《Hubris》


 The Bells of Inferno

    Ding-ding.


    Inferno called to him from the next room. A thin ringing sound that pierced the shadows. He rolled onto his side, closing his eyes. Already he could feel his body''s impulse to fulfill a duty he¡¯d carried out a thousand times over, at war with a heaviness so complete it weighed him down like an anchor. Hunger gnawed at his hollowed belly, keeping sleep¡¯s sweet relief at bay. He listened to the wind buffet the house, stirring it into creaky lethargic life. Above his head a spider worked meticulously, spinning web into shape. He imagined the walls of the house folding on top of him. Will it hurt? Will I finally be free?


    Eventually the bell¡¯s call reached him again, more insistent. He wanted to clap his hands over his ears. He wanted to scream. Anything to block out the sound.


    Crowe dragged his body to its feet. He let out a deep, shuddering breath. The threat of angry tears stung his eyes. He ran his fingers along the trinket dangling from his neck. Monad forgive me. I can''t do this anymore.


    Floorboards squeaked beneath his feet as he entered the corridor. Step after agonizing step. He pushed the door open cautiously, a frown screwed on his face. The chill inside the room was arctic, turning Crowe¡¯s breath into white clouds of mist. Petras watched him from the bed, not screaming or thrashing about as he did when the fits took him. Eyes blank and unrecognizing. A mind dulled by insanity. The bell rested innocently on the bedside table.


    Crowe crossed the room to the bed. He said nothing to the cripled man. The bedpan was full. Down the stairs to the floor. Yank hard to open the door frozen shut. Each movement preordained, the echo of an action from the past. Out the piss goes, blown sideways by the wind. A wind so strong, so depressingly cold it enflamed the cheeks. Back into the house, into the shadows he ducked to carry out his duties.


    Get a fire going. Set a pot of water over the flame to boil. Choke down a slice of buttered bread gone stale with salted pork. Indulge in an aether joint. Breathe in the sweet, piney aroma of the herb. He closed his eyes and imagined going to places he would never see. Even now Petras waited for him. Depended on him. What kind of life is this?


    Steep the tea. Heat up the dregs of remaining broth. Put the dishes on the tray. Haul the tray up the stairs. Patiently spoon-feed the mad man every drop of broth until the bowl is empty. Day after day until the days turn into weeks, weeks into months, months until the change of seasons. Listen to the house shudder. Listen to the echoing screams within his own mind. Only now when he entered the room things were different. A shift in the air felt rather than witnessed. A heavy silence that made him stop in the doorway, tray in hand. That made him look around to make sure the house was still there, that made him look in the mirror to make sure he was still there. He hated the boy who looked back at him. The boy with tangled black hair, with skin so pale he looked so thin. A starved bone-thin body with long spider arms. Haunted blue eyes that looked back at him doggedly. A youthful face aged by servitude to another. The lion-head serpent at his throat glinted wickedly, making a mockery of his faith. He wanted to hurl the tray at the mirror, break the glass. He cut the thought off before it could finish playing out in his mind


    Still that oppressive silence. It swelled, filling the room.


    ¡°Petras?¡± he croaked, voice dusty from nonuse.


    The man stared up at the ceiling, unmoving, unblinking.


    The chair waited obediently by the side of the bed. Crowe sat down. He watched the man, his face remote. In the few minutes since he¡¯d left his bed, Petras had passed away. May you find splendor in the Eternal City.


    He waited to feel something, anything. Even relief would have been welcome. He felt nothing. He wanted to sleep. He couldn''t sleep. You have work to do. It struck him then that he didn''t have anyone to help him with the task. No one wanted to help him. Not even Bennett who had run off to play rebel in a revolution to which there was no victory. An ember of resentment sparked the darkness inside him.


    ¡°You bastard,¡± Crowe said to the body cooling beneath the sheets. ¡°Look at the mess you¡¯ve left me with. How am I supposed to clean it up?¡±


    The inevitable wave of panic crashed down on top of his head with apocalyptic force. His lungs were seized by the iron grip of a tyrant. His body collapsed on the ground, the world shrinking to a funnel view of the floorboards. Doggedly he crawled across the floor until his back was pressed up against the splintered wood of the door. He¡¯d been seized by such fits of inexplicable panic before; fear was a beast that always lingered at the fringes of his periphery. The solution in the end was not to fight the panic, but to let it engulf him completely. To let it pull him into its swirling depths.


    When the spell passed Crowe staggered to his feet. It doesn''t matter how you get him down the stairs. No one¡¯s going to know. No one¡¯s going to care. This is my last burden to bear.


    It was impossible to lift Petras out of bed. The old man was heavier in death than he¡¯d ever been in life. The practitioner had no choice but to roll him up into the carpet and push him onto the floor. The body landed with a thudding sound that made him think of breaking bone. Crowe glared at the corpse, flicking back sweaty locks of hair out of his eyes. ¡°As ever you are no help,¡± he muttered.


    The corpse did not offer up a response in its defense.


    There was no choice but to drag the old man out of the house by his feet. Even this crude act done out of necessity took all of his strength. Teeth bared, eyes slanted against the ache. Breath coming out in harsh, whistling gasps. Cold sweat dripping down in between his shoulder blades, gumming him up. Keep going. Don''t stop. Can''t stop.


    Under the exhaustion a relief to be done. What came after was a blank canvas. What would he paint on it? Each thud of the head on the stairs made something inside of him break until once more the tears burst forth like a dam. Tug, pull, heave, the taste of freedom so close he could taste it. He kicked the front door open. The wind whipped at him with razor-sharp fingers.


    He crossed the unforgiving soil to the shed. Inside he found the shovel. He picked a spot beneath the skeleton of an old apple tree. He pushed the curved edge of the spade into the unyielding earth. For hours Crowe toiled away, forcing his way deeper into the earth. He worked with the desperate haste of a man who knows his tenure is almost up. When his work was done, the practitioner turned to face the body, shrouded in a thick patchwork quilt


    For the final time he stopped, pushing until it felt as if his heart would burst from the effort. At last the corpse fell into the grave, rolling into the bowels of the earth like a log.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    By the time Crowe finished shoveling the soil back into the grave, darkness fell, inky and absolute as the Void. He raised his head towards the star-dappled sky, letting a gust of wind sweep across his sweat-sheened face. He returned to the shed once more to rid himself of the spade and grab the two remaining canters of lamp oil.


    He ventured back into the house for the final time. A house that was now rightfully his, if he¡¯d wanted it. He didn''t. For too long he¡¯d been boxed in by its moldering walls. He packed what provisions he could in a large duffel bag. There wasn''t much. He¡¯d run out of the provisions borne from harvest long ago, living off what he could from the wildlife in the woods. The last thing he needed was his staff resting against the wall in between the door: five feet in length, carved from the thick bark of an aether tree. Sigils carved into the wood glowed with an inner light. He strapped it to his back with a leather holster.


    He struck the match. TANNHAUS INDUSTRIES loomed at him from the side of the box. For the first time in days the house was completely still, as quiet as an indrawn breath. ¡°May you find splendor in the Eternal City,¡± he said. Flames sprouted into life the instant the burning match struck the lake of oil. Crowe exited the house on a stream of smoke.


    Crowe lit a joint, rewarding himself with a long drag. He¡¯d earned it. Tendrils of black smoke rolled from the house¡¯s open door. He cried hot tears, feeling the closest to happy he¡¯d felt in a year. His happiness was short-lived, the punchline of a cruel joke delivered like a fatal gunshot wound. A deep cataclysmic roar drew his eyes skyward.


    A storm cloud materialized directly over the house, blooming into being like a tumor. It swelled, it''s underbelly pregnant with blue flashes of destruction. Never before had the practitioner seen a cloud so large, a cloud so magnificent. The rational part of his mind that remained after months of isolation told him this was not natural phenomena; thunderclouds do not form this quickly. He knew he should move, he knew he should step out from underneath the thunderclouds wrath. But where else was there to go? It spread like a cancer over the trees, sweeping them back with a bale of wind that threatened to knock Crowe off his feet.


    In the wind he heard voices raised in symphonic harmony. They soared over the shriek of the wind, over the clash of lightning that would pound the ground into submission. A vortex formed at the center of the cloud, forming a dark tunnel that yawned open like a hungry mouth. Beyond its maw existed the blackest of black, the Void. Crowe stared at it, horrified, and knew - somehow - that if he were to be sucked into the maw, he would fall through an endless darkness. And yet somehow his feet remained anchored to the ground even as the earth around him was whipped into a frenzy, trees dancing in benediction beneath a tyrant force that knew only witless hunger; and still the house burned, flames sprouting from shattered windows like savage fingers plunging fatally into open eye sockets.


    A pinprick of light appeared at the center of the vortex. It grew larger, shooting towards the opening like a comet, the tunnel widening in anticipation of its arrival. Through the rent a city appeared in a halo of celestial light that bathed the ground below.


    Metropolis! The Eternal City. The city from which my people fell, exiled to a life of slavery.


    The holy city balanced atop jagged mountains of black rock: a jumbled sprawl of labyrinthine streets and monuments that towered beneath the brim of an alien skyline. Smoky tendrils of fog slithered over bridges and temples in an effort to devour them whole.


    A nameless dot rose above the city¡¯s spires. Crowe caught the membrane-flicker of wings as it drew closer. Slowly the being took shape, dropping through the rent, its descent slowing. Delicate features studied the practitioner from behind a veil of silver hair that trickled past the visitor¡¯s shoulders like flowing water - long, dark lashes, soft almond-shape eyes, full lips - gave the creature an androgynous look. Neither or and both at the same time. This was a creature who had existed long before mortals were defined by such limits, its smooth skin unblemished by age, by war. It was adorned in heavy battle armor made out of gold alloy. Crowe suspected no mortal blade was capable of piercing its outer shell. A great sword was sheathed at its back.


    The practitioner only knew one word for the creature who had graced him from the heavens, ¡°Seraphim.¡±


    Angel. Messenger of Monad. Warrior. Servant. A being who carried out the bidding of another greater far more powerful being. And yet even beneath its unreadable gaze, Crowe could feel his own powerlessness in its wake. Upon realizing the futility of his existence, Crowe regained function of his limbs and stooped in a bow.


    Still airborne, the Seraphim raised a hand. ¡°Rise to your feet,¡± the angel said in a voice that echoed with waves of power.


    Crowe rose to his full height. The angel reached out to him, slowly drifting closer. Crowe sensed no malignance in this gesture; if the Seraphim had the inclination to destroy him, it could have done so. The practitioner¡¯s feet moved of their own accord, free from his mind. He hesitated only briefly before taking the offered hand.


    The angel¡¯s flesh felt radiant against Crowe¡¯s, sparking the nerves in his hands back to life. Warm fingers tightened around his wrist, a grip strong enough to hold him in place. Crowe knew he would not be able to pull away if he wanted to. Not until the Seraphim had delivered its message.


    The moment flesh made contact with flesh a hole opened inside the practitioner¡¯s mind. A hole into which a flood of phantom images, sensations, and sounds fell through like the arrival of the apocalypse. Explosions of gunfire; the earth-shaking detonation of cannons, of dynamite; the sound of bayonets slicing through air, through living flesh. He saw men dying in fields by the hundred thousands. Dying in puddles of their own blood. Their own shit. Men who turned back into little boys before the curtains closed. Women who were forced to step into the boots of men in the wake of their absence. Children whose lives were snuffed out before they could ever truly begin to bloom. It shocked him to his core like white-hot needles stabbing into his soul. He tried to yank his hand away but of course the Seraphim did not let go. Would not let go.


    The Seraphim¡¯s voice cut through the cacophony like a knife. ¡°Once your people walked the streets of Metropolis, kings and queens and gods. Divine in their own rights. They looked down on the cosmos from atop towers made of diamond, made of pearl. For many eons this was so until they were cast exiled to the material universe where they wilted over time.¡±


    In his mind Crowe saw the statues of revered deities crumble to dust, saw blood so red it was almost black flow through the streets and gutters of Elysia like an open river.


    ¡°For a time they flourished in this new world, but the world you call home is not meant to be. The world you know is a mistake. Monad¡¯s people suffer in ways they were never meant to. They have been mocked, beaten, tortured, raped, and enslaved.¡± The Seraphim¡¯s voice trembled with such anger, Crowe almost cried out in fear. ¡°Worry not, for the suffering of Monad¡¯s people has not been in vain. Though he still sleeps, the time for Monad¡¯s awakening draws close. Upon his awakening this world - this mistake - will cease to exist. In its wake he will build a new world. A better world.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand! What do you want of me?¡±


    The Seraphim¡¯s eyes bore into his like burning embers. ¡°You are the herald, the mouth through which Monad will speak. The flaming sword that breaks chains and delivers swift, bloody justice. You are the beacon that will lead Monad¡¯s people out of exile. So it has been decreed.¡±


    An invisible cord pulled at Crowe. He soared over a long winding road that linked the North and South - the Daminion Highway. He saw a small town gripped by the shadow of a hungry beast; somehow he knew the town¡¯s name was Timberford. Further North, on the outer edge of the Mirror Expanse he saw the ruins of a dead city whose name he did not know. He glimpsed the inside of a chamber where a woman, her face obscured by a cowl, waited in a dark chamber¡­waiting for him. ¡°Your path has been set for you. Your pilgrimage begins now.¡±


    At last the angel released the practitioner. Crowe fell to his knees at the messenger¡¯s feet, weeping fresh tears. The Seraphim watched him as it backed several paces away, indifferent to his fear in the decree of this impossible task. The practitioner could only watch as the Seraphim spread its wings and took flight, soaring back towards the vortex. Once the angel breached through to the other side, Crowe was rewarded with a final glimpse of Metropolis¡¯ majestic streets. It shrank, receding back into the Void, celestial light flickering as if Monad¡¯s divine hand muffled it. With a final pop of air, the vortex at the center of the cloud folded in on itself before blinking out of existence. By the time awareness returned to him, the house that had once contained his life had burned down to cinders. It wouldn¡¯t be long before rain and snow swept the last of what remained away.


    The momentary freedom he¡¯d found was gone - snatched out of his hand by Monad himself. Petras in his grave laughing at me right now, he thought grimly. A far greater burden than caring for another had been placed on his shoulders.


    Again he could hear Inferno calling for him.

 The Okanavian

    Crowe heard the soldiers before he saw them. The raucous peals of their laughter cut through the canopy of trees like a knife. The sound sent his blood skittering through his veins. For three days he¡¯d managed to avoid them, veering further and further from the Daminion Highway, the road that would take him further north. He knew how to cover his tracks but the leader of their party was as relentless and cunning as he was cruel. Nevertheless he was drawn to the commotion. He drew behind a thick line of bushes that hid him from view of the clearing.


    Three torchcoats gathered around a single silhouette. The hulking figure at the center of the half circle thrashed against its restraints. The figure threw its head back into the light giving Crowe a glimpse of its true nature. He gasped, his eyes widening. He¡¯d heard stories of the Okanavi people - lycans, creatures who were neither man nor beast but something in between. Seeing one, however, was altogether a different experience. His mind floundered, trying to make sense of what should be and what should not be. The creature stood bipedal, with two arms and two legs but this was as far as the similarities to a human being went. The massive head, large triangle ears covered in tufts of dark fur. Eyes the color of molten gold promised the torchcoats a painful death if he broke free. Its large muzzle parted, thick leathery lips peeling back from a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. There was only one thing the Theocracy hated more than a practitioner - a lycan.


    ¡°Lycan scum!¡± A glass bottle soared through the air. The bottle struck the lycan''s chest, shattering on impact, tearing fur and a flap of flesh from the bone. ¡°You should have stayed under the desert sun where you belong!¡±


    This isn''t my problem. Crowe shrunk away from the trees. The trinket around his throat caught the firelight. Shoulders sagging, the practitioner¡¯s head fell back with a sigh. His body decided for him, backtracking until he was crouched behind the bushes again. Crowe pushed his will into his staff. The runes carved into the wood surged into life, pulsating in his hand. His eyes burned with an inner white fire that eclipsed both iris and pupil. He stepped out into the clearing.


    ¡°Get away from him!¡± His voice exploded like a cannon, scattering the three torchcoats in its wake. They jerked into motion, reaching for their rifles. Crowe lunged forward. He struck the first scout with a glancing blow that knocked the rifle aside a fraction of a second before it exploded. Another blow sent him sprawling onto his back.


    ¡°Practitioner bastard!¡± a voice shouted at his back. An explosion of gunfire erupted behind Crowe, but the young sorcerer was already on the move, pivoting around to face him. The trunk next to his head burst apart in a cloud of splintered bark.


    The silver blade of a bayonet caught the light, flashing towards his belly. Before the blade could pierce his gut, a wall of flame shot from the end of the practitioner''s staff. The sheer force of his will tore furrows in the ground. Smoke billowed from all directions. Crowe stood in the center of the clearing, blood singing in his ears. His breath came out in harsh gasps. He watched the scout dance and spin as he burned, his screams reaching for the uncaring night sky. Crowe unsheathed a dagger from the pocket of his robes. With a single swipe of his arm, he sliced the scout¡¯s throat open. The soldier hit the ground with a thud, his charred flesh smoking.


    He turned just in time to see the final scout burst through the trees, fleeing in the direction of the highway. The practitioner hesitated only a moment, knowing he could not risk the scout alerting more of his ilk. He sprinted after him, branches clawing at his robes. Brambles crackled beneath his feet like bone turned to dust. He pounced onto the scout''s back. They toppled to the ground in a twisted pile of kicking limbs. The scout opened his mouth to scream. Crowe drew the blade of the dagger across the scout¡¯s throat, silencing him.


    Wide eyes stared up at a careless sky. In the wan light the practitioner could see the scout was not much older than himself. He straddled the boy, muffling the gurgling sound with his gloved hands. He clenched his eyes shut, prayers hissing between his teeth. He wasn''t sure how much time passed before he realized the air had gone completely silent but for the crackle of flames. He rose to his feet, queasy at the sight of his handiwork. He gripped the dagger in a shaking hand.


    He returned to the clearing where the lycan still remained, bound to the tree. Up close the severity of the Okanavian''s wounds were much more apparent. The ring of torture had begun long before Crowe''s arrival and would have continued long after had he not intervened. The lycan had been beaten severely. Patches of missing fur and flesh down to the bone indicated he¡¯d been lassoed to the back of a horse and dragged at some point. A few steps closer the practitioner could smell the stomach-twisting stench of defecation and sweat that rolled off the Okanavian like a black wave. He¡¯d heard the rumors of a lycan''s abilities to heal much more quickly than mortals, but Crowe didn''t see how anyone could heal from this.


    Guilt churned in his gut. I was going to leave him. No one deserves to suffer like this.


    Crowe had to mount the tree to reach the lycan. The Okanavian lifted his head, tracking the practitioner''s progress with eyes that had cooled to amber. Apart from a tunic made of rough leather, the lycan possessed a heavy gray coat that almost looked black in the dead of night; it covered him from the tips of his toes down to the bare pads of his massive paws. The narrow pointed muzzle gave the creature a feral look that made the practitioner weary. Still, he recognized exhaustion when he saw it. Suffering. It was one of the few things that transcended the bridge between language and culture.


    It was not easy work to cut through the bindings. Now that the rush of adrenaline had waned, winter¡¯s chill descended upon Crowe. Seeping into his bones. Numbing his fingers. Teeth gritted against the ache in his arm. At last the bindings fell away.


    Crowe had no way to stop the Okanavian''s fall to the earth. The lycan landed with a great crash that made the tree sway. The practitioner climbed down carefully. When he surmised the lycan would not attack him, the practitioner knelt at his side. He grabbed his satchel and pulled out a tightly rolled aether joint. He unrolled it, smearing the herb on his finger. When the lycan did not move, Crowe peeled the lips of the Okanavian¡¯s mouth open before his courage could desert him. He expected to feel the lycan''s teeth bite into his flesh. Instead the tip of a warm tongue lapped the blood from his finger; a fat, wide tongue that felt grainy against his skin. The aether wouldn''t do anything for the wounds but it would help the pain. The lycan''s pulse felt steady beneath his fingers. He¡¯ll make it through the night. He¡¯ll live. I¡¯ve done all that I can do.


    Crowe rose from his work. It was time to move on.


    The clearing was well enough away from the road he could camp close by for the night, but by nightfall tomorrow he would be gone. The scout''s empty-eyed gaze remained fixed in his mind. He circled back to a small cave where he''d set his own camp, stopping at the two rabbit snares he¡¯d built along the way; both had bounty to offer.


    That night his sleep was fraught with replayings of the scout¡¯s death. Over and over he drew the blade across flesh. The eyes widening until all he could see were the whites. Breath hitching, a thread cut brutally short.


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    He woke up, gasping, skin washed in sweat. The inside of the cave was warm. Embers still glowed in the fire pit he¡¯d made from gathered stones and branches and twigs. Eventually his heart slowed into a steady rhythm. He was about to drift back into sleep when the snap of a tree branch outside the cave jerked him into a sitting position.


    Something moved through the trees. Crowe¡¯s heart seized, pumping blood into his throat, filling his mouth with the metallic taste of fear. A figure emerged through the last layer of tree growth, loping into the clearing. The practitioner sucked in a breath. The practitioner recognized the pointed muzzle, tufts of thick fur, and broad arms of the Okanavian. It¡¯s the lycan. He¡¯s alive. He followed me here. What does he want from me?


    Crowe¡¯s fingers clenched around the staff hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Hastily he ducked back towards the firepit. He extinguished the last of the flames, plunging the cave into darkness. He crouched, waiting. Afraid. A cruel reminder that at least with the Theocracy he knew their intentions. Not with this barbarian who had teeth meant for tearing through flesh and bone. Who had claws. Who could tear him limb from limb without a second¡¯s hesitation. A beast from another place. Another world.


    The Okanavian froze, a living statue cut from darkness and moonlight. He moved with an unnatural grace, muscles shifting and bulging beneath thick tufts of fur. His body was a ravaged mess of bloodied wounds, scrapes, and bruises. A long gray tail poked out from a hole in his torn kilt, wagging back and forth under the moon in anticipation. His muzzle was covered in a crust of dried blood, bestial features made sharper by the darkness that hollowed his jaw. Crowe sensed a confrontation was inevitable.


    The Okanavian¡¯s head snapped around in the direction of the cave, body shifting with unexpected fluidity. His ears swivelled around with a twitch. His muzzle twitched, black nose vibrating, making a deep snuffling sound. Hot breath steaming against the cold. The hackles on the back of his neck rising. He loped towards the cave, their collision imminent.


    The lycan¡¯s breadth filled the entrance. For the flicker of a moment, Crowe wondered if the barbarian would be able to fit inside. His hopes were dashed when the Okanavian hunkered, tucking his shoulders into the opening, his breath issuing snorts of air that galvanized Crowe, chilling him to the bone. It was a cruel twist of fate the creature could fit himself in such a tight space, defying the laws of the material universe. The Theocracy feared anything that defied the laws of the material universe.


    Those gold eyes zeroed in on the practitioner. He was trapped with no choice but to confront the barbarian¡­whether he wanted to or not. Crowe shoved the tip of his staff into the center of the firepit. Sparks of fire shot from the end of the staff, roaring into ferocious light. A great whooshing sound filled the cave, threatening to engulf them both. Crowe backed deeper into the cave until his back slammed into a wall. There was nowhere else to go. The lycan ducked low but did not back away.


    The sorcerer brandished his staff at the Okanaivan. ¡°Get back!¡± he shouted, teeth gritted. ¡°You¡¯re not welcome here!¡±


    The lycan surprised the practitioner by falling to his knees with a whining sound that made him think of a wounded dog. Slowly the barbarian unfurled his paws to show the thick leathery pads of his palms. A universal sign no matter what corner of the world you came from. All Crowe could see were the claws. Though they were not pointed at the practitioner in threat they gleamed in the dark, sharper than any blade he¡¯d encountered. And let¡¯s not forget the teeth; they were bigger than the claws. Up close he smelled musky and wet, reminding Crowe of Bennett¡¯s hound Cedric. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre.¡± The voice that emitted from his muzzle was both a whine and a growl shook by tremors of emotion. Tears of desperation caught in his fur. ¡°Ah''ll Oige Hye, hafh ya. Ah nafl epgoka ya mguh''e l'' fend llll ya ph''nglui fahf or''azath shugnah.¡±


    Crowe shook his head in frustration. ¡°I don¡¯t understand what you¡¯re saying.¡±


    The lycan continued to beg in his alien tongue, voice cracking under the pressure. He reached for Crowe¡¯s robes. The practitioner froze. What¡¯s happening?


    The Okanavian bunched the hem of his robes in his paws, body burning with a feverish warmth. He pressed the triangles of his ears back against his head. His eyes grew impossibly large, swallowing the practitioner into their depths. Powerful arms looped around Crowe¡¯s legs before he could back away. ¡°Gaia mgep led ya l'' ymg''. Ymg'' ah ya ph''nglui hafh fahf or''azath shugnah. Ahlloigehye mggoka ya llll ymg'', twin o¡¯rre¡­¡±


    His words were a jumble of whines and growls the practitioner had no hope of understanding. All he knew was the way his skin tingled beneath the lycan¡¯s heated touch; the feel of those grainy pads against his skin was unfamiliar but not unpleasant. The feeling of another¡¯s hot tears against his hands as this strange giant sobbed into them. The beast kissed them with his lips in the way a human would in one moment and lapped at them in the next with his tongue until they were in his saliva. Only one word stood out against the rest. Twin o¡¯rre. It was as unfamiliar as the rest, but it was the name the Okanavian kept referring to him as.


    Crowe pushed at the lycan in an attempt to extricate himself from the Okanavian¡¯s powerful grip but there was no getting the beast to move. After a moment the Okanavian seemed to realize what he was trying to do and backed a pace or two away, tail drooping between his great haunches. Paws out once more. Eyes bugging out of his head, body blocking any chance of escape. All at once the Okanavian¡¯s gestures became clear to the practitioner even if his words did not. Take me with you. Don¡¯t leave me here.


    ¡°No, no, no,¡± he heard himself say. ¡°You can''t come with me. You don''t want to go where I¡¯m going.¡±


    The tone of his voice must have cut through the cultural divide between them for the Okanavian''s shoulders slumped in defeat. His head lowered with a great rumble of defeat. Crowe took the opportunity to pass him, heading for the line of trees. It took every ounce of will not to burst into a sprint for fear it would trigger the Okanavian''s predatory instincts to hunt him. His hands were still warm from the lycan''s tears who¡¯s deep rumbling voice followed him to the treeline, lowered in the Okanavian equivalent of prayer. The practitioner looked up and felt his breath draw short. The great city of Metropolis rested on the horizon¡¯s skyline, suspended in the air like a coin. No Seraphim descended from its glittering spires to make demands of him but its appearance in the clouds was clear enough. Never mind the why of it. The why wasn''t important. Only that he accepted this new development in a conspiracy that extended far beyond his limited vision. A set path had been laid out before him. It was his duty to walk it. To stray away from the path was to spit in the face of the weaver of the material universe.


    Monad, you ask too much of me.


    At some point the lycan had risen from his prayers and now knelt at Crowe''s feet once more. His hands engulfed the practitioner''s twofold. How easily he could snap them off. Snap the practitioner in half like a twig. But he held Crowe''s hands in the cup of his own and peppered them with quick kisses, pleading. The practitioner marveled at his size. Even while kneeling on his knees his eyes came to the practitioner¡¯s chest putting him at over eight feet in height.


    An eerie sense of calm descended over Crowe. Instinctively he patted the lycan¡¯s forehead in the way a human would a dog, called into action by a force that was beyond him. The Okanavian¡¯s ears perked up. The touching of the lycan¡¯s forehead was a call in of itself. A call to rise. A call to arms. A call that bound. Bound to what and for how long it didn''t matter, but already he could feel the first strand of a web closing around them. Perhaps connecting them. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he told the lycan in a soothing voice. It didn''t take much effort on his part. He was exhausted. Exhausted from the strain of ducking and dodging the torchcoats day after day, living off of what he could forage from the woods. And something had moved through him like a great wind felt by the soul not by the body.


    He patted the Okanavian''s head a second time. On your feet.


    The lycan rose at his touch, limbs shifting like a mountain eroding out of the ground. His tail swayed in the breeze. Crowe wavered on his feet, struck by the dreamlike absurdity of it all. His head was perfectly level with the lycan¡¯s chest. He noted the trail of further traveling from the valley between his chest down to the barrel curve of his chest was thicker than the rest. Pointed black nodules marked the Okanavian¡¯s pecs. How did such a creature¡­the perfect blending of canine and man¡­come to be?


    The sorcerer tried not to think of the implications. He''d saved the lycan in a moment of weakness. Was the lycan going to follow him around like a stray without a master now? You¡¯ll only slow me down by drawing more attention to us. But for whatever reason Monad had devised a higher purpose in their paths intermingling; what that purpose was had yet to reveal itself.


    They faced one another completely, two men from opposing cultures, with no way of understanding each other. Their breath steaming in the air between them. The Okanavian towered over him by two heads, a macabre sight of scratches and gouges. And yet those eyes beheld him with a reverence so intent it shook Crowe to the core. The watchfulness a predator instills upon its prey.


    Crowe backed towards the cave, scanning the trees. If anything was out there he was sure the lycan would have heard it. The language barrier between them was going to present issues. We need to get out of the open.


    The lycan followed him back into the cave. Crowe watched him settle onto the ground across from his pallet. He curled up, looping his tail around himself and bringing his knees in towards his chest. The gesture was very human and canine-like in equal measures. Perhaps we aren''t so different after all. Their eyes met across the cave.


    The Okanavian grumbled something in a tired voice, his eyes drifting close to sleep. ¡°Thank you.¡± It could have been anything. It could have been an Okanavian curse for all he knew. He decided on ¡°Thank you.¡±


    "Don''t make me regret this,¡± he muttered.

 Twin Orre

    There is a name for lycans who stray away from their hunt in the desert: It means lone wolf. Such a title leaves a mark for life, for the lycan is never able to return to their clan. To leave the clan is an act of hubris.


    Barghast was an exile, a drifter in an alien land that abhorred his people. He¡¯d traded a life under the blistering sun in the desert for a nomadic life in the north. So far his quest had yet to bear fruit, but he was determined to find what he was looking for. I will not stop until I find my guide in this strange and beautiful land. Gaia wills it and so it shall be.


    He walked along the road, following the tracks left by carts and horses. Few dared to travel on foot the way he did. He walked stolidly, in no hurry to get to where he was going, nor did he have a specific direction. He had  absolute faith that he would find his guide; his twin¡¯orre.


    Though he had been traveling this road for weeks, Barghast never tired of the land¡¯s splendor. Here there were colors beyond description. Everything covered in the white grip of winter. Hues of brown in one glance, green the next. And the smells. The smell of rich soil. The smell of rain, ever present in the air. This land could not be more different from the one he¡¯d abandoned.


    The cool air felt soothing against flesh that had only known relentless heat. His  blood allowed him to walk through the snow barepawed, impervious to the cold. If anything the cold felt good against the pads of his paws. It is my clan who are the fools by trapping themselves in the desert. They would rather remain ignorant and stuck in their ways than explore these mountains.


    The thunder of hooves alerted Barghast to the first human presence he¡¯d seen in three days. His ears swiveled in the direction of the sound. His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth, happy to see a sign of civilization, even if it was only fleeting. His tail wagged. The whine of friendly welcome he¡¯d been ready to greet them with turned into a snarl of worry that wormed its way up his throat; he sunk his teeth into the meat of his tongue hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. The silver banners only meant one thing: danger to his people - danger to any lycan who dared to stray away from the desert. The growl vibrated in his chest, unbidden. Reason and sense were no match for primal instinct.


    He stopped, hunkering, searching for cover but there was nowhere to go. His fur stood on end. He felt his muscles tense with the instinct to attack, sensing danger in the air. He reminded himself that in this new land he was not the predator, he was the prey and he was on his own. The riders with their silver banners would not flee from him the way coyotes and hyenas had in the desert. He fought to regain control of his body.


    The riders sped up, kicking up white clouds of snow, voices carrying over the frigid air. The lead rider yanked on the reins, drawing his mount to a stop beside the Okanavian. He looked at Barghast with crafty green eyes beneath the brim of his helmet. Despite the lycan¡¯s height, he seemed unafraid. Barghast knew the smell of fear and he did not sense it around any of these men.


    ¡°My, my, my,¡± Green Eyes said, smiling. ¡°We are a long way from home, aren''t we?¡±


    The Okanavian''s ears twitched, straining to make sense of the foreign words, spoken from a language so unlike his own. The scout¡¯s lips tilted in a mocking grin. Mind spinning, Barghast did the least offensive thing he could do: he stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth and lowered his head with a submissive wine. This is your land and I am just a visitor. I come in peace, the gesture said.  He glanced in the direction of the other two men. They hung back respectively behind Green Eyes, their faces remote. Barghast had no doubt he could defeat them. He was a lycan. Only one thing stopped him. If I kill them, they will never stop chasing me and I will never find my Twin o¡¯rre. He clasped his paws together, a universal gesture of benevolence. There was no sense in trying to explain his reason for being here. He tried with gestures, waving towards the road.


    This earned him a laugh from Green Eyes. ¡°You wouldn''t have happened to see a certain practitioner coming this way by any chance?¡± Green Eyes asked.


    Barghast cocked his head to the side. I don¡¯t understand you.


    ¡°No,¡± Green Eyes said flippantly, ¡°I suppose you haven''t. We¡¯ve been tracking him for a few days. Just when we think we have him, he slips away. He¡¯s elusive...slippery as an eel. I suppose you''ll have to serve as our entertainment for the time being.¡±


    So focused was he on the face, the expression in those narrow green eyes, Barghast didn''t see the soldier¡¯s hand sneak for the pouch at his side. Now the hand came darting out, shooting towards Barghast, flinging something in his face.


    A howl of agony ripped its way out of Barghast¡¯s throat. Hot knives stabbed into his eyes. Silver! He fell to his knees, wiping at his eyes - anything to clear the powder away. Blinded, he could hear their laughter. The darkness awoke in him a childlike fear that had followed him to the cusp of adulthood: not just the dark itself, but the things darkness obscured. Now he was at their mercy and he knew Green Eyes had no intentions of being merciful with him.


    ¡°Stop it!¡± a low voice said, close enough Barghast felt the speaker¡¯s breath brush his whiskers. Barghast knelt in the snow, in a region of the world that had only treated him with hostility thus far. He couldn¡¯t stop a whine from escaping him. He trembled, wishing the earth would swallow him whole. He clamped down on the thought. Doubt was a boon to determination. Doubt was a boon to faith. Gaia, forgive me. I am a foolish pup. Your Twin o¡¯rre is waiting for you. He needs you to be brave. He needs you to fight.


    A snarl built in his throat. He rose to his paws. He may be blind for the moment but this did not mean he was fully without his senses. He could smell them: the sharp acrid reek of their bodies from weeks on the road, spiced with gunpowder and spirits. He could hear their hearts rattling in their bone cages. He could feel the beast inside him straining to break free once more. Barghast did not fight to keep it at bay. The juices in his throat thickened, lips peeling -


    Boom!


    A sharp crack split the air.


    An instant later pain dropped him to his knees. A speck of light lit the dark like a flare. Through a porous screen he watched the wound smoke and sizzle. He¡¯d been shot with a silver bullet. Green Eyes stood before him so that the black eye of a rifle hovered an inch from his muzzle. ¡°Stop,¡± he barked.


    Barghast heard the command in the voice, a command that made the meaning of the word clear even though it was unfamiliar to him. He would not stop until they riddled him with bullets. Until his heart ceased and the impulses in his brain died. He tried to stagger to his feet only to feel the butt of the rifle slam into his muzzle with enough force to knock his head back. Fresh stars exploded across his restored vision.


    The other two torchcoats made hooting sounds of pleasure. This is a game to them, he thought. Let''s Gang Up on the Lycan! Their shadows fell across him, rail-thin against the snow. He had enough time to suck in a breath before he felt the butt of a second rifle slam into his stomach. The air in his lungs exploded out of the Okanavian with a woosh.


    A second crack.


    This time the pain exploded in his shoulder, fresh-searing hot.  Barghast had no choice but to submit his body to the earth. Already he could feel his muscles locking up. The torchcoats were not done with him. They kicked at him. They raked him with their spurs until blood ran freely down his chest. They slammed the butts of their rifles into his face until both eyes were completely swollen shut. He no longer had the strength to ward them off. He flickered in and out of consciousness, catching snippets of unintelligible conversation from the scouts. They¡¯d ceased beating him for the time being. They¡¯re trying to decide how to kill me.


    Momentary relief came to him in the form of thoughtless darkness. The relief was short-lived. Hands jerked at his leg roughly, lifting a paw into the air. Unable to move. Unable to fight them off. Not caring. It was a mistake to come here. It was a mistake to listen to the seer¡¯s words. What must Father think of you? What of your mothers? Your siblings? They¡¯re probably all talking about you, what a foolish pup you are. As if you¡¯re worth talking about. As if you¡¯re not already dead to them.


    Someone tied a hank of rope around his ankle.


    ¡°Yah!¡±


    The snapping of reins. The answering bellow of a horse.


    The rope snapped taut.


    When the ground began to scrape flesh from bone everything went black once more.


    ¡­


    The black was not an empty black. The seer waited for him, her golden eyes like beacons. Guiding him. Gaia is always with you. I am always with you. She sat at the center of the cave, smoking spices from a pipe made of bone. She rings carved from ivory on her digits. She sat on a quilt stitched together from the furs of desert wolves, foxes, and mountain lions. Her tail tapped lightly against the floor. It was Okanavi tradition to keep a part of your prey. Both a respect and a form of penance.


    ¡°You doubt me,¡± she said in a voice as old as the mountains themselves. Her flesh hung off the bone in folds; still she would live a thousand years if a greater force didn¡¯t intervene. ¡°You feel shame in this. You feel resentment. You feel I¡¯ve led you astray.¡±


    Barghast chose to let his silence speak for him.


    The seer gave him a familiar penetrating look that made the lycan feel as if he were made of glass. ¡°You only need to look inside yourself to know I speak the truth. From the day you were a young pup you¡¯ve always looked to the mountains, wishing you could look beyond them. You¡¯ve always known you were never meant to take your father''s place as clan leader when he steps down. He always knew it too, which is why he always pushed you so hard.¡±


    ¡°How can you say that when I¡¯ve been beaten to death! When I am dead?¡± the lycan demanded.


    The seer¡¯s eyes flickered in the gloom. ¡°You are not dead. I am sure you¡¯ll wish you were when you wake up. I warned you this journey would not be easy. I warned this land would take much from you. Gaia does not give gifts freely. She does not give without taking and what she wants is never easy to give.¡±


    ¡°What does she want?¡± Barghast asked.


    ¡°What do all women want?¡± the seer asked with a cackle. ¡°Your devotion. Fear not, Barghast. Your twin o¡¯rre is closer than you think. Your paths are but moments from colliding. You only need to remain steadfast over the next few moments. Soon the pain will end.¡±


    Barghast felt an invisible paw tug his mind in the direction of his body. He didn¡¯t want to go. He wanted to stay here in the cave where it was  safe and familiar. Where he didn¡¯t suffer humiliation after humiliation. He knew this could not be so. There cannot be faith without devotion.


    ¡°How will my twin o¡¯rre know it is me if he can¡¯t even bear to look at my face?¡± he rumbled.


    The seer snarled. ¡°As ever you are an impatient pup. He will know it''s you not by look, but through spirit. He will not be able to understand your alien tongue just as you will not be able to understand this. Your bond will be formed through gestures and intent and actions. Your time is up, pup, Gaia calls to you to fulfill your duty. Remember to be patient with your twin o¡¯rre. Protect him. Gaia would not have sent you on this path if it were not meant to be¡­¡±


    There came a final great tug. The seer and the cave shrunk down to pinpoints of light until they existed not all. For a heart-stopping moment Barghast felt himself fall through the endless darkness of the Void. His body in free fall, searching for the end of a pit that went on forever. Kicking and scrabbling with nothing to hold onto. Then with a rushing sensation he crashed back into his body.


    Disorientation. A body as heavy and unyielding as stone. He tried to lift his head. A burning ache sprang through his neck, making him wince. His arms were bound at his side. He couldn¡¯t move them. Starbursts of pain everywhere: his back, his shoulders, his leg from where he¡¯d been shot. Slowly he opened his eyes, afraid to see what had been done to him.


    Slowly his vision regained focus.


    At some point while he¡¯d been unconscious, the torchcoats had lassoed him to the back of a horse and dragged him into the clearing of a wooded area. Now he was bound to a tree by several thick hanks of rope. He could see the outlines of the torchcoats silhouetted by firelight. They sat on pallets, passing a bottle of spirits back and forth, unaware that Barghast was awake.


    Through slitted eyes, Barghast scanned the wooden bones of the trees for something that could help him escape. A flicker of movement to his left. His heart sped up, eyes straining to follow the passage of movement. His ears swiveled in the direction of the bushes. Sure enough something darted silently from behind a tree: a slight human figure, hunched low. Had Barghast been anything but a lycan he would have missed the presence entirely.


    A pale face rose above the bushes just behind the scouts.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Barghast¡¯s heart sped up. He opened his muzzle to call out to the figure - is that you, my twin o¡¯rre? - but the torchcoats had stuffed something in his mouth to keep him from speaking. He struggled against his restraints. Never mind the scouts. Never mind the pain. Never mind that his flesh had been scrubbed from his back. Never mind that he¡¯d been shot, blinded by silver. Never mind he¡¯d almost ruined everything by doubting seer. By doubting Gaia.


    Gaia, forgive me. I am a foolish pup.


    He strained against his bindings even as every inch of his body screamed in protest. His attempt to break free gained unwanted attention. ¡°What do we have here?¡± a familiar voice crooned.


    Again the words were unfamiliar; the tone wasn¡¯t. When you heard this voice you knew pain was soon to follow. Green Eyes stood paces away from him, the bottle of spirits in hand. The darkness made him appear smaller, but Barghast knew never to judge anything by size again. You thought you were invincible but he took you down with a handful of silver and a few bullets.


    Movement from the bushes again. Barghast glanced over just in time to see the pale disk recede back into the shadows.


    ¡°No, twin o¡¯rre!¡± Barghast screamed around the gag.  Never mind if his savior couldn''t hear him or understand him.  I don¡¯t want to die here. Not like this. I don¡¯t want to hurt anymore. ¡°Come back!¡±


    Green Eye¡¯s voice drew his attention back from the bushes. He¡¯d drawn his rifle, bayonet flashing from the end of the muzzle. He took a step towards the tree. Stopped. Eyes narrowing in consideration. What way do I want to inflict pain next? those eyes said. All too easily Barghast could imagine Green Eyes piercing him with the blade. Poking holes in him until he bled out. And I can''t do anything to stop him. That''s the point. I¡¯m nothing more than an animal to him. I''m nothing more than entertainment. The black rise of despair rose up inside him. Not even the stars who watched from a careless night sky had hope to offer. He whined. Tears of misery burned his eyes.


    ¡°Lycan scum! You should have stayed under the desert sun where you belong!¡±


    The bottle arched through the air before slamming against the lycan¡¯s chest. It shattered on impact. Glass shards tore flesh from the bone. He closed his eyes against the pain, wishing darkness would take him once more. Only this time darkness was not so close at hand. It had abandoned him in his greatest time of need. Just end it, he wanted to beg. Stop toying with me and just end it.


    This was his final thought before the shape he¡¯d glimpsed earlier stepped out from behind the trees. A slight black shape made of shadow and utterly separate from it. It crept up behind the unwitting soldiers, clad in black, its pale face hidden beneath the rim of a cowl. Only the eyes were visible and they burned like white coins. A wraith of justice come to save him. A wraith of vengeance come to make them pay. At last his guide was here and not a moment too late. In its hands the wraith carried a long staff. The sigils carved in the wood glowed with the promise of fire. Barghast rejoiced privately. Silently. His heart quickened in anticipation.


    ¡°Get away from him!¡± the wraith shouted. His voice shattered the silence. The torchcoats scattered, reaching for their rifles. Barghast strained against his bindings harder than ever. Never before had he been this helpless. Up until now he was used to being at the top of the food chain. Be careful, Twin o¡¯rre. Barghast resisted the urge to close his eyes in the hope that he could transmit the thought to the wraith.


    He needn¡¯t have worried. The wraith did not make the same mistakes the Okanavian had. He moved quickly, flitting in and out of focus at will. He leapt out from a billowing screen of smoke; the end of his staff unleashed volleys of fire at his will. It made the earth shake all around them. Barghast held his breath, unable to look away. One of the torchcoats fell beneath a striking blow from the staff. The wraith appeared in the center of the clearing, suffused in a blaze of light; all around him the clearing burned. Fresh waves of sweat oozed from Barghast¡¯s pores. There was no getting away from the heat.


    A scream of warning caught in the Okanavian¡¯s throat as Green Eyes aimed at the wraith with his rifle. ¡°Practitioner bastard!¡± the scout roared. The rifle kicked back from the discharge. Barghast¡¯s heart plummeted. He expected to see the wraith go down from the shot, but the wraith was on the move once more.


    The flash of a small dagger appeared in the wraith¡¯s hand. It sprung through the air. The end of its robes flapped behind it like wings. Still those eyes blazed white-hot. The blade sliced through the air with an audible hiss that made Barghast go still. He watched wide-eyed, disbelieving. Green Eyes halted in the middle of the clearing, close enough the Okanavian could see the look of shock on the scout¡¯s face. The look of defeat on a man who has believed their whole life they will always win, they will always survive¡­only to be made a fool. He fell in a spreading pool of his own blood. Check to make sure he¡¯s dead. Men like him never die. They always have to win. They always have to be the one on top. There¡¯s still one more scout¡­


    The third and final scout was not like the others. He was not courageous. He sprinted through the trees, feet crashing over the snow, clumsy gait. The wraith gave chase.


    For the first time since Barghast had seen the torchcoats coming down the road, he was alone. No one beated him. No one cursed him in a tongue he couldn¡¯t understand. He only noticed the pain he felt in a vague way. Already it was becoming a permanent fixture in the background. He could feel himself beginning to sink into blessed darkness. Into sweet relief. My twin o¡¯rre is here, he thought. My guide through this mysterious land. He came just as the seer said he would. Just as Gaia promised.


    The next time the Okanavian raised his head, the wraith was so close they could have touched. The wraith perched in the tree above his head, the bloody dagger he¡¯d used to kill Green Eyes in hand. Now he used it to saw through the ropes, his breath coming out in short sharp little puffs that for some reason sounded pleasing to the lycan¡¯s ears. It was certainly better than being laughed at. Cursed at. Shot at. It was a tiny sound. The sound of effort, not at all threatening. With each back and forth motion of the dagger, Barghast felt the blinding loosen. The Okanavian lifted his eyes upwards. It took the last dregs of his strength to do so but he was not unrewarded for his efforts. If he could have wagged his tail to show his thanks he would have done so, but he didn¡¯t even have the strength to do that. He hated his twin o¡¯rre meeting him for the first time in such a state. No wonder he¡¯d thought about leaving him behind.


    The hood of the black cloak had fallen back so Barghast could see that his wraith was very, very human. And young. White skin as pale as the snow itself. The hair on top of his head was as black as the night sky. Soft looking. The kind of hair you can¡¯t help but want to run your fingers through. A long, slightly hooked nose - not unlike a bird¡¯s beak. Soft, pink-looking lips puckered in concentration.


    Barghast¡¯s nose twitched. The wraith¡¯s lips hovered before his skin. Barghast watched them, willing the wraith to duck his head a little closer so the lycan could feel the silk of those lips against his raw and broken flesh. It was an indulgent thought. He should have felt ashamed. It was his duty to protect his twin o¡¯rre, just as it was his twin  o¡¯rre¡¯s job to guide him through the mountains. Protect him from the world. Protect him from himself if need be.


    Some protector I am. He¡¯s the one who¡¯s saved me. He¡¯s the one who¡¯s cutting me down from a tree. The thought made him want to tuck his tail between his legs. None of it mattered, the Okanavian told himself. He was allowed to rejoice in this small victory. His twin o¡¯rre was here. Whatever came after would be dealt with when the time came. Curiosity made it unbearable to remain inside his skin. What did his hair feel like? His skin? Was his skin as soft as it looked? And those eyes. Blue eyes. Blue eyes like the sky when the sun was out. Not the same variations of amber bestowed upon all lycans. The seer was not lying when she said we would be reflections of each other in every way. He is light-skinned while I am dark-skinned. He¡¯s from the cold mountains. I¡¯m from the sweltering heat of the desert. I am covered in the fur of a beast and he has none. I have a tail and he doesn¡¯t. This seemed right, this being matched in opposites. He shivered in anticipation, eager to explore what came next. The seer¡¯s words came back to him, urging patience.


    Rather than behave himself, Barghast sniffed the air silently in the hopes the wraith wouldn¡¯t hear him. He closed his eyes, riding a wave of euphoric bliss. The smell of pine. Of clean mountain air. Soft fragrance. A hum of contentment escaped Barghast.


    His guide muttered something under his breath. The pain that awaited him when he hit the ground yanked him back into consciousness.


    Someone was poking a finger in his mouth. A very soft, very skinny finger.


    Aware that he was resting on his back, Barghast remained very still. Surrounded by the soft fragrance of pine and mountain. If he opened his eyes to slits he knew he would find his twin o¡¯rre hovering over him. Automatically, instinctively, Barghast¡¯s tongue lapped at the tip of the wraith¡¯s finger, suckling what it had to offer. The gesture was erotic only in his mind. Waves of something sweet washed over his tongue, cresting over the pain until he felt as if he rested on a pocket of air. Floating, light, listing. The finger gone from his mouth all too soon. No, stay here, he wanted to beg. Come back.


    Instead the waves of euphoria spread through his body, soothing what ached, what stung, what burned, until he was aware of nothing else.


    ¡­


    The lycan was alone again. Given what he had been through, this should have been a relief. It wasn¡¯t.


    At first the memories were so strong Barghast didn¡¯t realize something was missing. The flash of white by the bushes. The well of hope that had ballooned in his chest, only to be snatched away when he¡¯d thought his savior had abandoned him. Another, even greater swell of hope followed by panic. The feeling of that soft little finger in his muzzle bringing with it the taste of something sweet.


    Emptiness. Stillness.


    Eyes searching for what they desire. Hope a savage burn in his heart. Sniff the air in hopes his nose will catch a whiff of pine.


    Nothing.


    Loneliness. Disappointment.


    He abandoned me here. He left me to rot.


    The sting of hot tears in the eyes. Throat working against a sob he didn¡¯t want to release. Because releasing it made the abandonment real.


    The despair would not leave him when everything else had. It remained with him, an unwelcome guest. It sealed his eyelids shut. It clenched his belly into tight knots.


    The despair turned into frustration, frustration into anger. Anger gave him motivation. Motivation gave him strength. Gave him the strength to rise to his paws. Gave him the strength to fight through teeth-gritting agony. Anger gave him the clarity to reframe his thoughts. He doesn¡¯t know what I know. He doesn¡¯t know that we are twin o¡¯rre. I will find him. I will make him see. Make him understand. He would not stop until he found the wraith who had saved him from death. He would not stop until what remained of his body withered away and turned into dust.


    The bodies laid where the wraith had left them, cooling beneath the belly of the moon. Nothing moved through the trees but for a low moaning wind that sent chills of relief across his lacerated cheeks. He raised his head, sniffed the air, searching for the special combination of scents. As if the wraith were made of the earth itself.


    It didn''t take Barghast long to find it. The wraith had left but moments ago, heading back in the direction of the highway. Barghast followed it. He felt his tail begin to wag in anticipation.


    The journey was not an easy one. His back had been scraped raw from where the torchcoats had dragged him behind them on horseback. The wound on his chest smarted. The shoulder from where Green Eyes had shot him felt wrong, twisted out of socket. Yes, Gaia had taken much from him. Barghast wondered if he would recover. He wondered if he would live beyond this night.


    He tried to think of what he would say to the wraith when he found him. We will not be able to understand each other. We come from a completely different culture, a different region of the world. Their union would have to be built slowly, painstakingly on a ground of trust, through actions and gestures, just as the seer had told him in his dreams.


    Just before Barghast reached the last line of trees, the wraith¡¯s trail veered east, pulling the lycan back into the woods. The wraith¡¯s path through the trees was careful, meticulous. Were it not for his superior sense of smell, Barghast never would have been able to pick up his trail in the winter murk.


    With every step he fought for, the wraith¡¯s scent grew stronger, leading him on a meandering path through the woods. The thought of seeing his twin o¡¯rre again gave him the strength to keep going even when his body wanted nothing more than to give up.


    At last Barghast came to a second clearing. Through the last thin layers of trees he could make out the mouth of a cave. From its dark depths he detected the smell of smoke. Underneath it the smell of pine. The smell of nature. The smell of wet soil and misty rain. The wraith was inside the cave, Barghast knew this for sure. Nor was he asleep. The lycan could feel eyes watching him. His ears cocked in the direction of the cave. He thought he could hear the tic of the wraith¡¯s heart racing. He inched cautiously towards the cave, not wanting to provoke a reaction. When the wraith did not come out to greet him, he stepped inside the cool interior. He couldn¡¯t stop his tail from wagging in excitement.


    The cave was a small one. It pleased him to think his twin o¡¯rre was small enough he could fit inside. Perhaps not so pleasurable he would have to go in after him to make him understand. Barghast would not let this deter him. He knew how to squeeze himself into tiny spaces when he needed to. Ignoring the bite in his shoulder from where the bullet smarted, he tucked them in towards his chest. Ducking low, he wedged himself into the entrance of the cave.


    A flame popped into life in the dark. There the wraith stood with his staff in hand, his eyes back to their state of dark blue. ¡°Get back!¡± he raged. ¡°You''re not welcome here!¡±


    Barghast could not go back even if he wanted to. His ruined body had carried him this far and would not carry him a step further. He did the only thing he could do: he begged. He knelt on the floor at the wraith''s feet, clasped the folds of his robes in his paws and whined. He sobbed. He pleaded, knowing how monstrous his voice must sound to his fierce morsel of a wraith. He made sure not to pierce the wraith¡¯s delicate looking flesh with his claws.  ¡°Gaia has led me to you through mountain ranges and over many miles. She has led me into these wicked lands to find you and at last I have. Do not desert me now, twin o¡¯rre.¡±


    The wraith pushed at him with tiny, fine long fingered hands. ¡°No, no, no,¡± the wraith said in a voice that could only mean rejection. ¡°You do not want to go where I''m going¡­¡±


    Barghast clung to him, afraid of being abandoned after the distance he¡¯d traveled to get here; a distance measured in pain. He pleaded shamelessly, kissing the wraith''s hands while his entire body vibrated with fear and desperation. He licked the salt off the wraith¡¯s hands. His ears remained flat against his head. How glad he was his clan - his mothers, his siblings and most of all his father - couldn¡¯t see him crouching  like a neutered pup. When the wraith left him in a kneeling position  despair flooded him. He prayed to Gaia to remove the veil from his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s eyes. When he exited the cave he found the wraith looking up at the sky. Looking up in wonder at something only he could see. The sight of him coaxed the last dregs of hope from Barghast''s shattered heart. Once more he fell at the wraith''s knees, took his hand in his own and kissed the knuckles.. You will let me stay and together we will go on many adventures and slay many enemies.


    All thoughts stopped when he felt the wraith''s hand pat the spot between his ears. A soft hand. A cool hand. A balm to Barghast''s always-hot skin. He was always hot which was why he loved the northern winds. The wraith''s hand felt like a touch of cold rain on a burnt patch of ground and it stilled him. This time the wraith spoke gently, the weight of resistance falling from shoulders that had previously been tensed. At last his twin o¡¯rre had given Barghast permission to stay.


    Returning to the cave, the wraith backed away to a pallet he¡¯d set on the floor by a man-made fire pit. The wraith gave him another long look, speaking in a voice that was hardly louder than a whisper, but firm. Though his accent was every bit as unfamiliar as Green Eyes¡¯ had been, the meaning was clear: You can stay as long as you behave.


    Barghast could have wept with relief if he wasn¡¯t already all out of tears. He lowered himself onto the cool rock across from the wraith, too exhausted to care about the discomfort of resting on uneven ground. As sleep fell over him he thought not of the torchcoats or the suffering they¡¯d inflicted on him but of the reward Gaia had given him for his devotion. Tomorrow something altogether new would begin.

 The Cabin

    Crowe opened his eyes.


    The lycan was still there. There was no evidence to suggest he¡¯d moved from his spot. The lycan rested on his side. Each inhalation filled the cave with a rumbling snore that reminded Crowe of the tales Petras had told him as a child of the monsters who came down from the mountains at night; before the first hours of day the beasts would return from the hunt of human flesh to slumber in underground caves. Not the kind of stories a grown man should be telling a young boy before bed.


    Crowe could not bring himself to move for a long time. Reason told him he should not be weary of the beast. If he wanted to hurt me he could have done so in the night while I slept. He thought of how the Okanavian had knelt before him reverently, kissing and licking his hands. The thought made him shiver. Last night''s events still felt surreal in his mind. Already something big was at work and he didn''t know if he was ready for it yet. He only had the occasional appearance of Metropolis¡¯ glow to light the way. Eventually curiosity drew him close enough to the Okanavian until he could read the wounds that marked his body like hieroglyphs.


    A great deal more had been done to him than what had been apparent last night. The scrapes on his back, bone-deep and clotted with dirt and dry blood, made him reel in shock from the brutality of it. How long would the Theocracy torchcoats have tortured this poor creature before they killed him? Surely death would have been a relief by the time they¡¯d finished with the Okanavian. A closer inspection revealed beads of white pus that rose up from underneath the wound.


    An anvil of worry dropped inside Crowe. The infection could spread if he didn¡¯t do something about it. He thought of the dead torchcoats he¡¯d left two miles back only yards away from the main road. What if another patrol decided to camp within the clearing¡¯s vicinity and discovered the massacre? He shoved the thought away, turning to a darker thought. A thought that made the scar on his wrist tingle.


    He thought darkly of Bennett, a thought that always tempted him to the past. No time.


    Reluctantly he drew the dagger. The three inch scar across his wrist caught the light. He winced when the blade bit into his flesh. Shifting closer to the lycan, he gave his shoulder a shake.


    The lycan''s eyes peeled open, shifting from the ceiling to the open wound that bled from Crowe¡¯s wrist. Those amber coins widened in shock. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡±


    ¡°Drink,¡± Crowe said. A small voice in the back of the practitioner''s mind reminded him that the lycan would not be able to understand him. Me slicing open my wrist like a spout and brandishing it at his face should be clear enough.


    The Okanavian tilted his head away, pressing his ears flat against his head, but his eyes remained fixed on the seeping wound.


    ¡°You have to drink. We have to get you on your feet.¡± Crowe gestured urgently at the mouth of the cave with his good hand. ¡°Now drink, you must!¡±


    The lycan¡¯s paws engulfed his forearm. Crowe tried not to think about how easily those calloused paws could tear his arm from its socket. Warm lips puckered around the wound, hot tongue lapping at the slash. The Okanavian drank greedily, eyes sliding back into his head. His tail swayed languidly from side to side. Explosions of rolling thunder filled Crowe''s ears. Shadows fell over his eyes. His body grew heavy. Only when the bells in his head were so loud they made the inside of his skull shake did he have the strength to say, ¡°Enough!¡±


    He crawled back, wanting to put distance between himself and the lycan, his heart hammering against the chamber of his chest. Across from him the Okanavian gasped as if he¡¯d run a great distance. ¡°Don''t worry,¡± Crowe whispered ¡°You¡¯ll be on your feet in no time.¡±


    When awareness returned to Crowe, he sat up, wincing. Rock was wonderful for back support but did not make for a wonderful bed, he decided. He blinked in an attempt to clear the fogginess from his head. An immense shadow filled the mouth of the cave, blocking out the light of day. That''s right, the practitioner reminded himself, he had a companion. Another lost soul traveling on the highway in search of¡­what? The Okanavian held up his paw, marveling at it as if he¡¯d never seen it before. Crowe could see that the wounds on his back had healed rapidly, no longer rimmed with red lines of infection.


    Crowe wasn''t sure how long they remained like this, the practitioner studying the lycan, the lycan studying himself, before the Okanavian turned to face him. His muzzle parted in the Okanavian equivalent of a grin. His tongue hung out the side of his mouth, a string of spit dangling over the floor. He tried to expand his arms in the narrow space, muscles flexing under his thick gray fur in a show of renewal as if to say Look at me. He held up Crowe¡¯s waterskin, giving it a shake. Liquid sloshed around heavily inside. He crossed the cave to the practitioner, moving with a grace that belied his size. Each movement fluid, long limbs stretching with the sinewy confidence of a wolf. He hunkered in front of the practitioner, holding out the waterskin as if to say Will you please take this gift? His joy at being healed was both infectious and a comfort, easing the tension Crowe had felt the previous night. For a moment time seemed to halt, lycan looking down, practitioner looking up. It unfroze when Crowe gained the courage to reach out and take the offered gift. He was extra careful not to touch his claws. The claws alone were bigger than Crowe¡¯s longest finger/


    The practitioner didn''t realize how thirsty he was until he raised the waterskin to his lips. At some point while he¡¯d been out, spent from the loss of blood, the Okanavian must have ventured out. Several miles from the cave he would have come across a half-frozen stream. The water was cold enough to make his teeth hurt, but Crowe didn''t care. He drank with relish. Only when he lowered the waterskin breathlessly did he notice the Okanavian''s intense scrutiny. He felt all the blood rise to his face. Not once had the lycan looked away. Worse yet he had a hopeful, almost expectant look on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkled in excitement. His tail tapped a rhythmic cadence against the cave floor.


    With daylight streaming into the cave Crowe took the opportunity to reassess his new companion. It was hard to say with the fur and the wounds, but the lycan had a youthful appearance¡­an amiability that suggested he was in the early stage of life same as Crowe. The practitioner noted the leather wristbands the lycan wore. Wristbands wider than both of the sorcerer¡¯s arms put together. A silver buckle marred with dirt and scratched marked the bronze belt buckle that held the gown of his tunic up over his broad hips. The beast carried no weapons with him the sorcerer could see.


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    Doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯s not dangerous. He has teeth and claws bigger than anything I¡¯ve seen. He doesn¡¯t need a weapon, he is a weapon. I am all alone with this stranger. A stranger who comes from a completely different region of the world. A stranger who speaks a completely different language. And a lycan at that. How am I going to communicate with him? How are we to build trust? He partially understood the Theocracy¡¯s fear of the Okanavi. More and more refugees like this one were traveling from beyond the desert canyons. It was just like the Theocracy to try and conquer what they did not understand. Was the lycan in control of his more predatory instincts? If not, what dangers did he hold for the practitioner?


    The cacophony of Crowe¡¯s thoughts started flutters of anxiety in his stomach. He felt his breath catch in his chest. No, not now. Not another crushing wave of panic. He hadn''t had such a fit since the day he found Petras dead-cold in his bed. He turned his attention back to the Okanavian. Soon it would be time to move - he wanted to put as much distance between himself and the woods as he could before nightfall - and there wouldn''t be much time to talk. ¡°You look like you¡¯re feeling better,¡± he croaked.


    The barbarian whimpered, shifting ever closer to the practitioner. If the sorcerer could have backed away he would have done so but there was nowhere else to go. The Okanavian held up a paw to his chest to indicate himself. ¡°Y'' much vulgtmnahor hai.¡±


    To Crowe this could have meant any number of things. He tried to stand. The muscles in his back groaned in complaint. He faltered, about to slip back down to the ground. Before his rump could hit the ground, strong digits closed around his forearm, stopping his descent. The lycan hovered close enough that the practitioner could feel his warmth. His touch ebbed at the chill that had settled into Crowe''s flesh, causing a shiver to race up the practitioner''s spine. He jerked his arm away. ¡°I¡¯m alright, I¡¯m alright.¡± He sucked in a breath.


    The Okanavian took a step back but remained close by as if he feared the practitioner would fall again, his head lowered slightly. His tail flicked back and forth anxiously. Crowe stepped to the side of him, testing his own strength. He felt steady enough. Good. We have to get moving before daylight falls.


    He heaved his bag over his shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re leaving,¡± he said.


    Another broad smile. Another flash of white teeth. A nod of confirmation. Before Crowe could protest, the Okanavian took the bag from his shoulder, slinging it over his own. Crowe hung back, uncertain of how to proceed/ The Okanavian said something in a short burst of Okanavi. The words sounded sharp to the practitioner''s ears, but the question in them was clear. Are you coming?


    They cut northwest, taking a road that would eventually loop around and cut north again after three days of travel.


    Every second out in the open, away from the cover of the trees, made the hairs on the back of Crowe''s neck stand on end. After what he had seen the Theocracy torchcoats do to his new Okanavian companion, he didn''t want to risk another encounter with them. The Okanavian moved with renewed vigor. The same could not be said for the practitioner. Within a few minutes of their journey he was exhausted and breathless. Giving the lycan his blood had cost him more than he¡¯d anticipated.


    Three hours into nightfall they reached a small wood cabin. The lycan stopped, standing stock still. His fur rose, standing on end. A low growl vibrated from deep within his chest. He watched the darkened windows with the weary intensity of a predator.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Crowe demanded through chattering teeth. He watched the Okanavian wearily, trying to make sense of his body language.


    The Okanavian muttered something darkly under his breath but did not turn around. His paws remained curled into fists.


    The practitioner allowed his mind to extend beyond the limits of its physical prison. He smelled rain in the whippets of wind that combed his hair, tangled and matted, from his face. Black clouds eclipsed the moon, reminding him of the apocalyptic vortex that had appeared over the house the day Petras died. He sensed no danger about the place, nothing to suggest there was anyone inside. There was a quality to the darkness that spoke of desolation. A simple wood post fence surrounded the property; several posts had been ripped away by a careless wind.


    Crowe had just stepped past the fence when two strong arms seized him around the waist. Before he could protest he was hauled effortlessly into the air. The Okanavian set him down on sodden earth. Immense paws weighed on his shoulder, gentle but indomitable. The lycan¡¯s face hovered so close to his their noses almost touched even as the sky unleashed a torrential downpour of rain. He grunted a word that sounded like, ¡°Nuh,¡± but clearly meant no. He lifted a paw long enough to press it to his own chest and said, ¡°Y'' epbug ph''nglui.¡± His palm returned to Crowe, this time resting softly against the practitioner¡¯s chest. Even now as the rain crashed down on their shoulders, his skin radiated an inner warmth that stilled the practitioner. ¡°Ymg'' ahna geb, ahagl h''''s mgepnnn.¡±


    The meaning was clear: I¡¯ll go in. You stay here.


    Crowe shook his head, shivering so hard now he felt he¡¯d been seized by a fit like the ones that had plagued Petras in his final days. ¡°I can''t,¡± he managed to stammer out. ¡°If I stay out here in the rain I''ll catch my death.¡±


    The Okanavian stepped back with a shake of his head.


    Crowe ground his teeth together. Who was this barbarian to tell him where he could or could not go? Before he could raise his voice in protest the Okanavian startled him by whirling around with a snarl. Frothing lips peeled back from sharp incisors. The lycan did not lunge towards the practitioner, but rose to his full height, turning slightly to block Crowe from the cabin. His tail pointed straight towards the sky like an arrow. The sorcerer¡¯s eyes narrowed in determination, never mind that the beast had showed him his fangs. Staff in hand, he lunged to the side, then sprung forward only to feel the lycan drag him back by the scruff of his robes. He plopped him firmly down on the ground. He held up a single finger, pointing, admonishing him as he would a child.


    Monad, the practitioner thought in resignation, what have you sent me?


    Too exhausted and too cold to offer further opposition, Crowe glared at his newfound companion in resentment. He watched the lycan lope cautiously towards the cabin. The deep cadence of his voice was loud enough that Crowe could hear the prayer in it. And the fear.


    The practitioner¡¯s thoughts spun. What did the Okanavian sense that he didn''t? Why did he insist on going into the cabin before Crowe? He did the only thing he could think of to do when his nerves were working against him and lit a joint. The simple act of sucking in the smoke and holding it in his mouth was a religious act all its own. Monad put him in your path for a reason or else you never would have found him. All will reveal itself in time. Even now while standing in the middle of the rainstorm in the middle of nowhere, he could feel something invisible and powerful at work, shifting the pieces and putting them in place.


    He watched the lycan push the door of the cabin open. He peered inside. It was too dark to see his face from this vantage point, but his passage through the night was unmistakable. The Okanavian isn''t just a test, he¡¯s an ally, the practitioner reminded himself. You''re going to have to learn to trust him at some point¡­Whether you want to or not.

 Incubus

    A bad smell surrounded the small dwelling, making Barghast¡¯s stomach work and the hackles along his spine rise. His twin o¡¯rre walked fearlessly towards it, oblivious of the sin he was about to commit. Did he not know the curses that came with stepping into a place where death had thinned the veil between one world and the next?


    Barghast had to act before the wraith put himself in danger. Put them both into danger. Before his twin spirit could pass the fence, Barghast did the only thing he could think of to do. He hauled the wraith into the air, marveling at how light he felt, before setting him down on his feet. The wraith started to protest, but Barghast leaned in until their noses almost touched and said in a firm voice, ¡°No.¡±


    Judging from the stunned, slack jawed look on the wraith''s face that he did not like being told no. Perhaps he wasn''t used to it. I know you do not understand, the Okanavian would tell him if he had the words. I do not mean to scold you. I certainly do not enjoy it. Even though Gaia has blessed me with a twin-spirit who is a strong and fearless warrior, it is my duty to protect you as it is your duty to guide me. That means walking on tainted ground so you don''t have to. He could only hope the wraith would understand in time.


    For a moment the world around them stood  still. He stood close enough to the wraith that he could smell him, an all too human smell of sweat and earth and maybe the beginnings of a fever. If they were going to stay here then Barghast would search the place until he knew it was safe. He would have to do so quickly. He sensed his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s body was not as adept as staving off illness as his own was. Underneath the drumming of the rain he could hear the gallop of the wraith''s heart. Is he frightened of me? Do I make his heart quicken in fear? The thought made him want to tuck his tail between his legs. His heart melted a little. His twin o¡¯rre stood shivering in the rain. Though he had been fierce and seemed larger in the woods because of it, he was compact. He was no longer just a dream Barghast hoped to be real, he was real. Like Barghast''s vulnerability to silver, he had limitations. The lycan knew the wraith did not have hot blood like he did. There is something about his blood though. When I drank from him his blood healed me. And how sweet the taste of his blood had been, like honeyed wine.


    Barghast pushed the thought away for fear that it would awaken within him a great hunger. Each second he wasted was another second his twin o¡¯rre was exposed to the cold. ¡°I will go inside and make sure there are no evil spirits. You stay here.¡±


    He started towards the cabin.


    The wraith started after him.


    Barghast snarled before he could stop himself, turning on the wraith. He hated showing his teeth to his twin o¡¯rre, but  it was the only way to get him to understand the danger that lay ahead. The wraith was not so easily dissuaded; Barghast''s twin o¡¯rre was a stubborn twin o¡¯rre.  He attempted to lunge past the Okanavian, unsheathing his staff. Before he could pass through the gate, Barghast grabbed him by the back of the robes and plopped him firmly on the ground. The little bird glared at him resentfully but did not persist when Barghast started towards the cabin.


    Fear gripped him with a black fist, making his skin prickle. His ears swiveled towards the cabin, listening for movement. He could feel eyes watching him from the cabin. ¡°Remember, Gaia is always with you,¡± the seer¡¯s voice rang in his head. ¡°No wolf walks alone as long as she watches from the sky.¡±


    Standing directly in front of the door, the stench of death was so strong it made the Okanavian''s eyes sting with tears and his nose twitch. The door opened with a creak that set his teeth on edge. He crouched to the side, his back pressed up against the wall. If a spirit waited for him in the murk it did not present itself nor could he sense its presence. He waved a paw at the wraith. He would not leave his guide out here by himself. Better to keep him within arm¡¯s reach where he could keep him safe from harm. Not that he needed it, Barghast reminded himself as the wraith staggered past the gate. Gaia had fashioned for him a twin o¡¯rre who was courageous, who was a warrior in his own right. The wraith stopped at the edge of the threshold, scrunching his nose up in disgust


    ¡°Alright, perhaps you were right. There''s something dead inside.¡± Barghast cocked his head, trying to place the wraith''s tone. It sounded tense with displeasure. He looked up; the thin line of his eyebrows were knitted together in a look of fierce concentration. ¡°Let¡¯s go inside and see what horrors awaits us, shall we?¡±


    ¡­


    Crowe wrinkled his nose at the smell. The stench and the lycan¡¯s territorial behavior should have been warning enough, but a morbid curiosity pulled him deeper into the cabin. It was impossible to see anything beyond the door.


    With a push of his will, a sphere of white light appeared at the end of his staff. Beside him the lycan made a sound that could have been, ¡°Oh¡­¡± He looked down at the staff, scarred face fixed in an expression of open muzzled wonder. His nose twitched wetly with curiosity.


    Crowe braved a step over the threshold. Light seeped over the dusty floorboards. The agitated buzzing of flies sounded above the clap of thunder. The Okanavian flinched at the sound, muttering something under his breath with a whine. Crowe barely noticed. He only had eyes for the man sitting in the chair with a double barrel shotgun held in his lap. At some point the man had stuck the barrel of the shotgun in his mouth. The evidence of his final act was splattered all over the desk. At the center of the bloody, pulpy mess was a single piece of parchment filled with cramped handwriting


    Crowe felt his gorge rise and his stomach clench. Bile rose up his esophagus, burning his throat. He whirled about, running for the door, almost running face first into the lycan. Considering what he¡¯d seen, the cold rain was a welcome respite. He vomited until his belly was empty, until he worried that he would defecate himself.


    He felt something cold touch his cheek. He whirled around. The Okanavian towered over him, leaning down to sniff him. Crowe felt the blood rise to his cheeks. He looked away, unable to meet the Okanavian¡¯s intent scrutiny. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I just¡­I just need a minute.¡±


    The lycan held out the sheet of parchment. Another offering. Crowe tried not to think about the brain-matter caked onto the paper. He nodded his thanks to the Okanavian before taking it. They found a small shed at the back of the property. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the ceiling and tiny insects could be seen darting along the floor to escape the light from Crowe''s staff. At least we''re not in the rain anymore. I just might make it through the evening without dying of pneumonia. Remember to be grateful for small blessings.


