somewhere. Such a fool I was." Simmiolas felt he ought to appear guilty to appease Mannestam, but it was something he was unable to. Feelings of guilt and remorse were meaningless, and he had learned on Alsyone to leave those things behind him. If you did not think about it before you did something, it was pointless to rethink things afterward for other purposes than to learn from the results. To try to undo the consequences led nowhere. It was not always an easy task to let it go, but a necessary one. "What happened did so beyond your control," Simmiolas said. "You did the best you could." "Thank you for those words," Mannestam grumbled, and Simmiolas heard the cold in them and understood he had said something inappropriate. People's anger confused him. Especially when it was about things beyond one's reach, untouchable by oneself. Being angry and rant about things that had been, and things you had not even accomplished yourself was something he no longer understood. Somewhere deep inside, he knew it was the result of hundreds of years along with the people who made him into a Recreator, but it did not make it easier to understand the swelling hatred he met in Mannestam. "I wish I held your heart in my hands so I could smash it," the tribe leader growled from the depths of his stout body. Simmiolas exposed his torso for him. Not so much because he believed Mannestam would kill him, as he did not know how else he would respond to the other's frustration. Mannestam drew his knife and put it against Simmiolas bare chest. Simmiolas felt the sharp edge against his skin. He swallowed hard, stood still and waited. "You created rain!" his former stepfather shouted, and threw the knife on the ground. "I can't kill the one who may save the tribe! Not for my own need for revenge." Mannestam took a couple of steps back. "I do not even dare to curse you, for who knows what it'll bring."

He turned and went back down the mountain without looking back.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Into Eternity

Vepresila lay on her bed and watched the flames in the fireplace. A fire that always burned, with fuel that never ended. It looked so real. She could feel the heat. If she went closer, she smelled the burning wood. She had burned her hand on the flames. Yet it was an illusion. Though her skin had been flaming red and pained her, it had healed as if it had never happened. She wondered if she was in a real bed and a real house or if that too was an illusion. The whole world around her could be a dream. It was not. She felt she was about to cross the border into madness. The fire in front of her eyes was not that hard to grasp. Leola had said they were Recreators and what that meant was not trivial things. For one who all her life sought to get closer to Illu, the Goddess, it was unrealistic and blasphemous to suggest the real divine forces were there if you only wanted to learn. One way to handle it was to claim everything was heresy, and all they had were illusions and tricks. The second approach was that the life she had marked out for herself and willingly followed was a lie. Had she not seen and heard Simmiolas? If she had not known him, she would never imagine what they offered her was more than a scam. Even if she had not been able to take in the offer entirely, she knew the school was indeed the real thing. Simmiolas had brought her there. Simmiolas who knew she wanted to travel and see the world had sent her to prison. She had gone from one closed temple to another. They would not scare her and flog her to win her obedience, but she would never be able to leave until the Masters released her. Naturally, she had tried. She had opened the gate and walked away, straight out over the moor, away from it all. Several hours later she had been back at the

entrance again. Leola had tried to say something to her, but she had just turned and ran away, without listening. Additional hours later she had, cold and frozen, returned to the same place without her wish. Leola had told her everyone tries to leave once or twice, sometimes even more, but no one had ever succeeded to leave the bubble of timelessness on their own. Vepresila tried to go for an entire week. She aimed for some landmarks, but the ground was so flat it was difficult. She kept track of where the sun was, but it was behind gray clouds. She made sure the building behind was always behind her. As she walked, she tried to compensate for walking in circles, to keep a straight line. No matter method, she still always returned to the starting point, cold and hungry. Leola waited patiently for her and made sure she got food in front of the warm fire every time. When she had given up her hope to leave on her own, she had spent a lot of energy on being angry and frustrated, which proved even more useless. No matter who or how she provoked, she could not make anyone mad. Not even when she hit Leola in the face and shoved her down to the floor, it had brought any anger. Leola had, however, stopped taking care of her and she had been left alone in her room. She was free to move around in the school, but she had suddenly found herself completely alone. Hot food was always in the dining room when she came in, but no one was seen. Vepresila was not afraid of being alone, and because the isolation had come as a direct result of her violent outburst, she took for granted she was subjected to punishment. Since there had been people around before, she assumed she would sooner or later get back to the others. The fact was, she enjoyed her solitude. In the certainty it would not last forever, she took advantage of what she assumed was a time-limited period. On her own, she went to the library and read the books and scrolls. They did not tell her as much as she had hoped. Most of it seemed too complicated for her. She kept reading because she was delighted by this new-found ability and its possibilities. But it did not help her to get away from the feeling she was becoming crazy. She looked into the flames and wished she could turn off all thoughts.

Someone knocked on the door, and Vepresila sat up. In the doorway stood a

woman dressed in blue-gray pants and tunic, but with the same black, soft boots as the other students. Over the tunic, she had some thin outer layer that looked like glistening waves on the water. "I'm Ulleas, Master of Water" she introduced herself. "May I come in?" Vepresila nodded, and Ulleas sat down beside her on the bed. The thin fabric on the outside of the tunic billowed as if a wind still come across the water. Vepresila looked at her and wondered if she was dreaming somehow. "Are you real?" The question was stupid. She would get a yes, no matter how real or unreal the person next to her was. And indeed the woman nodded. "Most of this is real. The people in particular." "Is this bed cover real? The bed? The house?" Ulleas nodded to all her questions. "Timelessness does nothing unreal." "The fire? Leola said the fire was an illusion." "It depends on how you look at it," the Master replied and considered Vepresila with dark, clear eyes. "It has flames, and it gets warm, you get burned if you put your hand in it. All a fire should be. On the other hand, it consumes no fuel. It's alight in timelessness, which makes it everlasting. So in a way, it becomes an illusion, because it behaves like a fire in every aspect except that it doesn't use up the wood. It's a fire, frozen in time, and so also the heat it emits. You could say the heat is the same heat that constantly surrounds it. Do you understand?" Vepresila pondered and nodded. Yes, she did. Although what the Master said sounded crazy. It appeared more reasonable than an illusion. She got an explanation that given the circumstances she was in, seemed logical and understandable. Timelessness began to take shape and gain control and become something other than a sense of madness in her head. "I was a priestess," she began. Ulleas watched her without interfering. "I fled from the Temple. All my life I dreamed of coming close to the Goddess as her chosen. The Temple felt so far from the Goddess as it possibly could. I was glad to get out of there."

She threw a shy glance at the Master beside her, wondering it what she had said was something inappropriate, but Ulleas just listened with interest. "Once I got a glimpse of what more there was to see in the world, I wanted to travel. Simmiolas fooled me. When he said we would travel to Alsyone, he said he came from here, so…" The anger did not flare up anymore. "Simmiolas had his reasons for choosing you, and we never question a former student's choice of new students," the other said. "You're here, and even if you're here against your will, we wish you no harm. The sooner you accept the situation, the better for yourself." "You want me to be a ive fool who just accepts her situation?" Vepresila thought of all the women in the tribe at home who never questioned things and always followed the rules that applied to appropriate conduct. So even her mother. "Nay!" Master of Water returned. Vepresila jumped at Ulleas' protest. "We want your questions. The more you question things, the more answers and new solutions we'll find. The world is in constant motion, and it's important not to do what we've always done just because we don't dare to do something differently. Questioning is an important part of education." "But I can't question the fact that I'm here?" "Of course you can. There's no ban. Other than that we don't let go of students who we don't think can handle the knowledge we've given them." "Then I question your right to keep me here." "You've read our story, how our world was created. Then you know the God who once created our world has left us. She gave us power in the form of the Word and the Free Will. Together they form the Sense of the World. A kind of spirit, or the Cloud or whatever you want to call it. A mind all living things share. Most people have left the Cloud. And when they did, they lost the feeling for the nature around them and began to destroy it. Not consciously. But simply because they did not understand better. They couldn't listen anymore, and understand that they disturbed the equilibrium between giving and taking. Without us, the Recreators, the world will perish in time. If all Recreators stopped doing their job today, it might take hundreds of years, but the world would die. Do you

understand?" Vepresila nodded. "I understand what you say, but I don't believe it." "You don't need to. A person's life is not long if you consider how long the world existed. We need to take young people so that they have time to do their tasks." "Why can't they be allowed to choose for themselves?" "We've tried that. Believe me. Our story is not quite as long as humankind, but almost. You have time to try many ways to solve things at that time. And all experiences are recorded. When we let young people choose, we received many with a hunger for power or glory. It turned out we needed a diverse group of people for the results to be good. All kinds of people are needed. It's true even for Recreators." Master of Water leaned toward her and put a friendly arm around Vepresila's shoulders. "It might be nice to know that you'll always be welcome and can never be wrong or unworthy of our eyes." Vepresila fought tears. Physical had been avoided in the tribe. Mothers held their babies, but when the children were four or five years old they stopped it, and they taught them not to touch other people. All had been prohibited in the Temple. Not only regarded as inappropriate but something to be punished. The only time someone had touched her was when they tied her with the rope from the ceiling. This strange woman's arm radiated such warmth and security. She did not feel offended or a victim of a violation. She had met someone who wished her well and cared about her. Finally, her face got soaking wet in a stream of tears, and Master of Water hugged her like a child. She did not know how long she was crying, but it felt liberating, and she stopped fighting back. When the tears had ended she mumbled: "I'm sorry I hit Leola." "Tell her that yourself." Ulleas smiled at her.

"Can I see her?" Vepresila was hopeful. She had begun to yearn to meet other people again. "Of course." Vepresila flew up from the bed and out the door. "Vepresila," the other's voice called her back. The Master pointed to a hook on the wall where a set of school clothes hung, unused. Her first impulse was not to change, but it was nothing but senseless not to. The border between defiance and questioning could perhaps be subtle, but just then the change of clothes felt nothing but natural. Ulleas left her alone. Vepresila pulled off her old clothes — the dress Simmiolas gave her — and pulled on the new and felt the warm, soft fabric comfort her skin with a shiver of pleasure. She would not have to go into eternity ruffled and frozen.

Chapter Twenty-Four

In the shadow of what once was

Master of Water left them a few days later when Filia proved she had some control over her new mind. Filia and Satéll remained in Dem's residence. Satéll became more and more impatient, and one morning he prepared his horse. "It's time for me to return. I have a king to overthrow, and I've already let him wreak havoc long enough." Filia nodded without making any attempt to stop him, or follow along. "I need your help, Filia," he requested as gently as he could. Filia may have adequate control over her abilities. Yet within her, there was still a lot of confusion. Who was she? And what would she do? She would save the nature of Halliakon, but where and how were still unanswered questions for her. She agreed Frater must be removed from power. Satéll suggested she should accompany him and take the throne after Frater, but she shook her head. No, somehow there was no such need for her anymore. It felt uninteresting now though she strove all her life for it. She turned toward Satéll when she heard him laughing. "I never guessed you were blond," he grinned. Filia put her hand to her head and felt the hair longer than it had been in three years, but still little more than stubble. "You thought my hair was black, didn't you? Would fit the suit the better. I guess my freckles also arrived at this point?" Satéll leaned forward and examined her face. "Well, yes, actually. Unbelievable. You can soon for a human." Filia snorted. Satéll became serious. "For the last time, will you follow me back to

Lahall?" She closed her eyes and searched within for the answer, but soon she turned her interest outward and listened to the nature around her. Gently and unfamiliar, she sent out a question. She felt or heard how the question was forwarded between all who lived and how it somewhere far away came to an answer back the same way. She was full of wonder it was possible to communicate without actual words. She had asked if there was any particular place people destroyed right now and received an answer emanated from the destructiveness of the stone-clad hill: the Castle of Lahall. Animals had no reason to suspect a particular person. Fields and forests were destroyed. There was something there they felt — in a person or the place; she did not know. She nodded and opened her eyes, only to realize Satéll had grown tired of waiting and ridden away. The sun had moved a good bit over the sky since she closed her eyes. No wonder he gave up. In practical , she was irritated because he had left with the only horse. On foot, she would not be able to catch up with him. Whatever ability Master of Water used to get there and leave, it was beyond what she had learned. She packed what was needed and set off towards Lahall on foot. It struck her as she walked on the road that she never made her way anywhere on foot any long distances before. She had always ridden a horse or a carriage but never walked. When she thought about it now, it felt like she had ever had so much else to think about than the very nature she had around her. For a moment a spirit of bitterness hovered around in her mind and tried to point out all her previous years had been a kind of lie, but she pushed the thought aside. It was nothing but destructive and would not bring her closer to a solution to either the current state or the future. What has been, has been. Learn from it and move on.

In the absence of makeup, she got dirty with mud on her face and on her clothes to avoid detection. The snakes on the cheeks and forehead were too revealing, though she was not bald, pale, and dressed in black anymore. Although it was not a role she would resume, Filia was a wanted woman. She also knew she was linked to many unpleasant and uncomfortable things by most. She had been a dark, fearsome power and publicly humiliated in the crudest way.

In the same situation, she had demonstrated an uncanny destructive inner force that struck people to the ground. It felt like Filia had created too many memories for the townspeople for her to do well not to return at all. But she must return. Lahall was the center of what was now destroying nature, and it was her job to correct it, whatever it was. No matter what history she had with the location. The city Filia met when she wandered onto the streets was nothing of the city she knew. Although it was the middle of the day hardly any people were seen and most shops were closed. Left were a few trade shops and a miserable group of townspeople who appeared to be in a hurry. There was anguish among the houses. Anyone she saw disappeared as fast as they could around a corner. It was as Filia wondered if it was her they fled. When she encountered two soldiers who wandered down the street in full armor, she got enough explanation. They pushed her against a wall and asked her who she was and where she came from and where she lived. Her evasive answers did not fall in their favor. "We don't want beggars here," one of the soldiers hissed and put a fist in her stomach. The air went out of her, and she sank to her knees. A foot hit her head so hard she thought it would explode and she landed flat on the ground, and everything went black.

Múllirem saw Filia's eyelids flutter. She stroked a cool cloth over her forehead and cheeks. "Will she survive?" Satéll asked. She heard the concern in his voice. A nod. Filia would survive. One of her cheekbones was probably cracked, and it would ache for long, but otherwise, she seemed to have escaped in stunningly good shape. Should she be surprised? She had seen how the girl had had a hanging noose tightened around her neck and still fell straight through it as if it was not there. Was it the same magic that worked now, or had the girl just been lucky? Soon enough she might get an answer. Múllirem pulled Satéll out of the room. It was getting dark, and soon the others would come. She wanted to get a few minutes with Satéll alone. Time was short; she went straight to the point: "I choose to trust you, but the others will not be as easy to convince." Satéll

nodded, understanding. She smiled approvingly; This was not a naive fool. "I'll be perfectly honest with you," she continued. "Filia wasn't very popular. Don't take for granted that she's welcome." "You'll find it difficult to do this battle without her. Me, I'm just a warrior, but Filia, you would really benefit from her." Múllirem agreed. There was a knock on the front door, and she started to walk down the stairs. "She can speak for herself when she's awake. Until then, you be sure to make yourself credible enough to convince them." She walked down the stairs and opened the front door. Vetes waited outside. His legs had had time to heal, and he hurried over the threshold so that Múllirem could close the door again. "I heard it'll be an interesting evening," he murmured. Múllirem nodded. That an assassin and a witch could constitute an exciting meeting was an understatement. It was a significant risk they took, implicating them all as rebels. The group was brittle as it was. At the same time, it was probably their best time to get Frater from the throne. He was not popular, and it was a good chance they could get from others once started.

Satéll listened to Vetes' and Múllirem's muffled conversation downstairs. He would never get away from his background and what he had done in his life. It was not possible. No use to deny it. He hoped he could use it for something valuable. He knocked on Saela's door and entered without waiting for an answer. Saela sat ive and uninterested as she had been ever since he left her with Múllirem. "Are you coming?" She shook her head. "I a girl who moaned that others ruled her future," he mocked her. "It was probably not a bad life for her after all." He closed the door without waiting for an answer and went down to the others.

