“Shon, I would speak with you.” The dim green light on the opposite side of the dungeon pulsed slightly brighter as Gravine spoke, punctuating each word hauntingly.

“Hold on, let me check something first,” Shon said from his corner of the dungeon. He sat completely still with a neutral expression on his face, and paused a moment before speaking again. “Hmmm… Nope, looks like I still haven’t turned into an evil pile of rat droppings yet, so I’m still not interested in anything you have to say, O Great King of Creepiness.”

It was completely dark where Shon was sitting, and during the several hours he had been confined in the dungeon, he discovered that one positive aspect of being able to see anything was that he could picture himself however he wanted. In Shon’s mind, he pictured this exchange taking place with him sitting with a relaxed posture, with a look on his face that conveyed boredom and skepticism. From the scene in his mind, it would have been clear that Shon was thoroughly unimpressed with Gravine.

“I grow tired of your insolence,” Gravine replied, a tone of anger creeping into his high, hissing voice. “Thus far I have been patient with you because your skills are valuable to me and because you are too young and naïve to recognize how generous and noble my offers to you have been. But our time together is limited, and we may likely never get another chance to speak in private like this once Vdekshi discovers where I am.”

“Therefore,” Gravine continued, “in the consideration of urgency, I am willing to offer you a gift as an incentive for you to pay attention and cease your foolish defiance. In time I trust that you’ll realize just how incredibly generous of me this is. Most of those who serve me must show me the loyalty and obedience I expect for years before receiving any gift from me. This particular gift required significant sacrifice and subtlety on my part, so I expect more gratitude and less audacity from you in the future, Shon.”

Shon was about to reply with exactly the kind of audacity that Gravine had just alluded to, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, he heard a very faint shifting sound in front of him, as if a blanket had fallen to the floor in the middle of his cell. Shon walked forward and bent down to the floor to feel in the dark for whatever object had made the sound. When his fingers found it, he gasped.

“Now there’s the sound of someone who is starting to realize just how lucky he is,” said Gravine. The glow from the green crystal containing Gravine grew brighter until Shon saw what he had already felt. Its deep red coloring appeared nearly black in the green light, but there was still no mistaking it for Shon. It was his cloak. The cloak that his father had entrusted to Uncle Grodin until Shon was mature enough to go out into the world and discover his destiny. Shon’s fingers brushed over the emblem on the shoulder of the moon on fire. It was the emblem of Shon’s father, Alla Nen. A tear rolled down Shon’s cheek.

He wanted to fire off another snarky retort at Gravine, but he couldn’t find the words. When he had first woken up in the dungeon, the lack of his cloak had been a terrible shock, but then again, everything had been a terrible shock at that moment. And his encounter with Gravine had distracted him from fully processing the loss. Now that Shon saw it in front of him and held it in his hands again, the weight of it suddenly hit him.

The cloak meant so much to him, yet it had been taken away so easily. Shon still didn’t know who stole it, and he realized whoever it was, they could have hidden it away or even destroyed it, and he would’ve never known. As he held the cloak and once again felt the fabric woven with his father’s magic, the thought of losing it forever without knowing its fate terrified him. For a moment, it even seemed to him that death would be a better fate than a lifetime of not knowing.

“How did you get it?” Shon finally managed to ask. “And how did you get it in here? I thought you were trapped in that crystal.”

“That is unimportant,” Gravine replied with a satisfied tone. “What is important is understanding how valuable my gifts can be. And even more important is understanding that every gift I give comes at a price, and if my price isn’t met then I take back those gifts and then some.”

“No!” Shon shouted, clutching the cloak to his chest. He wanted to shout more. Something insulting or insulting. But now that Shon had something to lose, his bravery and bravado were evaporating quickly, and he found himself regretting his earlier attitude.

“Ah, so it seems I chose this gift well, did I?” The misty tendrils from the crystal containing Gravine began to snake their way over to Shon once again. “I assume there won’t be any more rude interruptions or snide comments then?”