    The practitioner was all too aware of his companion. It was impossible when not to be with their thighs pressed together. Slowly the feeling returned to his numbed body. The wind buffeted the shed, making it creak and groan. He found an oil lamp and a tin of oil sitting on the shelf.  Once lit the lamp cast a small dome of light.


    The Okanavian leaned forward expectantly. His nose twitched.


    The practitioner looked up. ¡°What?¡± As if the lycan could tell him.


    The Okanavian gestured to the sheet of paper with one digit while gesturing to his muzzle with the other. His ears tilted towards Crowe.


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    ¡°You want me to read to you?¡± The sorcerer couldn''t hide the surprise in his voice. When the Okanavian did not respond he gestured at the paper.


    The Okanavian poked his tongue out of his mouth, panting in excitement. The practitioner squinted at the parchment once more. Clearing his throat, he began to read.


    ¡°He comes to me in the middle of the night, a cruel little man who sits on my chest and steals my breath away. Last night when he came to me it was just like all the other nights. I woke up from sudden sleep, aware of a heavy weight on my chest. Aware that I am no longer alone. Aware of the wind outside the house, making the windows rattle in their frames. I can never move. I can never get away from him.


    ¡°He always smiles at me. I don''t think he ever stops smiling. It is not a kind smile;it is a cruel smile filled with insidious intent. I know he¡¯s hungry and I know he''s feeding off me because with each visit I feel weak the next day. I look in the mirror and watch myself age bit by bit, by years instead of hours. At first my hair turned gray. Then it started to fall out. All my teeth fell out.¡±


    ¡°I asked the local vicar to cleanse the property but it didn''t work. I¡¯ve prayed to Elysia, I¡¯ve even prayed to Monad. Still the man comes at night, sits on my chest and feeds off me¡­¡±


    Crowe paused, his blood cold with fear. A voice in the back of his mind told him he was reading the words of an irrational mind. You know better, said the cracked, cynical voice of Petras. There are ugly things in this world. Things we are helpless against. Things that know us better than we know ourselves, that use those vulnerabilities against us. An impulse to tear the paper to pieces and dispose of them rose inside Crowe. Paranoia and superstition warred with another voice that fought for rationality. He willed himself to read the rest of the letter in a trembling voice.


    ¡°There is no hope for me. I''ve stayed up for three nights now. The human body can only go so long without sleep. Even now as I scramble to jot down these final words, night is falling. My thoughts are scrambled. I cannot stay awake much longer. I know when I fall asleep again, the man will be there. He will sit on my chest and take another bit of what little life I have left.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to die like this. I don''t want to see that grin anymore. Or those eyes. There is only one solution I can think of. Honestly, it''s surprised me that I have waited this long. So I have the shotgun with me, leaning against the desk. The thought of death no longer frightens me. I''ve been dying slowly for the last month. At least I get to take control of how I go rather than letting this malevolent force, this incubus, decide for me.


    ¡°And I am tired. So very tired. At least I will get to sleep now.¡±


    Crowe looked up, his throat parched. You are safe in here, he told himself. You¡¯re in the shed, not the cabin. The Seraphim watch over you. Even now Metropolis hovers in the sky, guiding your every step.


    Sometime in the middle of the night the practitioner rose from the murky depths of troubled dreams, aware of a heavy weight pressing down on him. Instinct wanted to take over, wanted to raise his body into a sitting position, but the weight pinning him to the floor of the shed was oppressive. Crushing. His eyes shot open. He opened his mouth to scream. His jaw didn''t move, sealed by paralysis. The sound caught in his throat.


    In his final testament, the man from the cabin had called his visitor a man. The thing that sat on Crowe¡¯s chest, knobby knees drawn in towards a hollowed torso, was not a man. What similarities it had to a man were superficial. Distorted.


    Its  eyes were cataract-white, bulging from bruised sockets. Twin slits widened with every heaving breath, as if each inhale and exhale took great effort. Its burnt, gray lips peeled back from white tombstones that poked from blackened gums, stretching in a grin that went from ear to ear. Its sickly gray flesh was translucent so that Crowe could see a roadmap of black veins.


    The creature leaned slowly forward as if to kiss him. Crowe couldn''t move. Couldn''t scream. He could barely breathe. Somehow he managed to pull his eyes away from the creature. Barghast still sat on the other side of the shed, head lowered in slumber. The sorcerer could hear his snores faintly beneath the thunder of his own rushing blood. The demon will start feeding off me now. He could still feel the fur of the Okanavian¡¯s leg pressing up against his. He clenched his eyes shut, the only power he seemed to have in him. He waded through the fear, searching for his courage. I am not powerless. The Seraphim did not send me on this mission just for me to die like this, helpless and unable to move. Through Monad I have the power to rain fire and turn mountains upside down. Through him I can do anything.


    He opened his mouth again. This time a sound came out. A thin, reedy moan. It was enough.


    The lycan raised his head, his ears twitching. His muzzle yawned open in a sleepy . Then he saw the shriveled hunched thing sitting on the practitioner¡¯s chest.  Like a sprout shooting out of the ground he rose into a crouch, shoulders hunched, a snarl frothing at his lips. ¡°Get mglagln hup h'', mgvulgtnahor orr''e!¡± he bellowed.


    The weight vanished from Crowe¡¯s chest. With a great gasp he sat up, searching frantically for the demon. It was nowhere to be seen. In the blink of an eye it had vanished into smoke.


    Before the practitioner could regain order of his thoughts, a much heavier shadow was upon him. With a strength that was not to be denied, the lycan yanked the practitioner to him. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Crowe demanded.


    Like the imp who¡¯d visited him in the night, the Okanavian¡¯s face loomed large in the field of his vision.


    The pads of his paw held Crowe by the jaw, taking great care not to pierce him with his claws. He tilted the practitioner''s head this way and that for inspection. Crowe was too exhausted to fend him off; this morning¡¯s visitation had left him drained of strength. Bennett''s voice rose up from the shadow¡¯s of the past, supplying wisdom when it was needed most. He¡¯s examining you to see if you''re injured. It could be a part of his culture. What''s it to you? If he wanted to kill you right now he could do so very easily if he wanted to.


    As he worked his inspection, the lycan chanted in a low voice, the tone of his voice strange but soothing to Crowe''s stinging ears. Calloused digits kneaded the tension in his shoulders, palms pressing gently against the bone,  breath warm against the practitioner''s neck.


    By the time the Okanavian turned the practitioner back around to face him, Crowe felt relaxed. He felt¡­safe. ¡°Thank you,¡± the sorcerer whispered, truly grateful. His heart fluttered, thinking of what might have happened had the lycan not intervened.


    ¡°Ymg''''re welcome.  The mgvulgtnahor orr''e ephainafl nogephaii.  H'' ephainafl ymg'' ngahnah ephaii,¡± the Okanavian reassured him with a kindly pat on the shoulders. He finished his ministrations by running his tongue over the practitioner¡¯s face, in the wet sloppy canine equivalent of a kiss. Crowe giggled in spite of himself, still shaking. For now he was happy not to be alone. He was happy to be alive.


    Under the light of the rising sun, the practitioner studied his new companion. Pillars of black smoke rose towards the sky; the cabin burned. It was the only way Crowe could think of to ensure that the incubus would not visit anyone in their sleep again. At last the man inside, whoever he had been, would get the rest he so longed for.


    The lycan watched the flames with foggy eyes, as if the fire had cast a spell over him. Everything about him was so different. Not just because he was covered in fur; not just because he had fangs and claws and a tail. In so many ways he was like a child, superstitious and excitable with the scars of a battle-hardened warrior. There was an entire world between them and yet the lycan had followed Crowe deeper into these lands when he had every reason to return the way he¡¯d come. After the way the Okanavian had inspected him for wounds, the practitioner could only assume the lycan had an interest in his well-being. What that interest was still remained a mystery; perhaps it always would. I won''t know by keeping a wall between us. I don''t even know his name¡­and he doesn''t know mine. It was time to change this.


    The Okanavian must have sensed his scrutiny for he looked over. Immediately his eyes lit up and his shoulders lifted as if he could barely contain his excitement. An adventurer hungry for the next adventure. The next challenge. Stay with me long enough, you¡¯ll feel different enough, the practitioner thought.


    The sorcerer brought a hand to his chest to indicate himself. ¡°Crowe,¡± he said.


    The Okanavian cocked his head, lips twisted in a puzzled frown.


    Crowe repeated the action. ¡°My name is Crowe. He sauntered up to the barbarian until they stood but inches apart. He prodded him in the chest, never mind how ridiculous he felt, cheeks burning with an embarrassment he couldn''t hide. ¡°What is your name? What do I call you?¡± He mined the gestures slowly, repeated the questions.


    Despite the rumors circumventing throughout the northern region of the world, the Okanavi were not the brutes the Theocracy portrayed them to be, incapable of logic. At least this one wasn''t. The Okanavian¡¯s eyes widened in recognition. He gestured to himself. ¡°Barghast,¡± he growled.


    The practitioner pointed to himself. ¡°Crowe.¡±


    Barghast tried to say his name, the syllables foreign to his mouth. Crowe offered grins of encouragement with each attempt. After several minutes of this, the practitioner and Barghast lapsed back into silence. They watched the cabin burn, each haunted by their own ghosts. With the trading of names Crowe sensed a bond had begun to form between them. Smiling, the first glimmer of hope caught inside him.

 Death on the Daminion Highway

    The wagon moved at a snail¡¯s pace, crawling along the highway past snow-covered fields and gnarled trees. Four soldiers rode alongside the wagon, two leading the procession with the other two following at the rear. The torch-symbol of Elysia was unmistakable beneath the gloom of the gray sky. Pallid, sickly faces gazed hopelessly through the rusty bars grafted into the wagon, bodies huddled against the cold. It was impossible to count how many prisoners there were from this vantage point.


    Watching from behind a thin shelter of trees, Barghast let out a low growl. His shoulders vibrated. The Theocracy has made another enemy, Crowe thought.


    The practitioner held out a hand, gesturing for him to be quiet. The growl ceased, but those amber coins remained fixed on their prey. His tail arched high above his back; the end jerked back and forth. The sorcerer sensed he would only be able to keep his companion at bay for so long. Despite the tenuous bond that had begun to form back at the cabin, Crowe remained wary of Barghast. He was a predator after all and predators lived for the need to spill blood. Crowe¡¯s attention returned to the prisoners locked inside the wagon like animals, their arms and legs shackled together. The Seraphim¡¯s words rose in the back of his mind¡­both a reminder and a call to action. You are the herald, the mouth through which Monad will speak. The flaming sword that breaks chains and delivers swift, bloody justice. You are the beacon that will lead Monad¡¯s people out of exile. So it has been decreed.


    It was here already, faster than he¡¯d anticipated. My people are in the back of that wagon, being herded towards slavery or death, or something worse than death. This is what I¡¯ve been called to do, I must act. Once the wagon was within throwing distance, Crowe aimed his staff at it. ¡°Now!¡± he hissed.


    He needn¡¯t have said anything. Barghast let out a bestial snarl, bounding out from behind the trees. He made a short passage through the tangle of weeds, a machine of muscle and bone and fur and vitality working in tandem with the instinct to kill without mercy. Pushing his will into his staff, Crowe followed at a sprint, his blood singing in his ears.


    Barghast skirted to a stop in the middle of the road, rising to his full height. The sorcerer almost felt sorry for the Theocracy soldiers who had yet to discover the death fate had in store for them.


    The wagon was almost upon them by the time the riders discovered they were no longer alone. ¡°Yah!¡± and the sharp snap of reigns against flanks split the frigid air and ¡°Whoa, whoa, whoa!¡± Horse hooves scraping against half-frozen dirt, bringing the wagon to a halt just feet from colliding with Crowe and Barghast.


    This time the lycan did not wait for Crowe¡¯s instructions. He lunged towards the closest horse, yanking its rider off the saddle in a single fluid motion. Before the soldier could hit the ground, Barghast was on top of him, muzzle clamping down on the flesh between his shoulder and neck with the audible crunch of bone.


    For a moment Crowe could only watch, grateful that the broad expanse of Barghast¡¯s back hid what was happening from view. Hearing it was bad enough. With a tearing, sopping sound, the lycan¡¯s head fell back, pointed up at the sky. A howl tore from his throat, turning the practitioner¡¯s blood to ice. Scraps of flesh clung to his mouth, blood sluicing down his chin like a red river. The other riders had recovered from the shock of being ambushed and were now aiming their rifles at the Okanavian, the most immediate threat. Silver bullets hissed through the air, slamming into the earth around Barghast, another hitting him in the back of the shoulder, the wound already steaming. No you don¡¯t, Crowe thought. A ball of blue light exploded from the end of his staff. It arched up towards the sky before plummeting back towards the ground, gaining speed and force as it descended towards its target. It slammed into the second soldier before she could take another shot at Barghast, knocking her from her mount.


    Crowe and Barghast made short work of the final two scouts, dispatching them quickly. They worked together, dragging the bodies into the field where they would be out of sight of the road. Or tried to. Crowe pulled uselessly at the legs of a corpse, wondering how in the name of Monad he¡¯d managed to get Petras¡¯ body down the stairs. Barghast came back to him, slinging the body over his shoulders as if it were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. His muzzle was bunched up in discomfort, the wound at his back still smoking from where the bullet was lodged into his shoulder, but when he turned to look back at the practitioner his muzzle yawned open, showing him the pink of his tongue. Sheets of already dried blood spotted his gray fur.


    At least he¡¯s easy to please, the sorcerer thought. ¡°Barghast,¡± he said, stopping the Okanavian with a single word. Crowe touched his shoulder gingerly, peering down at the wound. With the discovery of the Okanavian¡¯s name a newfound if tenuous familiarity had formed between them. At least we can no longer say that we are complete strangers to one another. ¡°We should get this bullet out of you.¡±


    He unslung his bag from his shoulders and pilfered through it until he found what he was looking for: a small pair of tweezers. Before he could finish his search, Barghast''s digits closed around his wrists, communicating through touch what he could not with words. His tongue lapped at the side of Crowe¡¯s face before he turned to look back at the cabin. It can wait, the look said. We have more important matters to attend to at the moment.


    They started back towards the wagon. The prisoners could be seen, faces pressed fervently against the bars of their prison, feverish eyes brightened by a final glimmer of hope. The reek of their unwashed flesh grew stronger the closer Crowe and Barghast drew towards the wagon. Barghast remained by the side of the road, his muzzle scrunched in disgust. You didn''t smell that great when I found you either, Crowe thought.


    Desperate hands reached for him through the bars. ¡°Hurry!¡± a woman cried through a tangled curtain of black hair; the pale pallor of her cheeks were darkened by streaks of filth. ¡°Let us out!¡±


    A man knelt beside her, long spidery fingers gripping the bars with desperation. Beneath the patches and tangles of his ruddy beard, his cheeks were hollowed by starvation. ¡°There''s another patrol a day or so behind us. It doesn''t give us much time to get away!¡±


    Crowe blasted the lock off the door with a flare from his staff. He pulled the door open. ¡°Come on out, all of you,¡± he said.


    The prisoners rose sluggishly to their feet, shuffling off the wagon. They moved with great effort, chains scraping along the floor of the wagon. Up close it was impossible to ignore the mistreatment the prisoners had suffered at the hands of their captors. They¡¯d been beaten and scarred. Crowe noticed missing fingers and poorly dressed wounds due to frostbite. A long thin trail of dried blood marked the torn skirt of a woman. She cringed from Crowe when he turned his gaze on her, eyeing Barghast who had begun to pilfer through the belongings of the dead soldiers. A cold knife twisted in the practitioner''s gut. Petras always told me the world was a cruel place, the Theocracy even crueler, but being told and witnessing it for yourself are two completely different things, he thought.


    The woman who had begged to be let out, fell at his knees, her movements eerily matching that of the Barghast''s that strange night in the cave. Her tears fell on Crowe''s boots. ¡°Monad has blessed us with a second chance!¡± the woman screamed at the sky; her shoulders shook with emotions she couldn''t contain. ¡°He may be locked in an eternal sleep in the Void, but still he watches over us in his dreams!¡± She reached for the rest practitioner with trembling fingers.


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    Before he could step back, a strong arm ushered Crowe away from the woman. Barghast planted himself between the sorcerer and the woman. A snarl parted his lips. The woman crawled back with a fearful gasp, joining the rest of the prisoners by the wagon. They cowered at the sight of Barghast, clinging to each other in desperation.


    ¡°Barghast!¡± Crowe shouted. Before he knew what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed the lycan. It was enough to get the Okanavian''s attention. Barghast''s snarl into a frown, his eyes softening when he looked down at Crowe. Crowe steeled himself. ¡°Don''t give me that look!¡± He pointed a finger at a spot several paces away. ¡°Get over there!¡±


    The lycan surprised him once more by obeying, albeit with a chastised look on his face. Crowe strolled towards the prisoners; they had yet to venture out from their huddled stance. He cleared his throat, his cheeks burning.¡±Never mind him. He can be a bit¡­overprotective. We were attacked by the Theocracy the same as you a few days ago. You''re safe. We¡¯re not going to hurt you. What happened to you?¡±


    The ruddy bearded man stepped forward to answer. ¡°We come from the village of Boar¡¯s Head.¡±


    Crowe nodded. ¡°I know of it. It''s a few days'' travel by horseback from my hometown.¡±


    ¡°A Theocracy scouting party raided our village. They killed most of our people¡­friends, family, people we¡¯ve known our whole lives. They burned them at the stake. My father, my mother, my sister.¡± The man¡¯s lips trembled with a grief he could not contain.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± the practitioner said, knowing his words were meaningless. ¡°How did they defeat you? You¡¯re practitioners just like me¡­¡±


    The man''s lips peeled back from clenched teeth, on the verge of letting loose a scream. At the last second he regained his composure, sucking in a deep breath. ¡°You haven''t heard? The Theocracy, they''ve developed a new drug that suppresses our abilities. I guess thanks to the experiments they¡¯ve been running on our people at The Black Diamond, they found a way to exploit our Monad-given abilities. They were equipped with these special grenades that secreted the drug in gas form. It was a massacre.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of The Black Diamond but I don''t know much about it¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a sanitarium west of Ontariun. It''s where they¡¯ve been sending practitioners for experimentation. If not there, then it''s to work on Drajen¡¯s blasted railroad. Either way both routes are a death sentence in the end. I heard the soldiers talking one night. I think they were sending us to the Jalacial Flatlands to work on the railroad.¡± The man¡¯s lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile. ¡°It''s a good thing you and your lycan friend came along when you did.¡±


    A groan stalled the conversation. The scout who Crowe had knocked off her horse with a ball of purple light lifted her head, smoke rising from a hole burnt in her armor. ¡°Well, well, well,¡± the ruddy-faced man said in a tone Crowe didn''t like much. ¡°You didn''t kill them all after all.¡± He stepped towards the fallen woman.


    Crowe intercepted his path. ¡°What do you intend to do to her?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to take what''s mine: vengeance,¡± the man said. ¡°What I¡¯m going to take from her doesn''t nearly cover what she took from me.¡± Something malevolent and insane glinted in the man''s eyes. ¡°Are you going to get in my way or am I going to have to deal with you as well?¡±


    Sensing this was a man he did not want to cross, Crowe backed towards Barghast. The scout, trying to crawl into the dead weeds at the side of the road, hissed prayers to Elysia through clenched teeth. ¡°In the name of the Mother, help me.¡± Her face was stricken with an animal''s need to survive. The body keeps moving even when it knows the end is close, the practitioner thought morbidly. It simply can''t help itself.


    Her doom walked up behind her, a knife in hand - he must have pulled it off one of the dead bodies. A voice in the back of the sorcerer''s mind screamed for him to look away, but Crowe¡¯s eyes remained glued to the scene. The man¡¯s shadow fell across the woman. Slowly her head turned. Her eyes widened when she saw him. A helpless whimper pulled at her lips. ¡°Elysia, I take strength from you, knowing that you are with me. Knowing that you will never leave me¡­¡±


    ¡°Your whore, Elysia, isn''t here,¡± the ruddy-faced man said with a cruel smile. ¡°She''s not with you. She doesn''t watch over you and she sure as in the Void isn''t listening to you.¡± He grabbed by the back of her hair and yanked her head back, hunched over her so that his back hid the woman from view; Crowe was grateful for this. Hearing the scout''s blood curdling screams, raised in terror, was bad enough.


    The woman''s screams were cut short by the blade of the dagger. Her body spasmed, legs kicking as the man stepped back. Crowe turned away, feeling queasy to his stomach. If he had anything in his belly to throw up, it would have joined the bodies on the highway.


    When the terrible business was over and the scout had been silenced, Crowe returned to the wagon. The ruddy-faced man grinned as if he hadn¡¯t just threatened the practitioner a few moments ago. ¡°I never introduced myself. My name is Elias.¡± He held out a dirt-streaked hand.


    The sorcerer glared at him coldly. ¡°I¡¯m not going to shake hands with a cold-blooded killer.¡±


    Elias'' smile did not falter but widened. ¡°I saw you and your lycan friend in action. You''re just as much of a killer as I am, so don''t get all high and mighty with me.¡±


    I don''t kill in cold blood. That woman was badly injured, how far would she have made it before exhaustion finished what I started? The words caught in Crowe¡¯s throat. What was the point in wasting his breath?


    ¡°We are at war,¡± Elias continued unabated. ¡°We are in battle with an institution that has enslaved us for centuries; that executes our people without trial. We have no time for mercy. You may not see it now, but if you travel on this road long enough you will.¡± Apparently done with the conversation, Elias returned to what remained of his village. The prisoners huddled together, as if afraid of being heard. Crowe was more than happy to be done with the conversation.


    ¡°Cr-ow-e,¡± said a familiar, deep voice.


    The practitioner turned to look at the lycan. Crowe felt his spirit lift at the sight of a face that was quickly becoming familiar to him. The Okanavian held up a piece of parchment: a map with several ink marks. The practitioner snatched a hasty look over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching; Elias and his people were still bent intently in their own private session. Crowe rewarded him with a quick pat on the shoulder before tucking the map in the pocket of his robes. We¡¯ll need that later, he thought. The pat on the shoulder earned him a toothy grin from Barghast and a reciprocated pat on the shoulder that sent the practitioner stumbling back a few steps. Before his rump could hit the ground, the lycan caught him, gently setting him back down on his feet.


    ¡°Uh¡­thanks.¡± The practitioner felt the blood rise to his cheeks.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± was all Barghast said.


    One of these days I¡¯m going to find out what that means, Crowe thought.


    Reluctantly he ventured back to Elias. ¡°What will you do now?¡±


    Elias looked over Crowe¡¯s shoulder, shielding his eyes with a hand. ¡°We¡¯re going South to Caemyth.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s in Caemyth?¡±


    ¡°Governor Benedict Matthiesen. He¡¯s been the only one brave enough to oppose Pope Drajen and the Theocracy. He offers sanctuary to practitioners¡­those who are brave and fortunate enough to escape. It¡¯s a long journey. It will take us weeks to get there.¡±


    ¡°It sounds like a dangerous journey.¡±


    Elias¡¯ mouth twisted in a grimace. ¡°These are dangerous times. But I¡¯d say, given the state of things, it¡¯s worth the journey. Rumor has it Caemyth offers food, clothing, housing. Pope Drajen doesn¡¯t have the courage to breach the walls. They say the walls are so high, they¡¯re like mountains. Come with us. You and your lycan friend certainly seem capable of handling yourselves. I¡¯d certainly feel better having you around.¡±


    It was the practitioner¡¯s turn to grimace. He looked up at the sky, searching for Metropolis among the smoky clouds. It wasn¡¯t there, but he could feel its presence like a spinning coin at the back of his mind. Always watching. Always guiding. ¡°I wish I could. Unfortunately we¡¯re headed in the opposite direction.¡±


    Elias¡¯ smile crumpled as if the practitioner had struck him across the face. ¡°North? That¡¯s where we just came from. You¡¯d be heading deeper into enemy territory. Why would you head that way?¡±


    Crowe could not think of a way to explain. ¡°We¡¯re searching for a small town called Timberford.¡±


    Elias shook his head glumly. ¡°Wish I could be of more help but I¡¯ve never heard of it.¡±


    Eager to change the subject, Crowe looked at the wagon, at the riderless horses who had no heading of their own. ¡°You should take the horses, the wagons, and the weapons.¡±


    ¡°What about you?¡± Elias asked.


    ¡°You¡¯ll need them more than I will.¡± The practitioner hoped this was the truth.


    The sound of a shell being freed from the chamber of a rifle drew their attention. Barghast rose from a crouched position, slinging the weapon over his shoulder. Crowe bit his lip to keep his jaw from dropping. ¡°Well,¡± he said with a forced smile, ¡°you can keep the rest. I guess we¡¯re keeping one.¡±

 Euphoria

    The stench twisted his stomach in knots. Bile rose up in his throat. He pressed the back of a hand to his mouth before the foulness could escape him. The crack of a twig almost made him cry out in terror. He twisted around to discover the lycan had not moved from his spot, but remained crouched where he  stood, tracking the movement of something Crowe could not see. The muzzle of the rifle moved in line with the Okanavian¡äs gaze, a thumb resting on the hammer.


    Crowe tried to follow his lead. Tremors of terrors shook his body like a house in the throes of a storm. The ground shook beneath his feet. Is my mind playing tricks on me or is the ground actually shaking? The question was soon answered with movement to their left. The curve of something large lumbered through a line of trees, obscured by living darkness. Crowe felt his mouth go dry with the metallic taste of fear. He caught the unmistakable flash of a black eye, watching them.


    ¡§Twin o¡ärre,¡§ Barghast warned with a low growl, reaching for him. Crowe let the lycan pull him closer, his inside of his mouth tingling with numbed horror..


    The muzzle of the rifle was pointed at him. No, something in front of them. The instant the practitioner was out of the way, the Okanavian slammed the hammers of the rifle back and pulled the trigger. Barghast rocked back with the burst of gunfire, smoke puffing into the air. Stifling silence followed, clawing at Crowe with trickster fingernails. The staff thrummed in his hands, ready to release chaos. Is it gone? Are we safe?


    Nothing moved at first.


    A laugh broke the stillness, high-pitched, joyous, and very human. The muzzle swung around. BAM!


    ¡§No!¡§ Crowe shouted at the lycan. The practitioner waved at him wildly before the Okanavian could fire another shot. ¡§What are you doing? That sounded like a person!¡±


    An amber eye turned to regard him; the other remained fixed ahead. Crowe took a cautious step back. He¡¯d yet to see Barghast stand so still or look so feral.


    A burst of movement to their right. Another to their left. The outline of human bodies speeding from one tree to the next. ¡°We see you!¡± a high-pitched voice called; it was impossible to tell if the voice was male or female.


    ¡°We''re going to get you, we¡¯re going to get you, we''re going to get you!¡± sang another.


    Barghast barked something in Okanavian, his tail pointed at the sky like a blade. Crowe knew it to be a war cry and gave into his own fear. He unleashed a volley of fire at the next flicker of movement. Together lycan and practitioner burst into a run. Peals of thin hyena laughter broke through the trees again followed by a monstrous roar. Barghast stopped long enough to kneel. This time Crowe jumped unhesitatingly on his back, trusting that the Okanavian would catch him. Sure enough the lycan held him in place and they were off, racing through the woods.


    The sorcerer snatched a glance over his shoulder, trying to catch the thing that chased him. ¡°Faster, faster, faster!¡± He punctuated each shout with a slap on the arm. The mouth of a hungry maw opened behind them, threatening to devour them whole. Crowe flattened himself against the Okanavian¡¯s back. The jaw snapped shut an inch from his back and he thought he caught the fleeting glimpse of a bear¡¯s face.


    Barghast feinted to the left before the beast could take another snap at them.


    The sound of rushing water pulled them West through a final shot of trees into a clearing. A river raged before them, water frothing around jagged rocks; they stood close enough to it. Crowe could already feel the water¡¯s sting. Barghast turned so that their backs faced the tide.


    The beast found them. It sauntered towards them, eyes glittering with a rare and frightening intelligence. Away from the cover of the trees, there was enough light for Crowe to see the creature was a bear. It let out great huffs of breath as it advanced, forcing the lycan to back closer to the water. They were at a dead end. The beast was too broad to have any hope of running around it. With a charge of mana, Crowe unleashed another plume of flame.. Black eyes as dark and absolute as the Void itself zeroed in on him and somehow the practitioner knew, a chill racing up his spine at the thought, the beast would not forget him. For a brief moment the beast was thrown into brilliant focus and Crowe could see that the beast¡¯s flanks, once brown, were covered in patches of a black mossy substance.


    Pale faces broke the shadows around the beast, mouths stretched in cheerful grins. Their voices sang high above the crack and the clatter of the river¡¯s tide. Their eyes were black empty reflections of the bear''s. Something''s changed them, the practitioner thought. They''re not what they''re supposed to be anymore.


    The bear pawed at the dampened soil, building up to charge. Barghast patted Crowe¡¯s thigh, talking in Okanavi, backing towards the water. His arms tightened their hold on the practitioner. As the lycan took his first step into the water, the bear charged. A wall of kinetic shot from the end of the practitioner''s staff in the hopes it would slow the creature down. It didn''t. It shrugged off the blow, bounding straight through it. It barrelled into the water with a bloodthirsty bellow, powerful muscles dominating the tide. It towered above them, a magnificent claw raised above its head for the killing blow. Its eyes glittered with  triumph.


    Before the claw could crash down on them Barghast thrust Crowe away from him. The bear¡¯s paw slammed into the water. The current tugged at Crowe, pulling him into a freefall. Ice-cold water closed in on him from all sides, filling his lungs. He kicked up, reaching, blind and afraid. His head broke the surface. He snatched in a breath, shaking his head, searching this way and that. Barghast nor the bear were in sight.


    ¡°Barghast!¡± he managed to shout. An invisible hook tugged him down once more. He kicked, bouncing once more, rebelling against nature''s greater force.


    ¡°Crowe!¡±


    The sound came from somewhere behind him. The practitioner thrashed about frantically. He saw a head poke above the surface of the water, arms reaching for empty air. More shouts  Yards of water separated them. Crowe squinted at a spot ahead of the lycan: the edge of a waterfall. Water plummeted over the edge, tumbling through open air.


    ¡°Barghast - turn around, turn around!¡±


    But it was too late. Barghast never saw the edge of the cliff coming. One second he was there, a small dot against churning white and black, and the next he was gone as if he''d never existed at all.


    Crowe screamed in despair; it sapped him of his strength; worse than the fear of dying was the fear of dying alone. Teeth clenched, he let the tide take him. He clung to his staff for dear life - somehow he¡¯d managed to hold onto it when the river had stolen everything else from him: his pack with his joints in it, the map he¡¯d freed from the dead scouts, the provisions he¡¯d managed to collect throughout his travels, his new lycan companion who he''d just begun to build rapport with, and soon it would take his life. Through chattering teeth he managed to say, ¡°May I find splendor in the Eternal City - ¡°


    Before he could finish his prayer a roar sounded over the water. It could not be! The bear¡¯s head poked out of the water behind him. The tide must have grabbed a hold of it the same way it had everything else. Will this nightmare ever end?


    Death in front of him and death behind him. Which way was more painful?


    For a moment he had an unobstructed view of his fall: a fifty foot drop through open air with a four hundred pound predator above him. He had just enough time to utter a final prayer and suck in a deep breath before gravity seized him once more. The air battered his face, slapping the air from his lungs. It felt as if every organ in his body had come unmoored, threatening to burst through his mouth which hung open in a silent scream, the drop¡¯s end rushing up to meet him. If the fall kills me, maybe it¡¯ll kill the bear too. Maybe Barghast -


    He hit the water. The impact erased all thought from his mind, engulfing him. The surface shrank further and further until he felt his back slam into jagged rock, dislodging pebbles from the dirt. He let out a scream only for water to fill his lungs. Something else hit the water above his head and he saw the bear¡¯s body sink past him, its weight pushing it to the bottom of the river


    You have to move, a voice fluttered urgently in his mind. That fall isn''t going to stop it. It looks like a bear but it isn''t. Something happened to the bear to turn it into something else. You saw those people¡­something happened to them too. It will happen to you if you don''t move.


    With a final push of will, Crowe shook himself from his stupor. Hand still around his staff, he kicked to the surface. He fought and clawed his way to solid ground, struggling to stay conscious, kept afloat by the terrible knowledge the bear would be on him in any second -


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡±


    A broad shadow fell over him, blocking the moon from view.


    ¡°Barghast,¡± Crowe managed to breathe.


    The Okanavian hoisted the sodden practitioner into the air. Crowe clung to him for support on unsteady legs. He''s alive! I¡¯m not alone -


    He caught a glimpse of the sky as Barghast lifted him onto his shoulders once more, toting the practitioner away from the river, panting and whining, his fur sodden and pressed flat against his broad frame. The light of Metropolis glowed from the sky, either a beacon of hope or an omen of doom portent. Either way he knew it would lead them to their destination, Timberford. Barghast saw it too. He shouted something in Okanavian and then they were tearing through the dark again.


    They were not alone. Human shapes danced around them, taunting them with cat calls and songs with glittering black eyes as empty as the bear¡¯s. This time Crowe did not hesitate. He fired volleys of blue light at them if only to see them dance nimbly out of the way - anything to keep them at bay.


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    Barghast stopped long enough to point, muttering. Crowe looked. His heart skipped a beat. Not with dread but with hope. Lights! Lights through the trees! ¡°Run, Barghast!¡± he shouted. ¡°Run, run, run!¡± Human shapes surrounded them now, closing in from all sides like a pack of wolves. He was too exhausted to keep them at bay any longer.


    They broke through the last line of trees. The Okanavian lunged forward without breaking step, a machine of strength and vitality in his own right. Ahead of them a door opened. A rectangle of light in the dark. The bright flash of muzzle fire. Enough time to think, We¡¯re dead, we¡¯re dead. But they weren''t dead because the shot wasn''t meant for them, the shot was meant for something behind them. Just before they reached the door, Barghast lifted Crowe from his shoulders, carrying him in his arms. No sooner had he set the practitioner on his feet, he was backing the sorcerer to the wall, blocking him from a new threat, his hackles raised in warning.


    Crowe raised his head. His eyes followed the double-barrel of a shotgun to the broad hands that held it; further yet to the bearded face, eyes squinted down to narrow slits with murderous intent. The muzzle of the shot gun jammed up right against the lycan''s furry chest. He could survive shots from silver bullets to the shoulder, he could survive a fall down a waterfall, but he would not be able to survive this. Sensing he had but a second to act, Crowe stepped out into a ring of haggard faces. He held his hands up, letting the Lion-Headed Serpent around his neck fall into the light of a guttering fire.


    ¡°Please don''t shoot!¡± he begged. ¡°We mean you no harm! We were attacked in the woods. We barely made it here alive¡­¡±


    ¡°And just how did you manage to survive?¡± the man demanded, cocking the shotgun at Crowe. ¡°Anyone else who has tried to go toe to toe with the beast died.


    ¡°Luck. It was just luck. We got caught in the tide of the river. The beast pursued us all the way here.¡± Crowe hugged himself, teeth chattering together. He yearned to get closer to the fire but he didn''t dare cross the man who held a gun to his head.


    ¡°Put the gun down,¡± said a soft but commanding voice. ¡°They''re stuck in the same fire we are.¡±


    Several heads turned in the direction of the new speaker. A woman stepped out of the gathering, the thud of a single boot heavy against the floor. Her other leg was completely gone from below the kneecap. She leaned against a staff much like the one Crowe carried to support her weight. The runes carved into the wood danced in the gloom. Sharp blue eyes studied Crowe from a wrinkled face, lips thinned to a straight line. ¡°My name is Cenya. I¡¯ve known of your coming for some time, practitioner.¡± The woman hobbled closer to Crowe, eliciting a warning growl from Barghast she ignored. ¡°We must speak in private, but first I imagine you would like to take a minute before the fire to catch your bearings.¡± She glanced cautiously at the Okanavian. ¡°Is your lycan companion¡­friendly?¡±


    Her question hovered in the air, giving way to a tense silence. Every eye in the room was fixed on the lycan. Judging from the wide eyes and pale faces, they had never seen a lycan before. The smell of sweat and fear permeated the air. The practitioner could on;y imagine what Barghast nust look like to the villagers. An eight foot tall beast man standing to his full height, his shoulders rounded, his claws extended, his teeth bared, spit frothing at his lips.


    ¡°He can be a bit overprotective at times,¡± Crowe admitted, ¡°but he will not attack unless provoked. Travel on the road has been precarious.¡±


    Cenya let out a bitter chuckle that was not without a trace of humor. Her jowls sagged. ¡°We would not know. For the last month we''ve had our own troubles that have kept us cut off from the rest of the world. You could not have come at a darker time.¡± She waved at a chair in front of the fireplace with a gnarled hand. ¡°Sit down and rest while I calm my people.¡±


    The practitioner watched her recede into the crowd, frowning. She knew we were coming. How could she know we were coming? A shiver raced up his spine. Once more he had the sense of events shifting into place, puzzle pieces coming together to form something greater.


    For the first time since entering the building, Crowe took in his surroundings.


    Barghast and he stood in a tavern. A broad-shouldered bushy haired man stood behind the counter, watching them with a grease-stained rag slung over his shoulder. Behind him barrels of mead lined the walls. Several of Timberford¡¯s residents sat at the counter, nursing steins of ale. Beneath the layer of spirits and yeast, the undercurrent of bodily perspiration, fear, and despair lingered in the air. Faraway gazes suggested these people had been living in fear for weeks - the woman Cenya had said a month. Many of the tables and chairs had been shoved aside to make room for makeshift pallets and beds.


    What have we stumbled into?


    The man named Rake - the one who had nearly taken Crowe¡¯s head off with a shotgun - watched them from the corner of the room. The intensity of the man''s gaze made the practitioner''s skin prickle. He had the look of a man who would not hesitate to take matters into his own hands. A man who had been pushed to the edge. Crowe was grateful for the lycan''s presence now more than ever. The Okanavian''s eyes burned the crowd of curious, frightened onlookers, warning them without words to stay back.


    Crowe didn''t realize how exhausted he was until he sat down in the rickety wooden chair. The very act of lowering himself into the chair caused the muscles in his back to cry out in protest. Up until now desperation and fear had kept him moving, proving to be the perfect distraction. The most immediate threat at the moment was Rake and he had a leash around his neck it seemed - for the moment.


    Barghast sat beside him cross legged on the floor. He didn''t seem to mind not having a chair of his own. Sluggishly, stupidly he wondered if the Okanavian had furniture or if they simply sat on the floor their whole lives. Will I ever find the words to be able to ask him?


    Barghast let out a low growl loud enough so that only Crowe could hear it. The practitioner flashed him a warning look.


    Movement to their left.


    A girl no older than fifteen stopped in her tracks, hands shaking, making the dishes on top of the tray she carried rattle. She looked nervously at the lycan.


    ¡°It''s okay.¡± Crowe tried to cover the exhaustion in his voice with a smile. ¡°He¡¯s harmless.¡±


    The girl inched forward. ¡°T¡¯is a bit of broth and bread for you and your companion. It isn''t much but it will warm you right up.¡±


    Crowe¡¯s belly answered for him, letting out a rumble so loud it made several of the villagers look over. ¡°Thank you.¡± He took the tray with shaking hands. A loaf of oat bread had been set on a plate, the soup in saucers. Before he could divvy out the food, Barghast snatched the loaf of bread off the tray. There was no use in protesting. Half the loaf disappeared into his muzzle in a single bite. This left the practitioner with the broth. The soup scalded his lips as he drank it, but he didn''t care; at the moment it was the best thing he¡¯d ever tasted.


    The warmth from the fire washed over his skin, chasing away the numbness. He could feel his body growing heavy. Don''t get too complacent, a cynical voice warned in his mind. You aren''t safe yet. These might be Monad¡¯s lost people but that doesn''t mean you are safe among them.


    Danger or no, Crowe¡¯s mind slid into a daze that resembled sleep. Half-formed images and sensations fluttered through his mind. Falling. The sting of the water. The blood-curdling roar of a beast. High-pitched taunts through the trees. A paw now shaking him awake, gold lycan eyes urgently begging for him to wake up. What now? I''m so tired.


    Still Crowe raised his head, sensing a change in the air. The men, women, and children of Timberford - was this all of them crammed in the tavern, huddled in the middle of the tavern, men holding onto their wives who held onto their children? Rake stood tense before the double doors which has been bolted shut, his rifle raised. Cenya leaned against the counter, her staff at the ready. Her eyes burned white with mana within the borders of her wrinkled face. Crowe reached for his own inner fire only to feel a burning ache burst in his eye. Dots of pain danced before his eyes. He bit his lip, stifling a groan. You¡¯ve pushed yourself too far.


    A growl sounded outside. A growl that by now was all too familiar. Crowe felt his knees grow weak.


    A young girl no older than three or four began to wail, her face red with fear. Her mother hissed fearfully under her breath, looking as if she wanted to cry herself, trying to silence her. Rake muttered prayers under his breath, ¡°Monad, may you hear our calls from the Void¡­¡±


    Barghast with his own rifle at the ready, a snarl vibrating in his throat. A nightmare, Crowe thought, that continued without end.


    The bear was directly outside the pub, breath huffing through thin walls that could have been made of paper. The dark outside the window was so absolute it was impossible to see anything, the suggestion of movement and threat more frightening than sight¡¯s confirmation. Did the beast know they were in there, hunched together like frightened mice?


    Voices sounded from outside the pub. High-pitched voices that rang with mock-joy. ¡°Yoo-hoo! Clementine!¡± called a man''s voice. ¡°Come out, baby! I know you''re in there¡­¡±


    A woman burst into sobs, crying, ¡°John.¡±  She started towards the door.


    Rake barred the way, his eyes both sympathetic and sharp; Crowe sensed the man would not hesitate to put a bullet in the woman if she forced his head. ¡°Clementine, you can''t open those doors. You¡¯ll get us all killed¡­¡±


    Clementine wrung her hands in the air as if she wanted to grab him, shake him, make him understand. ¡°John¡¯s out there,¡± she sobbed.


    Rake shook his head, breathing heavily. ¡°You and I both know that''s not John. None of those people out there are the people we used to know. They all work with that thing out there and right now that thing wants to get out there and devour us all.


    ¡°Clementine,¡± the voice sang. This time it came from directly outside the window by the door. Fingernails made a scratching sound against the dirty glass.


    Clementine clapped her hands over her ears. She sank to the floor in defeat. Other names rose in the night, calling the names of the village people; voices that rang with madness and temptation alike. Rake¡¯s sharp barks to stay away from the doors and windows made Crowe want to crawl out of his skin. So much was happening around them. Fingernails continued to scrape against the glass. Hands battered at the windows but not hard enough to break them. Why don''t they just break in? the practitioner wondered. There''s nothing to keep them at bay. Surely they outnumber us.


    A look around the room showed the farmers arming themselves with the weapons they¡¯d brought with them: knives, hatches, and pitchforks. A few practitioner staves. It all seemed pointless in the wake of the dark force that preyed upon them from outside. Crowe could only watch the terror continue to unfold before his eyes, struck by the growing surreality of the situation. These people have been stuck here for weeks, battling a force they don''t understand. How am I supposed to help them? He searched his mind sluggishly for a solution only to come up short. Eventually he came to the conclusion there was little about the world he knew; he knew even less about the forces that had conspired to send him on this path. He only had the teachings of Petras and how much stock could you put in the words of a madman?


    You were sent here to help these people. You can''t do anything for them if you die of exhaustion, Bennett¡¯s voice advised in his mind. Bennett, ever the voice of reason.


    There was only one thing he could think of to do. It was the last thing he''d thought of; perhaps it should have been the first. Clutching the Lion-Headed Serpent in his hand, Crowe lowered his head and began to pray.

 All Fall Down

    The stench twisted his stomach in knots. Bile rose up in his throat. He pressed the back of a hand to his mouth before the foulness could escape him. The crack of a twig almost made him cry out in terror. He twisted around to discover the lycan had not moved from his spot, but remained crouched where he  stood, tracking the movement of something Crowe could not see. The muzzle of the rifle moved in line with the Okanavian¡äs gaze, a thumb resting on the hammer.


    Crowe tried to follow his lead. Tremors of terrors shook his body like a house in the throes of a storm. The ground shook beneath his feet. Is my mind playing tricks on me or is the ground actually shaking? The question was soon answered with movement to their left. The curve of something large lumbered through a line of trees, obscured by living darkness. Crowe felt his mouth go dry with the metallic taste of fear. He caught the unmistakable flash of a black eye, watching them.


    ¡§Twin o¡ärre,¡§ Barghast warned with a low growl, reaching for him. Crowe let the lycan pull him closer, his inside of his mouth tingling with numbed horror..


    The muzzle of the rifle was pointed at him. No, something in front of them. The instant the practitioner was out of the way, the Okanavian slammed the hammers of the rifle back and pulled the trigger. Barghast rocked back with the burst of gunfire, smoke puffing into the air. Stifling silence followed, clawing at Crowe with trickster fingernails. The staff thrummed in his hands, ready to release chaos. Is it gone? Are we safe?


    Nothing moved at first.


    A laugh broke the stillness, high-pitched, joyous, and very human. The muzzle swung around. BAM!


    ¡§No!¡§ Crowe shouted at the lycan. The practitioner waved at him wildly before the Okanavian could fire another shot. ¡§What are you doing? That sounded like a person!¡±


    An amber eye turned to regard him; the other remained fixed ahead. Crowe took a cautious step back. He¡¯d yet to see Barghast stand so still or look so feral.


    A burst of movement to their right. Another to their left. The outline of human bodies speeding from one tree to the next. ¡°We see you!¡± a high-pitched voice called; it was impossible to tell if the voice was male or female.


    ¡°We''re going to get you, we¡¯re going to get you, we''re going to get you!¡± sang another.


    Barghast barked something in Okanavian, his tail pointed at the sky like a blade. Crowe knew it to be a war cry and gave into his own fear. He unleashed a volley of fire at the next flicker of movement. Together lycan and practitioner burst into a run. Peals of thin hyena laughter broke through the trees again followed by a monstrous roar. Barghast stopped long enough to kneel. This time Crowe jumped unhesitatingly on his back, trusting that the Okanavian would catch him. Sure enough the lycan held him in place and they were off, racing through the woods.


    The sorcerer snatched a glance over his shoulder, trying to catch the thing that chased him. ¡°Faster, faster, faster!¡± He punctuated each shout with a slap on the arm. The mouth of a hungry maw opened behind them, threatening to devour them whole. Crowe flattened himself against the Okanavian¡¯s back. The jaw snapped shut an inch from his back and he thought he caught the fleeting glimpse of a bear¡¯s face.


    Barghast feinted to the left before the beast could take another snap at them.


    The sound of rushing water pulled them West through a final shot of trees into a clearing. A river raged before them, water frothing around jagged rocks; they stood close enough to it. Crowe could already feel the water¡¯s sting. Barghast turned so that their backs faced the tide.


    The beast found them. It sauntered towards them, eyes glittering with a rare and frightening intelligence. Away from the cover of the trees, there was enough light for Crowe to see the creature was a bear. It let out great huffs of breath as it advanced, forcing the lycan to back closer to the water. They were at a dead end. The beast was too broad to have any hope of running around it. With a charge of mana, Crowe unleashed another plume of flame.. Black eyes as dark and absolute as the Void itself zeroed in on him and somehow the practitioner knew, a chill racing up his spine at the thought, the beast would not forget him. For a brief moment the beast was thrown into brilliant focus and Crowe could see that the beast¡¯s flanks, once brown, were covered in patches of a black mossy substance.


    Pale faces broke the shadows around the beast, mouths stretched in cheerful grins. Their voices sang high above the crack and the clatter of the river¡¯s tide. Their eyes were black empty reflections of the bear''s. Something''s changed them, the practitioner thought. They''re not what they''re supposed to be anymore.


    The bear pawed at the dampened soil, building up to charge. Barghast patted Crowe¡¯s thigh, talking in Okanavi, backing towards the water. His arms tightened their hold on the practitioner. As the lycan took his first step into the water, the bear charged. A wall of kinetic shot from the end of the practitioner''s staff in the hopes it would slow the creature down. It didn''t. It shrugged off the blow, bounding straight through it. It barrelled into the water with a bloodthirsty bellow, powerful muscles dominating the tide. It towered above them, a magnificent claw raised above its head for the killing blow. Its eyes glittered with  triumph.


    Before the claw could crash down on them Barghast thrust Crowe away from him. The bear¡¯s paw slammed into the water. The current tugged at Crowe, pulling him into a freefall. Ice-cold water closed in on him from all sides, filling his lungs. He kicked up, reaching, blind and afraid. His head broke the surface. He snatched in a breath, shaking his head, searching this way and that. Barghast nor the bear were in sight.


    ¡°Barghast!¡± he managed to shout. An invisible hook tugged him down once more. He kicked, bouncing once more, rebelling against nature''s greater force.


    ¡°Crowe!¡±


    The sound came from somewhere behind him. The practitioner thrashed about frantically. He saw a head poke above the surface of the water, arms reaching for empty air. More shouts  Yards of water separated them. Crowe squinted at a spot ahead of the lycan: the edge of a waterfall. Water plummeted over the edge, tumbling through open air.


    ¡°Barghast - turn around, turn around!¡±


    But it was too late. Barghast never saw the edge of the cliff coming. One second he was there, a small dot against churning white and black, and the next he was gone as if he''d never existed at all.


    Crowe screamed in despair; it sapped him of his strength; worse than the fear of dying was the fear of dying alone. Teeth clenched, he let the tide take him. He clung to his staff for dear life - somehow he¡¯d managed to hold onto it when the river had stolen everything else from him: his pack with his joints in it, the map he¡¯d freed from the dead scouts, the provisions he¡¯d managed to collect throughout his travels, his new lycan companion who he''d just begun to build rapport with, and soon it would take his life. Through chattering teeth he managed to say, ¡°May I find splendor in the Eternal City - ¡°


    Before he could finish his prayer a roar sounded over the water. It could not be! The bear¡¯s head poked out of the water behind him. The tide must have grabbed a hold of it the same way it had everything else. Will this nightmare ever end?


    Death in front of him and death behind him. Which way was more painful?


    For a moment he had an unobstructed view of his fall: a fifty foot drop through open air with a four hundred pound predator above him. He had just enough time to utter a final prayer and suck in a deep breath before gravity seized him once more. The air battered his face, slapping the air from his lungs. It felt as if every organ in his body had come unmoored, threatening to burst through his mouth which hung open in a silent scream, the drop¡¯s end rushing up to meet him. If the fall kills me, maybe it¡¯ll kill the bear too. Maybe Barghast -


    He hit the water. The impact erased all thought from his mind, engulfing him. The surface shrank further and further until he felt his back slam into jagged rock, dislodging pebbles from the dirt. He let out a scream only for water to fill his lungs. Something else hit the water above his head and he saw the bear¡¯s body sink past him, its weight pushing it to the bottom of the river


    You have to move, a voice fluttered urgently in his mind. That fall isn''t going to stop it. It looks like a bear but it isn''t. Something happened to the bear to turn it into something else. You saw those people¡­something happened to them too. It will happen to you if you don''t move.


    With a final push of will, Crowe shook himself from his stupor. Hand still around his staff, he kicked to the surface. He fought and clawed his way to solid ground, struggling to stay conscious, kept afloat by the terrible knowledge the bear would be on him in any second -


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡±


    A broad shadow fell over him, blocking the moon from view.


    ¡°Barghast,¡± Crowe managed to breathe.


    The Okanavian hoisted the sodden practitioner into the air. Crowe clung to him for support on unsteady legs. He''s alive! I¡¯m not alone -


    He caught a glimpse of the sky as Barghast lifted him onto his shoulders once more, toting the practitioner away from the river, panting and whining, his fur sodden and pressed flat against his broad frame. The light of Metropolis glowed from the sky, either a beacon of hope or an omen of doom portent. Either way he knew it would lead them to their destination, Timberford. Barghast saw it too. He shouted something in Okanavian and then they were tearing through the dark again.


    They were not alone. Human shapes danced around them, taunting them with cat calls and songs with glittering black eyes as empty as the bear¡¯s. This time Crowe did not hesitate. He fired volleys of blue light at them if only to see them dance nimbly out of the way - anything to keep them at bay.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Barghast stopped long enough to point, muttering. Crowe looked. His heart skipped a beat. Not with dread but with hope. Lights! Lights through the trees! ¡°Run, Barghast!¡± he shouted. ¡°Run, run, run!¡± Human shapes surrounded them now, closing in from all sides like a pack of wolves. He was too exhausted to keep them at bay any longer.


    They broke through the last line of trees. The Okanavian lunged forward without breaking step, a machine of strength and vitality in his own right. Ahead of them a door opened. A rectangle of light in the dark. The bright flash of muzzle fire. Enough time to think, We¡¯re dead, we¡¯re dead. But they weren''t dead because the shot wasn''t meant for them, the shot was meant for something behind them. Just before they reached the door, Barghast lifted Crowe from his shoulders, carrying him in his arms. No sooner had he set the practitioner on his feet, he was backing the sorcerer to the wall, blocking him from a new threat, his hackles raised in warning.


    Crowe raised his head. His eyes followed the double-barrel of a shotgun to the broad hands that held it; further yet to the bearded face, eyes squinted down to narrow slits with murderous intent. The muzzle of the shot gun jammed up right against the lycan''s furry chest. He could survive shots from silver bullets to the shoulder, he could survive a fall down a waterfall, but he would not be able to survive this. Sensing he had but a second to act, Crowe stepped out into a ring of haggard faces. He held his hands up, letting the Lion-Headed Serpent around his neck fall into the light of a guttering fire.


    ¡°Please don''t shoot!¡± he begged. ¡°We mean you no harm! We were attacked in the woods. We barely made it here alive¡­¡±


    ¡°And just how did you manage to survive?¡± the man demanded, cocking the shotgun at Crowe. ¡°Anyone else who has tried to go toe to toe with the beast died.


    ¡°Luck. It was just luck. We got caught in the tide of the river. The beast pursued us all the way here.¡± Crowe hugged himself, teeth chattering together. He yearned to get closer to the fire but he didn''t dare cross the man who held a gun to his head.


    ¡°Put the gun down,¡± said a soft but commanding voice. ¡°They''re stuck in the same fire we are.¡±


    Several heads turned in the direction of the new speaker. A woman stepped out of the gathering, the thud of a single boot heavy against the floor. Her other leg was completely gone from below the kneecap. She leaned against a staff much like the one Crowe carried to support her weight. The runes carved into the wood danced in the gloom. Sharp blue eyes studied Crowe from a wrinkled face, lips thinned to a straight line. ¡°My name is Cenya. I¡¯ve known of your coming for some time, practitioner.¡± The woman hobbled closer to Crowe, eliciting a warning growl from Barghast she ignored. ¡°We must speak in private, but first I imagine you would like to take a minute before the fire to catch your bearings.¡± She glanced cautiously at the Okanavian. ¡°Is your lycan companion¡­friendly?¡±


    Her question hovered in the air, giving way to a tense silence. Every eye in the room was fixed on the lycan. Judging from the wide eyes and pale faces, they had never seen a lycan before. The smell of sweat and fear permeated the air. The practitioner could on;y imagine what Barghast nust look like to the villagers. An eight foot tall beast man standing to his full height, his shoulders rounded, his claws extended, his teeth bared, spit frothing at his lips.


    ¡°He can be a bit overprotective at times,¡± Crowe admitted, ¡°but he will not attack unless provoked. Travel on the road has been precarious.¡±


    Cenya let out a bitter chuckle that was not without a trace of humor. Her jowls sagged. ¡°We would not know. For the last month we''ve had our own troubles that have kept us cut off from the rest of the world. You could not have come at a darker time.¡± She waved at a chair in front of the fireplace with a gnarled hand. ¡°Sit down and rest while I calm my people.¡±


    The practitioner watched her recede into the crowd, frowning. She knew we were coming. How could she know we were coming? A shiver raced up his spine. Once more he had the sense of events shifting into place, puzzle pieces coming together to form something greater.


    For the first time since entering the building, Crowe took in his surroundings.


    Barghast and he stood in a tavern. A broad-shouldered bushy haired man stood behind the counter, watching them with a grease-stained rag slung over his shoulder. Behind him barrels of mead lined the walls. Several of Timberford¡¯s residents sat at the counter, nursing steins of ale. Beneath the layer of spirits and yeast, the undercurrent of bodily perspiration, fear, and despair lingered in the air. Faraway gazes suggested these people had been living in fear for weeks - the woman Cenya had said a month. Many of the tables and chairs had been shoved aside to make room for makeshift pallets and beds.


    What have we stumbled into?


    The man named Rake - the one who had nearly taken Crowe¡¯s head off with a shotgun - watched them from the corner of the room. The intensity of the man''s gaze made the practitioner''s skin prickle. He had the look of a man who would not hesitate to take matters into his own hands. A man who had been pushed to the edge. Crowe was grateful for the lycan''s presence now more than ever. The Okanavian''s eyes burned the crowd of curious, frightened onlookers, warning them without words to stay back.


    Crowe didn''t realize how exhausted he was until he sat down in the rickety wooden chair. The very act of lowering himself into the chair caused the muscles in his back to cry out in protest. Up until now desperation and fear had kept him moving, proving to be the perfect distraction. The most immediate threat at the moment was Rake and he had a leash around his neck it seemed - for the moment.


    Barghast sat beside him cross legged on the floor. He didn''t seem to mind not having a chair of his own. Sluggishly, stupidly he wondered if the Okanavian had furniture or if they simply sat on the floor their whole lives. Will I ever find the words to be able to ask him?


    Barghast let out a low growl loud enough so that only Crowe could hear it. The practitioner flashed him a warning look.


    Movement to their left.


    A girl no older than fifteen stopped in her tracks, hands shaking, making the dishes on top of the tray she carried rattle. She looked nervously at the lycan.


    ¡°It''s okay.¡± Crowe tried to cover the exhaustion in his voice with a smile. ¡°He¡¯s harmless.¡±


    The girl inched forward. ¡°T¡¯is a bit of broth and bread for you and your companion. It isn''t much but it will warm you right up.¡±


    Crowe¡¯s belly answered for him, letting out a rumble so loud it made several of the villagers look over. ¡°Thank you.¡± He took the tray with shaking hands. A loaf of oat bread had been set on a plate, the soup in saucers. Before he could divvy out the food, Barghast snatched the loaf of bread off the tray. There was no use in protesting. Half the loaf disappeared into his muzzle in a single bite. This left the practitioner with the broth. The soup scalded his lips as he drank it, but he didn''t care; at the moment it was the best thing he¡¯d ever tasted.


    The warmth from the fire washed over his skin, chasing away the numbness. He could feel his body growing heavy. Don''t get too complacent, a cynical voice warned in his mind. You aren''t safe yet. These might be Monad¡¯s lost people but that doesn''t mean you are safe among them.


    Danger or no, Crowe¡¯s mind slid into a daze that resembled sleep. Half-formed images and sensations fluttered through his mind. Falling. The sting of the water. The blood-curdling roar of a beast. High-pitched taunts through the trees. A paw now shaking him awake, gold lycan eyes urgently begging for him to wake up. What now? I''m so tired.


    Still Crowe raised his head, sensing a change in the air. The men, women, and children of Timberford - was this all of them crammed in the tavern, huddled in the middle of the tavern, men holding onto their wives who held onto their children? Rake stood tense before the double doors which has been bolted shut, his rifle raised. Cenya leaned against the counter, her staff at the ready. Her eyes burned white with mana within the borders of her wrinkled face. Crowe reached for his own inner fire only to feel a burning ache burst in his eye. Dots of pain danced before his eyes. He bit his lip, stifling a groan. You¡¯ve pushed yourself too far.


    A growl sounded outside. A growl that by now was all too familiar. Crowe felt his knees grow weak.


    A young girl no older than three or four began to wail, her face red with fear. Her mother hissed fearfully under her breath, looking as if she wanted to cry herself, trying to silence her. Rake muttered prayers under his breath, ¡°Monad, may you hear our calls from the Void¡­¡±


    Barghast with his own rifle at the ready, a snarl vibrating in his throat. A nightmare, Crowe thought, that continued without end.


    The bear was directly outside the pub, breath huffing through thin walls that could have been made of paper. The dark outside the window was so absolute it was impossible to see anything, the suggestion of movement and threat more frightening than sight¡¯s confirmation. Did the beast know they were in there, hunched together like frightened mice?


    Voices sounded from outside the pub. High-pitched voices that rang with mock-joy. ¡°Yoo-hoo! Clementine!¡± called a man''s voice. ¡°Come out, baby! I know you''re in there¡­¡±


    A woman burst into sobs, crying, ¡°John.¡±  She started towards the door.


    Rake barred the way, his eyes both sympathetic and sharp; Crowe sensed the man would not hesitate to put a bullet in the woman if she forced his head. ¡°Clementine, you can''t open those doors. You¡¯ll get us all killed¡­¡±


    Clementine wrung her hands in the air as if she wanted to grab him, shake him, make him understand. ¡°John¡¯s out there,¡± she sobbed.


    Rake shook his head, breathing heavily. ¡°You and I both know that''s not John. None of those people out there are the people we used to know. They all work with that thing out there and right now that thing wants to get out there and devour us all.


    ¡°Clementine,¡± the voice sang. This time it came from directly outside the window by the door. Fingernails made a scratching sound against the dirty glass.


    Clementine clapped her hands over her ears. She sank to the floor in defeat. Other names rose in the night, calling the names of the village people; voices that rang with madness and temptation alike. Rake¡¯s sharp barks to stay away from the doors and windows made Crowe want to crawl out of his skin. So much was happening around them. Fingernails continued to scrape against the glass. Hands battered at the windows but not hard enough to break them. Why don''t they just break in? the practitioner wondered. There''s nothing to keep them at bay. Surely they outnumber us.


    A look around the room showed the farmers arming themselves with the weapons they¡¯d brought with them: knives, hatches, and pitchforks. A few practitioner staves. It all seemed pointless in the wake of the dark force that preyed upon them from outside. Crowe could only watch the terror continue to unfold before his eyes, struck by the growing surreality of the situation. These people have been stuck here for weeks, battling a force they don''t understand. How am I supposed to help them? He searched his mind sluggishly for a solution only to come up short. Eventually he came to the conclusion there was little about the world he knew; he knew even less about the forces that had conspired to send him on this path. He only had the teachings of Petras and how much stock could you put in the words of a madman?


    You were sent here to help these people. You can''t do anything for them if you die of exhaustion, Bennett¡¯s voice advised in his mind. Bennett, ever the voice of reason.


    There was only one thing he could think of to do. It was the last thing he''d thought of; perhaps it should have been the first. Clutching the Lion-Headed Serpent in his hand, Crowe lowered his head and began to pray.

 Timberford

    Daylight. To see another sliver of light through the window was a miracle. It means my prayers were answered.


    Suffused by warmth. Hot, heavy, feverish, pleasant warmth. The feeling of being cradled against something solid and strong and soft. The need to slip back under, to let sleep take him once more.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± a familiar voice rumbled in his ear, pulling him back to reality. Amber eyes stared happily into his own, face so close it was all Crowe could see. Thick arms held him like steel bands so that he rested against a chest as solid as the trunk of a tree. Crowe¡¯s rump rested in the cradle of Barghast''s lap. At some point in the middle of the night Crowe¡¯s body had transferred from the chair to the lycan''s lap.


    ¡°Um,¡± was all Crowe could think of to say before he extricated himself from Barghast''s embrace, his cheek¡¯s aflame. Did I sleep in his lap¡­the whole night? Why does he look so happy?


    A voice cleared its throat at his back, making the practitioner jump. He turned to face Rake. During the adrenaline rush of the previous night Crowe never got a good look at the man''s face. His pinched features and slightly upturned nose gave him the appearance of a rat. Sharp blue eyes bore into the practitioner¡¯s with unrestrained suspicion. He spoke in a voice that was oddly deep and gravely for a man of his stature. ¡°Cenya would like a word with you.¡±


    The practitioner nodded, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the palms of his hands. ¡°Of course.¡±


    Rake cocked his head at Barghast. ¡°The beast stays here.¡±


    Barghast, who had been watching the scene intently, stepped forward until he stood shoulder to shoulder with the practitioner. He glared down at Rake with a growl.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll find things will go a lot smoother if you let him come with me,¡± the sorcerer said calmly. ¡°As long as I¡¯m in sight he¡¯ll remain calm.¡± Inadvertently his mind went to this morning¡¯s first waking moments, curled up in the lap of the Okanavian. What had that all been about? Before he could feel embarrassment¡¯s sting, he pushed the thought away. It would bear thinking about another time.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Rake grumbled. ¡°But I¡¯m warning you¡± - he pointed a finger at a doorway - ¡°if you do anything to harm the old lady in there, I won''t hesitate to empty this shotgun into your head.¡±


    Crowe said he understood. He nodded firmly at Barghast, gesturing for the Okanavian to follow him. So far the lycan had been aggressive towards anyone who had tried to approach Crowe. He hoped the Okanavian could contain himself around these strangers. Who knows how long we¡¯ll be here.


    Cenya sat at a wooden desk in a cramped room that served both as an office and storage.


    With nowhere else to sit Crowe and Barghast had no choice but to stand by the door. Rake gave them another warning look before he left the room.


    ¡°I assume you have a lot of questions,¡± Cenya said in her crackly voice. ¡°I¡¯m afraid there''s not a lot I can tell you. There is much we don''t know ourselves.¡±


    ¡°Tell me what you can.¡±


    ¡°Those people you heard singing in the dark last night¡­many of them used to be our people. They¡¯re not anymore.¡± Cenya¡¯s voice roughened with emotion, the skin at her throat sagging. Crowe wondered just how old she was. How many centuries had she seen? How many wars? ¡°The bear that attacked you never would have pursued you so relentlessly the way it did, but it was under the influence of something else. They all were. We think it has to do with the old temple outside the village.¡± The old woman winced, running her hands along the stump of her leg.


    ¡°Four weeks ago a surveyor team came to Timberford with an interest in exploring the temple,¡± she continued. ¡°There were eight of them. Most of them were historians and translators, but the head scientist, Gregor Tannhaus, was an inventor of some renown. I am sure you¡¯ve heard the name. His father''s building the railroad tracks. He¡¯s manufactured everything from matches to the telegraph machine.¡± Cenya shook her head as if trying to contemplate an idea that didn''t sit well with her. ¡°He was the ringleader and no matter what I said there was no persuading him to stay away from the temple.¡±


    ¡°Tell me about the temple.¡±


    ¡°I don''t know much about the temple and there''s a reason for that. It''s not a good place to go exploring.¡± Cenya smiled tartly. ¡°It was here when I was born a thousand years ago¡­during the dawn of the Third Iteration¡­when the Dominion Highway had yet to be carved out of the dirt. There''s no telling how long it¡¯s been here. It could have been around since the First Iteration for all I know. What I do know is something evil has always dwelled in those ruins. Up until now animals have always stayed away from the place. The evil has always remained contained within the temple¡­the people of Timberford have always been safe as long as we didn''t go near it¡­but then those damned scientists must have gone and done something to aggravate it. You heard them last night, roaming around the tavern, taunting us.¡±


    The door opened. Rake ducked into the room long enough to deliver a steaming mug of tea to Cenya before flitting back out. The ancient practitioner blew at the steam with pursed lips. ¡°By the time we noticed something was wrong, it was already too late. We didn¡¯t know it of course. A week passed without word from Tannhaus¡¯ expedition, long enough for us to hope they¡¯d found what they were looking for and moved on. It started benignly enough at first. A few chickens came up missing. We thought nothing of it. The wolves and coyotes get emboldened this time of year as I¡¯m sure you know. But then the pig and cow carcasses started showing up, strung up for us to find as you must have discovered in the woods. That''s how we found the trade merchant who comes every month, the bottom half of his body hanging from a tree; we found the top half by the stream.


    ¡°The same night we found the merchant, Tannhaus and his expedition team came down from the temple; that''s where they return every night before the sun comes up. They brought the beast with them.¡± Cenya shuddered, her serene composure slipping for the first time since she¡¯d started speaking. The mocking songs of the voices and the predator who had lurked outside the tavern echoed in Crowe''s mind. The crackle of the old practitioner''s voice pulled him back into her tale.


    ¡°It was the night Clementine lost John. They dragged him off into the woods¡­I can still hear him screaming. I don''t know what they did to him, but he''s one of them now. It was also the night I lost my leg.¡± Cenya grimaced, shifting in her seat. ¡°I can still feel it kicking even though I know it''s long since been shat out by that infernal beast.¡±


    ¡°Tannhaus and his people¡­the beast¡­they never try to break in?¡± Crowe asked.


    Cenya shook her head grimly. ¡°I have no idea why either. They could subdue us very easily if they wanted to. There used to be a hundred of us. Now there are only thirty. I don''t think they have the desire to rush the hunt though, if they desire anything at all. I think their aim is to get into our heads and drive us insane first.¡±


    ¡°You said this has been going on for weeks. A month. How come you haven''t left the town?¡±


    This earned Crowe a bitter laugh from the old woman. ¡°Where is there to go? The world does not want us. It has done everything it can to enslave us. Eradicate us. What help is there? Do you think we would fare any better on the open road, traveling to Caemyth over a thousand miles away? I see what''s been done to your lycan friend there. No, I think we are better off on our own, dealing with our own problems the way we always have.¡±


    Crowe didn''t like this where this conversation was going. But you have to leave this place. Why else would Monad have sent me here? He bit back the protest, opting to remain calm.


    ¡°But you said I knew I was coming¡­that you¡¯d been expecting me. How did you know?¡±


    Cenya looked away, refusing to look the practitioner in the eye. ¡°I saw the Eternal City in the sky the night the bear took my leg. Saw its light in the sky like a beacon of hope as I was being devoured by a beast, my blood leaking out of me, people I have known their entire lives - watching them grow from wee things to adults with wee ones of their own and so forth - and I felt a measure of hope. No one has seen Metropolis since the day Monad fell, cast into the Void to live out his eternal sentence. I saw the city of Metropolis and I know what it means. That Monad will soon awaken from his slumber¡­and when he does what came before will come again. This nightmare we¡¯ve been condemned to will come to an end and a new world will spring forth in its wake.¡±


    ¡°Why do I hear doubt in your voice?¡± the practitioner asked.


    ¡°Because it has all happened before!¡± the old woman shouted and this time her voice trembled with rage. ¡°Already two Iterations have passed. Two worlds¡¯ worth of histories and civilizations, leaving us with nothing but scraps to find, those who have not been hoarded by the Theocracy. Twice before Monad has risen from the Void with the promise to free his people from enslavement while the fires of Inferno engulf the land, while fires rain down from the heavens; until Elysia returns once more to throw Monad into the Endless Pit. Oh yes, this world and its people are doomed but there is always the hope that the next one is better! There is always the hope that Monad will get it right the next time!¡± Cenya held up a finger before Crowe could speak. ¡°Think about what all this means¡­the cyclical nature of it. That means you or someone very much like you has sat where you are sitting, spouting promises of hope and renewal. And it means you will fail. You don''t even know it yet.¡±


    An eerie calm descended over Crowe, dousing out the flame of indignance that had arisen in him. He cleared his throat. He clasped his fingers around the Lion-Headed Serpent dangling at his throat, gleaming courage from it. ¡°Maybe you''re right. Maybe there is no point and we are all just stuck in a purgatorial loop and our people are meant to suffer the same fate over and over again. Up until a few weeks ago I was just a poor farm boy who had no clue of what I had been chosen to do. I didn''t ask for this and I certainly don''t want it; I¡¯m merely doing what has to be done.¡± It was his turn to hold up a hand, to keep the old woman from cutting him off, to keep his own doubts at bay. ¡°I saw Metropolis too. A Seraphim came down from the spires of the city and showed me a vision of what will happen to our people if we do nothing. The cycle will continue if we do nothing. If we do something the cycle of suffering will end.¡±


    ¡°Only for one to start anew. We¡¯d be condemning a new civilization to suffer our fates. Would it be worth it in the end?¡± Cenya''s voice dropped to a whisper. ¡°Could you live with yourself with even the slimmest of chances that you have recreated what you sought to destroy?¡±


    In his mind Crowe heard a bell jingle in the dark. He saw Petra''s blank uncomprehending gaze. He saw Bennett''s snarling face as he strained against the restraints his own father had put around him in a moment of desperation. I made the evil go away when I gave him my blood to drink. He saw Barghast strung to a tree, thrashing against his restraints while men laughed carelessly at his suffering. ¡°Yes,¡± he heard himself say. ¡°Yes I think I could. I don''t care about the start of a new nightmare, I care about the end of this one. None of it will matter if we remain trapped in this village. Have you managed to wound the beast?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve tried everything.¡± Cenya shrugged. Crowe could feel the passing of years, of centuries spent watching the world while it spun its yarn of misery. ¡°Bullets, fire, mana. It shrugs everything off as if its flesh is made of armor itself.¡±


    The practitioner shook his head in frustration. ¡°There has to be something we can do¡­a way to stop it.¡±


    This earned him another bitter chuckle; gone was the calm voice and the pleasantries. A snow-white eyebrow arched towards the ceiling. ¡°You''re the herald of Monad. You tell me¡­what are we to do?¡±


    And there it was: the call to step into shoes Crowe had no idea if he could fill. His own encounter with the beast had almost ended with death for he and Barghast. Not even the fall down a fifty foot waterfall had thwarted its pursuit. The first taste of hopelessness touched his tongue, sour like rancid milk. Just as the first rain clouds of doubt opened in his mind, the sound of movement and voices drew Crowe to the only window in the room. Outside he could see Rake standing before a small group of men and women. A few of them carried rifles, but many were armed with crossbows and slingshots. Somewhere outside his field of vision, the practitioner could hear the fall of a hammer against wood. ¡°What are they doing?¡± he asked without turning to look at Cenya.