Proles and Vender had come too. And two he did not know; a man and a woman, brother and sister by the look of it. "He sent soldiers to kill our father," the woman explained when she saw his gaze. He confirmed with a nod. In total there were four of the old King's council. Múllirem, Vetes, Proles, and Vender. An opulent, strong woman, an old man, a young dandy, and a wealthy merchant. But if Frater's rule persisted, his wealth would not last long. Satéll had heard Frater set more stringent demands on the Dukes than King Antes ever had. They would pay sums to the castle which far exceeded what they had to give even if the harvest had been good. He wondered if the assembled resistance were aware there was no safe candidate to replace Frater with when they were done. They did not want his old master as regent because he ruined the country. Nothing was indicating that he or she who succeeded would be better. It was easy to complain. More challenging to have to achieve something of value. Satéll faced Vender's and Proles' hostile glances. "Traitor or spy," Proles growled. "It's all the same. We don't want you here." "Speak for yourself," Múllirem bit back. "Sooner or later everyone changes clothing after the weather," Vetes said in his deep voice. "Or, to put it bluntly: Who was it who ingratiated himself with the new king? Maybe you should beware of who you call a traitor, boy." Proles hissed he was not anyone's boy and sat down with a bang by the table. Satéll wondered what made him opposed to Frater now, but let the issue wait until a better time. "Satéll brought both Saela and Filia to this place," Múllirem explained. "Filia?" Proles asked. "She was beaten by the guards. They didn't know who she was." "It's not the same thing as to have him saunter about," Vender replicated. Vender came from Frater's duchy and had heard all true and untrue rumors about what kind of a role Satéll had and what he had done. Múllirem was not one to give in.

"We need everyone." "Spies, too?" Satéll met Proles' gaze. "I wouldn't have brought Filia here if I was faithful to Frater. I don't get even a fart in exchange for her being here. I also know Frater chooses his spies with better skill than recruit them from his bodyguard." His eyes moved around the table to the other five. Vetes and Múllirem nodded in agreement. Vender did not seem convinced, but not enough to make little fuss about it at the moment. The two he did not know seemed more troubled about the conversation than by his presence. "If Múllirem trusts him, I do, too," mumbled the man, and the woman gave her consent. "Can we now devote ourselves to why we are here?" Múllirem took command with suppressed irritation in her voice. She received , but the mood around the table remained tense. Satéll wondered what brought them together. Resistance, yes, but did they want the same thing? Was there anything that would remain when Frater was gone? Would a new battle break out between them at the same moment the throne was empty? He preferred to work alone rather than a group of people whose underlying purposes he did not know. But this time the task was too much for him to manage by himself. He could not change governance in the country on his own. He could kill Frater, sure, but everything that happened after would be left uncared for. It was not granted it would result in good deeds in such a situation. "Will Filia fight with us?" "Filia must answer that herself," Satéll replied. "When she can."

Filia woke up during the night and listened to the familiar voices for a long time without being able to focus. There was something pleasant to the recognition.

For a moment she thought time had been turned back and she was once again King Antes' adviser and Crown Prince Idónnes in line to become the next king. She was lying in a strange bed in the room she had never been in, with a face telling her it wanted to explode in pain. An eye was swollen shut and she could barely move the jaw without the agony rearing to heights she never knew existed. A mirror hung on the wall, and Filia got out of bed and looked at herself. It was difficult to accept what she saw. Half of her face was flaming red and swollen like a big sausage. She closed her remaining eye and searched with what seemed like an inner eye inside her body to see what more was damaged. The cheek was the worst. The stomach had also been hit but could manage on its own. She devoted a moment to speed up the healing of her fractured cheekbone and jaw and dampen the intense pain somewhat. Concentrated on this she did not notice Múllirem coming into the room. She jumped in fright when she opened her eye and saw Múllirem's face behind her own in the mirror. "Do you feel better?" Filia made a face. "Felt better asleep," she managed to say without too much movement of the jaw. Múllirem laughed. "Yes, it was a silly question, wasn't it?" "This your house?" "Yes. Satéll brought you here and he is my guest. He and I, together with the others, try to organize us so we can overthrow Frater." "They left?" "Not even the King's opponents hold counsel this late at night," Múllirem replied. "They just left. Satéll stays in the room next door. He's still awake if you want to talk to him." Filia was not in a condition to talk much right now. She shook her head.

"Saela also stays here. After your… hanging, or whatever you call it, Satéll brought her here. To protect her from her father." Had it never occurred to Satéll not to put all his eggs in one basket, Filia thought. The three who Frater most likely was looking for were under the same roof. And right now, there had been visitors there who knew about their presence. "Get some sleep, Filia," Múllirem suggested and prepared the bed. "There's a day tomorrow too." Filia nodded. She let herself be tucked in as a child. "Do you want something for the pain? Or can you handle it yourself?" Filia was wide awake in an instant. What did she mean? What did she know? Had Satéll told her? Múllirem must have seen her questions in the face. "Dear child, you fell through a hanging noose. If you have the power to do that, you might have the power to heal your face as well, what do I know?" Filia fell back on the pillow. Now she would sleep.

When the old of the council met Filia at the next meeting, they faced a completely different person than the Filia who had served King Antes. Had it not been for the snakes tattooed on her cheeks and what remained visible of the snake coming down over her forehead they had not believed it could be the same person. "I've changed," she agreed. "After a long detour, I have found my role as a Recreator." Satéll grinned. Filia could not understand what he thought so funny. "Recreator," Proles repeated. "As in recreating King Antes and his kingdom that it once was?" "No. The dead are dead, and time can't be turned back. It's about my ability to restore nature, to heal the damage people have done, and to ensure the fields give

rich harvests again." It would be pompous words in their ears, and they left an uncomfortable silence behind. Vetes mumbled something, and someone else asked what he had said. "I said, it reminds me of someone who bought sand for good money in the belief it would increase the harvests." The color rose in the face of Proles, but Vetes was not interested in embarrassing him. "What you say, comes either from a man's brain or from someone who wants to exploit our vulnerable position and profit for her own personal gain." "Are you saying I'm crazy?" Filia wanted to know. "Rather that you're selfish. So far you've proved yourself to be," Vetes pondered, without malice, but well with a voice ringing of suspicion. "Tell them," Satéll said. "Tell them who you are, as you told me, from the beginning." Filia saw their curious eyes. Five men, two women. All equally puzzled. Well, not Satéll, for he knew it all already. No one knew her as well as him. She swallowed and felt the sweat seek its way out on her forehead. "I was born Crown Princess on the castle of Lahall for little more than three hundred years ago." She could not avoid seeing their doubts. And who would not doubt such a claim? "I was washed overboard in a storm off the coast of Alsyone when I was fourteen," she continued. "Everyone thought I was dead, but I was stranded on the shore unharmed. Drenched and frozen, I searched for someplace inhabited, but there seemed to be none. Only endless heath. Dark storm clouds loomed, and the wind was like sharp teeth. I froze into my bones. Then I saw a large house far away and hurried there. It was a magnificent stone building, three stories high and with grand, arched windows. I knocked and was let in." She realized that she stood and twirled a piece of string between her fingers and her gaze fixed on a lamp on the table. She turned her eyes to the others. Their

faces were full of wonder but also of delight at the exciting story she offered, regardless of its truthfulness. Even Satéll listened. "Had I been more attentive, I would probably have noticed at once that something was not right. There were no roads or paths there. As far as you could see in every direction the ground was flat as a lake on a calm morning. No real landscape looks like that. In time, I also noticed that the sky was always overcast and gray, and day and night was just a shift in the illumination of the clouds. We never saw the sun. Not even dusk or dawn. It was just the amount of white in the gray that differed over a day." Filia shuddered when she thought of the gloomy world that had been her life for three hundred years. Living without bright colors and with fingers and nose constantly chilled had felt unbearable for periods of time. "When I went through the gate, I had unwittingly become a student at Mirabilis, a school for Recreators. The whole place is timeless, and I stayed there for several hundred years without aging, along with other young people from all around the World. We were taught that the God who created the World had left us because we thought we didn't need God. Since God had given us the Free Will and the Word we had the Sense of the World, which is God himself." Filia stopped. She did her story overly complex. She had just said that God had left them because humankind had God. To simplify she had lost the essence and made the result a contradiction. "Sorry, I'm messing it up. It's hard to explain how it's related, but once you realize how it is, it's not that complicated. It's just hard to put into ordinary words." "The key in this is: Filia is one of those who received divine power to help the world to stay alive," Satéll helped out. "Is this not true, Filia?" She struggled not to protest against the term divine power, but she knew to say anything else would be a deviation from the truth. "So you're a Goddess?" Múllirem's face was ashen. "No! No, it's not as simple as that. I use the same forces that once created the world, but on a smaller scale, a much smaller scale, to keep the world alive."

"So together with the other Recreators, you are God, as a group?" "In a way, yes. But..." "It's absurd!" Proles exclaimed. "Is it?" Múllirem objected. "She has read your thoughts just as she has read mine. By what means do you think she did it?" Filia's and Proles' eyes met. She felt pity for him. He knew she had seen his dreams about her. She had been his bedfellow in the world of fantasy. What she had seen had disgusted her and increased her disdain for Proles. Now she did not see it that way anymore. His imaginations were something he would never set up in real life. She was the one who wronged him, not vice versa. She slid into his thoughts and whispered a meek sorry. He looked curiously at her for a moment before he turned his eyes away. The insights Master of Water had given her told her she should ask for forgiveness. She had done so with every honest attention. How Proles chose to deal with it was up to him. As Recreator, she could, but should not, affect him. It was unnecessary and dangerous. She did not exist to be popular. To transform a mind to gain forgiveness was vain. She felt the interest in the rest of the story, how she returned and became the King's confidant, had to wait for another time. If it was ever to be told to them. The vital part of the story was explained. "If I'm not completely mistaken," Vender reminded them after a while, "you married Crown Prince Idónnes. On very suspicious grounds." Filia could not but agree. She briefly explained her bitterness against being deprived of her future as the country's queen and how she had not seen the benefits of her power as a Recreator. "Excuse me, but how could you fail to do that?" the woman asked, the one Filia she did not know by name. The woman's cheeks turned red as if she said something improper. Filia had not yet learned to smile to ease people. "Now that I'm aware of them I wonder that too, but nature was nothing but raw material for me then. I climbed in no trees as a child. I didn't have the whole

image." The silence settled around the table. Filia rose. "You should talk freely without my presence." "So we'll think we're talking freely, you mean," Proles growled. "Sit. I'd rather see you sitting here and hear, than know you're eavesdropping somewhere. If you're here, we can't forget you hear us." Filia sighed and returned to her seat. She could not blame him for the distrust. The Filia they knew would have listened behind the door. She might still have done that. Vetes was the first to speak. Although she did not have his confidence, she liked his calm, low voice. Vetes was not a man that came to hasty conclusions. "You've told us who you are, but you've not said a word about your plans for the future." "My goal is to get Frater away from power," she replied. "Right now he's the biggest threat to nature, to all life here in the long run. It's my duty to get him to stop harming. I can't repair the damage his actions cause over and over again when he causes more than I have the ability to heal." "And then you'll make yourself Queen." Vender was sure of himself. "No." She was not interested in becoming a queen anymore. She had more important tasks than ruling. "And you want us to believe that?" Proles hissed. "I really don't care so much about what you believe or not." Filia began to feel tired and grumpy. "I'll ensure Frater stops behaving like a fool with or without your help. You strive for the same thing. The likelihood of success is greater if we help each other." "But should you be involved in something like that," Múllirem puzzled. "I mean, it's a purely human matter. Can you get involved in those things?" Filia's mood was in decline even before the question. Now it fell over the edge. She flared up

like a bonfire and hissed: "No one has control over me, and I do whatever I want!" "Well, that feels so reassuring" Proles snapped back. "A headstrong goddess in human form that can go around poking people to death for the sake of her own peace." "I've never killed anyone!" "I plan to ensure that it will not happen either!" He pulled a long dagger from his belt and put it against Filia's throat. She could feel the sharp steel against her skin. Then it fell to the floor. Satéll had overpowered Proles. Everyone around the table was yelling and screaming. Filia was not accustomed to handling this type of fighting. In the old days, her presence was enough to silence the quarrels. Now, with ruffled, short hair and a black eye, that time was over. Satéll's voice boomed through the room and urged them to silence. He reminded them their meeting was of the secret kind and it would soon be common knowledge if they continued to shout. Satéll kicked the dagger into a corner and released Proles from his iron grip. For a few seconds, the man seemed ready for a second attack but made no moves in that direction. "Filia is no more a god than you and I," Satéll declared. "She has abilities that none of us have, and she seeks the same thing as us. Let us be satisfied with that and cooperate." "She is uncontrollable and dangerous," Proles protested. "That may be so, but she's on our side. Would you rather have her as an opponent?" Satéll saw Proles' resistance decline. "Whatever Filia saw in your thoughts, she kept it to herself. Doesn't that mean anything to you? If you could choose someone to trust, would you choose the one who reveals things, not hers to tell or someone who doesn't?"

Proles stood silent and rubbed the wrist Satéll had seized. Filia had revealed his thoughts and Satéll had not been on the council where his failure was uncovered. But she had only told what she needed in the service of the King. She had not only kept silent about his erotic fantasies but now also asked for forgiveness because she had seen them. He felt he was losing his good reputation entirely on his own, without someone to blame. He gathered his fragmented manhood and met Filia's gaze. He gave her a nod and sat down.

Chapter Twenty-Five

In bloom

When he awoke, it was still daylight. He got up and walked to the opening. Weariness ached in his body and screamed for more sleep. Zollam had asked if he did it right since the land did not become green. During his years in Mirabilis, he had learned there was no such thing as right and wrong. There were always several ways to do something, and all gave some kind of result. What one could call a fault, another could call proper. However, if he was trying to create greenery and greenery refused to come, did he not do something wrong then? The uncertainty gnawed at him. He sank back down on the bed. Zollam appeared in the opening. "Do you want some water?" he asked, holding out a newly filled water-skin, still dripping of freshwater. Simmiolas grabbed it and drank as the hole in the bag was not big enough. He returned the just about empty skin to Zollam. "How did you manage to sleep for four days?" his brother wanted to know. Simmiolas stared at Zollam and questioned if he had heard it right. Zollam nodded. His body told him he could not have slept for more than a minor part of the day. "I need to sleep more." "But… what of the plants, then?" Zollam frowned as if the world would reverse. "I have slept before." "Not four days straight." Simmiolas closed his eyes and let his body slide down on the bed. "I think the world can do without me for a while," he mumbled.

It was night when he woke up. Zollam sat by the fire. He asked how long he had slept, but Zollam rose and went out without answering. His body felt more rested than the last time. He got up and provided himself with food and water before he followed Zollam out. He found his brother at the place Simmiolas usually sat. The seat was polished by years of sitting, but the area closest was covered with a thin layer of soil beneath the moss. It was what he managed to achieve, Simmiolas thought, trying to keep the bitterness out. At least something happened. It would have been worse if all the years of effort did not prove any progress at all. "You must be here," Zollam insisted. "You must be here to sing for the earth, for the moss. If you stop, all will die!" Simmiolas shook his head. "Not that fast." "But you've said that without Recreators, people will not survive!" "That's true, but a few days' absences makes no difference." "First you slept in four days. Then in five! It's no longer a few days, Simmiolas. It's a long time!" Zollam had the time frame of a child. Etion had been without a Recreator for decades before he came. Perhaps in centuries even. He did not know. And he did not know how it happened, or if it was customary that recreators were not always there. Maybe they were so few they could only be deployed where they were needed the most. Perhaps there were islands students rarely came from. Maybe there were other reasons. Simmiolas did not know. But he knew the people on Etion would not perish for many years. If he managed to turn the direction they were going they would even be able to prosper. But it felt like he just managed a minor move. An adjustment that would make little difference in the long run. No matter what he did, it would not be enough, and it was not as it should be. He was a Recreator. He was supposed to halt and reverse the people's wrongdoings, not just slow down the fall. As it was, he would not save Etion. He just gave them some respite as well as a prolonging of the agony. Some moss would not save them.