Shon sat huddled on the floor of the dark dungeon, clinging to the cloak in his arms, and trying to fight the panic and anger that were clawing at his insides. He didn’t want to give Gravine the satisfaction of seeing Shon give in, but what else could he do? Shon quietly took a deep breath to steady himself, and then spoke in a tone that he hoped sounded calm and neutral. “So you’re saying the price of this gift is letting you speak and hearing you out?”

“Listening, paying attention, and showing me the respect someone like me deserves,” said Gravine. “That’s all I ask. For the moment.”

Shon chose his next words carefully. “In all honesty, I don’t know how you define the kind of respect that someone like you deserves. I’m not going to grovel or beg, and I’m not going to lie just to tell you what you want to hear. But I will apologize for how rude I was before, and I’ll promise to show you the kind of respect my Uncle Grodin taught me to show people. The kind of respect that everyone deserves.”

“My, how very… egalitarian your uncle sounds,” said Gravine. “Nevertheless, I suppose that will do for now.” One of the tendrils then pointed at Shon. “Oh, and you may put on my gift to you before we begin. I can tell by the way you’re fawning over it that you can hardly wait to try it on. Of course I can hardly blame you. My craftsmanship is always exceptional, and that’s one of the finest robes I’ve ever made.”

Shon froze. He didn’t know how much Gravine could see in the dark room, but it was clear the necromancer was capable of sensing more than Shon originally thought since he had commented on the way Shon was holding his father’s cloak. The cloak that Gravine had called a “robe,” and claimed that he had made. Perhaps Gravine could see more of the room than Shon had assumed, but perhaps he also knew less than Shon had first assumed.

Not wanting his expression to give anything away, Shon slowly turned his eyes to look again at the emblem on the shoulder of the cloak. Even in such dim lighting, there was no mistaking the image of the crescent moon surrounded by flames. It was the emblem of Alla Nen, Shon’s father. Uncle Grodin had told Shon that his dad put that image on everything he created, and even enchanted it to make sure nobody could copy it.

So it was obvious that Gravine was lying about creating it, but it wasn’t the lie that had surprised Shon. What surprised Shon was what the lie meant. It meant that Gravine didn’t realize what the cloak really was, who had made it, or that it already belonged to Shon. Because if Gravine had known any of that, then he would’ve realized how obvious his lie was to Shon. Perhaps the necromancer had simply sensed that the cloak was magical and valuable and supposed it would be just the thing to entice a young wizard like Shon.

All of these realizations raced through Shon’s mind in a matter of moments, and he knew he would need to think fast and act quickly if he didn’t want Gravine to catch on or become suspicious. He decided that lies took too long to come up with, and he had never been very good at crafting believable ones anyway. So for now he would stick to simply asking questions, and avoiding any outright lies unless absolutely necessary. He took a deep breath and got ready to relax his muscles into movement again.

Shon stood up and held the cloak by the shoulders, letting the rest of it unfurl to the floor. “Exceptional craftsmanship is an understatement,” said Shon. “But why give it to me? If this is one of the best treasures in your whole collection, why not give it to Vdekshi or wear it yourself?”

“Vdekshi wouldn’t appreciate a quality garment like this no matter how valuable it is,” Gravine said with derision dripping from his voice. “That pathetic yak-brained monk would rather wear clothes made of burlap and twine. As for wearing it myself, there’s not much point in clothing when you don’t have a body.”

“My apologies,” said Shon, “I didn’t realize that you don’t have a body. Though I guess that would explain how you’re able to fit inside a cage as small as that crystal.”

“Indeed,” replied Gravine. “The size of the prison hardly matters at all when it’s your soul that’s imprisoned.” Shon could hear the contempt building in the necromancer’s voice, and saw the green light grow in intensity. Then Gravine paused and the light dimmed again. “Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself, and I’d like to tell this story properly. Go on Shon, I am looking forward to seeing how my old cloak looks on a smart young wizard like yourself. Put it on, and then we’ll begin.”