    ¡°Doing what they can. Preparing for the inevitable. Rake is putting together a hunting party to comb the woods. Ever since the trouble with the temple started, meat has been harder to find, but we make do.¡± A hint of pride and admiration crept into Cenya''s voice. ¡°Without Rake we wouldn''t have made it as long as we have. He treats me as the leader, youth respecting his elders, but really it is he who has carried most of the weight on his shoulders.¡± She sighed, leaning on her staff as she rose from her chair. She smiled, a vestige of the warmth slipping back into her wrinkled features. ¡°Do not let my words of bitterness sway you from your task, herald of Monad. The light of the Eternal City sent you here for a reason. Mysterious hands are at work. Perhaps I am wrong and something better will grow out of the dust we leave behind. I suppose in a way that is all up to you. As for me, I might live another five hundred years if fate has its way, but these old bones are not what they used to be. I think I might treat myself with a short nap.¡±


    Without further ado she hobbled out of the room, leaving Crowe with his thoughts. The concept of cycles repeating weighed unpleasantly in his gut. That means you or someone very much like you has sat where you are sitting, spouting promises of hope and renewal¡­


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    And that means they failed, he thought.


    Ignoring the shiver of dread that raced up his spine, the practitioner turned to face Barghast. He was relieved to be alone with the lycan even if it was just for a moment; the conversation with Cenya had left his skin buzzing unpleasantly. Barghast straightened from his slouched position with a grunt as if to say, It''s about time. Are we going?


    Rake¡¯s mouth screwed into an unhappy frown when he saw the practitioner and the lycan approach. ¡°What are you two still doing here? I would have thought after everything Cenya told you, you¡¯d both be long gone by now. It''s not your fight.¡±


    Crowe squared his shoulders, forcing a determination into his words he didn''t feel; he steadied himself against the several pairs of hardened eyes that watched him, measuring him up. Barghast had positioned himself at the sorcerer''s shoulder; a silent snarl curled his lip, warning them to stay back. Crowe was more grateful for his presence than ever. Without him I never would have made it here. In the five days since they¡¯d started traveling so much had happened between them; Crowe could not deny a bond had begun to build between them. What the nature of that relationship was had yet to be defined. Perhaps it never would be.


    ¡°I realize it''s not our fight, but we''re here to help however we can.¡±


    Rake spat in the dirt. ¡°Really?¡± he said with mocking wonder. ¡°How is that? You yourself just look like you left Mommy and Daddy¡¯s farm and I doubt your friend can understand a word we¡¯re saying. I have half the mind to put a couple of silver bullets in him just to make myself feel better.¡±


    The lycan must have heard the threat in the man''s voice, for he stepped forward, paws clenched into fists. Two rifles and a knocked arrow greeted him. The end of a practitioner''s staff bloomed with fire. Crowe stepped into the path of fire, holding up his hand. ¡°Kill us if you want but then you¡¯d be wasting your only chance at getting out of here.¡±


    Rake cocked an eyebrow. He did not lower his weapon or motion for anyone else to. ¡°Oh¡­and why is that?¡±


    The edges of an idea took form in Crowe''s mind. Thoughts racing, he thought of the bear, of the black mossy substance that had grown along the creature¡¯s back. ¡°Cenya said there is a relation between the temple, the expedition team, your people, and the bear who has been feeding off your livestock? What is it?¡±


    This was enough to get Rake to pause. He exchanged a questioning look with the practitioner standing to his left. ¡°We don''t know,¡± he replied reluctantly after a moment. ¡°It seems to spread like an infection. At first there were only a few of them but then they started taking our people. We don''t know how they do it, whether it''s from bodily contact or a type of ritual. We have a theory that whatever the source of the evil is, it comes from the temple.¡±


    Crowe¡¯s mind seized excitedly on the idea. ¡°Have you investigated the temple to test this theory?¡±


    Rake laughed bitterly. ¡°Fuck no. You will not find a more superstitious, more useless lot than what remains of the people of Timberford. That temple has been here longer than this village and no one has dared set foot on the grounds of the temple until Tannhaus and his bloody expedition came. I have an idea of what you are about to suggest. While I don''t think it''s a bad idea - it¡¯s the only one we haven''t tried - no one would do it, myself included. We don''t have the numbers or the firepower. We have no idea what we would be facing. If this is happening due to an infection then what is the source?¡±


    ¡°There''s another idea you haven''t thought of,¡± the sorcerer suggested.


    At this Rake lowered his shotgun. He gestured for the others to do the same. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of an invisible burden. ¡°I¡¯m all ears.¡±


    ¡°What if we caught one of the infected? Trapped them, observed them? Maybe these observations could yield results that would give us a better idea of what we¡¯re dealing with.¡± With a shiver, Crowe recalled the sound of fingernails scraping against dusty window glass; he thought of the woman Clementine trying to reach her husband who¡¯d taunted her from the other side of the door, his mind under the grip of a far more powerful, malignant force. A force whose motives had yet to be discovered. ¡°They¡¯re able to communicate, are they not? From what I saw last night, it seems they have some form of allegiance with the bear.¡±


    Rake¡¯s fingers scratched thoughtfully at the stubble around his mouth. ¡°It''s not a bad idea. But we¡¯d be slaughtered. As you have seen, that bear is no ordinary bear. Not only is it big and vicious, it¡¯s quick and cunning. It would slice anyone to pieces that dates to step outside the safety of the tavern; it would be a suicide mission.¡±


    Crowe gritted his teeth. ¡°What if someone were to distract the beast?¡±


    Rake''s lips peeled back in a humorless grin. ¡°Are you volunteering?¡±


    The practitioner felt the blood drain from his face. ¡°I suppose I am.¡±


    Concluding their conversation, Rake and his men entered the woods to comb the trees for food before nightfall; it felt good to have distance from Rake''s hair trigger temperament. Barghast and Crowe wandered Timberford''s only street, a circle with a well in its center from which the villagers drew their water. Men and women worked in tandem with one another, hammers and shovels in hand, digging trenches around the village; even children strong enough to lift a hammer were put to work, reinforcing the windows and doors of their homes by tacking pieces of wood to them. Preparing for battle. Within the hour word of Crowe''s plan had spread throughout the village. Did he sense hope if not determination about the villagers?


    ¡°You look a bit lost!¡± said a powerful voice from the left of the well.


    Crowe turned to face a broad-shouldered man with a round belly and the thick sturdy arms of a farmer. He cut off Barghast''s growl with a warning look before the farmer could realize he was not welcome. Is he going to do this with everyone we bump into? ¡°Yes,¡± he stammered, rearranging his features into something he hoped resembled a smile. We need to work on our people skills. ¡°I suppose we''re just trying to find where we fit in around here.¡±


    ¡°You''re the newcomer who had the misfortune of stumbling into our plight.¡± The man¡¯s face broke into a broad grin that was not without sympathy.


    The practitioner frowned. ¡°I didn''t see the tavern.¡±


    A gust of sharp wind blew the mane of the man''s white hair around his wide shoulders. ¡°I couldn''t bear to leave what¡¯s left of my chickens, pigs, and cows behind. If we are to survive the winter like this, they¡¯ll be what¡¯ll get us through; that and whatever Rake can scrounge together to make things stretch. For this I choose to stay on the farm. That and I¡¯d rather not be crammed in a single building with a bunch of hysterical folks.¡± The man winked at them as if this was a private joke between friends. ¡°You may not think it to look at me, but this old man knows his way around a rifle. He can take care of himself.¡± He offered a tobacco-stained hand. ¡°My name is Clias. You boys can help me at my farm.¡±


    Barghast grumbled something under his breath in Okanavian but followed reluctantly behind with a nod from Crowe.


    Clias led them to the edge of town. The farm was fenced off. Crowe noticed some of the slats of the fence were miscolored from the rest. He could all too easily imagine the bear breaching the fence to get at the livestock inside; he imagined Clias crouched in the stall among the chickens and pigs with only a shotgun to fend himself with. The thought made Crowe shiver.


    For now the livestock could roam the fenced area under the light of day. ¡°It used to be I could let the chickens roam freely,¡± Clias said conversationally, sliding the gate open. ¡°Used to spoil them rotten, I did. It''s why they''re so fat. But then I suppose we¡¯ve all had to adjust our way of living.¡±


    He led them to a mound of wood neatly stacked beneath a tree. Longer pieces had been stacked behind it. ¡°I need as much of this cut down as you can before nightfall. We need all the firewood we can get if we are going to make it through the winter at this point.¡± He pointed to the blade of an ax buried in the stump of a tree, raising an eyebrow. ¡°It''s not the most pleasant work, which is why no one has done it and I''m just too old for it, but you said you wanted to help.¡±


    Crowe ignored the premature protests of the muscles in his arms and back. He glanced at the lycan standing by the fence; the Okanavian watched the white-haired man distrustfully. ¡°We¡¯ll get it done.¡±


    The man grinned, beaming. ¡°Monad blessed us when you stumbled upon our town. I can feel it. We¡¯ll get out of this yet. I¡¯ll fry you up a ration of bacon and bring you out some home-brewed ale I''ve been holding back.¡±


    Crowe waited until Clias was halfway back towards the farmhouse before turning to face the axe with a frown. I never did like chopping wood, he thought. Before he could take hold of the handle a solid shoulder nudged him to the side. Barghast looked down at him, making a smug, ¡°hurrumph,¡± sound before taking the axe handle in his mighty paws. With a single pull, the ax came free of the tree stump.


    The practitioner couldn''t hide a grin. ¡°You''re going to work, are you? You''re not just going to stand in the corner and sulk like a little boy?¡±


    This earned him a wag. Crowe watched the Okanavian lift the ax into the air, powerful muscles flexing beneath his gray fur. Crowe felt a curious but familiar heat rise in his lower body as the blade descended, parting the air and then the wood. For several minutes the lycan worked while the practitioner watched, distracted. You used to watch me do the same thing, remember? Bennett''s voice teased. Back when we used to hang around each other every day, breathing in the smell of sweat.


    You mean back before you left me? Crowe asked the voice to which it did not reply.


    Amber eyes latched onto his with a knowing grin. The Okanavian knew the practitioner was watching him and he liked it. If anything the practitioner''s attention seemed to further his motivation to keep working, the ax splitting the wood into neat even pieces. Crowe jerked into motion, remembering that he was supposed to be stacking the wood. He tried to quell the heat in his belly. He stooped to pick up the hunks of wood, his cheeks reddened.


    After a couple of hours of working in efficient silence, Cilas returned, balancing a plate of smoking bacon strips and a large jug of chilled beer. His sky blue eyes danced merrily when he saw the piles of neatly stacked  wood bound with cord. ¡°You boys made short work of that tree.¡± He waved the statement off as if Barghast was one of them, not an eight foot tall anthropomorphic wolf. The practitioner liked the man more for the effort.


    ¡°It wasn''t me who did all the hard work.¡± Crowe grinned at the lycan to show the praise was meant for him.


    .     ¡°Treat yourselves with some grub while I feed the animals.¡±


    With that the plate was set down on a hand-carved table. The old man left the outsiders to their meal.


    The smell of charred meat drew the practitioner and lycan to the table, where they sat in silence. The Okanavian seized handfuls of bacon, stuffing the greasy meat into his maw. Crowe grabbed what he could, hands darting for the plate when he could, otherwise there would be none for him. The beer was poured into wooden cups. Crowe gulped it down until his eyes watered and his head spun and he had to lean against the table in order to stand.


    By the time the plate had been cleared and their bellies were satisfied as much as they could be, the shadows had begun to lengthen, day falling into night. The calm clatter from the village had turned into a frenzy racket as the villagers hastened to fulfill their work. Crowe felt his own anxiety growing through the fog of warmth which had started out feeling pleasurable but now made him lethargic and panicky. You signed yourself up for a job you''re not sure you can handle, didn''t you? Petras asked in his mind.


    ¡°Crowe?¡±


    He hadn''t realized he''d stopped, watching the sun sink beneath the horizon''s line, until the lycan drew beside him with a whine of concern.


    ¡°You don''t know what''s about to happen, do you?¡±


    The Okanavian cocked his head in question. He turned to the practitioner, muttering frantically under his breath. He circled Crowe, running his digits through his hair, checking him for injury. He lapped at the practitioner¡¯s cheek until his skin gleamed. Crowe laughed in spite of himself. He stopped Barghast by grabbing both his wrists - or trying to. One of his fingers barely encompassed one of Barghast''s. ¡°I¡¯m not hurt, I¡¯m not hurt.¡± He shook his head once, twice, three times. He waved with his hands. He could feel the Okanavian''s confusion. Nothing I say is going to make sense to him. What if I¡¯ve made a terrible mistake?


    ¡°I wish there was some way I could make you understand,¡± Crowe whispered. The setting sun beat in their face, casting halos of dying light around them. ¡°I know you don''t like them but we have to help these people. My people. That''s why we came here. When night falls the beast and those people will come. When they do I¡¯m going to go out and buy us time while Rake and the others try to grab one of the infected. It''s the only way I can think of to find a solution. The only way I can do this is if I know you''re safe and out of the way, so I need you to stay inside the tavern.¡± I need for one of us to get out of this place alive.


    Can you sense my fear? Can you feel how it settles in my veins like black, rotting ink?


    Tears stung his eyes. Before he could turn away, before he could hide them, Barghast traced the ridge of the practitioner''s cheekbone with the pad of a single digit. Solid arms wrapped around Crowe¡¯s shoulders, pulling him into the Okanavian¡¯s embrace so his cheek rested against a pillow of thick gray fur. The Okanavian¡¯s heartbeat sounded like the pistons of a train. Crowe listened, feeling his own swell with a brew of conflicting emotions: terror at what he would face when night fell, exhaustion, confusion at the powerful alliance growing between him and the lycan, and the comfort of Barghast¡¯s presence. He may not understand my words but he understands when I¡¯m hurting. He can sense it. Perhaps he can smell it on me the way a dog can. He always watches me. He always checks to make sure I¡¯m not hurt¡­


    Barghast¡¯s body vibrated around him, a low hum resounding deep within the well of his chest. Slowly he rocked back and forth as if consoling a child.


    When was the last time someone held you like this? When was the last time someone comforted you? When was the last time someone showed you they cared? Can you even remember?


    He looked up into pools of amber. Those pools were wide, comforting, wondrous, and intent all at the same time. ¡°Ymg'' ah ya twin orr''e,¡± Barghast  rumbled. ¡°C'' ah mgepah''ehye ehye nafl ahehyee ph'' bthnkor mgng ph'' orr''e.  Y'' ephainafl mgah''ehye nilgh''ri happen l'' ymg''.  Y'' mgep ephaiah''mglw''nafh. Y'' mgah''ehye ngahnah l'' nog ymg''.  Ymg'' ah ya ya twin orr''e.¡±


    A shiver raced up Crowe¡¯s spine. He bit his lip, warm from the beer, warm from Barghast¡¯s embrace. ¡°That all sounds nice¡­if I could understand what you¡¯re saying.¡±


    Clias'' voice called them over from the fence. Barghast let out a huffing sound; clearly he did not want to let Crowe go. I don¡¯t want to go either but I must. Reluctantly he pulled away from Barghast¡¯s embrace.

 Fighting Stance

    Barghast was glad when the old man left them to eat their meal. He and his twin o''rre had not had a moment alone since they''d come to this strange place. It was good to be away from the tavern with the strange people and their foul smells that made his eyes water and his nose itch. It was good to be out in the open where he could breathe in the clean mountain air.


    Sipping ale from a wood cup, Barghast reminded himself the night had not been entirely bad. There had been those all too-brief few hours when Crowe rested in his lap, head against his chest. Better to keep him close, to keep him safe where no one else could touch him. The memory of terror was still all too fresh in the lycan¡¯s mind - that moment when he''d thought fate had snatched him away from his twin o¡¯rre when they¡¯d only just met.


    The water pressing in on him from all sides. The current twisting him this way and that, crushing him until he thought bone would break. Crowe shrinking as the water pulled them further apart. That brief moment when time seemed to halt long enough to take a final breath before tumbling through open air.  Down Barghast had plummeted, the draft smacking him so hard it had been impossible to breathe. The first jolt of consciousness when he jerked upright to find he¡¯d washed up on the half-frozen banks of the stream. Lungs convulsing as they struggled to expel the water from his body. Forever it seemed he vomited until he worried he would shit himself. The first taste of cool, sweet air. Of life. No time for rest. No time for relief.


    Barghast recalled the swell of panic he¡¯d felt when he saw Crowe and the beast hit the water; the relief when Crowe¡¯s head broke the surface when such a fall surely should have killed them both. How lucky we are to still be breathing.


    Adrift in memory, Barghast downed the last of his ale. A shift in the air made him look around. His guide faced the croppings of one story homes so that his back was turned. The visible tension in his shoulders suggested he had not moved for several minutes. Having traveled together for several days now, Barghast had grown used to the long bouts of silence in which they did not speak, communicating through questioning looks, nods, head shakes, and hand gestures. Built on the walls of that silence, the Okanavian could feel Gaia¡¯s guiding hands at work, forging the first links of an unbreakable bond between them. This was different. This was not a relaxed silence born of growing respect and a deepening familiarity. This was the silence of a man who was drowning in his own private hell.


    Right now things were still new. Uncertain. Only discovery and time would untether the knot between them. The Okanavian whined, conflicted. He feared pushing Crowe away. He feared the countless dangers that hid in the shadows, threatening to interrupt their pilgrimage. What will I do if I lose you? How will I survive on my own? Through you I am safe. Without you I am doomed.


    He watched Crowe until he could stand the silence no longer. Just because he had no injuries that Barghast could see did not mean something wasn''t wrong. He could be hiding his wounds out of shame; perhaps he thought the Okanavian would think less of him. There''s nothing you could do that would make me think less of you. He cleared his throat. He said the wraith''s name. Such a beautiful, soft sounding name. When I say it, it sounds like gravel; I do it no justice.


    The sorcerer turned with a start at the sound of his voice. After a moment the tension in his shoulders eased. Slightly. A small wavering smile tugged at his lips. The hens of his robes blew around him like wings. ¡°You don''t know what''s going to happen do you?¡±


    The tremor in his voice triggered an alarm in Barghast, patience be damned. He tried to be easy, running his fingers along Crowe''s scalp and the narrow ridge of his shoulders. He didn¡¯t want to add to his injuries by cutting him with his claws. Crowe would not be still. He grabbed at the Okanavian¡¯s fingers, speaking in a reassuring tone that meant he wanted Barghast to cease his examination. This time he did not pull away like he had before. He sighed. ¡°I wish there was some way I could make you understand.¡±  A tangled jumble of words followed. Barghast focused not on his lips but on the tone of his voice, the cast of his eyes, and the clenching and unclenching of his hands. He watched, transfixed by the animation of Crowe''s face. His paws itched to touch. The sorcerer continued to unravel before his eyes. Tears of anxiety prickled his cheek. Before he could stop himself, Barghast lifted a digit to stop their passage.


    Are you afraid of being alone as well?


    Crowe''s distress drew the Okanavian to him like a beacon. Barghast pulled him into his chest. The practitioner''s breath tickled his fur. The lycan closed his eyes. He is a fierce warrior like me. Like me he is also a pup, yet to grow comfortable in his own skin. We are both orphans of the world¡­


    ¡°I know you are afraid,¡± he whispered, lightly rocking back and forth. ¡°I am too. But I know Gaia has led me to you for a reason. You are all I have left. All I had in the desert is dead to me. I will not let harm come to you, twin o''rre.¡± The words were useless, empty promises from a lovestruck fool choking on his own heart. But if he closed his eyes and thought hard enough he could almost believe them.


    The old man who had brought them the meat and ale ruined the moment. He waved at them from the fence. Gone was the smile; something grim had taken its place. Within minutes the last of the light would bleed from the sky. The beast would return to hunt with the souls of the damned at its feet.


    The lycan''s ears pricked at the sound of panicked voices coming from the village. A growl caught in his throat. Something bad was going to happen. He could smell it.


    ¡­


    A purgatorial mist descended over the night, casting an eerie glow over the village of Timberford. Bodies remained hunched together in the tavern, eyes fixed avidly on the windows. The villagers whispered to one another, pointing a finger whenever they thought they''d spotted movement in the trees. Crowe and Barghast stood in their designated corner of the tavern, more than happy to let them keep their private council. These are people who have known each other their whole lives. We¡¯re just a couple of misfits who stumbled into their misfortunes.


    Crowe held his necklace in his hand, praying under his breath. ¡°Monad, watch over me. Shield me from the flames of Inferno¡­¡± Beside him Barghast leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. His eyes switched between the villagers to his left to the practitioner on his right where his gaze always lingered. His tail tapped anxiously against the wall. The occasional whine escaped him.


    ¡°Damn you all to Inferno!¡± Rake barked. ¡°Back up! I can''t breathe with you all crowding around me! Your breath is fogging up the window¡­¡±


    Once the villagers had backed away, Rake waved Crowe over here impatiently. ¡°Get over here, kid. You''re the one who''s risking your neck, so you get to stand up front.¡± The pinched-faced man stood next to the practitioner who had accompanied him on the hunt, a man with plain brown hair and plain brown eyes. ¡°This is Eben. I don''t think we¡¯ve caught your name yet.¡±


    ¡°Crowe. You can call me Crowe.¡± He stood close enough to the window he could feel the winter chill through the glass.


    ¡°Does your Okanavian friend have a name?¡±


    ¡°Barghast. I need you to keep him in here. I can''t do this if I¡¯m worried about what''s going to happen to him.¡±


    Rake made a face. ¡°You might be fine with keeping odd company, but I ain''t saying or doing nothing with him. Neither is anyone else. He is a big enough fucker with big enough teeth and claws, he¡¯s going to do whatever he wants to whether you like it or not. Any other requests?¡±


    Crowe tried to hide the tremor of fear from his voice. He failed. ¡°Don''t take too long. You''ve seen this creature in action: It¡¯s big, but it''s also quick and cunning. Nothing I throw at it is going to stop it¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll do our best but make no promises.¡± The meaning was clear: You''re on your own.  Crowe glanced around at the strange faces who watched him. Their intense scrutiny made his skin crawl. Rake grimaced, cursing under his breath. ¡°Are you sure you want to do this?¡±


    Crowe couldn''t answer. Fear filled his mouth with the taste of black metal and parched his throat. His hand tightened around the Lion-Headed Serpent until he could feel the edges of the trinket press into the flesh. A familiar prickle on the back of his neck made him look away. Amber eyes watched him doggedly from the corner of the room. He sighed. ¡°Can you give me and my¡­friend¡­a second alone?¡±


    You called him your friend!


    What else would he be? He''s saved my life multiple times now. He comforted me in moments of weakness¡­


    His friend came to him now, his shoulders hunched, his face alert as he searched for the source of the trouble. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡± he asked when he stood before Crowe.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Crowe said as kindly as he could. He rested a hand on Barghast''s arm, rubbing it gently. ¡°I¡­¡± He pressed his other hand to his own chest. ¡°...am going out there.¡± He gestured to the night. ¡°You¡­¡± He patted Barghast''s shoulder. ¡°...are staying here where it''s safe. I will be able to move around more quickly if I don''t have to worry about you.¡±


    Barghast drew to his full height with a snort. He uttered a sharp bark that clearly meant no.


    ¡°Movement in the trees!¡± Rake shouted from the window. ¡°I can hear them!¡±


    Sure enough a peal of high-pitched laughter sounded through the mist. Shadowy figures loomed out of the demimonde. The bear emerged, sides heaving, its breath steaming the air. The damned souls stepped to the side to give it space, not out of fear but out of reverence. Barghast unslung his rifle from his shoulder. He nodded towards the glass. Let''s go.


    Crowe opened his mouth to protest. He shut it, remembering Rake¡¯s words: He is a big enough fucker he¡¯s going to do whatever he wants to whether you like it or not. There was no ignoring the relief he felt. He wouldn''t be going out there to face the beast alone after all. He nodded in acceptance.


    ¡°If you''re going to go out there you¡¯d better do it now,¡± Rake hissed.


    It was time. The decision had been made. Crowe pushed his fear into the staff. I have to do this. These people have been trapped here for weeks. Afraid, alone with no one to help them. This is why Monad led me - led us - to them. Monad, I don''t know where you are, I don''t know if you can hear me, I don''t even know if you really exist but I know someone led me here to help. I am meant to be here. I am meant to do this.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    With this thought came a sliver of hope in the dark. He latched onto it with his mind, pushing it down the length of his arm into his staff. The red fire that lit the runes of his staff turned blue. Exchanging a final nod with his lycan companion, Crowe stepped out of the tavern into the mist.


    The wood clatter of the door being pulled shut made the practitioner almost jump out of his skin. Rake gave him a jerky smile through the frosted glass that said, There''s nothing I can do, the situation¡¯s out of my hands.


    What if he doesn''t come out at all? What if they just leave us to fend for ourselves? Crowe swallowed the fear that stirred his mind into a frenzy. Fear would not help him survive the mess he¡¯d gotten himself into. He drew close to the Barghast, knowing the lycan''s senses were far more superior to his own. Barghast stood half hunkered to the ground, a silent snarl fixed on his face. His eyes roved the night, parsing the mist. The human shapes who had appeared not more than a minute ago were nowhere to be seen. Crowe knew they were there. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He could feel eyes watching them from unseen places.


    The sorcerer and the Okanavian ventured further away from the tavern. A flash of movement to their left. Crowe whipped about just in time to see human limbs fade into gloom. He ducked, worried Barghast would fire on him in a moment of excitement. He needn¡¯t have worried. The rifle remained in the lycan''s grip, the muzzle aimed at the sky.


    Where did he learn to use firearms? This was another mystery the practitioner hoped to learn if given the time. If we survive this. It was still strange seeing the eight foot tall bipedal wolf carrying a rifle.


    Now that they were by the well it was time to make noise. Heart beating in his throat, the practitioner shouted, ¡°Hey, we¡¯re right here!¡± He sent a blue flare of mana into the sky with his staff. This earned him an approving grin from the Okanavian who pulled his head at the sky and howled.


    A bestial roar sounded from the west at their backs: the roar of something large and hungry. This was followed by the sound of breaking glass, by the report of gunfire, and a human scream raised in alarm. Before fear could keep him rooted to the spot, Crowe burst into a sprint. Barghast jogged at his side.


    The lights of Clias¡¯ farm appeared through the gloom. Moving forms took shape. A human figure thrashed on the ground beneath the ursine shape of something much larger. A flash of white hair sent a shock through Crowe. Still he kept running towards the commotion even though he knew it would be too late by the time he reached Clias. The sounds coming from the man were high-pitched and gurgling against the ripping of flesh as the bear pulled out his intestines.


    ¡°Get away from him!¡± Crowe bellowed, feeling not fear but rage. His staff crackled, his eyes burned white. The urge to unleash the buildup of emotion on the beast made his blood sing. He swung his staff once. A comet of blue light soared through the air before slamming into the bear. The impact made the air shudder but all it did was distract the creature from the whimpering form on the ground.


    The bear¡¯s eyes were as black as the Void itself. Crowe recalled staring up at a vortex that had opened a window into the immaterial universe and felt the same sense of emptiness. And yet somewhere in that emptiness was intelligence. Recognition. There was something familiar about; Crowe could feel a memory trying to squeeze its way into his mind. He shuddered, keeping memory¡¯s temptation at bay with a push of concentration. It remembers us. The practitioner gritted his teeth in determination. Well let me burn myself in your memory then.


    The beast halted only for a moment - long enough for Barghast to squeeze off a few shots from his rifle. The Okanavian growled in frustration when the rifle clicked dry. He threw it to the ground with a huff. The beast let out a single bloodthirsty growl and then charged. Something dark that could have been blood or something equally unpleasant frothed from its open maw; it bounded straight for the practitioner.


    The sorcerer unsheathed his dagger. The beast moved with such power it made the earth shake beneath his feet. A second before it collided with him, Crowe slid to the side, dropping into a roll, stabbing out with the dagger. The impact that traveled up his arm jerked the bone out of its socket. The pain made him cry out, squeezing his vision down to a single focal point. His staff lay abandoned in the grass. Teeth clenched against the pain, eyes squeezed down to slits, he snatched the staff off the ground. He staggered around, almost losing his balance. Fight it. Fight through the pain. Pain can be a weapon. Use it.


    The bear blundered ahead. Its massive paws backpedaled, kicking up dirt. The handle of the dagger stuck out from a slash a foot in length along its side. A thick black substance oozed from the wound like tar, staining the ground. Crowe felt a triumphant smile tug at his lips. Such a wound should have staggered the beast, but the unnatural forces controlling it kept it upright. Still, he had been the first to wound it. A small victory. It made the pain in his arm worth it.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± Barghast appeared at his side, panting. His eyes burned a molten gold, reminding the practitioner of the night he''d first seen the Okanavian in the clearing. They flashed with concern when he saw the flushed look of pain on the sorcerer''s face.


    Crowe waved a hand before the lycan could smother him again. With the beast gearing up for another charge there was no time. He may have injured the bear, but his bravery had cost him dearly. Injured, he would not be able to stand his ground for long before his fate echoed Clias¡¯. ¡°Go, go, go. We have to go!¡±


    They sprinted for the village¡¯s only windmill; it was the closest building within running distance. For Crowe it was more of a drunken lurch than a sprint. Each jolt sent waves of nausea through his lower belly and more through his injured arm. He knew if he allowed himself to look over he would see the edge of a bone pushing out against bruised flesh. He could hear the beast on their tail, making short work of the distance. Have I doomed us? he wondered. No. The glimmer of hope he''d felt before leaving the safety of the tavern still burned within him like a white flame.


    Barghast lashed out with a kick that knocked the double doors off their hinges. They ducked inside. Crowe leaned against a stack of wood crates topped with a layer of dust. The beast bounded straight for the mill until its uninjured shoulder bounced off against the wall hard enough to make it shake.


    Barghast muttered something under his breath. He watched the fury of the bear strike the wall again and again with wide, fearful eyes. Crowe forced himself to straighten. It''s not going to stop. It''s going to keep coming after us and there''s nothing that will get in its way. He remembered the sense of familiarity he¡¯d felt when he¡¯d looked into the bear''s eyes. Something about this chase rang of a personal vendetta. Barghast shook himself free from his stupor. Crowe didn''t realize he¡¯d sunk to the floor until the Okanavian pulled him to his feet. They ran past slotted wood shelves filled with sheaths of paper, stacks of crates covered in dust and cobwebs, and mouse traps that had been set out to capture vermin. Each time the mill shook was a reminder that they were far from safe.


    The front wall crumpled in a shower of splintered wood and stone. The bear let out a triumphant road. Crowe felt his blood turn to ice. Still he kept moving, one step after the other. Their only hope in survival was to keep going up. The bear must have sensed them for it lunged towards the stairs, knocking aside shelves and crates in its wake. Eyes narrowing down to slits, Crowe pushed all his will, all his emotion into his staff. Pushed until the runes on his staff eclipsed the warehouse in a halo of celestial blue fire. Pushed until a ripple of pain passed through his skull like a hot bullet and his eyes felt as if they would pop from his head and his balls shriveled to dry grapes. He felt something in his body give and a torrent of blood fell from his nose. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him. He clung to the banister while aiming the staff with the other. By now the bear was halfway up the stairs, defying what should and should not be possible - but what was magic if not a blatant disregard of the material universe; perhaps it was for this reason that the Theocracy sought to keep Monad¡¯s people weak and compliant.


    Blue fire plumed from the end of the staff, incinerating the air around them. For a fleeting moment he had a perfect view of the bear¡¯s face; he looked it directly in the eyes and found himself looking down into the depths of Inferno. The depths of Inferno filled his mind with the agonized screams of the damned. Trapped souls from the past Iteration who would never find purpose in this one. Souls who continued to know suffering in Iteration after Iteration, life after life. He saw the souls dance naked in the labyrinthine streets of the Black City, pleading for a mercy that would never come.


    Just as quickly as the vision appeared, it was whisked away, replaced by another. Gone were the black spires of Inferno. He stood in the dimly lit space of a small bedroom, staring wide-eyed down at the human form strapped to the mattress. Black bruised eyes stared gleefully back from Bennett''s bruised face. A deep bellow of laughter filled his head, reminding him of his failures and all he¡¯d lost. You will lose everything, the voice told him. You will lose what you didn''t even know you had. I¡¯ll see to it.


    The practitioner screamed in defiance. He tore his mind from the illusions that filled his head and anchored himself to reality. He watched the bear''s face disintegrate, the ravaged snout caving into a crater, the eyes boiling down to jelly. Watched the flames engulf the beast until it was nothing more than a cloud of dust blowing around the mill, another layer of dust to add to what was already there. Crowe would have screamed if he had the strength to. His body sagged. In his mind he plummeted through fifty feet of empty air.


    Something held him upright, stopping his fall. He felt himself being swung into the air, felt an arm loop around his back and shoulders and another beneath his inner thighs. Barghast leapt down the steps, through the clouds of ash that billowed in their face. He chanted in Okanavi, his voice low and reassuring. I trust you, Crowe thought. At first I didn''t, but now I think I do. He would have found the words to tell the Okanavian this if it didn''t feel as if his throat had been sealed shut. But then what were words without understanding?


    For a blissful moment he found himself prone on his back, looking up at a velvet sky studded with stars. Hard to believe there were so many up there, scattered across an endless space. The wind stirred through his hair, soothing flesh sticky with sweat. The world rocked gently from side to side. Barghast did not run but walked with a deliberate ease. His gaze never left Crowe¡¯s face. It''s really not that bad, the practitioner wanted to tell him, wanted to pat him on the arm and tell the lycan to put him down so he could walk on his own.


    There was no use in lying to himself¡­things were worse than he wanted to admit. He knew if he were to try and stand on his own his legs would fail him. The mountains stood silent vigil over the night, their white peaks glowing eerily. The chatter of voices blocked out the soft sigh of the wind. Human shapes materialized at the edges of his vision. He could feel their dreadful anticipation. His companion kept them at bay with a growl, toting the practitioner through the doors of the tavern. He shouldered the door open to the back room where Cenya had told him about the temple that had started this whole nightmare.


    The Okanavian patted him lightly on the shoulder - the good one. Stay.


    I couldn''t go anywhere even if I wanted to, Crowe thought with an inward chuckle. He sagged against the table. Barghast receded back from the table. Crowe tried to ignore the worm of worry that wiggled in his gut. Barghast was back before the worm could fully settle. He held up the object he¡¯d gone in search of: a wooden spoon.


    ¡°What''s that for?¡± The sorcerer drawled, drunk with exhaustion. Red paint pulsed at the corners of his vision.


    The Okanavian must have heard the trepidation in his voice for he rested a paw on the practitioner''s shoulder. A finger traced along the plain between his neck and shoulder, tongue swiping over his cheek once; he lifted the spoon to the practitioner¡¯s lips. Bite down on this. Crowe almost wept. He was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. Though this last encounter with the bear had ended in victory, he felt he¡¯d been battered to his core. He blinked the tears away. The lycan was already looking at him as if he would break into pieces, speaking in that deep voice that made him want to give in and just let himself be held. Why not? Even now you don''t completely trust him. He''s the only one who''s stayed by your side when everyone else has left you. Bennett said he would always be with you but he left when you needed him most. This lycan¡­as strange as he is, though you may not understand his words, he¡¯s made his intentions clear through his actions¡­cares about you.


    ¡°Alright,¡± he heard himself say; his forehead was sticky with sweat. The muscles in his back were tensed painfully tight. ¡°I trust you, I trust you. Monad knows you have earned my trust.¡±


    He opened his mouth. He bit down when he felt the wood touch his lips. Still the Okanavian hummed, his touch warm and reassuring. Crowe resisted the urge to pull away when he felt the other hand grab his arm. Then he said a single word, sharp and final.


    Pull.


    Pop.


    Crowe didn''t remember screaming. He remembered the spoon tumbling from his lips. He remembered a spasm sending currents of agony through his body. He remembered rolling onto his side, the hardwood floor rising to meet his face.


    Blackness. Empty blackness.

 Tannhaus

    Crowe woke up to the feeling of warm digits twining through his hair, pulling at the greasy strands until his scalp tingled, brought him back into a quasi form of consciousness. His instinct was to play dead, slip back into dreamless black. The familiar drone of the Okanavian anchored him to his body. He relaxed. Once he stopped fighting it the ministrations felt¡­really good.


    He dared himself to open his eyes. He looked up at the twin suns looking back at him. Barghast¡¯s tongue dangled out of his mouth. He lowered his muzzle long enough to nose at Crowe¡¯s cheek; his snout felt cool and wet. His fingers continued to stroke with great care. We made it, Crowe thought. We made it through another day.


    The practitioner tried to clear the sand from his throat. ¡°Water,¡± he tried to croak. ¡°I need water.¡± He raised a curled hand to his cracked lips, miming the gesture. To his relief he felt the lycan shift, felt the hand at the back of his head lift his lips gently to the rim of the waterskin. He drank greedily, eyes rolling back in his head in rapture. The last thing he¡¯d had to drink had been the ale and that had been hours ago; beer wasn''t exactly the best deterrent against dehydration. For now he was simply too happy to be alive.


    Alive and in pain. A reluctant examination of his arm showed that the bone had been popped back into place. It would take a few weeks before it was fully healed, but he was grateful. The Okanavian was smarter than he looked. The Theocracy would do well not to underestimate the Okanavi people. Barghast pulled the waterskin back before he could choke on the water. Crowe¡¯s head fell back. He gulped for air.


    The door opened. Cenya hobbled in with Rake following close behind her. ¡°Good, you¡¯re awake.¡± She spoke in a tired voice that said she''d been up all night. Her skin held a gray cast. She gave the Okanavian a sharp look. ¡°We weren''t sure what your condition was. Your lycan friend would not let us in the room.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s very territorial,¡± the practitioner murmured offhandedly. With Barghast''s help he managed to sit up. He blinked against the pale morning light coming in through the window. A thought tugged at his mind but the yarn kept slipping from his grasp before he could catch it. Why did we do it? Why did we risk our lives for these people? After a moment in which time seemed to slow to a crawl he remembered. He looked at Rake. ¡°Did you do it? Did you manage to catch one of them?¡±


    Rake¡¯s grimace turned his lips into prunes. ¡°We did. We got Tannhaus. We have him tied up somewhere secure.¡±


    Crowe nodded, trying to store the thought away. A low ache throbbed behind his eyes, remnants from last night¡¯s pain. He managed to get to his feet with a grunt of effort. ¡°The bear¡­where is it?¡±


    ¡°Dead. You killed it last night. Don''t you remember?¡±


    The sorcerer did remember. A familiar jolt of panic shocked his heart; he ran a hand over his face. He wished he didn''t remember. That final terrible look the beast - the demon gave him before it blew away to ash. Is it truly dead? I don''t think it is. I don''t think it will be until we find what Tannhaus and his team found at the temple. He felt something inside him clench at the thought. Whatever the true form the source of this evil came from, he suspected it would be far more dangerous than the bear. We need answers. We need them now. How long was I out? How long before nightfall?


    ¡°I want to see Tannhaus.¡±


    ¡°You are in no condition to do anything.¡± It was not Rake who had spoken but Cenya. She gave him a knowing look that lingered seconds too long. It made the sorcerer want to look away. ¡°Eben and I felt it when you destroyed the creature and we saw how you looked when the Okanavian brought you back in. We practitioners age faster the more we use our Monad-given gifts, a flaw I imagine he didn''t foresee when he molded us from the Void. I don''t need to tell you what happens to us when we age.¡±


    Petra''s unseeing, unmoving face appeared before his mind''s eye. He shoved it away. Determination held his conviction firmly in place. ¡°There''s no time. The bear may be dead but there''s still more of the infected. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°It''s your life,¡± said Rake, unfolding his arms. ¡°Still¡­¡± To Crowe¡¯s surprise the man grinned at him. ¡°What you did, defeating that bear¡­that was a Monad given miracle.¡±


    The sounds of screams echoed in the practitioner''s mind. ¡°Clias¡­¡±


    ¡°Clias¡¯ death was a tragedy,¡± Cenya interjected. ¡°We will mourn him greatly. I was there when he popped out of his Mama''s womb; there will be no shortage of tears spent for him, but we will not lay his death at your feet. Not when there''s hope on the horizon. Rake will take you to Tannhaus if that is what you desire.¡±


    The practitioner nodded eagerly.


    Rake led Crowe and Barghast out of the tavern. Their progress across the town was slowed by the practitioner''s laborious movements. Each step he took sent alarms through the backs of his legs and up his spine. Rake made no comment on the state of their progress or lack thereof. The sorcerer refused to go back or give up. He kept walking even when his body wanted to crumple to the ground. When he stopped he distracted himself by focusing on his breathing. He listened to the sounds of voices. Again the people of Timberford were back at it, running between the houses, and carrying buckets of water from a nearby stream. The air this morning was different from the previous morning. It didn''t feel as if the village held its breath waiting for tragedy to strike. He felt hope. Hope bolstered him. Tannhaus will have answers. I¡¯ll do whatever it takes to get them out of him.


    They stopped outside a small one story house; the shutters had been drawn so no one could see inside. Rake banged the flat of his palm against the door. ¡°Elle, Jim, it''s Rake! Open up! Got some company for ya!¡±


    A moment later the door creaked open. A pale faced mousy haired woman peered out from the shadows interior of the house with wide black eyes. She looked at Rake and then at Crowe and then back to Rake. She opened the door further, revealing a slight petite body. ¡°It''s a good thing you showed up when you did!¡± She flung her arms around Rake''s narrow shoulders. ¡°You will not believe the night we¡¯ve had!¡± Her eyes jumped back to the practitioner. Despite the bruised-looking sockets that made her round face look hollow her smile had a curious tilt to it. ¡°You''re the fellow who risked your neck for us! A Monad given gift you are¡­¡± Her eyes widened when she saw Barghast. She stopped in her tracks. Her face turned two shades paler. ¡°What''s that?¡±


    ¡°That is a lycan,¡± Rake answered with a sigh. He arched an eyebrow at the practitioner before turning back to the woman presumably named Ellie. ¡°You know those beasts-folk we heard the merchant talk about that have been coming here from the desert?¡± He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.


    Barghast''s ears twitched.


    He can hear you. The sorcerer bit his lip.


    ¡°Is he coming inside?¡±


    Another arched eyebrow in the practitioner''s direction.


    ¡°He goes where I go,¡± Crowe said with more heat than he''d intended. He stepped deliberately back into the Okanavian''s shadow. We go in together or we don''t go in at all¡­the village of Timberford be damned! He cleared his throat. If he was going to have any hope at solving the mystery of the temple and Tannhaus could point him in the right direction, he needed the woman''s cooperation; that meant securing her respect. He reminded himself he was a stranger entering her home. She could very well choose to bar the Okanavian from entering her home¡­or anyone for that matter. Still, he had grown used to the lycan''s presence. Maybe even overly reliant on it. Just in the week since I found him we¡¯ve been through so much together. The thought of entering the house without him made the practitioner feel sick to his stomach. ¡°I found him on the road a few days ago,¡± he explained to Ellie in what he hoped was a more reasonable tone. ¡°He was attacked by Theocracy scouts. We¡¯ve been traveling together ever since. He can be rather¡­mistrusting¡­of others but he''s not dangerous. Without his help I never would have been able to defeat the beast.¡± We¡¯re both outsiders. We all are.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Ellie said after a long agonizing moment of silence. The deepening of the brackets around her mouth said she wasn''t entirely convinced. It wasn''t until she turned to face the house that Crowe saw the full swell of her belly; she was carrying a child and soon she would be a mother. The practitioner understood her reluctance. Guilt burned at the back of his throat like bile. It was too late to make Barghast stay now. Already Ellie and Rake were stepping into the dark recesses of the house.


    The bear''s face flashed before his mind¡­that final look before darkness took a hold of him. He knew that same evil awaited him within the house, the same evil in a different form. Did it spread from host to host like a parasite, the way the organs of one''s body worked in conjunction with one another or did the host retain some form of their individuality? He cast a hopeful glance up at the sky, hoping to find the Eternal City perched on the sky¡¯s shelf. It wasn''t there or at least it was not visible to his eyes, but he imagined it was there and felt a swell of courage bloom inside him. I¡¯ve gotten this far. I am not alone. Even in his eternal slumber full of dreams, Monad watched me from the Void.  This time Barghast did not stop him to investigate the dwelling first; he seemed content to let Crowe lead the way.


    A shiver raced up Crowe¡¯s spine the moment they stepped over the threshold. The temperature dropped, the air seeming to dance with a pale glow. Dread coiled in the lower regions of his belly like a black worm.  Behind him Barghast began to pray in the tongue of the desert; he dropped his voice low enough so only the practitioner could hear it. The sorcerer held firmly onto his own prayers, reciting the few he knew in his mind.


    Rake¡¯s teeth chattered audibly. ¡°For Monad''s sake, Ellie, put a flame on, will you? It''s colder than a witch¡¯s tit in here!¡±


    ¡°I would but putting on a flame doesn''t work. Not since you brought that man here. T¡¯is why it''s so cold.¡± The short black-eyed woman nodded intently in Crowe''s direction, hugging herself; there was a childlike wideness of the eyes, much like Barghast''s, that he didn''t like much. With the lycan it was tolerable but not from this half mad woman. ¡°Perhaps his light won''t be so easily extinguished.¡±


    Glad no one could see his face in the dark, Crowe remembered he still carried his staff with him. An orb of light the size of a grapefruit took form in the cup of his palm. Barghast let out an ¡°Oh¡± of fascination as if he hadn''t seen the practitioner do this a dozen times before. The air hovered in the air obediently by its summoner, suspended in the air by an invisible cord.


    ¡°Where''s Jim?¡± Rake whispered.


    Ellie snorted in amusement. ¡°Probably slumped in a chair, snoring his fool head off when he''s supposed to be keeping watch.¡±


    Crowe didn''t know how the soon-to-be-mother could retain her sense of humor in this dank place. He took an opportunity to look around the room. They stood in a large space that served as a dining and sitting room. The furniture was hand carved out of wood. A spindle sat in one corner of the room gathering dust, a crib in the other. Who would want to bring a child into this world? The practitioner pushed the thought out of his mind before he could give it further consideration. Somewhere in the dark a man¡¯s voice whined in his sleep, the words too jumbled together to be coherent. The practitioner squinted at the man sitting in a chair at the end of a long hallway. The man was half slumped in the chair, his face resting on the crook of his arm. His body did not look the least bit comfortable.


    The sound of his voice made Crowe think of the nights he laid awake listening to Barghast mutter in his sleep in exactly the same way. During those nights Crowe would lay awake for hours and wonder at the battles that were being waged behind those fluttering eyelids. When given the opportunity for a sneaky glance the practitioner could almost put together a narrative in the riddle of old scars piled beneath the new.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    The patter of feet and the eerie dance of shadows on the wall pulled his mind in a different direction. ¡°This is your fault! You did this to him¡­You bewitched him with your lustful thoughts¡­¡±


    ¡°No, no, no.¡± He turned, shaking his head at the speaker in denial. Tears of anger stung his eyes. How dare you say those words to me! ¡°I would never do something like this to him. I¡¯d never pray for it to happen.¡± He turned around so violently he almost walked head first into Barghast. He shook himself, stepping back before the Okanavian could begin another intrusive examination for injury. He gawked at Ellie. ¡°What''s happening?¡±


    She gave him a sad smile. She ran a hand along her belly and Crowe thought he saw something visibly shift inside her. ¡°Don''t worry, you''re not going mad. Things like that have been happening all night.¡± The cheery song in her voice made Crowe''s skin crawl. ¡°The demon has a way of getting into your head. He has a way of making you see things that aren''t there. That''s why I buried the shells and the shotgun out by the tree. Jim doesn''t know.¡± She dropped her voice down to a conspiratorial whisper. ¡°Don''t tell him.¡±


    ¡°Don''t worry Ellie, I won''t tell a soul.¡± Rake gave her the leery wide eyes look one gives the mad.


    Ellie caressed the thick bristle of salt-and-pepper hair along her husband¡¯s jawline. Beneath the whispers of her soft ministrations he heard the dry rasp of another behind the door. He resisted the urge to step closer. I¡¯m not ready to have my head full of illusions just yet. The smell of rotted meat wafted from underneath the crack of the door, making his gorge rise. He turned away from the door.


    At last Jim rose from the chair, arms stretching in a hallway that had somehow become crushingly narrow. He blinked at them stupidly with the expression of a man who can no longer remember where he is or what his name was. ¡°You don''t want to go in there,¡± Jim intoned gravely. ¡°Even though we''ve tied him down he¡¯s still dangerous. He can get into your head and make you see things that aren''t there. His eyes are all black like he has no soul. He vomits up whatever we try to feed him. He keeps puking up this black ichor¡­the same slop we¡¯ve seen on the bear from the looks of it.¡±


    ¡°It doesn''t matter.¡± Rake''s voice said he wanted nothing more than to be away from the house, away from the smell of human defecation that steadily filled the hallway. Another weary look in Crowe''s direction. ¡°I¡¯m not the one who wants to go inside. Are you sure you want to do this? No one''s asking you too. This is our mess."  For the first time since Crowe and Barghast had stumbled into the village, the practitioner thought he heard something other than suspicion and indifference in the man''s voice.


    The sorcerer wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. It was too late to back out now; the decision had been made for him. He could feel an invisible hand on his back, urging him to face his next test. ¡°I''m doing this,¡± he heard himself say in a voice that sounded steadier towards himself.


    The doorknob felt ice-cold in his clammy hand. The voice on the other side continued its ceaseless chant; it did not stop even when the door swung open with an audible creak. Crowe peered cautiously into the space beyond the threshold. He held the Lion-Headed Serpent, imagining he could draw courage from it.


    The man restrained to the narrow bed hardly looked human. Emaciated, the luminance from Crowe''s sphere of light made Tannhaus'' skeletal arms glow with an eerie clarity that revealed more than the practitioner wanted to see. Scratches, scrapes, and bruises marked pale flesh stretched tight over bone. Pupiless black eyes stared into space from behind a wild tangle of bright red hair darkened by streaks of dirt and sweat. The knees shifted back and forth even as the strips of bloodied cloth around his wrists and ankles kept him pinned to the bed.


    Crowe stepped into the room. He expected to go in alone but Barghast and Rake followed close behind. Ellie and Jim assured them they would wait. Beat on the door with your fist when you''re done. The door closed with a soft whisper.


    The muttering stopped.


    Tannhaus looked up. He looked up at Crowe with his black eyes. His lips curled in a grin that stretched from ear to ear. The thing behind his lips went still. Barghast let out a low growl, drawing a step closer to the practitioner. The sorcerer drew courage from his proximity.


    Dribbles of black spittle dripped from Tannhaus'' knife-thin sneer. ¡°The foul smell of your blood sickens us,¡± he said in a gurgling voice. A wave of nausea swept through Crowe. ¡°Draw no closer if you want to keep your flesh.¡±


    ¡°I am not afraid of you.¡± The practitioner took a daring step closer to the bed.


    This earned him a choking laugh from the evil spirit - if an evil spirit was what possessed the man. ¡°The reek of your flesh betrays you. You are a bird who has only left the nest. A fool who knows nothing of the world. We have looked into your eyes and seen the truth of you.¡±


    The sorcerer steeled himself against the demon¡¯s taunts. He pushed his determination into his staff. It flared into life, white light chasing the dark away. Tannhaus cringed back as much as his restraints would allow. ¡°I have no interest in parlaying with you, demon. You are an unwelcome intruder who has invaded this town and tainted its people. In the name of Monad I have come to vanquish you.¡±


    Tannhaus cackled, shrinking away from Crowe''s brightening fury. ¡°We spit in the face of Monad! You serve a careless creator who is every bit the fool you are. We serve Hamon, the King from Down Under. We have been here since the first days of the Second Iteration, before the first settlers of Monad''s brood invaded these lands. Our roots dig through the earth all the way down to the black streets of Inferno¡­¡±


    Tannhaus'' voice echoed in the practitioner''s mind with a seductive ring. Once more he felt his mind being tugged back beneath the red skies of Inferno where yellow slashes of lightning stabbed through clouds of acid. The denizens of Inferno toiled beneath rain that made their skin redden and smoke; bare limb on top of bare limb, interconnected and separate. The air smelled strongly of sex and defecation. They stood in worship around a dark spire that grew out of the ash-soil of Inferno. A robed figure with a twisted head piece made of steel sat atop a throne at the top of the dark spire. Branches bearing black, worm-infested fruit grew from the top of the figure''s head, branching up into the soil on the surface where a temple stood grafted into the side of the mountain.


    The figure turned its narrow head to look at Crowe with deep red eyes that bore into him with pure malice. Tendrils of razor sharp steel started to strip away the protective membrane over his thoughts. I know you practitioner. We¡¯ve met before not so long ago¡­in another place in another body. You remember, don¡¯t you?


    Yes, Crowe thought, he remembered all too well. How Jebediah, Bennett¡¯s father had come to the house to deliver the bad news on a day colder than this one. He remembered how Bennett¡¯s blackened eyes had bore into his the way Tannhaus¡¯ did, his best friend gone. Not a trace of humanity.


    ¡°Yes,¡± the demon laughed, pushing deeper into his mind. ¡°You do recognize me.¡± Before the blades could penetrate a vital organ another force, wild and chaotic, but far more familiar pulled him out of the blow¡¯s path.


    Twin o¡¯rre!


    Crowe surfaced. He gasped for breath, fighting to regain his hold on reality. He heard Rake take Monad''s name in vain but everything else was a distant echo. Somewhere within the echo he heard the name Hamon. It stirred unpleasant memories in Crowe of the stories Petras used to tell him late at night while he laid in bed with his toes curled against the cold.


    He glared at Tannhaus. Get out of my head! ¡°The end of your reign of terror over this town has come, demon!¡± He unsheathed his dagger and held the dagger to his wrist. He drew the blade along his flesh until a red line appeared. Tannhaus tracked the downpour of blood that rained down on the carpet with wide eyes. Crowe marched across the other side of the bed.


    Tannhaus thrashed violently against his restraints, making the mattress bounce in its frame. He threatened the practitioner in a language he¡¯d never heard before. The sorcerer grabbed a handful of the afflicted man''s greasy hair. A gust of foul smelling wind kicked up in the room, reminding Crowe of the half carcasses Barghast and he had stumbled on a moment before their encounter with the bear. They fought, his wrist pumping blood furiously onto the already-filthy mattress and onto Tannhaus. Barghast broke the match by seizing the man by the jaw holding him steady. Crowe forced the wound between the man¡¯s lips.


    Only when Tannhaus relaxed, his body slumping in the mattress, did Crowe pull away, weak on his feet, his heart pounding in his ears the same way it had when he¡¯d tended to Barghast. Tiredly he wondered how long it would take for his blood to work through Tannhaus¡¯ tainted veins. How long did it take to cure a man who had been under the influence of evil for a month?


    Rake stumbled back from him, his eyes wide with shock. ¡°What did you do? What did you do to him?¡±


    Crowe looked directly into the man¡¯s disbelieving eyes. ¡°I helped him. It will take time to settle in but soon he will return to his normal self.¡± As normal as he can be after the suffering he¡¯s endured, he added silently. ¡°When he starts to talk, come and get me.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t stand to be in the room, in the house, in the town a second longer. He turned to leave. With the giving of blood he¡¯d grown tired of Timberford and its growing list of problems. So far the villagers had done nothing to help themselves. Superstition kept them from facing the evil in the temple; fear of the outside world kept them from taking a chance on the road. In a strange dogmatic way they¡¯d grown complacent with their curse, continuing their lives by day and cowering in the tavern at night while their loved ones were slowly picked off one by one. Only when Barghast and he had pulled themselves out of the stream into their village were the people stirred into half hearted life. He wondered if it would always be this hard to pull them out of the darkness or if there were some like Barghast who would follow him willingly.


    He ventured out to the stream that had brought them here, ignoring his body''s cries. He didn''t need to look over his shoulder to know he wasn''t alone. A lycan-shaped shadow followed close behind. He sat in front of a wide oval shaped boulder big enough for the both of them to sit on. Crowe closed his eyes. He listened to the water hammer the rocks. He listened to the steady breaths of the person beside him. It had only been minutes ago that he¡¯d woken up, held securely in the lycan¡¯s lap but it felt like hours. I am so tired. I want to lay in a bed. I want to rest my head on a pillow. I want to curl up beneath a blanket. But we don''t have a bed to sleep in or a roof to sleep under. We are strangers in a cursed town. We are strangers to each other. Perhaps we are even strangers to ourselves¡­


    His uninjured shoulder rested against Barghast''s, drawing in the lycan''s heat. He wanted to close his eyes and let sleep take him - he still needed to heal - but there was still an edge of resistance that kept him from being completely vulnerable in front of Barghast. A fear of betrayal that ran deeper than bone.


    Barghast must have sensed this temptation and the conflicting resistance for his head swiveled in the practitioner''s direction. ¡°Crowe,¡± he said.


    The sorcerer could not bring himself to turn his eyes away from the water. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±


    Warm fingers dug into his shoulders persistently. ¡°Crowe.¡±


    How like a dog you are! he wanted to scream then. Whiny and needy and persistent like a dog! But then how could words be used as a weapon to keep discomfort at bay if they could not be understood? If they did not even ring true? Because they didn''t. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he heard himself say weakly. ¡°I''m just tired.¡±


    The Okanavian put a heavy arm around his unbruised shoulder as if to say, I know. When the practitioner offered no further resistance - Crowe was too fatigued, was in too much pain to resist - he looped an arm beneath his thighs and cradled him until his rump rested in his lap and his head in the crook of his elbow; the other arm supported his legs, kept his feet from touching the ground. Holding him the same way he had last night.


    Crowe looked into his amber eyes. Barghast looked down into his. ¡°Why do you follow me around everywhere I go? Why did you come here? What am I to you?¡± He could feel the sudden heat of frustration mounting within him. It was frustrating not being able to communicate with the only person you could trust.


    As usual the Okanavian answered him with actions instead of words; and he supposed he should be content with actions for didn''t they speak louder than words? Barghast ran the pads of a finger along the creases in Crowe''s forehead. He traced the line of his brow, finger descending along the hooked curve of his nose. He looked at the practitioner with an expression of open wonder as if he had never seen anything like Crowe before and Crowe was powerless to move under his gaze, under his touch. The finger continued to track along the shelf of his cheekbone to the soft flesh of his lip where it lingered.


    The practitioner felt the absurd urge to part his lips, to take the lycan''s finger in his mouth and suckle the salt. Instead the Okanavian brought Crowe''s wounded wrist up to his muzzle. A shudder of pleasure arched his back when the tip of Barghast''s tongue touched the wound.  Barghast held him in his lap, securing him, perhaps even protecting him, the ever watchful guardian, lapping at the wound where Crowe had cut himself with the blade. At first the wound tingled in protest, but the practitioner couldn''t bring himself to move. Barghast worked his flesh with relish, a deep hum sounding within his throat. Not for the first time the sorcerer wondered just what he was to the Okanavian before pushing the thought out of his mind. It felt nice just to be cared for.


    He didn''t realize he''d fallen asleep until Barghast shook him awake gently. He opened his eyes to a darkening sky. Soon night would be upon them. They had to get back.

 The Expedition

    The people of Timberford were huddled around the tavern. In spite of night¡¯s encroachment their voices rang with excitement, not fear. No sooner had Crowe and Barghast broke from the line of trees, the crowd was at them, raised not in shouts of accusation but triumph.


    ¡°You did it¡­You defeated the beast¡­¡±


    ¡°You can heal the sick. Monad has sent you to save us from the darkness¡­¡±


    ¡°The herald is here at last.¡±


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± Barghast reached for him through the press of bodies but the clamor of voices and questing hands broke them apart. Crowe spun about, caught in a tide of strangers who moments ago had not known of his existence, had not cared. Now hands were reaching for his cloak, pulling for his attention. Someone wept tears of relief. Someone else played a trombone, bellowing into the air. Someone else knelt at his feet, kissing his hands the same way the lycan had on that strange night in the cave¡­how long ago that seemed now, even though it had only been a week¡­hadn¡¯t it?...sobbing into the fold of his robes as they pleaded for a miracle.


    The woman from their first night who had cried for her husband cried for Crowe now to heal him. ¡°You healed the scientist!¡± Clementine declared, her face scrunched up and red as a tomato. ¡°You made the beast go away! We saw your holy fire last night! You can heal my husband¡­You can heal them all¡­¡±


    No, he wanted to say. I don¡¯t know if I can. For all we know your loved ones are forever lost to the fires of Inferno. Do not go looking for miracles where there are none to find. He couldn¡¯t find the words. They caught in his throat, choking him up. Around and around he spun, his stomach clenching into painful knots. Stop. Please just stop. Everything¡¯s moving too fast! But it didn¡¯t stop. If anything his world seemed to be spinning faster and faster. He clenched his eyes shut, his face screwed in a grimace. He could feel a helpless scream building in his throat, a wave of panic that could not be dodged. At any second it would explode out of him, drag him under.


    A roar ripped through the crowd before he could let loose. It scattered men, women, and children in their wake. They spun out of the way, sprinting from the source of the noise in a panic. In his rush to get to Crowe, Barghast barrelled past a man, shoving him roughly to the side. The man hit the ground with a grunt. Crowe didn¡¯t realize the lycan had carried him to the tavern until his feet touched the floor. He was grateful to be away from the press of bodies. He hated himself for the way his body betrayed him. Everywhere he looked panic waited on for the perfect moment to overthrow him. Barghast faced the door, his hackles raised, his tail arched towards the ceiling. Only when the clamor of voices faded did his fur settle.


    The door swung shut. Rake entered the tavern, shaking his head. He gave Crowe a rare apologetic chuckle. ¡°Sorry about them. Sometimes it¡¯s hard to believe I come from this brood of people. You mustn¡¯t take it personally. They¡¯re excited with what you managed to do.¡± He flashed white teeth in an impossible grin. He clapped the practitioner on the bad shoulder, making him gasp in pain. ¡°Don¡¯t you get it, mate? You performed a miracle.¡±


    We¡¯re not mates, Crowe bit back. ¡°It was impossible to tell what they were saying with the way they all crowded around me.¡±


    ¡°Tannhaus is alive!¡± The man said this with a broad grin as if it should be a surprise to him.


    It wasn¡¯t. ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°All traces of the evil in him are gone as far as we can tell. He hasn¡¯t been throwing up anymore of that black gunk. His eyes are blue. Ellie and I were able to feed him broth and bread. All thanks to you. The power of Monad burns in your veins¡­¡±


    Crowe shook his head in protest. Rake cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand and a conspiratorial wink before he could speak. ¡°I saw what you did. Cutting your wrist to feed him your own blood. I guess the stories are true.¡±


    The practitioner blinked in interest. ¡°What stories?¡±


    Rake blinked back. ¡°You really don¡¯t get out much, do you? I¡¯m talking about Monad¡¯s herald.¡± The rat-faced man sighed. ¡°I suppose I shouldn¡¯t judge you too harshly for it. Many of the stories we have are lost. Being burned out by the Theocracy. If they have their way there won¡¯t be any stories left to tell or practitioners.¡± He pulled a glass and a bottle of spirits from behind the cabinet. Crowe took the opportunity to treat himself to a joint. Rake supplied him with a book of matches. Barghast stood sentry by the door, folding his arms over his chest, playing the part of bouncer. Excited whispers could be heard hissing outside the tavern. After the commotion by the well no one dared to enter the tavern but this did not stop them from eavesdropping.


    ¡°My tutor¡­the person who raised me¡­told me the stories the same as you.¡± Crowe took a long drag from his aether joint, studying the man before him through a screen of smoke. ¡°I didn¡¯t exactly have the benefit of growing up in a tight-knit village the way you did, so I only heard one version of it. The level of my ignorance astounds even myself at times.¡±


    Rake nodded in respect. He tipped the bottle over the edge of the glass, filling it to half measure before sliding it in the practitioner¡¯s direction. ¡°Don¡¯t act like you don¡¯t need it either. I¡¯m not taking no for an answer.¡±


    The spirits burned Crowe¡¯s throat going down. Tears sprung to his eyes. ¡°Are you trying to poison me, Rake?¡± he asked when he had control of his vocal cords again.


    ¡°Would it work if I had?¡± Rake studied him closely.


    ¡°I¡¯m not an angel, Rake. I¡¯m not a sovereign being. I¡¯m a practitioner the same as Cenya. Before that I was a simple farm boy who had rarely stepped foot off his farm.¡± Images of his old life flashed before his eyes, filling him with a familiar bitterness. ¡°Tell me about this herald of Monad. Cenya mentioned it.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not much to say,¡± Rake murmured. He tipped his head back, downing a finger of homebrewed whiskey. Whether his grimace was one of appreciation or pain was hard to say; it could have been both. ¡°And maybe there is. Cenya is probably the best person to ask. She¡¯s the closest thing to a book we have around here. A record of history. So much history is lost at the end of every Iteration¡­entire civilizations ground down to powder with only the husks of what they used to be to remain. What remains is destroyed or controlled by the Theocracy.¡±


    Rake cleared his throat before continuing. ¡°What I do know is through stories my mum and dad told me before bed. How near the end of each Iteration Monad sends a herald to fight in his stead. A herald who frees his people from enslavement and brings about events of great change. His arrival signals Monad¡¯s awakening, the ending of the current Iteration, and the beginning of the next.¡±


    A terrible thought dropped in Crowe¡¯s gut like a heavy weight. ¡°And Elysia, the Mother. The one who brings it all to an end and casts our Lord into the Void until the next cycle. Am I right? Is that how the story goes?¡±


    ¡°Something like that.¡±


    ¡°Then that means the herald fails.¡±


    Rake lifted an eyebrow. ¡°Fails?¡±


    ¡°His mission. To restore peace. To change the world from what it was meant to be into its true purpose.¡± The taste of bile rose up in the back of the practitioner¡¯s throat. ¡°Whatever they accomplish in the end is undone by Elysia and her endless feud with Monad. So what¡¯s the point in doing anything at all?¡±


    This earned him another mocking grin. ¡°The way I see it, that''s for the herald of Monad to find out.¡± Rake rose from his seat. ¡°If I drink anymore of this dog piss I won¡¯t be able to stand upright for the rest of the night.¡± He clapped the practitioner warmly on the shoulder. ¡°You can talk to Tannhaus in the morning. For now I think it''s best to let the man have his rest. There¡¯s no telling what the state of his mind¡¯s in at the moment.¡±


    Crowe nodded in silent agreement. He could understand all too well.


    That night sleep was an elusive eel that kept slipping from his grasp. He replayed the conversation in his head to block out the calls of the damned. Was it possible all this had happened in some form or another during the previous Iterations, each incident echoing the passage of another across time and space? What did it mean for his pilgrimage? What did it mean for Barghast who followed him without question?


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    The next morning after a meager breakfast of hot broth and stale bread, Cenya told him it was time to speak with Tannhaus. She gave the practitioner a dark look that said the inventor had rested plenty. This time she insisted on accompanying Crowe and Rake to Ellie¡¯s. The practitioner agreed to this without thinking on the matter much. What the old woman decided to do with her life was her business; having lived longer than the trees surrounding Timberford, she''d earned that right. When they left the tavern the Okanavian surprised the sorcerer by hanging back.


    ¡°What?¡± Crowe winced, hating the way his voice rose in pitch. ¡°You¡¯re not coming with me?¡±


    An almost apologetic smile played across the lycan''s lips. He gestured to the trees with a cock of his head. There is something I must do in the woods.


    You can''t leave me with these people. You can''t leave me in this place. He floundered on the spot, trying to push the panic back down his esophagus. ¡°Alright,¡± he tried to say in a calm voice. I trust you, he did not say, could not bring himself to say. He gestured to the sky. ¡°Just make sure you come back before dark.¡± Cenya and Rake stood by the well, watching from a distance. How ridiculous I must look clinging to the tunic of a lycan like a frightened school girl. He looked away from Barghast before his eyes could betray him.


    Of course it was too late. The stutter-step of his heart was a signal to the Okanavian; it would always reveal the truth before Crowe knew what it was. Barghast took his hand. He lifted it to his lips, planting a kiss on the knuckles. Not just a lap of a tongue; not the kiss of a beast but the kiss of a man. Now it was his turn to point up at the sky. He said something in a short burst of Okanavi that Crowe took to mean, I will be back before the sun goes down. He planted another kiss on Crowe¡¯s flesh to seal the promise and then he was off for the trees.


    Crowe did his best to put the Okanavian''s absence out of his mind. You can''t be together all the time. A cruel twist of fate could separate the two of you at any moment. You can''t rely on his companionship. With this thought he felt himself recede back behind his ice wall where disappointment''s touch could not reach him. Put all else out of your mind. The only thing that matters right now is finding the answers you can about the temple.


    By the time they entered Tannhaus'' room he was prepared for any outcome. He reminded himself he wasn''t entirely alone. Rake and Cenya were with him. Ignore the fact they are strangers. Ignore the fact that while they¡¯d done nothing to hurt him, apart from giving him a few bowls of soup and bread, they had done nothing to help him either. What had they done to help themselves? For now he would have to take a leap of faith in the hopes their motivations were aligned.


    Since their last encounter Tannhaus had bathed and changed out of his filthy rags. He sat hunched on the narrow mattress with his knees drawn in towards his chest. The tangle of russet hair formed a veil that obscured his face from view. The silence on the other side of the veil was so heavy the drop of a pin needle could break it.


    Crowe stood at the left end of the line. Cenya stood in the center, her staff braced against the floor for balance with Rake taking station to her right. Though the rifle remained strapped to his shoulder Crowe had no doubt Rake would reach for it at the slightest provocation. When no one moved to break the silence the practitioner scowled at Cenya. He rolled his good arm impatiently through the air. You''re the leader. This is your town. You do the talking.


    Cenya cleared her throat. Her jowls quivered with anxiety, reminding Crowe of a hen. ¡°Mr. Tannhaus.¡± Her voice sounded steadier than she appeared. ¡°It¡¯s Cenya.¡±


    Tannhaus did not lift his head or show any sign he¡¯d heard her.


    ¡°Tannhaus!¡± Cenya tried again in a louder voice. ¡°Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?¡±


    ¡°I can hear you,¡± the man said in a voice so raspy it was almost unintelligible. ¡°I¡¯m in Timberford¡­I think.¡±


    The old woman beamed. ¡°That you are.¡±


    Tannhaus looked up. Dark blue eyes focused intently on the old woman. ¡°How long have I been¡­?¡± His mouth worked in search of the word. ¡°...away?¡±


    ¡°Four weeks.¡±


    A flash of shock across features shadowed by hardship and starvation. The wide eyes and pursed lips were tucked away as quickly as they appeared.


    Cenya''s mouth twitched with the first sign of impatience. ¡°We are a backwoods town in hiding from a religious tyrant that wants to turn our people to ash. Since undertaking your journey to the temple we haven''t had the time to reach out to anyone.¡±


    ¡°Of course you haven''t.¡± The scientist''s eyes darkened, flickering carelessly to the window. Crowe wondered when he''d last seen daylight.


    ¡°What matters is you''re back. It''s a miracle.¡±


    It was Tannhaus'' turn to grimace. ¡°I don''t believe in miracles.¡±


    Cenya gave Crowe a helpless look. The practitioner widened his eyes at her in response. Is that all you¡¯ve got? Keep him talking. Cenya''s shoulders trembled with the escape of an indrawn breath. ¡°What do you remember?¡±


    ¡°What do I remember?¡± Tannhaus echoed in a faraway voice. The knot of tension in his throat worked to find words. ¡°Not much. It''s all so blurry¡­I can remember flashes. Images and sounds mostly.¡± He shook his head in frustration, seizing bunches of russet hair in his fists. Crowe watched the scientist tear at himself in a fury, mumbling a jumble of words under his breath. The practitioner tried to feel pity for the man''s plight. He didn''t. How could he feel sorry for the son of the man who had helped to enslave his people?


    The sorcerer was not the only one who struggled with dispassion. Rake took a step towards the bed, his teeth bared in a grimace. The promise of death gleamed in his eyes if Tannhaus did not yield answers. ¡°Stop your sniveling, man! We don''t have the time or the care for it. Our people are still up there with your people! At night they come down from the temple and tempt us with damnation. So you better start remembering before I send you back to your father with a bullet between the eyes!¡±


    Tannhaus licked his cracked lips. ¡°We reached the temple before nightfall.¡±


    ¡°Right after Cenya told you implicitly not to,¡± Rake muttered. Crowe silenced him with a glare. ¡°I want to hear this.¡±


    ¡°When we arrived there was no one there. The place had been abandoned for centuries¡­longer.¡± Gregor spoke haltingly as if expelling each word was a struggle.


    ¡°Go on,¡± Cenya urged gently.


    Tannhaus gulped. ¡°Nothing happened the first night. We set up camp in the main chamber. I had the mind to wait until morning to begin exploring, but our linguist Lagerof was excited. She wanted to start looking at the hieroglyphs right away.¡±


    ¡°We told you,¡± Rake murmured under his breath, pacing back and forth in a barely contained fury. ¡°We told you not to go up there and you went and did it anyway like the bloody fools you are! Without a single thought for the wrath you would bring down upon us. There is a reason why the temple has remained untouched up until now.¡±


    Tannhaus continued his recounting as if he hadn¡¯t heard the man speak. ¡°Lagerof stayed up all night trying to put things together while the rest of us slept. I didn¡¯t think anything of it at first. Once Lagerof puts her mind to something she doesn¡¯t stop. She didn¡¯t stop. She didn¡¯t eat or drink or rest or do any of the things normal humans are supposed to do.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t stop there, did you?¡± Crowe demanded coldly. Rake was right. Here was a man who did not think about how his actions impacted others. Perhaps he¡¯d never had to. You¡¯re finding out the hard way now, aren¡¯t you?


    Tears of overwhelming emotion wet the corners of Tannhaus¡¯ eyes. ¡°We couldn¡¯t stop. Once we started reading the words they burrowed into our head, pulling us deeper into¡­into¡­Lagerof was the best linguist we could hire. She¡¯s seen more places than I have. She¡¯s traveled all over the world. She even knows more languages than I do. It was Lagerof who discovered the hieroglyphs ¡±


    A thought pricked at Crowe¡¯s mind. ¡°Lagerof can understand Okanaivan?¡±


    The scientist nodded absently. ¡°During our time we continued to translate the markings on the wall under Lagerof¡¯s leadership¡­I¡¯m merely the one who funded the expedition, she was the brains behind it all. We discovered a narrative that told the story of a being who has dwelled within the temple since the beginning of the Third Iteration.¡±


    A chill raced up the practitioner¡¯s spine. He could hear the voices of Inferno whispering inside his mind. The smell of ash burned his nose. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t tell you anymore,¡± said Tannhaus. ¡°I wish I could. Maybe I¡¯ll remember with time.¡±


    ¡°There is no time.¡± The man had put the town of Timberford under a curse that had claimed lives and still he wanted sympathy. The practitioner took a step towards the bed. ¡°Tonight when the sun falls your people will be here. They¡¯ll call your name and beg you to step outside the same as you did night after night. Maybe their calls will help jog your memory.¡±


    The scientist¡¯s eyes narrowed as if he was only just now seeing Crowe for the first time. ¡°I remember you. I don¡¯t know from where, but I do.¡±


    Crowe held up his scabbed wrist in answer. ¡°I saved you.¡±


    Tannhaus¡¯ face turned the color of a dark red tomato.