"Zollam," he breathed. "I must return." The boy, who long ceased to be a boy, gazed at him. "Return where?" "To Mirabilis. To the school. I need to understand what I'm doing wrong." "You'll leave me?!" "Zollam, you know you can't follow me there." "But how will it go here when you're away? You can't leave!" Anger and disappointment stormed into his face. He yelled: "You can't leave me!" "I'm sorry, but I must. I'll sing for a few days, and then I'll go. You can follow me to the port if you want. And I can arrange for you to have somewhere to live and a job so you can handle yourself until I come back." Zollam glared at him with eyes as chisels and left. Simmiolas sat down on his spot, but the concentration took its time to show up. He would abandon a friend and confidant. If it was something he had learned in the school on Alsyone it was that time was a different concept there. He had no idea how long he would be gone. Zollam could have time to grow old and die before he returned. It hurt, but his mission as Recreator was more important than his relationships with individuals. How little he liked it, he could not abandon the job he needed to complete. And to do that he must find out what he would change to get results. He was just a man. A person with extraordinary abilities of deity, but it did not make him a god. It would have been easier to be a god, and not need to wonder about whether the choices he did were right or wrong. A lot of the Masters in the school insisted that the concept of good and evil, right and wrong was only an invention of man to create functioning communities. It was not something Recreators should worry about. Nature was on its own and what it did was what it was. All he could do was to , encourage, inspire, heal, and mend. That something would be right, wrong, good, or evil by nature was as absurd as to say that the grass would have a different color. Sometimes when he sat there on his mountaintop, he felt there was never a god

who created them and left, but God was nature itself; a universal force that had always been there and forever would remain there. The Recreators were people who learned to know that force extra well and decided to help nature along the way; it was their job because else the human race would obliterate themselves. Humankind would without a doubt disappear from the system if nature itself had to choose. They did not help nature, Simmiolas thought, they just helped themselves to survive. Had he fought against the God who created him? Maybe humans were meant to be destroyed? His head sank into his hands. He was overthinking. This constant buzz of thoughts! It felt like he was about to go crazy. He began singing one of the now well-rehearsed songs hoping his focus would appear. Years of habit showed themselves, and soon he was one with the songs, part of the diversity of nature and inner sense, listening to thousands of tiny mental sounds of all living things.

In the evening, Zollam tapped him on the shoulder as he used to. It was their habit. Zollam had been more than right when he said Simmiolas indeed needed to be taken care of like a child because he lost the sense of time and space. Zollam's role to remind him and make sure he got food and sleep was necessary for him to act like a human. They ate in silence by the fire. Simmiolas ired the cave. Zollam had done a fantastic job over the years. "What happened to the small narrow cave that was here when we came. You've made this into a nice home." "Thanks." "We'll come back here again," he lied and hated it. To say something as if it was a certainty when he knew nothing about the future, was a lie. Many people found them reassuring, but he barely managed to say them. "You're lying," Zollam claimed. Simmiolas nodded.

"Forgive me." There was so much he wanted to explain. He wanted Zollam to understand. He wished everyone who came and asked for help to understand. But it was as if there was a vast gap between his way of thinking and all the others. No explanations in the world seemed to give a complete and clear picture of what he was trying to convey. All his words could give them was a vague idea. There was nothing he could say that would get Zollam to understand or accept. In a few days, he would leave. He would ensure Zollam found a new place somewhere along the road or in the port city. Then he would say goodbye as he would return soon, but both would know it was not true, each in his own way. And he would never be able to get Zollam to understand why he acted as he did. It felt like a huge burden to carry; a weight that was to be left behind too.

A few days later when he woke up in the morning, the second bed was empty. The night before, he had been exhausted again. He wondered if it was a matter of his body grown older, or if he used up more energy than he did from the beginning. From the cave, he followed the well-used path to the top. It took him a while before he saw the body. On the polished place in the middle of the moss was Zollam, lying lifeless. With a few quick leaps, Simmiolas was with him. Zollam eyes fluttered, and Simmiolas heart eased up. His brother was alive at least. "What happened?" "I did as you did," he mumbled. "I tried to sing to the plants." Zollam's body shivered. It was freezing. Simmiolas tried to wrap his arms around him to give him some warmth. "The nights were so cold," Zollam whispered and closed his eyes. "So cold." "How long did I sleep? How long?!" He got no answer. With an effort, he carried Zollam into the cave, put him to bed, and got a fire

going. As the warmth spread Zollam's muscles relaxed and his breathing returned to normal. Simmiolas listen to the sounds of his brother sleeping. He went back up the mountain. Not to recreate, for he dared not do it when no one was there to bring him back to normal life, but to understand what happened. Zollam had tried to help him, fearing Simmiolas absence would cause too much damage. He blinked and bent down. All around on the ground in the moss where he had found Zollam tiny white flowers grew. He touched the petals with a fingertip. They were not his creation, no matter how much he tried to tell himself it must be so. It was Zollam's. His poor brother did not have the Recreators' skills about how to make flowers grow. He had done what Simmiolas thought was impossible. It was not. It must be he who had misinterpreted the whole thing. He, if anyone should know what was happening in nature around him. What he had thought could not happen, had just happened. No others than the Recreators could help life in the way Zollam now had done. He picked a flower and returned to the cave. He placed it in water. When Zollam awoke, he showed him the flower. "The ground is full of them out there where you were sitting." Zollam fingered it with awe. "It's beautiful," he whispered. "Have I created this?" Simmiolas nodded and continued talking about the fantastic thing Zollam had managed and asked how he had done it and what he had felt. His brother only had eyes for the small, white flower in his hand. Then he fell asleep again.

During the days that followed Simmiolas did everything he could to save Zollam. Shocked and surprised his attempts were met by resistance when their thoughts met. Zollam asked him to let go. Simmiolas would progress in life, and he did not want to be left alone, it was better this way.

Simmiolas protested. He could stay and take care of him, he repented. In return, he got an insight he had never imagined Zollam able to. Simmiolas was a Recreator, and it was not in him to care for a single person or feel remorse and guilt. Simmiolas would not mourn. Zollam loved him anyway but asked not to be left alone. Simmiolas let go and cried. Not out of guilt or shame or loss of a brother and friend, but by longing. Longing for the feelings he once had. The chaos-like, uncontrolled mass of emotions that existed in him before he became Recreator. Those which he now regarded with awe in others, unable to gain a full understanding. Although he knew it was not rational, Simmiolas wished he had been able to feel guilty for all he had done with Zollam's life. That he had the ability to punish himself for the injustice he had exposed upon his brother. All he felt was relief that he could leave unhindered.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The invisible woman

Regular secret meetings continued in the following weeks. Sometimes they lasted past midnight. Filia, Saela, and Satéll stayed with Múllirem and kept themselves indoors. They went out only with the highest possible caution. All three were wanted. Frater's guards were lured with rich rewards if any of them were captured. To dress up as beggars did not work, because those were beaten up or thrown out of the city. To pretend to be a more affluent person was not more natural because they were so few that a new face stood out. For Filia, her tattoos were too visible to show her face anywhere without being arrested. The only advantage they had was that Frater did not know they were so close to the castle. The guards in the city, as well as out in the closest duchies, went hard on the locals to find them. They obeyed directly under the King, and thus Frater overran his dukes. When Filia heard this, she wondered how long it would take before any of the who knew where they were would expose them. Filia watched Múllirem chopping vegetables. It had not been easy in the beginning, but Filia had tried to learn how to help. She was not stupid. She understood she was spoiled and used to get things without working for it. Múllirem gave her a task as soon as Filia offered her help. It was not popular among regular people to stand and watch while others worked. A reflection Saela never done, it seemed, for it did not occur to her to help Múllirem. She mostly kept to herself in her room. Filia had a hunch that Múllirem would not reveal them regardless, but she could not understand why. She proceeded to slice the potatoes she had in front of her. "Múllirem?"

"Yes?" "Why don't you turn us over to Frater? I mean, you would get plenty of money." Múllirem put down her knife and stared at Filia. "I can think of at least a hundred reasons why I shouldn't. But what it comes down to is one thing in particular. I think you can guess which one." "When I saw your thoughts and lied about it to King Antes?" Múllirem nodded. Filia ed how angry she was at herself because she took a significant risk for such a small, pointless thing. All she did was to give the King an obstacle on the road in his quest for women. The reason had been insignificant for her but not to Múllirem; she never thought about something of the kind. "I was just angry with the King when he behaved as he did with women." "King Antes was a lecher," Múllirem agreed. "He was a good king in many ways, but when it came to women his interest was only one." Múllirem had returned to her vegetables but paused again. "Did he ever approached you?" Filia shook her head and almost could not hold back a laugh. "He wouldn't dare, even if he had thought of me as a woman. No, Turpa and I were probably the only women in the palace who didn't need to worry about that." "Turpa?" "His fool." Filia saw Múllirem trying to who she was talking about. It was more than King Antes who had not thought of Turpa being a woman. Even worse was how quickly she had been forgotten. It was not just that she had been androgyne; apparently, she had not been more

than one pet, a lapdog in his master's footsteps. Filia ed Turpa juggling when she had held two of her balls as breasts in front of her. A pathetic attempt by her to point out she was a woman and not a property. It had been as desperate as it was ridiculous. It struck her when she realized that brave Turpa, who alone had gone to murder Frater, also was a woman who had nothing to lose. She had failed, and her dead body had been thrown in a garbage heap. "Are you alright?" Múllirem sounded concerned. Filia shook off the guilt that suddenly overwhelmed her. Learn from it and move on. Sometimes it felt difficult. Especially when the realization of one's actions landed as an explosive package in her arms, completely unprepared. Múllirem must have felt it was time to change the subject. "How is it between you and Satéll?" Filia frowned. "How do you mean?" "You're more or less forced to socialize with each other all day. It's a small house. It can wear down a relationship." Múllirem shrugged when she noted Filia's puzzled look. "I just asked out of concern for you." For a moment it felt as if the world was spinning for Filia. A relationship with Satéll? They were friends, but... "I'm only seventeen years old," she muttered. "In his eyes." "What should we do with Saela?" Múllirem changed the subject of conversation again. "Do? She's educated to become queen. It's a problem she should address." "Her being spoiled is the least of her problems," Múllirem remarked. "The girl is undergoing trauma. Even if you were ready to die that day, she was not. Her father would execute her. In public. If he had hung her before you, as planned, she would've been dead now." "But she survived," Filia pointed out. "It didn't heal the wound her father gave her."

Filia thought about it. Nowadays, she was, of course, familiar with the effects of adverse events and their habit to leave deep scars. Scars could, in turn, become like moats, preventing a change of any kind. "I'll talk to her," she offered. "Are you sure? That it's you who should do it?" Múllirem was doubtful. "Why not?" Filia was puzzled. Múllirem fidgeted. "Just take it easy." Filia went to Saela's door and knocked. A few moments later, she was allowed in.

In the evening, they all gathered again. The mood was dejected. They were too few to be able to go to an armed attack on the castle, and the opportunities to get in unnoticed had proven to be small. "It's as if he knows he's hated," Vender complained. "He doesn't even leave for a ride not to risk anything." "People filled with hate usually assume everyone hates them in return," Múllirem replied. "We've not talked about what we should do afterward when Frater is eliminated," Filia commented. Overall, the response she got from the others was that it was a later problem. "Is it?" she provoked. "We're fighting to get a better government, but doesn't it mean we need to know what to do next? What's the advantage of removing a king if you then start to fight for the throne among yourselves?" The others began to mumble and give each other furtive glances. Had all the old of the council hoped to get the country's crown for their own, Filia wondered. "You sow dissension among us," Vetes murmured. "Better now than later, when the country has no government at all," Filia

defended herself without hesitation in her voice. "If I'm to be a part of this, I don't want it to get a worse case afterward. For me as a Recreator it's important nature is cared for. It's my mission. And it'll not change just because we take power from Frater." "And what do you propose yourself?" Múllirem requested. Filia hesitated a second too long. "Herself, of course," Proles replied for her. "She has made it clear she believes the crown is hers." "I was going to suggest Saela" Filia objected and the dawning fraction evaporated. Satéll stared at her. "This country needs someone who s agriculture, nature, and animals. Saela will," she explained. "And she's brought up to be queen." She saw the idea sink in and Satéll nodded. "If we can agree to offer her the crown when everything is over, I have a suggestion on what to do to get close to Frater," Filia pushed on.

Saela stood outside and listened. She thought about the conversation she and Filia had had. At first, she had not been interested. As Filia spoke, she had come to see what the former demon suggested could be the solution to her problem. She had always been told she was a future queen. She knew what court life was about. Ever since the day when her father would hang her, she had been apathetic and uninterested in everything. She had tried to focus and create a future, but all thoughts had just slipped away for her. Filia had helped her to move on. Now she stood there and listened in secret to other people's plans for her future. They would make her queen. To get there, they would overthrow her father from the throne. He did not deserve her love, but he was, after all, her father, and the love was there. She opened the door and stepped into the meeting, unannounced. "You can't kill my father," she ordered.

She amazed herself. A queen must be able to conduct herself, take command. This was the right spirit. Confused thoughts had spun around in her head for so long; it seemed odd that the first solid action she did was to defend the life of her father. But love was not to be ridiculed or scorned. Love, how impossible it seemed, ought to be respected. She faced stunned looks and protests, but Filia silenced them. "We won't kill him. I can do a thing. It doesn't kill, but still makes sure he doesn't remain a threat." "As you helped me?" Saela asked. "In your father's case, I don't think it's enough to show, I'm afraid," she sighed, "but I can try."

Filia told the assembled rebellions about the secret ages through the mountain. She had no wish to have them all down there. Her resistance to tell had been tremendous. But they needed the tunnels. A few of the others became annoyed she had not said anything about them before. Filia hissed they were nothing but simpleminded people who could do nothing but be angry and scold each other and that it seemed impossible for any of them to reason. Which stirred the emotions even more. She missed her time as a mysterious dark force. Then she would not have to be exposed to that kind of silly squabbles. What was the use? Time ed while they accused her of one thing after the other. Satéll stood at her side and took some of the heat, but it made them outsiders more than ever. Eventually she tired of it all and expressed with a calm voice that they may say what they wanted about her and her actions, but she would get into Frater's bedchamber next night. If she got caught, they would be free to seek another chance on their own. The conversation gained focus but was still hesitant. Vetes said they needed to plan more. Filia snorted. Plan something that was impossible to prepare more than they already had? Satéll had insisted they did not have to decide anything right then, let everyone have time to digest it. There had been much new that evening, and it was well past midnight. Filia saw he was right and nodded, too tired and irritable to say

anything more. The others set off for home, one by one, into the dark streets. When Satéll came down the next morning, Filia fiddled with her food still annoyed. She saw him dressed like a farmer. Filia eyed him. "I didn't say anything yesterday," he grinned. "but you seem to have forgotten that the entrance to the crypt is in the middle of the agora. A conspicuous place, which in these times also is difficult to get to." Filia frowned. Her subconscious had assumed she was the only one to get inside. Even though she knew all of them were about to go, she had in her thoughts only seen herself. She nodded. "That can be troublesome." "Not if we find the other entrance." Filia could see his eyes burning with zeal. "Even if there is any, I don't know where." When Satéll previously claimed it was there and talked about air supply, he had convinced her there could be another way in, but it did not help them in the search for it. "And your abilities? Can't they help you?" Filia considered. She still was not entirely comfortable with her expanded consciousness. It was in every way extraordinary abilities and contributed to the vast experience and knowledge, but to be a Recreator was like to play a game she must win at any cost. It was a responsibility for the future of the world that felt overwhelming. From time to time she wished she could forget about it all. The weeks at Múllirem had been a time of mental laziness on her part. Reluctantly, her keen sense of duty took her back to the world that was her to manage. "I wonder what I should listen for," she mumbled to herself. "What do you hear?" Satéll inquired. Listen and hear was not quite the same, she thought but did not bother to explain. The hearing was only for the ears, and this was something else.

"Draughts," she muttered and was unperturbed by Satéll's comment that most people could hear draughts. She added, equally cryptic: "Spiders... We'll probably be able to find the entrance."