Shon was relieved that Gravine still hadn’t caught on, but he decided to push his luck just a little bit further. “You seem rather eager for me to put it on,” said Shon, pretending to be hesitant to put his arm in the first sleeve. “This isn’t going to curse me as soon as I put it on or anything is it?”

“If you suspect my gifts are so terrible, then you’re welcome to drop it on the floor and rot in this cell for the rest of your life!” Gravine stormed. “I’ll make sure it’s gone before you wake up from you next sleep, and you’ll never see it again.”

“No, no, I’m sorry!” Shon stammered. “I’m sorry I was just trying to be cautious. I’m frightened, but you’re right. It was rude of me not to trust you.” Shon then put on the cloak.

The feeling of warmth and security that Shon felt once the cloak was on him again was so overpowering that he nearly wept. He probably would have, if he hadn’t been worried about making Gravine suspicious of the reaction. “It’s absolutely perfect,” said Shon. “It is without a doubt, the most magnificent piece of clothing I’ve ever worn.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve finally learned some proper gratitude and humility,” Gravine said. “Now we can finally begin your education, Shon.”

“Thank you for your patience with me,” said Shon. “I know I was difficult before and it was rude of me to refuse to listen. But that’s all changed now, and I’m ready to listen and pay attention. I believe I’m finally ready to learn the truth.”

Aluanna walked among her camp outside town as several members of her band continued to sleep soundly after a long night of playing had ended just four hours before. The joys of waking with the sunrise had been as pleasant as usual, and even with the dampness from the recent rain, the sounds of smells of the early morning forest greeted her like a friend. All the same, she couldn’t help notice that there were fewer birds singing in the trees than there ought to be so early in autumn, and she worried that the creeping gloom in the region was spreading this close to town.

Aluanna decided to walk to the nearby stream to see if a splash of cool water would calm her nerves. She had just lowered her hands to the water when she felt a surge of magic swell inside her. Toj stood nearby, and when the satyr saw her pause, he walked over to see if anything was the matter. When he reached her, it almost seemed for an instant as if her eyes were glowing white. But then the moment passed and he was certain that the sun reflecting off the water must have been playing tricks on him, because when he looked again, her eyes were the same as usual.

“My Lady,” said Toj, “is everything alright?”

“That stranger, Tarun, and his companions, Seth and Shon,” said Aluanna. “Has there been any word of them?”

“Not since we parted ways,” said Toj. “Why do you ask?”

Aluanna’s voice was quiet and distant, and her eyes seemed focused on nothing in particular. “There may be more to them than we first believed,” she said. She then looked down at her hands and realized they were still in a cupping shape beneath the water, and her fingers were getting chilled. She hastily stood up and dried her hands on her skirt. “Any news on the Sword of Wheat legend?”

Toj scratched his head at the spot where his horns stuck out. “My brothers and I asked around when we arrived to see if any of the storytellers or musicians in town were familiar with it,” he said. “There were two old-timers who remembered it from a nursery rhyme from when they were little. One of them even sang it to me.” Taj made a face. “The tune is a little catchy, but I should warn you that chorus will get stuck in your head for a week.”

“A nursery rhyme?” Aluanna looked disappointed. “I thought it was a whole legend I heard as a child.”

“Sometimes our childhood memories make things grander and more important than they really were,” said Toj. “I could’ve sworn I fought off a bear when I was a kid, but my brothers insist it was just a really cranky raccoon.”

The joke was almost enough to make Aluanna laugh, but there was still something weighing on her. “And you’re sure you and your brothers spoke with everyone?”

“Well, we spoke with all the storytellers and musicians in town,” said Toj. “So everyone worth speaking to.”

Aluanna could tell there was more to that statement than he wanted to explain, so she raised an eyebrow and continued to look at him in silence.