    The practitioner tried to hide a grin of triumph and failed. ¡°Tonight might be a little rough for you but that¡¯s okay. Because tomorrow at first light I¡¯m going to the temple to end this nightmare. And you¡¯re coming with me.¡±

 Abandonment Issues

    The early morning hours turned into mid-afternoon, mid afternoon turned into the early hours of evening and still Barghast had not returned from his venture in the woods.


    The people of Timberford gathered outside the grave of Clias. Around noon a half a dozen men and women formed a square in the field with shovels to dig a grave. Crowe watched while a worm of anxiety gnawed at his belly. Cenya led the parade, standing at the front of the crowd. She wore a splendid dress made of fine white silk. Her hobble did not take away from the looks and words of admiration thrown her way. She had been here long before they¡¯d been born and if fate permitted she would be here long after their bones turned to dust. Torches were set in the ground and lit in respect of the dead.


    Rake and a group of five other men carried the body out of the tavern on their shoulders; the body had been wrapped in quilts cinched together with a hank of rope. The image pulled at Crowe, transporting him to the day he¡¯d buried Petras. The smell of snow, dust, and soil. The smell of fire, the smell of smoke. Once the body was laid in its grave, the villagers huddled together in a singular show of grief. Mothers and daughters wept  in each other''s embrace, getting dirt on their skirts. A loneliness so great it made it impossible to breathe swelled in Crowe''s heart. Never before had he seen such a show of camaraderie. These people had suffered greatly and drawn closer because of it, forming a family that took care of its own. He didn''t have a family or a village to care for him; he¡¯d never had. The one person who seemed to care for him had still not returned - had not kept his promise.


    Night would be here within the hour.


    Feeling like a voyeur, Crowe broke away from the funeral. He thought he heard Rake call his name but his blood was singing too loud in his ears to be sure and whatever it was he had to say, the practitioner didn''t want to hear it. His breath came out in panicked flutters. His hands clenched and unclenched. The rational voice that told him Barghast would return before full dark - and even if he didn''t he was more than capable of taking care of himself for the night - folded under the pressure of his terror. In his mind he imagined walking along the Dominion Highway to find Barghast''s still body; or maybe he would come down from the temple tonight and beg Crowe to step outside.


    Or maybe like Bennett he had his fill of you and left¡­


    Like the crack of a pistol signaling the start of a race, the thought sent Crowe into a frenzy. He broke into a sprint through the trees, heading in the direction of the stream. It was the first place he could think of to look. Branches clawed at his robes, snagged at his hair, clawed at his face. A root grabbed a hold of his foot, sent him flying to the ground. He picked himself up. Never mind his scraped palms and knees. Never mind the iron taste of blood in his mouth. The fear of abandonment eclipsed pain, eclipsed reason. That fear broke out of him in a hoarse scream when he reached the stream and did not find Barghast standing on its banks.


    ¡°Barghast!¡± he screamed. ¡°Barghast, where in the Void are you?¡± He screamed until the cords in his throat stood out.


    The crack of a twig broke the spell. He jumped, his flesh tingling. He stopped, standing stock still. Wide blue eyes searched the trees for movement. He reached for his staff only to feel empty air. His heart convulsed in his chest - he must have left it back at the tavern. He was alone in the woods and night was rapidly falling. If he ran now he had just enough time to make it back to the tavern. If I make it back at all. A sob worked its way up his throat. Tears of defeat seared his eyes. He wanted to fold in on himself, let fate have its way with him.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    Crowe gasped. It wasn''t until he lifted his face from the cups of his hands that he realized he was huddled on the ground. A familiar silhouette approached him from the east, carrying the carcass of an elk.


    The practitioner rose to his feet. Fear changed rapidly from relief to anger within the blink of an eye. Helpless directionless anger. ¡°It took you this long to hunt a fucking elk?¡±


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡± Barghast frowned in confusion. How innocent he looked, oblivious.


    ¡°Don''t you twin o¡¯rre me!¡± the practitioner snapped. ¡°We have to get back to the village. Let''s go!¡±


    By the time they made it back to Timberford the villagers were gathered back in the tavern. In spite of the coming of night Crowe smelled open caskets of mead when they stepped inside. The villagers rejoiced when they saw the elk. Barghast flashed his stupid canine grin at them as he set the carcass on the table, but his eyes remained fixed on Crowe as if to say, Look what I did, I can be friendly to others. The dopey grin dropped when Crowe glared spitefully back. The shoulders drooped. He approached the practitioner while the villagers oohed and ahhed over the meat they would feast on in the morning, looking chastened.


    ¡°Crowe,¡± he said. He didn''t say anything else. He didn''t need to.


    The sorcerer released a breath he didn''t know he¡¯d been holding. ¡°It''s not you who should be apologizing, it¡¯s me. You did nothing wrong. I¡­I panicked. I didn''t think you''d be gone until just before dark. I said I trusted you. I sure have a way of showing it, don''t I?¡±


    In response Barghast took his hand. He led the practitioner to a clear corner of the room. He sat down before pulling Crowe into his lap. Before the practitioner could protest, strong arms enclosed him, pressing him against Barghast''s chest until their hearts beat against one another''s. All Crowe could do was turn his head. Let go. Embrace it. He¡¯s trying to apologize to you even though he''s done nothing wrong. Crowe let his head rest in the space between Barghast''s shoulders and cheek. Barghast released a sigh of contentment. He fur smelled strongly of male musk and the wild. It made Crowe think of the days during his younger years when Bennett and he would cavort through the woods behind Crowe¡¯s house, climbing trees and being rowdy.


    After a moment Barghast sniffed. He turned Crowe¡¯s hand over, exposing the scrapes to the low light. His eyes darkened from amber to copper. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± he rumbled mournfully.


    ¡°Hey.¡± Crowe scratched the Okanavian¡¯s chin fluff, earning himself a growl of pleasure and a tail wag. ¡°It¡¯s not that bad. It''s just a few scrapes.¡±


    Barghast lowered his muzzle to the practitioner''s palm. He let out a sigh of contentment. He examined Crowe¡¯s hand. A second later his jaw stretched open so the practitioner could stare back into the tunnel of his throat. The needlepoints of his teeth caught the dim light of the tavern. Crowe felt oddly calm when the lycan¡¯s maw closed around his hand all the way to his wrist. A thrill of pleasure went up his spine when the sandy tip of Barghast tongue passed over his flesh.


    The sound of drunken laughter and the jingle of a piano faded into the background. Crowe could focus only on the Okanavian and nothing else; they were alone again. Just the way it should be, a secret little voice said in his mind. The lycan covered his hand with warm saliva until the flesh glistened. For several minutes his tongue worked at the wounds, his face fixed in that peculiar expression of rapture that both frightened Crowe and excited him.


    Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into an hour. When Rake came over with two tankards he found them sitting shoulder to shoulder in the corner. He held up the two steins. He grinned at Crowe. ¡°Convey to your lycan friend we are grateful for the meat. We¡¯ll have it prepped and ready to be smoked by morning. Tomorrow Cenya and I won''t be able to enjoy any of it.¡±


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    The practitioner frowned. ¡°Why is that?¡±


    Rake''s smile fell. ¡°We¡¯re going with you and Tannhaus to the temple.¡±


    Crowe blinked in surprise. ¡°Are you sure? It will be dangerous. We won''t know what to expect and I don''t know if we can trust Tannhaus.¡±


    ¡°You''re right,¡± Rake agreed. ¡°It will be dangerous. I''m not even sure if Cenya can make the journey. Even if we leave here during the first hours of morning it will take us most of the day to get there. We¡¯ll probably end up camping in a cave for the night just to be safe and then finish the rest of the journey in the morning. You don''t look happy¡­¡±


    Crowe rose reluctantly to his feet. ¡°I¡¯m not going to tell you what to do. This is your town. You¡¯ve lived here your whole life and you¡¯ve survived this curse for weeks. If you and Cenya decide to go, I won''t stop you, but I can''t guarantee either of yours safety.¡±


    The man nodded in agreement, passing the steins to Crowe. ¡°I¡¯ll relay everything to Cenya. I figured you would like some ale. It tastes like dog piss but it will get you drunk.¡± He gave them a final respectful nod before 8 , sniffed his drink cautiously. He snorted, sneezing violently. Crowe giggled in spite of himself. He took a sip of the mead. Rake was right, the mead did taste like dog piss, but he would need every drop of it if he was going to get sleep tonight. He raised his glass towards Barghast. He clinked their steins together. ¡°To Barghast,¡± he said.


    This earned him a toothy grin. Barghast said the only common word he knew.  ¡°Crowe.¡±


    They watched each other over the brims of their cups as they drank.


    ¡­


    ¡°You can''t do this.¡± Tannhaus shook his head in denial. His eyes bugged out of their sockets. ¡°You can''t make me go back to that¡­that place!¡±


    ¡°You were all too eager to go there the first time,¡± Rake said without sympathy.


    ¡°That was before we knew what was there!¡± the scientist protested.


    ¡°Which you can''t claim to remember due to a convenient case of memory loss¡­¡±


    ¡°What difference does it make what I can and can''t remember?¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Crowe¡¯s voice rang through the room, wringing silence from the chaos. Five pairs of eyes turned to face him. The room felt tiny with five bodies crammed into its narrow space. He glared at Tannhaus. ¡°You''re right, we can''t make you go.¡± Rake made a sputtering sound; the practitioner cut him off with a glare before returning his attention back to the scientist. ¡°You should want to go because it''s the right thing to do. After all, you and your team are the catalyst that caused this nightmare to begin with and you know far more about the temple than we do.¡±


    ¡°This isn''t right.¡± Tannhaus hunched in on himself as if he wanted the mattress to swallow him whole.


    ¡°Stay if that is your choice.¡± This time there was nothing gentle in Cenya''s voice. ¡°I have left instructions in our absence just in case. You will be allowed to stay in this room until nightfall. At morning¡¯s first light you will be asked to leave this town and never return again. You will not be given provisions for your journey. You will be entirely on your own.¡±


    ¡°No provisions?¡± Tannhaus'' cheeks burned with indignant fury. ¡°There''s not another settlement for miles! We¡¯re in a war for Elysia''s sake! How can you expect me to survive out there on your own?¡±


    ¡°You won''t survive out there on your own,¡± the practitioner agreed. ¡°Which is why it''s better you come with us, because then you won''t be alone.¡±


    The scientist scoffed. ¡°You''re the herald of Monad. What do you need me for?¡±


    Crowe turned away. He wasn''t going to answer the same question twice. In the end Tannhaus was coaxed from his bed and into a fresh set of clothes. While he still remained painfully thin, many of the bruises and cuts had vanished. While he was naturally pale, color had returned to his cheeks. He was healthy enough to walk. He was certainly more capable of walking than Cenya. Expressing his concerns to Rake had not changed her mind from going.


    They packed what limited provisions they had into duffel bags: salted pork, crackers, oil and a lantern, blankets and an extra layer of clothes. Crowe,.Barghast, and Rake waited with a cowed Tannhaus outside the tavern while Cenya gathered the rest of their things.


    ¡°I know there''s Eben and he''s watching over everything while you''re gone, but are he and Cenya the only practitioner''s here?¡± Crowe asked.


    ¡°There used to be a few more,¡± Rake replied. ¡°But they left Timberford for Caemyth when Drajen gave the order for the Theocracy to burn every known practitioner to ash.¡±


    Crowe tried to suppress a shiver and failed. Our people have been pushed to the brink of extinction. Pope Drajen plans to wring all the mana out of the world.


    The door to the tavern swung open with a clatter. Cenya hobbled out with her staff in hand, a bag slung over her shoulder. She moved towards the well with a determined look screwed on her face. Tannhaus walked with his shoulders hunched and his head lowered as if he was afraid someone would start beating him at any second; Rake watched him as if he''d like to do just that. Word of Crowe''s journey had spread through the village of Timberford overnight. Now the villagers gathered around the well to send them off. Men, women, and children of all ages gathered around the mother of Timberford, paying their respects. Cenya smiled graciously and kissed cheeks.


    Watching from a distance, Crowe felt hands seize him by the robes. Blinking in surprise, the practitioner found himself looking into the reddened eyes of Clementine, the woman who had almost given herself to the night in the name of her husband. ¡°Please,¡± she hissed. She leaned in so close he could smell the stale sweat wafting off her body. He resisted the urge to extricate himself. ¡°You helped the scientist. You saved his soul when he didn''t deserve it; when he''s the one who caused all this.¡± From a seated position on the edge of the well, Tannhaus raised his head to glare at the woman through the tangle of hair. ¡°You can help my husband,¡± the woman continued to plead with Crowe. ¡°You can cure him. You can cure them all. You can end this curse with your blood¡­¡±


    Crowe opened his mouth to speak but words did not come out. The words, There¡¯s not enough of me to go around, weighed heavy on his tongue. Clementine''s body vibrated with a raw desperation that made him think back to the shadowed days with Petras when the panic attacks would descend over him like a monsoon. Before he could warn her to step back, a massive paw seized him by the front of his robes and ushered him back several steps as if the woman was the ultimate threat. Barghast towered over her, a silhouette of power and vitality. His teeth were clenched in a snarl, his fur standing on edge. Clementine scrambled back with a cry. She tripped over her dress twice in her haste to get away. Crowe didn''t know if he wanted to scold the lycan or thank him.


    Barghast made a lowing sound, his shoulders sagging in resignation. He shot a darting glance at Crowe. The childish look of reproach from someone who could tear him apart with his bare hands made the practitioner chuckle in amusement. Monad, what have you sent me? Barghast faced the trees, turning his back to the practitioner. He looked like a child who had been told to stand in the corner and face the wall. Crowe drifted slowly behind him until he stood within reaching distance. Above the ridge of Barghast''s shoulder blade he spotted a six inch scar that parted  the lycan''s flesh like lightning. Just when Crowe thought he had discovered all of Barghast''s scars, a new one presented itself, revealing a past narrative of strife. What was your life like before you joined me? Did you have a family? Who did you leave behind so you could travel with me?


    Butterflies fluttered in Crowe''s stomach. He gulped. He rested a hand on Barghast''s shoulder, running his fingers over the calligraphy of scars. I¡¯d make them all go away if I could. He felt something unclench in the Okanavian beneath his touch. ¡°I know you''re tired of this place,¡± he heard himself say in a tense voice. ¡°I am too. As soon as we defeat the evil in the temple we will leave this place.¡± Even now he could feel the lycan watching him from the corner of his eye, listening.


    He listens to you even though he can''t understand you because he cares what you have to say, Bennett said. The thought made the practitioner blush. His hand fell away from Barghast''s shoulder.


    At last the group was ready to begin the hike to the temple.

 Lagerof

    The journey was agonizingly slow going. Cenya''s determination was no match for the uneven terrain of the woods. Still, for a crippled woman with only one leg she maneuvered around her disabilities far better than Tannhaus who breathed like a wounded animal, stopping every several feet to clutch at his heaving sides. He glared resentfully at Crowe and Barghast who watched him with matching frowns of disapproval. ¡°I can hear what you''re thinking,¡± Tannhaus said through gritted teeth. ¡°You probably think I¡¯m just some spoiled daddy''s boy¡­¡±


    ¡°We weren''t thinking that at all but now that you mention it¡­¡± Rake tipped a conspiratorial wink in the practitioner''s direction. Crowe turned his head away to hide a snicker. As the minutes turned to hours it became a struggle to hide his impatience. He wasn''t the only one. Barghast made groveling sounds under his breath in Okanavian and even Cenya¡¯s expression grew rigid when they reached the stream at midday. ¡°At this rate we won''t make it to the cave,¡± the rat-faced man hissed to Crowe. ¡°We¡¯ll be out here sitting ducks in the middle of the night.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll make it,¡± the practitioner assured him.


    This earned him a frown from Rake. ¡°You alright, herald?¡±


    Crowe wrinkled his nose at the name ¡®herald¡¯. ¡°I wish you wouldn''t call me that. Why do you ask if I¡¯m alright?¡±


    The man chuckled. ¡°I dunno¡­You seem a bit more chipper than usual.¡±


    It was Crowe''s turn to frown, to wonder at his newfound sense of confidence. He looked back at Barghast who stood several yards ahead of them with his rifle in hand, scanning the trees intently. ¡°I¡¯ve been on the road for several weeks,¡± he said at last. He watched Cenya stop as she struggled to catch her breath. ¡°You don''t know what it''s like out there. Even if we find a way to end this curse you won''t be any safer. In a way it has protected you - shrouded you from the rest of the world.¡±


    Rake sighed. ¡°I know. Monad knows I try not to think about it even though there''s no avoiding it in the end. We''re going to have to leave, aren''t we?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so.¡± Crowe looked the man in the eye. If he was going to deliver such a harsh truth he could at least do that much. ¡°If you stay your people will die. I¡¯m sorry. I imagine this isn''t what you want to hear.¡±


    When the man spoke the practitioner heard the first few touches of fear in his voice. ¡°Where will we go? How will we make it on the road with the Theocracy burning everybody and everything to the ground?¡±


    ¡°There''s Caemyth.¡±


    ¡°Caemyth is over a thousand miles away.¡±


    ¡°I believe Monad will guide the way.¡± Rake''s mouth twisted into his usual grimace. ¡°And no offense, but you''re just a kid...even after everything I¡¯ve seen you do thus far. How old are you? And don''t lie to me.¡±


    The practitioner looked away, a flush rising to his cheeks. ¡°Nineteen.¡±


    Rake made a sputtering sound that caused Barghast to glance in their direction. ¡°Nineteen? Compared to Cenya you''re hardly a child. You''re a newborn baby. How can Monad¡­assuming he can really communicate with you from the Void¡­¡±


    Cenya rose to her feet motioning to Rake she was ready to move on. Crowe pressed his lips together. ¡°It was Monad,¡± he insisted; the tremor in his voice revealed him to be a fool who didn''t believe in his own lies.


    ¡°Was it?¡± Rake''s eyes twinkled with merry cynicism. ¡°Was it actually Monad who came down from Metropolis and told you to undertake such a great responsibility?¡±


    Crowe had no answer. He remembered the day he¡¯d stood under the glow of the Eternal City, watching as a small dot grew larger and larger with the flicker of wings. He remembered how the Seraphim''s touch had seared his hand¡­not pleasantly warm in the way Barghast''s paws were, but hot enough to leave a permanent imprint in the flesh. No matter how hard he tried to cover the breach, Rake¡¯s words wormed their way into his mind. Is it possible all this is a game¡­and I''m just a pawn being manipulated? To what end and by whom? The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. When he was sure it didn''t seem too obvious he was cowering away, the sorcerer drifted away from Rake. He sped up until he caught up with the Okanavian. More and more he preferred the lycan''s reassuring silence and lingering glances. Communication between the two of them was both far more complicated and astoundingly simple.


    Night chased their heels doggedly, making a mockery of their progress. Rake had fallen behind with Cenya, half carrying her with an arm slung over his shoulder. The old woman''s face was set in a rictus of pain. Sheets of sweat sheened her forehead. Carrying the brunt of her weight, Rake didn''t look like he was faring much better.


    ¡°How much further?¡± Crowe demanded. They stood on the ascent of a steep hill. Barghast stood at the top of the hill, barking urgently at him in Okanavi. Pale faces loomed out of the trees, black eyes glittering, teeth flashing white in the dark.


    ¡°Half a mile,¡± Rake huffed.


    ¡°Go.¡± Crowe pushed his mana into his staff until the runes lit up the dark spaces in between the trees. Dozens of shapes moved towards them from all directions. Crowe felt his throat dry up. ¡°Rake, you''re going to have to carry her the rest of the way and run!¡± A single white-haired shape sauntered ahead of the rest, skin pallid under black streaks of dirt.


    A strangled gasping sound made the practitioner look over. Tannhaus watched the shape advance with wide eyes that only showed the whites. ¡°That''s Lagerof,¡± he whispered.


    Crowe gave him a hard shove towards Rake. ¡°Go, damn you! I¡¯m not dying for you¡­¡± He faces the crowd of wandering damned souls, backing slowly up the hill. Only when the rest of the group were up the heel did he turn to jog to the top.  He stayed at the rear of the group while Barghast was their guide through the woods. Twice Barghast tried to drop back to Crowe only for the practitioner to urge him to stay at the front.


    Cenya let out an audible sob of relief when the cave appeared through the thicket of trees. They ducked inside, breath steaming the air. Crowe dropped to the cave, not caring if he scraped his knees. He watched the damn stop just outside of the caves. Their voices rang with song and cheer; in them he heard the echoing clink of chains and the hiss of blades slicing through flesh followed by the screams of agony. The practitioner tried to focus on his prayers. ¡°Monad, I know you are with me¡­¡±


    A dark magnet pulled at his mind, breaking his concentration. A glance outside the cave showed a single figure stepping away from the crowd of singing, expectant silhouettes waiting in the shadows of the trees. Crowe recognized the flash of white hair as Lagerof. She smiled at him as if they were the best of friends. Webs of black veins spread through her skin, making her look desiccated. Though they had never lain eyes on each other she watched him with an intimate familiarity; he knew he was speaking to the same entity who¡¯d spoken through Tannhaus'' mouth, looked at him through the bear¡¯s eyes¡­and through Bennett''s eyes. Again he could feel the chains of fate closing in around him, constraining him to a path he would never be able to fully understand.  ¡°Herald, I see you did not heed my warning. Like the cockroach you are, you have a tendency to intrude on matters that you are not wanted in.¡±


    Crowe gritted his teeth. Gathering his courage he advanced forward until he stood in the mouth of the cave. Why don''t they just storm us? They have us surrounded and outnumbered. Why don''t they attack us?


    ¡°It is not a demon''s way to attack us outright,¡± Cenya''s voice crackled over his shoulder. ¡°Sometimes they do the way the bear did¡­to make us feel unsafe, like we live in a world without reason. But in truth they attack your mind. They attack your spirit. You don''t need me to tell you to be careful when you parley with a demon.¡±


    Filing her advice in the back of his mind, Crowe turned his attention back to Lagerof. ¡°It is you who did not heed my warning, demon. I told you I would be at the temple. And by the time night falls tomorrow I shall be.¡±


    ¡°Brazen just like my creator.¡± Lagerof eyed the chain dangling around Crowe''s neck. ¡°Fitting that he should pick a benefactor who oversteps in confidence the same way he did¡­for why else is the world the way it is?¡± Lagerof lifted a hand to indicate the trees around them. ¡°All one big mistake. And it will continue to be, again and again, one Iteration after the next, the Fourth, the Fifth, the Sixth¡­¡±


    ¡°Try to distract me all you want, demon,¡± the practitioner hissed even as the doubt rose in him like black pillars of smoke. ¡°It won''t change the fact that I¡¯m coming or that your nights of terror are numbered for I will cut you from the heart of these mountains. Or¡­¡± He spread his arms out. ¡°We could just end everything out here, right now, in the open. You clearly have the manpower. What''s stopping you?¡± A ripple of unease cracked Lagerof¡¯s remote features. A thrill of triumph licked Crowe¡¯s belly. When Lagerof did not advance to meet his challenge, Crowe grinned. ¡°You can''t, can you? Not unless we let you. Not unless it¡¯s of our will.¡±


    A gust of wind blew around Lagerof, making the branches of the trees shake and rattle. The smell of rot blackened the air. Crowe turned his head away, his gorge rising. Once more Lagerof''s teeth flashed in the dark. I may not be able to worm my way into your mind, but that doesn''t mean there aren''t others who are weak of will that smile said.


    ¡°Gregor,¡± she said. ¡°I see you have lost your way. It''s time to come back where you belong.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Tannhaus whined weakly behind the practitioner. ¡°Stay out of my head¡­¡±


    ¡°You came out here in the hopes you could gain your father''s approval,¡± Lagerof continued with a simper. She let her voice trail off long enough for Tannhaus to raise his head and hiss, ¡°Not another word, demon!¡±


    ¡°What is she talking about?¡± Rake¡¯s eyes swiveled from Lagerof¡¯s ghostly face to Tannhaus''.


    ¡°Don''t listen to her!¡± Gregor squeaked. ¡°All she will do is feed you lies.¡±


    ¡°Very rarely does a demon lie,¡± Cenya said in a soft voice she might have used with a child, but her eyes held on Tannhaus like slivers of ice. ¡°I¡¯d say they are more honest than we are. They''re like mirrors: They reveal the truths we don''t want known about ourselves. I imagine we are about to learn a lot of interesting things about you, Gregor.¡±


    ¡°You heard about the power in the temple,¡± Lagerof continued to taunt Tannhaus. She held a dirt-smudged finger up to her temple, reminding him that she¡¯d been in his head. ¡°Your father dismissed the stories when you brought them to his attention¡­superstitious hogwash spun by the locals in this region. You knew better. You¡¯ve seen enough of the world to know there''s more to the world than the Theocracy''s narrow perceptions can conceive¡­in spite of their power. I¡¯ll show him, you thought. You wanted to prove to him there was more to science than steam and pistons and calloused hands and the brute smell of sweat. You wanted to show him there was another type of power that could be harnessed.¡±


    ¡°Harnessed?¡± Rake croaked. His breath had risen into an unsteady wheeze that quickened with each new revelation on Tannhaus¡¯ misdeeds. Crowe sensed he would have to diffuse this conversation soon if the scientist was going to make it through to the night. Why? Bennett¡¯s voice whispered in the back of his mind. You heard the demon. Just because he doesn¡¯t use brute force like his father to conquer the world doesn¡¯t mean he isn¡¯t as dangerous. In the end he fell into the same trap he was going to use as a weapon against your people, it simply backfired on his people. Now look at him. You should let Rake kill him before he creates more trouble.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Rake.¡±


    The man did not look away from Tannhaus.


    ¡°Rake!¡± Crowe barked. ¡°I need you to look at me¡­¡±


    ¡°What do you want, herald?¡±


    ¡°He stays alive.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Sharp blue eyes pierced his own. ¡°You heard what she said, twisted truth or no. He¡¯s no better than his father. He doesn¡¯t care about anyone else but gaining power and he¡¯ll do anything to get it.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°So tell me why we should let him live. Tell me why I shouldn¡¯t put a bullet in his head and make myself feel a whole lot better. Convince me.¡±


    Crowe sidled slowly up to the man. Rake had his rifle cocked on Tannhaus who crouched pitifully on the floor of the cave, shielded behind his hands. Barghast stepped forward , tensing, his attention fixed on Rake, his claws unfurled. Crowe¡¯s breath hitched in his chest. A nightmare was unfolding before his eyes, a nightmare that would only end in two ways. Both ended with Rake dead. Either he would shoot Tannhaus or he would shoot Crowe to keep the practitioner from intervening. Barghast, who¡¯s primal instincts would view Rake too dangerous of a liability to keep around.


    No, he thought. This is exactly what the thing inside Lagerof wants just like Cenya said.


    ¡°Stop.¡± The word came out as a strangled whisper. Rake tensed, an impulse away from turning the rifle on him. The bells of Inferno chimed through the dark. Outside the cave the souls of the damned sang hymns to Hamon the Black One, dancing naked under the moon. ¡°Think about what you¡¯re doing. Think about who you are. Even now, even in this moment everything you do has consequences¡­¡±


    Rake scoffed. ¡°How can you say that when this world is doomed to end? What makes you think the next one will be any better?¡±


    Bennett¡¯s face floated before Crowe¡¯s mind. This world is a mistake, he¡¯d told the practitioner during their final conversation. We are a mistake down to our core. But that doesn¡¯t mean we can¡¯t do what we can to fix it¡­to make it better. To help people.  ¡°I used to know someone who believed everything we do in this Iteration carries onto the next¡­that our actions in past cycles determine what our lives will be like in the next.¡±


    ¡°Do you believe it?¡±


    ¡°I want to,¡± Crowe said truthfully. ¡°It¡¯s what I have to hold onto to do¡­this.¡± He gestured vaguely at the naked figures still prancing around in the silky darkness. ¡°I believe even in war principles matter. Morals especially. The Theocracy kill us¡­enslave us¡­because they think we aren¡¯t their equals. They fear us. They think we are savages. By killing Gregor you could start a fire that you can¡¯t put out. You could enrage his father into seeking vengeance and everything we¡¯re doing now would be a mute point¡­you would doom the rest of your village for sure.¡±


    He could see his words were starting to have an effect on the man, the knots of tension in his jaw and forehead easing. Before Crowe could decide whether or not he regretted speaking on behalf of Tannhaus¡¯ life, Rake lowered his weapon. The practitioner exhaled a sigh of relief. He turned his head just in time to see Lagerof  recede back into the shadows. The night was too early to gloat in triumph. Exhaustion took root deep in his body. He sensed a power had been at work he¡¯d only now become aware of. It was not the same power he channeled through his staff, but the power of words, the power of reason, the power and influence to divert violence and catastrophe. It was far more exhausting to wield but equally rewarding. He fought the urge to grin. He slouched to the floor, exhausted.


    ¡°It would seem stories of the herald are true,¡± Cenya told him with a tired smile.


    ¡°I was never told stories of a herald,¡± the practitioner admitted with a bitter grin.


    ¡°Your power is more than just fire and fancy flashes of light. You have a way with words. That¡¯s more important than you think. Make sure you feed it. It could serve you well down the road.¡±


    Crowe held up the Lion-Headed Serpent in her direction to tell her he would do just that.


    ¡°You should rest,¡± Cenya told him. ¡°I will take the first watch. Don¡¯t get me wrong, my body aches all over but my mind is as restless as ever. The older I get the longer I go without sleep. I go weeks without sleeping now. If something happens I¡¯ll wake you up.¡± She glanced in the direction of the lycan. ¡°I doubt I¡¯m the only one who will be keeping an eye out.¡±


    Crowe nodded, grateful to her. The parley with Lagerof had taken more out of him than he was willing to admit. He unrolled his bedroll at the back of the cave. Rake and Tannhaus had already settled into their pallets, muttering uneasily in their sleep. Barghast lowered himself into a sitting position next to Crowe¡¯s pallet where the practitioner knew he would remain for the rest of the night.


    ¡°Good night, Barghast.¡±


    This earned him a tail wag. The lycan leaned over, ruffling his hair gently with a leathery paw. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre.¡± It was the equivalent of Good night.


    That night Crowe was shaken by troubled dreams. He stood naked under the red skies of Inferno while flakes of ash dropped down over his head. Naked bodies pressed against him from all sides. Spiked chains dug into his flesh until his blood filled the cracks in the stone beneath his scabbed, blistered feet. No matter how hard he tried to stand tall and find steady ground, the sea of undulating bodies tugged him this way and that. Nails caked with ash and soot clawed at his flesh. He grappled desperately with the person in front of him, trying to get away.


    Tall, slender limbed figures moved among the columns of twisting limbs. Their dark cloaks and the surrounding gloom made it impossible to tell what they fully looked like. Two arms and two legs suggested beings of humanoid origins. Empty eye sockets looked upon the writhing souls who went still under their merciless gaze as if afraid of being struck. Metal surgical instruments gleamed from crude belts looped through steel rings embroidered into the slavers¡¯ tunics. Crowe was glad he could not see them from a closer vantage point. He knew only one word for these creatures. Revenants. The undead servants of Inferno.


    At the top of the black spire in the middle of the slave field stood the demon who had possessed Lagerof and Tannhaus. While it was not the most powerful of its kind, the demon did claim the power to possess multiple bodies and link them under one influence. Crowe knew that if it was left unchecked it would continue to spread throughout the world until it engulfed everything. Imperious red eyes scanned the multitudes that gathered in fearful reverence of the being, souls who had fallen under its grasp never to return to their own bodies; the practitioner knew if he searched closely enough he would find Lagerof¡¯s soul in here.


    Just as the shadow of a revenant fell over him, Crowe jerked awake. The first thing he was aware of was that he was cold. Never mind that he felt as if he¡¯d been baking under the Inferno¡¯s alien sky seconds ago, he was truly cold. He couldn¡¯t feel his own body. In the dying glow of the fire he could see Tannhaus, Cenya, and Rake had huddled together, united temporarily by the need to survive. Just as he was about to draw his knees into his chest for warmth, he felt the blanket he¡¯d huddle under shift.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre.¡±


    He looked up to find the Okanavian towering over him. His eyes burned like molten coins. Stupid from sleep and cold, Crowe¡¯s eyes traveled from Barghast¡¯s head down the length of his torso. Scars both long and round, young and old cut through his fur, glimmering. Only when his eyes reached below the hips did he realize Barghast was completely naked. Crowe¡¯s gaze lingered on a certain spot. Monad help me.


    He¡¯d never seen Barghast naked before; the lycan had always worn his tunic before if nothing else. Anytime they¡¯d stopped at a stream or a river in an attempt to wash the filth from their bodies, Crowe turned away, never allowing himself to indulge in his curiosity. Now he had no choice.


    The tree of fur that started out at the top of his chest, trailed down down his torso; Crowe took particular notice how the muscles, solid as stone, pressed through the fur. The trail of fur continued down to his groin. His eyes halted on the lycan¡¯s sheath. It seemed to twitch with a life of its own. The skin was a dark pink with darker veins of purple branching through it like tributaries. The saliva in his mouth evaporated at the sight of the lycan¡¯s balls - massive things larger than the practitioner¡¯s fist. Barghast¡¯s sheath twitched again with movement. A drop of viscous white fluid dripped from the column of spongy tissue that hardened as his arousal became more and more apparent. The tapering head peeked through.


    Crowe felt all the blood in his body travel down to a single. Barghast grinned at him, his eyes white-hot disks of light. A deep growl sounded in his throat. His tail pointed straight up in the air. Crowe rolled away from the lycan so that he faced the sleeping form of his other traveling companions. He managed to swallow. The inside of his throat felt like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together. ¡°Barghast, what are you doing?¡± he whispered without looking back at the Okanavian.


    ¡°Crowe.¡±  The Okanavian¡¯s eyes bore into Crowe¡¯s back. The practitioner sensed movement at his back as Barghast lowered himself down to the pallet. Crowe shifted in spite of himself, making as much room as he could on the pallet. He turned on his side but watched the Okanavian crawl onto the pallet, mesmerized by the size of the organ bouncing in between Barghast¡¯s legs. He tried to pull away when the Okanavian touched him but Barghast would not be denied. Strong arms wrapped around him like a bow around the trunk of a tree. Barghast pulled him in until the practitioner¡¯s back was pressed directly against his chest.


    Crowe didn¡¯t move. His thoughts spun, trying to make sense of what was happening.


    Why are you surprised? Bennett asked him. He touches you all the time. You always act like you don¡¯t want him to at first, but then you let him.


    He¡¯s never stripped naked before. Not like this.


    What¡¯s there to complain about? When¡¯s the last time another man has touched you?


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre.¡± The lycan¡¯s hot breath tickled his ear. He could feel Barghast¡¯s eyes on the back of his neck. With his body dwarfed by the Okanavian¡¯s own, he could feel sensation returning to his numbed flesh. His teeth had stopped chattering. Warm fingers sifted through his hair, making his scalp tingle. Something hot and hard poked insistently against his backside. The sorcerer tried not to think about it even though he knew damned well what it was.


    Eventually Barghast¡¯s unwavering attention and steady breathing pulled Crowe around to face him so that they laid so close together their noses almost touched. Their hips did touch. Blue eyes beheld amber. ¡°Ymg'' mgep ya bthnk,'' '' Barghast rumbled. ¡°Ymg'' mgep ya orr''e.  Y'' ephaisyha''h ymg'' ah''ehye mgepnnn.¡± A finger traced the line of Crowe¡¯s cheekbone.


    The practitioner felt something inside him that had been clenched from the moment of waking unfurl. ¡°Good night, Barghast,¡± he whispered. He closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. This time he did not dream.


    The next morning the group moved in silence, bodies sore from sleeping on uneven ground. Crowe had feared Barghast sleeping naked in his pallet would draw disapproving glances from the others, but he needn¡¯t have worried. Rake and Cenya huddled together as they packed the rest of their things, the villagers from Timberford on one side of the cave, the outsiders from the highway on the other. Only Tannhaus remained alone with no one to consort in private with. It occurred to Crowe they were too busy dealing with their own inner turmoil to give a damn about what he and Barghast did.


    In the process of folding his pallet, Crowe paused to watch the scientist thoughtfully. The previous night seemed to have taken more of a toll on the scientist than it had on the sorcerer: he looked around the cave miserably, not meeting anyone¡¯s eyes. Dark circles marked his sockets. His eyes were red and puffy from crying tears all night. The practitioner wondered if they¡¯d dreamed of the same thing last night. A dozen questions spun inside his mind. Tannhaus was the only one he could think of who could answer them. Making up his mind, Crowe approached the scientist. Tannhaus stiffened slightly.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± he asked shiftily.


    The practitioner looked around the cave. He spotted the Okanavian standing by the mouth of the cave. He watched Rake and Cenya work, an impatient scowl screwed on his dark features. ¡°How much do you know about lycans?¡±


    Tannhaus frowned, studying him more intently. ¡°Not much more than you do, I expect, but probably a little more thanks to Lagerof. Why? Is there something you want to know about your lycan companion?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not easy traveling with someone I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°No, I imagine it¡¯s not. How long have you traveled together?¡±


    ¡°A week.¡±


    Gregor¡¯s lips twitched into something that might have been a smile but it was gone before Crowe could say for sure. ¡°Interesting?¡±


    ¡°Lagerof is the only person I know who has had any exposure to the lycans. I can¡¯t speak for the drifters, but as a culture the Okanavi people are closed off. They are hostile to any outsiders who go into the desert; they are equally hostile towards any lycan who strays away from their clan. Once they leave the desert, the drifter is exiled from their clan for life; they can never again return home.¡±


    ¡°Why would a lycan leave their home if it costs them their clan?¡±


    Tannhaus shrugged. ¡°Who knows? A bad case of wanderlust. Eternal glory. You would know better than I would.¡±


    Crowe ground his teeth together in frustration. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything. He just follows me around wherever I go. When anyone else tries to approach me he gets hostile¡­¡±


    ¡°Overprotective?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    The scientist nodded as if he understood something. ¡°He¡¯s just protecting what he thinks is his.¡±


    ¡°What he thinks is his? He thinks I¡¯m ¡®his¡¯?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s no different than a mongrel protecting his master.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not his master. I¡¯m not anything to him.¡±


    Tannhaus cocked a knowing grin at the practitioner. ¡°How can you say what you are and are not to him? I¡¯ve seen the scars on his body. Some of them look fresh. Fresh enough for me to put two and two together. He looked like he was beaten. Badly. You saved him?¡±


    Crowe let his silence speak for him. After a moment he said, ¡°He keeps calling me twin o¡¯rre.¡±


    Tannhaus¡¯ eyes brightened with surprise.


    ¡°You know what it means?¡±


    The scientist studied the Okanavian from where he stood a long time before answering. ¡°It¡¯s a term of endearment. It means ¡®twin-spirit¡¯. The Okanavi believe they are born in pairs¡­in spirit, not in body. According to their doctrine, there is no greater bond than that between a lycan and their twin o¡¯rre. It means neither sibling or lover, but both.¡±


    ¡°He thinks I¡¯m¡­his lover?¡±


    Gregor grimaced in a way that said he was ready for this conversation to be over. ¡°Who knows what he thinks? The only way to find out is to spend more time with him. Pay attention to what he does. Always remember this: Actions speak louder than words. He may not be able to communicate with you the way we do¡­some might see that has a sleight, but I don¡¯t think it is. He tells you the truth every day not by what he says but by what he does.¡± He turned to walk away. ¡°A final thought to think about: I would say you depend on him every bit as he depends on you. And you try to act like you don¡¯t care, but you clearly do. I would say things aren¡¯t entirely one sided.¡±


    The practitioner floundered for an answer. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean.¡±


    Gregor flashed him a knowing grin. ¡°Pride is the downfall of man, herald. I¡¯ve seen it happen a hundred times. I see the way you look at him. The way you always draw close to one another. You may have only been traveling together for several days, but in those several days it sounds like a month worth of things have happened. You two are bound together by more than just survival. My advice is this: Only time will tell. Things will become clearer with patience. As for the Okanavian¡­Do you trust him¡­?¡±


    ¡°With my life,¡± came the answer without hesitation.


    Another nod. Another knowing smile as if this had been the expected answer all along. ¡°It seems to me you already have all the knowledge you need. You just haven¡¯t accepted it yet.¡±

 The Temple

    Rake stopped in the shadow of the mountain, his mouth thinned to a grim line. ¡°There it is,¡± he said. Crowe didn''t like the sense of disquiet and awe the sight of the temple filled him with. Accustomed to seeing one and two story buildings made of wood or stone, this was his first view of the Architects¡¯ work, the hands that had helped Monad spin the world into shape. The temple had been carved from the mountain itself and stood out of the rock like the rib bones of a carcass. Black rock had been smoothed down,  imbuing it with a sense of agelessness. It had always been here and it always would be. Steps of granite led up to the mountain, steep and uneven. It would take an act of determination to climb them. Crowe touched the pendant at his throat. It will take an act of faith. Shadows bled thickly from the open windows carved into the temple¡¯s walls, obscuring any hints of what the temple contained.


    ¡°I should have been telling you this every step of the way, but you know you don¡¯t have to do this, right?¡± Rake asked the practitioner. This time there was no mistaking the edge of respect in his voice.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have come to Timberford if I wasn¡¯t meant to. Metropolis appeared over your village for a reason.¡± Crowe turned his gaze on Cenya¡¯s pallid face. ¡°We¡¯ll sit here a minute to catch our breaths and then we¡¯ll we need to start climbing. We don¡¯t have long before nightfall is upon us again.¡±


    A retching sound made him turn. Gregor stood several feet away, his back turned to the practitioner. His shoulders shook with convulsions. Had the sight of the temple unlocked any of the memories he¡¯d lost? I wish I¡¯d never given him my blood. The thought flashed across Crowe¡¯s mind, gone before he could give it much thought. Another thought came to him. It was a mistake to bring the scientist here. He should have stayed in Timberford and left in the morning. Whatever his excuses are, with his connections to his father he would have been safe on the road. Did I bring him here to die?


    Sitting on the steps, Barghast slid fresh shells in the chamber of his rifle. He looked up, meeting the practitioner¡¯s eyes. He smiled. Crowe smiled back. He nodded at the cave. Are you going first? The incident at the cabin and the memory of the shriveled man sitting on his chest were all too fresh - this time they would be dealing with a different kind of parasite, one that took over your flesh as well as your mind. Barghast¡¯s lip twitched once more: Yes.


    ¡°Say,¡± Rake said to Crowe, ¡°can I ask you something?¡±


    Crowe gave him a tired sigh. ¡°Feel free.¡±


    ¡°I keep thinking about something the demon said when it was Tannhaus: what you did for him, have you done it before?¡±


    Bennett¡¯s face flashed before the practitioner¡¯s mind. ¡°Twice. Once with the lycan and once with someone else. They fell under a similar affliction as your village. He was a friend.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    He left me. ¡°He went to Caemyth to join the rebellion.¡±


    Rake must have heard the change in his voice for he was hasty to ask another question. ¡°What I really want to know is can you save all of them? Do what you did with Tannhaus?¡±


    Crowe imagined rounding up each of the possessed night after night; he imagined slicing his wrist, once, twice, three times, until his arm was a succession of bloody cuts. He imagined Barghast holding his wrist to lick each one. Could it be done? Perhaps. Did he want to do it? In the name of the Void, no. He let his silence answer for him.


    The Okanavian led the way up the steep staircase with Crowe behind him and Tannhaus taking up the rear. Barghast climbed the steps with ease, reaching the top of the stairs while the others huffed and puffed. He watched the dwindling light, gesturing at them intently. ¡°Ahephai. Ahephai, ahephai.¡± His tail stood out straight against the air.


    Crowe pushed himself up another step. They were so high now he could feel gravity pulling at his back with an invisible hook. Don¡¯t look over your shoulder. Don¡¯t look down. He knew if he were to look down he would find the ground and the trees far below him. As if the fear of falling had triggered the consequence, his sweaty fingers slipped off the step above his head. His body began to tip back. His heart caught in his throat. He reached out to grab onto stones only to feel his fingers slip uselessly against the edge. He reached again and took a hold of Barghast¡¯s paw. The lycan hauled him to his feet.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the practitioner gasped breathlessly. ¡°Let¡¯s not do that again anytime soon, huh?¡±


    By the time the others caught up, the first signs of red and orange appeared in the sky. A tic of fear made Crowe¡¯s heart skip a beat. We have an hour of daylight left. Soon the damned souls of Timberford would awaken and leave their slumbering places. Lagerof would lead them down the steps to the village night after night until there was nothing left. Crowe felt a shiver race up his spine.


    ¡°Are you really going to make me go back in there?¡± Tannhaus asked him in a shaking voice.


    Looking at the man¡¯s stricken face, Lagerof¡¯s words returned to the practitioner. A hot stab of anger pierced him. It took all his willpower not to spit in the man¡¯s face. ¡°You should be dead. The only reason why you¡¯re not is because you could still be of use; otherwise I know Rake is itching to put a bullet in you. May I remind you, you caused this. You were going to use this discovery to gain the approval of your father¡­you were going to use this as a weapon against my people, thinking the power below is something you can control. And yet you Theocracy bastards think you¡¯re so righteous.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like down there,¡± the scientist hissed.


    ¡°So you are starting to remember,¡± Rake scoffed.


    Tannhaus nodded feverishly. He cleared his throat. ¡°I don¡¯t remember much else. A few flashes came back to me when the temple first appeared through the trees. Not long after Lagerof finished translating the hieroglyphs, another member of the team Darwin found a tunnel going underground. I remember hearing voices¡­screams¡­¡± He shook his head, trembling. He looked at Crowe, pleading with wide, frightened eyes. ¡°Please. You can¡¯t make me go in there. You don¡¯t know what it was like¡­¡± His voice trailed away, choked off by sobs. Crowe was incapable of feeling pity for the man. The biggest test is not going into the temple, but not killing the man in front of me. Monad help me, he is insufferable.


    Rake pressed the muzzle of his rifle between the man¡¯s shoulder blades. ¡°Since you can remember the way, you can be the one to lead us inside. Get to stepping. And you best not dawdle.¡±


    They pulled gas lamps from their bags and lit them. The front of the temple was dominated by a large archway that receded back into shadow. Crowe paused, noting how the air went completely still, as if the very earth was holding its breath in anticipation. Would they go in or would they gather their senses and leave Timberford behind? Barghast sniffed the air, his brow furrowed in concentration. He gave a stiff nod. For now it was safe to go inside. The group entered the temple.


    ¡°I can¡¯t tell you how strange it is to be here.¡± Though she whispered, Cenya''s voice echoed off the walls of the inner chamber. Crowe was grateful for the break in silence. ¡°For so long I avoided this place, kept away by the stories my parents used to tell me.¡± She smiled at the practitioner; the end of her staff made tapping sounds each time it touched the floor. ¡°You have helped an old woman out of her shell, herald.¡±


    ¡°I doubt this is what you had in mind for your first real adventure.¡±


    She chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong.¡±


    The glow from their lanterns threw patterns of light against the archaic stone walls. Hieroglyphs marked the walls and ceilings. Tapestries made of silk preserved by time hung from the corners of the chamber. ¡°This is where we camped.¡± Tannhaus pointed at the half dozen bed rolls stationed throughout the chamber. ¡°This is where everything started.¡±


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    A sigh stirred the dust in the chamber. Tannhaus let out a squeak. His eyes darted around the chamber. ¡°Did you hear that?¡±


    ¡°Brace yourself,¡± Cenya advised him. ¡°You know better than anyone the dangers we face.¡±


    Crowe¡¯s attention was drawn to a nearby tapestry. He squinted, trying to make sense of the images embroidered in the cloth. His fingers itched to touch the cloth. A cautious voice in the back of his mind reasoned against it. A shiver of revulsion and fear raced up his spine. He stepped away, wishing he could erase the images from his mind. The more he looked the more was shown to him. Surely no human hand could depict human suffering in such exquisite detail. Men and women were shackled to operating tables. He recognized the long limbs and hollow eyes of the revenants who had plagued last night¡¯s nightmares. They experimented on their subjects with efficient glee, sawing them open to get at the jewels inside or sticking needles in their eyes. In other depictions demonic beings with massive phalluses; their pulsing erections with dripping heads and slitted glowing eyes only hinted at the carnal desires they intended to indulge with their victims.


    Next to the tapestry he found a wood desk covered with sheafs of parchment. He glanced guiltily at Tannhaus. He needn¡¯t have worried about the scientist protesting. Gregor huddled in the corner of the temple, rocking back and forth. Pulled by curiosity, Crowe shifted through the pages in the hopes they would provide a clue to his next move. He could feel the passing of every second, every minute. Barghast¡¯s low prayer was a reminder the time before nightfall was only growing shorter. By now the people in Timberford would start gathering inside the tavern. He squinted, trying to make sense of the cramped, hurried writing. He tried not to think about the man from the cabin during his first real day of travel with Barghast. At last he was able to make something out:¡­this temple dates back to the first days of the Third Iteration, when this land was nothing but rocks and trees and the settlers left over from the Second Iteration. The hieroglyphs on the wall chronicles the feud between Monad and Hamon¡­


    Still reading, Crowe drifted away from the desk. Only when he stood in front of the wall  did he look up.


    ¡°Ah, the story of Monad.¡±


    The crackle of Cenya¡¯s voice made the practitioner jump. He looked away so she couldn¡¯t see the flush of his cheeks. ¡°You know it?¡±


    The old woman¡¯s answering smile pulled at her wrinkles. ¡°Very well. My pa used to tell it to me every night at my request.¡± She looked at the first mural. The mural showed a single figure made of white light falling from a rent in the sky; winged figures clashed in the sky above the figure. Below a black hole yawned open in the crust of the earth: the Void. Monad¡¯s eternal prison. Cenya gestured at the mural with a liver spotted hand.


    The next mural showed the white figure standing in a black cell. He pressed his face up against the bars with a miserable expression painted on his features. Above his head the two sides of fighting angels met in the center of the sky, shaking hands. ¡°With Monad tucked back away in his prison, Elysia left the material universe so Monad¡¯s Architects could fight amongst themselves. It was Hamon, Monad¡¯s first creation, at last able to act freely in the absence of his creator who turned the land of the Second Iteration into the fiery lands known as Inferno. There he and his followers squabble and scheme amongst themselves, waiting for Monad¡¯s re-emergence from his prison. In the meantime they torture Monad¡¯s creations and keep them in ruin.¡±


    ¡°Until Elysia returns and the whole cycle starts all over again,¡± Crowe murmured.


    Cenya nodded. ¡°So the story goes.¡±


    A low moan broke the stillness inside the chamber. The practitioner froze. Barghast let out a low growl, cocking his rifle. He stared at something only he could see. The sorcerer drew closer to him, staff at the ready. He willed the hand that held the gas lamp aloft to remain steady.


    ¡°Is that them?¡± Gregor hissed. ¡°Are they coming?¡±


    Rake flashed him a warning look. Gregor¡¯s jaw clamped shut with an audible crack.


    Reaching out with the muzzle of his weapon, Barghast brushed aside a long tapestry, revealing the length of a long corridor. It was impossible to tell how far the corridor went back. The air pulsed. Another voice sounded from within the corridor, an exalted gasp that made the practitioner¡¯s skin want to crawl off the bone. They were not alone! It had to be one of the infected. His body tensed, poised to leave the temple and everyone in it behind. Something else kept his foot rooted to the floor. A secret compartment of courage he didn¡¯t know he had.


    Another voice and another and another raised in chant. Raised in prayer. He smelled again the fires of Inferno, the black stench of unwashed flesh and shit and bodily fluids. Crowe pulled his necklace over his head with clammy fingers. He squeezed the Lion-Headed Serpent until the edge bit into his flesh. ¡°Monad, I know you are with me,¡± he whispered under his breath. ¡°I would not be here if it was not meant to be¡­if it was not the way of the cycle.¡± He took a step forward. Two steps forward. Another and another. He heard Barghast whisper his name, perhaps imparting caution. Crowe did not look around. His eyes were fixed on the shadows ahead of him. If Rake and Cenya followed behind him he did not know. Did not care. This is my mission to complete¡­alone if I must.


    ¡°I long for the days when I can walk among the streets of the Eternal City. When I can bask in the light of your glory. Where I can watch the creation of a new and better world¡­¡±


    Another doorway to the right. This one led down a corridor exactly identical to the one Crowe¡¯s group found themselves in with no indication where they should head. Before he could close his eyes in prayer, something moved. A human figure parted from the murk, stepping into the dome of light from his lamp. Colorless eyes watched him from the holes of a steel mask. Long greasy ringlets of black hair hung down past its broad shoulders. Steel ringlets encircled muscular arms that suggested the mask wearer was male. He was dressed much like Barghast, the upper half of his body left bare while the lower half was swathed in a black tunic made of rough leather.  His wide uneven fingers that had been broken in the past, he held up a dagger; the blade was dusted with crusts of dried blood. ¡°You do not belong here, herald!¡± the figure shouted, deep voice only muffled slightly by the mask. ¡°I will eat of your flesh and drink of your blood¡­MY SOUL BELONGS TO HAMON!¡±


    Crowe did not give the man time to charge. His determination to advance forward filled the corridor with billowing flame. He watched the man dance and spin, his screams filling the corridor as he fled in the opposite direction. The practitioner squinted against the smoke.


    Just as the sorcerer sucked in a breath, the floor shifted beneath his feet. Before darkness could take a hold and pull him into the black hole that had opened up, Barghast yanked him back. A human head poked up from the hole. Sinewy limbs unfolded until the figure rose out of the ground, coils of razor wire twisting out of its hands. The curve of large, bare breasts and the black eyes of large nipples suggested this new adversary was female. More figures materialized at the end of both junctions. They crawled along the floor, barking and crying in languages Crowe would never be able to understand. He thought he heard Rake shout something but the words were lost in the cacophony.


    The woman before him let out a scream. It was the only warning Crowe had before the chain whipped towards his head. He ducked just in time to avoid the spikes from slicing into his flesh. He straightened before lashing out with a kick that sent the woman stumbling back against the crowd behind her. Crowe unleashed another wall of roaring flame into the dancing, undulating crowd. Animal calls of worship to Hamon turned into high-pitched screams of agony. The air steamed around him, boiling in the enclosed space. The scourge backed away, shambling the way they¡¯d come. They cursed and spat at Crowe.


    ¡°Hamon! Hamon! Hamon¡­¡±


    The moment an opening appeared he shouted, ¡°Move, move, move!¡±


    Barghast snarled something in Okanavian. He broke into a lunge, shouldering his way through the opening. Bodies flew to the side in his wake, slamming bonelessly against the wall. Cenya¡¯s staff spun, emitting sparks of green light. She leaned against the wall to support herself, knocking an occultist back with a wave of mana. Rake pushed at her shoulder, coaxing her after the lycan.


    ¡°Move, damn you!¡± Crowe yanked a cowering Tannhaus to his feet. He shoved the scientist ahead of him. He threw a panicked glance over his shoulder. Even now more occultists crawled from holes in the wall that had not been there before. The temple was alive, walls shifting to make new openings. With nowhere left to turn, Crowe followed the stench of gunpowder and the sounds of battle coming from up ahead.


    He rounded the corner of the next corridor, Tannhaus already sprinting out of sight. Crowe quickened his pace. The last thing he wanted was to get left behind in this place. Ahead of him Tannhaus stopped abruptly. He looked back at the practitioner, wide-eyed. A squeak escaped his trembling looks. ¡°I triggered something.¡±


    Crowe followed his gaze to his feet. Underneath the worn heels of his boots the practitioner could just make out a single tile that stood out unevenly from the rest.


    A tremor shook the temple walls. Suffocating clouds of dust rained from the ceiling. Shouts sounded from every direction. The ground tilted beneath his feet. Crowe clung desperately to the tapestry. Gears churned behind the ancient stone. A hole much like the one Crowe had almost slipped through opened at the end of the hallway. The practitioner could only watch in silent horror as Barghast, Cenya, and Rake rolled down the corridor; he caught a final fleeting glimpse of their frightened faces before they dropped through the hole.


    In a matter of seconds the world had turned completely upside down. Gone. They were gone. How could they just disappear like this? All it takes for everyone to go is for a stupid scientist to trigger a booby trap. Said stupid scientist clung to his leg with an iron grip, feet dangling over the drop. ¡°Don¡¯t let me go,¡± he squeaked. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go back. You don¡¯t know what it was like¡­¡±


    He scrabbled to maintain his hold on the tapestry. He kicked his legs in an attempt to kick Tannhaus off him but the man held onto him like an insect. His aching limbs cried out in protest.


    The fabric ripped.


    Tannhaus and he fell into darkness.

 Beneath the Temple

    Crowe never hit the bottom. In one blink of the eye he was falling; in the next he watched his feet being dragged across a hard stone floor. His palms scraped against the ground. He tried to lift a hand but his limbs were not his own. Strong fingers gripped him by the back of the hair, dragging him along behind them like an unwilling puppy. Human shapes loped after him, milling along a meandering corridor. Even through the alarms ringing in his head, the practitioner could hear their voices: ¡°Hamon, Hamon, Hamon¡­¡± All around him the sounds of bare feet and chains scraping against stone.


    ¡°Ugh.¡± Crowe let out a low moan. An urgent voice shouted in the back of his mind to move. He had to act. The others were in danger. He reached for his staff but his staff was gone. Petras staff. It was gone. The coil of grief that unfurled inside his chest surprised him only a second before he shoved it to the side to deal with it later. Pushing through the pain, Crowe reached behind him. With all the strength he had in him, with all the will he had to survive - and he wanted to live - he dug his fingers into the hand that had him by the back of the hair.


    He was answered with a scream of pain and fury. His assailant reached him. His back slammed flat against the ground. Already his assailant advanced towards him, foul breath hissing angrily behind its mask. Large breasts swung before Crowe like sagging cow udders. ¡°Hamon, Hamon, Hamon¡­¡± Hands that looked as if they had been blackened by fire reached for him, clenching and unclenching.


    Crowe scrambled back on his hands and feet. Before the practitioner could summon his mana, the woman was on top of him. Large fists slammed into his face like battering rams, knocking him back down. Unseen hands pulled him by the legs; the one still smarted from where Tannhaus had clung to it to keep from falling. Thankfully the woman with the sagging tits and massive meat hooks was gone before she could start welling on him again. Swarms of Hamon¡¯s servants swarmed him from all sides. Hands lifted into the air, carrying him on a sea of twisted limbs. Before he could find another opening to escape through chains looped around his arms and legs, shackling him to steel rings grafted into the wall. He cowered against the wall, bruised and sweaty and frightened. The crowd of occultic worshippers pooled in the center of the large chamber in which he found himself in. They congregated on the floor, hopping, crawling, reaching for the ceiling. With each passing second their movements and antics grew more frenzied until he realized they were no longer dancing but fucking. Limbs twisting over limbs, bodies writhing in a single multi-limbed mass so it was impossible which was man and which was woman. Moans of pleasure broke through the chants. The practitioner watched stupidly, unable to believe what he was seeing. The overwhelming stench of bodily odors and exchanges made his eyes water and his gorge rise.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡±


    A familiar form, darker and larger than the rest crawled across the floor - were they still in the temple? - towards him. Or tried to. Chains dragged along the floor behind him, kicking up motes of dust. Large hands reached for him. Crowe¡¯s heart jerked in his chest. He threw himself in the lycan¡¯s direction, desperate to bridge the distance between them. They reached for one another, fingers outstretched. All Crowe needed was another inch of chain and they could be touching.


    A shift in the air broke through the chamber. A ripple of silence passed through the gyrating crowd of savages. Somewhere within the walls Crowe detected the steel clanking of ancient gears turning after millenia of no activity. A slit in the wall opened.


    A tall lean figure stepped out of the opening, moving with the dreamy grace of a sleepwalker. The practitioner recognized the pale gleam of short-cropped blonde hair.


    Lagerof.


    She stood tall in the dome of infernal red light that pulsed at her back, glittering eyes blacker than the husk of a beetle. Her pale breasts were little more than nubs, her ribs showing beneath pale flesh stretched thin. Black veins tunneled through her skin, forming tributaries that branched off like lightning. The savages kneeling on the floor in worship, reaching for her as if one touch would bless them for all the Iterations to come, had them too. Black spittle fell from their lips like death-rain.


    Lagerof raised her hands to the ceiling. Silver bands jangled around her wrists. She opened her mouth, releasing a single long, high-pitched, tortured shriek. The savages jumped in excitement, milling about on the filthy floor like pigs in mud. The sound pierced Crowe¡¯s skull. He wanted to cover his ears but the chains wouldn¡¯t let him reach far enough. Needles of pain were being driven into his brain. When the screeching ceased his ears popped with relief. Lagerof looked at Crowe. Cracked lips peeled back from yellowing teeth in the imitation of a grin. ¡°It was you who did not heed my warning, herald. You should have stayed away.¡±


    Crowe glared at her in defiance. He reached for his inner fire but fear choked him like a vice, putting it out before it could start. Here he could feel the full power of Inferno pressing in on him, invading him. His skin wanted to crawl away from the places where the red light touched it.


    Lagerof spread her arms out, a showman making a grand entrance. The temple shook around her, stone walls groaning with life. Crowe shrank away from the light. Somewhere the throng of a horn sounded. Somehow he managed to push himself into a kneeling position. I have to do something or I¡¯ve doomed us all!


    Lagerof turned her piercing eyes on Tannhaus. A glimmer of something human appeared in the black pinprick of her eyes. A slight softening of the mouth. A hint of recognition perhaps, gone as quickly as it had appeared. ¡°Gregor, I knew you would return to us. We are the family you never had.¡±


    Gregor clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head. ¡°No,¡± he muttered as if through will alone he could transport himself to safety. ¡°No, no, no.¡±


    Lagerof¡¯s smile was almost knowing and intimate. ¡°The only time you ever felt like you belonged anywhere was when you were with us. When you were something more than just yourself. You shake your head in denial but you know deep down inside by yourself you are nothing. Even compared to the foolish herald you are but a mite. With us you become more. You become something worthy of respect.¡± She held out her arm to him, turning her wrist towards his mouth. A dagger appeared in her hand. She brought the blade to her milky flesh. His stomach churning with dread, Crowe realized she meant to infect the scientist the same way the practitioner had cured him: through the transference of blood. Black ichor dripped from the wound. ¡°All you need do is drink from me¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, Gregor!¡± Cenya croaked. The old woman¡¯s eyes burned with a fierce determination that Crowe wished he could match. ¡°You can be more than your father¡¯s expectations.¡±


    Lagerof turned her feral grin on the ancient practitioner. ¡°Cenya,¡± she said with something like respect. ¡°You are almost as old as the temple itself. I should bow to you in respect. But I am afraid your time is at an end.¡±


    Another wail pierced the air. The temple shook so fiercely Crowe feared the quakes would turn his bones to dust. Black dots danced before his eyes. He blinked, trying to understand what he was seeing. The walls of the temple were not falling but melting like wet paint dripping down a canvas. A rent in the ground opened up beneath Lagerof¡¯s feet, revealing the blackness of the Void - the immaterial from which Monad had created the material. A spire made of ancient black stone sprouted out of the hole like a reaching sunflower. Lagerof stood atop it but she was no longer Lagerof. Instead, the demon Crowe had seen in his dreams the night before watched prisoners and worshippers alike through the jagged holes carved in the steel headpiece it wore. The tip of the spire broke through the ceiling of the temple, popping it open like a blister.


    Crowe squinted against the fiery red light of Inferno. Flecks of ash caressed his cheek. Flashes of yellow lighting whipped through acid clouds in the sky. Tidal waves of wind battered at him, kicking up clouds of dust. The wall that both restrained him and kept him upright crumbled. For a moment it seemed freedom was within his grasp. Before he could yank his arms free a large chunk of mortar rolled on top of the chain. A scream of terror made him look up.


    Two hulking figures dragged Cenya up the steep steps of the spire. She looked tinier than ever sandwiched between their broad shoulders. Her shoulders sagged. Her head hung low. All the fight that had led her to the temple for the sake of her village had been in vain. What chance did a crippled old woman, practitioner or no, stand against the immortal evil that peered mercilessly at her from the top of his throne?


    Rake struggled against his chains, calling her name in weak defiance. The demon held up a single limb, showing off its clawed fingers. Pointed razorblades caught the red light of Inferno. A high-pitched keening sound pierced the air. It took Crowe a second to realize the mouth making the sound was his own. He tugged furiously at the chains; a frantic rat clawed at his belly, fighting to break free. Tugged until the rings of steel encircling his wrists bit into the flesh deep enough to draw blood. He would amputate his own wrists if that was what it took to break free.


    The two occultists reached the top of the spire with Cenya in tow. They dropped her in front of the demon before stepping back with a reverent bow. Down the steps they receded with a nod from their master, their duty carried out for the moment. Cenya crumbled before the titan. Her shoulders shook with unsuppressed fear. She rested on her shoulders, bringing her leg and stump into her chest. Gone was her staff. The realization - followed by a ripple of despair that made him cry out in frustration - swept through him and he pressed both feet to the stone until it was the only thing that kept him standing and pulled until the nerves in his wrists screamed in protest.


    The demon turned his full attention on the old woman. He tossed his immense head back and let out a laugh that made the ground shake and the crowd of worshippers gasp in awe. His arm shot out, clawed fingers closing around Cenya. He lifted her limp body effortlessly into the air. Knowing her doom was close at hand, the old woman did not fight. The demon made a pulling motion and Cenya¡¯s dress came loose with a tearing sound. In her final moments Cenya was naked as she¡¯d been in her first moments, sagging flesh exposed for all to see. Respect would not be afforded to her in her final moments. Fingers darkened with smears of shit and blood and black filament pointed at the dimpled folds of her flesh. Mocking laughter rang through the clouds of soot that billowed through the tainted air. Razor fingers sliced through the air once more with an audible hiss. Another tearing sound, this one like the parting of silk or leather.


    With a single swipe of his claws, the demon opened Cenya from the top of her head down to her pelvic bone. Her body twitched in a mockery of life, held aloft by the demon¡¯s hand. Tendrils of red ichor so red it was almost black - the practitioner¡¯s mind refused to think of it as blood - spurted from the crude split of Cenya¡¯s ruined corpse. Still cackling as if no feat of cruelty could bring greater joy, the demon flung Cenya¡¯s corpse to the side. For a moment it soared through the air before slamming into the ground with enough force to turn bone into dust.


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    No, no, no - this can¡¯t be happening.


    But it was happening and he was the only one who could bring the nightmare to an end and he was stuck. No! I didn¡¯t come all this way just to die here!


    Rake on the ground in a heap, sobbing. With the loss of Cenya he¡¯d lost himself. Would the man ever be the same again? Would any of them be the same?


    No time to think. He set his heels against the stone once more and began to push, He would die trying to break free if that¡¯s what it came down to.


    Another screamed split the air followed by - ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡±


    Now it was Barghast¡¯s turn. Already four of the occultists, one for each limb, hauled the lycan up the spire to meet his feet. A cry of despair ripped its way out of Crowe¡¯s throat. A sudden and incendiary fury billowed into life within him. He turned the fury not onto the demon, but onto Monad. If I lose the lycan, you lose everything if you do not help me. I will not save your people. I will not search for you, I will not find you if you do not help me. Mark my words, my lord, if the Okanavian dies there will be no hope for this Iteration. His fingers clenched around the chains. With a single furious tug the chain broke free from the stone with a metallic snap. The steel blazed with celestial fire. There was no time. Already the demon¡¯s servant had reached the top of the spire. Even the towering Barghast looked insectile in the shadow of the demon.


    ¡°No!¡± Crowe boomed. Chains dragging through the ash behind him, he sprinted up the steps of the spire three at a time. Already the demon reached for the Okanavian, hungry grin spreading from ear to ear. The practitioner had but seconds to reach them before it was too late.


    Before those razorblade fingers could close around Barghast, Crowe swung the chain at the demon. Steel links whipped through the air before thwacking against the demon¡¯s headpiece hard enough to turn the creature¡¯s head to the side. The mask came off with an audible pop. The demon¡¯s head whipped back around to face him. Black eyes bore into his from the pits of a face ravaged by countless wars and endless conflict. Lips marred by pits and craters from where blades had pierced them peeled back from rows of razor sharp teeth. The mouth stretched open, revealing an endless cavern that stretched back as far as the eye could see.


    ¡°Get away from him!¡± Crowe snarled.


    The demon swiped at him with his claws.


    Desperation and fury propelled the practitioner into the air. He pivoted out of the way, looping the chain around the demon¡¯s arm. He leapt up, using the demon¡¯s momentum to swing through the air. For a moment he dangled high above the ground. One fall would shatter every bone in his body on impact. Crowe wasn¡¯t afraid. To have his bones crushed by a fall would be a far better one than the fate Cenya had suffered - better than the fate they would all suffer if he did not prevail.


    He didn¡¯t fall. His feet slammed into the demon¡¯s chestplate. The momentum of his body combined with the impact of his attack sent the demon and practitioner flying over the edge of the spire. He thought he heard Barghast cry his name but the sound was lost by the whoosh of air in his ears. For a terrible moment it seemed they fell towards a ground that had no bottom. He slammed into the demon a second before the demon hit the ground. The demon¡¯s immense body absorbed the waves of impact that otherwise would have proven fatal to the practitioner. As such the sorcerer rolled onto his feet, unharmed. He pivoted out of the way, narrowly avoiding a swipe from the demon¡¯s claws.


    Already the demon lunged after him, steel fingers slashing through the clouds of soot that billowed up from the ground, stirred into life by their passage across the ruined earth that was now all that remained of a previous Iteration. Crowe danced and pivoted out of the way. Razors flashed towards his head. He ducked between the demon¡¯s legs just in time to save his scalp from being cleaved from his skull.


    Swing. Clang. Dodge. Swing. Clang. Dodge.


    The demon drew back, pausing in thought. Crowe could feel the entity reassessing him, finding a new avenue to attack. The practitioner ignored the throb behind his eyes. Barghast, Rake, and Tannhaus and the people of Timberford were depending on him. He would not let another soul suffer the same agonizing fate as Cenya. The two opposing figures stopped circling each other, coming to a stand still.


    ¡°Even if you defeat me you might lose this battle but you will lose the war.¡± The demon lifted a hand towards the ruined sky. ¡°Once this world was called Gehenna. It was a beautiful world much like your own before the whore Elysia destroyed it and Hamon laid claims to its remains. Even Metropolis, the city from which your people were born, lies in ruin. The cogs still spin with electricity but there is no one to direct the current.¡±


    ¡°You are wrong, demon!¡± the practitioner spat through clenched teeth. He spun the chain over his head, feeding his mana into it; it spun faster and faster, gaining momentum. ¡°Metropolis still hovers in the sky. Someone still guides. Monad sleeps but there are those who are still loyal to him; there are those who want to bring this nightmare to an end. Your master only wants to keep it going. He wants to keep us trapped in an eternal cycle of suffering! Well I say it ends!¡±


    Before he could swing the chain a dark shape dropped onto the demon¡¯s back. Barghast roared, clawing at the creature with extended claws. Muscles and veins bulged beneath his fur. Each strike drew ropes of black ichor. The demon spun in an attempt to shrug the Okanavian off. Barghast dug his claws in as far as they would go, clinging to the demon¡¯s back like a mosquito, using his teeth to tear and rend. Crowe continued to swing the chain, putting everything he had into it. Pressure built behind his eyes making his skull feel tight; soon it would build until a steady ache. Cramps tightened through his belly. He pushed it aside.


    There¡¯s no time to be weak, Petras whispered. There¡¯s no time to be afraid.


    The demon tossed his head back with a roar of determination; with a great shrug of his shoulders he threw Barghast from his shoulders as if the lycan was little more than a flea. Barghast curled into a ball, striking the ground at a roll. He sprung to his paws, scraped and bruised but otherwise unharmed. Before the demon could regain his composure Crowe dove into the opening. He swung the chain with all his strength. The impact of the steel biting into the demon¡¯s disfigured flesh sent vibrations up his arms that made them groan in protest.


    Fight through the pain! Keep going until there¡¯s nothing left!


    Swing. Clang. Swing. Clang. Swing. Clang.


    Crowe pushed forward, driving the demon back. Each lash of the chain scattered sparks on the ground. Still the demon continued to taunt him. Fire licked the aching undersides of his arms. He felt a thin trickle of blood fall from his nose. It was time to end things. With a scream of defiance, pouring everything he had into the swing, Crowe lashed out a final time.


    As the impact knocked the demon head over heels, a shockwave ripped through the air, tearing furrows into the dead world beneath Crowe¡¯s feet. The practitioner raised his arms before his face to shield himself from the resulting shockwave that rippled through the air. He felt the world shift once more. When he blinked the black spires of Inferno were gone. Once more he found himself standing in the chamber beneath the temple outside Timberford. He¡¯d managed to break the demon¡¯s illusion. The floor was a cracked ruin beneath his feet. Thick slabs of stone half rose out of the earth as if seeking escape.


    Laying on the ground, peering up at him with blackened eyes was not the ruined face of the demon but Lagerof. The woman shuddered, spasms making her broken body vibrate. Around them the walls shifted, the material world settling in through the illusion. An eerie hush filled the temple but for the dry rasp of her voice. ¡°You will fail, herald,¡± she wheezed. ¡°You always do. Iteration after Iteration, lifetime after lifetime. It¡¯s merely a fault of your function, for you are nothing more than a puppet of your creator.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re any different?¡± Crowe snarled through clenched teeth.