Múllirem had not Filia's previous supply of makeup, but together they had managed to create some cream which made her sallow in the face. It had the advantage to hide the tattoos, while she did not look dirty and poor, which caught the guards' attention. Together the two women had left the house in search of the unknown entrance, leaving Satéll back in the house. They had ensured him it was safer this way. Filia scanned up the mountain and the castle. "If you wanted an escape route from the castle, it feels most reasonable you have it as far away from the main entrance as possible." Múllirem nodded in agreement and added: "Ideally, outside the city limits." They walked away from settled areas and followed a path that led them around the mountain. On the other side, the trail went downhill. The number of towers grew fewer the farther they came around. They watched the hillside for something that could hide an entrance; some boulders, a crack or some bushes on a rocky ledge. "Have you any idea how far down in the mountain the tunnel went?" Filia shook her head. "It was not steeper than it was possible to transport a dead body with dignity, it turned at least four laps downward." Filia thought aloud. "Given where the lowest age I know of is located and where it leads, I find it hard to believe the spiral went so much further down than the tower that age leads to." "And the path we went on to get here sloped downward," Múllirem continued the line of thought. "So we're much lower here than the city." Filia tried to listen for something inside the mountain, anything that could give

her a clue as to where the age could be but found nothing. When they reasoned if they would round the whole hill, or if they should go back, Múllirem saw Filia's gaze get lost in the distance. After a few minutes, Filia hurried off in the same way as they came without uttering a word. It was uphill, and Filia noticed Múllirem lagged behind. She paused and waited for her companion. Filia pointed at an old cottage in stone which was built a little bit up the hill towards the castle. Múllirem's eyes went up to the castle and down back towards the house; it could be possible that their missing entrance was in there. "Do you think anyone lives in the house?" Filia shook her head and went up there. She pushed the door open and scared a few birds who built their nests there. It was long ago the place served as a residence for anyone. "This was the gatekeeper's house when I was a child," Filia explained. "The city has grown since then, and the gatekeeper must have lost its function. I suspect the origin of his job had a much more important function than keep track of who approached the city from the west." The dust whirling in the air made Múllirem sneeze. "What are we looking for?" "Presumably, the door is of wood. If I guess, I would say it's inside or under some large furniture. But," she added and thought for a second, "given the circumstances we'll probably look for... something that's not normal in a house." The room they were in was unfurnished. Pieces of unwanted furniture lay scattered on the floor. Anything substantial and solid standing towards a wall was not to be found. The house had two rooms. Together they went into the other room. It was just as deserted, apart from a few more birds and the traces of some large animal which had dwelt there. Filia slid her hand along the wall. It was part of the mountainside. There were no cracks or loose rocks. She directed her mind towards the inside of the mountain again. She had almost given up hope of finding the age with the help of her abilities, but this time she observed

something. Something moving, something alive — a bat. And, a draft of wind. Filia removed her hand from the wall and gazed around the room. "Where's the basement?" She was excited and frustrated at the same time. There was no stairway or door to find. They walked back and forth across the floor and searched. Múllirem squatted down and looked out over the floor in the light from the setting sun. "There," she said, pointing. Filia saw it too. The edge of a trapdoor was built to be hidden, but after years of dampness it bent up a little and formed a visible seam in the low light. With t efforts they got the hatch opened and found an old staircase beneath which disappeared into the darkness. Múllirem found an old lantern on the floor. She managed to light it, and so they walked together down the long-forgotten basement. Down there, everything was still as it once was left by the last gatekeeper. It was like climbing down several hundred years back in time. Filia was not sure if her father had known this function of the house, but the gatekeeper had at least known; On the wall hung a painting of the insignia that was her father's. She stared at the picture. Now when she saw the insignia, it was incomprehensible how she had been able to forget the symbols of her father's kingship. The castle with a torch on top, trees on one side, farmlands on the other. Those she would have formed to her own the day her father died, and she would take over as regent. She ed how she planned she would enlarge the symbol of the torch as the castle's top shone like a flame in the sunshine. It was the center and the heart of the kingdom. It felt strange now. Not just because it had been so long and her situation now was so different, but because she had been a child and the King in his prime. She had longed for power, but without considering it would take at least thirty years before it was hers. And when it would come to her, it was as a consequence of her father's death. A father she wanted to stay with her forever. She heard Múllirem move about in the room and she was pulled back to reality. They had a doorway to find. With accustomed eyes and guided by her inner hearing Filia opened one of the large cabinets. She pushed a few crackling winter clothing aside, which fell apart when she touched them and searched with her finger on the back of the cabinet. She found the hidden locking mechanism

and opened the door.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Meeting with the darkness

The next night, they gathered again. To Filia's surprise, the planning went smoothly. Maybe it was because they due to the second entrance could act, at last. Their plan was simple. They would get into the tunnels, and she alone would continue to Frater's chamber. The others would get into the castle through the tunnel to her old room. Satéll had insisted on accompanying Filia but had to accept he would not get through the age under the sideboard. It would be too tight for him. Filia was moderately pleased to let all these people inside the tunnels she spent so much time keeping a secret. She had to remind herself several times that time was over. Her life as a black shadow and terrifying adviser had ended and would never come back. She pulled her hand through the growing hair every time she was about to forget about it. Throughout her life, she had given herself and her own affairs priority. At first, her interests had been the health and wealth of her future kingdom. Later it had been to get the kingdom back. Now her ego was not relevant anymore. She had the power to save this country from several centuries of devastation. For the price of everything she once aspired to. Had she been asked for this exchange just a few months ago she would have thought she could not do anything of that magnitude and continued on her chosen path. Today, the choice was not only easy but also with such foregone certainty that she was amazed. She felt unease letting people close to her, but when the goal was to preserve and restore nature, there was no question what to do. She was not significant, only her actions were. In the day that followed they took a walk to the old gatekeeper's house, each in their own route and at scattered times. Satéll, Filia, and Saela were wanted people, so they got there after dark. Múllirem had been first on the scene, and

one by one let them down into the secret basement. There they stood, nine courageous people who wanted to get a king out of the way. Nine individuals that after much dwelling and accusing came to trust each other enough to carry out a coup together. They gazed at the black hole leading into the mountain. Filia lit one of the lamps they brought with them and put the fire steel in her pocket. "It's only darkness," she encouraged them with a voice confident and convincing. "Darkness is not dangerous in itself. And this was once built by human hands for people to be able to get through. There's nothing to be afraid of." Múllirem lit another lamp, prepared to venture into the void. Satéll lit the third and final lantern. "Someone who is unafraid of the dark goes last," Filia declared and disappeared into the opening. Saela hurried after her and took hold of her coat. Filia was not among those who were afraid of the dark. Especially not when she had a lantern. The shadows were nothing more than the absence of light. She wanted to set a good example. Those who felt unsafe in the dark would feel it even more if their leader hesitated. She waited for the others. Saela kept close to her. It was flattering and depressing at the same time. They would put a scared rabbit on the throne, she thought. Then came the two siblings - Riam and Mirra - followed by Vender. Múllirem came next with a lantern in hand, followed by Proles and Vetes. Satéll came last. They stood in a row in the cramped age that narrowed even more above their heads to disappear into the darkness. Filia guessed it was a natural crack that was utilized. She looked down and studied the ground. If it was a crack, it could continue under their feet and pose a risk if the material of the path had aged and degenerated. It felt reassuring the material was stones and gravel and no logs or planks. She continued up the trail and led them deeper into the mountain. The light in her hand did not reach far. They walked in silence. She could hear their breaths behind her. Most of them were fast and shallow. Instead of the path, her foot met empty air, and with a yelp of surprise, she fell forwards into a pit. With a mixture of human instinct and Recreator abilities, she managed to grab hold of the opposite edge of the gap. She saw the lantern fall to the ground far

below her and crash. Saela suppressed a scream. She had held on to Filia's cape and had let go in the last moment. Hanging on the edge in the sudden darkness, she called for Múllirem. "She's alive!" Saela yelled. Filia figured that ought to be obvious since she just spoke. She ignored this. "Send your lantern forward." She saw the flash of light approach, and she was able to assess her situation and climb out of the pit. "It's an old trap. The gap is not so wide. You can jump across." "Are you crazy?" Saela shrieked. "Had it not been an empty space you would not have any problem to jump the same distance" Filia sighed. "And I stand here and take hold of you. Now jump." Saela hesitated. Riam squeezed himself past Saela, handed her the lantern he received from Múllirem, and jumped with ease over the pit. His sister followed. She smiled at them. "Well done." Saela gathered herself, took charge, and she jumped. Filia caught her arm when she landed. To keep the balance, Saela swung out with the other arm and happened to wallop the lantern in the rock wall. The oil from the lamp's shattered container ran along the wall and caught fire. Filia prevented Saela from taking a step backward and fall. Riam smothered the fire with his coat. Now only one lantern remained. They moved from the edge of the pit to leave room for Vetes and Proles to get across. Satéll stood hesitantly with his lantern in hand on the other side, alone. "I don't want to jump with the lantern," he said. "Hold me." Múllirem grabbed Filia by her clothes, and Filia leaned herself over the black pit. Satéll reached out to her with the lantern. Although it was narrow enough to jump it felt far from narrow as they tried to reach each other. Filia's fingers

reached the lamp, and they closed around the handle. She took a step back and watched Satéll jump. Afterward, she thought that if she had dropped the lantern he would have stood alone on the other side, in the darkness next to the gap. Filia went first with the lantern, and the others followed her heels, all eager not to be left behind. Even more now when there was a bottomless pit behind them and unknown land before them. A ladder rose up in the dark. She took a few steps up on it and reminded herself it was at least three hundred years since someone climbed it. She rocked a bit on the rung, tested its strength. It was a ladder entirely out of wood, but it felt solid and dry under her hands. "We go one at a time on the ladder. It feels firm, but we don't take any risks." She heard no protests and began to climb. She was no friend of heights but felt she could handle it. When she figured she was about twice her length up, the ladder ended. It was leaning on a ledge. Still standing on the ladder, she held up the lantern and saw a narrow age close to the ground. She bent a bit to be able to see through the small opening. "I think we've found the crypt," she shouted down into the darkness. "I'll put the lantern here and crawl through an opening here. You'll come up one by one and follow." She placed the lantern on the ledge and shuffled on her stomach through the hole. She was thin and got through without any problem. The age was short. She had her arms out on the other side when her legs were still on the ledge. Apart from the tiny light from the lantern that slipped through the crack, it was pitch black. Still, she knew where she was. She did not need more than the usual human senses to know. They had found the main tunnel of the crypt, their first goal. The lamps in the statues' hands had gone out. Filia moved up the tunnel.

Satéll stood in the darkness and saw the others one by one climb up the ladder and then get through a small opening and disappear. He heard the others' comments and began to feel stressed, for he understood it was completely dark on the other side. Saela did not like the dark. He held her hand and could keep her calm, but it was not to last. The ladder and the narrow age she had to handle on her own.

When it was her turn, she reluctantly let go of his hand and climbed. He saw and heard how scared she was. He followed her on the ladder as soon as she was off. Although he could not hold her hand, he could try to make her less frightened with his voice and his presence. Up on the ledge, she lay on her stomach and scooted toward the opening without protest, although she was shivering with fear. Saela was in no more panic than she knew what she had to do. The best way out was through the crack. Satéll pushed the lantern before him as he with some effort worked his way through. He saw the others' happy faces as the light returned and they could see where they were. "Filia?" He flinched at that nasty echo of his voice in the chilly tunnel. A light came from higher up in the tunnel, and Filia returned with one of the statue's oil lanterns in her hands, lit. "Come on, this way." They followed her up the aisle. She stopped in front of the age to her room. "Here it is. It's dark, but I left a lamp lit in the room." They slipped into the tunnel, one by one. Satéll lingered behind. "How did you know where you would go in the dark?" Filia grinned, and for a moment he did not believe she would reply to retain a bit of mystery about her. Then she bent down and picked up a container of lamp oil behind the leg of the statue that represented her. "I knew if I just found the statue, I would find oil. If only the bottle were left, I would know the statue was the right one. The fire-steel was in my pocket." Satéll wished her good luck and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and disappeared after the others. If everything went the way they planned, all they needed to do was to stand by, ready to take over. Frater would soon be another man. He thought of Dem and hoped she would make the new Frater a little less prone to attack. Had he kissed Filia?

It all ed so fast Filia could not even be sure if she imagined the kiss or not. Filia tried to light the other lamps in the crypt, but they had gone out of oil. She

had neither the fuel nor the time to fill them. It annoyed her, for there was something unworthy to leave the family graves so neglected. She wanted to restore everything as it should be, but there was no time. And it was after all just polish. Cleaning a leaking vessel was to fool yourself. She snuck into the tunnel that led to the old King's chamber, hoping Frater made the room his. There was no other place in the castle worthy of a King, so it was no big gamble. She blew out the light, opened the hatch above her head, and peered out over the floor. The room was deserted and dark. With well-practiced habit from the old times, she slid out. She closed the hatch behind her and got to her feet. She sniffed the air; yes, someone lived here. The floor had been swiped, and other things had replaced many of the old King's stuff. There was also a smell of smoke and ashes from a fire. With silent steps, she went up the stairs to the next floor. She gazed toward the bed. Between the curtains, she could see someone lying under the covers. Filia took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She sought out toward the sleeping Frater and into his thoughts. The Recreator began to search around for suitable items to clean up but soon knew something was not right. Though she had not been inside Frater's head before, all the other times Filia had visited someone's mind she had felt she was in familiar areas. This was not. First, she persuaded herself it was because he slept and dreamed that made it so confusing. But it was not Frater. Terrified, she opened her eyes and stepped up to the bed, and pulled the curtains away. Someone was sleeping, but it was a stranger. In the next moment, she felt a blow to the head, and everything went black.

When she woke up again, she felt the wooden floor in her face and arms firmly tied behind her back. She tried to roll over on her back and found that her legs were tied too. Rough hands grabbed her and sat her up, leaning against the bed. She was still in the King's bed-chamber. Frater and two of his guards were there. One of them kneeled beside her and smacked her cheek. "She is coming to, Sire."

It buzzed and throbbed in her head. She tasted blood in the mouth, and it felt like she was bleeding in her face. Although she had an opportunity to do what she came to do with Frater right then, she was far from being in a condition to do so. Her mental fingers searched for a way in, but they slipped off over and over. "Unarmed. Interesting. Really interesting." Frater grinned. He sank to his heels watching her. "You've all the chances to assassinate me and come unarmed. But not so, I think. It was something you did when you stood over there. Something that made you realize that I was not in the bed." He studied her, and at that moment Filia took her chance and broke through. She realized in her throbbing head that she had made a big mistake. Without thinking she had revealed her weapon, but without the power to use it. She was too weak to do the job. Frater placed a hard fist straight at her cheek, and she lost her grip on him as fast as she managed to enter. Groggy and helpless she felt she got one kick after the other, but half-conscious as if the pain was far away. Somewhere, she figured that if she lost consciousness, she would never wake up again. And even if she did, Frater would never be as near her as now. She searched towards him to get a grip on his thoughts again, but soon she groped in darkness. She fell.

Satéll was locked up in the dungeons with Múllirem, Vetes, Proles, and Vender. Saela had been thrown into another cell. He did not know what had happened. As on a given signal the door to Filia's room where they waited had been smashed in. Mirra had not realized how overpowering the enemy was and attacked. Now she and her brother were dead. The rest of them had been taken as prisoners. Múllirem and Satéll sat by the battered and unconscious Filia. They had freed her from the ropes and tried to wash the wounds clean as best they could with the little water they had. "It's not without I begin to recognize this," Múllirem muttered. "Can't the poor girl be nothing but beaten? Do you think she'll survive?" Satéll leaned against the wall.

"We can't do much more than wait and see," he sighed. The other three former council huddled together as scared hens in the corner of the cramped dungeon. Not much help to get there. Three prominent men locked up in the King's dark, damp cell; no wonder they were shocked. Surely they could be brave rebellions, but when their legs were pulled away under them, they fell. Well, he had fallen too. But he was accustomed to things not going as planned. Although he did not know if he would get out from this alive, Satéll knew as long he was alive something could be done. For Vender, Vetes, and Proles this seemed to be something to ponder.