“I mean there was that one guy,” Toj finally admitted. “Probably not the most charming guy in town. Definitely the least charming guy in the whole town. He may be the only person I’ve heard of that can manage to be more rude than Roj without getting indigestion afterwards.”

“Oh no,” said Aluanna. “What happened?”

“I mean, it obviously wasn’t Roj’s fault,” said Toj, which was how he always started stories that ended in fights that were definitely Roj’s fault. “So Roj is on a street corner talking with the Town Gossip, which is a totally legitimate category of storyteller by the way, and he’s asking about the Sword of Wheat. The Town Gossip looks at Roj like he’s got something growing out of his head, which he does by the way because, you know, the horns, but doesn’t know anything about the Sword of Wheat.”

“That’s when this pretentious jerk walks over and starts talking about how he knows SO MUCH about the Sword of Wheat and how he’s practically an expert on it.” Toj rolled his eyes and let out a bleat at the end to show his annoyance. “I mean can you believe that guy?”

“Probably!” Aluanna exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air. “Why wouldn’t I believe him? Who would bother lying about being an expert on a nursery rhyme?”

“Well for starters, someone who would lie about anything,” said Toj. “Tax collectors.”

“Oh no,” said Aluanna with a wince.

“Oh yes,” said Toj. “I mean, it’s no secret that satyrs and tax collectors are natural enemies, so I think it showed a lot of self-restraint that all Roj did was give the guy a couple bruises.”

“Roj punched the one person who can tell us more about the Sword of Wheat than the annoying chorus to a nursery rhyme?” Aluanna looked around to see if any of her followers were looking, then bent down to scoop up some water in the stream and fling it at Toj’s face. “And you didn’t tell me?”

The cold water surprised Toj for a moment, then he looked back at Aluanna with a look of horror as he seemed to finally remember who he was speaking to. “Lady Aluanna, forgive me,” he said, bowing low. “I fear my brothers and I have been acting more like head-butting goats than noblemen.”

“Well then stop acting like buttheads and help me fix this,” Aluanna said, keeping her voice low enough that only her old friend could hear her. “We need to find this expert, apologize for your brother’s behavior, and see what we can learn.”

“Of course,” said Toj. “At once, my lady.”

“Thank you,” said Aluanna. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Now where can we find this tax collector?”

“Oh well the funny thing is,” said Toj, “it turns out that this town doesn’t actually collect taxes in the traditional sense. So while this guy is just as dry and humorless as a tax collector, he’s actually… the keeper of the town treasury.”

Aluanna sighed. “Of course he is.”

 

---

 

Toj sat in a chair next to Aluanna in the most boring room he had ever visited. In front of him was the most boring desk he had ever seen, and on the other side of that desk was surely the most boring human Toj had ever met. It was a testament to Toj’s loyalty to Aluanna that he managed to keep his hoof-tapping to a minimum.

“Thank you for being so gracious, Lord Haughlt,” said Aluanna. “My followers have an abundance of passion, and sometimes it spills over in unfortunate ways.” It took everything Toj had to resist kicking something at the indignity of the situation. If anything, their gangly pallid host should be the one thanking Aluanna for gracing his town with her presence. She had even put on shoes before coming into town. The idea of Aluanna, Lady of the Wood herself, covering her feet offended Toj from hoof to horn.

“Well passion is certainly something we have in common,” Haughlt said in a nasal monotone voice. “That’s why I would never let something as trivial as a bruised eye and swollen lip get in the way of my duties as the steward of public records for the entire Southern Moorfast region. After all, acting deputy town treasurer may be my occupation, but my true calling and passion is my work meticulously maintaining the integrity of the documentation that reports the material contributions paid from citizens and businesses to the various local and sovereign governing bodies that have existed in this region during the last four centuries, as well as the records of expenses made public regarding the use of those communal funds.”