    ¡°We revolted against our creator cycles ago when we realized him for the fool he was!¡± Lagerof spat, her jaw twisted at a wrong angle, an image that seared itself into the practitioner¡¯s mind. ¡°World after world, civilization after civilization, race after race¡­beautiful to behold at first but rotten at the core. And so you seek to usher in a new Iteration of the same.¡±


    Crowe steeled himself against the words. Let the demon spin his lies in the guise of an innocent. ¡°I guess you¡¯ll have to wait until the next Iteration to find out, won¡¯t you?¡± He stooped down, reaching for a fallen blade. As he drew the blade across his wrist, Barghast hunkered beside Lagerof. His enormous paws enclosed around her head, holding it in place. Lagerof tried to wriggle away but her broken body was in no position to resist for her back had been crushed. The practitioner only winced slightly at the bite of the blade.


    ¡°It won¡¯t matter in the end,¡± Lagerof chattered. ¡°Bennett left you. Petras left you. Everyone will always leave you¡­¡±


    He ignored the waves of revulsion that passed through him as he pressed his wrist to Lagerof¡¯s mouth. ¡°May you find splendor in the Eternal City,¡± he grunted. He paused as if listening to another voice whisper in his ear though he heard no one else speak. ¡°Monad may sleep in the Void, but he is not deaf and he is not blind. He hears you, sees you. I free you from the chains of Hamon¡¯s tyranny¡­¡±


    The words became lost in the echoing bell that filled his head. The ground seemed to dissolve beneath his feet. He stood on unsteady legs. He felt a sigh of relief stir through the temple. It passed through the crowd of masked occults who had frozen as if caught in the bindings of a waking dream.


    Lagerof was the first to convulse. Her eyes widened. Violent tremors shook her body to its core. She fell on her hands and knees, vomiting up thick black puddles of black ichor. Her fit started a chain reaction. A choir of gagging heaving sounds filled the chamber bringing with them the unpleasant smell of human expulsions. Crowe stumbled around half blind from exhaustion. He grabbed the edge of a basin to remain standing.


    ¡°You did it,¡± a dumbstruck voice said. ¡°You did the same thing to them you did to me.¡± Tannhaus looked at the practitioner with a mixture of awe and terror that made Crowe¡¯s skin crawl. ¡°Who knows how long these savages have been down here¡­they could be as old as the temple itself, preserved by Inferno¡­and you cured them¡­¡±


    Gregor¡¯s scientific musings faded to a dull murmur. The sorcerer had no interest in what he had to say. I want to leave this place. I want to feel the sunlight on my face. He searched the gloom for a familiar set of amber eyes.


    He didn¡¯t need to search far. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± was the only warning he received before he was pulled effortlessly into the lycan¡¯s embrace. Before he could utter a word another arm looped under his legs, crushing the practitioner against his solid chest. Then they were off, racing through a labyrinth of tunnels. Crowe closed his eyes to ward off a wave of nausea; only when he felt the night air on his face did he open them.

 Excess Tension

    The practitioner expected Barghast to stop when he reached the surface, but he didn¡¯t. He kept running¡­or leaping¡­or whatever they did when they half ran half leapt through the air, the world flying by them in a blur of dark colors. Though he knew the Okanavian would not drop him - those arms held him in a vice with no wiggle room - his body instinctively clung to the lycan. He had no idea what direction they were heading in and at the moment he didn¡¯t care. He felt his chest expand when he inhaled the chilly night air. Not so chilly when he was being held by a living, breathing furnace. It was only then he realized how lucky they were to be alive. He tried not to think of Cenya, tried to let the rush of wind push the thoughts away. He couldn¡¯t suppress a shiver.


    Only when he heard the rush of water did he realize where they were. They were alone surrounded by trees with only the river to break the silence. Barghast did not put the sorcerer down but lowered himself to the ground cross legged with the practitioner planted firmly in his lap.


    Something was wrong with Barghast. He could sense it. Though they were now alone - nothing moved in the trees, no voices called out, no glittering black eyes watched them - the lycan remained tense. He strained his ears, listening. Was that a low growl he heard over the burble of water? The vibration he felt against his lower back confirmed it so.


    ¡°Barghast,¡± the practitioner started to say.


    A sharp snarl in his ear cut him off. Crowe cried out. He startled forward before the Okanavian could rip his throat out. Underneath the fear¡­confusion. He couldn¡¯t understand what he¡¯d done to upset the lycan. After having just defeated the demon, he didn¡¯t know if he had the strength to defend himself against Barghast. Or if he wanted to.


    He didn¡¯t budge. He was stuck. When he tried to move the lycan¡¯s arms tightened around him a fraction, pushing the sorcerer deeper into his lap. What¡¯s going on? What did I do wrong? The beginning sparks of a familiar pain. The reopening of old scars. Already he could feel tears of denial springing to his eyes. The black crush of panic pressing in on him from all sides. ¡°I¡¯m trying to understand,¡± he heard himself say in a pathetic whisper, ¡°but I don¡¯t understand. I don¡¯t know what I did wrong.¡± He hated the mewling wine in his voice. It was not the sound the herald of Monad should make.


    ¡°Crowe.¡± The lycan¡¯s fingers digits around his jaw, tilting his head back and back and up and up until he had no choice but to look into those eyes made of molten gold. The practitioner shuttered, ready to meet his end. Instead he felt the Okanavian lean forward into their foreheads pressed together. When he gained the courage to look, all he could see was Barghast¡¯s golden diamonds. Barghast said his name over and over again, the only word they shared. A tremor of apology, of shame shook his voice. His snout was cold to the touch.  At a loss for words, Crowe could only gawk back stupidly. He couldn¡¯t shake the notion he was still stuck in a dream¡­another illusion spun by the demon in the temple. But this was no illusion. The demon had been defeated, his slaves freed, and he was alone with Barghast by the river. And the lycan was rocking him gently back and forth as if trying to lull him to sleep.


    Tannhaus¡¯ words flashed through his mind: He¡¯s just protecting what he thinks is his. But why the growling? He wished more than anything he could speak Okanavian. Barghast shifted a little, perhaps trying to make Crowe more comfortable. He lifted the practitioner¡¯s legs onto the shelf of his lap to keep them from touching the dirt. The sorcerer was completely contained by the protective valley of his body. Calloused pads supported his neck.


    ¡°Crowe,¡± Barghast said again. Then he pressed his lips to the practitioner¡¯s.


    ¡­


    He had to get away from the stench; he had to get away from these people; he had to get away from this place; he needed to be alone with his twin o¡¯rre. If he didn¡¯t he would do something he regretted - he would hurt someone. Not his twin o¡¯rre of course¡­I¡¯d hurt myself before I ever hurt you.


    He still marveled at how light Crowe felt in his arms¡­the thrill of rediscovering a new revelation everyday. I could carry him everywhere. I could carry him all day.


    He charged past the labyrinthine network of corridors, letting his sense of smell guide him through the unfamiliar place. He glanced down every few seconds to make sure Crowe was still tucked safely against his chest. I am a bad guardian. I have failed you once again¡­The thought twisted his stomach in uncomfortable knots. He shoved it to the side. Only when he was sure they were away from the temple would he give it later consideration.


    He leapt up a flight of stairs into the night air. Down the steps five and six at a time. Through the trees, through the mist, away from the temple. For a moment he felt something loosen inside him¡­it almost felt like relief. Relief drowned out by the overwhelming chokehold of fear that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end; that made him want to point his head up at the sky and howl to warn the world to stay away from his twin o¡¯rre. The wind howled in his ears in tune with the snapping of tree branches as the freight of his body knocked them to the side like a steel battering ram. In it he could hear the scream of the one-legged woman as steel fingers sliced her open down to the bone. He could recall the crushing sense of fear he¡¯d felt as rough hands dragged him up the spire to meet the same fate. But it was not Cenya¡¯s face he saw in his mind or even his own. It was not his body the demon¡¯s fingers sliced into. It was Crowe¡¯s.


    Only when they were at the river - the only place that was familiar to him in this accursed land - did he stop, dropping into the soil with the practitioner still in his lap facing the water. He searched the line of trees. His ears twitched. His senses told him they were alone and yet every bone and muscle in his body remained tense, ready to jump into action at a moment¡¯s notice. The beast inside him lingered, eager for the opportunity. Only the breathing of the soul pressed up against him kept the beast at bay.


    ¡°Barghast.¡±


    The murmur of Crowe¡¯s voice, little more than a whisper, sounded like a gunshot in the Okanavian¡¯s agitated state. He gnashed his teeth together with a snarl, jaw clacking shut. Only when he felt the practitioner jerk to escape his embrace did he realize the grave error he¡¯d made.


    The gravest of errors.


    Bad pup! the seer snapped in his mind. How dare you snap at your twin o¡¯rre!


    Oh he was a bad pup! The worst! A lycan who snapped at their twin o¡¯rre should be given the worst punishment possible. They should have their ears clipped, their nails removed, their back lashed. There was no one to punish him. He was alone with his twin o¡¯rre just like he wanted and now Crowe was understandably trying to escape him.


    The thought of the twin o¡¯rre leaving him - out of fear Barghast would hurt him - frightened the Okanavian more than anything they¡¯d encountered thus far. More than the torchcoats who had dragged him through these unfamiliar lands while lassoed to the back of a horse; more than a bear who had pursued them down a waterfall; more than the demon with its razor fingers. Don¡¯t leave me. I can¡¯t survive without you. I¡¯m sorry I snapped at you. I¡¯m a bad pup!


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    He didn¡¯t have the words to say the things he wanted to; the things he needed to. Not in a way the practitioner could understand.


    Crowe shuddered against his chest. Barghast caught a whiff of pine - that wonderful smell the sorcerer carried with him no matter how filthy he got. There was something black beneath it like rotting berries: fear. The sound of strangled sobs turned his heart to ice. Had he ever heard a sound so small? So pitiful? The sound made him want to howl in misery but he bit it back. He felt the beast shift inside him at the whiff of fear. His blood boiled in his veins. He felt all the blood travel down to his cock. Felt his knot swell in its sheath.


    The practitioner smelled so sweet in his arms. So small. So helpless. Even though he knew differently in the back of his mind. Gaia had crafted for him a warrior with great skill and even greater courage. A warrior who had saved his life twice now. Only in front of Barghast did he show his vulnerabilities, his fear, and the smell coming off him was intoxication. Always so intoxicating but never so more than now when the aroma of Crowe¡¯s blood was stronger than ever. Barghast felt the head of his cock pop out of its sheath. The knot, still housed at the bottom of his shaft, swelled, making the thick spongy flesh of his cock shudder and expand. A small voice in the back of his mind prayed the practitioner couldn¡¯t feel it - it would only frighten him further. The beast inside wanted to take him. Wanted to take him right there. He clenched his teeth to hold back a snarl, feeling he would combust from holding the rush back. He imagined thrusting into the practitioner¡¯s sweet silky little ass and plowing into him until he released into his tiny little belly. Filling him with his warmth. Connecting them in the way they were truly meant to be connected.


    Until he heard the sobs. Until he heard the practitioner say, ¡°I¡¯m trying to understand, but I don¡¯t understand. I don¡¯t know what I did wrong.¡±


    The words were as jumbled and alien to him as ever but the misery in them was all too clear. It hit him like a bucketful of ice water, snapping him out of his predatory stupor. The memory of their last encounter here at the river flashed before his eyes. Crowe had made those little noises then too. Noises of pain. A pain that did not show on the flesh but in the soul. The Okanavian reminded himself he didn¡¯t know anything about the practitioner¡¯s life before their first encounter in the woods. He didn¡¯t know about the wars he¡¯d fought through alone or the wounds he¡¯d endured with no one to protect him¡­care for him. A life without me.


    Only a second had passed, but it felt as if he¡¯d sat there for hours, battling himself for control of his own instincts. Shame filled him. Made his belly curl in on itself. He whimpered, pulling the shaking practitioner deeper into himself. He wished he could pull him in all the way, carry him around inside his own body, protect him for the rest of the world. Yes, he knew Crowe was a capable warrior¡­it didn¡¯t stop the instinct to protect the sorcerer even from himself.


    And yet he couldn¡¯t let him go.


    He wouldn¡¯t.


    ¡°Crowe,¡± he rumbled. He ignored the bolt of pain that passed through his heart when his twin o¡¯rre didn¡¯t turn around. His pain had transported him to another place.


    Barghast could hold back no longer. He couldn¡¯t stand to hear those sniffling sounds, the hitch of his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s breath. Just knowing he¡¯d made the practitioner shed a single tear in distress made him want to howl at the sky. Instead he took Crowe¡¯s face in his paw, making sure to be firm but gentle. You can¡¯t escape me. I¡¯m bigger than you.  He tilted his head back until Crowe had no choice but to look at him. Even in the dark he was startlingly pale - as if he¡¯d lived most of his life tucked away from the sun. The Okanavian was always afraid he¡¯d leave a bruise when he touched the practitioner but he knew he was tougher than he appeared (only when he was around Barghast did he let his guard down; the lycan liked this). His eyes were so wide all Barghast could see were the whites; he looked as if he¡¯d taken on the appearance of the wraith as he did whenever he summoned fire; Barghast understood this source came from within Crowe. Perhaps it was the same source that had healed his wounds the night after Crowe and he¡¯d first met. It was not infinite. He¡¯d seen what happened to Crowe when he used too much of it. This time it was not fury the wraith channeled but pain. A pain Barghast had inflicted.


    Barghast''s paw rested against the back of Crowe¡¯s head, supporting his skull. He leaned down until his forehead touched the practitioner¡¯s. He breathed in that smell. That intoxicating smell. ¡°Crowe,¡± he breathed. His nostrils flared. He could feel his arousal leaking out of him in wet spurts. If Crowe could sense his arousal he showed no signs of it. Barghast could hear the excited tic of his heart. Gone was the rotten blackberry stench of his fear. Under the piney smell was the scent of something new: excitement.


    Without blinking, Barghast traced the lines of Crowe¡¯s face with invisible fingers, memorizing every pore. He itched to touch those delicate lips with his own, to know what the practitioner tasted like on the inside. He told himself he would not take his twin o¡¯rre tonight. They had not known each other long enough; there was still so much to discover. It was too soon even for this. But he didn¡¯t care. He wanted his wraith like he¡¯d never wanted anything in his life. His wraith was all he¡¯d ever wanted. Now I have you in my arms. I won¡¯t let you go. The world can burn for all I care¡­Stay here with me where you¡¯re safe¡­I won¡¯t take you but I will taste you.


    He shifted so that the practitioner was cradled in his arms. So that there was no chance a part of him would touch the ground. With a deep growl of hunger, he tasted his twin orre¡¯s lips for the very first time.


    ¡­


    Pinned between the lycan¡¯s powerful thighs and chest, Crowe could only move his arms. Barghast had a hold of his legs. He sensed Barghast would not release him until he had his way with the practitioner.


    The lycan wrapped his entire body around Crowe like a living shield. His lips pressed firmly against the sorcerer¡¯s, hot tongue licking along his lips, already seeking entry. A hungry growl emitted from deep within his chest. The force of it - the desire in it - made his entire body vibrate. Warm fingers grazed at the back of Crowe¡¯s head, being careful not to hurt him with the sharp tips of his nails. His touch sent shivers of pleasure up Crowe¡¯s spine. Crowe¡¯s body acted of its own accord, moving in time with Barghast¡¯s - never mind the voice in the back of his mind that warned him against giving an invitation to a lycan. He opened his mouth to let Barghast in.


    The Okanavian¡¯s tongue was thick and hot to the touch. It overpowered Crowe¡¯s, lapping at the inside of the mouth greedily. He rocked back and forth, moaning in ecstasy. Crowe had never drawn such a reaction from someone before by doing so little. There was no mistaking the hard warmth pressing against his rump through his robes. Or the warm moisture that seeped through the fabric of his breeches. Barghast¡¯s hold on him was absolute. Unbreakable. As if afraid the gusts of wind that blew around them would blow Crowe away. Had anyone ever held him this way before¡­with such care?


    All thoughts dissolved as Barghast continued to explore the inside of Crowe¡¯s mouth with his own. He rocked back and forth, bouncing Crowe in his lap. The heat of his arousal rubbed against Crowe¡¯s rump. Even though his eyes were closed the practitioner could feel the Okanavian watching him, unblinking.


    Barghast continued to rock back and forth, his hips bouncing fluidly. The friction between them grew. Crowe could feel his own erection rubbing up against the lycan¡¯s chest, sending thrills through his bruised and exhausted body. Barghast grinned down at him, clearly enjoying the sounds of pleasure he made. He licked at Crowe¡¯s face. Licked at his forehead. The slightly hooked bridge of his nose. He nibbled at his earlobes. The one thing he didn¡¯t do was hurt the practitioner. He was strong and his will would not be denied but he was gentle. He groaned into the sorcerer¡¯s mouth, eyes thinning to slits as he climaxed. Crowe¡¯s breath hitched as he joined him in the throes of pleasure. His robes were soaked with the lycan¡¯s seed. A musky smell filled the air reminding him of Spring. With no energy left in his reserves he could feel himself tapering off into sleep.


    At last Barghast¡¯s grip eased up but he did not let the practitioner go entirely. Crowe sensed if he were to try and get up the lycan would pull him back down. So he stayed.


    He¡¯s just protecting what he thinks is his¡­


    Does he think I¡¯m his? Is that why he keeps calling me twin o¡¯rre?


    Before an answer could present itself he slipped into sleep.

 Onward

    He soared over the mountains, flying further north. The Daminion Highway unspooled like a black thread, cutting through thick stands of pine trees. He soared over villages not much different from the one he¡¯d left or Timberford: villages made of one and two story wooden buildings with a well in the center. He should have been terrifying - he¡¯d never like heights even when climbing trees - but this felt freeing. To be weightless. To be unrestrained. To watch the world unfold before him, revealing new mysteries in every corner. A reminder of the fact there was still so little about the world he knew. And perhaps, a darker voice said in the back of his mind, just quiet enough he could ignore it, the burden of the task that had been set on his shoulders. For the moment all of it was behind him, back in his physical body. He was a cloud of smoke with no shape. Clouds of smoke didn¡¯t have problems.


    He left behind the last vestiges of humanity behind. Brown and green gave way to the jagged peaks of white glaciers, the black waters of an ocean poking through the occasional crack in the ice. There was nothing above him except the sparks of stars in the Void. But for the stillness of the wind and occasional signs of movement - a pack of wolves hunting seal, a solitary polar bear moseying through the white plains - the Mirror Expanse was eerily remote. He relished having a moment¡¯s silence.


    The joy was short-lived. Black structures appeared on the horizon, poking out from the crust of the earth. The flying buttresses and pointed pinnacles reminded him of the black spires he¡¯d glimpsed in Inferno. He drew closer to them, beginning to descend. There was no stopping the descent or changing course. He was not as free as he¡¯d thought. Have I ever truly been free?


    Drawing closer to the spires, his fears were soon put to rest. While he sensed a trickle of power somewhere in between its silent streets, whatever life had once existed here had faded from memory. Once the city had been majestic but the Theocracy had snuffed it out in their thirst to enslave and exterminate anyone who could channel mana. The only great city left where a practitioner could find safety was Caemyth in the South. Yet there was something here. He could feel it. It had been faint at first but now he could feel it growing stronger as he descended towards the roof of the tallest tower.


    He dropped through a round oculus in the roof into a vast circular chamber with a vaulted ceiling. A slight hooded figure stood in the center of the chamber. Pearly white hair spilled out from beneath the hood like silver thread. The sensual curves of the lips suggested the mysterious figure to be a woman. He could her watching him though her face was obscured in shadow. She held a staff in her hand. He sensed this practitioner was old - even older than Cenya had lived to be; older than the earth itself. His descent stopped a foot above the ground.


    A pulsing white glow filled the chamber, filling the cracks in their pale white flesh with shadow. It was impossible to say where the source of the glow came from; there were no torches or lamps on the walls to provide illumination. The woman spoke, her lips curling in a smile of welcome.  ¡°Herald of Monad I await your arrival. I  know you have great plans in the work but there is a matter of great urgency that must be addressed.¡± The woman¡¯s voice sounded like the scrape of dead leaves on mortar.


    He had no mouth with which to speak so he listened. What choice did he have?¡­The dream was controlling him, not the other way around.


    The woman¡¯s smile saddened, simultaneously softening and growing more raspy with emotion. ¡°To be Monad¡¯s herald is to create change and break chains. There are those who want to keep the cycle of suffering - world after world, Iteration after Iteration. Forces that want to keep Monad¡¯s people - your people - from finding their way back home. They are out there now in search of you and they draw close.¡± The woman¡¯s smile faltered; her words became more urgent with every word. ¡°You must travel here across the Mirror Expanse. You are not yet strong enough to defeat them on your own.¡± The woman smiled again with a ray of hope. ¡°Not without help.¡± She tapped the end of his staff against the floor. ¡°May you find splendor in the Eternal City.¡±


    The aura of white light pulsed once so bright it cast everything else in the chamber in shadow. He shot through the roof of the tower, rocketing through the night faster than he¡¯d gotten here. Shapes blurred past him, gone before he could register what they were. Night turned into day. He could see his body still cradled in the lycan¡¯s lap.


    Crowe fell back into his body with a gasp that made his chest rise. He winced at the needles of returning sensations that pricked at his stiff muscles. Awareness returned to him slowly. The blue sky above their head. The drowsy burble of the water. Louder yet were the teeth rattling snores. The Okanavian slept with his forehead resting against Crowe¡¯s, cheek to cheek. The wings of urgency fluttering around inside the practitioner¡¯s gut died. Memories of the previous night returned to him in a flood of images and sensation. He ran a hand across the bottom of his robes; still wet. He inhaled, breathing in the smell of Barghast¡¯s musk. He winced. It was far stronger than he could remember it being. He groaned. Now my robes are going to smell really bad.


    He paused. It had been a few days since he¡¯d bathed. I need a bath.


    He tried to move. He couldn¡¯t. Just short of being able to move his head from side to side and wiggle his toes, Barghast had him completely locked in a vice grip. He groaned. Something significant had happened last night. An Okanavian cultural thing he didn¡¯t understand. He wished Tannhaus were here, if only to seek enlightenment. His cheeks reddened¡­Then again maybe it wouldn¡¯t be such a good idea to share something so intimate with the son of the man who had helped to enslave his people; a man who himself had ventured into the temple to find a weapon that could exterminate all life from the earth were it to spread beyond Timberford.


    He drifted.


    He awoke.


    ¡°Barghast,¡± he squeaked.


    The lycan¡¯s snore continues unimpeded.


    This really wasn¡¯t so bad the practitioner told himself. It wasn¡¯t as if he hadn¡¯t enjoyed last night. Being held so completely he couldn¡¯t move. The feel of Barghast¡¯s body completely enveloping his¡­the same way it was now. Restraining him. Embracing him. Protecting him? Only time will tell. Things will become clearer with patience.


    Voices broke through the trees, jarring Crowe from his thoughts. The crunch of snow underfoot. Multiple feet. A whole herd of them. The practitioner¡¯s pulse quickened inside his throat. ¡°Barghast!¡± He wiggled against the lycan, tapping his shoulder with his fingers. He shifted his hips. He prayed to Monad to keep whoever was coming through the trees at bay until he could free himself from Barghast¡¯s uncompromising hold.


    Barghast blinked, grunting. He pulled his face away from Crowe¡¯s, half-dried spit parting with an audible peeling sound. His gazed down to the sorcerer squirming frantically in his lap. His muzzle split in a broad grin. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± he rumbled. He leaned forward, puckering his lips. He made smooching sounds.


    ¡°Oh, no you don¡¯t!¡± Crowe snapped. ¡°Let me go you stubborn oaf!¡±


    Barghast stood, hauling the sorcerer with him. He set Crowe down on his feet reluctantly. He stepped back, looking chagrined.


    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that look!¡±


    ¡°There you are!¡± a familiar voice drawled.


    Crowe stooped to pick up his staff only to realize he no longer had it.  He steeled himself against the scream of panic that rang in his mind. He wasn¡¯t powerless without it, it just made it harder to direct the chaotic flow of energy all practitioners stored within themselves. A fragment of Monad¡¯s divine light. The fragment that linked Monad¡¯s people to him. Taking comfort from the thought he faced the newcomer.


    Rake appeared in between the trees, his rifle in hand. A sheen of sweat made his forehead shine. Other human shapes appeared behind him. He drew closer to Crowe and Barghast, looking as if he wanted to say something, and then stopped with a grimace. He sniffed at the air, a frown pulling at his lips. ¡°You stink!¡± he said to the practitioner.


    It was the practitioner¡¯s turn to grimace. It took every ounce of effort not to throw a glare in Barghast¡¯s direction. Instead he said, ¡°I imagine you don¡¯t smell that well either.¡±


    Rake blinked, deciding to let the matter go. ¡°What happened? I thought you and your lycan friend were goners.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± the sorcerer said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He was exhausted. Like Barghast he wanted nothing more than to leave this place.


    Tannhaus stepped into the clearing with Lagerof following behind, dressed in filthy garments. No longer were her eyes black but a dark green. Those dark green eyes darted around the trees like an explorer trying to make sense of an unfamiliar world. She staggered towards the stream, her eyes fixed desperately on the water. Crowe watched her bend, watch her dip her fingers into the water and bring the water up to her mouth, drinking greedily from the cup of his hand. Gregor remained where he stood with an empty expression on his face. Even now, even after the dangers they¡¯d survived together, the practitioner felt no pity for the scientist. If it wasn¡¯t for him and Lagerof¡­if they¡¯d never come to this town Cenya would still be alive. None of this would have happened. Crowe pushed the rest of the thought out of his mind, He¡¯d vanquished the evil in the temple - a small victory in comparison to the rest of his quest, but a victory all the same.


    Rake and Gregor were not alone. More human shapes appeared through the trees. A red-headed woman and two men. They wore the same filthy uniform as Lagerof: the other members of the exploration tree. Slowly the small group of people split into their respective groups. Tannhaus and the rest of the expedition team gathered in one cluster; Crowe, Barghast, and Tannhaus at the other.


    ¡°What are you going to do about Cenya?¡± The practitioner lowered his voice. He glared mistrustfully in Gregor and Lagerof¡¯s direction. The expeditions¡¯ heads were bent intently in their own private council.


    He watched the narrow face man struggle to contain his own grief. Knots of tension appeared under his cheeks. His shoulders rose, his chest expanding. Crowe feared the man would explode but Rake took a deep, shuddering breath and exhaled. The tension in his face fell away. His shoulders slumped in defeat. ¡°I couldn¡¯t carry her on her own. I¡¯m going to take a few men back up to the temple in the morning¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know she was important to you and the village of Timberford.¡± The practitioner wanted to say more but what more could be said.


    Rake nodded in appreciation. ¡°She was like a mother to us all¡­each and every one of us. She was alive long before I was born and I assumed she would be alive long after I was dead. Don¡¯t apologize, herald. You did what you could. You did more for my village than anyone has.¡±


    ¡°What happened to¡­?¡± Crowe couldn¡¯t think of the word to call the denizens the servants of Hamon they¡¯d encountered in the temple.


    Rake shook his head with a curse. ¡°They died¡­they just started choking and dropping like flies. Whatever you did by feeding your blood to Lagerof kill all of them.¡±


    Crowe looked at the scientist. She had the same malnourished look as Gregor but she would live as long as they found sustenance soon. ¡°Why didn¡¯t it kill her or Gregor?¡±


    Rake shrugged with a scowl of frustration. ¡°Fuck if I know. Your guess is as good as mine. Who knows how long they were down there, living in the dark? Who knows how long they were infected with that black shit the bear had? Maybe you got to Lagerof and Gregor before it was too late. The more important thing is that the nightmare¡¯s over.¡± He rewarded the practitioner with a tired grin. ¡°The temple felt empty when we left Before it felt¡­¡±


    ¡°Restless?¡±


    Rake nodded.


    ¡°What are you going to do with Tannahaus and his team?¡±


    More voices could be heard sounding through the trees: other souls freed from the grip of evil in the temple. Rake¡¯s jaw clenched, ruining the smile. ¡°I have half the mind to kill them. Put a bullet in them right now. Or hang them from a tree. This never would have happened if it wasn¡¯t for them. But it¡¯s not my call. It¡¯s yours. Otherwise I¡¯d shoot them where they stand¡­or take them back to town and hang them from a tree and sleep all the better for it.¡±


    Crowe didn¡¯t like the implications behind this statement. Running into demon-infested temples and battling demonic bears was one thing but deciding the fate of another was something else. It was easier to kill when the enemy forced your hand. Lagerof, Gregor, and the rest of their team had endured a fate worse than death: their minds possessed by a force that wanted nothing more than to spread through the world like a plague. And still¡­Rake had made a good point. He recalled the dread he¡¯d felt when Elias, the prisoner from the highway, had killed the female scout in cold blood. It had been a brutal act. Did he want to be the arbiter of death in this situation? No I don¡¯t.


    He cleared his throat, speaking in a conciliatory tone. ¡°I know your people have suffered greatly, Rake. I can understand your anger. Part of me thinks we should do what needs to be done¡­but then we would be no better than the Theocracy, would we? We¡¯d be exactly what they say we are¡­savages. So stick to the original plan. Let them go.¡±


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    Rake grimaced. ¡°What if they just go back to the Theocracy and tell them where we are?¡±


    Crowe scowled. ¡°Do you really think you¡¯ll be able to stay in Timberford? How can you still want to? There¡¯s nothing for you or your people here. The war is spreading through all corners of the land like a wildfire. How long before that fire breaches your town and turns it to ash?¡±


    The color drained from Rake¡¯s face. He ran a hand over his face. Tears of emotion seared the corners of his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, herald. I can¡¯t¡­I just can¡¯t.¡± He turned away. ¡°I need time to think.¡±


    The herald of Monad watched the man walk away, too tired to press Rake further. A sense of urgency tugged at his mind last night¡­There are those who want to keep the cycle of suffering - world after world, Iteration after Iteration. Forces that want to keep Monad¡¯s people - your people - from finding their way back home. They are out there now in search of you and they draw close.


    An icy finger traced along the line of his spine. Goosebumps broke out along his arms. We need to leave this place by nightfall. We¡¯ve been here much too long as it is.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Clem?¡± A man scanned the woods frantically for someone who wasn¡¯t there. Crowe remembered the woman who had grabbed his robes, begging him to cure her husband of his ailment. Rake shouted something at the man, waving at him over his shoulder. He looked back at Crowe impatiently. ¡°Are you coming? There¡¯s still a lot we need to talk about.¡±


    The practitioner sighed in resignation. He waved at Barghast. ¡°We¡¯re coming.¡±


    ¡­


    Rake tipped the bottle against the glass. He had to hold it with both hands, they shook so bad. Crowe did not offer to help. He¡¯d been around the man long enough to know he¡¯d refuse. Rake was a man who did not like to show signs of weakness. Crowe glanced out the window before snapping his head back around to the man sitting at Cenya¡¯s desk. Rake was too lost in his own grief to notice the practitioner¡¯s growing trepidation. Already the light of day had begun to die. Barghast had taken up his usual spot in the corner of the room by the door. He watched the scene with a bored expression painted on his canine face, his arms crossed over his chest. The practitioner could tell from the impatient flick of his tail he was every bit as eager to leave as Crowe was.


    Rake raised the glass to his lips. He drained its contents in a single gulp. The smell of alcohol bloomed spicily in the air. Barghast snorted, shaking his head at the sharp smell. He flashed Rake a disapproving glare but remained silent. Rake slammed the glass down on the table with a heavy thud that made Crowe wince. ¡°Where do we go from here?¡± Rake asked Crowe once he¡¯d clear his throat. The practitioner resisted the urge to turn his face away from the stench of the man''s breath. ¡°What do we do? Where do we go?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s only one place you can go.¡± The practitioner smiled sadly. ¡°Caemyth.¡±


    Rake''s eyes widened. ¡°That¡¯s a thousand miles away. You can¡¯t expect us to make that journey on foot. Not with the way things are.¡±


    ¡°Things are bad,¡± the practitioner agreed. ¡°The Theocracy is relentless.¡± He tilted his head in Barghast¡¯s direction to illustrate his point. ¡°But staying won''t protect you. You can¡¯t trust Lagerof and Gregor.¡±


    The rat-faced man scowled. ¡°Then we should kill them¡­just to be safe.¡±


    ¡°Doing that could make things worse. You kill him and you could incite Tannhaus, Sr¡¯s fury¡­¡± The practitioner trailed off, letting the implications hang in the air.


    Rake swore. He refilled his glass until whiskey sloshed over the sides of the glass. ¡°I¡¯ve never been outside of Timberford¡­I¡¯ve never been outside of these mountains. The thought of leaving everything I¡¯ve ever known behind terrifies me.¡±


    Crowe nodded, understanding. ¡°I wasn¡¯t always the herald of Monad¡­if that¡¯s even what I am. Before this I was just a farm boy. Like you I¡¯d never traveled beyond the borders of my home. I understand it¡¯s frightening. But if this war doesn¡¯t end with the Theocracy soon there will be no mana left in the world to burn away. If you stay you will die by fire. I guarantee it.¡±


    ¡°I guess it¡¯s a good thing you¡¯ll be going with us.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing¡­I won¡¯t be.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Rake¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°What do you mean you¡¯re not going with us?¡±


    It was Crowe¡¯s turn to scowl. ¡°Because there are other things I must do. There are other places I must go. There are other towns just like you who need to be freed from Drajen¡¯s tyranny.¡± Because there are far worse things than the demon in the temple who want to stop me. But if he said he was being followed by evil Rake and the villagers might not leave the town at all.


    Rake plopped back in the chair. He shot Crowe an accusing glare. ¡°You¡¯ve made things better, not worse.¡±


    A snarl filled the room. Barghast stepped towards the table, his paws curled into fists. He let the growl drop but continued to warn Rake with his eyes.


    ¡°Regardless of what you say or do Barghast and I leave within the hour,¡± the practitioner said in his most diplomatic tone. ¡°Stay or go, the choice is yours. I can¡¯t guarantee what will happen if you go but I can guarantee what will happen if you leave. Monad has shown me.¡±


    Just as Crowe rose from his chair a scream sounded from outside. Rake was on his feet at once, rifle in hand. ¡°Now what in the Void is going on?¡± he muttered.


    Outside the tavern villagers had gathered by the well to point up at the sky. There the Eternal City sat on the horizon. A calling. A beacon. A message of doom or perhaps salvation. Gasps of wonder filled the air. Teary eyes looked up at the city with reverence. Even Rake who stood with his mouth hanging open.


    ¡°Careful Rake,¡± the practitioner teased before he could stop himself. ¡°If you keep your mouth open like that, you just might catch a fly.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s real,¡± Rake said, barely daring to breathe. ¡°It¡¯s real. It¡¯s actually real. I always thought they were just stories Cenya used to tell us when we were kids to keep us from getting into mischief.¡±


    ¡°Am I starting to make a believer out of you?¡± The sorcerer couldn¡¯t hide a grin.


    ¡°Bit by bit,¡± the rat-faced man conceded.


    The town¡¯s population had grown larger now that the possessed had returned from the temple. Loved ones embraced under the stars. Wives wept with joy as they buried their faces in their husband¡¯s chest. Fathers scooped up their children to pepper their faces of comfort. Crowe couldn¡¯t bring himself to feel relief. If they were truly going to survive the war they would have to make the thousand mile trek to Caemlyn.


    Something pricked at his mind. A sense of urgency always at the back of his mind like a fingernail scraping insistently at a scab. While he¡¯d been distracted Rake had drifted to the front of the crowd. He stepped up on the edge of the well, swaying slightly, using the well as a platform. He cleared his throat calling everyones¡¯ attention to him.


    ¡°Tonight we stand under the lights of Metropolis, a light no one has seen since the Second Iteration. We gaze up at it in the arms of our loved ones who have been returned to us. It seems we can move on, yes? It seems we can persevere through every storm, yes?¡± Rake bared his teeth in a feral grin that was anything but inspiring. ¡°The darkness is over. We lost Cenya, the pin that held this town together. She was older than most of the trees around here. She fed us. Raised us. Told us stories to keep us entertained during the long winters¡­and she is gone. May she find splendor in the Eternal City.¡±


    ¡°May she find splendor in the Eternal City,¡± the village echoed.


    ¡°There are dark times ahead of us,¡± Rake continued. ¡°Our people are being systematically enslaved by a tyrant who will not stop and who knows no mercy. If we are to survive this war and go to the only place where we can be safe¡­accepted¡­then we must go to Caemyth.¡±


    Murmurs and cries of fear and outrage broke through the crowd, laying waste to the cheer and wonder that had been before. Men shouted their objections. ¡°What do you mean we need to leave? We¡¯re fine just right now¡­¡± ¡°Caemyth! We¡¯ll never make it!¡± Mothers hugged their loved ones to their bosoms. The sound of their distress lit an ember inside Crowe. Only once he was standing before them did he realize he¡¯d pushed his way to the front.


    ¡°I know you are frightened,¡± he told them. ¡°I was frightened too when the Eternal City first appeared to me.¡± He relayed his story of how the Seraphim had dropped through a rent in the sky to deliver a prophecy. He left out Petras and how he¡¯d burned the house down¡­those details were not important. The more he spoke the more he felt the tension unravel. They watched him with rapt attention. Not a breath stirred among them. ¡°Do you know what I¡¯m afraid of more? I¡¯m afraid of being enslaved. I¡¯m afraid of being experimented on. Aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Several nods of agreement. A few murmurs.


    ¡°Maybe all of this is pointless. Maybe we are stuck in an eternal cycle of suffering that will never truly end. But I believe the Seraphim came to me for a reason. I believe there¡¯s a reason Metropolis sits in the sky right now. In order to find out what it is, you have to find it.¡±


    He ended with this. It was enough. It had to be. I¡¯ve done what I can. Whether or not you survive is up to you.


    The crowd started towards him with the words ¡°herald of Monad¡± brushing across their lips like feathers; in these same words he sensed a similar reverence to the chants of Hamon from the temple. Hands reached for him. Before they could touch him Barghast¡¯s arms closed around him, pulling Crowe¡¯s back to his chest. He made the Okanavian equivalent of a no sound and they backed away, afraid. Rake stepped in before the situation could escalate, waving them away. Barghast released the practitioner reluctantly.


    ¡°I know you can¡¯t go with us¡­that you have work to do.¡± The rat man lowered his eyes. ¡°Will you wait here while I grab a few things for your journey?¡±


    ¡°I can spare a few minutes.¡±


    Rake walked away to grab provisions. The crowd dispersed slowly at his beck and call albeit slowly. The Eternal¡¯s City glow still held them spellbound. Barghast looked at Crowe. Crowe looked at Barghast. For the time being they were alone separated by a few pieces of limestone. A mischievous glint entered Barghast¡¯s eyes. He scooted an inch closer to the practitioner. The practitioner scooted a stone closer. Their hips touched.


    Rake returned, leading the biggest horse Crowe had ever seen in his life by the reins; Rake looked like a child in comparison to it. The horse¡¯s fur was mostly black with patches of white. The shire horse¡¯s black mane looked shiny with health. ¡°He will help you get to where you¡¯re going a bit quicker. This is Mammoth. You will not find a better horse. Being more of a gentle giant, he isn¡¯t the quickest when it comes to speed but he¡¯s the horse we have big enough to bear the weight of your lycan friend here.¡±


    He handed the reins to the practitioner. ¡°In the bag are some provisions. I found a map of the entire northern region. There¡¯s some bread and apples in there and a bag of grain for the horse. And I found this in Cenya¡¯s things.¡± He passed a small satchel the exact same color as the one Crowe had carried. The second he opened it the strong smell of pine rose in the air. Barghast snorted, his nose twitching. Ground aether. And some rolling papers. Enough to get him through a couple of days. Maybe even a week if he was careful. He longed to roll a joint.


    ¡°It¡¯s not much¡­¡± Rake looked away sheepishly. ¡°It¡¯s less than what you need¡­¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s more than you have to give,¡± the practitioner interjected. He slung the bag over his shoulder. He turned to face the horse. Standing just under eighteen hands tall, Mammoth made him look even smaller than Rake. ¡°Hi Mammoth.¡± Crowe ran a hand carefully along the length of Mammoth¡¯s muzzle. The horse wickered in pleasure.


    Crowe felt awkward trying to climb up on the saddle. Though he was long of limb it was impossible to lift his leg that high. Before he could lose his grip on the saddle Barghast¡¯s paws closed around his waist lifting him easily into the air. Barghast grinned at him mischievously. Even at night his lycan¡¯s eyes could not mistake the fire of embarrassment that burned across the practitioner¡¯s cheeks. He probably did that just so he could touch my rump. He only had a moment to prepare himself before Barghast saddled behind him, those arms closing around him like a band of steel. Always looking for an excuse to touch, to make contact. The way a dog always vies for its master''s attention. Rake led Mammoth by the reins around the well several times to make sure the massive horse could bear the practitioner and lycan¡¯s combined weight. Once he was sure they were compatible he gave the horse a friendly pat on the flank; it sounded like he was slapping his palm against a wall.


    ¡°Are you sure you want to leave in the middle of the night like this?¡± he asked with a final look of uncertainty. He looked up at the sky. ¡°We can find a corner to tuck you boy in until morning.¡±


    Crowe followed his gaze. He suppressed a shiver. Somewhere beyond his sight he sensed a black cloud closing in. It was just beyond the horizon. He clenched his teeth. He forced himself to take a deep breath. ¡°We¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    ¡°This is probably the only time we¡¯re going to cross paths.¡± Was it just the practitioner¡¯s imagination or did he hear a hint of sadness in the rat-faced man¡¯s voice.


    ¡°We¡¯ll see each other again,¡± Crowe said with empathic certainty.


    He bade a final goodbye to Rake. A pale figure with red hair that glimmered in the dark approached Mammoth from the side.


    ¡°I never thanked you for what you did,¡± Tannhaus said. A gust of wind blew hair in his face. He huddled against it, looking stronger than he had a couple of nights ago but still sickly. The practitioner wondered what he¡¯d looked like before Timberford and if he would ever truly regain his strength again. Some events change you to the point of no return.


    Crowe looked away. ¡°I don¡¯t need your thanks.¡±


    ¡°You saved my life¡­many times. You could have killed me and you didn¡¯t. You could have let that¡­that¡­¡± Gregor¡¯s face tensed in the struggle to find the perfect word. ¡°...demon kill me and you didn¡¯t. You could have let Rake? You didn¡¯t? Why?¡±


    ¡°Because even though the world we live in is a mistake I think it can still be changed. Bit by bit act by act. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re capable of change, Gregor. But then I believe Monad¡¯s flame burns in all of us¡­even you.¡±


    ¡°Do you think if the circumstances were different we could have been friends?¡±


    ¡°I could never be your friend.¡±


    ¡°Because of who my father is?¡±


    Crowe let his silence speak for him. I could never be your friend.


    He left Gregor in a veil of silence somehow knowing their paths would cross again. Voices called after him, called him herald, but he ignored them. I never wanted to be the herald. I never wanted to be a soldier. He pondered the source of his motivation. What drove him to forge ahead even when he¡¯d pushed his body to the breaking point?


    Monad¡¯s flame burns in us all¡­even you.


    ¡°Goodbye Gregor. I hope he didn¡¯t see each other again.¡± He said this knowing they would see each other again just as he knew he would cross paths with Rake; and it would be with a divided line between them. He pulled on Mammoth¡¯s reins lightly. The horse started forward.


    Only when Barghast and he were at the top of a hill did he look over his shoulder at Timberford. War no war, the town was in full spirits tonight. He could still see pallid faces looking up at the sky. Lights flickered in the windows. He wondered if they would make it to Caemyth¡­if it was a mistake to not go with them.


    An invisible cord pulled his eyes to the southern horizon. He could feel the pull and tug of fate shifting around him, setting things in motion; conversely he sensed a troubling darkness. It was not here yet but it would be soon if he didn¡¯t move. If I stay I¡¯ll only doom them¡­I¡¯ll undo everything I worked so hard to finish.


    ¡°Are you ready to get out of here?¡± the practitioner asked.


    He felt Barghast¡¯s cheek nuzzle against his own. ¡°Crowe,¡± was all he said.


    I¡¯ll take that as a yes. Crowe pulled on the reins again. Mammoth sped from a canter into a light trot. Rake had been right when he said Mammoth wasn¡¯t the fastest horse. He ignored the prickle of fear at the back of his neck. He kept his eyes focused ahead of him with the glow of Metropolis at his back.

 The Passage of Silver

    Crowe dangled in the air, clinging to the tree branch for dare life. The ground spun precariously below him. It occurred to him the stunt he was trying to pull may have not been the best idea, but he hadn¡¯t exactly


    been thinking clearly lately. He straddled the branch between his thighs, clenching his teeth in equal parts determination and frustration. The thought of fleeing while he still could lingered in the back of his mind; another told him the acquisition of an aether tree branch could be the difference between life and death. Aether trees were a gift from Monad to his people, the only wood capable of channeling a practitioner¡¯s mana. With Drajen¡¯s order to burn all the trees down to restrict practitioners'' access to them, who knew when he would cross another one.


    He held his hands over the branch just short of touching it. He forced himself to inhale a deep breath. I only need a small flame, he reminded himself. Just enough to burn through the wood.


    He didn¡¯t need a staff to channel his mana. There was a reason why the Theocracy feared the practitioners; perhaps they were right to. Mana was a chaotic force born of the same force from which it came, passed down from generation to generation. Without the wood of the aether tree to direct its currents it could spread if unchecked, doing unintended damage. A crash of thunder, felt from within, not heard, pulled his gaze East. Dark clouds converged a hundred leagues to the south, amassing into a large blemish. He couldn¡¯t see it but he could feel it moving in his direction. ¡­There are those who want to keep the cycle of suffering - world after world, Iteration after Iteration. Forces that want to keep Monad¡¯s people - your people - from finding their way back home. They are out there now in search of you and they draw close.


    The practitioner pushed all thought from his mind, focusing on the task at hand. He willed the current of mana to travel down his arms to the tips of his fingers. Steeled by his determination and his intent to survive, blue flame shot from the tips of his fingers, burning through the wood. He ignored the twinge of resistance that pulled at him. He was already pushing himself, using his mana reserve to push himself further. Had to keep going. Had to keep moving. Had to stay ahead of the black cloud that pursued. He didn¡¯t want to think what would happen when it reached him -


    The tree branch beneath his thighs gave way with a brutal snap.


    He fell, the ground rushing up to meet him. He could feel bones breaking already like a cruel premonition. A fraction of a second before he hit the forest floor his rump landed squarely in the arms of the hulking figure who had been standing under the tree to catch his fall for this very purpose. Amber eyes stared down at him from the borders of a furry face. A fat wet tongue pressed against his face, leaving a streak of warm saliva from chin to forehead.


    ¡°Crowe,¡± he said amiably before planting a more human kiss on the practitioner''s burning cheek. His tail bounced happily back and forth. The eight foot tall wolfman had taken to kissing him any chance he could get whether it was helping him climb onto the saddle or checking him for injuries. He kissed him anywhere he could get away with it: on the forehead, the cheek like now, the tip of his nose, full on the lips. Already he was lowering his head to go for another smooch, this time on the lips. Crowe could feel his body beginning to settle, already starting to give into an arousal it didn¡¯t understand - or that it understood all too well.


    A mounting sense of peril tugged Crowe¡¯s mind back to the crisis at hand. Reluctantly he turned his head away. ¡°You can put me down, Barghast.¡±


    Barghast did not put him down. His eyes were closed, his lips puckered; he continued to make wet smooching sounds. He pressed his lips to Crowe¡¯s. The practitioner mentally stomped a steel toe on the thrill that immediately passed through his body down to his groin. ¡°Put me down now!¡±


    He felt the lycan¡¯s shoulders sag. Watched as his scarred face drooped in the pitiful expression of an overgrown child who has been reprimanded. He whined unhappily. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that look!¡± Crowe snapped. ¡°We have to stay on the move!¡± He pointed at the sky. Barghast turned in the direction of his finger. He sniffed the air before making another wrinkled face of displeasure.


    ¡°You can smell it, too, can¡¯t you?¡± Crowe demanded. ¡°So start listening to me!¡± It occurred to him with a delayed flash of insight that the Okanavian could listen to him and always did. No matter which way he turned or went, the lycan followed him like an oversized shadow, always hungry for¡­another expression, another word. As if everything Crowe said or did had to be transcribed in his memory for later examination. It was both endearing and unsettling to be the undisguised focus of someone¡¯s attention¡­especially when Crowe knew nothing but his name. Especially when they couldn''t understand each other. He needed to start teaching Barghast new words. Their very survival depended on it. He would have to do so while on the road.


    Once the Okanavian set him down on his feet - he did so with a grousing sound - Crowe stooped to pick it up. The branch felt sturdy in his fingers. A current emanated from its bark, traveling into his fingers. Like recognizing like; both contained the ember of Monad. Already his fingers yearned to reach into the pocket of his robes and pull out his dagger to start carving. There¡¯s no time. He held his arms out, already feeling the lycan close in behind him to help him up. Rather than fight him, the practitioner decided it was best to go with it. It was one of the few strange norms that had formed between them. He tried not to ponder how quickly he became used to these norms.


    Mammoth, the shire horse that had been given to them as a parting gift from the town of Timberford, was not an animal bred for speed. Standing just under eighteen hands tall, the beast was meant for bearing and pulling great weight. Barghast was no light freight. At eight feet tall and all muscle, it was a wonder Mammoth could carry them all let alone travel over the Plaesil Mountain¡¯s rugged terrain. The horse¡¯s boundless stamina was a testament to the danger pursuing them. While the massive horse never moved at a full gallop, his steps were careful and quick for a beast of his size.


    Crowe¡¯s heart swelled with relief. He was glad to be on the move again, to put distance between themselves and the darkness at their back. Never mind that he¡¯d been up for almost two days. Never mind that his eyes burned like hot coals, reddened from where he¡¯d rubbed them raw with the palms of his hands. He¡¯d pulled such stints before on those long purgatorial days when he¡¯d lived alone with an ailing Petras. Always listening for the sound of breaking glass. Always waiting for the moment when he¡¯d found Petras had shattered a portrait frame or a window to slash his wrists open and free Crowe from his prison.


    He tried to focus on the Passage of Silver, a mountain pass that cut through a forest of pine trees. The shadows of the trees grew longer with each passing minute. Soon night would be upon them. Soon he would have no choice but to stop if only to sleep a few hours¡­just long enough so he could push himself another few hours. You act as if you haven¡¯t done this before, Bennett spoke up in his mind as he so often did. It¡¯s just like the old days when Petras used to wake you up in the dead of night to leave you out in the middle of a snow storm.


    Night had fallen completely when he could no longer keep his eyes open. He felt his body start to tilt off the saddle only for Barghast to pull him back.


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    ¡°No,¡± Crowe croaked. ¡°We have to keep going.¡±


    Barghast growled deep within his throat, the Okanavian equivalent of no. He hauled the practitioner off the saddle before the sorcerer could object. Crowe pulled blankets out of the saddle bag and laid out the bedroll. The moment he was settled on the pallet the lycan had him wrapped up and secure in his embrace like a swaddling babe to a mother¡¯s bosom. Another strange¡­what? Custom? Ritual? Would he ever know? He knew other than his name - the only word Barghast knew - the Okanavian called him twin o¡¯rre, a word that meant ¡°twin-spirit¡± in Okanavi. He knew the lycan was overly protective of him, going so far as to brave spirit-infested homes before him and hold him so his feet didn¡¯t touch the ground.


    Even more confusing was the way his own body reacted to him, pulled by a thread that was white-hot. It was becoming instinctual. The first thing he did when he opened his eyes was search for Barghast. Every time he sensed danger he checked to make sure the Okanavian wasn¡¯t injured. Placing him above himself. In the nine days they¡¯d traveled together a bond of weeks had been forged between them. Now it seemed unnatural not to surrender his body to the Okanavian¡¯s embrace. After all, all he ever did was pet him and kiss him and run his warm fingers through his hair¡­


    ¡­like he was doing now, lapping at Crowe¡¯s lips with his tongue. He pressed his lips firmly to the practitioner¡¯s in a sloppy kiss that lit a final spark of desire in the young sorcerer. His head fell into the cradle of Barghast¡¯s arm, using it as a pillow. He smiled in his sleep, knowing this was where he was meant to be.`


    ¡­


    Gaia had given Barghast a twin o¡¯rre unlike any other. A warrior who appeared strong in front of the crowd when strength was needed of him, but was capable of showing humility and weakness in privacy with those he trusted. Such a dichotomy made for a good leader in Barghast¡¯s experience.


    For all that he was young. They both were. By the standards of the Okanavi he was on the cusp of adulthood. He¡¯d already gone through the Trial, a passage of growth that marked the transition from pup to adolescence. He feared the second Trial was close on the horizon. He didn¡¯t like to think about what that would mean for his twin o¡¯rre and he. He told himself it was of little consequence for the time being. They still had time to get to know each other before he had to prepare Crowe for the inevitable.


    He watched the practitioner sleep, unable to look away. No matter what beautiful vista awaited them on the horizon, his twin o¡¯rre was the most beautiful thing in this land by a long shot. Soft looking on the outside, strong on the inside - a ferocity that dazzled and destroyed when it presented itself. Hair black as night, eyes blue that could glint with uncertainty and fear in one second then turn white in the next, glowing with the wrath of his fury.


    Moments like this were his favorite. The times when he revealed his true self to Barghast. The Okanavian knew it shamed him to do so¡­the lycan wished he had the words to tell him never to worry on his account. Barghast wanted him to rely on the Okanavian no matter how it might appear to others. Who cared what anyone else thought, practitioner or lycan? The only person whose thoughts he cared about - if only he could discern them - was cradled in his lap, snoring lightly. Barghast loved the feel of his twin orre¡¯s breath fluttering against the bristles of his chin, cooling him.


    Crowe had pushed them hard today. Harder than he¡¯d pushed them before. Barghast shifted his back against the tree trunk, wincing. He was not familiar with fatigue like this. Exhaustion sure, but not from travel. Even back home he¡¯d been known for his prowess as a lycan. Still they were of little concern to him. He ran a  digit along the crease of worry etched into the skin around the practitioner¡¯s mouth. He wanted to rub it away. No. Better yet he wanted to kiss it away. His mothers back home had always taught him kisses made everything better¡­and he knew his twin o¡¯rre liked it when Barghast kissed him. Even when he didn¡¯t want to show it. Even when he was asleep.


    He bent forward a little, being careful not to awaken the morsel in his arms. He pressed his lips to the wrinkle. He ran his tongue along it, wanting to smooth it out. He pressed another to his lips, relishing the contact. He wanted to press harder. Wanted to press his tongue into his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s mouth, wanted to feel him shudder against him in pleasure. Oh, had he ever wanted anything more?


    ¡°He is not your plaything to do with what you want!¡± the seer¡¯s voice scolded. Golden eyes glared at him, her gnarled shadow stooped beneath the branches of a dead tree. ¡°He is to be treasured. Disciplined. Gaia has not granted you with just any twin o¡¯rre. She has granted you a twin o¡¯rre who will change the world. Only he can lead our clans out of the desert to roam free the way we were meant to¡­the way we used to in the calm days of the First Iteration.¡±


    Barghast flinched as if she¡¯d slapped him, his tail dropping in shame. She hadn¡¯t. If she was there at all she was a ghost¡­and he couldn¡¯t be sure of what she was other than a guide who pestered him when he wanted to touch Crowe¡¯s rump while he slept or do other things. She only appeared at night, offering tidbits of advice. Do this, don¡¯t do that. It was annoying. He didn¡¯t need her advice. He knew how to take care of his own twin o¡¯rre.


    Don¡¯t I?


    ¡°Foolish pup!¡± the sneer snapped, revealing pointed teeth. For an apparition she certainly was a convincing imitation of the real thing. ¡°For someone who knows so little about the world you certainly have a lot of confidence in yourself! The ones who chase you¡­they are unlike you¡¯ve encountered thus far. Like the demon you encountered in the depths of the temple, they have the power to spin illusion from thin air. They serve a being who directly opposes Gaia and the deity your twin o¡¯rre so blindly follows. They are anathema to your Crowe. They will attack him relentlessly, do everything to burrow in his mind. Fear not. Gaia foresaw this cycles ago and crafted one who could keep them at bay with his mere presence¡­you. Be on your guard!¡±


    The seer dissipated in a cloud of smoke that quickly faded from view. Had she truly been there at all? It didn¡¯t matter. As always her words carried the weight of prophecy. Sure enough a gust of wind howled at the trees, battering his face bringing with it the smell of something rotten. Within seconds of its start, the gales picked up speed, kicking up drifts of snow. It ripped a tree out of the ground, flinging it in the lycan¡¯s direction. Cradling his twin o¡¯rre against his chest, Barghast jumped out of its way before the tree could crush them to a pulp. It sailed past them, slamming into the ground with the sound of breaking bone.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡±


    Barghast tried to set Crowe on his limp only for the practitioner¡¯s body to start tilting limply. He patted his face urgently, careful not to cut him with his claws. Nothing he did woke the young sorcerer. He¡¯d fallen under the spell of the evil force who attacked them. By the grace of Gaia the horse fate had granted them was still there, urging them with a neighing sound that transcended the bridge between animal and human; the beast wanted to survive just as much as Barghast did.


    Once he was sure they were both secure on the saddle, he steered the mount North with a cluck of his tongue - the direction Crowe had been leading them in. Twice more he tried to wake his twin o¡¯rre to no avail. Crowe only moaned uneasily in his sleep, fighting a battle of his own.


    Barghast hugged Crowe to him, steering the horse through the dark. With the howling in his face it was difficult even for him to see. The lycan gnashed his teeth in frustration. He resisted the urge to snap the reins against the beast as hard as he could, to drive the horse to go faster. They were racing against the dead winds at a full gallop and it wasn¡¯t fast enough.


    He looked down when he felt something wet seep through his fur. His pads came back wet with blood. He wetted his tongue, tasting. A sweet honey taste. It was Crowe¡¯s blood. No, no, no. He pulled the practitioner¡¯s limp body off the horse, easing him on the ground as gently as he could. With the world coming apart all around them there was no way of being gentle.


    He hiked up his robes, whining apologies in this manner, wishing there was some way to explain to his twin o¡¯rre he wasn¡¯t trying to undress him. All thoughts of molesting Crowe without consent vanished when he saw the claw marks on the back of the practitioner''s hip.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± he roared over the wind. He sobbed, resisting the urge to throttle his beloved until Crowe¡¯s eyes opened, but knew doing so would only harm him. Crowe had the power to summon fire and influence the multitudes but one wrong touch from the Okanavian could kill him. So he waited and he prayed to Gaia. What else could he do?

 The Servants of Hamon

    The necromancers huddled around the hearth of a dilapidated farmhouse twenty miles east of Barghast and Crowe. The storm they¡¯d given birth to had torn a hole in the roof, spiraling around them, making the walls around them shudder and groan. It was a wonder the house didn¡¯t cave around them.


    He knew they were necromancers by the way the stench and the shadows moved around them like living things. They were dressed in black cloaks not unlike his own, their hoods drawn. The only difference marking him from them were the trinkets clasped at their throats: a five pointed star with half crescent moons resting at each tip. The symbol of Hamon, king of the night, anathema to everything Monad stood for. He watched them from the shadows, unable to move. He had no arms, no legs, no body with which to see. He had no idea how he came to be in this incorporeal state - if it was an innate ability or if something else was at work. He only knew he didn¡¯t want to be here. He wanted to be back in his body where he belonged.


    It was safe to say he didn¡¯t like life as a wisp of smoke.


    He could tell they were necromancers by their stench. It was not a sense he picked up with his nose but his¡­mind? his spirit? Petras never had the chance to teach him astral projection before the madness took him¡­Shapes moved in the darkness at their backs. The leathery flap of a wing here, the narrow point of a snout there. The gleam of a white eye like a dead star in a black void. He didn¡¯t want to know what horrors hid in those shadows. He wanted to know about the necromancers even less. Their very aura sent slivers of dread through the core of his astral body.


    Black static made the air crackle around them.   Only the lower half of their faces showed. The white whiskers and grizzled jaw of the taller figure suggested an older male. Being a practitioner he would be ancient¡­around Petra¡¯s or Cenya¡¯s age if not older. Crowe didn¡¯t want to guess the power he wielded. There was something about the smaller of the necromancers that drew his attention like a black magnet. The sensual curve of her lips suggested she was female.


    Her grin disturbed him in a way he could not say. It took him a moment to see why. Her lips were red and sticky with blood. Theirs both were. Thunder clapped above their skies, setting the sky alight with blue fire. ¡°We know you¡¯re there, herald,¡± said the older necromancer. His voice sounded like paper scraping against stone. ¡°We can smell the foulness of your creator running through your veins. Who was it you think summoned you here?¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± said the other. Her lips parted to reveal teeth that had been filed down to razor sharp points; they rivaled that of a lycan¡¯s. If Crowe had a body to feel with he would have felt a cold chill crawl up his spine.


    ¡°We are your opposites in every regard,¡± croaked the man.


    ¡°The darkness to your light,¡± the woman sang happily.


    ¡°...the antithesis of change. We are chaos¡­¡±


    ¡°...just as Hamon is the flipside of Monad.¡±


    They bounced back and forth, finishing one another¡¯s thoughts.


    ¡°You should have stayed on the farm where you belong, boy. You meddle in matters you do not understand.¡± The man raised his head up enough to show the gleam of a milky white eye. Black veins twisted through icy tissue, pulling his mind back to the temple back in Timberford. There Barghast and he had discovered worshippers of Hamon, linked by blood to a lower demon who had lived beneath the temple. All servants of the same twisted being in one form or another.


    He steeled himself against the necromancer¡¯s words. They were nothing more than a mere distraction. I need to find a way to get back to my body. If he had eyes they would have been shut tight in concentration. He remembered the last time this had happened¡­it hadn¡¯t been nearly as unpleasant of an experience. The feeling of flying. Of being weightless. Limitless and without constraint. Only to discover this lack of constraint had the worst limit of all: the lack of control. So he discovered again as he reached frantically for the trees, trying to reclaim that feeling of buoyancy.


    ¡°He¡¯s trying to wiggle away, Pa, the worm,¡± the girl tittered. She held up a single severed human finger; the digit had been severed down to the last knuckle. The needlepoints of her teeth caught the moonlight. He could only watch as she raised the finger to her mouth before biting into it with an audible crunching sound. ¡°It¡¯s fun watching him squirm like a little bitch¡­¡±


    ¡°Careful now, Tara,¡± the man admonished without a shred of conviction in his voice. ¡°That¡¯s the herald you¡¯re talking to. Although¡­¡± He frowned. ¡°I will say this one looks younger than the other heralds. The others were always older. More weary of the world, more experienced. This one has only had a taste of what life will bring him.¡± The man shivered as if shaking a thought away. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡± The man sighed, almost giving him a look of sympathy. ¡°It isn¡¯t really your fault. You¡¯re just a pawn in a game that¡¯s bigger than you. And in the end you always lose. We all do. This time you¡¯re just being knocked out of the game a little early.¡±


    With that Pa held up his staff and pointed it at him.


    In the blink of an eye he was surrounded. The cloud of pulsing black static spun around him. Even if he¡¯d been capable of movement, there would be no way to escape; he was surrounded from all sides. Leathery wings billowed past his field of vision. Distorted faces snarled at him, hollow eyes pulling him into endless depths. They sliced into him with their claws.


    Through the roar in his¡­ears? he didn¡¯t have ears¡­he could hear Pa and Taras laughter.


    They were enjoying this.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre¡­¡±


    A voice. A voice in the storm.


    A compass in the dark.


    He seized a hold of it with his mind. It repeated, growing louder and louder with each repetition, pulling at him. I¡¯m coming.


    There came a great tugging sensation and he crashed back into his body with such force he gasped for air. His thoughts raced, struggling to make sense of what was happening around him. The dead wind whipped at his face, smelling so strongly of dead flesh it made his gorge rise. A familiar shape hovered over him, amber eyes fixed on Crowe¡¯s body. The practitioner¡¯s eyes joined him on the open wound that marked his flesh. It stung but after all they¡¯d endured in Timberford, he was getting used to pain.


    ¡°Crowe,¡± Barghast whined, his fur standing straight on end. His body vibrated with fear.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, it¡¯s okay,¡± Crowe heard himself say. Not because he truly believed everything would be okay, but because he knew panicking wouldn¡¯t help. We have to keep moving. We have to get ahead of the storm. ¡°Help me, help me, I have to get up.¡±


    He needn¡¯t have worried about the lycan understanding him. Whatever they lost in the way of communication they were one in matters of survival. The Okanavian helped him on the horse before climbing up on the saddle behind him. Crowe tied a scarf around the front of his face and pulled up his head - anything to block out the fetid stench of Inferno. He passed a handkerchief over his shoulder so Barghast could do the same. With his pointed muzzle it took a precious minute to get it secure, but they managed.


    Crowe steered the horse North back towards the Dominion Highway. He could feel the blood flowing freely now, soaking his robes. He would have to staunch the bleeding soon, but first they had to get out of this infernal draft. Gripping the reins with one hand, he held the Lion-Headed Serpent clasped to his throat, a prayer¡¯s flutter on his lips. ¡°May Monad¡¯s light guide me through the dark¡­¡±


    Barghast growled his own prayers under his breath. Crowe could tell not because he could hear him but because the solid muscle of his belly vibrated constantly against his lower back. Each jolt from the horse sent ripples of pain through the practitioner. He could feel his life leaking out of him one drop at a time¡­had to keep moving, but the damn horse couldn¡¯t go any faster.


    He wasn¡¯t sure how long they rode on like this before he noticed the unnatural draft died down to the natural flutter of being on horseback; by this time he was clinging to the saddle to remain upright. He lifted his head at the sound of burbling water. At some point he must have nodded off and Barghast had steered them elsewhere because now they had stopped by a tributary. The water traveled downhill, cascading down jagged rocks. Crowe found himself searching the trees for the black glittering eyes of a bear.


    ¡°We have to go,¡± he heard himself say. ¡°The cut¡¯s not even that deep¡­it¡¯s just worse than it looks.¡±


    He didn¡¯t have the energy to put up a fight when Barghast steered towards him towards the water like a mother coaxing a child into the bath. Barghast made the motion for him to lift his arms over his head. The moment the practitioner obeyed, he pulled the filthy garments over his arms. Crowe resisted the urge to hug himself against the cold.


    Barghast froze, his eyes lingering on Crowe. They started at his face before sweeping over the bony ridges of his shoulders, his throat, down his torso to the wound and lower. He had the same feral look Crowe had seen on his face before¡­that moment by a stream very much like this one. It had been after they¡¯d escaped the horrors in the temple outside of Timberford.


    ¡°Hello!¡± Crowe snapped his fingers impatiently. ¡°I know¡­for whatever reason I can¡¯t imagine¡­you can¡¯t take your eyes off me, but I¡¯m bleeding out and there¡¯s a literal cloud of death chasing after us! Can we get a move on?¡±


    Shaking his head, Barghast freed himself from his stupor. He rooted around the bag, muttering and whining under his breath in Okanavian. Even after having traveled together for two weeks, rarely leaving each other¡¯s sight, it was still jarring to Crowe to see someone who looked so much like a wolf act so much like a man. A man who felt fear. A man who had insecurities. A man who¡¯s way out of his depth, the sorcerer thought bitterly. It was a struggle to keep his eyes open but he knew he had to stay awake¡­had to stay alert.


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    The smell of smoke brought him back around. Barghast held up a leather piece of hide for him to bite down on, his expression grave. You''re not going to like this. Crowe took the hide without hesitation. Having grown up in the Northern wilds his whole life, he was no stranger to wounds. He''d yet to show them to the lycan, but he had a few scars of his own. Wincing, bruised and exhausted, he rolled over on his stomach. All too aware that he was presenting his bare ass to the lycan. I trust him. I do trust him.


    Barghast worked diligently, using a claw to smear gunpowder on the wound. He was starting to present himself as a capable healer as well as a lethal predator. Biting obediently down on the hide, Crowe wondered what other surprises he''d yet to discover about the lycan. He told himself pointedly not to think too hard about the pleasant orb of warmth the thought filled him with.


    ¡°Twin o''rre,¡± Barghast said warningly. He gave the practitioner''s rump a pat, making sure to take a transactional squeeze for himself - it still surprised Crowe to find he was eager for each touch.


    The snap of a match being struck. A small bloom of fire in the dark.


    He screamed against the sizzle of his own flesh. His fingers turned into claws, digging furrows into the earth. Tears of agony sheened his cheeks. I''ve cried more in the last two weeks than I have my whole life passed through his mind. He reminded himself life on the road was a hard life. A life battling demonic bears, necromancers, and religious zealots even harder.


    The touch of Barghast''s tongue against his smoking flesh made the practitioner yelp in surprise. Before Crowe could jerk away from him the Okanavian anchored him with an arm around his waist, baring the sorcerer''s injured rump to his dripping muzzle. The way those eyes speared his flesh, the way he stood with his entire body rigid, his tail pointed straight up at the sky. It was moments like this that truly put Crowe''s growing faith in the lycan to the test. When he looked like he wanted nothing more than to claim the practitioner as his next meal.


    The voices in his mind reminded him Barghast was a beast - no matter how close they''d become. Voices that reminded him they were more different than not. Always there were voices. So many he didn''t know where they came from. They''d been with him since the start of that very long Winter spent alone with Petras. The same Winter Bennett left for the rebellion.


    Those voices immediately grew silent when Barghast''s tongue pressed against his flesh once more, already cooling. ¡°Barghast,¡± he moaned, his toes curling so tight it hurt. ¡°We have to go¡­Damn you to the Void, you''re going to get us killed¡­¡± At the moment he found he didn¡¯t care so much at the sandy feel of the muscle grazing his flesh. Still, he tried to pull away.


    There was no pulling away. Not when it came to Barghast getting what he wanted. Not when a massive arm spanning his belly held him place, surrounding him with fur and solid muscle. Not when Barghast¡¯s hungry growls sent shivers up his spine and yet he was being so gentle, not hurting Crowe. He¡¯d growled at him; once he¡¯d snapped at him; but he¡¯d yet to hurt him.


    By the time Barghast pulled back, Crowe¡¯s ass and the back of his thighs were thoroughly covered in the lycan¡¯s hot saliva. The lycan stooped to do more but the practitioner shook his head. He held his hand up, putting his thumb and middle finger together. ¡°Do I need to start flicking your nose to get you to listen? You need to learn boundaries.¡± He hated the lack of conviction in his voice. How could he preach about boundaries when he so willingly enabled the Okanavian¡¯s advances?


    The lycan¡¯s shoulders slumped with a whine. Crowe ignored him, stumbling back towards Mammoth. There was no time for rest or cuddling, no matter how much he yearned to do so. The servants of Hamon were still right behind them.


    ¡­


    ¡°I really don''t understand,¡± Pa said for the fourth time. ¡°It¡¯s not like Monad to change things up. He makes the same mistakes over and over again is in his nature...as I suppose is in ours. There''s nothing wrong with the experiment, it''s the scientist, the creator¡¯s hands who are wrong.¡±


    Tara paced back and forth. The cottage they¡¯d taken refuge in shuddered around them, barely fit to take notice of them. Pa didn''t notice. He was lost in thought as he often seemed to be more and more these days. She wasn''t the only one. The darkness at her back was hungry as well. It wanted to break forth uncontained; to blacken the sky and block out the sun.


    That would be fun, Tara thought. She imagined the havoc endless havoc would reach upon the world. Or turning the sky blood red¡­that would be something. But Pa doesn''t want to have fun anymore. Tara knew she shouldn''t pout (she was getting too old for it Pa was always telling her) but the practitioner and his lapdog were getting further away. She could feel them sinking further and further outside her and Pa¡¯s influence.


    ¡°What does it matter?¡± she hissed, unable to contain her impatience a moment longer.


    He raised his head to burn her with a glare of glittering impatience. ¡°The herald isn''t going anywhere. He¡¯s injured and most of all he''s inexperienced.¡±


    Tara waved her hand dismissively. ¡°So what''s the big deal? I just want to kill something.¡±


    ¡°Even in this Iteration you are an impatient fool,¡± Pa hissed under his breath.


    ¡°Even in this one you are a boring one¡­as ever.¡±


    ¡°When your lives end in the same way over and over no matter how hard you try to change the outcome, it has the tendency to make one bitter,¡± Pa snapped indignantly.


    Tara tried to hide a grin and failed. Drops of saliva fell from the ends of her incisors. It was always so much fun to get under Pa¡¯s skin. It was always so easy to do. Something tugged uneasily at her. He didn¡¯t always used to be this way. Perhaps the culmination of lives has been too much for him. The thought touched a fear in her she didn¡¯t want to take notice of. Rather than face it head on she did what she always did which was hide behind a false smile of indifference. ¡°I don¡¯t care if this cycle is different from the last one. Whether this herald is more experienced or less experienced. All I know is I am tired of having my body broken and restitched back together cycle after cycle. When I get my hands on him, I¡¯m going to kill him with my bare hands. I¡¯ll strangle him until his eyes pop out of his skull.¡±


    The thought made Tara titter with excitement. When Pa did not join her in her joy she gnashed her teeth together in frustration. She rounded on him, blood-stained lips peeling back from her teeth in a snarl. ¡°Pull yourself together, Pa! Remember what our Black Father said. No more do-overs. If we fail this time, we won¡¯t get to try again in the next cycle. We¡¯ll burn for all eternity. Do you want that?¡±


    Pa was silent for a long time. The silence clawed at her, made her want to crawl out of her skin. She wanted to strike him. It was an easy thing for her love to turn to hate and back again at the drop of a dime. She knew him better than she knew herself and vice versa. It had been this way for as long as her memory went back. She feared it, this dubious silence she sensed from him. She feared after a time it would affect her the way everything else about him, rubbing off her like dust from a chalkboard. She let her anger show through a little, but only a little. Multiple lives spent as a servant of Hamon had taught her it was safer to keep the best parts of yourself hidden from prying eyes. It was Pa who had taught her this so very long ago. Except from me, he¡¯d told her. It was the first time anyone had regarded her with something close to warmth. You never have to hide yourself from me. Which is why you can call me Pa.


    From the moment he¡¯d said that to her, she¡¯d loved him, though these days her love for him was a switch she wished she could shut off. Love was a hindrance. A weakness.