When Frater regained consciousness and heard they had thrown the witch in the dungeons instead of killing her, he became furious. The guards in the room unanimously described that he, Frater, had when he started kicking and beating the little worm he had become unconscious. He had sunk to the floor next to her without apparent reason. The guards had made the fateful choice to drag her down to a cell instead of sticking their blades in her, killing her on the spot. Well, they would not make any more mistakes. He could not surround himself with idiots who did not see a demon when they had her and what she did right before their eyes. She bewitched him, and they spared her life? Fools. Unreliable fools. They were undoubtedly in cooperation with the little troll. Frater wondered if any more could be, and how he could find out. What did the witch do with him? He had experienced it as a big hand came into his head and grabbed him. Then the hand fell back, but held on to him and took him down into the darkness. Apparently, he had become unconscious. He could not know if something else happened. Nothing was discovered stolen, so to speak. But how did you noticed that? Would he know if a memory was stolen or tampered with? Or something else changed? And how would he know if she was sitting somewhere inside his head preying? A scary thought landed in his mind: what would have happened if the guards had killed her? Would he have died as well? However, the thing was down in the dungeons now. Alive, but probably out of the game if he dared to trust his two recently departed guards. He must act and do so quickly.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Thirst for knowledge and confirmation

Simmiolas stood on the rolling moor without aim. It was a very long time ago since last time. His path to Mirabilis, the Recreators' school, had been supervised and guided then. A former pupil had made sure he got there, and the school had been there to find. Who led him there he had never been told. It was long since he ceased to care about who it could have been. Now he had another problem. His experience of how Mirabilis worked told him he would not find it now when he wanted to. For the same reasons Zollam would never found the house if he had tried, Simmiolas would not find his way back there soon. He walked in random in what seemed like an endless hilly landscape. By its shape, he knew he had not ed the invisible boundaries of the timeless bubble. Then the scenery had been utterly flat from horizon to horizon in all directions. The sky had continuously been overcast with gray clouds and no matter how many candles that were lit the gloomy outside had always seeped into the house. Simmiolas knew he would not be able to get back to Mirabilis without help.

Vepresila sat in the refectory and poked at her breakfast. Opposite her sat the little boy Nomas who beamed like the sun. "This place is no gloomier than you make it, you know," he cheered, but Vepresila was not receptive to his exuberant enthusiasm. Although she accepted her situation, there was still a lot she found hard to take in. One of them was that most of the students seemed to take life in the school with tranquility and even thrive. There was too much of the whole concept that

fought against everything she believed in and lived by to think she would ever find Mirabilis a pleasant place. "How can you like it here?" she growled. Nomas cocked his head and looked thoughtfully at her. "Would you like to leave now, when you've only scratched the surface of the knowledge that's here?" Vepresila sighed. Yes, she would like to leave. At once. It was not doable, so she resigned, but there was nothing at school she could not live without. Temple life had taught her everything there was to know about the lies so many people accepted as truth. She tried to shut out Nomas happy, ionate chatter about the importance of what they learned and how wondrous the Word was. "Simmiolas?" She was not aware she said it out loud until she realized Nomas had become silent and stared at her. But Simmiolas was not there. Somehow, he had talked to her in her mind. "Simmiolas?" Nomas asked. "My mentor?" Vepresila nodded distracted and felt a rising panic when she could not get him out of her head. "Why do you ask about—" Nomas began but was interrupted by Vepresila. "How can I get him out? Out of my head? How do I get Simmiolas out of my head?" The boy stared and shrugged, not knowing. "I have to find one of the Masters." She rushed out of the refectory with Nomas on her heels. She ran into Ulleas, Master of Water, in the corridor. "Simmiolas is talking to me in my head. I'm not crazy! I think. How do I get rid of him?" "Simmiolas?"

"He's been a student here," Vepresila replied. "He was my mentor," Nomas added. "Interesting. What's he saying?" Master of Water wondered. "He wants in. Here. To this place." Ulleas frowned. "I need to gather the other Masters. Tell Simmiolas to wait." "But I don't know how!" Vepresila shouted in frustration. Master of Water nodded and put her hand on Vepresila's shoulder. "Tell him now." Vepresila closed her eyes and sought a way out to Simmiolas. She found it. She did no more than begin to respond until the door closed when Ulleas took her hand away. Vepresila opened her eyes, prepared for the reproach: "Your task was to ask him to wait, not scare him away." Master of Water smiled. "I would love to hear your collective story sometime." "I've all the time in the world," Vepresila snorted. "Just let me know." "It's easy to believe so until you realize everything has an end, and then it's too late to seize the day." Ulleas hurried down the corridor.

So they were gathered, all the Masters. There were Earth, Water, Tree, Seed, Nature, Fire, Air, Illusions, Mind, and Wind. They were dressed just like their students, but each of the Masters had colors and patterns matching their area of specialization. The room was round and the walls bare. In the center of the room floated a big ball that appeared to be made of water. Simmiolas was seen waiting in the sphere, on the endless heath in the setting sun. The image in the bubble was warm and comfortable in contrast to the cold, gray hall. The Masters hardly needed to talk to each other when they were there. They had

an acquired ability to enter into the collective mind, and in this room, they were very much as one thought. That they still spoke was because they were, after all, individuals and wanted to remain as such, and remind themselves of their humanity. Even for a Master, the powers of the Word could be a heavy burden. "Does he really want to come back here?" Master of Earth asked. The heat and the colors of the exterior were attractive even for them. "There are no obstacles for him to come back?" "He can be a problem for our other students. They may be frightened. Many years have gone by out there." That kind of concern was not desirable. The masters had no intention to lure or lie to the students. But it was important not to create anxiety. If the students were told their families would be dead for many generations when they came back, it could cause frustration and protests. The focus would be moved from the vital learning to aggression and concerns for things they could not do anything about. What the school's masters cared for, and generations of masters nursed before them, was necessary for humankind to survive. "Can we help him?" Master of Seed asked. There was silence among the assembled.

Simmiolas saw Vepresila and Nomas stand in the gate together with a few of the Masters when he walked across the heath. Nomas' eyes widened when he came closer. Vepresila also stared in surprise at the old man in front of her. "I've aged." He cut the chase and stated the obvious. "How much time has ed out there?" Nomas wanted to know. "That question is not relevant," a Master responded at once. "Vepresila, Nomas, you have classes to go to." Nomas sighed and obediently turned to go back inside, but Vepresila was not about to give in so easily. "You promised me I could talk to Simmiolas!"

"There'll be time for that too," Master of Trees replied. "No time is always time, ?" Nomas grinned at her. Vepresila gave up with a sigh. The two children went inside and left Simmiolas and the Masters alone. They invited him to follow them inside, and Simmiolas felt a massive wave of nostalgia welling over him. Here, in these corridors, he had spent centuries of his life. Never had he imagined it would feel like coming home to return to Mirabilis. They went to an empty room with nothing more than a table and some chairs and a bright fire. "What troubles you, Simmiolas?" "What did I do wrong on Etion?" "Wrong?" "I worked and worked, but it felt like I just made insignificant progress. And the little progress I did was only on the mountain where I lived." "If you say you did something wrong, there must be some way to do it right," one of the Masters said. "Yes?" Simmiolas voice was hopeful. He looked from one to the other, but they just looked inscrutable. He felt like a little boy. Despite his appearance, which was far much older than any of them. "Simmiolas, you know we don't use the concepts of right and wrong, good and evil." "I know." He felt miserable. He could not feel anything but a failure. What he tried to do had been unsuccessful. Was that not doing it wrong? "You did it your way," Master of Water explained. "Someone else might have done it differently, but that way would be no more right or wrong than any other way."

"Some may be more successful," Master of Trees continued, "but it depends on so many factors, like chance and chaos, that it's difficult to predict the result of someone's work." "Different Recreators' work can also influence each other," a third master added. "So I couldn't have done differently?" Simmiolas felt more confused than he felt comfortable with. "Of course you could have done things differently," Master of Trees objected. "But if the result would have been better or worse, no one can know." "So what do I do now?" Simmiolas resigned. "Finally a relevant question." "While you're here, you might want to learn some more?"

Vepresila heard Simmiolas' footsteps in the corridor. She stood behind a pillar and listened to them as they approached. It was empty of people, and she guessed why. This was a meeting between the two of them and no others. The Masters had moved them to another layer of time so they could talk undisturbed and without worrying the other students. Since the time in the Temple Vepresila disapproved of that kind of hidden information. Like the Masters were not open with the and the time elapsed on the outside. She had listened to the other students, and she realized she was one of the few grasping the extent to which time would out there in the world during her training. She was sure it was Simmiolas who had brought her there, and he had told her how Etion once looked, though hundreds of years had ed. He had probably spoken of the time in his childhood or else he could not have described the things as he had. Hence she knew about the time that would . But her questions about it had received evasive answers and then she had had individual discussions and been asked to keep it to herself. Although she had an understanding of their reasoning, she felt strong connections to the confidentiality of the salt in the Temple.

She stepped out from behind the pillar and met Simmiolas. They had once been in the same age. Now he was maybe fifty, which was very old in her eyes. She was still fifteen. "I've argued so many times with you, in my head. It feels like I've already said everything." She sighed. "Did you get answers to all the questions when you asked them, in your head?" he asked. Vepresila gaped for a moment. No, she had not asked any questions in her imagination quarrel. Just ranting and quarrel. A meaningless situation. Especially when the one she disagreed with only existed in her imagination. "Was it you who sent me here?" She asked to finish off all possible doubts. "Yes." "Why?" "Because I thought you would do well as a Recreator. You were so ionate of the idea of going to that temple. But when you didn't like it there…" Simmiolas shrugged. "I thought it was better to use the ion somewhere it would do some good." Vepresila had not heard the last. What had he said? "You knew I didn't like it? You couldn't have known. You weren't there." She halted and considered. "It was you who made sure I saw the salt arrive!" "I've never seen a more useless place than that temple," Simmiolas expressed with a tone of disgust that was unlike him. "Power just for power's sake, without purpose." "I was there to serve the Goddess." "Yes, but did you? Did you serve anyone? You didn't like it there. And even worse: you didn't think you would survive for long. You walked at night to find peace and coolness. And to be alone. I just asked the question, Vepresila. The answer you found for yourself. And you made your way out on your own."

"You were waiting outside." "Yes. I waited outside." Although Vepresila always believed it was Simmiolas who ensured she got to the school she felt cheated. "Had I said anything or asked you, everything had been destroyed," he explained. "Then you wouldn't be able to enter here. I had to keep it a secret. I believe you could do an amazing job when you're fully trained." Vepresila closed his eyes. "What you're doing here is blasphemy. You claim you're doing God's work. And I know you'll say there are no gods." Simmiolas was silent. Vepresila glared at him in spite of her intentions, as if she could extract some answer to a question she never asked. "I can't tell if your goddess is there or not," Simmiolas itted. "But suppose she is, and she doesn't appreciate what we do, in what way would it affect you?" Vepresila ed what she always found annoying with Simmiolas. He asked those questions that put everything upside-down. Which made her think in unexpected ways. Nothing in life was so apparent as she was raised to believe. In what way would it affect her, Simmiolas had asked. The goddess could be upset, but she had never thought of in what way the Goddess would punish her. "Of course it matters if she gets upset," she hissed, without actually having an answer to the question. She met Simmiolas calm gaze. She saw the old burnmark on his forehead. No matter if the Gods liked what he did or not, people had punished him far worse. "Would your goddess get angry for you doing her job? Would she be happier if all people neglected her land, so she had more to do?" "The forces are not human!" "You're human," Simmiolas replied. "You'll live and die like a human."

"With divine powers," Vepresila replicated. "You wanted to get closer to the Goddess, didn't you? Become something more than an ordinary human? Help your tribe with rain?" Vepresila gasped. He was right. "You helped me come home," she whispered.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The man in the shadows

Filia blinked and looked into Satéll's face. "How are you?" She considered for a moment. Then she ed the last thought she had was that she would not wake up again. "I'm alive." "Miraculously enough, yes." "Where am I?" Satéll told her briefly how the guards had thrown her into the cell. "But we've got an odd situation right now," he concluded. He heard one of the other snorting behind him. "Frater is dead." "Did I kill him?" Filia wondered, dull and confused. "No, I did," Satéll assured her. "He came to kill you." Filia struggled to sit up. Frater's body was on the floor. She could not say that she felt sad. But no euphoria either. The man who had caused the imbalance was gone, but at the same time, a man killing another was an imbalance in itself. She got to her feet. "Well, then my task here is finished," she concluded, mostly to put what happened into words and confirm it for herself. She started sending out thoughts and get back in response to what she could take

on next. She had to give up, for an underground dungeon with its thick stone walls insulated too much. She took a step towards the door. "Where are you going?" She blinked and returned mentally to the dungeon's obscurity. She met Múllirem's gaze. "Out in the open air," she explained and expected they would provide free age. Instead, she was stopped. "Hold on now, little girl," Múllirem said with such motherly condescension that Filia had to clench her teeth so she would not explode in aggressive language. Satéll, who must have known what was about to happen intervened. "You're expected to be locked up in this cell, Filia. If you go out now, you risk everything." "But Frater's dead..." Filia began, but Satéll reminded her that there was more than so to do. Reality returned, and she regained balance. "Yes, yes, of course..." she whispered. "I... don't understand what I was thinking of." "You've been knocked out" Satéll grinned. "Any normal brain would react the same." Satéll and Filia slipped away to find Saela. The corridor outside the dungeon was deserted. Perhaps Frater had not wanted any witnesses. Maybe it was because of the early morning, and the few guards who used to be down there ate breakfast somewhere. In the guards' registry, Filia and Satéll found the cell the guards locked up Saela in. Satéll took out the bunch of keys Frater had brought with him, and he tried each until the correct key clicked in the lock. He pushed it open, and they went in. Saela rose from her corner and gazed in wonder at Filia and Satéll. None of them had prepared an announcement of her father's death. Even less that she was expected to take over as queen nonetheless. A title she had every right to inherit from her father if the father had been the rightful king. But now the situation was a bit different, and Saela was not prepared for that kind of takeover. "Your father is dead," Filia burst. Saela's face shifted from surprise to rock hard

and cold. "For reasons you can imagine, I suspect that you had a hand in that game." "Less than you think" Filia hissed. "What did you do? Swept around with your big, black finger inside his thoughts until he was mad and jumped off the roof? Or do you have some more sophisticated tricks?" "I killed Frater," Satéll broke in. "Filia had nothing to do with his death." "You?" "Yes!" Filia growled. "He killed a father who tried to kill both you and me. And would have led to destruction throughout the country if he had continued. But now it is as it is. We need someone who can replace him. Now. You." "Do you expect that I'll still line up?" Right then, no one could have given the impression of being a worse suited queen than her, dirty and disheveled in a dungeon with a facial expression that showed a comic combination of anger and confusion. "I don't want it anymore." "What's the matter with all people?!" Satéll barked. "You care about animals and nature and are the natural successor to Frater," Filia argued. "Your future prospective husband had obviously been ideal, but your father murdered him, so his fiancee will do." "But wait a moment..." Saela began, but Satéll cut her off. They had no time for discussion. Soon the murdered body was to be found, and chaos would break out with fights and wars of succession. "Well, and how am I expected to make an entrance?" Saela's voice was like acid. "Stepping out of the jail cell and explain that I'm the queen?" Satéll glanced at Filia. She sighed and nodded. There was a secret age from the dungeons too.

When Saela stepped out of her closet, she understood how Filia came into her room that day when the demon just appeared inside the room. The men placed the body of her father on the floor wrapped in a cloak. She felt no sadness, but a wave of emptiness surprised her. They had never been close, and when he sentenced her to death, all her reasons to care about him disappeared. But it was her father, and even if they had not agreed on things, he filled a place in her life. Now there was only emptiness. She poured water from the jug into the basin. No one had bothered to replace the water in the pitcher for a long time. It did not have that coolness and fresh scent, but it was no worse than she could wash in it. She noted that of the other six people who were in her room no less than four of them were men. She needed some privacy. Satéll suggested the best way for no innocent to get the blame for the King's death was if he was found outside the castle walls, out in the woods. He, Proles, Vetes, and Vender could go and dispose of the body, while Saela made herself ready. Saela shuddered when her father was named as a body and one that would be dumped in the woods. Filia pointed out that the sun was up and they could not lug a corpse across the agora in broad daylight. Even less when they hours earlier had been arrested and should be locked up in a dungeon. And go the way they had come in with the cargo was bound to fail with the ladder and the trap. If the word body had made Saela uncomfortable, corpse made it worse. "Put him in his bed," Saela suggested. She received protests that he was obviously murdered and someone would get the blame. Smiling, she shook her head. "Put a bandage on the wound and change his clothes. I can vouch for the wound to be old." "We can't change any clothes." Satéll gritted his teeth. "He's stiff as a stick by now." "Well, use your imagination. Make sure he lies in his bed and let the grieving daughter take care of the rest."