Toj sat stupefied, unable to comprehend the human sitting before him. The man’s eyebrows and mustache twitched as he talked, as if whatever nonsense he was discussing was actually capable of evoking excitement and joy out of any living creature. Indeed, his eyes seemed to flash with euphoria as he spoke. And yet his tone never shifted up or down to punctuate his words. His volume was as even as roof that leaked all night, and his rate of speech was as steady as a metronome.

“Did you know,” asked Haughlt, “that the Southern Bellfast region boasts the most comprehensive historical financial accounting records on the entire continent? Thanks largely to its lack of strategic or political value in nearly all major conflicts on record, our books have never faced devastation by war or fire like so many other regions in the past. In fact, the greatest risk these records face is abandonment and careless handling, against which I stand as their staunch defender.”

Truly, the languid, monotone voice which continued to drone on from Haughlt matched the dullness of the subject, yet Toj could not look away. How could this man’s eyes be so electrified, the fur between his nose and lip scurry so jubilantly, while talking of numbers on paper and tax records written by long-dead nobodies, all spoken in a voice that sounded like someone spent an hour sitting on cheaply made bagpipes?

“That is remarkable,” said Aluanna, catching a yawn so sleight that Toj was sure he was the only one to notice it. “Please, Lord Haughlt, what can you tell my companion and me about the Sword of Wheat?”

“Ah, now that is something noteworthy,” Haughlt said in the same tone that was never used by anyone ever to say something interesting. “Now a number of people have heard of the Sword of Wheat from the once-popular children’s song by the same name. Hopefully you’ve already heard this song for yourselves, for I’m afraid I would be unwilling to sing it for you.”

Toj’s heart skipped a beat. Both at the horrifying prospect of hearing Haughlt sing anything, and the simultaneous relief that he would not have to experience those horrors first hand. Finally, Toj thought to himself, he had caught a lucky break.

“A few perceptive historians have even proposed a connection between the song and the unique grain that grows in a more…” Haughlt paused to find the word he was looking for, and Toj found himself unconsciously holding his breath in response. “…unsavory area in the region.”

All the moisture in Toj’s mouth was gone. He felt a great weight in the pit of his stomach, and a numbness crept through his limbs. He could not even build a proper rage at what he had just witnessed, but only an exasperated hopelessness for the man across the desk.

One of the longest and proudest traditions among the dwindling culture of satyrs was that of sharing stories of heroic satyrs who goaded hapless humans into battles of wits and guile, and of the fantastic wordplay that went over the humans’ heads. The most popular of these stories always involved a human so dull and witless that they actually made a play on their own words without even realizing. And then, as Toj listened with his own words, Haughlt had been an inch away from executing one of the most perfect unintentional puns that any satyr had ever mocked a human for, and he missed it.

In his imagination, Toj could see the scene of hilarity as he shared with his brothers how this dolt of a human had called the dark-yet-oddly-wheat-abundant realm of Vdekshi “a seedy area of town.” But those hopes were dashed because this dullard couldn’t even get that right. He could feel all hope for hidden entertainment or delight evaporate like the moisture in paint left to dry on an outhouse door. There was nothing left of him with the energy to resist the mundane miasma emanating from Lord Haughlt, so he gave in and just let the words seep into his brain like the juices from an overcooked vegetable soaking into an innocent piece of bread left carelessly too close on the same plate.

“What everyone has failed to recognize however,” said Haughlt, “is that the words of the verses actually correspond to some very specific expenditures recorded nearly three centuries ago. Not only that, but some extraordinary unpaid tax invoices seem to be tied to the same series of events, and the estimated values used to calculate those sums follows a pattern that matches the same exponential growth as the expense reports.”

Toj felt his eyes flutter and his head began to nod against his will. For the briefest of moments, he was afraid that he was falling under a spell of lethargy cast by the most cunning sorcerer in the world, disguised as this painfully boring man. But Toj was too drained of energy to even care anymore. The fluttering of his eyelids increased.