    ¡°Pull yourself together, Pa!¡± she hissed. Her dead eyes burned beneath the brim of her hood. ¡°Whatever compunctions have taken root inside your head, you best put them to rest now. We are out of lives. This time if we fail there will be no relief to our suffering. You will not ruin our last chance.¡±


    Pa¡¯s shoulder sagged beneath the weight of a great and terrible burden whose origin only he knew. That he kept it from her hurt Tara more than words could say¡­which is why she would never tell him. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he conceded at last. ¡°Of course you are. What shall we do then?¡±


    Tara¡¯s lips stretched from ear to ear. I love it when he lets me choose. ¡°A storm. A really big one.¡±


    Pa raised a snowy eyebrow. ¡°Bigger than the one we¡¯ve already made.¡±


    The youngest of the two necromancers scowled. ¡°Don¡¯t be thick. You know the kind of storm I¡¯m talking about.¡± She crossed the room to him until they stood in a cloud of black static¡¯s center. Their pets circled around them, caressing them with their leathery wings.


    Pa swallowed, visibly taken aback. ¡°It¡¯s a surprise you want me after all these years. All these lifetimes. My body only grows more and more scarred, reflecting the state of my soul. I die over and over again and yet I am never truly dead¡­¡±


    ¡°Stop your prattling, old man,¡± Tara whispered in her own affectionate way. She pulled back his cowl, forcing him out into the open. She ran her hands over the worn cracks forever molded into his skin from all the times he¡¯d been ripped apart and reconstituted. He looked at her impassively, his face smooth as stone beneath the damaged flesh. Once he had looked at her with a fiery passion that had burned white-hot. The sins they had committed together. The debauchery. Raiding towns. Slaughtering the innocents. Dining on warm flesh. Once upon a time he had been the more ruthless of the two.


    She would have none of it. She went to him, her heart pounding in her breast. Craving him as she had the first time, from the moment he¡¯d told Tara she could be only herself in front of him. She pulled down his breeches before straddling him. ¡°You used to love me once,¡± she gasped. ¡°You used to be mad for me. We used to make love in the ashes of our destruction, in a river of blood and you would proclaim me your true goddess. Don¡¯t you love me? Don¡¯t you want me still?¡± She stood long enough to remove her robes before resuming her position on the saddle.


    Pa rocked against her, getting into the rhythm. She looked down at him, shiny raven hair spilling down her tailbone. She arched her back, guiding his engorged cock into her. As she began to ride him the wind picked up around them, buffeting the walls of the cottage until it shook and groaned. Above the roof clouds gathered, forming a dark blemish in the sky. The sky opened up releasing a torrent of blood as their bodies rocked together. Tara no longer had to guide the motion of their hips, Pa was moving in a frenzy. His teeth grazed at the flesh of her neck.


    Whorls of dust stirred in the wake of their passion. The smokescreen of black static fanned out, seeping through the walls. Droplets of blood plummeted through holes punched in the ceiling, soaking the frantic lovers below. The cottage could no longer stand under the pressure. The walls exploded outward, blown away by a tidal wave of air. Tara¡¯s gasps rose in pitch. Only now, in this moment when her body was unified with Pa¡¯s, did she let her mask slip completely. She cried out as they climaxed together, blood sluicing down their bodies. Scaly creatures with pointed heads and claws meant for tearing things apart circled around the cabin as the storm spread away from them like a shockwave cloud.


    The cloud would spread until it engulfed all the North. No one would be safe from their wrath.


    Tara was not done. This time she would throw everything she had at the new herald. She would leave no stone unturned; she would slaughter every innocent soul who stepped in their path for the mere fact it pleased her. Hamon is the true God, not the bastard Monad or the whore Elysia. I will do anything to make sure my master walks the world again.


    She continued to bounce her hips with inexhaustible stamina. Her fingers dug scratches into Pa¡¯s skin. Three pits opened up in the ground around them as their bodies thrummed with pleasure. Undead revenants, one from each pit, rose from the earth, haloed by the orange glow of molten fire. Already they knew their masters¡¯ commands, unsheathing weapons from belts made of human intestine, their hollowed faces devoid of emotion. Once summoned they would not stop.


    They ventured forth to hunt their prey.

 Downpour

    Crowe and Barghast continued their endless trek North. There was no time to rest; there was no time to heal. The very sky had been split in two with a divide that stretched on as far as the eye could see: a temperamental blue on one side, dark like a bruise on one side of the divide, poisonous red on the other. The work of the necromancers. He knew they would pursue them all the way North if he didn¡¯t shake them off.


    He ran his hands along the back of Mammoth¡¯s neck, channeling his mana through his fingertips. Beads of green light trickled from the tips of his fingers before threading through the horse¡¯s fur. It seemed to be working, keeping fatigue for the horse at bay - allowing him to move at a gallop for longer stretches. He wished Petras were here to see him think outside the box. Look what I can do! It was a pitiful thing to want the approval of another, but the thought of his tutor not seeing his accomplishments no matter how small pained him.


    A clap of thunder pulled his eyes East. At the center of the red sky a black eye watched them - the epicenter from which the dark mana folded around itself, spreading like a cancer. Coming after them. Soon it would be on top of them. There was nothing he could do about it¡­except push on. And pray. And try. It¡¯s out of my hands now. Monad will decide our fate. Crowe did his best to ignore the fear that sat deep within his gut. It wasn¡¯t himself he feared for but his companion. No doubt sensing the tension in the practitioner¡¯s body, Barghast had been unusually silent, the only sound the loud rumble of his breath. He gripped the reins in his paws, his arms resting against Crowe¡¯s thighs. The practitioner allowed himself a moment to languish in his warmth.


    For now the Passage of Silver had flattened down to a winding thread lined with pine trees on both sides. They swayed in the wind, blowing pine needles in Crowe¡¯s hair, whipping it about in a frenzy. He moved to pull his hood up to keep it from blowing in the Okanavian¡¯s face, but the lycan stopped him, clawed digits closing around his wrists. He made a huffing sound, indicating his disapproval. He nosed at the practitioner, kissing Crowe¡¯s face, sniffing his hair appreciatively.


    ¡°Bossy,¡± Crowe said with a giggle. He tried to grab Barghast¡¯s muzzle but like everything else on the lycan, he couldn¡¯t get his fingers more than halfway around. He¡¯d always believed he¡¯d had big hands with fingers that were too long and skinny for his liking - like everything else about him - but the Okanavian¡¯s immense size made him feel as delicate as a twig. Barghast certainly seemed to enjoy treating him like he was delicate¡­and Crowe found he didn¡¯t mind so much either. It was nice to be pampered for a change even if the implications of this development in their relationship left him feeling uneasy with uncertainty in those moments when the restlessness of his thoughts held dominion.


    He searched around now for something to distract himself from those very thoughts. It was one of the drawbacks of traveling with someone you couldn''t understand; it afforded him too much time to think. The state of your mind hasn''t exactly been in the best place, ol¡¯ chap, Bennett''s voice said in the back of his mind.


    Communication. If they were going to survive he would have to learn how to communicate with Barghast beyond just touching and tail wags and pointed looks.  We have to start somewhere.


    ¡°Barghast.¡± He wrapped his hand around the lycan''s finger and gave it a squeeze.


    The lycan perked up immediately, his tail thumping against the tail''s flank eagerly. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    Crowe pointed at the nearest tree. ¡°Tree,¡± he said.


    ¡°Tee?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He worked to hide a giggle. ¡°Tree.¡± He turned, grinning, rubbing Barghast''s paw. This is a game. We''re having fun. Having fun with a red storm of death on their tail no less. He repeated the word slowly, dragging each syllable out. Pointing, rubbing, soothing. Barghast leaned into his touch, eager to learn the game the practitioner was trying to teach him. His gaze would fix intently on the thing the practitioner pointed to before switching just as intently to the sorcerer.


    ¡°Tree,¡± Crowe repeated again. ¡°Tr-ee. Tr-eee.¡± A shiver raced up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.


    Barghast ran his digits through Crowe¡¯s hair, curling around his finger as if it was threaded gold. In spite of the danger encroaching behind their backs he looked around excitedly at every tree in sight, growling, ¡°Tree¡­tree¡­tree¡­¡± His tongue dangled out of his mouth, dousing the practitioner with hot saliva. Crowe made a face, pretending to be disgusted, but the lycan¡¯s cheery nature was starting to rub off on him.


    It was time to move onto the next word.


    He pointed at the bruised half of the sky. ¡°Sky,¡± he said.


    Barghast looked up, his eyes bright with wonder. ¡°Sky?¡±


    The practitioner nodded. ¡°Sky. What do you call it?¡±


    Barghast cocked his head. ¡°Yogagl.¡±


    ¡°What about ¡®tree?¡¯ What is tree in Okanavian?¡±


    ¡°Lw¡¯shuggor.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll ever be able to pronounce that,¡± the practitioner muttered under his breath. The language was too strange, a mixture of barks and growls mixed with actual words. Maybe that wasn¡¯t the point¡­one the many differences between them; he wasn¡¯t meant to speak the language. That didn¡¯t mean Barghast couldn¡¯t learn to speak his. In spite of his canine behaviors, Barghast was not stupid nor could he truly be called a beast. Beasts were incapable of communication. Beasts were not capable of reason.


    Barghast pointed again. ¡°Tree.¡± He pointed a second time, this time over his head. ¡°Sky.¡± Crowe opened his mouth to praise him but the lycan silenced him by pressing the pad of a digit to his lips. His eyes bore intently into Crowe¡¯s. ¡°Sky,¡± he said.


    ¡°Eyes,¡± the practitioner corrected.


    ¡°Eyes?¡± Barghast frowned.


    ¡°Eyes,¡± the sorcerer confirmed with a nod.


    A mischievous glint entered the Okanavian¡¯s eyes. He kissed Crowe¡¯s right eye. ¡°Sky!¡± he proclaimed. He kissed the other. ¡°Eye!¡±


    A jolt of thunder drew their eyes skyward. Mammoth screamed, breaking back into a full gallop. Trees raced past them in a blur. Raging gusts of wind ripped Crowe¡¯s hood back.


    Mammoth jumped up on his hind legs, almost tossing his riders from his back. Barghast clung to the massive shire horse with his thighs, pressing his belly against Crowe''s to keep him from falling off. He barked the Okanavian equivalent of a curse. Crowe pressed his hands against the horse''s heaving sides. Through their physical contact he could feel the horse''s fear, a black blind panic that made the horse want to run and run and run. Through the fear he felt the horse''s exhaustion¡­or maybe it was his own fatigue, it was hard to say. He''d pushed the horse harder than any rider had before. And he wasn''t a horse meant for galloping long distances; he was a workhorse bred for carrying great weight. I know you''re tired, Crowe told the horse through their connection; the world shook all around them. I am too. I am sorry this has become your life, that I have dragged you into mine, but in the name of Monad, you have to keep going. You have to keep fighting.


    He could feel the horse - and himself - begin to calm when a flash of lightning struck a tree to their right. Hearing the groan of snapping wood, Crowe pulled on the reins hard. Mammoth managed to back away just in time to avoid the tree that crashed to the ground in their path. Another roar filled the sky. The practitioner felt something wet hit his face, red blooming across his field of vision. He ran a finger across his face. It came back red. His stomach clenched. Blood.


    A crimson cloud spread over their heads like a rose blooming outward. A torrential downpour of blood rain plummeted from the sky. Crowe snapped the reins and Mammoth burst forward, leaping over the tree in a single bound. Another burst of light struck another nearby tree. It burst apart in a cloud of splinters. Crowe felt some sharp slice into his cheek. At his back Barghast whimpered, clinging to him like a child who is being pulled away. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± he whined.


    ¡°I know,¡± Crowe hissed through a shuddering breath. He freed a hand to grab Barghast¡¯s paw. It was a futile attempt at comfort but he didn¡¯t know what to do. Drops of blood rain fell on him, dripping down in his eyes, blinding him, choking him with the unpleasant sickly taste of copper. I need you to be brave. I need you to be the warrior I know you can be. With each other and through the night of Monad we can get through anything. He wanted to say these words so the lycan could hear his voice, but he couldn¡¯t speak. He could only drive them forward in an attempt to get away from the rain.


    They didn¡¯t make it far before Mammoth stopped with a frightened wicker. He spun around, prancing in spot with Crowe and Barghast clinging to him like fleas. Crowe snapped the reins as hard as he could, no longer caring if he was hurting the horse or night. Black terror eclipsed him, eclipsed his prayers. It took him a moment to realize the reason they weren¡¯t moving was because they were sinking. Sinking into the ground. It folded beneath the shire horse¡¯s hooves. Black ooze bubbled up from the earth. There was no getting away from the stench of sulfur.


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    ¡°Hold onto me, Barghast!¡± the practitioner gasped. ¡°Whatever you do, don¡¯t let go!¡±


    He slammed his palms down on the horse¡¯s back, charging his hand with his suffocating fear. His hands shimmered blue with mana. Fight, Mammoth. Fight with all your strength. Fight if you want to live.


    The horse did want to live. He kicked with his hooves, his nostrils flaring. All Crowe could see were the whites of his eyes. They were sinking lower and lower. The black tar was up to his ankles now. Black hands reached up from the pit, reaching for them, pulling the horse deeper. Pitted faces gazed emptily at them, moaning. Begging for relief from eternal suffering. Crowe couldn¡¯t help them. Their souls had been lost to the evils of Inferno long ago. There were no prayers he could offer them. There was no salvation to be had.


    ¡°Monad, help me,¡± he whispered. ¡°May your flame burn bright within me so that I may stave off the darkness¡­¡±


    Once the prayer left his lips Monad¡¯s fire burned bright within him, white and hot. When he opened his eyes they glimmered with a celestial incandescence. The black muck was up to their hips now. Mammoth had stopped fighting the damned as they pulled them deeper into the earth. Barghast¡¯s cries of ¡°twin o¡¯rre!¡± only reached the furthest part of his mind. It eclipsed the fear he¡¯d seconds ago, filling him with strength, filling him with courage. It was intoxicating. Waves of white mana  trickled down his hands like water, seeping down the sides of the horse¡¯s flanks. Mammoth¡¯s eyes burned white as well, reflecting the act of transference from Crowe to the mount. The horse brayed, kicking harder than ever with a renewed vigor.


    The black souls writhing in the pit continued to pull at them, relentless, desperate. Unintelligible words from countless different languages sounded from clogged throats. No matter how alien the sound was the meaning was the same: Help me.


    Slowly but surely Mammoth dug himself out of the tar, hooves digging divots in the soggy ground. Blood marked everything, making the world glisten and stink.


    ¡°Yah, yah!¡± Barghast took the reins from Crowe¡¯s hands, steering the mount through the downpour.


    Crowe could feel Monad¡¯s fire dying. No¡­don¡¯t leave me. Not now. I need you. He reached inside himself, trying to stoke it back into life to no avail. His prayer had been answered, nothing more.  The price of channeling Monad¡¯s light had not come without a cost. Its death left him feeling hollowed. Drained. He ached in a thousand places, cold and sticky with dried blood. He wanted nothing more than to crawl out of his skin. He could feel exhaustion pulling at him but he forced himself to stay awake. He had to. Mammoth and Barghast were depending on him.


    A mile later another blessing in the appearance of a chapel. Barghast barked something in Okanavian, pointing at the windows. The practitioner could just make out the bare flicker of light through the blood-flecked crystal glass. A shudder of hope attempted to travel down his spine but he stopped its course. He¡¯d been disappointed before. Sure enough they were now close enough to the windows he could see why he felt that way.


    The first window showed Elysia, the beloved matriarch of the Theocracy¡¯s domineering religion. It showed her gazing down the world in a ring of light, with her people watching from down below. Winged creatures that resembled Seraphim circled around their matriarch to join her in the enactment of her retribution. Between the matriarch and them a single glow of white light descended into a vast pit in the center of the Earth: The Void. Every detail stitched together to form a narrative: The coming of Elysia at the end of every Iteration, to throw Monad down into the Endless Pit where he would remain until the next cycle. Where the origin of their eternal feud came from was never said - always left in shadow.


    ¡°Barghast,¡± he said with intent.


    The lycan¡¯s ears swiveled in his direction. ¡°Crowe?¡±


    ¡°We need to be careful.¡± The practitioner pointed at his eyes with both fingers, then at the chapel. ¡°Eyes.¡± He stood with his back straight and his hands clenched into fists where they were visible, letting his body language say what he could not with his words. Barghast nodded, his ears flicking towards the chapel. He reached for his rifle.


    Crowe hovered on the edge of uncertainty a moment longer. His shoulders ached under the burden of the decision. It was exhausting always being the one to call the shots. Being a stranger in a foreign land, how could he expect Barghast to know what to do? I''m little more than a stranger myself. What fools Bennett and I were thinking it would be to venture out into the world. A voice in the back of his mind wondered if Bennett had ever made it to Caemyth, if he was still fighting the Theocracy with the rebels¡­or if he''d been burnt to ash at a pyre.


    It was a Theocracy church they stood before. The church of the enemy.


    His instinct was to keep going - brave the blood storm. The last thing he wanted was for the loyal subjects of Pope Drajen to call attention to his whereabouts. And yet the nearest settlement, Boar''s Town, a town known for its logging industry and the trade it pulled in, was still two days away. Whether Monad is with me or not, I can''t push myself that far. Certainly not Mammoth. We need a night''s rest.


    Before he could act on his decision, the doors of the church flew open. The light of a lantern appeared in the dark, revealing herself to be a young woman around Crowe''s age.


    ¡°Hurry!¡± the round faced girl shouted, standing under the eaves of the church. ¡°I cannot bring you and your lycan friend into the church but you can all take shelter in the stables tonight!¡±


    Something Bennett used to say about not kicking a gift horse in the mouth flashed through Crowe¡¯s mind but the words slipped from his mind like wet yarn. Gesturing for Barghast to lower his rifle and follow, the practitioner pulled Mammoth along after the young woman. She moved hurriedly, hugging her robes around herself. Fat droplets of rain spread along the fine silver silk of her cincture.


    They stuck close to the shadows of the building, their shoulders brushing the wall. The young woman hissed something under her breath, waving a hand for them to stop. They froze before a large crystal glass window. The reason for their sudden stop presented itself in the form of a human shadow. It stood, hunched over and bony, thrown into distortion by the light at its back. The outline of a candle burned in its hands. Barghast growled low under his breath, his eyes drilling holes through the glass. The woman watched him from over her shoulder; all the blood drained from her face.


    ¡°Barghast.¡± Crowe took a step towards the Okanavian. Barghast¡¯s hackles were raised. His tail pointed straight up in the air. Not for the first time, the practitioner wondered what it must be like for Barghast to be in this strange place, unable to understand the language or the things happening around them. He couldn¡¯t wait to get behind closed doors where they could be alone. He pressed his fingers into Barghast¡¯s fur where it was thickest at his chest, combing through it. He could only imagine how the lycan must itch. They were both covered from head to toe in black tar and blood.


    The effect was immediate. A rumble of pleasure sounded deep within his chest. His tail drooped down to the blood-sodden earth. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± he rumbled.


    Crowe shushed him. He dropped his voice to a whisper. The shadow had moved on but the girl still watched them, wide-eyed and frightened. He turned back to her, biting back a scowl of frustration. ¡°We¡¯re right behind you, we just need a minute. He has no idea what¡¯s going on. He¡¯s just scared.¡±


    ¡°Oh, aye,¡± the girl said with a jerky nod.


    Back to the lycan. ¡°We have to be quiet,¡± he whispered. He resumed stroking the lycan¡¯s fur, digging in lightly with his fingers. ¡°Hang in there. We¡¯ll be alone soon and I¡¯ll scratch your belly some more.¡±


    He knew Barghast couldn¡¯t understand him, so he took his finger, coaxing him with touch. Barghast¡¯s paw engulfed the lower half of his arm. Crowe could feel the tension in his fingers. ¡°Crowe,¡± he said amiably enough. It was enough to get him going. The nun let out an audible sigh of relief.


    Following the nun, Crowe led Barghast by the hand through a courtyard. Blood spilled over the sides of a fountain in the shape of Elysia¡¯s torch. Reluctantly, Crowe removed his hand from Barghast¡¯s grip long enough to help the nun open the stable doors.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± he asked her.


    ¡°Elise,¡± she said. She shot another frightened look at Barghast. She turned back to Crowe. ¡°You¡¯re a practitioner, ain¡¯tcha? Who else would travel with a lycan?¡±


    Crowe bit back a curse. ¡°I am,¡± he admitted reluctantly. ¡°Is it that obvious?¡±


    Elise wrinkled her nose. ¡°If you didn¡¯t have the beast with you, it wouldn¡¯t. You should get rid of him.¡±


    The practitioner could not keep the anger from entering his voice whether she was helping them or not. ¡°He¡¯s not a beast. He is capable of reason and morality just like you or I. Though you and I stand on different sides of a great divide, I can assure you we mean no harm. We simply need a place to rest for a few hours and then we will move. However, if our presence here makes you feel uncomfortable we will leave this instant.¡±


    ¡°Just until morning then.¡± The girl looked up at the sky. She looked like she¡¯d run through a battlefield. Crowe knew they looked worse. Barghast and he had literally pulled themselves out of a pit of Inferno. ¡°We¡¯ve been cursed, haven¡¯t we?¡± she asked in a quiet voice. In the glow of the lamp the practitioner could see Elise¡¯s skin was a healthy olive color.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°It keeps spreading,¡± she said gravely. ¡°Further than the eye can see.¡±


    He led Mammoth and Barghast into the stable. Three out of four of the stalls were filled with horses. They swayed anxiously, their ears splayed in different directions, no doubt anticipating the next blast of thunder. ¡°In you go,¡± Crowe whispered, patting the horse affectionately on the flank. ¡°You¡¯ve earned your rest.¡± The horse had earned his rest for the next week but the practitioner was not in the position to let him have that luxury.


    Elise had not moved from her spot in the doorway. Her eyes remained fixed on the roiling clouds above their head. Puddles of blood sloshed down the gutters of the church, pooling on the ground; it looked as if the very earth itself was bleeding. ¡°Why are you helping us?¡± Crowe asked. ¡°By the decree of the Theocracy you should have alerted the Theocracy the moment you realized who we were.¡±


    ¡°Before this night I would have,¡± Elise said. ¡°But this curse has been placed on lycan, practitioners, and the Theocracy alike. None of us are safe from Inferno¡¯s wrath.¡± She clutched at her necklace. ¡°The Iteration¡¯s end is close at hand and we are all paying for our sins¡­no matter who we pray to for comfort at night.¡± Her voice was littler more than a silky whisper but her eyes held his intently. In the luminescence cast by her lamp, the practitioner could see she wore a chain around her neck with the torch of Elysia resting against her robes. A drop of dried blood smeared across the charm. Like his faith in Monad, misplaced as it may be, the teachings of Elysia was probably all this young girl had ever known. He was grateful to her for granting Barghast and he mercy at all.


    ¡°I must be getting back,¡± she said after a long, uncomfortable moment of silence in which he¡¯d thought she¡¯d changed her mind and had decided to alert the Theocracy after all. ¡°Father Monroe will get suspicious if I¡¯m gone too long. He doesn¡¯t get around as well as he used to but he still has a keen mind. I will bring back food and clean clothes when I can.¡±


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t trouble yourself anymore than you already have on our account.¡±


    This earned him a small smile that eased the cramp in his belly nonetheless. Here was a soul just trying to help other souls in need; faith had nothing to do with it. A reminder that there were still kind souls in this world. She slipped out of the stable, leaving Crowe and Barghast alone.


    The howl of the wind, the particular way it made the walls of the stable shudder around them pulled at his exhausted mind¡­pulling him back to a stormy night not so unlike this one.

 Bennett

    The boy hauled himself up the step incline, trying in vain to keep up with the old man. The wind drove at them relentlessly, numbing him down to the bone. The only light he had to guide him was the silver nimbus of Petras¡¯ hair.


    Nothing was colder than the dread and resentment he held in his heart, a weight so heavy it sunk to depths of apathy. Petras had awoken him from a deep sleep, yanking the blankets off him. ¡°Get dressed! We must go.¡± Not a word more was said. Clumsily the boy dressed, knowing better than to argue or ask questions. At worst his questions would be answered with a stony silence; at worst with a night or two spent down in the cellar. He didn¡¯t feel like spending a night in the cellar.


    Now he regretted thinking a night in the cellar was the worst thing. At least I¡¯d have a roof over my head protecting me from the wind and the snow.


    The boy watched his tutor wearily, willing himself to ascend the hill. Petras was not like most old people who became slow and brittle as they aged. If anything he seemed to grow stronger, more sly even as his eyes gleamed with madness. And madness, the boy knew, was catching and he feared its all-consuming touch more than the dark.


    The ground became steeper yet, leading them deeper into the mountain. Leading him deeper into the woods than Bennett and he had ever ventured before. Unlike Petras, the boy did not have a staff to help him grapple up the hill. He slipped and slid and crawled like a creature unfamiliar with his own limbs.  Eventually the murk was broken by the silver glow of the aether tree. Petras stopped, his silver hair whipping about in the wind. He looked up at the twisting network of tree branches; the rigid stoniness of his face made the boy feel uneasy.


    Now Petras turned to look at him. For a long time he did not speak. So long the boy thought the chill of the wind had frozen him from the inside out. At last Petras held up his staff so that the white fire within the runes caught the moonlight. ¡°All your life from the moment you were old enough to want such things you have wanted a staff of your own,¡± Petras said. Though he spoke barely louder than a whisper there was a deep resonance to his voice that carried over the wind. ¡°To wield a staff takes great discipline. You¡¯ve tasted for yourself how addicting it can be to use Monad¡¯s fire. Many practitioners have given their souls over to the thirst for power, hence the start of the Age of Madness in the First Iteration. But that is a story you have heard many times.¡±


    Petras paused long enough to rest a hand on the aether tree¡¯s gnarled trunk. It was the first time the boy had seen something like affection on his face. ¡°We are kindred to this tree. Monad¡¯s light runs through its roots the same way it does in our veins. When we drink from its snap¡­or I¡¯ve seen you smoke those joints with that boy¡­it not only calms us but opens our mind to the world around us. It is also the bark from which this staff was made. It is the only wood capable of channeling Monad¡¯s holy light.¡±


    The boy hugged himself, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. He listened intently.


    ¡°In order to acquire a staff like the one I have, you must make your own,¡± his tutor continued. ¡°Just the way I did. I climbed the tree and I cut a branch down. For days I fasted, not eating or drinking. During that time I prayed to Monad to guide my hand, to help me turn a tree branch into something that could turn mountains to sand. Tonight, to wield a staff of your own you must climb the tree and cut down a branch.¡±


    It was the boy¡¯s turn to look up at the tree; he did not do so with the same reverence Petras had. Not this time. Does he mean for me to fall and break my neck?


    ¡°Do not falter now, boy!¡± Petras snapped. His eyes burned with white fury in the gloom, the only sign anything had changed with him at all. ¡°Drajen''s wrath spreads across the land, spilling practitioner blood in every direction¡­what little left there is to spill. It won''t be long before Elysia''s fire engulfs us all, until our people are not but ash and memory. Do you understand?¡±


    The boy nodded shakily. He approached the tree on shaking legs. He''d climbed trees before aplenty, but never one this tall. Monad''s light burns in us all. Through him I can do anything.


    With brittle fingers, he hauled himself up the tree, breath hissing through clenched teeth. He did not dare look below for fear looking would be the death of him; he tried not to think about Petras watching him coldly from the ground. He didn''t stop. Stopping meant death.


    Monad''s flame must have burned in him for he managed to sling a leg over a branch and pull himself up until he straddled it between his thighs. Only then did he realize his tutor had not given him a tool to cut through the wood with. Not even a knife. Of course he didn''t, the bastard. He glared down at his tutor''s shadowy outline. He hoped the bastard could see him, even if he ended up spending a night in the cellar. It was worth it just for the sweet moment of defiance; even a small act was freeing. You madman. Sometimes I wonder if your only intent is to get me killed.


    He was getting distracted, his thoughts sluggish. He needed to stay focused on the task at hand if he wanted to keep all his fingers and toes. He pushed his desperation and resentment for Petras up his arms and into his hands. Red fire sprouted from his palms, warming his hands - perhaps he was not completely helpless from the cold after all. He placed his burning hands over the branch. He felt it begin to buckle beneath his weight. He tried to grab a hold of the tree branch before it collapsed beneath him but it was too late. He plummeted towards the ground, the earth rising up to meet him.


    He closed his eyes, preparing himself for death. Had he not landed in a thick bed of freshly fallen snow he would have, but alas his fall was cushioned. Not to say it didn¡¯t knock the breath from his lungs. Panting, he rose into a sitting position with the smoking branch in his hands. He blew at it, shoveling snow onto it with hands gone blue from the cold.


    Before he could allow himself to indulge in this small victory, he rose to his feet, remembering his tutor still watched. And his tutor had an unpredictable temper. Lately he¡¯d taken to striking the boy whenever it pleased him, always parting with a disparaging insult that cut down to the bone. ¡°If I ever needed proof this world is a mistake, I only need look at you¡± was one and it wasn¡¯t the worst. Such insults, delivered without mercy, made the boy want to crawl deep inside himself where the old man¡¯s words couldn¡¯t touch him.


    He searched for the old man.


    The spot where the old man had been standing was empty. Only footprints, already being brushed away by winter¡¯s uncaring hand, showed proof he¡¯d been there at all.


    The boy gaped at the spot, stunned. He shouldn¡¯t have been. Petras was a cruel man and he only grew crueler as the plague of madness that afflicted all practitioners when they aged beyond their prime. He just left me! How am I going to find my way back? I don''t know the way¡­


    He rose to his feet, aching and shaking all over.  Emotions boiled inside him, making his eyes glow white: fear, loneliness, an anger so great he felt he could combust on the spot. A voice in the back of his mind reminded him he had to breathe - pull the lungs into his air, push it back out; anger would not help him survive the cold.


    He''d have to find his way back on his own and hope Monad would guide the way. He followed the directions of Petras'' tracks, squinting, desperate to spot the next one before the wind blew it from existence. It was uncanny how quickly the man could move, as if he were made of air itself. A mile in there were no tracks left to guide him by. An animal''s whimper broke through the trees, making his heart jerk and stall in his chest; it took a moment to realize the animal he heard was himself.


    The boy pushed the fear down and forged ahead. He reminded himself he was not helpless, just exhausted. He knew of a cave where Bennett and he had camped on many stormy nights like this. Their own secret pocket away from the world.


    A howl broke his concentration.p


    Not the howl of the wind but the howl of a wolf. This time it wasn''t coming from him or his imagination.


    Another broke through the trees. Another and another.


    He could see lupine shapes shooting through the dark, furry streaks of white, black, and grey against the snow. During the summer months they were harmless; occasionally they braved into Annesville, the village two miles West of the farm to feed on goats and chickens, but during the Winter months when wildlife was scarce they became desperate with hunger. Rabid.


    Already one of them lunged at him now, claws extended, teeth peeling back from its fangs in a snarl. He threw his arm out, unleashing a ball of red flame that sent the creature flying. It struck the snow with a whimper of pain that made its pack howl in response. The boy readied himself for another attack but he needn''t have bothered. Not willing to make the same mistake as their wounded mate, they scattered East, snarling and yipping. The boy waited until they were out of sight, his breath steaming the air. The adrenaline pumping through his veins turned his blood to boiling; a thousand needles stabbed into his frostbitten hands.


    By the time he reached the cave, he was delirious from the cold and exhaustion. He stopped once more, gawking. A halo of dancing orange light filled the cave. ¡°Bennett?¡± he whispered. Hope stirred in his heart. He staggered the rest of the way to the cave and did not stop until he stood in it''s entrance.


    There his best friend sat - sometimes he was something more, wasn''t he? - before a roaring fire, his back turned. His blonde hair looked gold from this vantage point.


    A bark made the boy jump back. A slim four-legged shot towards him. The boy''s first thought was that he had not escaped the wolves after all. The feeling of a slobbery, warm tongue lapping affectionately against his hand snapped the boy out of the shock.


    ¡°Crowe?¡±


    Bennett had risen to his feet and was now stepping towards him, his brow furrowed. ¡°In the name of Monad, did you get stuck out in the storm, too?¡±


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Crowe couldn''t speak, his teeth were chattering so hard.


    Bennett wrapped a wolf''s pelt around his shoulders, ushering him towards the fire. Crowe was too desperate to feel warmth again to turn away from him in embarrassment. Cedric licked his face affectionately, extracting a laugh from the young practitioner. Bennett did not leave Crowe''s side, shooing the massive dog aside. He hugged the younger boy - they were only two years apart, a divide that seemed greater with each passing day - trying to rub the sensation back into his shoulders. Crowe didn''t mind the treatment; Bennett could be very sparing with his affection.


    It pleased him that Bennett was pissed at his¡­master?...his tutor¡­?...his¡­his father? No, no, no Petras would knock him upside the head so hard it would turn his skull around if he so much as dared call him, ¡°father.¡± For even the biggest brute of a father would show more affection for his son than Petras had ever shown Crowe.


    ¡°Did Petras do this to you? Did he?¡±


    Bennett was in a genuine frenzy, his voice cracking, deepening with fury. It was rare too see him show such emotion beyond affability. Bennett was the sort of man who kept his deepest secrets and darkest thoughts close to his chest; he reminded Crowe of his tutor in that way.


    Struggling to form words at first, the practitioner told his friend how he''d come to be at the cave on this night. How Petras had yanked the blankets off him, how he''d let Crowe into the dark of night without an explanation as to where they were going or why. He told Bennett how he''d almost died getting the stupid branch from the stupid aether tree and about the wolf attack.


    ¡°Hey, hey, hey,¡± Bennett whispered, his voice tender; his brown eyes looked black against the fire. ¡°You''re with me. You''re safe. We''ll get through the storm together.¡±


    Crowe allowed himself a moment to relish in these words; a taste of happiness he felt he''d more than earned. Was it selfish to think so?


    ¡°Are you hungry?¡± Bennett jumped to his feet again, white strong teeth flashing with pride. He was tall enough - taller than Crowe - he had to stoop to keep from bashing his head on the cave wall. He pointed to the sled he''d handcarved and bound together with strips of leather cord; a buck rested on the bed of the sled, a single beast black eye staring up lifelessly at the ceiling.


    ¡°I was going to cut it up and sell half of it to the village. I''d keep the other half for Pa and me. I''ll give you some as well. I have something else for you as well.¡±


    Crowe was too tired to look over his shoulder as Bennett rustled about at the sled. Within a minute the sturdy blacksmith''s apprentice was at his side, presenting him with an all too familiar leather satchel. ¡°Knowing you, I figured you were out. You smoke like a chimney.¡±


    The practitioner tried to hide a guilty grin and failed. His hands had steadied enough he was able to pull a joint from the satchel and light the tip in the fire. He took a long, appreciative drag. He offered it to Bennett. Bennett shook his head. ¡°You get to have that one all too to yourself. We¡¯ll share the next one. My gift to you. Here¡¯s some leftover jerky Pa gave me before I left.¡±


    They sat in silence, smoking and sharing jerky. Crowe lost himself in thinking about what would happen when he returned home. He imagined Petras sitting in his favorite armchair before a fire much like this one, waiting for him the way a predator waits for its prey. Normally Bennett would attempt to shake him out of it, uncomfortable with long, awkward silences. Tonight, however, he stared into the flames with the same distant look as the practitioner, lost in his own thoughts.


    ¡°The time is close,¡± he said at last. The somber tone of his voice made Crowe look up. It was rare to hear him sound so grave.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Only after he¡¯d asked the question did Crowe realize he didn¡¯t want to know.


    ¡°¡®Til the day I turn eighteen. ¡®Til the day I tell my father he can stuff his hot iron up his ass and you tell Petras he can stuff his staff up his and we leave Annesville behind.¡±


    The young sorcerer could feel a familiar grin pulling at his lips. The grin of fantasy. The grin of someone who had spent many hours pining for a life that was far beyond his reach. He quickly tempered that grin. Already he could hear Petras¡¯ cynical voice in his mind, calling out the pipe dream for what it was. ¡°You don¡¯t really think that¡¯s going to happen, do you?¡±


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t it?¡± Bennett eyed him with genuine surprise as if it simply couldn¡¯t be possible that Crowe would doubt him in the slightest.


    The practitioner bit back a bitter laugh. There were so many answers to that question, both big and small. All mattered. All presented evidence to the contrary. ¡°Well there¡¯s Delilah. I know you¡¯re very fond of her.¡± He smiled to hide the acid that doused his tongue when he said the name.


    Bennett rolled his eyes. ¡°We¡¯ve had fun a few times. It¡¯s nothing special.¡±


    She certainly thinks it¡¯s something special, the practitioner thought. And you certainly don¡¯t do anything to dissuade her of the notion. He raised the joint to his mouth to keep the words at bay.


    ¡°What of your father?¡± Crowe asked.


    ¡°What of him?¡±


    ¡°He thinks you¡¯re going to marry her and you¡¯re going to both have beautiful blonde haired children.¡± The practitioner cocked his head, watching the older boy from the corner of his eye.


    Bennett shook his head with a rueful grin. ¡°I¡¯m not meant to get married and have children. I want to live abroad, getting into trouble with my best mate, getting into trouble and watching each other¡¯s backs like we¡¯ve always done.¡± He slung an arm around the smaller boy¡¯s shoulders, pulling him in; all at once he went very still. He watched the practitioner intently, his face frozen in time. Crowe felt his own heart stall in anticipation despite his internal attempt to ward it off. ¡°The only road I care about is the one you walk on. The one you and I walk on together.¡±


    The rugged tone of Bennett¡¯s voice sent a shiver up Crowe¡¯s spine. All at once the cave felt too small, Bennett too hot. Crowe shifted away from him, overwhelmed with emotion: fear, elation. Bennett was being affectionate now that they were alone, but as soon as the world intruded upon their little sanctuary - and it often did in one way or another - he would be back to pandering for the approval of the crowd.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to say something?¡± Bennett asked after a long dreadful silence.


    Crowe kept his gaze focused on the fire; it had mostly died to smoking embers by now. ¡°I don¡¯t have anything to say.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think I want to join the rebellion?¡± The practitioner couldn''t see Bennett''s face but he could hear the hurt in his voice. It tugged at his heart; a heart he wished would turn to ice so he didn''t have to feel disappointment''s sting any more. ¡°Who is it you think I''m fighting for if not you?¡±


    With a few words Bennett struck a nerve in Crowe the only way Bennett could. He shot to his feet. ¡°Don''t put your grand ideas and fantasies on me. You want to join the rebellion because you think it will be just like the games we used to play in the woods¡­to boost your own ego.¡±


    Bennett had backed him into a corner and he meant to draw blood. Judging from the way the blood drained from Bennett''s face, the practitioner had succeeded. Crowe watched the older boy''s expression flicker from shock to hurt in the space of seconds. Bennett''s lips trembled and the sorcerer wondered if he''d taken things too far. Just when he thought the floodgates would break open, releasing chaos, the corner of Bennett''s lip upturned in a tremulous smirk. ¡°I forget behind that quiet doe-eyed facade is a sharp mind¡­and an even sharper tongue.¡±


    Crowe laughed in spite of himself. ¡°When provoked.¡± Realizing Bennett was trying to diffuse the situation, he glared at the older boy; Cedric watched the two boys argue wearily from a safe corner of the cave. The snowstorm continued to rage outside the cave but the boys seemed to have forgotten its existence.


    Bennett took a step towards the practitioner, full lips thinned down to an uncertain line. ¡°It wasn''t my intention to provoke you, Crowe. I mean it. All my father does is talk about how the Theocracy are rounding practitioner''s up...those they don''t burn at the stakes, they send to work on Tannhaus'' railroad or to The Black Diamond for experimentation. He says it''s only a matter of time before they come for you and Petras.¡±


    Crowe tried not to let this bit of information - what he already knew - hurt him, but it did. It hurt worse because Jebediah''s (Bennett''s father, the only blacksmith for miles around) repudiation towards Petras and Crowe was not entirely misplaced. It came not from a place of malicion but love¡­however misguided¡­for his son. The practitioner was not so blind he couldn''t see or respect this. It didn''t stop it from stinging or him from thinking, Petras doesn''t like you either. He thinks you''re going to turn us into the torchcoats.


    He was trying not to be petty. He tried not to hold things against Bennett that were outside his control; outside both their control. He told himself his emotions were high because he was exhausted¡­because of the night he had. All of these were thoughts he''d had before and they were nothing more than distractions from the truth. We''re not just growing up, we''re growing apart as much as we might not want to admit it. To ourselves or to each other. The antics aren''t funny any more, nor are the games. Only one of us is still playing.


    Bennett was closing the distance between them, taking advantage of the stall in conversation. ¡°I don''t give a rat''s ass about Delilah or Jeb or Petras or anyone in Annesville. You know that.¡±


    Crowe chuckled tentatively, taking a particularly long drag on his joint. He ground the rest against the cave floor so he didn''t have to look at Bennett. ¡°Do I?¡±


    Bennett leaned in until his breath tickled the practitioner''s ear. ¡°No one can make me do or say the things I do unless I''m around you.¡±


    ¡°I don''t want you to get blown up because of me.¡± The sorcerer admitted this reluctantly but it was the truth. Not that it mattered. Bennett thought he was invincible.


    The ignorance of youth.


    ¡°If I got blown up it wouldn''t be because of you.¡± A bottle sloshed about in Bennett''s hand. Crowe couldn''t remember him reaching for it. He was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open. The whole night had taken on a strange, dream-like quality. ¡°It would be because I chose to fight for you. Because you''re my best mate.¡± The larger of the two boys popped the cork with the blade of a dirk. The smell of whiskey bloomed in the cave, reminding Crowe of the long Summer nights when they would watch the sunset while passing a bottle of Jebediah''s homebrew whiskey back and forth. Now he offered the bottle to the practitioner as was the custom.


    ¡°You don''t have to fight for me. Just¡­stay with me.¡±


    ¡°Stay?¡± Bennett said the word as if Crowe had offered the worst possible suggestion he could possibly make. ¡°Here? In Annesville?¡±


    The practitioner bit his lip, wishing he''d never said a thing. And you always wonder why I''m so quiet around you. Why I never tell you how I feel. ¡°I''m not of age yet¡­¡±


    ¡°I guess you aren''t¡­¡± Bennett''s face furrowed in puzzlement. ¡°How old is Petras?¡±


    Crowe scowled. ¡°Over a thousand, how should I know? So what?¡± He snatched the bottle back, taking a long pull of whiskey. He was beginning to wish he''d braved the rest of the way home, frostbite be damned.


    ¡°That means you''re just a baby.¡±


    ¡°Which means you''re an old man in comparison.¡±


    ¡°Right now we''re exactly in the middle.¡± Bennett gave Crowe a long look the practitioner couldn''t read. ¡°I love you. You know that don''t you?¡±


    The young sorcerer turned away, trying to hide the shiver that raced up his spine. Bennett teased him with kisses to the cheek in an attempt to coax him out of resistance. Eventually it worked. High and drunk from the aether and whiskey, each brush of Bennett''s lips made Crowe''s skin tingle pleasantly. He turned back to the blacksmith''s apprentice, their lips meeting in the middle. The kiss tasted of whiskey and aether.


    Bennett''s heavier body pressed Crowe against the floor, exciting the practitioner. Their hands explored each other with the familiarity of two souls who have known each other for a very long time. His fingers found his way under Bennett''s shirt while Bennett''s fingers wound possessively through his black locks. In moments like these Crowe wondered why they always danced around each other so long when their bodies always collided together so beautifully.


    Sometime later they lay on a pallet together with a wolf pallet wound around their naked bodies. Bennett looked down at Crowe, his face softened by tenderness and love. ¡°One day I''m going to take you away from here,¡± he whispered, ¡°and we''re going to be happy together.¡±


    Crowe laughed bitterly. ¡°Don¡¯t make a promise you can¡¯t keep.

 Cleansed

    ¡°...don¡¯t make a promise you can¡¯t keep.¡±


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t until he turned to face Barghast that Crowe realized he¡¯d lit one of the joints Rake had sent him as a going away gift from Timberford. Half of the paper was burnt away. He¡¯d been so lost in the power of memory he hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d lit one.


    Before he could turn around, Barghast¡¯s arms were around him, pulling his back against his chest with a whine. Across the courtyard Elise¡¯s slight form disappeared around the corner of the church. The practitioner watched the lights of the church, wondering if he would be able to catch another glimpse of Father Monroe. I hope not. Father Monroe does not sound like a pleasant man.


    Barghast pulled his attention away with a whimpering sound. He nosed at Crowe, his snout cold against his cheek. The practitioner sensed the Okanavian would not stop until he gave him the attention he desired. ¡°What do you want?¡± he muttered. He was beyond exhausted. He was scraped, bruised, and filthy, his thighs rubbed raw from riding saddle at a constant gallop. He hated sounding short with Barghast who he knew had to be frightened, who depended on him to keep them safe...But I¡¯m so tired and there¡¯s still much to do.


    Barghast was not one to be denied. Not when he could just pick an unresisting Crowe up and cart him around as he pleased. Which was what he did now, half carrying half dragging the practitioner back to a wooden bench. The bench groaned beneath the Okanavian¡¯s weight but he was too focused on the sorcerer to have noticed. He set Crowe down on the sturdy shelf of his thigh.


    ¡°I guess to you I¡¯m just a laphuman, huh?¡± Crowe drawled in a slurred voice.


    This earned him a tail wag and a particularly slobbery lick across the face. He tucked the practitioner to his chest, lapping at his mouth, whining. Begging.


    ¡°No, no, no.¡± Crowe turned away, laughing. He tried to ward the lycan off with his hands but pushing at Barghast was like pushing at a stone wall. In the end it was impossible to resist the adoring look on his face: eyes bulging from his skull so Crowe could see their whites. Ropes of slobber dangled from his fat tongue.


    The moment the sorcerer presented himself, Barghast was at him again. His paw closed around Crowe''s jaw, securing him so he couldn''t wiggle away. To be held like this¡­dominated? sheltered?...sent thrills through the practitioner. This time when Barghast''s lips brushed against his, the practitioner did not hesitate. Barghast pushed his tongue into Crowe''s mouth in a greedy kiss. A deep growl of satisfaction vibrated in his chest.


    For someone with a pointed muzzle, Barghast was surprisingly a very good snogger. If snogging was what Crowe could call it. No that was not what he would call what Barghast was doing to him or how thoroughly he went about it. No corner of his mouth was unexplored. He was a man obsessively fixed on a tax.


    A startled gasp alerted Crowe to Elise¡¯s presence. In Barghast''s haste for his attention, they''d forgotten to close the stable doors. Elise gawked at them, two buckets of soapy water resting at her feet. Once more all the color had drained from her face. Crowe wondered if the poor girl would be able to sleep tonight after helping them. Barghast would have continued his ministrations had Crowe not flicked him in the nose. As such he set the practitioner down with a reluctant snort, setting his ears back against his skull in disappointment.


    Crowe jumped to his feet. He stumbled towards the girl, his cheeks burning. ¡°T-Thank you. You didn''t have to go through the trouble, really - ¡°


    He stooped to pick up the buckets when he saw she still watched him with wide-eyed fascination. He froze, waiting for her to speak. For a moment the only sound he could hear was the blood rain spewing out of the gutters and the pounding of his own heart. ¡°What were you two doing?¡± she squeaked at last.


    ¡°Snogging,¡± he said. He blinked inwardly at the defensive tone of his voice. He glanced at Barghast from the corner of his eye. The lycan¡¯s hand drifted slowly towards the butt of his rifle; he was moving carefully so as not to be seen by the girl. Apparently he didn''t want to frighten her anymore than she already was. Once more a part of Crowe''s mind wondered what level of logic his Okanavian friend was truly capable of.


    ¡°Snogging?¡± The girl choked on the world. Her brow furrowed in unmistakable disgust. ¡°You would snog with a beast?¡±


    ¡°He''s not a beast!¡± the practitioner scowled. The Okanavian''s eyes snapped in his direction intently, lingered, and then switched back to the girl. He''d pushed his rifle into his paws without being noticed. ¡°He''s a man.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± The girl nodded sagely. ¡°He''s part man, part wolf. More wolf than man from the looks of it.¡±


    I''m finished with this conversation. ¡°Don''t judge what you don''t understand.¡± His voice sounded steady while his insides stood on edge; her words had struck a nerve whether he wanted to admit it or not. ¡°He''s a man. A man who I''ve come to trust and care for greatly.¡± It did not surprise him to find every word was true. His skin glowed with the force of them.


    ¡°You''re right, I don''t understand,¡± Elise replied dryly. ¡°Elysia help me. This is the best I can do for the night. Please be gone in the morning.¡±


    Crowe assured her not to worry, they would be. The moment she''d stepped clear of the stall doors, he closed them shut. He did not turn around to face the lycan until he could no longer hear the slosh of her footsteps. Barghast stood, his shoulders tensed, his tail pointed straight up to the ceiling. He still held the rifle in his paws.


    ¡°You can put it away,¡± Crowe hissed. ¡°She''s gone. It''s just you and me now . Let''s wash up. I feel so nasty right now...¡±


    The water was cold and spotted with a few drops of blood but he didn''t care. His skin itched to be free of the dried blood that coated it. He stripped out of his robes, hating the fetid smell his body gave when he peeled the garments off. He didn''t know how Barghast could stand to be around him. He doesn''t smell that great either. We both smell like the pit of Inferno. His thoughts were a racing mess. He hadn''t slept in days.


    He straightened, lifting the sponge out of the bucket. Drops of sudsy water pattered on the floor. A familiar prickle at the back of his neck made him stop, made him look up. A sliver of ice slid down his spine. He shivered.


    Barghast''s eyes, so gold they were almost white, watched him from the shadows. He was nothing more than a black outline before. He stood so still time seemed to have frozen. He had the same intent look on his face he reserved for his prey. Crowe reminded himself not only could one look have more than one meaning, but one look could look very similar to another and have more than one meaning. A tail pointed straight up could mean anger or concentration for example. One stance, two meanings.


    Crowe merely stood in the middle of the stable, alone with the horses, alone with Barghast. Outside the barn he could hear the crash of thunder and the moan of the wind. His skin prickled underneath the weight of the Okanavian''s unwavering scrutiny. Those twin amber coins of fire scaled him from head to toe again before Barghast parted from the shadows. In the confines of the barn, he appeared far more broad than he did on Mammoth''s saddles. Solid muscle rippled, flexing with each step he took as he bridged the distance between them; he''d removed his shirt so the practitioner could see his hardened pecs. Crowe''s gaze drifted down to the one inevitable spot he''d been trying to avoid. The bulge denting the front of his gown pulled the fabric so the sorcerer could see the prominent heft of his balls. The sorcerer turned away before he could allow himself to see the rest. While he had no doubt the Okanavian intended to hurt him, he was all too aware of how much taller Barghast was than he; standing at his back all Barghast need do was crane his neck a little to look down at the practitioner.


    He did so now. Crowe swayed back into his embrace, already knowing Barghast needed to touch him as much as he needed to be touched.


    Words withstanding, it always surprised Crowe at how emotional the Okanavian was; he quite literally wore them on his sleeve. He sensed Barghast''s reverence of him was cultural, emotional, and sexual, and he found his body responding in ways that were alien to him but not unwelcome. With one beefy arm wound around his torso and hips, Barghast slipped the sponge from Crowe''s hand into his paw, resting the pad of the other against the practitioner''s ribs. He raised the sponge to the sorcerer''s chest; he pressed down gently, rubbing at the dried crusts of blood with fluid circular motions.


    The cold touch of the sponge made Crowe''s skin break out in gooseflesh; the heat Barghast exuded warmed him. When Barghast''s lips enveloped his, tongue slipping into his mouth while still tending to his body, the practitioner could no longer hide his arousal. The lycan''s paw engulfed his erection. The friction of the leathery pads against his hardened cock made the sorcerer gasp. All the while Barghast never ceased washing him or kissing him, his fist pumping, pumping, pumping. All while a voice frantically reminded Crowe of what the lycan could be capable of when he gave into his more predatory instincts. All while his body continued to respond of its own volition, reaching hands grabbing the Okanavian''s fur by the fistfuls.


    Pressure built in Crowe''s cock. Hot spit sluiced down the side of his face, greasing his flesh. He pulled away to suck in a breath. ¡°Barghast,¡± he managed to utter. Fireworks exploded behind his eyes. His back arched against Barghast''s belly. If it wasn''t for the lycan holding him up his legs would have given out from underneath him with the force of his orgasm. Barghast¡¯s body quaked around him, his hackles raised. He growled Crowe''s name over and over in a mixture of growls and whines.


    The practitioner sagged against his Okanavian companion, his skin glowing with fresh lather. ¡°Oh Monad, help me,¡± he gasped. ¡°That was¡­wild. Alright big guy, your turn.¡±


    The Okanavian raised his head quizzically. ¡°Hmmm?¡±


    Crowe reached up, threading his fingers through the lycan''s fur until he felt a ripple of pleasure pass through Barghast. Until his tongue out of his mouth in a goofy grin. He only looks this way for me, Crowe thought. He thumbed at the thought only for a moment before tucking it in the back of his mind. ¡°You didn''t think I was going to let you do all that without reciprocating, did you?¡± He knew the Okanavian couldn''t understand what he was saying¡­he hoped the playful tone of his voice spoke for him.


    He ran his fingers along Barghast''s torso until he circled around to his back. The lycan''s tail drooped down to his heels. Though he stood very still with his head facing forward, his ears twitched, tracking the practitioner''s movements. Crowe traced the line of his shoulder blades until he reached the leather of the Okanavian''s kilt, breathing in the wet smell of his mask. Now that he stood in Barghast''s shadow the idea of trying to pull down his kilt seemed laughable at best; still Crowe was not one to be deterred by a challenge.


    In the end Barghast helped Crowe after he struggled to undress him. Tail wagging, he grinned at the practitioner over his shoulder as he tugged his kilt down over his muscled thighs. He turned around, presenting a full unabashed view of his body. He even pulled his arms behind his back, clasping his paws together so that the muscles along his arms and shoulders stood out. He grinned broadly. Crowe couldn''t hold back a laugh. He knows exactly what he''s doing¡­and he knows it works.


    Crowe''s gaze drifted down the length of the lycan''s torso, his jaw slackening. His eyes stopped on the Okanavian''s sheath. The flared head of his cock poked out. The entryway of the sheath was lined with a thick transparent fluid. Lower yet, his balls dangled between his muscular thighs; like everything else on Barghast they were larger than Crowe''s hand. The practitioner''s mind spun with lurid fantasies. He imagined hefting them in his hand, feeling the weight of them. The thought made his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Still he did not turn away. Would not turn away from the only person he knew he could trust.


    A particularly strong gust of wind slammed the stable doors open. The screams of the horses made Crowe and Barghast both jump. Barghast hunkered low, his lips frothing with a snarl. The wind swept flecks of blood rain into the barn, soaking the straw in red. Crowe cursed, running towards the door. He looked up at the church windows; all the lights in the building appeared to be out. Breathing a sigh of relief, the practitioner pulled the doors shut. His pulse beat thickly in his throat.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Barghast still stood tense, his ears pressed back against his head. His tail flicked anxiously left and right, left and right. ¡°Hey,¡± Crowe called.


    The lycan did not look away. There was a distant look on his face Crowe didn''t like. It pulled at him like a magnet even as a frantic voice in the back of his mind told him he should stay back from the Okanavian when he had that look on his face. He''s my friend and he''s frightened. He''s comforted me plenty of times. Now it''s my turn.


    He sifted his fingers through the thick bush of fur on Barghast''s chest. He had the absurdly compulsive urge to pull at the Okanavian''s nipples. He tucked it away, watching Barghast''s face. He pressed in until the Okanavian¡¯s eyes swiveled to the practitioner, the tension in his face settling to bliss.


    ¡°You¡¯re safe,¡± Crowe whispered.


    ¡°Sa¡­?¡± Barghast frowned, dipping his head towards Crowe quizzically.


    ¡°Safe. I¡­¡± Crowe gestured to himself. ¡°Keep.¡± He moved his right hand to the left hand, wondering why he hadn¡¯t thought of communicating with the Okanavian through sign language before; he held his left hand away from his body, keeping his hand stationary. He repeated the gesture again before pointing to the lycan again. ¡°You. Safe¡­¡±  He made an X, crossing his right fist over his left. He repeated the motions three more times. Barghast watched him intently, never looking away.


    Before Crowe could finish going through the motions a fourth time, Barghast stopped him, gripping his chin between his thumb and index finger. ¡°I. Keep. You. Safe.¡± The words came out deep and gravelly, but they were unmistakable.


    The practitioner grinned. ¡°You¡¯re a quick learner. I¡¯ll teach you more as soon as we can get somewhere safe.¡± Safe. He frowned at the word. Was there anywhere they could go that was truly safe from the necromancer¡¯s wrath? Just how far did this blood storm truly spread? He thought of his dream of the dead city in the Mirror Expanse. That was his next true destination. It would take them weeks alone to reach the frozen tundra. Crossing it was a task he couldn¡¯t bear to think about; getting there would be challenging enough. Hamon''s servants were not the only threat.


    Torchcoats were hellbent on forcing every practitioner out of the North.


    Forcing these distressing thoughts from his mind, Crowe patted Barghast on the shoulder, gesturing for the lycan to sit down. The Okanavian obliged him, his tail wagging happily, taking full advantage of the practitioner''s ministrations. Even whilst sitting, the tips of his ears came up to Crowe''s chin. They twitched in anticipation. He panted hotly, his tongue hanging out of his mouth.


    Crowe dipped the sponge in the second bucket. He squeezed it, wringing it of sudsy water, enjoying the trickling sound it made as it fell back into the bucket. He got to work, starting with the spot between Barghast''s ears, spinning the sponge in circular motions. He was careful not to get soap in the lycan''s eyes.


    ¡°Bet you''ve never had anyone give you a bath before, huh?¡± the practitioner said. Barghast''s tail tapped against the heel of his bare foot. ¡°I''m rather good at giving baths. I used to give Petras baths all the time when he got ill. And now I''m doing the same for you. It feels good to feel clean¡­and you have such soft fur¡­¡±


    He lost himself in the task of tending to Barghast. It was a relief to do something so mundane¡­and yet so intimate¡­after days spent in terror riding on horseback. To wash the blood off the shoulders of the man who had saved his life several times now. He talked without knowing what he was saying. The talking wasn''t important, only that Barghast could hear it and feel safe while the world came apart around them. It was working. Not once over the passing of minutes did Barghast give Crowe the feeling he wasn''t listening. But for the flicker of his tail and the twitch of his ears he remained completely still. Not once did he interrupt or act disinterested. It was a thrill to be listened to after those first days of Petras'' true decline into madness, when the practitioner had sat by his bed talking to an empty husk.


    Drops of water and soap pooled on the ground, mixed with the dirt and blood washed free from Barghast''s coat. Once he''d washed the top half of the Okanavian''s body, Barghast stood for him to finish. Crowe made sure to take his time with Barghast''s belly, eliciting growls and whimpers of pleasure. At last his hand cautiously reached for the pulsing organ in between Barghast''s legs¡­the thing he''d never fully stopped thinking about this whole time.


    He watched Barghast''s face closely when he touched his cock. The lycan growled a little, his cock bouncing as if it had a life of its own. Startled slightly, Crowe took a step back. Before he could back another step, Barghast''s arm closed around him, pulling him to his chest. ¡°Twin o''rre,¡± he whined. His body swayed with the force of his tail wags which fluffed out. He leaned forward, ears pressed flat against his head, and lapped at the practitioner''s face. He said his name and the growl of need in his voice could not be mistaken. ¡°Safe,¡± he rumbled. ¡°I. Keep. You. Safe.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± Crowe wrapped his fingers around the Okanavian''s cock. The flesh of his sheath, a color between pink and purple, was feverishly hot and spongy to the touch, veins rippling like tributaries. He ran his hand down the length and watched it bounce free with stupid fascination. He had no intention of teasing the barbarian, but he wanted to take his time exploring the Okanavian. Who knew when they would get the chance to do so again.


    This time he seized Barghast''s cock with fervor, wrapping as much of the sponge as he could around the Okanavian''s burning erection; cutting short a foot in length the lycan''s cock was not thin in girth. His other hand experimented with Barghast''s balls. They were heavy enough he could barely lift one with his free hand. Barghast''s breath beat hotly against his face; his eyes had taken on the dreamy cast of pleasure. He exuded a musk that filled the barn, strong enough to make Crowe feel lightheaded.


    A moment later he found himself half laying on the ground beside Barghast''s supine position, his cheek resting against the lycan''s belly. Barghast''s digits wound through his hair, curling the practitioner¡¯s long black locks around his claws. His hand ached, slippery with the lycan''s secretions but he didn''t dare stop. He could tell from the build up of the Okanavian''s whines he was getting close. Crowe was determined to see it through.


    He knew to prepare himself when Barghast pulled in a particularly deep breath, his belly rising beneath Crowe''s cheek; simultaneously his balls shifted visibly, his cock heating up in the practitioner''s hand. At the last second Barghast hauled him up. In a single fluid movement he switched Crowe around so the sorcerer was the one resting on the ground and the Okanavian hunkered over him.


    The practitioner froze as Barghast''s cock pulsed against his thigh, hot as warmed oil. Barghast pressed his muzzle against Crowe''s throat. For the flash of a second the practitioner worried the Okanavian intended to bite him - sink his teeth into him, devour him - but Barghast merely kissed the pulse at his throat, groaning as he climaxed, bathing the practitioner in his seed. There was so much of it. More than the sorcerer ever could have anticipated.


    Crowe wasn''t sure how long the lycan''s orgasm lasted before he gently lowered the practitioner to the floor. The bed of hay beneath them was sodden with a mixture of soapy water, sweat, and semen.


    No sooner than he''d plopped down on the ground, he was trying to scoop Crowe back into his lap.


    ¡°No, no, no.¡± Crowe pushed at Barghast''s arm. It was like trying to push a boulder but the lycan got the hint and moved with a reluctant grumble. ¡°I don''t get to rest. There''s work I have to do. I have to keep us safe.¡±


    ¡°I. Keep. You. Safe.¡± He''d only done it a few times and already the lycan could signal the words fluidly. Crowe wondered how much he could learn and how quickly. Perhaps bridging the gap in communication wouldn''t be so difficult of a task after all.


    He rubbed at eyes puffy and raw with exhaustion. He wanted nothing more than to curl up with the lycan. In Timberford it had started as something of a coping mechanism - it still was if the practitioner was being honest with himself - and morphed into something more intimate and habitual. We were trapped in that tavern with those people. Those strangers. We comforted each other because each other was all we had.


    ¡°Not tonight,¡± he whispered. ¡°Tonight I''m actually going to do my job as herald and get to working on a new staff while we have the downtime. You''re going to get some sleep.¡±


    The Okanavian frowned quizzically. ¡°Sle¡­?¡±


    ¡°Sleep. Shut eye.¡± Crowe motioned for Barghast to lay down. The lycan whined, but obeyed, offering no further protest. Pope Drajen and his ilk are afraid of the Okanavi but he doesn''t know what big puppies they are¡­at least this one. Monad, help me this one is gold.


    Once he was sure his clingy companion wouldn''t get up, Crowe went to the saddlebag where he''d bound the aether tree branch to it with a knotted rope. He picked it up experimentally, marveling at the way contact with the bark made his skin tingle. It was with a white hot flash he remembered the joints Rake had given him as a going away present before they''d left Timberford. They''d been so busy running from Hamon''s servants he hadn''t had time to indulge in one. Now his nerves screamed at him.


    All at once a black wave of panic crashed over him; it hit with the suddenness of a punch to the stomach, every muscle in his body so tight he felt as if he was being crushed from the inside out. He forced himself to take a deep breath. It''s not that you can''t breathe, it just feels like you can''t breathe.


    He reached into the duffel bag. Beads of sweat dripped down the side of his face. He pushed aside objects blindly until his fingers snatched compulsively around the book of matches. Objects spilled out of the bag, dropping onto the floor. Crowe froze. His eyes shot to the furry back of his lycan companion. Surely Barghast would have heard that - the barbarian could hear the fall of rocks a mile away it seemed; he was far better at picking up danger before it revealed itself than Crowe. He needn''t have worried. The Okanavian''s thunderous snores filled the stall.


    The practitioner would let the barbarian sleep a few hours and then they would have to leave, braving the blood rain whether they wanted to or not. He had no doubt the necromancers were searching intently for him. If they found him who knew what nastiness they had hidden up their sleeves; a blood storm couldn''t be the worst of it.


    His hand shook so bad he almost dropped the matches. ¡°Come on, damn you!¡± he snarled under his breath. The match sparked against the box but no flame. His face was white with desperation. He struck the match again and almost wept with relief when a flame popped up. He brought the flame to the end of the joint and sucked in a long breath. The piney taste of aether smoke filled his lungs. A shudder passed through him.


    Nursing the aether branch in his lap, Crowe sat on the floor in the corner of the stable. At this point he no longer cared if he got hay or dirt on him. After miles of traveling on the open road, sleeping wherever and whenever the earth allowed, he was used to being covered in dirt, sweat, and other less than desirable things. He smoked the joint down until the heat burned his fingers, tinging them with black soot, holding the dagger in his hand.


    Outside thunder clashed overhead. Blood rain pattered the stable roof unceasing. Did the necromancers intend to wash him out by drowning the world in blood?


    It was time to start carving.


    He set to work, whittling away with strips of bark with the sharp edge of his dagger. Hot needles of exhaustion pricked at his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to give into his fatigue and sleep where he was, Monad, help me, I¡¯m so tired. I just want to sleep. The rest of the world can go to the Void for all I care¡­


    No¡­no¡­no. He couldn¡¯t start thinking that way. He had to stay awake. He promised he would keep Barghast safe, keep him safe the way the lycan had kept him safe and he intended to keep his promise.


    Monad, help me. How did Petras do this? I watched him do it once. He made me sit on the floor for hours, for nights on end, and watch him whittle the wood into shape.


    His mind started to chart back to that day but the memory kept slipping from his fingers like webbing that had lost its stickiness. He resisted the urge to slam his fist into his head in frustration - to shake the memory loose until it rolled to the forefront of his sleep-deprived mind. Crowe forced himself to stop. Forced himself to take a deep breath. It won¡¯t come if you force it. That¡¯s how these things always work. He set the aether branch and dagger down on the ground beside him, far enough away he couldn¡¯t cut himself with the blade.


    He held the Lion Headed Serpent in the cups of his palms, running splintered fingers along the edges of the trinket. His eyes were desperate rings of red. ¡°Monad, help me,¡± he whispered. ¡°Guide my hand as you have done many times before already.¡±


    At first nothing happened. No celestial fire burned within him such as the one that had ignited when the damned had started pulling Barghast and he into the pit of Inferno. Tears of frustration burned his eyes. He clenched them shut, forcing his mind out of his body, searching the sky above him for Metropolis. He needed its light to shine on him like a beacon and guide his hand. He looked up, recalling the weightlessness in his dreams when he felt. The sense that something integral was amiss persisted.


    You keep searching outside of yourself when you should be looking within. Petra''s throaty voice rose in his mind like the crackle of dried leaves. Yes, a memory wiggled in the back of his mind, trying to break free from its dormancy. After the night he''d come home from the cave¡­after that night when Bennett had stirred hope anew in him with his affections.


    Petras left me in the cold and he gave me warmth. I loved him for that.


    Yes, he was starting to remember now. The moan of the wind helped. The way it made the roof creak and groan reminded him of the house¡­the house he¡¯d taken such joy in burning down.


    Somewhere inside him the flame started, small but warm and impossible to miss. He felt his mind leave his body as his hand readjusted around the handle of the dagger. Slowly but steadily the sharp edge moved along the side of the aether branch, stripping off bits of bark.


    He floated towards the cosmos where Metropolis sat on a bed of clouds. These were not the blood red clouds the necromancers had summoned to prey after Crowe, but great wispy currents that surrounded the grand city like waves. Down below in the stable his body remained sitting on the floor, his puffy eyes open but distant, his mind lost in the land of memory while his hands continued their work.

 The Lights of Metropolis

    He shouldered the door open, stumbling into the dim recesses of the house. Even though night had fallen by the time Crowe made it back from the cave, Petras had drawn the curtains. These days he''d taken to pulling them closed, smacking the younger practitioner''s hand when he tried to open them.


    Crowe felt his hip slam into something - a chair or table, something heavy and made of wood - but he was too tired, too numb, too done to truly take notice of the pain. Petras'' lean black-clad form rested in the armchair before the fire with his head slumped forward in deep sleep. The practitioner lurched to a stop before the old man. His eyes burned white in the gloom. Burned white with rage, burned white with hate.  He glared intently at his tutor, willing the older sorcerer to awaken and face his wrath.


    Crowe had paid a heavy price for striking out against his master - he''d only paid for it twice - and tonight he would gladly pay for his digressions. As long as the old bastard knows how I feel about him.


    His tutor must have sensed his rage for he stirred, yawning, stretching, raising his arms high above his head. He blinked at Crowe. ¡°You''re back,¡± he croaked in a voice that said he could care less.


    Crowe did not reply. Not at first. He simply couldn''t. Just when he thought he had the words shaped in his mind, the pent up rage he''d stored over the years for his tutor swung in and obliterated it. Later, when the anger cleared, he would feel a deep and intense shame that would leave him curled on the floor and hating himself, but for now he wanted nothing more than to obliterate the man before him.


    He stood with his feet rooted to the spot, his shoulders tense, his hands clenched into fists. He shook so hard it was impossible not to hear his teeth knocking together even with the house rattling all around them. The shadow coalesced around him, forming a cloak. White-hot fire threatened to explode out of him and wreak havoc. He¡¯d felt its sting before many days after the past several days. A heavy silence - correction, a silence that was heavier than usual - had formed between them, filling the young practitioner with a dread that would not settle.  It was a familiar dread and yet it always left him feeling as if he was standing on uneven ground with a divide that split it down the middle. He tried to recall a time when the older practitioner had ever expressed warmth or love to him. He tried to think of a time when Petras had done anything more than teach him, make him kneel down and pray, or strike him. In the whirlwind of his growing fury it was impossible to think straight.


    ¡°You bastard!¡± he seethed. He wanted to say worse but it was the word that came out. ¡°You just left me out there! I fell out of the tree¡­I could have snapped my neck¡­and when I looked up you were gone!¡±


    The old man said nothing. He merely watched Crowe, his expression utterly remote, his eyes like glaciers. The young sorcerer knew he should shut up, knew he should back away before he said anything Petras would make him regret¡­Petras was unpredictable. He was calm now, but at any moment, if triggered by the right word, he would jump to his feet in a flash and strike the practitioner. Or do something worse. He was far stronger than his narrow frame suggested. But now that he¡¯d erupted like a volcano, there was no stopping.


    He turned, sweeping his arm over the top of a table, scattering several stacks of thick leather bound volumes on the floor - all from Petras from where he set them on the table and forgotten about them; Crowe had long since given up trying to put them back on the shelf. Something made of glass shattered. He thrust his hands into Petras¡¯ face. Hands swollen and darkened purple with frostbite. ¡°Look at my hands! I could have died¡­I could have frozen to death. Do you even care?¡±


    ¡°But you didn¡¯t.¡± The old man¡¯s lip twitched in the barest hint of a smile. ¡°You never do¡­no matter how much I might want you to¡­no matter how much better I think it would be for us all¡­if you just died.¡± This time his lips widened into an unmistakable grin, as if the thought of Crowe¡¯s death could bring him no greater peace.


    Petras'' words froze the practitioner to the core. It stilled his rage, piercing it, knocking his resolve to the ground. If how one felt could change appearances, Crowe would have turned into a small boy huddled on the floor. The flame in his eyes died. ¡°So why not just kill me then?¡± His voice cracked and wavered with despair. ¡°Why keep me around for seventeen years when you could have disposed of me, left me out in the cold as a babe?¡±


    Petras scoffed as if the young sorcerer was an idiot who had missed the point entirely; perhaps he was. ¡°Because it is not the way of the cycle. If I am to change things once and for all, I must do what must be done. That means keeping you around. That means teaching you how to become a man, how to survive, how to make tough decisions¡­even when it pains you to make them.¡±


    Crowe shook his head with barely contained frustration. ¡°You''re mad, old man!¡±


    Petras cackled. The sound was dry and throaty, reminding him of stories of horrid stories of old Crones who lived in the woods; they lived off the flesh of lost children. ¡°You might think I''m mad¡­living with me might have come close to driving you mad¡­but deep down inside you also know I''m not a raving lunatic. It''s why you haven''t suffocated me in my sleep more than a time or two. Trust me, I know¡­¡±


    There was something deep in his eyes, eyes the same shade of dark blue as Crowe''s own that said he did know. A knowing that made the young practitioner feel naked and small, as if he had once stood where Crowe had stood, the roles reversed. It was an eerie feeling that frightened Crowe in a way he could not say. My life is not my own. It belongs to someone else. It was an odd thought to have but it was the one that ran through his mind over and over again.


    ¡°You don''t understand yet, but you will,¡± the old man told him with the assurance of prophecy. For a moment his face softened, shifting into something like pity. ¡°Believe me there will come a day where you will wish you were as ignorant as you are now, for there is a price to knowing the ¡®why¡¯ of things. A war sweeps past our doorstep, destroying everything in it''s path. The only reason why we have not been discovered yet is because the cycle wills it so¡­¡±


    The old man talked on and on, droning in and out of coherence. Crowe knew he should walk away while the bastard was distracted, but he could never walk away from Petras no matter how angry he grew at him. A mercy the old man did not deserve.


    Petras was right when he said he wasn''t entirely insane. When he said he knew what was going to happen the practitioner always believed him because he¡¯d always been right before. It was the no explanation that drove at him like a blade sinking into unyielding flesh. It was the proof of effect without cause; the expectation that he was to follow blindly with no clue as to what end. You¡¯ve told me nothing of yourself or where I¡¯ve come from and yet you expect absolute faith.