"The age into the King's chamber is too tight," Filia protested. Satéll laughed. "The cupboard will get its bumps, but at the moment I don't think we need to hesitate to make a dramatic entrance into an empty basement." Filia sighed. "I'll show you to the right age." Filia led the way followed by Satéll and the other men back into the crypt with her father's body between them. Saela was alone with Múllirem. She looked at herself in the mirror. The face she saw did not belong to a queen. Filia was not the only one who had her life turned upside down. For as long as she could she had been brought up to become the queen of the country. Her father had seen her as the future bride to Idónnes already when she was born. "When I sat in the dungeon waiting for my execution, my father came in and told me something." She did not glance at Múllirem. It was like she spoke to her image in the mirror. "He told me he wasn't my father. And the woman I called mother had never given birth to me. I had been a newborn girl to a poor family, who saw their Duke's offer as a chance for their daughter to have a better life. He told them that he and his wife could not have children of their own. I don't think they ever tried. He wanted to ensure he had a daughter at the right age. Someone he could shape into a crown prince's bride. For seventeen years, or more, he planned how he would take over the country's crown and make himself the true ruler!" Had he lied to her, to torment her? Or make it easier for himself to kill her? Somewhere inside her, the pieces fell into place, and she knew it was the truth. There was too much to suggest that she never belonged there. Small things, the sense of alienation, and lack of proximity. Frater had said her mother had threatened to tell her the truth, and he had stopped her. No disease had killed the only one that showed her love. The one she thought was her father had. Frater had not had any rights to claim himself king, but at least he had bloodlines to the royal family. Everyone thought this was also true for Saela. In reality, she had fewer rights than Frater. Although she

was familiar with the situation in the country and the damage caused by Frater, she felt like an impostor. She jumped when Filia returned into the room. How much had she heard? They looked at each other, and Saela felt the only one who could make legitimate claims to the crown must be told. "I'm no daughter of Frater," she whispered, the voice was not normal tone. "Don't you worry about that, dear girl." Múllirem stepped in before Filia had a chance, but Saela barely heard her. "You're the only one who could become queen. Not me," she insisted. Filia cocked her head and gazed at her. "That can't be right," Múllirem exclaimed, but Filia nodded. "The story makes sense. But it makes no difference," Filia assured her. Saela raised her voice in protest, but Filia hushed her. "We chose you for your love of animals and nature; for listening to your feelings. And because we don't want turbulence among the people. Not that you're the daughter of the most incompetent and ruthless ruler who sat on the throne of Lahall. Believe me, if you're not his daughter by blood it only makes it more likely that this will be something good." Saela and Múllirem pondered what she said. "But," Filia added after a moment, "we should probably keep it for ourselves." Filia browsed the wardrobe and got a dress out. She handed it over to Saela. "You'd better get ready, Your Highness." Múllirem slipped out of her paralysis and back into her motherly, nurturing role. Filia saw her chance to fulfill her old dream slip away without sorrow or bitterness. Filia longed to get away from all people and out into the countryside where she

could meet the requirements of nature. Far away from all the people who could get the idea that she was a goddess or a dangerous magician. She just wanted to get away from all opinions and pointless talk.

King Frater was found dead in his bed in the morning. It was deemed he had died of natural causes. His daughter announced a period of national mourning and took all measures a crown princess should take at her predecessor's death. No one questioned Saela to be the next queen. Indeed, there were quite a few at the castle who had doubts about the natural death. There were stories told about the King's bed being empty in the early morning but later contained his corpse, like any good ghost story. Saela had also been missing since the planned execution and was now back in the castle as if she never left. Everyone seemed to be pleased with the shift in power. The royal guards were the ones who had the most to lose on Frater's ing, but even they were satisfied. No money in the world could replace the security to have your head still on your shoulders when you made a mistake. Saela began to build a working environment around her. Satéll and Múllirem became her closest advisers. At Filia's advice, she started to grasp the problem of the poor harvests, so a good light would fall on her when Filia's work took effect. The situation was under control, and people looked upon the future with confidence. Filia said goodbye, wished them good luck and went her way. Saela and Filia had by then gained respect for each other and had something that could have become a friendship if they had continued to live in the same place. Saela could not help but feel relieved when she left. Satéll however, would gladly have followed Filia if he had known he was welcome. It was hard to accept that Filia's body was so young when the rest of her said something else. Yes, he liked Filia. How much he had understood only when they had parted ways. He wanted her to ask if he could be her company. He did not want to embarrass himself and her by bringing up the subject himself. She was the one with the exceptional job who knew what she needed to get it done. When she was gone, he had more and more come to recognize his

feelings. What Filia herself felt and thought nobody knew. No one even knew where she had gone. She had left without leaving any destination. Both Satéll and Saela had suggested she would stay by the court in whatever form suiting her. Saela always felt insignificant and uncertain in her presence, but she was also aware of the other's knowledge and experience of a life she knew very little about, despite Frater's raising. She had been taught how to please a husband, not to rule. Having Filia with her would have been an asset, even if she had to fight her sense of inferiority. But Filia had declined. She was a Recreator and needed to devote her time to be just that if the country would have a chance to recover during her lifetime. A year went by. For many, it was a good year. The weather was perfect, and the crops grew. It was easy to feel the winds turning for they now had an excellent ruler on the throne. Satéll however, attributed the success to Filia's anonymous, invisible work. He saw a queen who was ill-suited for the job no matter how hard she tried. Saela had turned seventeen, but she had not an adult's experience and knowledge to rest upon. If things had gone differently, if King Antes had lived and Saela become Crown Prince Idónnes' bride the young couple would have had time to grow up and gradually shoulder the responsibility. Now Saela stood alone without any others than her advisers around her and no older generation from which to learn. It could work if only Saela had an interest in it. No matter how hard she cared about animals and loved the woods and nature, it was not often her attention went beyond her own needs. It was not that she was selfish and unscrupulous; she had difficulty to understand the situation of others and their needs. Often this resulted in a shortage she tried to compensate with money instead of concrete measures. Which in turn led to a lack of coordination and feelings of injustice among the population. This concerned Satéll. One day when he saw Saela alone on one of the bridges to a tower, he took action. "My Queen," he greeted. "We've known each other since we were children, Satéll."

"Saela," he corrected himself and received a grateful nod as an answer. In the past year, she had never embraced the style of dress customary for a royal. Her clothes were still more practical than beautiful, although they had some of the royal embroideries in gold. "Isn't it strange?" she began. "I was afraid of my father, but never afraid of you. Although I somehow knew who you were and what you did." "I never threatened you," Satéll murmured. "Do you you gave me sugared apple slices once?" He shook his head. "Satéll..." Saela hesitated, and Satéll felt his body going cold, convinced Saela had mistaken the whole situation for romance. She stood there, uncertain and shy as a little girl who wants to ask if she can take a sweet. "I feel so inadequate," she sobbed, and Satéll blinked, surprised and relieved at once. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and Satéll awkwardly stretched out his hand and wiped them for her. "As queen?" he asked, and she nodded. A stone fell from his heart; she felt the same as he. "Besides, it was his idea I would become queen. Not mine. I didn't want to. And now he's dead and has nothing to say in my life anymore, and what happens? I'm the Queen!" The tears turned into anger. "And the requirement to marry remains! He might be able to rule the country, but I'll be a wife and have children. I don't want to have children! I want to be alone!" Satéll put his finger over his mouth in a gesture for her to suppress her voice. They were, after all, in an open corridor where anyone could hear. She controlled herself. The tears came back. "Please. Find Filia," she whispered. "I'll do anything for her, as long as she agrees to take the crow away from me."

Chapter Thirty

How to convince a queen

Filia went through the woods singing. It was a song without words with a melody that rose and fell like the splashing water and the wind in the trees. Loneliness suited her. Aware it was only her vanity, she still had difficulty to sing when people heard her. As a student at Mirabilis, it had come as a shock that the more or less melodic pieces were part of the Recreators' magic. A singing princess was unthinkable. Singing was for choirs, troubadour and priestesses. It was improper for any other, royalty in particular. To her amazement, she savored to sing now in her solitude. Not only did she feel the power of the song in the nature around her, but also how incredible her body and soul felt when she sang. There was more to it than singing, but the melodies were a tremendous force, and they had a long reach. A year had ed since Filia left Queen Saela and the court. Of this, she had no clue. Alone with only herself and her task to care about, the days floated together. She was asleep when she was tired and ate when she was hungry, and in between, she wandered in the forests or meditating in the meadow. It was not always there was enough food to be satisfied, but somehow it seemed that the people around the area cared about her fate and enough food was left at Dem's old house for her to survive. Yes, they all knew she was mad, but there was something about her that made people wish her good health and prosperity. The past year had changed her, but when Satéll saw her coming across the meadow, he understood at once it was not altogether for the better. To save their country disheveled and hungry could hardly be the most efficient way, he thought. Filia, in turn, gazed at Satéll without recognizing him. Her brain was too busy listening to the various threads she had stretched out to the world, to see the reality she had around her. The firm slap she received from Satéll snapped all connections. She stared in amazement and confused at him while she raised her

hand to the burning cheek. "Sorry," he apologized when he saw her sad face. He had expected her to become angry, but her eyes cried. This was no longer the Filia he knew.

The days that followed were confusing to Filia. She had lived as she liked. In every way, every day, she had worked with her skills to save the island. She was an essential part of something big. Satéll however, thought she had lost her mind. It was difficult to get the opposing views to blend into a reality both could agree upon. Filia noticed she was not feeling well. Her body had been worn by hunger, cold, sharp rocks and thorns in the forest. She itted she lived in another world mentally. In this world, the only grip she had was for the voices of Nature, so obvious for a Recreator. After a few days, she knew it had gone overboard. After another couple of days, she realized Satéll was there and took care of her, washed her, put clothes on her — probably Dem's old — and made food for her. She barely uttered a word. In the evening when Satéll lit a fire, she sat next to him at the table. "How did you find me?" "Where else would you find shelter?" Good question, she thought. Dem's abandoned house had been an obvious choice. "Feeling better now?" he asked. "I wasn't feeling bad before you came." It sounded like an accusation against him. He took it as such, too. "I've got a different opinion about that than you, apparently." "I now understand I wasn't feeling well, but it did not seem so then." She sighed. "Maybe I should have stayed at court after all. So you could keep an eye on me."

She watched the fire. "Satéll, I don't know what to do! I must do what I did when you came, but I must also stand with both feet on the ground. It's not possible." "Sure it is." "Yes, you know exactly what you're talking about!" she snapped back at him. "I think the Master who came here stood firmly with both feet on the ground," Satéll replied and Filia knew he was right. "Oh, by all the Gods what I want to talk to her again," she moaned. "You don't believe in any Gods," he teased. "Life would be so much easier if there were gods," Filia pointed out. "Well, then you always have someone to blame," he smiled and met Filia's equally amused gaze. They laughed. They both needed it more than well. That night they slept together for the first time. In the morning, they were enjoying the proximity of each other's bodies and listened to the rain outside. "Why did you come to find me?" She knew what she hoped he would say, as she knew the answer would risk the rest of their time together. "It wasn't because you missed me?" "I've missed you," Satéll itted. "I didn't understand how much until you looked at me without knowing who I was." Filia wished she could say the same about him, but she had been far too gone in her thoughts to miss anyone at all. Satéll was sufficiently aware of it to make a lie useless. "So, what was the reason you came looking for me?" "I have been given the grateful task of persuading you to become Queen." Filia's hand snapped closed, and Satéll grunted as his hair happened to be within her fist. Filia muttered an apology and let go. She had gone from one dream world to

another, only to land in reality abruptly. She rolled over on her back, away from Satéll. The only thing she wanted right then was somewhere for her to hold on to, a fixed point in the world. It seemed to her as she was thrown from one side to the other like a rag doll. "Want to become a prince?" she asked. Satéll, who did not take her question seriously, laughed and wondered if it were not king, he would then be. She shook her head. "No. A king stands over a queen in rank, and a spouse can not stand higher in rank than the one with royal blood." "Poor Saela. She has said the only reason to get married is to avoid having to be regent." "Such a bonehead." "Also, it frets on her knowing she has to act like something she is not." "Blood doesn't determine if you're capable." "Filia, Saela isn't capable. You, you're born—" "I know," Filia interrupted and got out of bed. "I'll go and swim in the creek. Alone."

Satéll sat on the bench outside the house. How many strange things had not happened to him when he had been at this place? Was it even possible to come here without having your life turned upside down? He had traveled here to persuade Filia to become queen instead of Saela. Now when they expressed a mutual interest in each other, he felt very ambivalent about his mission. He truly believed Filia would be a better queen than Saela. At the same time, it meant they would have to give up a life together. As queen, Filia could not marry an assassin. Used to keep his personal feelings out of his missions, he drew a deep breath and let the air leave the lungs in a long exhale. There were more important things

than his own life. Since he left his former master, he had regained the ability to feel there was something to strive towards and fight for, something that was beyond one's horizon. For many years he had fulfilled the missions entrusted to him by Frater. It had not given him any sense of ownership or positive turnout, except in his finances. All he ever left behind was death and destruction, without in any way contributing to a better world. Nowadays he felt part of something good and creative, something that would grow and mature; if he could get Filia to become queen. He wondered how he could explain to her that their future could not be shared.

For Filia, it was the habit and power of nature too narcissistic to consider Satéll's feelings for her. As she lay naked in the cold water, she thought completely objective about herself and her options for the future. It was not that she searched for solutions best for herself, but how she could fulfill her mission as a Recreator in the most optimized manner. If it had worked well when she walked around as a timeless alien, she would without hesitation continue on this path. But in retrospect, when Satéll made her return to the reality where most people were, she became aware of how shortlived she would be if she continued. Of what Master of Water had told her, it did not feel as if it was intended she would become one with nature, dead in a few years. The teacher had said they had to take the students early in life so that they had as many productive years as possible. Logically, it seemed reasonable the way she approached the task was not the best choice, based on that statement. The question was whether she could be Recreator and Queen at the same time. She was surprised at how little the role as queen attracted her. The part felt meaningless and outplayed to her. There were those who thought she would do a better job than Saela. Frater had been a grim tumor which only consumed without giving Nature something in return. It was vital who was in the center of the political and economic spider web, and it had been more than evident. She would not be a pain to Nature. The question was somewhat different.

After the swim, she sat down next Satéll. "I don't want to be some kind of god-queen. Will people be able to distinguish between the Queen and the Recreator?" Satéll seemed to contemplate her words. "None of them want any worship." It was true. She had never liked the idea that she could be taken for a goddess. "But will you be able to distinguish the different roles?" she insisted. "Both are you. The powers you have, you have. Can you stop using them, just because someone asks you for advice on harvesting and planting trees? Or urban planning and taxes?" No, of course, she could not. And everything was connected. But what if they started worshiping her as a god? She reiterated these concerns to Satéll. "You're the Queen. Your rules." He picked up a carved wooden box from his pack and handed it to her. "A gift from Saela." Filia opened the lid. Inside were a few items. A golden comb and mirror, jewelry and hairpins. "I said you wouldn't be persuaded with gold. So she picked some other things." "Last time she saw me, I wouldn't have much use of a comb." "Maybe she saw something beyond the ghost?" "Or so she didn't think at all." She knew she was unfair. She picked up one of the barrettes in silver and thumbed it. Either Saela had put together the contents of the box with more care than first glance revealed, or she had been lucky in her choice of treasures. The barrette in the shape of a tree had belonged to Filia's mother. It was darker and grittier now than then, yet it was the same. Her finger slid along one of the

branches. A tree, she thought. Had she had her purpose and goal so clear and obvious all along? "Well, let's go then," she declared and rose. "Where?" "To Lahall and the castle. We must not keep poor Saela waiting."

When they camped for the night, Filia snugged close to Satéll and sought proximity. He did not move away but was still cautious. She felt it. "What is it?" "You'll soon be queen. Queens don't mix well with assassins. Not when it comes to these things." Filia lay silent beside him without answering. "Face it, Filia. We've no future together." "I don't think that's what you want to say," Filia reproached him after a long moment of silence. "No" Satéll acknowledged. "I want nothing more than to love you. The rest of my life." "Then I think you should ignore what others think and love me as much as you want. Love is the finest thing there is, and the one who despises us because we love each other is a bigoted idiot." "The world is full of them. They'll be your subjects. To be able to rule you must try to understand them. You'll never be accepted if I'm your lover. Let alone your spouse. You'll find it difficult enough anyway, without me." "You're an adviser to Saela," Filia tried, but she knew the answer before it came. "There's one like me at every court. This doesn't mean it's accepted I share the royal bed-chamber." She sighed. Strange that people often made easy things

complicated. Her thoughts drifted to something else Satéll said: she would have difficulty being accepted. She had fallen through a hanging noose and had with her screams created havoc. It was understandable if she spread fear. Few knew her. Her worries had circled around her being seen as a god. She should be more concerned they saw her as a demon. "Can't I just be an adviser to Saela instead?" "Are you getting cold feet?" What an odd question. She did not freeze. "What?" "Have you lost your nerve?" he explained. No, she had not. She had a job to do, and it remained. It was not certain it was as queen she could manage it best, but right now it was likely she could not be in a better place. "I don't think Saela wants to be a puppet," Satéll pointed out. "And that's what she'll be with three counselors who handle her job with her facade. That's why she asked you to take the crown."