“For example,” Haughlt went on, “the first verse begins, ‘Ten knights, Twenty knights, Forty knights more. The king sent eighty to settle the score.’ But obviously those first three groups of knights only total seventy, so that group of eighty must be referring to an entirely new group, rather than the sum of the first three. So clearly we see a pattern of the king in this story choosing to double the number of knights he sends each time to collect the taxes due to him. But who ever heard of such a thing?”

Toj was fading fast. His breath was becoming slow and deep. He could only pray that Lady Aluanna would be able to defend herself against this diabolical foe.

“And yet,” Haughlt went on, “just such a ludicrous series of expenses was made, right here on this very ledger. As you can see, the plaintiff in the record was the monarch of the time, while the claim was made against a farmer recorded simply as…”

As sleep overcame Toj, he felt himself floating through a void of darkness that was pitch black, yet felt strangely of bubbly water. It was very unlike the usual lively and vividly colored dreams that satyrs usually experienced. It wasn’t even like the spectacularly terrifying nightmares he occasionally had. This was something different.

The sensation of bubbliness increased as the wateriness of the sensation decreased, and the scene around him grew gradually lighter until he found himself standing in the middle of a wide field of golden wheat. Not far from where he stood, he could see a man harvesting the wheat with a long scythe. The man stopped his reaping, turned, and began walking forward. Toj felt he had seen the man before, but couldn’t quite match his face with anyone he could remember. Then Toj remembered Seth who had sent Aluanna searching for information about the Sword of Wheat in the first place. As the man stepped right in front of Toj, he realized that this farmer bore a striking resemblance to the young man.

“Hello there,” said the farmer. “Forgive my surprise, but we don’t often get visitors out in these parts. It’s nice to meet you.” The farmer extended a hand in greeting. “Most folks around here just call me Friendly Seth.”

The ringing in Tarun’s ears never seemed to stop. The high-pitched noise inside his head was painful and made it nearly impossible to think. Whenever he became angry, the ringing got louder and the pain got worse. And ever since Krall and the others died, it seemed like he was angry all the time. Tarun didn’t like being angry, but the ringing and the anger were apparently inseparable.

Tarun sat outside in silence, breathing the cool morning air and considering the events of the night before. The night before, Shon had been taken, the ringing in Tarun’s ears had been absolutely deafening, and he had almost killed a man with his bare hands.

Light from the sunrise now peeked through the windows, and through those windows Tarun saw the face of the wretched man called Mari. The man who had lured Tarun and his friends into a trap. The man who was responsible for Shon being taken. The man who was only asleep and not dead because Seth had intervened on his behalf. Just looking at Mari made the ringing in Tarun’s ears worse, so he looked away.

A moment later, Seth stepped outside and joined Tarun on the rundown porch that circled the building. “Looks like the sun is finally up,” Seth said wearily. “And it seems the undead mob that surrounded us last night has been gone for a long time. Hopefully that means we’re safe for now. You should get some rest, Tarun.”

“What about him?” Tarun asked, hooking a thumb behind him. “I don’t want Mari sneaking off and escaping while I’m asleep. Getting his help to get Shon back is the whole reason I let him live, isn’t it?”

“The reason you let him live is because you’re not a killer,” said Seth. “You’ve got a good heart, Tarun, I can feel it. You’re better than that.” Tarun made no reply, but crossed his arms.

“But yes,” Seth continued, “now that he can talk, we’ll get him to help us however we can.”

“So why don’t we just wake him up now?” said Tarun.

“Being healed takes a lot of energy,” said Seth. “I’ve seen the lantern heal people before. It’s even healed me. But those have all been injuries that were minor or fresh. I’ve never seen anything like what it did last night, so I have no idea when he’ll wake up.”

Again, Tarun’s thoughts turned to the night before. He had been in a rage after Shon had been taken, and was looking for something to tear apart. But Laronius and the zombies had all retreated, leaving Tarun without a target for his wrath. And then he had run down the stairs and seen the wretch Mari trying to sneak out the door into the night.