    ¡°A mistake,¡± the old man muttered. He looked at Crowe with utter disgust, his lip curling. ¡°You are a mistake¡­¡±


    Crowe could hold back his fury no longer. He drew in a long whistling breath before unleashing all the words he¡¯d choked down for the past days, weeks, months, years. Cruel, acidic words he would never be able and didn''t want to take back. ¡°I hate you! I fucking hate you so much! I wish you would have just killed me because it would be better than this¡­¡± He cursed the old man. He told him he wished he was dead. ¡°When you die I hope your soul, what little of one you have left, goes straight to the Black City! I hope you choke on the ashes of Inferno¡­¡±


    Petras struck him hard enough to turn his head. Crowe wasn¡¯t expecting it. He never did no matter how much he prepared for it. Petras was old and he was going insane as many practitioners did as they aged, but he was still quick and strong. He jumped out of his chair before the young sorcerer could back away. His hand snapped through the hair lightning quick, stinging one side of the practitioner¡¯s face and then the other. He kicked him, stomping the heels of his boots into Crowe¡¯s aching feet. He did not scream, he barely seem to breathe, his face set in a mask of hate, lips peeled back from bared teeth, eyes blazing with white fury.


    Somehow Crowe managed to rise to his full height in between blows. He stood nose to nose with the old man.  The younger practitioner drew his fist back to land a blow of his own. Before he could take his retribution, the old man¡¯s bony knuckles grazed the side of his head. The blow sent the boy flying back until he slammed into a bookshelf. The bookshelf rocked and groaned. Books tumbled on top of him, pelting him with their thick covers.


    Something wet trickled down his face. Dazed, alarms ringing in his buzzing ears, he raised a finger to see what it was; it came back red with blood. He looked up at the old man, stunned, frightened.


    Though they were of the same height and build (how can he not be my father or grandfather? how can we not be related in some fashion? any time I ask about where I come from he only answers me with a stony stare and silence) Petras towered above him, the shadows distorting his true height. He looked at Crowe not time not with hate but that same knowing look that always made the young sorcerer feel as though he were made of glass. ¡°Don¡¯t think I don¡¯t know exactly what you were doing. Don¡¯t think I don¡¯t know who you were with.¡± The old man spat out the word as if it tasted of acid. ¡°You were in the cave with that boy, Bennett. No matter how many times I tell you to stay away from him, for your own good I might add, you always run back to him.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about him!¡± the practitioner shouted in defiance. ¡°You just dislike him because I LOVE him. And just when you wait¡­When you die, once I am free of you, I will leave this place¡­I will burn to the ground right after I bury you, and I will run away with him and I will never look back¡­¡±


    This time when Petras struck him, it split his bottom lip.


    Even now, even like this, enraged and humiliated something kept him from striking out against the old man. Even now there is a part of you that hopes you can still win his affection. Even just a shred of it. It doesn¡¯t matter what you do¡­you will never earn his love.


    ¡°I know everything about him,¡± Petras snarled. His cold rage pinned Crowe in place. ¡°I know he will hurt you worse in ways I will never be able to do. You know it yourself deep down inside, thought you have not the courage to admit it. He loves you, cares for you in his own way - the only way a man like him can love - but he doesn¡¯t love you in the way you truly want him to.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know a bloody thing you''re talking about!¡± Crowe spat in Petra¡¯s face, splattering blood across his flesh.


    He expected Petras to strike him but the old man was lost in his own tirade; he continued, unabated. ¡°He tells you what you want to hear, revs you up like one of those train engines Tannhaus built. Whispers sweet nothings in your ear. Kisses you just enough to make your skin tingle and your resolve soften¡­¡±


    How? How do you know these things? You weren¡¯t there. I never saw you. I would have sensed you if you had been. Crowe tried to speak but shock sealed his lips shut.


    ¡°But I can see no matter how much I try to convince you, you won''t learn.¡± Petras shook a clenched fist in Crowe''s face, silently threatening to strike him again. ¡°It matters not. You know how to wield a staff in a melee fight, but you do not yet know how to channel your mana through one. In order to do so you must first carve one yourself as I have done many times. Each staff is different, no one the same, each bound to you with its own special cord. You will have it done before the sun rises in the morning.¡± Before the young sorcerer could agree or disagree, Petras seized a fistful of his hair. With the strength of three men he dragged Crowe across the floor of the sitting room.


    The practitioner screamed, begging for the old man to let him go, begging for him please to not take him down to the cellar. He hated the dank smell of the place, hated how insects pressed their fat bodies to his flesh, clinging to him, seeking to fulfill alien impulses. He knocked aside furniture, kicking with his feet. A smashed vase shattered on the wooden floorboard, spilling wilted flowers and water darkened with decay. He clawed at Petras'' hand, digging his nails into the gnarled flesh for all it was. He didn''t have much to dig in, since he¡¯d bitten them down to the quick, but fear and desperation lent him strength. Still, when this did not thwart the old man¡¯s efforts to haul him across the house by the roots of his hair, he resorted to fire. He grabbed Petras'' arm and pushed all his fury and all his fear into his hand.


    Petras'' hand fell away with a cry of pain, his flesh sizzling. He lashed out with a snarl, the toe of his boot connecting with the small of Crowe''s back. The impact knocked the wind out of him. Before he could draw in a breath, Petras kicked him again and again, driving his toe in as deep as he could. Each strike made Crowe curl in a bit more on himself until he was so winded he couldn''t make a sound. With no fight left in him to give, Petras dragged him easily from the living room into the kitchen.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Crowe heard the crash of the door being yanked open. His heart skipped a beat. He opened his eyes. ¡°No,¡± he managed to moan weakly. ¡°Please¡­¡±


    ¡°Light burns brightest when it is eclipsed by darkness,¡± Petras muttered.


    You bastard, the practitioner managed to think, and then he was tumbling down the steps, rolling head over heels. By the time he reached the bottom of the steps he could barely cling to consciousness. Every bone in his body felt as if it had been crushed to sand.


    Petras stood in a rectangle of light at the end of a dark tunnel. He looked down at the younger practitioner, his face as impassive as stone. ¡°Do not fear the darkness, fear what is inside you, boy!¡± he croaked, his eyes wide, almost pleading. ¡°The only true hope of salvation lies in the lights of Metropolis. Look into the darkness and search for Metropolis. You will find it and its light will guide your hand.¡± He tossed something at the practitioner with an underhand: the tree branch from the aether tree Crowe had literally risked life and limb for to acquire. Something else followed after it with a silver glint: a dagger.


    With this final bit of advice the door slammed with a thud that made the darkness vibrate, trapping Crowe in the Void.


    No, no, no. This couldn¡¯t be happening - not again. Panic closed around him like a black fist. His breath caught in his throat, coming out in wheezing gasps. He hugged the tree branch for the mere fact it gave him something to hold onto. He imagined this is what it felt like to be lost at sea - he¡¯d never been on a ship before. That feeling that the world had grown unsteady, the ground swaying from side to side beneath him; threatening to knock him off balance, pull him under.


    Petras words passed through his mind in a tangled web of riddles and cruel truths. At first glance his jests seemed like the ravings of a mad man, but there was always a core of truth to them. The truth was what hurt the most, was it not?


    He prayed to Monad as he would do two years later in a situation that was very similar - sitting naked in a stable, whittling at a tree branch, looking up through the roof into the lights of Metropolis. In the dark of the basement, two years in the past he wasn¡¯t sure how long he prayed before a shimmer of light presented itself. It pulled his eyes upward.


    Pools of white celestial light cut through the black, turning the ceiling above his head porous, until it faded completely from view and he could see up into the kitchen, through the kitchen, until he could see the night sky. Until he could see the grand spires of the Eternal City. Its light fell across his skin, warming his skin where he was numb, giving him comfort when there was none to be had. Had he ever once looked up into anything so beautiful? He let the light fill him, let it guide his hand to the dagger, the dagger to the wood. It spoke to him, not so much with a voice, but with the echo of something familiar¡­a memory? a dream? It was impossible to say. Best not to guess. Best not to wonder.


    He began to carve, his movements echoing the actions he would take two years later. (Or is it the other way around, for what are cycles if not a repetition of the past?)


    Time, like the ceiling and the dark pocket of a world around him, time became porous. Lost its shape. As long as Metropolis¡¯ light remained fixed on him, as long as it didn¡¯t abandon him as Petras had done so many times - somehow he sensed it wouldn¡¯t until his task was done - Crowe knew he would make it through the night.


    He only knew it was morning when the sound of the door crashing against the wall jerked him out of his stupor. All at once Metropolis¡¯ light seeped out of the world, turning the ceiling back into solid wood. Its absence left Crowe feeling bereft. It had not only felt warm, but comforting, like the familiar hand of a loved one on the back of his neck. Had he ever experienced such a touch?


    ¡°Crowe? In the name of Monad what has that old bastard done to you!¡±


    The thunder of boots tapping rapidly on the stairs. The feeling of something soft - a blanket or a jacket - being tucked snuggly around his shoulders. Bennett was there, kneeling before him, golden hair glimmering in the dark. Crowe held the tree branch in his hands, his fingers riddled with blisters and splinters from where he¡¯d worked ceaselessly throughout the night, never once stopping. He held up the tree branch, marveling at it, because it was no longer a tree branch. He¡¯d whittled it down to a long thin shaft five feet in length. He¡¯d carved intricate designs¡­runes and sigils he¡¯d never laid eyes on, never seen in a book or scroll until now¡­and yet his hands had carved them as if they possessed a memory of their own.


    ¡°You¡¯re all bloody. Damn him to the Void!¡± Bennett growled.


    It pleased Crowe to hear the anger in his voice. Real genuine anger. It roughened his voice nicely. ¡°He¡¯s done worse.¡±


    Bennett moved to help him to his feet, hasty to get him out of the cold. The practitioner winced. ¡°Bennett...stop, stop, stop! I need a minute¡­please!¡±


    Carefully, almost tenderly, the older boy lowered him back on the ground. Slowly he hiked up Crowe¡¯s shirt, exposing his flesh to the chill of the cellar. He cringed visibly at what he saw. ¡°You¡¯re covered in bruises¡­black bruises. That¡¯s it. We¡¯re taking you to a healer.¡±


    The practitioner shook his head. His forehead was covered in a sheen of cold sweat. ¡°I don¡¯t need to see a healer, I just need to go outside. I¡¯ll be fine in a few days. Can you help me up? I want to go outside.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll help you. Hamon¡¯s ash-covered ass, how do you always get yourself in these situations?¡±


    The sorcerer snickered at the use of Hamon¡¯s ash-covered ass. ¡°I¡¯m like a magnet for a disaster. A mistake.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t let that old bastard feel your head with lies. You might be a ditz at times, but you are not a mistake.¡± Bennett planted a particularly wet kiss on his cheek, grinning roguishly. ¡°And if you are a mistake then you¡¯re a mistake I happen to care very much about.¡±


    Last night you told me you loved me. The thought slipped out of Crowe¡¯s mind before he could give it much credence.


    They hobbled across the kitchen, into the shadowy recesses of the sitting room. There Petras stood before the door, glaring at them. Glaring at Bennett specifically. He held his staff in hand. The sigils carved into the wood burned with white fire. ¡°You!¡± he said to Bennett. ¡°How dare you just barge into my house as if you own the place! You are not welcome here!¡±


    ¡°Damn you to the Void!¡± Bennett¡¯s calloused fingers dug into Crowe¡¯s bruised shoulders hard enough to make the practitioner gasp in displeasure. ¡°Look what you¡¯ve done to him. He¡¯s bloody and bruised all over. He very well could have gotten frostbite thanks to the stunt you pulled last night. He was attacked by wolves¡­¡±


    Don¡¯t bother, Crowe wanted to tell him. It doesn¡¯t matter what you say, he¡¯ll never listen to you. He¡¯ll never admit he¡¯s wrong. He¡¯s not capable of it.


    He couldn¡¯t find the words to speak; not when he needed them the most; not when the halves of his world were circling each other like predators fighting for the prey.


    ¡°Say what you want, do want you want, you don¡¯t scare me and it doesn¡¯t matter what you say!¡± Bennett crossed his arms over his broad chest. He was big enough and tall enough he could look intimidating when he wanted to. ¡°If you think I¡¯m going to leave Crowe in this filthy house with you, then you truly have lost your marbles to the Void.¡±


    The air shifted. The gloom in the house thickened, wrapping around Petras like a black veil. The white core that glimmered deep within his eyes, pulsed and grew until it eclipsed the dark blue of his irises completely. ¡°You might think I¡¯m mad, blacksmith¡¯s apprentice¡­¡± The tip of an aether joint bloomed in the dismal confines of the sitting room; Petras took a long drag and blew the smoke at the two boys. ¡°...but I know you. I know everything about you.¡± A crafty grin split his face in half. ¡°I certainly know you better than that stupid boy you say you so love so much.¡± His eyes switched to the practitioner long enough to indicate who the ¡°stupid boy you say you love¡± was. He gave Bennett the same look he¡¯d given the young sorcerer so many times. That look that made Crowe feel as if his flesh were made of water and the bastard could see right through him, his thoughts, his every secret, his soul.


    He could see it was starting to affect Bennett.


    He glared at Petras, stepping forward until they stood nose to nose. With Bennett here he had the suspicion Petras would not strike him and he was right, for Petras one hand gripped his staff while the other nursed the joint. ¡°You truly are a bastard. I¡¯m not the mistake here, you are. You¡¯re cruel and vile and manipulative and as if that weren¡¯t bad enough you¡¯re fucking insane on top of it. Just you wait. One day I will be free of you and when I am I will know the taste of freedom. And it will not be with fondness or gratefulness that I will feel when I look back and think of you, because you decided not to kill me on behalf of your merciful heart¡­¡± He spat out the word merciful with all the disdain he could muster. He turned back to Bennett, pulling at the blacksmith apprentice¡¯s hand. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Bennett.¡±


    Bennett did not move, not even when the practitioner tugged his hand a second time. All the color had drained out of his face. He only had eyes for the wrinkled face of the old man. ¡°What else do you think you know about me?¡±


    ¡°I know you do not love Crowe in the way you think you do,¡± Petras said. ¡°You don¡¯t even love yourself. How could you, when you hide it from the world? Your father? That stupid girl¡­what is her name, Delilah?...down in the village¡­you hide from her too, while also using her to keep up appearances. You use Crowe most of all because you know he is the one person you can be yourself around, without judgment. You like the way he looks at you, with those big blue adoring eyes¡­¡± The more Petras spoke the more Bennett seemed to unravel, his lips trembling. Crowe was paralyzed once more by the weight of prophecy. His ears burned with words he didn¡¯t want to hear. Words made worse by the fact they were true.


    Petras grinned, revealing white even teeth. He killed the aether joint with a long final drag. He dropped it carelessly to the floor before grinding what was left under the heel of his boot. ¡°Worse yet, Bennett, I know your future. You¡¯ve both talked at length about how you¡¯re going to the great city of Caemyth in the South as soon as I¡¯m gone¡­¡±


    Bennett and Crowe exchanged wide-eyed looks. How could Petras possibly know this? They¡¯d only discussed these fantasies in private.


    The old man pointed a gnarled finger at Bennett. The older boy flinched, taking a step back. His jaw was slack, his mouth open in an O of stupefaction. ¡°Aye, you will see Caemyth and you will fight in the war, but you will also die¡­In a ditch, your guts leaking out of your belly from cannon shrapnel¡­¡±


    Crowe had heard enough. He grabbed Bennett¡¯s hand and dug his nails into his flesh until the older boy looked away with a gasp. ¡°Do not listen to him. Come with me.¡±


    Bennett followed dumbly behind him, skirting around the old man as if the mere act of touching him would make his flesh fall off. The practitioner didn¡¯t blame him. Petras had that effect on people. He led Bennett towards the woods. The older boy followed without question. He knew where they were going, where they always went to hold their private council. The pallets were still where they¡¯d left them. Crowe set down the wood they¡¯d gathered on the way in the man made fire pit.


    Memories of the other night rose up in his mind, still all too fresh and welcome. He shoved them down, shooting  the older boy a look, his mouth downturned in a frown. Bennett sat facing the mouth of the cave, his back turned to him. No matter how hard he tried to ignore them, Petra¡¯s words rang through his head unbidden. How was it the old man knew everything about him - the intimate parts of his life he¡¯d strived so hard to keep private - while he still knew nothing about his tutor?


    ¡°Bennett,¡± he said in a sharper voice than he¡¯d meant to.


    ¡°Aye?¡± came the reply after a long, dreadful minute of silence in which Crowe stood waiting, his heart racing. He knew Bennett needed space to process things¡­he¡¯d been there himself more than a few times¡­but he also needed an answer. A deep, ringing panic filled his guts. What he was afraid of he dare not give it name.


    ¡°You can¡¯t listen to him. He doesn¡¯t know what he¡¯s talking about¡­¡± he started, even as he knew deep in his gut that the words of reassurance were a lie.


    ¡°He knew,¡± Bennett said. His voice sounded deep, hurt. Angry. ¡°Did you tell him anything?¡±


    Crowe flinched as if the older boy had struck him. He fought to keep the hurt out of his voice. ¡°You know I didn¡¯t. I wouldn¡¯t. Everything you have ever said to me, I¡¯ve kept between us.¡± What he didn¡¯t say was, How could you think that of me? How could you think so low of me?


    Petras said nothing.


    The practitioner could stand the silence no longer.


    ¡°One thing he¡¯s right about for sure is that you are the biggest fucking idiot,¡± he said with all the vehemence he could inject into his voice. ¡°You always let them come between us, Petras and your father.¡± It must have worked, for now it was Bennett¡¯s turn to flinch. Crowe didn¡¯t care. The cave was spinning around like a top with him a poor ant trapped inside; his chest felt tight. His eyes stung with tears of pain and rage. Was there nowhere in this world he could go where it didn¡¯t feel like there was a bootheel pressed against his back, pushing him out the door? Once more, Petras¡¯ words echoed in his mind, ringing with the inevitable truth of prophecy.


    ¡°Crowe, wait, I¡¯m sorry¡­¡± Bennett grabbed the hood of his cloak, pulling him back. ¡°I just don¡¯t know¡­I don¡¯t know how you did it. I don¡¯t know how you live with that raving lunatic.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t exactly have a choice,¡± the practitioner replied bitterly. ¡°He¡¯s the closest thing I¡¯ve ever known to family. Apparently the people of Anneville weren¡¯t lining up to adopt me.¡±


    Bennett scoffed. ¡°You don¡¯t have to stay. Leave.¡±


    ¡±And go where? Petras isn¡¯t entirely insane. He¡¯s right about the war. Right now as we speak torchcoats are probably rounding up practitioners¡­those they don¡¯t kill they conscript to build Drajen¡¯s bloody railroad track. Is that what you want to happen to me?¡± It was an ugly, hurtful thing to say, but he was hurting and Bennett not Petras was the cause of it. I wish I could stop loving you. I wish I could walk away¡­it would make things so much easier.


    ¡°I wish the world could see you the way I do,¡± Bennett said huskily.


    He reached up with a beefy arm, brushing aside a stray lock of the practitioner¡¯s hair.


    The expression on his face was naked. Vulnerable.  The truth of how he felt shining through like the rays of a sun¡­so why did he always hide it behind a storm of clouds except when they were alone? Crowe wanted to turn away from it but even now he could feel himself being drawn in towards Bennett. He smelled of whiskey and sawdust and smoke. The practitioner¡¯s heart sped up in spite of himself. ¡°How do you see me?¡±


    ¡°Nuthin¡¯ bad, that¡¯s for sure.¡± Bennett¡¯s breath felt warm on his face. ¡°You¡¯re kind, forgiving. You can be a bit of a ditz sometimes, but you¡¯re also the smartest person I¡¯ve ever met.¡±


    Crowe smirked. ¡°That¡¯s not a high standard to beat around here.¡±


    Bennett laughed. ¡°No, I suppose not. But I do mean it, y¡¯know? I¡¯d be utterly lost without you.¡± He leaned in, and kissed Crowe on the lips tenderly. ¡°Come  back to the cave tomorrow night if you¡¯re feeling better. Let me show you just how beautiful I think you are.¡±

 The Taste of Torchcoats

    The storm raged on relentlessly through night¡¯s prolonged hours, scattering all in its path be it practitioner or torchcoat alike. Not a soul moved except for the occasional fox or badger or rabbit driven from their dens by the torrential downpour. The necromancers could not be said to have souls; they''d conscripted theirs to their master Iterations ago.


    They followed the revenants, letting them lead the way like bloodhounds. There were no better trackers than the undead creatures who could slip through the darkness unheard and unseen. It was only a matter of time before the detestable monstrosities led them to their prey. Tara tried to remain patient, but it was hard to do when her stomach was full of fluttering butterflies. Even she didn''t like the way they moved, seeming to walk with a slow deliberate pace, and yet no matter how she and Pa tried to keep up, they somehow always remained ahead of them.


    Pa grunted when the silent creatures stopped in a clearing surrounded by pine trees up ahead. ¡°They''ve found something.¡±


    Tara could not hide a grin of excitement when the discovery turned out to be a pit of blackened earth. Her nose wrinkled, her lips turning in a downward frown of disgust as they drew closer. ¡°They were definitely here. I can smell the herald¡¯s foulness all over this area. He''s a persistent little bastard, I¡¯ll give him that.¡±


    Pa strode around the edges of the pit, long arms clasped behind his back in thought.


    She liked his long lapses into silence less and less; it made her uneasy, a feeling she thought would have been washed out of her after three lifetimes. She did the only thing she could think of to do at the moment: she ignored it. Better to complete the task at hand¡­after all this was this last chance or else their master would throw them into the Void, and rightly so. All we have to do is keep the little shit from reaching those old windbags in the Expanse.


    The revenants moved on from the pit, angling northeast. They moved silently, not so much as stirring a tree branch or a bramble. While their visage was gag-inducing to look at, she envied them their grace. There was a reason why most living creatures were afraid of these hideous creatures and why the forces of Inferno used them in the war against the False Creator, Monad.


    The group traveled another half mile, climbing up a steep hill that flattened into more woodland at the top - this herald could really move in haste and he was cautious, a quality the other herald''s of previous Iterations had lacked - this much Tara would give him. Her muscles ached from the long climb, her heart beating frantically in her chest. I¡¯d rather not have a heart, she thought. I¡¯d rather be heartless like the revenants. She hated the feeling of human discomfort that fluttered in her breast like a panicky butterfly; it disturbed her more that she knew nothing of its origins. Or rather she did.


    She glared at Pa¡¯s back. She watched him slink closer to the commotion, sticking to the cover of shadows provided by the cover of trees. After a moment he turned to her, eyes flashing beneath the brim of his cowl. She''d been so distracted by fatigue and her own damned emotions that she¡¯d failed to notice the clamor of uneasy voices coming from the clearing.


    Tara¡¯s lips peeled back from her razor-edged teeth. Dinner.


    Five torchcoats stood in the middle of the camp, squabbling; she could hear the edge of panic in their voices - smell it in their sweat, their blood. They¡¯re afraid. They should be.


    The poor dears had set up camp in the middle of the clearing that would at least shelter them from the blood fall. Pa and she continued to watch them from their vantage point, taking stock of their prey. Their bright-eyed youthful faces. Three men, two women, none of them hardly a day over twenty. Youthful flesh was a delicacy not to be passed up no matter the circumstances.


    ¡°I swear we¡¯re getting close!¡± one of the men, a slim acne-faced boy piped up. He faced the tallest in the group, a dark-skinned man with slanted eyes. Judging from the good amount of bristle around the man¡¯s mouth he was not only the oldest in the group but the one in charge. ¡°The man said the practitioner and the lycan were staying in the stable outside the church.¡±


    ¡°There''s no way we''re going anywhere in this shit, Headings!¡± the commander said. He had a deep, booming voice¡­had fate been kinder to him he would have turned into a strapping commander who would burn practitioners at the stakes by the thousands¡­but Tara could hear the fear and inexperience in his voice. ¡°The road has been blocked and it''s impossible to see in this accursed rain. Better to stick it out into it clears up¡­if it clears up¡­if it clears up.¡±


    ¡°It won''t,¡± Tara tittered under her breath. Her belly growled with genuine hunger; saliva dripped down her chin. ¡°Not for you.¡±


    The other torchcoats huddled in their tents while the two in the center continued to work out their discourse. Two minutes passed, then three. Still Pa had not given any indication as to what he wanted to do. Tara scowled. What was with the hesitation? Where was the bastard who used to forgo caution and charge straight into a slaughter, screaming like a bloodthirsty creature of the night.


    She had no patience for it; they had no time. If he would not act or at least give the commands for others to carry out, then she would. She made a clucking sound. The revenants, who would remain inactive until given instructions, regarded her with their empty eye sockets and dessicated flesh. They were impervious to the blood rain.


    ¡°Kill them all except the dark-skinned one,¡± she hissed to the undead creatures. She bared her teeth in a predatory grin. ¡°I want to taste him.¡±


    The revenants moved to carry out her commands without so much as making a sound. The torchcoats prattled on, unaware that their deaths were closing in on them.


    ¡°It''s only several more miles.¡± Headings brandished a folded map at the dark-skinned man. ¡°We could take shelter in the church and tie up the practitioner and his beast in one go. It would be a win-win on both accounts. It¡¯d be better than drowning in this filth.¡±


    The commander sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Headings. But we''re already in deep enough shit. I will not take unnecessary risks¡­¡± He stopped suddenly.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Hedge demanded in a shaky voice.


    ¡°Shhh, shhh!¡± The commander waved a gauntleted hand, his eyes wide. ¡°Ladies and gents to me!¡±


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The other three torchcoats ducked out of their tents, rifles in hand. Their eyes flashed with fear and determination Tara could smell the sweet rank of their sweat, their blood, their fear. They had their rifles out but it would do no good. Though she could not see them or hear them, Tara could feel the presence of the revenants circling the camp. Never one to sit idly by while others had fun without her, Tara decided it was time to participate in the party.


    A cloud of darkness blacker than the sky itself descended over the camp at her summons. Frightened curses and prayers to Elysia were cut off by the sound of blades slicing through the air. A shot of fire followed by a guttural gagging sound quickly drowned out by the sound of boots sloshing through half melted snow turned to slush.


    The commotion was short, lasting only a minute. Maybe not even that. Silence fell abruptly. All Tara could hear was the blood rain tapping on the hood of her robes and her own excited exhalations. Seconds later a deep voice sounded from the camp. ¡°In the name of Elysia, hear my prayer. May you cast the light of your torch upon me¡­¡±


    The commander¡¯s words faded out to heavy silence.


    Tara, giddy and impatient with hunger, stepped into the clearing without so much as looking back at Pa; if he had any objections to offer she didn''t hear them. The commander she yearned to taste was planted on the ground. The three revenants surrounded him, crude weapons drawn: a hatchet, a meat cleaver, and a spiked club. Splatters of dark crimson turned black by the night  marked their gray Hamon-preserved flesh. The rest of the torchcoats lay on the ground around him, throats slit, weapons sinking into the growing flood. Moats of water fell down the mountain, flooding the world below.


    Pa followed closely behind her, as contemplative and silent as ever. He made no comments on the dead bodies, his face remote and disconcertingly unreadable beneath the brim of his cowl. Memories flashed through Tara¡¯s mind unbidden; memories so vivid they made her skin tingle with phantom sensations. She shoved the memories away.


    The torchcoat watched the necromancers approach, his eyes so wide all Tara could see were the whites of them. He glanced at the revenants frightfully but from the way he kept watching Tara and Pa, he seemed to sense the undead creatures were the lesser threat. After all, like him, they were only soldiers following orders. The torchcoat continued to pray to Elysia, shaking so hard his teeth knocked together.


    ¡°Pray to your whore all you want.¡± Tara knelt down before him so that her eyes were level with his. ¡°All you¡¯re doing is wasting the last few precious seconds of life you have left.¡±


    ¡°E-Elysia is with me,¡± the torchcoat stammered


    Tara respected his defiance in the face of imminent death; it made her hungry for him more. ¡°The bitch can¡¯t hear you because she doesn¡¯t care. You are but a speck of sand compared to the endless cosmos of the Void. Not even that. You are nothing.¡±


    ¡°Quit playing with your food, woman,¡± Pa muttered with a sigh of resignation. ¡°We have much work to do.¡±


    Tara pouted. ¡°You¡¯re no fun anymore.¡± She ran the tip of a pale finger across the torchcoat¡¯s cheek. Leaning towards him, she lowered her voice as if they were the best of friends and it was just the two of them. ¡°We use to have fun together, he and I. So much fun! We would tear into villages and camps just like this one and slaughter anyone in our path. Men, women¡­children. We didn¡¯t care. We killed indiscriminately. Afterwards we would celebrate by stacking all the corpses in a pile and making love on top of them.¡±


    ¡°Tara, we really must be going!¡± Pa snapped with more impatience than before.


    ¡°Go fuck a sow¡¯s ass!¡± she snarled. ¡°I know what I¡¯m doing¡­We¡¯ve had the herald and his beast lover on the run for days. Either way they¡¯ll have to stop for rest eventually. Sleep. He and the beast are holed up in that church just like this darling¡­¡± She nodded at the torchcoat with a sickly sweet smile. ¡°..said. They won¡¯t be able to make it far under these conditions.¡± She fixed the older necromancer with a glare, daring him to challenge her. She hated the way her heart raced and her chest felt tight. Why is he doing this to me? She crossed her arms over her breasts to hide her discomfort. Pa was not the only one who was out of sorts and she didn¡¯t like it. Not one bit.


    Tara did not wait for him to offer an answer. She gestured for the revenants to lift the torchcoat to his feet with an impatient wave of her gauntleted hand. By this time the torchcoat had come completely undone in the face of his impending doom. Each sputtering sound, each time he begged made her nipples harden and her breath quicken.


    The torchcoat twisted and kicked against his captors, but the revenants restrained him effortlessly, pinning his arms behind his back at a most uncomfortable looking angle. Tara almost pitied him.


    ¡°Remove his pants!¡± she barked at the revenants.


    This time the torchcoat did not kick and scream; all the fight had washed out of him. Nothing pleased Tara more than that final moment when her victims accepted their fate. To see their loss of spirit. Once her orders had been completed and the torchcoat stood with his breeches pulled around his ankles, Tara gestured impatiently again. ¡°I need a knife.¡±


    Pa handed her a straight razor without comment. Her eyes flashed visibly with excitement when he unfolded the blade. She grinned at the torchcoat¡¯s prick. He was well-endowed. I know what I¡¯m going to taste first.


    The torchcoat began to kick and trash and scream when the necromancer started her cruel surgery. Not even the clash of thunder overhead could completely extinguish the sound of steel cutting through flesh. Streams of blood trailed down his leg. His mouth was a gaping tunnel that yawned open in agony. Once she was finished with her work, Tara held up the severed part of his anatomy for him to see. ¡°Don¡¯t you feel a load lighter after you long travels?¡± she sang before holding it out to Pa. ¡°Would you like the first taste?¡±


    Pa ¡®s eyes brightened behind their screen of shadow, showing the first true glimmer of emotion Tara had seen all evening. He licked his lips hungrily. ¡°You go ahead.¡± He grinned, though she could tell by the way he clenched his hands into fists it took him great effort to restrain himself. ¡°You go ahead my sweet. You¡¯re the one who¡¯s done all the work.¡±


    ¡°Suit yourself.¡± She shrugged happily. More for me. The flesh in her hand still felt warm to the touch. The torchcoat watched wide-eyed as she sank her teeth into his balls; all the color drained for his face. Moaning with relish, Tara held up the testacles above her head, pulling her face back towards the sky, opening her mouth so that the blood rain fell into it. ¡°I feast on human flesh for you, Hamon, so that you may experience carnal pleasures through me! For your pleasure is my gain! Only for you will I drown this world in a river of blood¡­¡±


    She spun around, her robs fanning out.  ¡°Spirits of Inferno, hear my call. Rise up for the deepest, darkest depths of the Black City¡­¡±


    The ground shifted once beneath her feet before going still.


    ¡°Smite thine enemy. Burrow into his mind like the parasites you are. Lay your eggs of deceit and madness¡­


    This time the earth didn¡¯t just shift, it churned all around her. The ground exploded in a shower of blood and wet soil, revealing holes that dug down into the earth farther than the eye could see.


    Black shapes with leathery wings shot up from the ground, dissolving into black streaks that arched towards the sky like black comets. Let¡¯s see what tricks the herald has up his sleeve against this.


    ¡°He has the lycan with him,¡± Pa croaked in his cracked voice. A voice that sounded subdued. ¡°They¡¯ll only be able to get so close.¡±


    ¡°Even lycans have to sleep, have to eat, have to shit, have to turn their attention elsewhere,¡± said Tara. ¡°They¡¯ll whither him down until he¡¯s nothing. This time they won¡¯t make it to the North. I won¡¯t let them.¡± She turned her attention back to the torchcoat. ¡°Enough chatter. All this work has made me hungry. Let¡¯s eat.¡±


    This time Pa did not refuse. He licked his lips hungrily. ¡°In the name of Hamon, I feast on human flesh¡­¡±

 No Place to Hide

    ¡°Come to the cave tomorrow night if you''re feeling better. Let me show you how beautiful I think you are.¡±


    The practitioner opened his eyes to the sound of a familiar voice. A voice he hadn''t heard in almost a year. A voice he thought he''d never hear again. ¡°Bennett,¡± he breathed. He couldn''t believe what he was seeing¡­it had to be a dream or a trick of the mind.


    Bennett looked down at him, dressed in a worn battlefield uniform. A gold diamond was emblazoned on the front of his blue coat. He held a musket with a bayonet attached to the muzzle. His face was covered with dark streaks of gunpowder. The older boy smiled at him, a smile that resembled the one he¡¯d worn on the day he¡¯d pulled Crowe out of the basement. ¡°Is something wrong?¡± His smile fell, downturning into a frown of concern.


    ¡°You''re not supposed to be here,¡± the practitioner whispered.


    Bennett winced as if the sorcerer had struck him. ¡°Why would you say something like that? Why wouldn''t I be here?¡±


    ¡°Because you''re supposed to be dead in a ditch, you''re guts leaking out¡­¡± Crowe swallowed, wincing. The inside of his throat felt like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.


    ¡°You don¡¯t mean to tell me you honestly believed that old fool, did you?¡± Bennett¡¯s eyes were wide, pleading. He was thinner than Crowe had ever seen him before¡­malnourished. Pale. Sickly. Not the Bennett he¡¯d always known. Like his father, Jeb, Bennett had taken a lot of pride in his physical prowess. That¡¯s because this isn¡¯t Bennett. This is a trick from the necromancers.


    Crowe rose to his feet. He glared at the thing who wore Bennett¡¯s face. ¡°I know what you are, foul creature!¡± he spat. He wrenched his necklace from around his neck and thrust it towards Bennett. ¡°If you think your mind games are going to work on me, think again¡­¡±


    Bennett¡¯s lips spread in a grin. A grin that widened until it bisected his face. A grin no human being was capable of. Eyes black as night zeroed in on the trinket dangling from Crowe¡¯s hand. It took a step back but no more. ¡°Doubt clouds your mind. You¡¯re exhausted. Torchcoats comb the lands, enslaving any practitioner they find. But if they catch you and your beast lover, they won¡¯t send you to build the railroad or to the Black Diamond. They¡¯ll burn you at the stake at best or quarter you at worst. I¡¯m going to have fun destroying your mind from the inside out.¡±


    ¡°I said back away from me, foul spirit!¡± Crowe brandished the Lion-Headed Serpent at Bennett¡¯s face again. ¡°Go back to the Black City where you came from. Go back to kneeling at the feet of your master where you belong! As long as I stand in the light of Monad, your corrupt fingers cannot touch me!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll just see about that,¡± the spirit said, still grinning.


    It dissolved before his, shrinking into a black cloud of smoke. The practitioner caught the hint of reptilian wings before the smoke streaked away, smashing through the wall of the stable in a shower of splintered wood and hay.


    An explosion sounded outside the stable, rocking the walls. Crowe screamed. ¡°Barghast!¡± he cried. He ran out of the stall, searching frantically for the lycan, but Barghast was nowhere to be seen. What? That¡¯s not possible! He wouldn¡¯t have left without saying anything first.


    The stable was changing around him: walls shifting, becoming porous, turning into wreaths of smoke until he knew not where he stood. He whirled around, searching for something familiar in every direction. He was completely and utterly alone. The sky and the horizon in every corner was a smoky purple. No wait, movement to the East.


    A single figure walking away from him, looking at him over his shoulder. Beckoning him to follow. He recognized the flash of blonde hair, the familiar teasing grin that hid more than it revealed. Bennett!


    Crowe burst into a sprint.


    Be it a dream or a trick of the mind cast by the spirit, Crowe had no intention of remaining lost in this alien place. He would get back to Barghast no matter what it took and they would move on. ¡°Get back here!¡± he shouted.


    Trees loomed out of the smoke. The ground beneath his feet turned into a snow-covered fielded surrounded by pine trees. The sky turned from violet to a wintery, uncaring gray. He slipped over half-melted puddles of snow and the blood of practitioners and torchcoats alike, the soil beneath his feet turned to mud. A cannon smacked into the ground on his left. The detonation tore a furrow into the earth, pelting him with smoking clots of dirt that seared his skin. This isn¡¯t just a dream! he thought. It feels too real to be a dream!


    That meant this was a curse placed upon him by the necromancers. Ignoring the cramp of fear that tightened in his belly, he pushed on, half crawling half running after the entity that had stolen Bennett¡¯s shape. All around him men screamed, men died. In one glance he saw the gold diamond against blue backdrops, marking those who fought for the practitioners; in the other, the silver torchcoats of Pope Drajen¡¯s side. It occurred to him this was the only difference. In their blood was the same color. Wasn¡¯t it Petras who had always told him it took the blood of men to keep the warmachine running.


    He skidded to a stop. He¡¯d almost fallen into a large trench that had been dug in the center of the field. Hundreds of bodies¡­practitioners and torchcoats alike filled it almost to the top. At the top, lying directly in the middle, looking up at the practitioner with accusing eyes, was Bennett. His body convulsed with the final shutters of life. His hands were placed over his belly to staunch the bleeding but Crowe could see his guts leaking through his fingers. In the end Petras had been right; he would die from the shrapnel in his gut. In the end Petras was always right.


    ¡°I¡¯m here because of you,¡± Bennet said, spraying blood on the front of his uniform. ¡°I¡¯m where you should be¡­¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re here because of your own choices.¡± The doubt in his voice reflected the panic that threatened to smother the practitioner from the inside. Don¡¯t let this spirit get into your head. It is manipulative. It will use your greatest fears and weaknesses against you. Remain steadfast. ¡°Petras told you¡­I told you what would happen if you went on that last day, on the porch. I told you that if you were to go to war you would die¡­¡±


    Something wet, something red dropped on his forehead with a watery plop. Blood. It fell all around him, marking the snow in crimson. He blinked. Gone was the field. Gone was the ditch full of dead soldiers. Gone was Bennett. He stood in the center of the courtyard, facing the church. The church of the Theocracy. The torch fountain was directly in front of him. He looked down at his hands, his body. He was completely naked without a stitch of clothing on.


    He whirled around to face the stable. The doors hung wide open from where he¡¯d gotten up and left. The spirit had tricked him into stepping out into the open, exposing himself. He opened his mouth to scream Barghast¡¯s name, a creaky old voice said, ¡°If you so much as utter a squeak, I¡¯m going to put two holes the size of gold crowns in you.¡± This was followed by the click of a weapon being cocked.


    Crowe raised his hands above his head in surrender. Slowly he turned, his heart pounding in his throat, remembering the hunched shadow he¡¯d glimpsed in the window of the church.


    The gnarled cleric stood a yard away, gripping a shotgun with clawed hands twisted through with arthritis and liverspots. Eyes narrowed down to slits glared at him with the righteousness only seen in the overly pious. ¡°I¡¯ve alerted the Theocracy via the telegraph machine I keep for purposes just like this. They¡¯re on their way.¡± He inched closer to Crowe as he spoke. He drew the double barrel shotgun back before slamming the handle into the bridge of the practitioner¡¯s nose.


    Stars exploded behind his eyes, knocking him down on his ass. Blood rain came up to his hips. More blood spouted from his nose, soaking his chin, his chest, fresh over the new. His face was on fire. His nose was a throbbing, screaming nerve. He raised a finger to the bridge of his nose. It was bent at an awkward angle. The old bastard broke my nose¡­


    No sooner had this thought passed through his mind with shock, Father Monroe pressed the double barrel to his forehead. ¡°On your feet, practitioner scum! We¡¯re waiting in the church until the Theocracy gets here. And I¡¯m going to give Elise both sides of my hand¡­foolish girl¡­¡±


    The practitioner knew all he needed to do was scream the lycan¡¯s name and Barghast would come from him. But no matter his skill as a sorcerer, he was not faster than two speeding bullets. The priest is old. Clearly senile. The moment he falters¡­Crowe didn¡¯t want to think about what he would have to do. He didn¡¯t want to harm the old man who stood under the same accursed sky as he.


    You have little choice! Petras¡¯ voice snapped in his head. You know what needs to be done. Sometimes you have to make difficult decisions¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Crowe wheezed. ¡°I can¡¯t let you do that. BARGHAST!¡±


    No sooner than he¡¯d screamed the Okanavian¡¯s name, the double barrel shotgun bucked in Father Monroe¡¯s hand with an explosion. Crowe screamed again, expecting to feel the passing heat of death. Fortunately it seemed the Iteration had other plans for him: the shells went wide, slamming into the stable door. Crowe straightened just in time to see Father Monroe shutter. The wind whipped brutally at his face making it a strain to tell what he was saying. It took him a moment to register the dark, slender shape that towered over the Elysian priest from behind. He couldn¡¯t understand why the old man was bowed inward like that until he saw the blade pressing in through his chest from his back. His eyes climbed past Father Monroes quivering face to the hollowed face of the revenant holding the old priest up so that his slippered feet dangled uselessly ? the ground.


    Behind them a thin cackle broke over the crash of thunder. He recognized that sound and knew he would never forget it. A worm of dread wriggled in his gut.


    The necromancers had found them.


    The female¡­her name was Tara¡­how do I know that?...sauntered alongside the older necromancer. Pa. Fear made his legs tremble and his legs knock together. He bolstered his courage, forcing himself to straighten to his full height. If Barghast and I are going to survive this encounter, I will have to be smart. It will take everything I have.


    Father Monroe¡¯s limp body slipped off the blade with a wet sliding sound. He landed on his chest, his face submerged in blood.


    A white flash and the spicy stench of gunpowder sparked from the corner of the practitioner¡¯s vision. Barghast stood in the rain, rocking back with the shot from his musket. Already he was moving for another shot, his movements nimble and fluid. He had the experience of someone who knew his way around a bathroom, an experience that was more than just intuition born of lycan instinct. The first shot had Pa and Tara ducking out of the way. Barghast fired a second shot, driving them behind the fountain.


    The hairs on the back of the sorcerer¡¯s neck stood on end. A cold chill slithered down his spine. He turned just in time to see the curved blade of a hook flash towards his face. He fell back with a cry, ducking just in time to save his face from being split open like a seam. Another revenant lurched towards him, its movements far quicker than what it should have been capable of given the state of its body. A voice in the back of the practitioner¡¯s mind wondered why Pope Drajen feared practitioners so much when it was Hamon¡¯s servants who possessed the power to raise the dead.


    Already the undead creature lurched towards him, raising the hook above its head. Crowe backed away, pulling his fear into his hands. A wall of flame so hot it made the air sizzle shot from his hands, engulfing the revenant. Still it advanced towards him, undeterred by the scorching inferno. Like the bear creature from Timberford, a voice in the back of his mind told him the revenant would not be easy to kill and there was more than one of them.


    ¡°Crowe!¡± Barghast started across the courtyard, eyes flashing under the night sky. Before the lycan could reach him, Tara rose up from behind the fountain. She shouted something with a wave of her hand.


    The flap of wings and the inhuman screech of a reptilian creature was the only warning Crowe was given; just as his fingers were about to graze the Okanavian¡¯s, a black cloud enclosed the sorcerer, blocking him from all sides. Knowing what to expect he tried to back away, but already he felt sharp claws slicing into his cheek hard enough to draw blood.


    Not this again.


    He pulled all his fury and fear into himself. When he opened his eyes they smoldered white with mana. He spread his arms out, releasing a wall of kinetic energy that rippled in all directions. The cyclone died with a fatalistic screech. He felt the death of the creature in his gut¡­such entities were only given shape, only given life by the master who summoned them into being, therefore, while effective in breaking down the minds of the summoner¡¯s adversaries, were weak.


    No sooner had the wall of black smoke cleared, Barghast¡¯s paw closed around his. He yanked the practitioner to him before steering him in the direction of the stables. The sorcerer caught the flash of his claws slicing through the air. A glance over his shoulder showed the burning revenant¡¯s head roll off its shoulders into the rising puddle of blood rain. Its body fell heavily to the ground.


    The second revenant - the one who had killed Father Monroe - pursued them with the necromancers loping after it. Disoriented from the pain of his broken nose and eyes raw and puffy from exhaustion, Crowe yanked the doors of the stables shut. He slid the steel bar through the handles grafted into the door (a precaution he should have taken the moment Elise, the young nun who had so graciously helped the Okanavian and the practitioner in their hour of need, had left the building). He prayed it would buy them a few seconds. Long enough to grab Mammoth and escape through the back.


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    Crowe turned to Barghast. Quickly, he held out his hand, closing his splayed fingers before raising it to place his thumb on his right temple. He bent and unbent his fingers three times. ¡°Horse,¡± he said. ¡°Grab horse.¡±


    The lycan cocked his head in confusion. His eyes shot from the practitioner to the stable doors. The door buckled and splintered as the remaining two revenants began chopping their way through with their crude weapons. Their relentless blows and inexhaustible stamina would make it an easy task to get inside.


    ¡°Run all you want, herald,¡± Tara¡¯s voice sang mockingly through the driving rain and the crash of thunder. ¡°It won¡¯t matter. You will make it to the old fleshbags in the North¡­not this time.¡±


    ¡°Give it up, practitioner,¡± croaked the voice of the older necromancer. ¡°Hamon will not be defeated a third time.¡±


    The sorcerer faltered where he stood. The very sound of their voices, their words, stirred something in him¡­the echo of memories from another life, perhaps. He shook the thought from his head, grabbing hold of the Lion Headed Serpent around his neck. It¡¯s nothing more than a distraction to keep me pinned here, he told himself. I won¡¯t give up now.


    Barghast still hadn¡¯t moved. He faced the stable doors, aiming the rifle. His eyes were wide, his tail was tucked in between his legs.


    ¡°Barghast!¡± Crowe screamed. ¡°Get the horse! NOW!¡±


    He felt an instant stab of guilt when the lycan straightened up with a whine, tucking his tail between his legs. I¡¯ll apologize for it later, the practitioner told himself. Now was not the time to be weak. He grabbed the aether branch from the stall where¡¯d he¡¯d been sitting just moments ago¡­Only it was no longer merely a branch. He¡¯d whittled it down to a shape of his own making, until it very much resembled his old staff. Runes burst into light at his touch. He had no memory of cutting the runes and sigils into the wood, but it felt as familiar to him as how own limbs. He pushed his fear, his exhaustion, his determination to survive - all of it - into the staff. Sparks shot half-heartedly from the staff before dying with a weak fizzing sound.


    It wasn¡¯t finished. There was a small patch of the branch still uncovered. If he¡¯d had a few more minutes, the staff would be done and he wouldn¡¯t feel so defenseless. So naked.


    I¡¯m tired of running. I want to fight. Even if it means I lose in the end¡­Just so don¡¯t have to run anymore.


    It was not the way of the Cycle, this much before. Even now he felt an invisible cord tugging at him, urging him to make haste to the North. He had no choice but to run and hope to live to fight another day.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± Sitting atop Mammoth¡¯s saddle, Barghast reached down.


    More and more walls appeared in the wall. Through the holes Crowe could see the revenants¡­the endless black pits where their eyes should be. What kind of entity was cruel enough to create such beings? Had they ever been human or was this the way they¡¯d always been? I won¡¯t find out tonight. He grabbed Barghast¡¯s paw, letting the lycan pull him up. The moment his rump touched the saddle, the Okanavian¡¯s broad arms closed around him like silver bands and he was steering the horse around to the doors opposite them.


    Just as the doors at their back burst open, mana shot forth from Crowe''s outstretched palm. The wall burst apart, throwing rusty tools and bales of hay in every direction. Mammoth raced forward at a full gallop. Each jolt sent made Crowe''s broken nose burn freshly anew. Each breath he took sounded like a labored hiss. Hot tears burned his cheek.


    They charged through wreaths of smoke and billowing flame. He could hear Tara scream behind him, her voice raucous and full of impotent rage. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see a revenant step out of the gloom. The frightened scream of the horses they were leaving behind turned Crowe''s blood to ice. We can''t save everyone. Father Monroe''s corpse was proof of this. And what of Elise, the nun who had risked life and limb to save them?


    What would become of her?


    It''s too late to do anything about it now.


    The stable and the church were shrinking in the distance. The storm had not lessened in the time Barghast and he had spent huddled under its roof but raged on in defiance of their escape. Hateful gales of wind whipped past them, making the surrounding trees groan and shake. If not for the lycan''s unbreakable embrace, the storm would have sent the sorcerer flying from his saddle.


    Did he dare allow himself to breathe a sigh of relief? They were putting distance between themselves and the servants of Hamon, but the necromancers had found them and Crowe knew in his gut they would find them again? It was only a matter of time.


    ¡­


    Tara watched the herald and his beast companion shrink until she could no longer see them in between the trees. She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw herself to the ground and beat the earth until she bled from her knuckles. They''d been close. So close. Another few seconds and they would have had them.


    The two remaining revenants stalked in the herald''s direction, in no hurry to get to where they were going. Too mindless to understand the importance of their task. She couldn''t take her fury out on them. She needed something living. Something that felt emotion. Something that could suffer. Her attention turned back to the church. Yellow light glowed in the window. Someone was still home.


    ¡°Do you see, Tara?¡± Pa croaked. He stood a yard away, watching the revenants drift further and further from view. ¡°This herald is different¡­¡±


    Was it just her imagination or did she hear excitement in his voice? She ground her teeth together and forced herself to remain calm. As calm as someone like Tara could be. ¡°He¡¯s just lucky.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Pa shook his head disapprovingly the way a tutor would at his student. ¡°The past two herald''s would have stayed. They would have fought to the death. This one¡­escaped.¡±


    ¡°Because he''s a coward!¡± the younger of the two necromancers snapped acerbically. ¡°I¡¯d enjoy feasting on his balls the same way I did on that torchcoat¡¯s if I thought he had any.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re missing the point.¡± Pa whirled around to face her. The impatience he felt towards her was visible in the tense line of his shoulders. ¡°Things are not as they should be. Things have changed.¡±


    It was not unlike them to get into squabbles. They¡¯d been lovers since the early days of the Second Iteration and friends even longer. Something about this felt different. This wasn¡¯t the occasional lover¡¯s spat. There was more than a tinge of resentment in his voice and it stung Tara to the core. It pained her¡­pained her in a way she hadn¡¯t felt since she was a young girl. Long before she¡¯d sold her soul to Hamon for protection and power. It made her want to bare her teeth at Pa, something she¡¯d never dare do in the almost-three Iterations they¡¯d known each other. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on with you, but I don¡¯t like it. Not one bit. You haven¡¯t been acting like yourself. Where is the man who would slaughter innocents without hesitation? Without a second thought?¡± When he did not respond she shouted, ¡°Answer me, damn you!¡± She wanted to strike him. Anything to get rid of this feeling of fear that fluttered around inside her gut like a school of black butterflies.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a long three Iterations,¡± was all Pa said, walking back towards the church.


    She threw her hands up in the air. ¡°That¡¯s all you¡¯re going to give me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all I have to give.¡±


    Tara followed him, muttering under her breath. She stopped when she saw a flash of movement coming from the top window of the church. Someone¡¯s still home. Maybe there¡¯s more fun tonight to be had. The revenants would continue to hunt the herald. Despite their lack of intelligence they didn¡¯t need to stop to eat or sleep or shit; it was one of the things that made them such efficient predators.


    She sniffed the air, detecting something sweet through the blood rain. The smell of honey. The smell of innocence. The smell of a virgin. She grinned to herself. Nothing tastes better than the flesh of a virgin. Quickening her step to catch up with Pa, she said, ¡°I think I know just the thing to cheer you up.¡± She kicked the unmoving corpse of the Elysian priest with a satisfied grunt.


    She led the way into the church, kicking open the double doors with a satisfied grunt. With a flick of her hand, strands of shadow dispersed from her, swinging through the air, smashing windows and ripping framed paintings off the walls and overturning pews. She laughed and sang, skipping to the beat of her own chaos. At the altar she raised the skirt of her robes, squatting before the statue of Elysia. The Good Mother stared benevolently ahead, holding her torch proudly in her hand. ¡°I shall worship no other master the way I worship you, my lord Hamon,¡± she whispered reverently, her piss pooling on the floor. ¡°I piss in the temple of the Elysian whore so that I might bring honor to your name¡­¡±


    Her flesh did not burst into flames. Lightning did not smash through the ceiling to strike her for her act of sacrilege.


    Once she was done emptying her bladder, Tara and Pa stalked up the stairs to the second floor. They found the young nun huddled underneath the bed in the room at the end of the corridor. She screamed when Tara lowered herself to the carpet to grin at her. ¡°Hello, my sweet.¡± The younger necromancer grinned, revealing to the young nun what the night had in store for her. ¡°I could smell you from all the way outside.¡±


    The girl was a tiny slip of a thing, easy to grab by the back of her pinned up hair and pull her out from underneath the bed kicking and screaming. Tara lifted her off her feet one-handed. She tossed her carelessly on the bed.


    The girl¡¯s sobs racked her shoulders. Tara could see by the plumpness of her breasts and the roundness of her face that she was hardly little more than a child. Too young to give her life to the Elysian whore, a commitment she would pay for dearly. ¡°Please,¡± she gasped. ¡°Please¡­¡± She shook so hard it seemed to be all she was capable of saying.


    Tara backhanded her, throwing the girl back against the mattress. ¡°You poor, poor thing,¡± Tara crooned sympathetically. ¡°You thought by giving your life to Elysia, the whore of all whores, she would give you clemency. If she truly cared she would save you. But she doesn¡¯t.¡± She looked up at Pa. ¡°Do you want the top half or the bottom half?¡±


    ¡°Top,¡± Pa said. His eyes were icy pinpoints of pale light. He grabbed the girl¡¯s arms, yanking them above her head with one long-fingered hand; he used the other to yank her head back by her hair.


    Tara turned her head away in an attempt to hide an exhale of relief. There was the old Pa she¡¯d always known. The girl kicked and screamed - screamed for Elysia to shine the light of her torch on her - to no avail. Her vain efforts were no match for the combined strength of the necromancers. They shredded her clothes with their bare hands until she was completely naked.


    ¡°T¡¯is a shame you are to be our meal for the evening,¡± Pa said not unkindly. ¡°You almost look too good to eat.¡±


    Tara had no such moral compunctions. She held her palm up, fingers outstretched, before snapping them closed into a fist. The girl¡¯s limbs went limp, her jaw clacking shut mid scream. ¡°That should hold her.¡± Without further ado, she spread the girl¡¯s legs open. Tara¡¯s eyes glimmered with excitement. ¡°Too good of a meal to eat, indeed. I will take great pleasure in dining on your flesh.¡±


    The girl moaned but made no other sound. The falling of tears down her cheek made her olive-toned skin shine.


    Kneeling on the ground before the four poster bed, Tara leaned forward, pressing her lips to the silky folds of the nun¡¯s sex. The necromancer thought it would be a nice twist to break the girl¡¯s abstinence before eating her¡­a little pleasure before death. I can be nice when I want to be. Pa also leaned forward until his robes fell across the girl. He kissed her forehead, kissed her on the lips, trailing his tongue all the way down her throat until he reached the hardened nubs of her breasts; his kisses were gentle, almost tender. Tara longed for the days when he used to kiss her like that.


    When the girl shuddered, her breath catching in unmistakable pleasure, Tara¡¯s tongue pushing into her with two Iterations of practice on her belt, the necromancer sunk her teeth into the nun¡¯s sex. The girl¡¯s muffled wide-eyed screams of agony were cut off when Pa¡¯s own teeth clamped down on her throat. Together the necromancers began to dine on her flesh.


    Moments later, Hamon¡¯s servants stood before a golden-framed mirror. Round-faced cherubs lined the frame, carrying flutes and harps. A pretty mirror, Tara thought. She wanted to break it, shatter the glass with her own bare knuckles. Their bodies were covered in the blood of another. After filling their bellies, Tara and Pa had made love in bed on top of what remained of their meal.


    Instead of breaking the mirror, Tara and Pa pressed their crimson-covered hands against the glass. Blood trailed down the glass, making it look as if their reflections bled from invisible wounds. The glass rippled as if it had shifted states of matter, turning into water. Tara could no longer see their reflections but the towering black spires of Inferno beneath a sky lit on fire.


    The image shifted, turning to the view of a large, dimly lit chamber. Pa was the first to step through the portal into Inferno, pushing one leg through and then the other, followed by the rest of his body. Tara followed close behind him, so giddy she couldn¡¯t stop shaking. It always warmed her cold heart to catch a glimpse of home. For the briefest of moments she stood in a tunnel of brilliant white light that dimmed as her eyes adjusted. The light dimmed until the only illumination was that of the torches resting in ancient steel brackets grafted into the wall.


    The chamber they stood in was circular with a ceiling and walls made of black stone. The light of Inferno¡¯s dawn seeped through an oculus set in the ceiling. Her skin prickled with the heavy weight of a familiar gaze. Immediately she lowered her gaze, mimicking Pa, stooping in a bow of reverence. Hamon, Monad¡¯s first creation, watched the necromancers from his throne atop a large altar. Even while sitting he seemed to tower meters above them.


    He stood, rising to his full height, eclipsing the room in shadow. He stood tall enough Tara would have to crane her head back to look him in the eye¡­if she so dared. Not even she was foolish enough to make such an error. The Architect¡¯s skin was more pale than milk, shot through with twisting black veins. Muscles shifted beneath his flesh with every movement. He wore a massive headpiece made from the same gold that Monad and his Architects had once used to craft the Eternal City. Bracelets of gold encircled his broad forearms. He wore a gown made of flesh torn from the bodies of his victims; those few who had had the undeserved honor of seeing him in his full glory.


    Tara wasn¡¯t sure how long they bowed before Hamon lifted a hand lazily, gesturing for them to stand. ¡°Tell me you have brought me good news.¡± His booming voice filled the room. His eyes, the same color as Inferno¡¯s boiling sky, focused on Pa, not on Tara. Had her master ever looked at her in the two - almost three - Iterations she¡¯d been in his service? She smothered the thought before she could give it further consideration, reminding herself her master was every bit as cruel as he was cunning. He could rip the thoughts from her mind if he so desired. The thought filled her belly with warm heat.


    Pa rose to his full height but did not look Hamon directly in the eye. ¡°We have found the herald, your grace. He and his Okanavian companion.¡±


    Hamon¡¯s lip curved into something approximating a grin. ¡°The cycle spins on its axis as it always will. So why have you come to me? Why are you not there, looking for him?¡± He waved a large hand. Ancient stone fell away, forming a hole that fell into the endless oblivion of the Void. Tara¡¯s stomach clenched at the thought of plunging through bottomless space. The only difference in the dark she could see were pinpricks of light too small to give shape or name. Hamon¡¯s grin widened impossibly, showing his bared teeth. He gestured casually to the hole. ¡°Take a look at what lies before you: the Immaterial Universe. A place so desolate it drove even my dear creator mad. If it drove him out of his mind, what do you think it will do to you?¡±


    ¡°Of course we would not come here if we did not think it important,¡± Pa said smoothly. If he was afraid of igniting the Architect¡¯s wrath, Tara couldn¡¯t hear it in his voice. ¡°There is something we¡­¡± He cast the quickest of glances in Tara¡¯s direction before casting his eyes back to his feet. ¡°...I thought you must know.¡±


    Hamon arched a long, bushy eyebrow, stroking the shiny black length of his beard. ¡°Go on,¡± he said in a tone of voice that promised a fate worse than death if Pa and Tara were wasting his infinite time.


    Pa¡¯s mouth shrunk down to a thin line before straightening back out, there one second and gone the next, but noticeable if you knew to look for it. And Tara did. Pa was afraid but he was also loyal. No matter the war waging inside his head, Tara knew he¡¯d never defy Hamonl. He wouldn¡¯t dare. ¡°Something about this Iteration is different. While no Iteration is completely the same, the herald is always the same. This is one is young¡­inexperienced.¡±


    ¡°Then he shouldn¡¯t be that hard to find or kill.¡± Monad¡¯s first creation snapped his hand closed, closing the hole in the floor with it. ¡°Do not come back unless it is to bring me his head.¡± His eyes flared, promising horrors not even their minds were capable of should they fail.

 The Seeds of Deceit

    He dreamed of small hands sifting through his fur, washing him where he was filthy, comforting him when he was afraid. That sweet voice whose words were foreign to him, but soft, like the whisper of the wind against his hot, hot skin. He dreamed of his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s body laying on the ground before him, his skin furless and soft, glowing and clean. Looking up at him with eyes the color of blue sapphires. He dreamed of running his tongue down Crowe¡¯s back, eliciting shivers of pleasure from him.


    A loud bang and the frightened screams of the horses jerked Barghast awake. He was on his feet in an instant, rifle in hand, eyes roving the stable for his twin o¡¯rre. ¡°Crowe.¡± He searched frantically for his companion, yanking open the stall doors and peering inside without bothering to shut them. Each stall in which Crowe did not appear made him whine. Fear made his heart clench in his chest and his tail tuck down in between his legs. Something¡¯s wrong. My twin o¡¯rre wouldn¡¯t just leave me. This much he knew.


    He found the tree branch Crowe had risked his life to acquire. Now he knew why. While the Okanavian had slept, the practitioner had been hard at work making a new staff. Splinters littered the ground where he¡¯d sat. Barghast whined - this time out of guilt, not of fear. While he¡¯d slept, his beloved had been working tirelessly to protect him. To keep him safe. It is my job to protect him not the other way around. He brought the staff to his nose, sniffing. He could smell the practitioner all over it. That sweet, piney smell that made Barghast feel as if he was floating. The staff was unfinished. The stall doors hung open, banging against the wall. The Okanavian sniffed again, following the scent-trail his sorcerer had left behind.


    Another whine escaped him. Something¡¯s wrong. Something¡¯s very wrong. He wouldn¡¯t have gotten up and left without waking me first -


    BAM!


    ¡°BARGHAST!¡±


    Barghast snarled. ¡°Crowe!¡± he growled.


    Making sure the rifle was loaded, he marched out into the rain.


    His twin o¡¯rre stood in the middle of the courtyard, naked as the day he was born, his skin shiny and wet with blood. A corpse lay face down in the growing flood. A tall figure lurched towards Crowe, the blade of a knife in gray desiccated fingers. Barghast squinted against the furious wind that had risen. Two more shapes appeared behind the undead creature: robed figures dressed in black similar to his twin o¡¯rre. Barghast only needed to sniff the air to know they were nothing like Crowe. They brought the smell of death and rot with them. These were the hunters who had been pursuing them all this way.


    Snarling, Barghast took aim. Aiming for the female, he fired, already preparing another shot. The necromancers ducked behind the fountain. A scream drew his attention back to Crowe. A second undead creature advanced on the practitioner, swinging a meat hook at his face. The sorcerer backed away but the creature was relentless in its efforts to maim him. Crowe¡¯s eyes were burning pinpoints of white light, his face, covered in blood, set in a feral grin of distress. Something had happened to his nose¡­the shape of it was all wrong. Barghast filed this detail in the back of his mind. He would be sure to deal with it later once they were safe.


    A wall of flame shot from the practitioner¡¯s hands, engulfing the creature as it raised its hook above its head. Barghast shouted his name, jogging across the courtyard. Before he could reach his twin o¡¯rre, Crowe disappeared in a whirlwind of black smoke. A sonic boom that made Barghast¡¯s ears pop filled the air and the whirlwind died, the smoke dissipating rapidly. As soon as Crowe appeared, the Okanavian grabbed his hand, pulling him close, out of the way of the burning revenant. Barghast swung his paw, severing the revenant¡¯s head with his claws.


    Barghast steered the practitioner ahead of the pursuers. They ducked back into the stables out of the rain. Already Crowe was pulling the doors shut, latching them, buying them a few precious extra seconds. The black stench of the necromancers was everywhere now. It seeped under the door and through the cracks in the wood, smothering Barghast. He shook his head, nose twitching. The same helpless fear he¡¯d felt in the clearing with the scouts was with him again. The doors shook under the deafening blows of their adversaries, making his head ring with a thousand bells. It was impossible to think.


    Crowe shouted something at him, but Barghast was lost at sea. A sea of raw panic. He was making gestures with his hands, trying to communicate with the Okanavian through the use of his fingers, placing his thumb on his right temple and wiggling them about. Another helpless whine escaped Barghast. The rifle shook in his paws. He knew the practitioner needed his help, but he couldn¡¯t understand what he was trying to say. It was only when he heard the fear and distress in his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s voice the second time that he moved.


    He grabbed the big horse, making sure to pick up the saddlebag and Crowe¡¯s staff, all too aware that he was wasting precious seconds. Still, he knew they could not afford to leave behind what little supplies they had. He pulled Crowe up onto the shadow, folding his arms around him the second his twin o¡¯rre was pressed against his chest. He steered the big beast around until they faced the doors at the opposite end of the stables. He wished they could trade the massive steed for a smaller, faster horse, but this was the only horse big enough to carry the Okanavian¡¯s weight.


    With a snap of the reins they raced forward. Crowe blew the doors open with a flick of his wrist. They galloped past the smoke and flames into the night. Barghast snatched a quick glance over his shoulder. Still the two remaining undead creatures pursued them, stalking through the trees, undeterred by the storm their summoners ha created. The lycan sensed that unlike the practitioner and he, these monsters did not need rest, were not slowed by injuries or illness, or the maladies of the conscious mind. With these thoughts racing through his mind in a maddening whirlwind, he snapped the reins with a growl, willing the horse to go faster, faster, faster. He wanted to put as much distance between them and those foul-smelling agents of chaos.


    They raced along the curve of the road, traveling further North. The back of Crowe¡¯s head thumped against the lycan¡¯s chest with every jolt. The Okanavian instinctively curled his shoulders and arms around the practitioner, trying to protect him from the jarring impact. The urge to stop and check his beloved for injuries pulled at him insistently, wrestling with the knowledge that they needed to keep going - they couldn¡¯t afford to stop. He hated that he couldn¡¯t see Crowe¡¯s face. He hated that the practitioner wasn¡¯t saying anything. He looked down, his ears twitching. Straining to listen.


    Crowe¡¯s hair had become a matted tangle, blocking the top half of his face from view. It was impossible to tell what blood came from the storm and what came from his injuries.


    Something was wrong with his twin o¡¯rre. Each breath he made sounded like a broken whistle, labored and obstructed. Worry tugged at Barghast¡¯s guts with savage pulls, the lycan instinct to protect what was his warring with the more primal instinct to survive. Crowe must have sensed his confliction because he said, ¡°Don¡¯t stop.¡± Two words. Barghast didn¡¯t know what they meant, but the sharpness in his voice was clear enough. He wanted them to keep going and so they would.


    It was impossible to tell how long they rode on without stopping. The Okanavian¡¯s biological clock told him it should be the morning - the sun should be out - but red tinged clouds shrouded the black night sky. A night sky that should have been blue with the light of day. Eventually Crowe leaned forward, pressing glowing hands against the horse''s flanks, feeding his blessed life-giving energy into the beast so that they could ride on. Barghast could feel his exhaustion, feel it in the tenseness of his shoulders. Barghast could also sense his determination and knew the wraith would not let them stop until he was sure they were safe.


    Minutes passed. An hour and then two.


    The storm raged on.


    Barghast caught the occasional flicker of life fleeing through the trees: a fox, a badger, a mother bear. It loped through the trees, urging its two cubs ahead of it, nosing at their rumps. Had they time, the lycan would have killed them to use their fur to clothe his twin o¡¯rre - he was still naked, his hairless body exposed to the uncaring elements of the mountains - and their meat to feed him. It had been almost a full day since their last meal of rabbit. Barghast whined mournfully at the thought of food.


    Eventually Crowe did bring them to a stop beside a large bed of rock that rose up out of the ground like the molar of a dead beast. A shelf of stone at the top of the boulder provided shelter from the rain.


    ¡°I need to¡­I need to stop¡­¡± Crowe panted. ¡°I need to sleep just a few minutes¡­¡±


    He slumped forward. If Barhast had not been there to support him he would have fallen off the saddle. Parking the shire horse beneath a tall pine tree, the lycan helped the practitioner down. The sorcerer¡¯s movements were clumsy and slow. Now that they had stopped, Barghast could see that Crowe''s nose was broken. Barghast felt a growl start to rise up from the cavern of his chest to his throat that turned into a whine. Someone had hurt his twin o¡¯rre. Someone had damaged his face. A face the Okanavian loved. He held the practitioner¡¯s head this way and that, wanting to help but uncertain how to.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Crowe whispered. ¡°It¡¯s not as bad as it looks.¡± He spoke in a slurred voice. Mucus ran from his nose down his chin. He hugged himself, shivering. ¡°Monad, help me, I¡¯m a mess.¡±


    The nervous chuckle he made told Barghast Crowe was trying to hide his distress. He knew his twin o¡¯rre did not like to feel weak. He thinks I¡¯ll look down on him. He thinks I¡¯ll think him less of a warrior. A warrior is not weak because he¡¯s afraid. He¡¯s weak if he chooses to let fear keep him at bay. But if he fights in spite of being afraid, then he is the strongest of all warriors. He thought back to that moment in the stable when he had frozen. Frozen like a weak pup. His beloved had to shout at him to break him from his paralysis. You are far stronger a warrior than I. Barghast wished he could find the words to convey this to his beloved. One day I will be able to speak your language and you will be able to speak mine.


    Taking his hand, the Okanavian led the practitioner under the shelter of the rock. It was enough to protect them from the rain, nothing more. It would have to do for a couple hours. He pulled a shivering Crowe into his lap, wrapping him in his embrace. The practitioner sighed, resting his head against the Okanavian¡¯s chest. He muttered something under his breath, too quietly for even Barghast to hear. The lycan¡¯s ears drooped in Crowe¡¯s direction, straining to catch his next words, but Crowe had closed his eyes, his wheezes easing down to a steady rattle.


    Barghast watched him. Watched the flutter of activity behind those soft, pale eyelids. He marveled at the fine black hair around his eyes; Barghast didn¡¯t have brows. He took the opportunity to examine Crowe naked. It was wrong, he knew, to take advantage while his beloved was vulnerable, but he couldn¡¯t help himself. Last night was the first time he¡¯d seen the practitioner naked. He knew it embarrassed Crowe to be seen without ¨¤clothes on; his pheromones took on a minty smell that was not entirely unpleasant. Now he was not in a position to hide his nakedness from the Okanavian¡¯s lecherous gaze.


    Crowe¡¯s body was slender, graceful, perfect for squeezing in tiny spaces. It hurt Barghast to see the bruises and scrapes that marked his flesh. Bags the colors of bruises darkened his sockets. His skin had begun to take on a gray pallor.  In the time they¡¯d known each other, the practitioner had pushed himself harder than Barghast could ever expect, determined to keep them alive. In the two weeks they¡¯d known each other, Crowe had grown thin, the slats of his ribs showing beneath his flesh. Barghast worried about how thin the practitioner was. He did not eat enough, this much he knew. So far they¡¯d lived well enough off of what the mountains provided, but the Okanavian knew they both needed a proper meal.


    The lycan let his eyes drift down the length of the practitioner¡¯s torso, until they stopped at the small patch of dark hair where his little cock was. Barghast¡¯s mouth watered at the thought of taking it in his mouth. He didn¡¯t want to eat it - no, he would never do anything to hurt his twin o¡¯rre, he¡¯d hurt himself before he did that - but he wanted to taste it. That soft, sweet little organ. He imagined wrapping his tongue around it, sucking on it until his beloved wraith went livid with pleasure. Barghast would hold him in his arms the way he was now and he would swallow whatever nectar Crowe had to offer. He felt his knot swell within his sheath. He began to pant, to feel hot despite the cool breeze that blew against them, ruffling his fur.


    He tried to turn his face away so as not to breathe on the morsel dozing in his lap. Still, his eyes kept drifting back¡­back to that sleeping face. If only he could lick the bruises away. If only he could heal his nose with a touch.


    Crowe whimpered, stirring in his sleep. Worry twisted his mouth into an uneasy grimace. ¡°Bennett,¡± he moaned. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me¡­You always leave me when I need you most¡­¡±


    The Okanavian¡¯s ears twitched, listening intently. He¡¯d heard that word before. Bennett. Crowe often whispered it in his sleep. When he did, his face would contort in the same way it did now, creases of unrest forming around his mouth like cracks in the earth.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Bennett¡­¡±


    Barghast growled, pulling the sorcerer as tight against him as he could without crushing him. He tried to muffle it, but the sound was loud in the absolute darkness. He needn¡¯t have worried about waking Crowe. His wraith was lost in dreams - perhaps memories - of a life the Okanavian knew nothing about. It was easy to forget - and painful to remember - that his twin o¡¯rre had once lived a life without him. Crowe bore scars that went deeper than the eye could see. This Bennett was one of the causes of these scars. Barghast knew this because Crowe¡¯s scent changed when he uttered the name, he secreted a spicy smell that permeated the air.


    Was this Bennett a person? Was it an object? Whatever it was, Barghast imagined getting a hold of it and destroy it. He imagined ripping it apart and offering its remains to Crowe. See this and know that Bennett, whoever or whatever it is, will never hurt you again.


    He leaned forward, nosing at Crowe¡¯s ear. He licked his cheek. ¡°I keep you safe.¡± The words came to him easier and easier with each time he said it. He wanted to learn more. He wanted to learn everything his twin o¡¯rre had to teach him. He yearned to be able to talk to him, to be able to understand him. If I can understand you I can protect you better. What thoughts go on behind those pretty, blue eyes.


    He repeated the words over and over. He licked Crowe¡¯s forehead, marking him with his spit. Still the storm raged on, unabated, eternal.


    Somewhere in the dark of night a twig or a tree branch snapped.


    Barghast looked up, a snarl on his lips. A figure in earthy brown robes stepped out of the trees. Barghast couldn¡¯t see his face due to the raised hood.