Filia pondered over appropriate tactics to win people's trust. There were many ways to express oneself to steer in the direction you wanted. Antes, the old King, had been much for telling the truth and did not have much sympathy for Filia's objections that what was true for one, was not true for another. He had not understood that anyone who said something did so with an agenda. This did not make them evil and manipulative either, which was King Antes' opinion. Anyone who interacted with other people and needed their services and help in any form acted as they thought was needed to get the best possible help. To tell the truth, was a choice that felt honorable, but King Antes had done it because he thought he would get his people's best possible in that way. Moreover, it did not mean, he said all truths, just because what he said was true. Had someone asked about something he had no business with, as the mourning for his wife, he had probably not told the truth at all.

So how would she act to achieve their trust? To reign in the way she wanted, most of the people in the country must see her as queen. Making use of violence and fear to get people to do what she wanted was not for her. She laughed. "What?" Satéll rode beside her. Filia searched for a brief, understandable explanation. She pulled her hand through her hair. It was long now. "I'm not so fearsome anymore," she replied. "So?" "Ride ahead a tell Saela that I'm coming." Satéll blinked at this unexpected turn of events. "I'll arrive before sunset" she assured. "Now go." He nodded and set off in a gallop.

Filia combed her hair with the golden comb. Then she put her hair up in the same way her mother once had it and kept the arrangement in place with the small tree in silver. The mirror reflected an unfamiliar face. It was not the face she had seen as a princess. Neither of the pale demon's face. The snake crawling over her head and opened its mouth on her forehead now appeared just under a fringe. The two on her cheeks somehow felt harmless against her tanned skin. This woman was someone she was not sure she knew. Perhaps it was the opposite: she knew who she was all too well. The range of clothing was limited. Filia had brought what she wanted to save from Dem's wardrobe with her. One of the garments were a pair of leather pants - typical for someone who is much in the woods among bushes and thorns and gets skinned on the shins otherwise. She put them on and picked out a shirt from the pack. The shirt was verging on the ludicrous. It was in the rough cloth used by the common people without the money to buy fabric of fine material, but it was cut as favored by the richer. That meant it was a shirt not designed for physical work, but at the same time was made in a rugged material; the contrast she wanted to represent. She pulled it over her head, tied all the strings that held it in

place and set up on the horse again. It did not take her long to do the last bit into the city of Lahall. She rode through the streets and smiled to all who gazed at her. A lot of things had changed for the better since her last visit. The hustle and bustle had returned to the streets, and the market stalls and shops seemed to flourish. At the well, she made a halt and stepped off. Polite, she asked a woman fetching water if she could get help with water to her horse. The woman seemed suspicious but hoisted a bucket full and poured into the stone trough next to the well. The horse dipped its mule and drank. The woman brought water to herself and left, but stopped and turned to gaze at Filia a couple of times. It did not take long before the rumor had spread and more and more people had an errand past the well for no apparent reason. Filia assessed whether they were hostile or cautious. "I know I scared you last you saw me," she declaimed in a loud voice, "but it'll not happen again. I'm not dangerous." She felt the atmosphere around her eased, and someone ventured to ask a question. Soon Filia sat on the edge of the trough and told her story. The story was not always understandable and far from chronological since she was interrupted with questions that led in different directions. Even if everyone did not believe her, they still seemed spellbound. Over time the questions became sparser. She had defused her person and at the same time built a new kind of mystery. "But then you're our Queen" someone murmured. Others ed the claim. "Queen Saela is only the King's cousin's child. You're the same bloodline." "Blood is no guarantee for a good ruler," Filia told them. She got to her feet. "The Queen has asked me to come. It's time for me to get up to the castle now." "But didn't you come here to take the throne?" someone asked. "Are you unhappy with Saela? No? Then you shouldn't have such a hurry to wish her away. You never know what you get instead."

"We'll get you." Filia met the eyes of the one who spoke. A girl of barely fifteen grinned at her. "You seem to have the right grit. Your Majesty." She thanked them for the attention, mounted her horse and rode off towards the castle. It felt like coming home.

Chapter Thirty-One

Meeting of Goddesses

She had just woken up when Ulleas, Master of Water stood in the doorway. Vepresila's hope was lit. "Is it time for me to go home?" she asked. Ulleas nodded. Vepresila hurried out of bed and stretched out her hand for her clothes. The dress she had worn all the time at the school no longer hung on the hooks. Instead, there were the clothes she once came in: the hastily sewn dress Simmiolas bought for her in Etifad. She pulled it on. It barely warmed. The air around her felt cold and intrusive. She shuddered. Ulleas held out a cloak with a hood in thick, dark green fabric. "We thought it was too thin, your dress." Vepresila thanked her and wrapped the cloak around herself. It was soft and warm. "Is it just for me to find a way home to Etion?" "Yes, it is," Ulleas confirmed, "but we would like to ask you to take a detour. Come." The Master went out of the room and down the corridor Vepresila felt the cold stone floor under her now bare feet. She had once been accustomed to walking barefoot. It was a long time ago. Even though nothing else changed, their minds did. The corridors were empty. They had moved Vepresila out of the period that otherwise was their t. No one ever saw students come or leave the school. They were just there and gone the next day. That was how it was. Though they had hundreds of years of friendship together, it was not something to be valued highly. Even the best of friends got tired of each other after a few

decades in a world where nothing ever changed. They indeed became more educated and wiser, but their bodies were the same, as well as the surroundings and the daily routine. A loss of a friend was a short-lived sorrow. "Can I see Simmiolas before I go?" she begged. They had not met since the day he came back to Mirabilis. He was the only man she had found herself to crave. Ulleas shook her head and opened the door to the vast library where each student spent endless hours every day. She pulled out a scroll of parchment from a shelf and unrolled it on a table. It was a map. "We're here," Ulleas pointed at an island with Alsyone written on it. "And this is Etion." It was the island to the southwest. She had never known it was shaped like that. Neither did she know there were that many islands in the world and Etion seemed to be one of the largest. "However," Ulleas continued, pointing, "we want you first to get here." Vepresila shifted her gaze from Etion in the center of the map down to the right corner. "Halliakon," she read. "Why?" "There's another Recreator there. We believe you'll benefit from each other's experiences." "Was she also a troublesome student?" Vepresila inquired without thinking. Ulleas laughed. "No, not as a student. The problems came later. We had missed an important part of her education because she came from special conditions. Just like you." Filia sat in the great hall of the citadel on the top of the castle's mountain. There was a public audience, and many people were waiting for their turn to bring up their case. Satéll stood on guard next to the throne. He was not as young as he once was. Neither was she. She knew the country had long ago given up hope their queen would marry and have an heir.

Her two adopted children, a boy and a girl from different noble families sat by her other side. They were soon to reach adulthood, and she hoped they would not be surprised when they were told they were expected to get married. With each other, hopefully, if she succeeded not to make them feel like brother and sister. If they did, well, then she had to find them, partners. A woman stepped forward. She was tall, with glossy, raven hair and intense eyes. In the corner of her eye, she saw Satéll react to something. He was on alert. There was something about the woman. She felt it too. "What can I help you with?" The gaze from the stranger wandered from her to Satéll, then to the children, and finally back to her again. "What can I help you with?" Filia repeated, louder. "I heard you the first time," the woman replied. "I was sent here to talk to you." "Behave yourself," Satéll roared. "You face your Queen." "She's not my queen, and I was sent to speak to her no matter what she is." She could hear people in the hall gasp. There were coolness and behavior that was unheard of and utterly inappropriate. Although she was not the one who enforced traditional formality, the woman was rude by any measure. She gazed into the dark eyes and felt amazed how the other one broke into her head and with a giant finger browsed among her memories. It took her a moment to understand what was happening. She immediately drove the stranger out from her thoughts and saw the smile spreading across the dark-haired woman's face. They understood each other. "Satéll." "Yes, Your Majesty." "Show her to one of our best guest chambers." "Your Majesty did you..."

"You heard me." She smiled at him as he replied with a nod. He invited the strange woman to come along, and they left. "Who was she, mother?" asked the boy next to her. "She didn't feel nice." "Keep your opinions about people to yourself," she snapped. "You can create war with such words if they are said to the wrong person." Satéll returned, and the audience continued. Filia managed to stay focused and let the visitors take the time they needed to present their case. When Filia and Satéll were alone, he released his austere pose. "I thought I would have to defend you, and you offered her to stay. Who is she?" "She's like me. A Recreator." "That explains everything" he grinned and gave her a swift hug with one arm around her shoulders. He knocked on the door of the guest-chamber. The strange woman opened and immediately stepped aside to let Filia in. Satéll knew his place and stayed outside. Filia closed behind her. "I'm not used to queens," the stranger excused herself. "I hope I didn't draw too much attention. My name is Vepresila and I was sent here by the Masters." "What have I done now?" "They said nothing about that," replied the other. "They just said that we both come from unusual circumstances and could benefit from each other's experiences. Then I'll return home to Etion." Filia took a deep breath. She gazed out of the window to shield herself for a moment and collect her thoughts. The woman spoke so fast, and so freely it made her nervous. "We must have gone to school at the same time for quite a great deal of years," she concluded. "It's strange. We've probably met and talked. me?" The young woman called Vepresila shook her head.

"It was the way it was. You don't me. I don't you." She shrugged. "It doesn't matter." No, it did not matter. But she had wanted to the girl's face from the school. Not that she did not believe her, but to give another student a face. Someone she could share old memories with. A time that, despite its length, had disappeared far back in mind and shortened, and indeed distorted. "I suppose you know that it's been several hundred years since you left your home," she told her guest. "I have guessed it. When I was still living with my tribe, a boy came from the desert who was amazed it was a desert. He guided me later to Alsyone. When he returned to school, he had aged." "Returned?" It had never occurred to her to return. "Why did he do that?" "I think he felt inadequate." Filia laughed. "I understand the feeling." "It was not your children out there, right?" It was not a secret, but Filia was stunned by the other's quick conclusion. "Adopted." "But you and the man standing next to you..." Filia interrupted her at once. "Not a word about it to anyone!" Vepresila stared. Filia calmed down. "I'm sorry. It's just incredibly important it doesn't come out." "It stays between us. You know that." Filia nodded. She knew. She knew she could trust the girl.

"Satéll and I were a couple before I became queen. As queen, I was expected to marry a prince or someone of high birth. Least of all one with his background." "So you refused to get married and adopted instead?" Filia nodded. "It was not an optimal situation. I can do a good job as Recreator when I'm Queen, but to serve as queen, I must behave like one. If we had children, Satéll's background would jeopardize the child's future when I died. Many people would hate and despise the child just for the father's sake. There were safer ways to solve it." "But by sending your own child to Mirabilis... You never got a chance to see him grow up!" Filia stared shocked at Vepresila. "How did you know that? How could you know? Who told you?" "No one! I'm a Recreator, just like you. I was in your thoughts." "Just briefly! You didn't see that!" "A glimpse. The rest I could figure out for myself. Did you keep it a secret to Satéll too?" "No. He knows. The boy lived with another family with Satéll as a guardian until he was twelve." "Eleven," Vepresila corrected her. "Relis was eleven." Filia went pale. "Do you know him?" "He was the newcomer I had to take care of before I could leave school. He said he was eleven. And that he was an orphan." "I wish the world was a different place. I know what you're thinking. You think I can make the world different." Filia sank into self-pity.

"Why would I think that? Regret is useless." Yes, of course, she was right. Had she not gone through the process once already and cleaned out her bitterness. But it had indeed come back. Why had the Masters sent the young woman to her? To remind her of her failure? No, such notions were not for them. What was done was done, and it was to take it for what it was. "Will he thrive?" she asked. "He was pretty quiet and invisible in the beginning," Vepresila replied. "But he seemed to appreciate being selected and blossomed before I left." Filia's heart leaped with relief and joy. It would be good for the boy. The boy born to the wrong parents, at the wrong place at the wrong time. The boy who never was to be seen would be visible one day and do fabulous stuff. She felt strengthened by Vepresila's presence. She was reminded she was a Recreator. She used her skills every day, almost all waking hours. In various discrete ways not to arouse suspicion and offense, but do benefit and ensure her own survival, which she would not have made wandering as a lonely nymph in the woods as Satéll found her. A routine. A part of her life she did not consider much any longer. Now she was reminded. "I've lived for over twenty-five years as a Recreator. With a little luck, I've only got half-way in life. It did me good to talk to you. Can you consider staying for a few days? I'll assist you with a ship that can take you home later."

They talked every possible moment for several days, anytime Filia had no duties demanding her immediate attention. They talked about everything. Vepresila told her story, Filia hers. They learned from each other. In the beginning, Satéll walked behind them at a safe distance when they walked around in the castle. It was not long before he was a part of the conversation and told of how he met Filia that time in the crypt with an oil lamp in her hands and how she then disappeared in the shadows. Along with Vepresila both Filia and Satéll experienced for the first time how it felt to be a family. ittedly, Vepresila was not their child, but she filled the

empty place and brought them together in a way they had never been before. They did not mention their son, and they always excluded the two adoptees. With Vepresila, they found a whole. A whole which would likely be ruined the day Vepresila returned home. Filia realized she must do something about it. She approached her two adopted children. She had spent her fair share of time with them, but she had always felt a certain distance. They filled a place she expected to fill, but not because she wanted it. Now she gradually managed to build something more than cold politeness between them. It would take time and she might never succeed, but it did not stop her from trying. "You know," Filia said to Vepresila the evening before her departure, "I'm glad you took the detour to get here. I hate to it it, but it's useful to get your world a little scrambled from time to time." They strolled along together on the agora. "I'm glad I came here," Vepresila agreed. "It was good for me too." Filia eyed the girl. "In what way?" She doubted the visit has been equally rewarding for Vepresila as it has been for her. "I learned how it could be in a family. When men and women live separately as they did in the culture I grew up in, men and women show very little affection for each other. My mother loved me, but it was so anguished because I would leave. And my father didn't bother at all. Now I know how it can be and what I want to give my own children." Filia had a nagging feeling Vepresila looked down on her for the choices she made. "You learned a lot about how you should not do as well, I suppose." "There's no right and wrong." The expected answer. "But you still have an opinion!" Filia insisted. "Everyone has an opinion!" Vepresila's dark eyes met hers. "Yes, I have an opinion," she replied. "But it's based on only a small amount of information, and not your whole life and your thoughts and reasoning. I know my opinion is just a reflection of how I think I would have acted. It makes

nothing more right or wrong. Why do you care what I think about how you solved things?" Filia knew why she cared. It was because she felt remorse. She felt insecure about their choice. Because she was afraid of what her son would think of her. A son she would never get the chance to meet. A son whose views she would never affect. "Sometimes I think it would have been nice to be more of a god and less human. It feels like people are made to separate things into right and wrong, and we, we are above it. At the same time, we are humans and sometimes need to force ourselves not to see life in just two colors. Had we been real goddesses we never would have had to contend with regret and bitterness." "And never known love, tenderness, or caring either. Take advantage of what you have, Filia, and do the best you can. Life is full of unfortunate human fates and broken families. Humankind keeps on living anyway. You know, he who brought me to Alsyone, when he came back, he told me something I've been thinking about a lot. He took care of my little brother, and the boy learned our songs. And he managed to create flowers by singing. He died of exhaustion, but I've sometimes thought that many who sing and not know the benefits, might help our work a little bit anyway." Filia gaped. "He created real flowers?" Vepresila nodded. Filia leaned her head back watching the sky. "You know, when I look up at the stars at night, I think we are all quite small and can't do too much damage. I'm just me, and beyond Halliakon are other islands and beyond our world are other worlds with other life. When I look at the stars, I feel safe because then I know it cannot go too crazy because it's still a minuscule part of the cosmos I can influence." "When I walked around at night at the Temple I also watched the stars. It scared me that I could live and die inside the walls without anyone seeing me and care. I was worth less than a grain of sand." "Isn't it strange that we looked at the same stars?"