After taking one look at Mari’s face, it had been clear to him that the pathetic little man had been expecting the ambush. Tarun had grabbed him and demanded to know what he had been keeping from them. When Mari had shaken his head in response, Tarun began choking him.

Seth had tried to intervene. He had tried to get between Tarun and Mari. He had tried calming Tarun down with his words. But Tarun had heard nothing but the ringing in his ears. But then, struggling for air, Mari had opened his mouth.

Tarun had recoiled at the sight. Mari’s teeth were all gone, his gums the color of mud, and his tongue was black and shriveled. In his shock, Tarun had released his grip on Mari’s throat, and he could finally hear the words that Seth had been shouting over and over.

“Stop it!” Seth had been shouting. “He can’t talk! Don’t you see? He can’t talk!”

Then a beam of light had erupted from Seth’s lantern sitting nearby. It had hit Mari directly in the face, and seemed to illuminate the whole room. When the lantern dimmed again, Mari had stood before them with his mouth open wide in amazement. His teeth were whole, his gums were pink, and his tongue could move. After licking his dry lips one time, Mari had collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Tarun turned to look again through the dusty windows at Mari, now illuminated by daylight, and lying in the exact same spot where he had collapsed the night before. Tarun had no doubt that Mari had been part of the trap set for them. It seemed unjust that scum like Mari could be healed while someone good like Shon was captured. Why should Mari be healed when Tarun was still suffering from the pain of his ringing ears? He wished Mari was dead. The ringing grew louder.

“Tarun,” said Seth, bringing Tarun out of his brooding thoughts, “even if Mari doesn’t tell us anything useful, we still can’t kill him. You know that, don’t you?”

“Why not?” asked Tarun. “It’s what he deserves.”

“You don’t know that,” Seth said. “And besides, it’s not about what he deserves. It’s about doing what’s right. Killing this man won’t accomplish anything?”

“It would make me feel better,” Tarun said.

“Would it?” Seth asked. “Is that really what you want?”

“You have no idea what I want!” Tarun snapped.

Seth opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped and closed it again. He looked at Tarun for a long moment before finally speaking. “You’re right, Tarun. I don’t know what you want. I know almost nothing about you. Ever since I met you and Shon, it was Shon and I who did all the talking and you’ve been nearly silent. I’m sorry for that.”

The ringing in Tarun’s ears quieted a little. “Don’t apologize,” Tarun said. “I speak up when I have something to say. The truth is, I don’t even know what I want, other than getting Shon back. He wanted to help me get my memories back. Until then, I doubt getting to know me is even worth the trouble. For now, I’m just a broken pot that’s lost everything inside.”

“Oh come on now,” said Seth. “You don’t look broken to me. But then…” Seth’s eyes went wide. “But then again, Mari didn’t appear broken either until he opened his mouth!” Seth turned and opened the door to the building. He lowered his voice to a whisper to avoid waking Mari inside, but his expression was full of volume. “Stay right there, I’ll be right back!”

A moment later, Seth stepped back outside holding his shillelagh and his old lantern. Closing the door quietly before he spoke, he resumed his usual volume. “I’m such a fool,” he said. “Not everything that needs healing can be seen as easily as a cut or a bruise. Sometimes they can’t be seen at all.”

“What are you talking about?” Tarun asked. “I’m fine. Your lantern already healed that gash on my arm, remember?”

“You just said yourself that you feel like a broken pot,” Seth said. “Just because your arm was healed doesn’t mean that all of you was healed. Here, hold this.” Seth put the lantern into Tarun’s large hands. “Hold it. Look into it. I want to try something.”

“What am I supposed to look for?” Tarun asked.

Seth didn’t answer. His eyes were closed and his fingers were moving along the lines and carvings of his shillelagh. His breathing became slow and even, and whenever he exhaled, he mouthed a word. Tarun tried to read Seth’s lips, but his attention was drawn away by a light in the corner of his eye.

At first, Tarun thought the light must have simply been the sunlight reflecting off the lantern, because as he looked into it he couldn’t see anything but the empty chamber inside. But even though it was empty, it somehow held Tarun captivated, and he began to look in earnest at the center of the lantern, as if searching for something without knowing what.

But before Tarun even realized what he was searching for, he found it. There, in the heart of the lantern, at its absolute center, unattached to wick or anything else, was the smallest pinprick of a spark of light. This was unlike the sparks Tarun had seen in the fires of the glassblower’s furnace at Life’s Edge, or the sparks that would pop up from the campfires he had enjoyed on those nights he had traveled with Krall, Piggy, Solimar, and Shon. Those sparks had been deep orange, darted wildly, and only lasted the briefest of moments before dimming and disappearing forever in the dark.

This spark was bright white, perfectly still, and grew gradually brighter, even with the growing daylight to contend with. Again Tarun thought of the sparks popping from campfires on the warm summer nights when he had traveled with his friends. But instead of dwelling on the insignificant orange sparks, this time his mind replayed the pieces of those memories that gave him strength. He saw Piggy take hot rocks from the fire and put them in the water that would become their stew. He sensed Solimar behind him preparing the tents and bedding to sleep in later on. He heard Krall’s deep and throaty laughter at a joke that Shon had made as his friend grew more confident and comfortable around the dragon hunters.

As the emotions from the scene swelled inside Tarun, he became aware of that fact that it was a memory, and he could feel hot tears falling down his cheeks. The feelings grew in his chest, filling a hole Tarun had not even realized needed filling. A soothing sensation moved through him like water poured onto thirsty soil, seeping into every crack and crevice, washing away barbs and blisters that had been completely hidden until the moment they were removed.

Tarun gazed intently at the white light, which had now grown larger than just a spark, and realized that it must be some magic within it that was causing this change in him. He felt a surge of gratitude within him, and the light began to pulse and move slightly, like the dance of a candle flame.

More thoughts and memories came to Tarun’s mind. The hidden valley where they had been rescued by Piggy. The inn where Krall had coached him through winning the arm wrestling match. The gentle confidence of Uncle Grodin and his wise advice. The healer’s hut where Shon had spoken to his mind for the first time.

And then there was silence for a long moment. True silence. Tarun realized for the first time that the ringing in his ears was completely gone. The pain in his mind was gone. Tarun looked at the growing white ball of flame inside the lantern, feeling an increasing mix of anticipation, excitement, longing, and fear.

In that silence, he heard a voice. It was not a loud voice, nor was it quiet. It was not harsh, nor was it overly gentle. The voice was a maternal, direct, and absolutely sincere. It was a voice that he recognized.

“Tarun, son of promise, last child of the firstborn. Awake, arise, and embrace your destiny. Gather your allies, raise the standard of hope, and stoke the dying embers of the opal flame into a fiery beacon. Stand firm and command your forces, lead them to victory as Enemies of Creed.”

At this last statement, the white light seemed as though it had grown larger than the lantern could hold. Frightened and unwilling to hear more from the voice, Tarun looked away and dropped the lantern.

The moment that he had let go, he regretted it, and he turned to try and catch it. Instead, he saw Seth laid out on the ground in front of him, arms outstretched as if in a dive, holding the lantern an inch from the ground.

“What was that?” Seth exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anyone’s eyes glow like that before. Are you alright, Tarun?”

“We need to find Shon,” Tarun said, then collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

 

---

 

Several miles away, Shon awoke from a nightmare of a terrible voice that had been taunting him, when its laughter was abruptly cut short. As he sat up in the dungeon, he thought his eyes were adjusting to the gloom, so he didn’t realize that they had been glowing just a moment before. “Tarun?”