Vepresila nodded. "You know, I think we should spread our songs, get some help." "I think so too. Thanks for the suggestion." "I'll miss you, Filia." They hugged. She would miss Vepresila too, but such was life. People came and went. The world was in flux. "What will you do when you get home?" "Find a place I can call home, I guess. Hope Simmiolas comes back before I'm too old."

Chapter Thirty-Two

Sunrise

When the boat docked in Etifad, Simmiolas saw much had happened since his last stay. The islands in the delta were overgrown and used for cultivation and pasture. It was life and joy in the area which had not been there last. When he went ashore, he noted the city was not as hostile as last time, and there were goods in the shops. There was a quiet well-being of the population. He paid for lodging at an inn, and the next day he set off up the mountain towards the place where he had once lived. The landscape meeting him was no desert as the last time he arrived at the island a long time ago. Now there grew grass and flowers, and he saw groves of trees. At midday during his second day of walking, Simmiolas reached a tribe that had their tents beside a lake. He listened to the song he heard the women sing as they worked. To his surprise, it was one of the melodies from Mirabilis. There was only one who could have taught them that song. He approached the camp. Some men with weapons in hand went to meet him. He held up his hands and showed himself unarmed. "I'm alone and mean you no harm." The men nodded and bid him welcome to the camp. Many were curious about the visitor, and when he was invited to share a meal in the chief's tent, a crowd gathered outside to get a peek. The chief offered a hearty meal. "I'm honored to be invited to this abundance of food," Simmiolas greeted the leader, "but I'm just a simple wanderer." "Even a simple bird ing by needs food," his host returned. "And no one shall leave my tent hungry."

They ate together. The chief asked him where he was going. "I'm looking for a woman," Simmiolas replied, and he heard several loud giggles from the opening of the tent. "A special woman. A good friend. I thought maybe I'd find her here." "Women don't usually have men as friends," the leader grinned at him, "but I can send a question to the women's council if you wish." Simmiolas shook his head. "No, sorry, we misunderstood each other. I already know who I'm looking for. She often sang the song I heard the women sing out there when I arrived. I thought maybe she was living here nowadays." "The song is a common song. Often sung. Many tribes around here sing it. Does the woman you're looking for have a name?" "Vepresila." The chief dropped the food he held in his hand. "Vepresila?" he repeated. "The sorceress?" "Sorceress?" "There's a woman with that name in a large cave in the mountain you see with your back to the sun. She's not like other women. She's unmarried and with powers. Some say that she's close to the Gods. Others that she's received her power from demons." "It sounds like her." The chief gazed at him. Then his eyes turned toward the tent opening and the crowd there. "Away with you! Let our guest eat alone!" The people got up and disappeared. The chief looked at him with a look that reminded Simmiolas of Mannestam.

"You're no ordinary, simple wanderer, right?" Simmiolas hesitated before speaking, thinking of something to say. The chief poured some milk into a cup and handed it to him. "I don't know where the two of you come from, but she is the cause of my tribe's happiness. May you do the same to her." "It's my intention," Simmiolas replied and drank the milk.

The next day, he reached the mountain where he had lived and where Vepresila was said to be staying. The oasis was a lush and green forest. The hill had green slopes covered with the small white flower Zollam created. He followed a path into the woods. It was so dense the air was fresh and damp under the trees. It also meant that the undergrowth was not high, which made it easy to walk. "Welcome," a voice spoke behind him. He spun around. "Vepresila?" The woman who stood before him had the same long hair as he ed, but the face was mature, and the body had a little more stability. "Yes, I've also grown older." She laughed. "You know, I think we are actually peers again." They needed no words. They fell into each other's arms and kissed. Vepresila brought him into the cave and to what had been Mannestam's private room, but now it was her bed-chamber. There they united. Afterward, they lay sweaty on the furs in silence. "Vepresila?" "Shhh. You're spoiling the mood." "I've finally become a man." "Sleep well, newly fledged man," Vepresila mumbled.

They walked together through the cave and Vepresila showed him all the changes she had made. The large inner cave used for the men's council meetings was nowadays the place where she received her visitors, and it was decorated to create a magical atmosphere. "There was not a trace of the tribe when I came back," Vepresila told him. "This cave was abandoned. I've listened to all the tales and stories tribes around here tell, but no one tells about my tribe's fate. I had wanted to know what happened to them." Simmiolas nodded. "We're both remnants of a time that has come and gone and left few traces. We're without history." "I've taught the tribes around here to write. An attempt to keep the stories and fairy-tales a little longer." "I someone telling me that writing was an inaccessible way to convey a message," Simmiolas smiled. "Well… It was before I learned to read. And it was before I realized how fragile a story is. Writing has its limits. The space and scope of the characters are strictly limited, yes, I still think so. But a story ed from person to person is dependent on each individual's recollection. Written text is only dependent on someone still able to read the characters." "And that the material they write on remains over time," Simmiolas added. "I heard the women of the tribe I ed sang one of our songs, by the way." "Yes, amazing isn't it?" "That you've taught them the song?" "No, I've not taught them that. I thought it was you." "No, I..." He halted. No, he had not taught anyone any melody. Not consciously. "Zollam. Zollam sang the same songs as I did. He had the one I heard as a

favorite. Those who came to us on the mountain must have heard him." "I think their song helped your work." Simmiolas looked bewildered. "When I came back," Vepresila continued, "everything was green as it is today. It's your work Simmiolas. Yours and Zollam's. What is it?" Simmiolas just shook his head. "I've to go up the mountain!" He rushed out and began to walk up the slope. It was steeper on this side than the other way. Sometimes he was more climbing than walking. Zollam had created the white flowers and died. He had pushed himself beyond all common sense and sung and been freezing for days and nights. Simmiolas had believed ordinary people who did not know the Word could not affect in the same way as a Recreator. In school, when he returned, he had learned it was not true. It sometimes happened that ordinary people could do amazing things with the Word without knowing what forces they used. "After all," Master of Trees had explained, "humankind received the Word and lived with the Word and was a part of it once. It's latent in everyone." He had managed to escape his remorse and his guilt concerning Zollam then, but now? Was it Zollam's credit his work finally blossomed? He had seen Zollam's copycats of Mirabilis songs as harmless and pleasant and without significance. He stood at Zollam's cairn when Vepresila came up the mountain. "I usually go up here and watch the sunrise. Was this where you lived?" "Me and Zollam." "So the grave is my brother's?" Simmiolas nodded. Tears ran down his cheeks. Vepresila squeezed his hand and wiped his tears away. "We can call the mountain Zollam's peak. Then his name is forever associated with what he did."

Simmiolas took a deep breath and let out the air and the frustrations with it. "You watch the sunrise from here? So did we." They walked down the hill together. Simmiolas inquired how Vepresila put up her work as a Recreator, and he was amazed at how much she had taught her visitors about the Word, even though she never called it that and wrapped it up in other formulations and actions. "I couldn't think of any harm it could do," she explained. "And if it would help heal nature then it was just fine and would move us forward as a people." Simmiolas considered. He had always seen his role as something only a Recreator survived and had never thought of sharing the burden. Or if it could even be possible. Vepresila had dared to try. He was impressed and fascinated. Amazed at how little instruction on this they received at school. But there was probably a sense in that too. It was perhaps not a thing for a school to tell how the powers could be used and how. The point was maybe that they would do differently, each according to each and everyone's abilities and mindset. "I want you to stay with me," Vepresila pleaded when they had made love in the evening. "There is nothing I want more," Simmiolas replied and hugged her. "Do you think we can work together?" Vepresila wondered. "Or do you think we destroy something if we do?" Simmiolas shook his head. "I think it'll be what we want it to be. And if not, we try some other way to do it." A thought crossed Simmiolas mind. "Do you think our children will be born with the Word?" "Remains to be seen," Vepresila yawned. "It will be as it will be."

THE END

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About the author

I was an early writer and enjoy trying out new formats and way to express myself in text. Apart from novels, I also have got several scripts produced into short films and won a scriptwriting contest. I also write TableTop RPG adventures.

If you enjoyed this story you will likely enjoy:

Caged Warrior – Avia, the Warrior, part 1

Fighting the Gods – Avia, the Warrior, part 2

Quickfinger – L.A. Stories, part 1

Escape Room Game – L.A. Stories, part 2

Sunlight

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Caged Warrior

Already on her way down the , she felt some- thing was not as it ought to be. Later she asked herself why she got that feeling and figured it must have been something in the air, a burnt smell traveled far from a large fire with boosts of smoke high in the air. The village of Peragri was no longer there. What she faced was a burnt down leftover of what was once a group of about thirty homes. Smoke was still rising from the ruins, and she could feel the heat as she walked down what used to be the main path between the buildings, the bow in her hands with an arrow ready. There was no movement or signs of life. Whoever had done this thing had left or died. She stopped in front of the place where her daughter and grandson had lived. If someone had been inside during the fire, there was no chance of surviving. The house was burnt to the ground. She put the arrow back in the quiver and walked inside the sinister skeleton of charred logs. Everything was blackened and reshaped to diminished remnants. She poked among the various debris on the floor with the tip of her bow. It was hard to tell what was what. Were Arica and Putt, and her always-so-skilled son-in-law, Bov, among these shatter- red scraps? She had seen many things in her life, and burnt bodies were one of the most unpleasant things to face. What could be left of them if they had been inside the house? Some people burned their dead on pyres. They knew how to make them so hot that not even the bones were left afterward. Had it been that hot? In that case, she would never know if they survived or not. Her eyes wandered around the area. Where would you hide if you were inside a house on fire? A wooden house that would burn for granted. Her glance settled on the fireplace. The one solid thing still standing due to its fireproof function. It was as black as everything else, but it had stood firm to the flames that ate every- thing around it. It was a wide and high construction, large enough to stand in. Her daughter had been an excellent cook, and her husband had built her a fire- place worthy of her cooking skills. They had, however, not been standing. Huddled inside, hugging each other, were two bodies, burnt down to the bone. Avia knelt and looked closer. It was two, not three, and they were adults. Putt was ten and could hardly be tall enough to be

taken for an adult. She watched the black, grinning skulls. One of them was most likely her daughter. She saw her daughter's skeleton, the inside of her body. Things no one was ever supposed to be exposed to. As a warrior, she would not have survived as long as she had if she was easily upset or quick to panic. There had been too many deaths on her long journeys for her to have any hopes it was a dream or something that could be undone. The reality was there with her all the time in an almost inhumane way, denying her a shield or comfort, exposing her to the facts in front of her eyes. Her only child, her dear Arica, was dead.

Sunlight

My name is Andrew Sword. I was saving the World; or rather what was left of it. Much was lost in the Great War. Human life, yes. But also knowledge; How much we did not know. Generations later and there was no one left to . It was not considered important to write stories either, so our post-war history is for most part unknown. The night the desert rat came, I had the watch with Sergeant Mortar, as usual. When you have watched at the same landscape for years, day as well as night, you know it well enough to draw a picture of it from memory. I knew the shape of every shadow, from the sun or the moon did not matter. I saw the shadow of the Fort on the ground and knew there was not supposed to be a hump where there now was one. When I moved towards the side of the tower to have a better look, the hump disappeared, and I heard the sound of pebbles rolling. Both Sergeant Mortar and I just stood there staring in disbelief into the darkness. I had been in that very spot for five years without being close to even see traces of a rat. When one actually arrived, it was not the right time to gawk. I grabbed the front of Mortar's uniform and hissed to him to get his feet moving and wake the Colonel and sound the alarm. I almost shoved him down the stairs in front of me. As soon as we were down, I made sure he hurried in the right direction, and then I ran towards the supplies. That was where the rats always turned up first: by our food. And I was not about to let them have a single grain of it. The store room was in the basement, covering the major part of the whole floor. It was utterly dark. The light from the open doorway to the staircase did not reach far. I saw the nearest shelf and then black void behind it. I was not sure of the right move. If turned on the lights I would yell out my presence. If I brought a lantern, I would do the same but give the rat a respite and a chance to escape. Walk into the storage without any guidance would be risky as well. There was more than one entrance to the area, so I could not just remain where I was and wait for backup either. I decided to take my chances in the dark. I took aim on the nearest shelf, closed the door behind me and walked straight forward, blind. The basement where we kept our supply of food had a low ceiling. I could stand straight, but I could put my palm onto it. The shelves went all the way up, and if

someone was in there with a light, the shelves would block it until I turned a corner. My hands followed the shelf to the gable. No light. And no sound. With my left hand on the known shelf, I stretched across the age to find the next gable. The aisle was narrow enough for my hand to find it. I moved along the row, gable by gable scanning down each black aisle for light or signs of rats. Pitch black darkness has an annoying habit of getting inside your mind and talk about things that are not there. I had not been in the food supply very often since I was not the chef, but I knew enough to keep my nagging panic of imaginary monsters at bay. I was chasing rats, not dragons. I stopped. Was that a sound? Was there a light? Further down, perhaps four rows away, I thought I saw a dim light. I hurried towards the shelf, eager to prove myself. I peeked around the corner down the age and saw a desert rat. It wore a long, bleached and tattered coat and a wide-brimmed hat and stood with its back to me. It was pilfering from our supplies down in a bag just as I had expected it would. I sneaked up from behind, grabbed its shoulder and shoved it around. My fist was ready for one straight knockout punch in the face. Its hat fell off, and long hair fell down on its shoulders. I hesitated a second in genuine surprise. Which the bastard used and put a knee in my crotch as firm and fast as I had planned to put my fist where it belonged. Needless to say, I fell to my knees in pain and could not do anything but watching her leave, taking her light with her. Yes, it was a woman. No less a desert rat, but I it I was taken aback. I was a man who had not seen a woman in five years. Before that, hardly any other women than my own mother and a few female relatives. This was the first girl I ever met that was… I do not know how to express this gallantly. Let me try this way: female relatives are off limits for breeding. This desert rat was not a relative of mine. And though sexual activities were not my first thought, she was nevertheless the first woman I had met where those kinds of things could actually be possible. Not that a desert rat could ever be a relevant choice of candidate for expanding the human population, but still… It gave me the breathtaken second resulting in me lying on the chilly concrete floor with my hands around my genitals. In the darkness on the cool floor I had few thoughts in my head but those of intense pain. From my low position in more ways than physical, I heard the hissing foretelling the lights turned on, and a few seconds later the storage went from pitch black to clear, soft yellow. I knew what was coming but could do

nothing about it. The Colonel marched into the area with at least twenty soldiers, Sergeant Mortar first in line. They found me at once. I saw the well-known boots stop near my face. They were always polished and cared for. And they still had that sweet scent of leather oil I had always loved as a boy. "So, what have we got here?" the Colonel asked with his loud voice, booming between the shelfs and over the crowd of men. "A woman crawling on the floor like a baby?" I managed a "No, sir" and felt his large hand taking a firm grip around my neck pulling me to my feet. "Stand up like a man when I'm talking to you!" "Yes, sir." With a massive effort, I kept my hands from covering my aching private parts and stood straight too, though my body urged me to return to the fetal position on the floor. The cool concrete had been a soft bed compared to this. "How many rats were they?" The single question I did not want. "One." "One?" "Yes, sir." I did not watch his face, but I could very well imagine what it looked like. "Man or woman?" "Woman." "One… woman…" He lingered on every word, rubbing it in like chili powder in the eyes. "It's probably still in the building" I heard myself say, trying to produce something of value, something that would make me return to the respected captain I had been just ten minutes ago. The Colonel turned to the other men. "Catch it! And claim your reward as it pleases you. Dismissed!" They scattered, and the Colonel himself marched away. I saw Sergeant Mortar turn to leave as well.

"Last time I checked you were under my command, boy!" He gave me a sniffy look I did not care for at all. The next thing he felt was the palm of my hand slapping his cheek as a disgraceful reminder for him. I had to maintain the respect from my subordinates. I could not allow my slight slip-up be a permanent memory of me. It was time to act and do so right away. I knew something about the rat that none of the others did. I grabbed Mortar and shoved him out of the food supply. "Be grateful that I take you along, your lazy pile of shit. We're going to catch ourselves a rat."