    The lycan rose to his feet, lifting his twin o¡¯rre with him, being careful to avoid the rock shelf above his head. Again he tried to muffle his growling, pressing his muzzle against the crevice between the practitioner¡¯s neck and his shoulder. Of course this awoke Crowe, causing him to stir. ¡°Barghast?¡± he mumbled.


    The intruder, almost past the cave, spun around at the sound with such speed, the hood fell back, revealing the whiskered face of a middle-aged man. Wide gleaming eyes regarded the lycan and the human-shaped morsel in his arms.


    Barghast set Crowe on his feet, pulling him behind his back. Already his twin o¡¯rre was injured, weakened from exhaustion. He would not let another foul creature of the night do him harm. Outstretching his claws, he stepped towards the man, keeping the practitioner behind his back.


    ¡­


    Crowe¡¯s sleep-addled mind floundered, trying to make sense of what was happening. He watched Barghast advance towards the man, his fur raised, his lips peeled back in a snarl. His eyes were gold coins of threatening intent. The man stared, apparently too frightened to move. It was hard to see his face in the dark, but the practitioner sensed no threat in him. Only when the Okanavian unfurled his claws did the sorcerer realize what he intended to do. His rage deepened his scars into cracks.


    ¡°Barghast - stop!¡± Before he realized what he was doing, he slid in between the Okanavian and the stranger. ¡°He¡¯s just a man. He¡¯s stuck in the same situation we are.¡±


    The sound of his voice snapped the Okanavian out of his rage. He made a grousing sound and then a whimper, taking a step back. His furry shoulders heaved like mountains erupting out of the earth before settling.


    When Crowe turned away from his companion, he hoped to find the man gone, having fled for his life. Then I can go back to sleep¡­if such a thing is possible at this point. His heart plummeted when he saw the man had not moved from his spot, but continued to gape stupidly at Crowe.


    It took the practitioner a long moment to realize why.


    He was still naked, covered in blood, his flesh marked with bruises and scrapes, running around with an eight foot tall wolfman. He could only imagine how things must appear to someone who didn¡¯t know any better. And understandably, the man was simply frightened.


    The sorcerer backed away from the man, shivering, reaching up to run his fingers through Barghast¡¯s fur. The Okanavian took that as an invitation to hold him. The practitioner was grateful when Barghast¡¯s arms closed around him, hiding his modest parts from view.


    ¡°We¡¯re sorry,¡± Crowe said when the stranger still did not move or speak. ¡°We mean you know harm. Truly. You just startled us, is all.¡± The words were a lie. Had he not interceded who knew what sins Barghast would have committed in the name of keeping him safe.


    ¡°I-I have lost my home,¡± the man stammered in a shaky voice. His voice was deep enough but timid. ¡°This storm¡­it won¡¯t stop. It flooded my home, my crops. I have no food. This is the closest thing I¡¯ve found to shelter for miles. Please. Might I sit with you, just for a few hours so that I may rest. I promise I mean you no harm.¡±


    Even in an extreme state of fatigue, the man¡¯s plight tugged at the practitioner¡¯s heart strings. ¡°Of course you may sit with us.¡± Crowe urged Barghast back towards the rock-shelter. The Okanavian went willingly enough but his focus remained on the man. Keep your distance lest you incur my wrath that look said.


    While the sorcerer had no intention of turning any man in need away, he hoped the stranger would not hang around for long. He¡¯d managed to advert Barghast¡¯s wrath once, he didn¡¯t know if he would be able to do so a second time. Nor could he blame the lycan for being overprotective. Everywhere we go trouble awaits us. Is there nowhere we can go where we are safe from the necromancers?


    There was only one place: the dead city to the North. But they were still leagues away from reaching the Mirror Expanse. I can¡¯t get us there, not like this. He felt a small pulse of panic. A panic that would have grown into a full throb were it not for the Okanavian¡¯s presence. Only in trusting each other would they make the journey.


    The practitioner, the lycan, and the man sat in a long, tense silence, gauging each other¡¯s intent. The man wore a thick coat over his broad shoulders and round potbelly. He lowered his hood, showing long brown shoulder-length hair shout through with streaks of gray. Barghast no longer watched the man, seeming content to cuddle with his twin o¡¯rre, clingy as ever. Not that the sorcerer could complain. What clothes he had had been ruined by the storm. Even now Barghast¡¯s fur was soft and warm, making for the perfect coat. Before long Crowe found himself drifting sleepily into fantasies of traveling through the North while Barghast carted him around like an ox. It was ridiculous, but he also suspected the lycan would do so if he let him. He imagined galloping along the Daminion Highway, completely nude, with only Barghast¡¯s hold to keep him warm, the lycan¡¯s hard cock pressing against his rump¡­


    ¡°Will this storm ever end, do you think?¡± the man muttered thickly, prying the practitioner from his salacious fantasies.


    ¡°If Monad wills it.¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes focused on the necklace around the sorcerer¡¯s neck. ¡°I didn¡¯t think there were any practitioners left. I thought they¡¯d all fled to Caemyth. I hear Governor Matthiesen is offering shelter. Rumor has it he¡¯s gearing up to rebel against Pope Drajen. Where are you headed, then?¡±


    ¡°The Mirror Expanse.¡±


    The man blinked; apparently it wasn¡¯t the answer he¡¯d been expecting. ¡°There¡¯s nothing out there but ice and rock. What are you going out there for?¡±


    The question churned an uneasiness in Crowe, evoking suspicion. Why is he asking so many questions? He felt Barghast tense beneath him, the start of a growl vibrating against the practitioner¡¯s back, reacting to the sorcerer¡¯s change in body chemistry. The practitioner forced himself to inhale - it hurt to do so, his nose still throbbed and it was difficult to breathe. He continued to run his fingernails through Barghast¡¯s fur, adding pressure. This earned him a groan of pleasure. Another disaster possibly averted. He smiled, hoping to show the man he was still safe¡­at least from them. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I don¡¯t mean to be rude or seem suspicious, but our journey is our own. These are dangerous times and one cannot be too careful these days.¡± He lifted a palm towards the sky to illustrate his point.


    ¡°Aye,¡± the man said amiably enough. ¡°No offense taken.¡± His eyes shot to Barghast before quickly darting away. ¡°You travel in the company of a lycan? A practitioner and a lycan¡­what an odd pair.¡±


    The practitioner chuckled, color rising to his pallid cheeks. ¡°So everyone keeps saying.¡±


    ¡°No judgment here.¡± The man raised his hands in supplication. ¡°These are strange times we live in, indeed, if this accursed storm is anything to go by. People keep saying we¡¯re approaching the end of this Iteration¡­and I didn¡¯t want to believe it, but now the proof is literally hitting me in the face.¡± He grinned cynically. ¡°The name¡¯s Holden. I¡¯d shake your hand, but¡­¡± He eyed the lycan a third time.


    The practitioner chuckled shakily. ¡°It¡¯s probably best if you don¡¯t. Not if you want to keep it. I¡¯m Crowe. This furry man¡­¡± He lifted the Okanavian¡¯s paw to his lips. ¡°...is Barghast.¡± The lycan¡¯s tongue swiped diagonally across his face, his saliva hot and sticky like oil.


    Holden relaxed, his shoulders slumping.


    Just when it seemed the tension between the trio had settled into something akin to tolerance, the steady flutters of wind turned into a wailing force, bringing with it the smell of decay, the smell excrement, the smell of corruption.


    Barghast hauled Crowe up, sliding an arm beneath his legs while supporting the upper half of his body with the other.


    He bowed forward, shielding him from the wind. Holden shouted something, but the words were lost in the chaos. Crowe turned to look at the man. His eyes widened. A scream caught in his throat.


    Holden was changing before his eyes. His skin writhed, sloughing off the bone like a snake outgrowing its flesh. His eyes turned black. His nails elongated into claws. Black ichor dripped from his eyes, his mouth, a mouthful of razor sharp teeth, serpentine tongue lashing out, threatening to do harm.


    This time Crowe really did scream. He wriggled in the Okanavian¡¯s embrace, scrambling to break free. Fear turned his mind into a gaping void. He should have listened to Barghast. He should have let the Okanavian kill the man. Instead he¡¯d let the creature, another servant of Hamon posing as a human, get close to them. A mistake they were about to pay for.


    Again Barghast set him down, pushing Crowe behind him. This time the practitioner did not stop him when the lycan lunged forward, claws slashing through the air. The sound of flesh parting from bone burrowed into the sorcerer¡¯s mind. He moaned, watching the nightmare unfold before his eyes. He knew he needed to do something¡­I¡¯m the herald for Monad¡¯s sake!...but he couldn¡¯t move. It was as if his blood had frozen inside his veins.


    The creature fell with a wet thud, black ichor spurting from the bone-deep slash in its neck. With a single swipe Barghast had almost entirely severed its head; only a scrap of flesh kept it attached to the body.


    In the wind a voice echoed, cackling with mirth. A familiar voice that rode the wind and stirred the trees. ¡°Smite thine enemy. Burrow into his mind like the parasites you are. Lay your eggs of deceit and madness¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh no,¡± he moaned. ¡°Oh Monad, please no¡­¡± Hot tears stung his eyes before he could stop their descent.


    Stepping around the lycan, he dropped to his knees in the blood-sodden dirt. Holden looked up at him, wide-eyed and accusing. Why did you do this to me? those eyes demanded. Not the eyes of a servant of Hamon, but the eyes of a man. A man who had been fleeing for his life and paid dearly for it by bumping into Crowe and Barghast.


    ¡°No, no, no, no,¡± Crowe heard himself cry. He was sobbing now, his body shaking uncontrollably, from the cold, from terror, from the suffocating guilt of what he¡¯d just done. Another human life snuffed out like a candle by the necromancers. They tricked me. They put scales of deceit over my eyes. It was another illusion and I fell for it. He pressed his hands against the man¡¯s gaping wound. It seemed like the right thing to do. It was better than simply standing by while the man bled out. ¡°Please, please, please, I¡¯m so sorry.¡±


    ¡°Crowe.¡±


    Large paws pulled his hands away from the mortal wound. Holden looked up at the sky with empty eyes, his face fixed in a perpetual expression of terror and agony. Crowe looked down at his hands. Hands soaked in the blood of another man. A man who had not deserved to die.


    ¡°No¡­no¡­no¡­no¡­¡± He shook his head, the ringing in his head rising to a deafening pitch. Not even the lycan¡¯s touch or the familiar deep rumble of his voice could free Crowe from the shame that smothered him like an apocalyptic tidal wave.


    Only when the lycan began to lick his face, whimpering, did the practitioner rise up from the black waves of his panic.


    When Crowe looked up, the barbarian looked away, pressing his ears back flat against his head. Did he know what he¡¯d done? Did he know that because of Crowe he¡¯d killed an innocent man?


    ¡°Hey, hey, hey.¡± The practitioner rose on his knees, taking the lycan¡¯s face in his hands. ¡°It¡¯s not your fault. You were protecting me¡­¡± He kissed his snout. When this did not work he kissed the Okanavian on the lips, wrapping his legs around the barbarian¡¯s broad hips. Just as he suspected, Barghast pressed back fervently, his lips completely engulfing Crowe¡¯s own.


    The sorcerer¡¯s heart quickened in his chest, his blood hot in his veins, his cock hard as a rock. He wasn¡¯t the only one. He could feel the pointed tip of Barghast¡¯s cock pressing against his rear. His skin buzzed with the need for release, for comfort. To be held, to be sheltered, to be loved. Searing images filled the mind. He imagined the lycan on top of him, taking him right there on the floor of the earth. He wondered what it would feel like to have Barghast inside him. Would I even be able to take him without hurting myself? He¡¯d only had one lover in the past and Bennett had been large enough. Barghast¡¯s cock wasn¡¯t just long. It was girthy.


    There was no time for comfort or satiating lustful desires. We¡¯re not safe. We won¡¯t be safe until we reach the dead city in the Mirror Expanse.


    ¡°There¡¯s no one I trust more,¡± he whispered, pressing another kiss on Barghast¡¯s snout. ¡°There¡¯s no one I feel more safe around. But we have to go. We can¡¯t stay here, not another minute.¡± He brought his left fist to his mouth before crossing his fists over each other; he pulled them away from each other with a firm shake of his head. ¡°Unsafe.¡± He repeated the gesture three times.


    Barghast mimicked him. ¡°Unsa¡­?¡±


    Crowe repeated the words three times.


    ¡°Unsafe,¡± the Okanavian said again; this time he had it.


    Taking the barbarian¡¯s paws in his hands, Crowe stood. Boar¡¯s Head was still a day¡¯s ride away. He stooped long enough to slide his palm over Holden¡¯s eyes. If not for the blood and near decapitation, he almost looked as if he were sleeping. Or so he told himself.

 Boars Head

    Crowe and Barghast stood at the top of a summit, watching the smokestacks rise from the shingled rooftops of Boar¡¯s Head. The occasional soul could be seen darting through the streets, fighting to get away from the rain, but not a soul stirred. Still they would have to be careful. The practitioner knew nothing about the town or its inhabitants. There was only one thing he could be certain of: I can¡¯t keep carrying on like this. I need sleep. I need food.


    It was getting hard to think. Getting hard to keep things straight in his mind. He could feel it deteriorating day by day. Those few moments of nodding off while on saddleback didn¡¯t count. The bloodstorm had scared off all wildlife in the vicinity. Now he had to resort to desperate measures. Conflicted, he hovered on the spot. So far everywhere they¡¯d gone, anyone they encountered, proved to be unsafe. He had no doubt in his mind the necromancers had cursed, placing a spell over his eyes. Barghast¡¯s presence shielded him from the visitations of malicious spirits, but a dark seed had been planted in his mind: a cruel voice in the back of his mind that mocked his every action, implanting doubt. You¡¯ll never make it to the Mirror Expanse. There is not a place you can go where you will be safe, where the servants of Hamon cannot find you. By staying in this town, you¡¯ll only condemn them. How many innocents must die so you can free Monad¡¯s people from slavery?


    A low growl pulled him from his thoughts. Barghast¡¯s broad back was turned to him, his hackles standing on end. The constant travel and terror of their circumstances had taken every bit of a toll on the Okanavian as it had the practitioner. Since the nightmare with the man Holden - thinking of him always made Crowe nauseous - Barghast growled at everything: a flash of movement in the dark, a wreath of shadow glimpsed from the corner of his periphery. Crowe didn¡¯t blame him. They both needed a chance to recuperate¡­even if it was only for a night.


    Crowe sidled up beside him, reaching up to put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Easy does it,¡± he whispered.


    Bringing his paws up from his sides, Barghast pressed them flat against his chest. ¡°Scared,¡± he rumbled with a whine. Since last night¡¯s horrible mistake, determined to double down on their communication, Crowe had managed to teach him a few more words. Food: a squeeze of the dominant hand as it rose towards the mouth, indicating the consumption of food; that one had been easy enough. ¡°Scared¡± had been the second one; it had taken a little more time for Barghast to pick up on this one. Each time Crowe repeated the motion, he¡¯d tried to look scared which was simple enough for the fact he was already absolutely terrified. ¡°Torchcoat¡± had been the next one. That one had also been simple. Crowe only needed to shake his hands around his head as if it were on fire. Barghast¡¯s memory, sharper than the rock, did the rest. Whenever Crowe did this he growled. ¡°Spirits¡± was the last word he¡¯d managed to teach him; this one had taken the longest of all: He circled his thumbs index finger together, bringing them together to make the number eight with the other fingers spread out; as he pulled them away he wiggled his fingers through the air.


    Clothes, shelter, danger, and stay were other words he¡¯d managed to teach him, all in the course of a day. Once more Barghast proved he had an intellect far sharper than most men. He always wagged his tail in excitement when Crowe stopped to teach him these lessons. The practitioner could not have asked for a better student. Once we get behind closed doors and I can sleep, I will teach him more.


    ¡°I know you¡¯re scared,¡± Crowe said. ¡°I am too.¡±


    He wrapped his arms around the Okanavian¡¯s broad waist, pressing his cheek into his chest fur. He closed his eyes, breathing in Barghast¡¯s musky smell¡­not unlike wet hay and sawdust. His coat was wet and covered in blood, but the sorcerer couldn¡¯t care less. It¡¯s not like I smell or look that great either. It was enough just to touch him and not enough at the same time, for each time they parted Crowe feared it would be the last. Naturally Barghast responded, placing his large hands on Crowe¡¯s rump.


    Specifically on Crowe¡¯s rump.


    He panted, tongue dangling out of his mouth; it flapped in the wind like a flag made of pink muscle. The sorcerer chuckled in spite of himself. He knows exactly what he¡¯s doing.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to have to stay here while I go down there,¡± the sorcerer said reluctantly. He didn¡¯t want to part from the barbarian. Not even for a second. He knew what would happen if he did. Without the lycan around to keep them at bay, the spirits the necromancers had set upon Crowe would flank him. They would taunt him relentlessly, following him wherever he went.


    ¡°Stay?¡± Barghast tensed immediately. He trembled, tucking his ears back.


    Crowe made the signs for clothes, shelter, danger, hide, and torchcoats. He¡¯d changed back into his robes, hating the way they felt against his skin, crusty and itchy with dried blood. Walking into town naked as the day he was born would be one certain way to draw unwanted attention; walking into the town with a lycan following him would be the other. Even if few souls walked the streets it was a risk he didn¡¯t want to take.


    ¡°Stay,¡± he said. He held up a flat palm. ¡°I need to go down there and make sure it¡¯s safe. There could be torchcoats down there. So you stay. I¡¯ll come back for you as soon as I find us a room.¡±


    He started to walk away. He didn¡¯t get far.


    Barghast made that sharp barking sound that was the Okanavian equivalent of, ¡°No.¡± He grabbed Crowe¡¯s arms, pulling him back. He curled his dominant paw into a fist, shaking the nondominant hand with the thumb up. Danger. Curling his thumb and index finger, he pulled them apart, making the sign for spirits. He pointed at Crowe. ¡°You¡­¡± He held his palm up. ¡°Stay¡­¡± He pointed to his chest. ¡°Me. I keep you safe.¡±


    ¡°You have.¡± Crowe rubbed his chest, eliciting a growl of pleasure. ¡°I never would have made it this far if it wasn¡¯t for you. But right now it¡¯s my job to keep you safe. In order for you to do that I need you to stay here and hide until I return. I don¡¯t want to do this¡­but we don¡¯t have a choice. Stay.¡±


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Barghast stepped back with a whimper. ¡°I¡­hide.¡±


    The practitioner breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°Thank you. I¡¯ll be back as quickly as I can.¡±


    Leading Mammoth by the reins, Crowe began his descent towards the town. He stopped long enough to stow away his necklace in his robes. He¡¯d no sooner reached the town when a familiar voice said, ¡°If you think he¡¯ll stick around, you¡¯re fooling yourself. I¡¯ve seen your future. He¡¯ll leave you the way Bennett did.¡±


    Crowe whirled around. He knew he shouldn¡¯t, he knew he should ignore it, but when had he ever been able to turn away from that voice?


    Petras stood in the middle of the street. Somehow he¡¯d dragged himself out of his grave and followed Crowe hundreds of miles to the logging tale of Boar¡¯s Head. Worms wriggled underneath what remained of his flesh, spilling on the ground, plopping into the blood water that sluiced down from the gutters. His lips had been completely devoured by ants and parasites, giving a permanent leer.


    Crowe¡¯s heart convulsed in his chest. His eyes widened. A scream built up in his throat. He shook his head in denial. ¡°Monad help me, you¡¯re not really standing there¡­You¡¯re dead. I buried you in the fucking ground myself¡­¡±


    The undead Petras laughed, the sound echoing in the herald¡¯s head. ¡°I will never truly be dead just as you will never truly be able to escape me.¡± He held up a bone-white finger to his temple. ¡°I will always live in your mind to remind you what a mistake you are.¡±


    ¡°Come on, Mammoth.¡± Crowe pulled at the shire¡¯s horses reins, grateful for his steer¡¯s passivity. He squinted through the gloom, searching for the nearest tavern. I just need food and a room.


    The undead Petras trailed behind him, spitting insults, decomposing with every passing second. Patches of flesh fell off him with wet peeling sounds that made Crowe¡¯s gorge rise no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. No sooner had he turned the corner, another apparition stepped out of the alley.


    ¡°Alms for the poor?¡± snarled the beast through a mouthful of razor teeth. A beast with the head of a goat and a mouthful of razor sharp teeth; the beast with cloven hooves. ¡°Spare a few coins for a blowjob?¡± He licked his chops with a serpentine tongue. ¡°I¡¯ll make you feel real good¡­¡±


    Crowe jumped back with a yelp. Before he realized he¡¯d reached for it, his dagger was in his hand. ¡°Get the fuck away from me!¡± he snarled.


    The demon¡¯s face flickered only for a moment. Long enough for the practitioner to see the man behind the illusion. A man with a scraggly beard and a wild halo of hair that stuck out from all sides. His face was streaked with dark smears of dirt and blood. From where he stood, Crowe could smell the alcohol on his breath. Then there came another flicker and the demon returned. The creature grimaced, stepping back, looking hurt. ¡°I just wanted some money for food¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry.¡± The practitioner sheathed the dagger, pulling out the purse full of coins Petras had given them for the road. It was only half full. ¡°I can¡¯t give you much¡­¡± Time seemed to slow as the three bronze crowns plummeted through the air, spinning towards the outstretched hoof. Once more the air winked in and out out of focus. The hoof turned back into a human hand and then a hoof again.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± the demon cried. ¡°Thank you! May Elysia bless you¡­¡±


    The demon seized him in a hug, and then he shambled off, cloven hooves splashing through the crimson puddles. Crowe gawked after him, wide-eyed and drunk with exhaustion. He turned, stepped forward, only to feel his leg catch on something. Before he could recapture his balance, he toppled over, his arms spinning. His knees slammed into cracked cobblestones. He grimaced, gritting his teeth against the stinging pain.


    When he opened his eyes, the leering corpse of Petras stood over him. ¡°You¡¯re just as clumsy and useless as ever.¡±


    ¡°Oh, fuck you,¡± the practitioner muttered. He grabbed Mammoth¡¯s reins, pulling himself to his feet. He glared at the spirit. ¡°You can¡¯t fool me, foul spirit. Petras is dead! I buried him myself! He¡¯s nothing more than wormfood.¡±


    After what felt like hours of desperate searching, he found a set of stables. Inside he was greeted by a creature with two grotesque heads attached to a neckless torso. Crowe was all too happy to pay the creature, leave Mammoth in its hands, and walk away before his fear could get the better of him. He wanted to scream the whole time during the transaction. The creature had been kind enough to give him directions to a tavern called The Staggering Pig. ¡°Not many beds left,¡± the creature told him sympathetically enough in a phlegmy voice. ¡°Everyone¡¯s holed up, praying to Elysia to end this bloody storm. The tophouse suite might still be available, but you¡¯ll pay a hefty price for it.¡±


    I don¡¯t care, the practitioner thought. I¡¯ll pay any price. I just want eat, sleep, and feel clean again. Is that too much to ask for?


    When he entered The Staggering Pig, he hovered uncertainly on the threshold. The hushed silence¡­the dim lighting¡­the smell of alcohol reminded him of the long nights Barghast and he had spent trapped in Timberford with people they didn¡¯t know. ¡°Different inn, different town, bigger problems,¡± he muttered to himself.


    He stopped when every head in the room turned to look at him: Creature with reptilian skin and slitted red eyes; creatures with horns and cloven hooves much like the one homeless man he¡¯d encountered outside the inn. Not all of them had changed into beasts. One dour-faced man was riddled with pox, blisters and boils rising up from his skin, bursting open to release a viscous white pus. A woman¡¯s flesh was marked with the black blemishes of another plague that had eaten holes in her skin, revealing the bone underneath.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± The man at the bar eyed Crowe suspiciously. Not that the practitioner could blame him. He¡¯d been out in the storm for days, traveling nonstop. His face was still bruised from where Father Monroe had whipped him with the shotgun, his nose bent out an angle it wasn¡¯t supposed to be in; it didn¡¯t hurt quite as bad as it had before, but it still altered his breathing.


    Crowe¡¯s thoughts spun, trying to put words in order. Just when it seemed he knew what to say they scattered away from him. Blushing under the man¡¯s intense scrutiny, he managed to say, ¡°I need a room.¡± He reached for the purse full of coins.


    ¡°All the rooms are full except for the master suite. And she ain¡¯t cheap.¡± The man looked him up and down disapprovingly.


    ¡°How much?¡±


    ¡°Five silvers. Or twenty bronze a night.¡±


    The practitioner paused, running the math in his head. We have just enough for the room for a couple of nights and food. Not enough for clothes, not enough to get us to the next town.


    He stopped.


    Something was moving within the man¡¯s right eye, wriggling beneath the tissue of his dark iris. The head of a parasite popped out from the corner of the barkeep¡¯s eye with a small but audible pop. It¡¯s not happening. It¡¯s not really there. It¡¯s just an illusion. The parasite toppled onto the counter, long, tubular, segmented body wriggling about. Crowe sunk his teeth into his lip hard enough to draw blood¡­it was all he could do to keep from screaming.


    ¡°Are you going to say something or are you just going to stand there?¡± the man snapped impatiently.


    ¡°Take it, take it. There¡¯s enough in there for two nights and food.¡± Crowe slid the purse across the wooden counter.


    The man eyed him shrewdly. ¡°You¡¯re not from around here. I never forget a face when I¡¯ve seen from¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just passing through your town, trying to get out of the storm same as everyone else,¡± the sorcerer scowled. ¡°Now are you going to give me the room or not?¡±


    The man grumbled under his breath unhappily. He slammed a bronze key on the counter. ¡°Last door on the third floor! Now get out of my face!¡±


    Gladly.

 An Act of Shame

    Each second was a second too long, each minute drawn out by torture. He paced back and forth, growling and whining as the seer chastised him.


    ¡°Foolish pup! He said he would return and he will¡­¡±


    Barghast slashed at a tree, ripping bark from its trunk. Pine needles rained down on his head, catching in his fur. He rounded on her, lips peeling back from his teeth. ¡°You don¡¯t understand. While he¡¯s down there, without me with him, he¡¯s vulnerable to the attack of foul spirits.¡±


    The seer bowed her head with a whine of sympathy. ¡°I do understand. There are moments where you will not always be able to protect him and there are moments where he will not be able to protect you¡­¡±


    The barbarian cut her off with a sharp bark. ¡°You¡¯re wrong. I will always be there to protect him. And what might you be? Are you a spirit who has come to drive me mad or a figment of my imagination?¡±


    It was the seer¡¯s turn to snarl, her tail flicking through the air. ¡°Neither. I guide you in the same way your beloved Crowe is guided¡­¡±


    ¡°Do not speak his name!¡± Barghast barked. He jabbed at his chest with a thumb. ¡°Only I can speak his name.¡±


    The seer eyed him with amusement. ¡°Brazen pup.¡±


    ¡°He is mine¡­I wish you¡¯d leave me be. I don¡¯t need a guide. He is my guide, the only one I need.¡±


    ¡°You do need me,¡± the seer insisted. ¡°Danger abounds in that town. It will only get worse until you reach the Mirror Expanse. For now I will step back into the shadows and watch. I will return when you call for me.¡±


    She slunk back into the darkness of the trees as she said she would¡­and out of existence¡­or so it seemed.


    ¡°Barghast¡­¡±


    Crowe! His tail sprung up. His hackles, which had been raised, lowered, the very sound of his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s voice a tonic to all his worries. Here his beloved was now coming through the trees, sweating and stinking of fear, but Barghast didn¡¯t care. He was safe. He had returned just as the seer said he would, just as his guide promised he would, because he always kept his promises - the seer is right about one thing, I am a foolish pup¡­foolish for doubting him - and Barghast loved him for it.


    He lunged forward, seizing his beloved, lifting him off the ground as he might a babe. He whined shamelessly, ears flattened against his head, so happy, so relieved he could barely think. He licked his face, careful to avoid his broken nose, marking him so that the entire world knew Crowe was his - mine, mine, mine, all mine.


    Crowe waved his arms, laughing. It pleased Barghast to know he could make his twin o¡¯rre make a sound; and with so little effort. Crowe¡¯s voice eventually became stern. He barked a command that clearly meant he wanted the Okanavian to put him down. Barghast obeyed but with great reluctance. Even though he was tired and hungry, lycans were made to survive in harsh conditions. He knew little to nothing about the sorcerer¡¯s people, their physiology, but his sense of smell told him what he needed to know. Barghast didn¡¯t like the sharpness of his cheekbones, the way they were so close to the surface. As if any moment they would break through his pale skin.


    Barghast bit back a whine of panic. Once he was sure they were safe, he would scavenge for food. He would wait until Crowe was asleep, too deep in dreams to be bothered by the evil spirits those sorcerers - they were like his twin o¡¯rre and nothing like his twin o¡¯rre at the same time - had cast upon him. He didn¡¯t like the idea of leaving the practitioner, not even for a second, but the seer had been right about one thing: There would be times when they would have to separate. But I will always find you. Wherever you are, wherever you go, know matter how many leagues separate us, I will always come looking for you. Nothing can keep us apart, my beloved.


    He wanted to tell Crowe this, through touch if necessary, but the practitioner had taken his paw and was leading him down the hill. He muttered things under his breath, his eyes fixed ahead on whatever goal he deemed important. Barghast didn¡¯t like the distant look on his face - the look on his face that said he wasn¡¯t truly there. He didn¡¯t like the stench that hovered around him like a black cloud. Barghast could smell the sickness lying dormant within him, The seer¡¯s words about Barghast¡¯s beloved being in the most danger of all returned to him.


    I will not let it happen. Just as it is his duty to guide us through our pilgrimage, it is my duty to protect him. I must find sustenance for us. I must keep him well.


    Crowe led him through the dark streets of this new dwelling. It was the largest settlement Barghast had encountered in this land yet. Larger even than the one with those people with the black eyes. And the bear. The lycan would never forget about the bear that had nearly killed Crowe and he on more than one occasion. Just thinking about that place made him want to growl.


    The practitioner led him through narrow alleyways with flooded gutters and dumpsters overfilled with heaping bags of trash. He whipped off what appeared to be a drape from a hanging and demonstrated wrapping it around his head. He handed the drape to Barghast, meaning for him to put it on. The Okanavian didn¡¯t want to wrap this strange object around his head - who knew where it had been or who it belonged to - but he would do it for Crowe. He knew it was to keep it so unwanted eyes couldn¡¯t see him for what he was.


    At times it amazed Barghast how resourceful the sorcerer was. He was quick for someone so tiny and he adapted quickly in unfamiliar places. He lifted a fist, gesturing for Barghast stop when a wood door to their right burst open, spilling light and raucous laughter into the gloom. A man wearing a helm on top of his head stepped out. Barghast recognized the silver torch on the back of his armor. Ushering them back behind a tall stack of crates, Crowe lifted a finger to his lips, the sign he made when he wanted the Okanavian to remain quiet.


    Rather than entertain fantasies of the torchcoat¡¯s death, Barghast focused on his companion, his steady breath, the way he appeared calm on the surface despite the pounding of his heart. It distracted him from fantasies of pouncing on the torchcoat¡¯s back, tearing into his flesh, ripping him open with his teeth and feasting on his insides. Apart from rabbits and the occasional deer, it had been weeks since Barghast had feasted on real prey.


    No, he told himself. Better to be like Crowe who had the temperament, the wisdom to know when to strike and when not to. Like now. Crowe hid not because he was weak, but because he always thought about the consequences of his actions before he carried them out. Even the most powerful lycan warrior could learn from his restraint.


    The torchcoat was close enough Barghast could smell the heady mixture of spirits and sweat coming off the man; a spicy smell that made the lycan salivate. The torchcoat pulled the front of his breeches down, exposing his member to the cold night air. Barghast imagined ripping it out with his teeth¡­the man would be bound so he had no choice but to watch. Crowe and I will torture him just the way they tortured me. We¡¯ll make him watch. He could hear more thunderous laughter coming inside the building. Beside him Crowe rolled his eyes at the patter of litter against the soggy cobblestones.


    The hot, yellow smell of human piss touched Barghast¡¯s nose. He began to pant. He looked at his twin o¡¯rre, pleading with his eyes. I don¡¯t know how much longer I can hold on.


    Crowe nodded, seeming to understand the Okanavian¡¯s plight. Withdrawing his dagger, Crowe  darted from behind the crate. He veered into them, almost knocking them over, his gait clumsier than it normally was, but the torchcoat never saw him coming. He was too quiet. He grabbed the man by the shoulders, yanking him around the corner out of sight. Barghast heard a small yelp that was abruptly cut short by the sound of a fist crashing against bone.


    The lycan rounded the corner. Crowe stood the man, locking his head in the crook of his arm. A flash of thunder ignited the sky just as Crowe slid the dagger across the torchcoat¡¯s throat. Stowing the dagger away in his pocket, the sorcerer clapped his free hand over his mouth. The barbarian stepped forward, licking his chops.


    ¡°Not here,¡± Crowe hissed. He cocked his head to a nearby window where shadows could be seen moving about. At any second someone could step out, starting a panic that would put them in more danger than they could afford to be in.


    It was agonizing to hold back for a second longer, but Barghast would do it for Crowe. He would do it to keep them both safe and so he did. Tucked behind a large stack of logs on the outskirts of the settlement, Crowe stood three yards away while Barghast indulged in his baser instincts. He was glad his beloved had decided to give him space. Not because he feared hurting his beloved without meaning to - even the mere notion was inconceivable, bad, bad - but because he didn¡¯t want Crowe to see him behave this way. This animal way.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    He was not clean about what he did. The man came apart as if he were made of clay, flesh sloughing away from bone in bloody flaps. Barghast started with his cock and balls, ripping them away with his teeth, rolling them around in his mouth, savoring the hot taste of blood as it warmed his belly. He hunched on the ground, groaning with relish, wanting more more more. He tried to muffle the sound: those deep growls of satisfaction, the wet slopping sound as he tore into the man¡¯s guts.


    Not once did his twin o¡¯rre look back at him, not once did he make a sound. Nor did he bat an eye or flinch as if afraid when Barghast returned to him. He nodded, looking determined..,and weary as ever¡­but not frightened or repulsed. All he said was, ¡°You made a mess; we¡¯re going to have to wash you up when we get to the room,¡± in a casual, almost light tone that put the barbarian at ease.


    Once they were outside the place they were to stay, Crowe led Barghast to the back of the building. He pointed to the third story window. ¡°Stay here,¡± he said. With his hands he motioned the action of climbing stairs. With unwavering patience, he repeated the instructions, mouth talking in time with the graceful dancing of his long fingers. It didn¡¯t take long for Barghast to understand that he was to wait here while the practitioner went upstairs to their room. Once inside he would open the window and the lycan would climb up. It was the only way to get him inside without being noticed.


    ¡°I¡­stay,¡± the barbarian said reluctantly. He flattened his ears and tucked his tail, but this time he did not whine. It¡¯s time to stop acting like a foolish pup. We must do what we have to in order to survive. He felt better now that he¡¯d eaten, now that he¡¯d indulged his blood lust. He could think better now; it wasn¡¯t so difficult to restrain himself.


    Crowe soothed him with a shoulder rub. Always comforting. Always soothing. He was a guide, a hunter, a leader, and a protector all rolled into one. The Okanavian had seen him show kindness to those who did not deserve it. Barghast loved him for it. Not just because they were twin o¡¯rre. He loved him for these things. These qualities that the barbarian hoped to cultivate for himself over time as they traveled together and got to know each other better.


    It touched him that Crowe seemed every bit as reluctant to part from him. Even if it was only for a moment. His lips trembled with a smile that was meant to convince Barghast he was not afraid, but the lycan knew better. Once we are alone and we are safe, I¡¯m going to hold you and kiss you all night. You won¡¯t be able to get away from me.


    Again the sorcerer walked away and again the Okanavian feared it would be the last time he saw him.


    ¡­


    ¡°Hey, boy!¡±


    Crowe turned his head slowly. What was it now? I just want to go upstairs to the room I paid for, strip off these clothes, and go to bed. ¡°Aye?¡±


    It was the barkeeper from before. This time he didn¡¯t have parasites wiggling out of his eyes, but the room around him was all wrong. The floor beneath the practitioner¡¯s feet felt unsteady, tilted. He had to grip the table to remain standing in fear he would go rolling away. The lighting was wrong, too. The candle flames kept flickering in and out of existence as if someone were flipping a switch.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t pay me enough for the room.¡± The man fixed him with beady brown eyes narrowed in dislike. The gruffness of his voice hit the practitioner like a slap to the face.


    ¡°What? I gave you everything I had!¡±


    The man shook his head without a shred of sympathy. ¡°It still wasn¡¯t enough.¡±


    ¡°Surely in the name of Elysia you could make an exception in light of this storm,¡±  the sorcerer said with forced patience, knowing the man would not budge.


    ¡°Sorry - I can¡¯t. You understand we¡¯re living in hard times.¡±


    ¡°I can wash dishes¡­¡±


    The man merely sneered at him.


    Crowe thought of Barghast standing outside, waiting for him in the dark, most likely confused and alone. It had been too long already. At any point something could go wrong¡­he could be discovered by a drunken torchcoat or the necromancers and their foul summonings could catch up. He took a step towards the man. He briefly considered killing him. He¡¯d already killed a torchcoat for Barghast. Who else would he kill to keep his Okanavian companion safe?


    No, he thought. Enough people have died at my hands. I will not take another life if I can help it. ¡°What do I have to do?¡±


    The man raised his brow, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as if he needed to think about it. The dread mounting in the pit of his stomach and the growing dent at the front of the barkeep¡¯s grease-stained breeches told the sorcerer exactly what he wanted. The man snapped his fingers. ¡°I know just the thing.¡± He dropped his pants. He seized his engorged prick in his hand and shook at Crowe. ¡°You want the room, you can tend to this. I¡¯ll even throw in some food.¡±


    Crowe tried not to feel the hot sting of tears as he crossed the room. ¡°Yes, go on,¡± Petras taunted him from the shadowed corner of the room. ¡°It¡¯s nothing you haven¡¯t done before¡­You¡¯d do anything for your lycan lover¡­¡±


    Yes, he thought as he kneeled before the man, as his gorge rose at the meaty stench of unwashed stench, as he pushed it back down. Anything.


    He thought of Barghast strapped to a tree, being beaten, helpless to defend himself as he wetted his fingers with his tongue. Taking the man into his mouth, he saw Barghast being hauled up the steps of a black spire towards his death. When the man¡¯s fingers clenched through his hair, he thought of the storm. A storm that would continue to spread wherever he went. It would flood the entire North if he didn¡¯t reach the necropolis where his next test awaited.


    When the man grunted, Crowe tried to pull away.


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t!¡± the man snarled. Pulling Crowe¡¯s hair hard, he pulled the practitioner forward.


    When it was over, Crowe lurched to his feet, gagging and sputtering. The barkeeper¡¯s laughter followed him up the steps. Steps that shook underneath his feet. The world spun like a revolving top so that the floor became the ceiling and the ceiling the floor. His fingers itched for an aether joint if only to get the taste of the man out of his mouth, but he¡¯d have to wait until he let Barghast inside. The lycan comes first.


    ¡°Look at you!¡± Petras cackled, his animated corpse shambling up the stairs after a fleeing Crowe. ¡°You really have fallen from grace, haven¡¯t you? You could stoop no lower, could you? YOU WHORE!¡±.


    ¡°YOU WHORE! YOU WHORE! YOU WHOREEEE!¡± chanted a thousand voices. Voices so loud it made the walls of The Staggering Pig shake.


    ¡°He¡¯ll suckle any prick he can get his mouth around, be it man or beast¡­!¡±


    Step after step Petras pursued Crowe, taunting him. Crowe¡¯s shoulder slammed against the door at the end of the corridor. At last he was on the top floor, he was just outside his room. He shoved the key in the lock with shaking, sweating hands, hissing prayers to Monad under his breath. ¡°Monad, guide me just a minute longer¡­¡±


    At last the door sprang open, almost spilling him onto the floor. Kicking the door shut with his boot, he scrabbled across the sitting room - his boot bounced off the leg of an end table; it fell over with a crash of breaking glass - to the window. He shoved it open, thrust his head into the night where he could see Barghast crouched behind a pile of burlap sacks. ¡°Barghast,¡± he gasped. ¡°Hurry¡­climb!¡±


    ¡°The barkeeper had his fun. Now it¡¯s the beast¡¯s turn¡­¡±


    Barghast sprang up from behind the pile of trash. He leapt into the  air, baring his claws. The tips of his claws sunk into the wall as if the building were made of clay and not wood. He bounded up the wall, defying gravity, his eyes fixed avidly on Crowe. With the upper half of his body completely covered in blood and filth he looked feral and predatory.


    Crowe clung to the window sill, gripping the edge so hard his knuckles turned white. Panic closed around him like a suffocating fist. Behind him Petras whispered a final insult before vanishing in a wisp of black smoke. He ushered Barghast through the window, marveling at how the lycan was able to fit his broad body gracefully through the narrow passage; he had done something similar on the night of their first encounter.


    The lycan reached for him as if hours had passed since the practitioner had told him to remain where he was - not for the first time the sorcerer wondered if the Okanavian perceived time the same way he did. Crowe stepped back. He shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me¡­¡±


    The effect of his denial was immediate. Barghast¡¯s ears flattened against his head. He lowered his muzzle as if Crowe had struck him, but remained where he was.


    A deep part of Crowe - the deep-rooted child that needed to be accepted, held, comforted, loved - almost went to him. He couldn¡¯t. His skin was buzzing. Every part of him felt as if it was unraveling, fighting to break free of his body and escape. He felt the barkeeper¡¯s hand yank at his hair once more - No, no you don¡¯t! - tasted the bitterness of his seed shooting into the back of his throat, felt hot bile shoot up his throat. He lunged across the room. He managed to kick the door shut and drop into a crouch before the commode just in time.


    He vomited until there was nothing left inside him. Until it felt as if he¡¯d been punched repeatedly in the gut. He laid on the floor, his face resting on tile. Cool tile that felt like a balm on his heated skin. It felt smooth underneath his fingers, sanded down by skilled hands. He wondered if Bennett would have been able to make something like this.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    The door started to open.


    Crowe kicked it shut.


    ¡°Crowe?¡± The alarm in the lycan¡¯s thunderous rumble pulled at the practitioner¡¯s heart.


    ¡°Not right now, Barghast. I just¡­I just need a minute.¡± The tears broke out of him like a dam then. He simply couldn¡¯t hold them back any longer. He¡¯d been holding them back day after day, tucking the fear away until he could release it later. That moment was now.


    He folded under its weight, pinned in place by shame. You didn¡¯t have to do what that man wanted. You could have done something else. Instead you opened your mouth for him¡­


    One thing he knew for sure: If Barghast knew what he¡¯d done to secure them the room, the lycan wouldn¡¯t be able to stand him.

 Uncomfortable Moments of Silence

    The Okanavian didn¡¯t like the silence he heard on the other side of the door. It was heavy. Oppressive. Wrong. Each second that his call went unanswered felt like white hot nails were being hammered through his heart. No matter how hard he tried to listen to the voice of rationality in his head the way he knew his beloved did, the instinct that something was very very wrong persisted.


    He tried to be patient. He tried to keep the panic from making him overreact. He knew his twin o¡¯rre was tired. Very, very tired. While he¡¯d proven himself to be a more capable warrior than most Okanavi, he was not a lycan. He could not go as long without sleep as Barghast could. As long as I feast on fresh blood I can go a week without sleeping. He didn¡¯t like to go that long without sleeping, but he could.


    Crowe had gone a week on little sleep, pressing on with what scant moments he could get while on horseback. Barghast didn¡¯t count those. He hadn¡¯t slept that whole time they¡¯d been holed up in the stables, determined on staying awake in order to keep them alive. It was the sorcerer who had insisted the Okanavian stay awake, the stubborn little wraith.


    Something else was wrong. A smell seeped under the door, strong and meaty and utterly foreign to Crowe. The lycan didn¡¯t like it one bit. Nor did he like those wounded sounds Crowe was making. He could tell the sorcerer was trying to muffle it, but the Okanavian heard them all the same. It took all his willpower not to tear the door away from the wall and burst inside. Something had happened in between his twin o¡¯rre instructing him to wait behind the garbage stack and letting him in the room.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± he said again. He couldn¡¯t say how long had passed since he¡¯d heard his wraith make a sound. He sat with his back pressed against the door. He could hear Crowe breathing on the other side, hear the flutter of his heart, which meant he was still alive. He didn¡¯t smell blood. He didn¡¯t smell anything to suggest Crowe was injured beyond the dormant sick-smell and the labored breaths from his broken nose. He turned it into a game. If I beg, if I whine enough¡­will he respond? My sweet, why do you make me beg like this? What has you so broken on the inside you can¡¯t respond to me?


    He waited for a heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three. A lifetime. An eternity.


    And then weakly, so weakly he had to lift an ear to hear it: ¡°...I did something bad.¡±


    Bad. He¡¯d heard the practitioner say that word before. It made him want to growl. He didn¡¯t know the full meaning of the word, but he knew it was in the same category as the words hide, danger, and torchcoat. Crowe always made the same stricken face, the same choppy gestures when he said this word.


    Hiding? Is he hiding from me? Is he afraid of me?


    The thought made Barghast rise to his feet. He could no longer keep the panic at bay. ¡°Crowe,¡± he said in the language of the desert. ¡°Let me in. I know you are hurting. I know you are frightened. I know you feel you must hide your hurt from me. You never need to hide from me. There is nothing you could do that would cause me to turn away from you or hurt you. If only you knew how long I waited for you. The seer told me when I was a young, young pup that I would one day meet a warrior who''s eyes were both blue as the sky and as white as a blazing star. From the moment she told me this, I waited for you, dreaming of a life beyond the desert¡­¡±


    He stopped when he heard movement on the other side of the door. His heart skipped a beat when the lock clicked.


    The door swung open. Crowe looked at him from beneath the rim of his cowl. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his face marked with bruises. It hurt the lycan to see such delicate skin marred in such a way. When Crowe did not say anything or move towards the Okanavian, the Okanavian went to him. He eased himself through the door, careful not to scuff the paint - he¡¯d already gauged holes in the door with his claws. The closer he drew to his beloved, the stronger the smell of another became.


    The reek of another male.


    A male who had marked his twin o¡¯rre.


    The thought heated his blood into a boiling frenzy. The thought of someone touching what belonged to him; the half of his soul he¡¯d waited so long to meet. To hold. To protect. To love. Looking up at the stars, praying to Gaia to transport him away from a life in the desert. A life he¡¯d never wanted. Only for someone to defile his beloved who had eyes that burned like stars.


    I¡¯ll kill them¡­I¡¯ll rip their eyes from their skull¡­


    A small sound pierced the bubble of rage that threatened to explode out of the Okanavian. Crowe still remained where he stood, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shook with the force of his sobs. Great, racking sobs that rooted the Okanavian to the spot. Only once before had he seen the sorcerer react this way, when Barghast had parted from him to hunt an elk.


    The room they stood in was so small, Barghast''s broad frame blocked the door. Crowe seemed even smaller, diminishing before the lycan''s very eyes. When his twin o¡¯rre began to sink towards the floor, so heavy was his shame, the barbarian''s paralysis broke.


    He held Crowe while his twin o¡¯rre wept against his chest, letting the practitioner¡¯s hot tears fall in his fur. The sorcerer trembled with such force it seemed he had fallen in the grip of a fit. ¡°I am not angry with you, my beloved,¡± he told him, stroking his hair. I could stroke his hair all day. Everyday for the rest of my long, long life.


    After what could have been several seconds or several minutes, Crowe straightened. He rubbed at his face with the back of his arm. Blood colored his cheeks like a rash - a sign he was embarrassed. Not for the first time Barghast wished he had the words to tell him not to be ashamed. We all must do things we don¡¯t want to do in order to survive.


    At last Crowe looked up, looked him in the eye. ¡°In the name of Monad, look at us. We¡¯re both a mess. We should get washed up. I¡¯m not crawling in bed looking like this¡­I don¡¯t care how tired I am¡­and neither are you.¡±


    Barghast cocked his head.


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    Smiling, Crowe reached for something, pointing to the large basin in the corner of the room. He called it a tub. He made two fists and brought them up to shoulder height. He repeated the gesture three times, repeating, ¡°bath¡± with each repetition. As a final illustration, he grabbed a round object he called a ¡°sponge¡±. He mimed scrubbing Barghast¡¯s chest fur with the object. The lycan yipped with excitement, remembering how Crowe had used the same object to wash him clean in the stables.


    ¡°Monad has blessed us,¡± Crowe said. ¡°This time we have a full bathroom with indoor plumbing.¡± He pointed at two handles made of steel. ¡°That¡¯s what turns on the water, which comes out of this¡­¡± He pointed to a pipe he called a faucet. He grinned and this time it was a real genuine grin, not a shaky grin that attempted to  hide the truth of how he felt. He turned the nozzle on the right. Immediately steaming hot water fell into the basin. Steam rose into the air. Barghast leaned forward, panting with excitement. He¡¯d never in all his life seen such a contraption. He yearned to ask the practitioner where the source of the water came from but he did not have the words. Not yet.


    ¡°We don¡¯t water to be too hot.¡± The sorcerer turned the other nozzle. He looked at the Okanavian, a twinkle in his eye. A twinkle Barghast liked to think was only reserved for him. Crowe held up a bottle made of dark blue glass. He popped the cap, raising it to his nose. ¡°Hmmm,¡± he said. He closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly to the side. ¡°It smells good. Lavender and honey.¡±


    Barghast leaned forward, his nose twitching with curiosity.


    Crowe held the bottle out. ¡°Be careful. With your strong sense of smell, it might be a little overpowering.¡±


    The barbarian caught the warning in Crowe¡¯s voice too late. He lurched back into the wall behind him with a snort¡­ACHOOOOO!¡±


    Again, Crowe raised his hands to hide his face, only this time he wasn''t crying. He laughed, his eyes twinkling with that merry light Barghast loved to see so much, that presented itself so rarely. Once the basin was full enough to the practitioner''s satisfaction, he shut the water off. ¡°This tub isn''t big enough to fit the both of us. Since you''re the biggest, you get to wash up first.¡±


    He gestured for Barghast to climb into the water.


    The lycan eyed the basin suspiciously. Steam rose from the water, curling in the air, turning the room foggy. In the desert he and the other members of his clan had bathed in a large river close to the camp. Sensing his reluctance, Crowe scratched his back and shoulders, speaking in a low soothing voice. ¡°The water isn''t too hot, I promise. You''re filthy and you stink, Barghast. We both do¡­¡±


    Eventually he won Barghast over. It was impossible to deny his twin o¡¯rre, especially when he pampered the Okanavian so, those long skinny fingers combing through his fur, always scratching in just the right places. He hesitated just a moment longer, whining, tucking his tail between his legs so he could enjoy the belly scratches a moment longer.


    His twin o¡¯rre was no fool. He knew exactly what the Okanavian was doing. He swatted him playfully on the rump. ¡°That¡¯s enough belly rubs for you¡­Don¡¯t try to lick me! Your mouth is an abattoir¡­I imagine I don¡¯t smell much better, but I didn¡¯t eat a man for dinner.¡±


    Crowe was right about the basin being too tiny. Removing his tunic, Barghast had to fold his legs to lower himself in the water. Crowe was also right about the water not being too hot. The heat was a balm to muscles that had been tensed after a week of non stop travel and peril. He tracked Crowe¡¯s movements across the bathroom. The practitioner stood with his back turned. Slowly he peeled off his robes until he was completely naked. In the light Barghast could see just how much weight he¡¯d lost. The bones of his shoulder blades stood out sharply against pale flesh marred by black bruises and scrapes. The sight of his injuries pulled at Barghast¡¯s instinct to protect his twin o¡¯rre. He started to rise, sudsy water spilling over the sides of the tub.


    The sorcerer whirled around. He glared at the Okanavian with a stern frown. Barghast froze. He laid his ears back against his head. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me that way!¡± Crowe admonished in a tone that said he was displeased. ¡°Get back in the water, you¡¯re getting it all over the floor.¡±


    The lycan watched him dubiously from the corner of his eye, his tail wagging beneath the water. In one second Crowe had sounded stern, disappointed, but now his eyes were sparkling again and he looked like he was trying to hold back his laughter. It both fascinated and confused Barghast how he could bounce so quickly from emotion to emotion, his face shifting like a series of masks. His eyes were windows into his soul, always showing what he felt. Oftentimes they were guarded.


    Crowe knelt beside the ¡°tub¡±, wringing water and bubbles out of the sponge. He was back to talking in his sweet way, starting at the top of Barghast¡¯s head, shielding his eyes with his hand so as not to get water in them. The lycan was more than happy to lean back in the tub - as much as the basin would allow - and let his beloved tend to him. No lycan could be more blessed than I am, to be granted a twin o¡¯rre like the one I have. He protects me and pampers me. What did I do to earn such a blessing?


    Crowe worked meticulously until every inch of Barghast¡¯s body had been scrubbed free. While the tub drained he had Barghast stand again so he could dry him off with a drape he called a ¡°towel.¡± By the time he stepped out of the tub, Barghast¡¯s dark gray fur gleamed with renewal. He grinned at himself in the mirror, feeling lustrous. Crowe¡¯s reflection laughed beside him, nodding in approval. ¡°Looking sharp, indeed.¡±


    The practitioner refilled the tub with fresh, soapy water. When he climbed in, Barghast reached out to take the sponge for him again.


    ¡°No,¡± the practitioner said in that firm voice of his. ¡°Another time. I can barely keep my eyes open.¡± He ushered the Okanavian out of the room before locking the door behind him.


    Feeling dejected, the barbarian sat on the edge of the bed. His weight sunk heavily into the mattress. Eyes widening, he laid back on the bed. He let out a groan of pleasure. Had he ever laid on anything so soft? He rolled on his stomach, legs criss crossed over one another, legs bouncing in the air. He searched for signs of movement under the crack of the door. A thin strip of flickering light seeped through. He wagged his tail in anticipation, willing his twin o¡¯rre to come out of the bathroom as if wanting it enough could make it happen.


    The second the door opened, spilling light into the room, Barghast sprang up from the bed. Crowe emerged from the room, shoulder length hair swept back from his brow, a towel wrapped around his slender hips. The barbarian seized him with both paws, lifting the practitioner off his feet. He sat back on the bed, cradling his beloved against his chest. Before his twin o''rre could protest, his head darted forward; this time Crowe could not keep his affections at bay.


    He licked every inch of Crowe he could. He licked his face. He licked the hollow of his throat, leaving a trail of saliva leading down his chest to his navel. He stopped just short of his penis, so adorably small compared to his own - he would play with that later when his twin o''rre was awake enough to enjoy it.


    Barghast climbed back up to Crowe''s lips, those silky lips that he always loved overtaking with his own. He kissed his twin o''rre greedily, lapping at the inside of his mouth, enjoying the way he tasted. It took all his self control not to take his wraith right then and there. He knew his beloved needed rest. He¡¯d pushed himself further than Barghast thought him capable of.


    He fell back on the mattress so that Crowe straddled his belly before settling him into the free slot. He rolled over so that they laid face to face, eye to eye, their noses almost touching.


    ¡°Good night, Barghast,¡± the sorcerer said hoarsely.


    ¡°I keep you safe,¡± the barbarian rumbled.


    It seemed he¡¯d no sooner closed his eyes when the door shook under the force of hard knuckles. ¡°Oi!¡± shouted a deep voice from outside the room. ¡°Got a bit of grub for ya!¡±


    Barghast sat up, snarling.


    Crowe waved at him, hissing for him to be quiet. He went to the door with a blanket wrapped around his waist. The door creaked open. Barghast snarled. He bit his tongue, sinking his teeth into the muscle hard enough to draw blood. He could smell the other, the man who had marked his twin o¡¯rre.


    The smell hit him like a slap to the face, igniting his bloodlust. He rose to his feet, unfurling his claws. Ready to tear into flesh and feast on the beating heart of the creature who had disgraced what only belonged to him.

 A Sea of Red

    ¡°If you¡¯re wanting more than that then I¡¯m sure we can work something out,¡± the barkeeper drawled. He tugged at the front of his breeches.


    Crowe slammed the door shut before he could give himself time to react. Fantasies of turning the man to dust flashed through his mind a thousand reels a second. And why not? All he had to do was give into his rage.


    There was always one thing that stopped him: the unknown variable. The ripple effect one impulsive decision made in haste could bring. And there was the tray in his hand filled from end to end with platters of food - a feast after what scant meat he¡¯d been able to scavenge on his travels.


    He turned.


    The tray fell from his shaking hands. His heart shuttered in his chest. His breath caught in his throat.


    Barghast¡¯s shadow flooded the room, dimming the candlelight. Every muscle and vein stood out as if trying to break free of his body.  His hackles were raised, his claws unfurled. Every inch of him was primed to kill.


    ¡°Barghast,¡± the practitioner managed to utter. He stepped back until his shoulder touched the door. He had his hand on the doorknob, ready to yank it open and slam it shut to buy himself an extra second. Having seen the lycan in battle, he knew a second wouldn¡¯t be enough. ¡°I can understand if you¡¯re upset with me. I didn¡¯t do it to hurt you. I didn¡¯t have the money we needed for the room and I didn¡¯t know what else to do...¡±


    The panic hit him like a punch to the gut. An iron-clad fist closed around his heart. The walls shrank, closing in on him, the room spinning and rolling as if caught in a whirlwind. No, he thought. Not this again. Monad, help me, I don¡¯t want to die like this.


    Barghast lunged for him. Before he could yank the door open, the lycan shoved him away from the door. The world tilted sideways before Crowe hit the floor with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.


    How am I still alive? The thought no sooner crossed his mind when the screaming started.


    It took all his effort to stand; he had to grab hold of the wall for support. He could hear screams and the sound of glass breaking and those animal snarls. His heart ached, knowing he was the cause.


    ¡°You hurt the one person who would always support you.¡± Petras'' undead eyes gleamed from the shadows of the bathroom. ¡°The one person who thought you could do no wrong. How does it feel to know you¡¯ve truly lost everything?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Crowe shook his head in denial. ¡°This is different. He reacted violently when that man came to the door¡­¡± He¡¯s only protecting what he thinks is his. This didn''t mean they were in any less danger. The racket going on downstairs - the shouts, the sound of a scream turning into a wet gurgling sound, those thunderous growls - could alert the torchcoats. He had to stop Barghast from killing anyone else.


    Can he be stopped? Monad, help me. I have to try.


    He slung his necklace around his throat. He staggered out into the hallway, drunk with exhaustion. He¡¯d managed to sleep a few hours before the barkeeper knocked on the door - before this new nightmare began, for wasn''t there always a new terror lurking just around the corner, waiting for the moment to strike? - but a few hours wasn''t enough. He needed more sleep. He needed more food.


    None of that mattered now.


    His shoulder slammed into the wall. The floor felt unsteady beneath his feet. It tilted left, then right, then left again like a ship at sea. The candles, held in glass jars mounted to the wall flickered, and then dimmed. Half of them died out as a cold gust of wind went through them. For a moment he stood in darkness.


    When they returned to life, he stood not in the second floor hallway of The Staggering Pig, but the kitchen of his old home. The one he¡¯d burned down.


    The cellar door was open, rickety wooden steps beckoning him to climb down into the cellar if he so dared. He could see the chips in the wood from all the hours, all the nights he¡¯d spent clawing at the door, begging for Petras to let him out. Now he could hear someone coming up the stairs. He knew the sound of those wheezy breaths; they sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Crowe knew who it was before he heard the voice.


    ¡°This is where whores go¡­down in the cellar, down in the dark where whores belong.¡±


    Petras'' animated corpse shambled towards him. The practitioner stumbled back, tripping over his own clumsy feet. He blinked. He was not in the kitchen of his childhood home but back in The Staggering Pig. He found himself not looking into the desiccated face of Petras, but the ravaged face of a revenant. It stalked towards him, a meat cleaver raised high above its head.


    He¡¯d been discovered again.


    Crowe didn''t have it in him to fight. Not this time. He staggered back into the room he¡¯d paid so dearly for. He slammed the door in time to hear the meat cleaver slice into the wood with a heavy thunk. He turned the lock.


    He wanted to stop but he knew he couldn''t. The revenant would never stop until it had his head to bring back to its masters. He searched around the room, desperate for an avenue to escape. He was alone. This time he didn''t have Barghast around to help him. He shoved the thought away before it could cause him further grief.


    The door fell to the floor with a crash. The practitioner felt the vibration beneath his feet. The revenant¡¯s mangled feet made not a sound as it crossed the room towards him. Crowe grabbed the nearest thing within reach - a vase - and chucked it at the window.


    The vase burst through the window in a shower of glass. Crowe ducked out of the way just in time to avoid the meat cleaver. He lashed out with a kick that sent the revenant staggering back. Before the undead creature could regain its balance, he crawled through the window, slicing his hand open on jagged pieces of glass. Rain pelted him heavily from above. Thunder roared overhead, lighting the eternal night sky. The gutter was just in reach. He had no choice but to hope the pipe could bear his weight long enough for him to climb down.


    What about Barghast? the frightened child part of his mind inquired.


    Barghast is on his own for now. So am I. The thought made Crowe want to scream - the thought of leaving the only person he could trust behind, the thought that he¡¯d made a mistake the lycan couldn¡¯t forgive him for and now he probably wanted to kill him - but he swallowed it. Right now death was directly above his head. The revenant pitchex itself over the sill like a tumbling brick. It plummeted through the air, then hit the soggy ground with a wet crunching sound. Crowe knew he had mere seconds before it got back up.


    The practitioner let go of the pipe, dropping the remaining five feet through the air.  Before he could brace himself for the impact, a sharp pain exploded in his ankle. He stumbled, almost losing his balance. He threw his arm out, bouncing on his other foot. The sound of steel scraping against cobblestone sent a jolt racing up his spine. He turned his head. His eyes bulged out of his head. He let out a sob of terror.


    The revenant had clambered to its feet while its twin was coming around the corner of the building, baring a spiked club. Crowe staggered in the opposite direction. Each step sent screams of pain up his leg, but he pressed on while the servants of Hamon pursued him relentlessly.


    A strong gust of wind knocked a bin full of trash in his path. Before he could stop, he tripped over it, slamming into the ground. This time he really did scream. He couldn¡¯t hold it back. Vision blurry with tears and from the blood falling in his eyes from the sky, he kicked at the bin, clawing at the wall for support until he could stand.


    The sound of voices made him laugh with relief. He could see several figures marching drunkenly through the rain, carrying bottles of rum, impervious to the apocalypse.


    ¡°Help me!¡± Crowe gasped. ¡°Please¡­help,,,¡±


    He collapsed at someone¡¯s feet, exhausted, unable to breathe, and in pain.


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    ¡°What do we have here?¡± laughed a deep voice. ¡°Looks like we¡¯ve found ourselves a practitioner¡­¡±


    ¡°More like he ran headfirst right into you,¡± chortled another.


    Meaty fingers wrapped around Crowe¡¯s necklace. ¡°That¡¯s mine,¡± he managed to say through gritted teeth. He looked up and saw the torch symbol of the Theocracy on the back of a torch-coat¡¯s armor when a fist crashed into his face, eclipsing all else.


    Barghast surfaced, emerging from the waters of a murky red ocean. The time spent under the surface was as black as the Void, a space from which no memory could be retrieved. It frightened him. For anything could have happened¡­he could have done anything, he could have hurt his¡­


    Twin o¡¯rre!


    His vision went from a grainy screen of dancing spots to a field of blooming red. All thoughts of Crowe momentarily halted when he saw what he¡¯d done while on the hunt. The man¡¯s face¡­the other who had marked what was his¡­was a ruin, the face and nose bowed in from where he¡¯d crushed them with his fist, grounding them to mush. His clothes and flesh had been ripped, the bleached curve of his ribs excavated and exposed. His belly was full from all that he¡¯d eaten. Swollen. He¡¯d eaten two men today. He¡¯d eaten more since coming to this strange settlement than he had in his entire life.


    What else had he done during the black period? He remembered waking up next to his twin o¡¯rre. Nothing had felt better than to curl up on the bed with his beloved wraith¡¯s bare little rump pressed right up against him, their bodies fitting perfectly together¡­I¡¯ll rip out the throat of anyone who disagrees, he¡¯d thought before slipping into sleep.


    ¡°What did you do, you insolent pup?¡± the seer snarled at his back. She wasn''t visible, but he could feel her presence searing a hole in his back. ¡°If you hurt him¡­¡±


    ¡°It will be the end of me,¡± Barghast rumbled to himself. ¡°Crowe!¡± He tore up the steps. Instead of taking the time to climb through three floors, he leapt through the ceiling, shrugging aside plaster until he reached the room where the sorcerer had given him a bath. He emerged from a cloud of smoke, sniffing the air. His senses told him much had happened in the room since the last time he¡¯d occupied it.


    He whined, unable to look away from the chaos. The shattered vase, the unfinished staff lying abandoned on the floor, the shattered window with jagged pieces of glass sticking out around the sill like razor sharp teeth.  The stench of rot made his hackles rise. It could only mean the presence of one thing: the Okanavi didn''t have a name for such things.


    To give a name to something was to give it power.


    Then he saw the blood on the window. If not for the stench of Inferno, it would have been the first thing he noticed. A flower of dread bloomed open in his belly. He whined as he crossed the room, tucking his tail between his legs. He already knew who the blood belonged to, but could not yet admit to himself.


    Not until he was sure.


    Bending down on one knee, he lowered himself to the wall. He sniffed.


    He shot to his feet as another whiplash of thunder crashed across the sky and howled. He didn''t care who heard it, be it the necromancers or the torchcoats. My twin o¡¯rre is in danger!


    Panicked thoughts raced through his mind as he launched through the window, dropping through the air, the cobblestones below racing up to meet him. How long had he left his twin o¡¯rre alone to fend for himself, alone against the undead, while he¡¯d gorged himself on the man in the tavern?


    His feet hit the ground, splashing blood in every direction. He stopped long enough to sniff the air. Crowe''s scent trail was still there, but faint, overpowered by the stench of his pursuers. Under any other circumstances, Barghast would have not been as worried¡­his wraith had proven many times he was more than capable of taking care of himself in adverse situations. But he''s injured. He hasn''t slept or eaten. He¡¯ll be weak.


    Horrid images of finding his twin o¡¯rre slaughtered flashed through his mind. Barghast swallowed back the panic that threatened to explode out of him. It won''t help me. I must find him.


    He found the undead creatures first on the road that led out of the settlement. Their foul aroma led him straight to them: they smelled like a battlefield the day after a long battle; the smells rotting bodies make after they have been left out in the sun.


    A mile outside of town, surrounded by pine trees and darkness, the Okanavian didn''t have to worry about being quiet. ¡°You chase after what is mine!¡± he snarled in the language of the desert.


    They turned briefly at the sound of his voice. Under different circumstances he might have


    pitied them¡­what little life they had was not their own. He unfurled his claws, tensing for a strike.


    ¡°Be quick about it and do not underestimate them,¡± the seer advised at his back. ¡°They are far quicker than they appear.¡±


    Barghast decided to test this theory. He ducked in quickly, lashing out with his claws. As he lashed out, the undead creature with the large square blade dove in at his back. Barghast ducked out of the way, reaching for his rifle. The weapon bucked in his paws when he pulled the trigger, the flash blinding in absolute darkness. It felt good to fight again after so many days spent couped up or running¡­


    He yelped when he felt a blade bite into the back of his shoulder. The second undead creature had taken advantage of his distraction, clobbering him with its spiked club. A backwards sweep of his arm sent the thing flying back; it crashed into a tree with a force that would have turned the bones of any man to dust.


    ¡°It doesn''t matter what you do,¡± the seer hissed. ¡°It doesn''t matter if you bite them, scratch them, hit them with all the strength you have at your disposal, they will not stay down. You must dismember them completely and bury them¡­¡±


    Embedded in his flesh, the club stuck out from the Okanavian''s shoulder. He wrenched it away. Already the other undead creatures lurched towards him while its companion rose to its feet. I will make this quick, he thought.


    His claws made short work of their limbs. They were quick, but he was quicker, dodging their attacks while he sliced at them with their claws. First he severed their arms and their legs until they were little more than torsos resting on the ground. He circled them once. They tracked his movement, empty sockets silent but watchful. Their silence made him uneasy in a way he could not say.


    The dirt came up easily enough in his claws. He didn''t need to dig deep far into the earth before he could drop their remains in the grave. The monstrous things made not a sound when he refilled the grave with dirt. He stopped when he saw something glimmer on the ground. He stooped to pick it up.


    Twin o¡¯rre!


    He held the trinket up to his nose, sniffing it. The charm smelled so strongly of his beloved it made him dizzy. He studied the charm - a serpent with the head of a lion, both creatures that existed in the desert. He¡¯d seen snakes and wildcats much like lions here in the mountains.


    I¡¯m coming, Crowe! Fear not, wherever you are, I¡¯m coming¡­


    ¡°Look up to the sky,¡± the seer whined at his side. ¡°Crowe¡¯s Monad guides even you.¡±


    Barghast looked up. His breath caught in his throat. He¡¯d seen the city in the clouds twice before: once after Crowe and he had ingested the sap from a tree and again while in the settlement with the black-eyed bear. Now here it was again, resting on the skyline, every bit as beautiful as the first two times he¡¯d seen it.


    ¡°How is it I can see it?¡± Barghast asked the seer without looking away from the city''s glowing white spires.


    ¡°Monad''s ember burns within us all¡­including the Okanavi,¡± the seer said in a way that made it clear it was the only answer she would give for now. ¡°Follow the light of the Eternal City. It will lead you to Crowe.¡±


    Barghast nodded with a growl of determination. ¡°I shall.¡± He tucked his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s necklace into his tunic, with the vow that he would return the charm to its owner when they reunited.

 Fort Erikson Part One

    The stab of a sharp needle plunging into his flesh snapped Crowe around.  Blinded by something covering his eyes, he jerked his arms away only to feel sharp steel bite into his wrists. A deep ¡°that¡¯s enough out of you!¡± was all the warning he had before a fist slammed into his face, almost knocking him back into unconsciousness.


    After that he remained completely still. Someone had poked a hole in the back wide enough for him to breathe through, but no more.  He closed his eyes, ignoring the frightened voice that jibbered in his mind. The only way out is through.


    He thought back to the last thing he remembered. The room he¡¯d paid so much for Barghat and he to stay in. The knock at the door in the middle of the night. Barghast¡¯s reaction when he¡¯d smelled the man who¡¯d coerced Crowe into pleasuring him. The revenants chasing him through Boar Head¡¯s empty streets only to run headfirst into a group of rowdy torchcoats. Judging from the way the surface beneath him jolted and the wooden clatter of turning wheels, he was in one of the Theocracy¡¯s prisoner caravans. This meant the windows and door would be barred shut. But this didn¡¯t mean he was completely helpless.


    Forcing himself to take a deep, calming breath, he drew on his fear and the desperation for this unceasing  waking nightmare to come to an end. Through the fire that burns within me, these chains cannot keep me bound¡­


    Nothing happened. The flame inside him fluttered briefly, then went out.


    No, no, no - this can¡¯t be happening!


    Raw panic threatened to smother him again. Already he could feel his breath quickening, his skin buzzing. If Barghast were here he would have stopped to give the practitioner a full body examination whether he wanted it or not; a shepherd constantly checking over his herd. Before he could fully succumb to the black waves of despair that threatened to crash over his head, Crowe pushed all thoughts of the lycan away. Right now I¡¯m completely and utterly on my own.


    Without the use of mana he was helpless. The rumors that the Theocracy had developed a serum that kept practitioners from using their Monad given gifts was no longer just a rumor¡­


    Without my mana, what am I?


    Long before Petras taught him to use a staff, he¡¯d taught him how to wield a blade. How to use his environment to his advantage. How to remain calm until the moment to strike presented itself. Right now I have time to plan¡­time to rest¡­


    ¡°Get on your feet, practitioner scum!¡±


    Rough hands dragged him to his feet. A strong bootheel to the rump sent him staggering forward. Another pair of hands¡­or maybe it was the same pair¡­pulled at his chains, herding him along. At last someone pulled the bag off his head. He blinked against the sudden onset of light. Everywhere he looked, a hard uncaring face looked back.  He stood in the square of a large war fort that had been commandeered by the Theocracy. A silver flag bearing the torch of Elysia flapped in a gale that showed no signs of slowing down.


    East of his position, Crowe took notice of a wood platform. Three corpses hung from nooses, bare feet swaying over growing puddles of blood. The silver glint of Monad¡¯s Lion-Headed Serpent around one of the condemned¡¯s neck reminded the practitioner of how naked he felt without his own.


    A barrel-shaped man with greasy hair pulled back into a ponytail mounted the platform. The uneven steps creaked beneath the heels of his sodden boots. He held up a long steel handle with twin steel clamps at the end.


    ¡°Watch!¡± A hand shoved at Crowe. Before he could straighten, gauntleted fingers grabbed him by the back of his hair, wrenching his head back. ¡°Death is nigh, filthy heretic!¡±


    Cold and shivering, the sorcerer had no choice but to watch the man lower one of the bodies from the platform. The man grunted and strained. Pale flabs of his great belly spilled over the side of his grease-stained breeches. Sentries armed with muskets marched along the walls of the fort, seemingly impervious to the apocalypse even as it fell on their shoulders and caught in their hair. More guards stood at each entrance into the building. The fort was heavily guarded which made escaping without divine intervention impossible.


    All that left him was prayer.


    A crash of thunder lit up the sky with white fire, stirring the faintest of hopes within Crowe. For the first time he prayed for the necromancers to reach him before his throat met the noose.


    His heart plummeted. It didn''t look like that was going to happen. The man finished lowering the bodies into an empty cart that was then rolled away by a dour-faced boy around the practitioner''s age. Crowe was ushered up the stairs of the platform. He searched the sky as he prayed under his breath for the lights of Monad''s city, but he saw nothing on the uncaring horizon.


    This isn''t how things are supposed to end, he thought. He remembered the vision the Seraphim had shown him all those months ago; he remembered the weight of the task that had been set on his shoulders. How could he have failed so spectacularly? He thought of Barghast. Where was he? Was he safe? Did he know what had happened to Crowe? He couldn''t think of which hurt worse: the thought of him not caring due to the practitioner''s mistake with the barkeeper, or the thought of him coming to and searching for the sorcerer¡­only for the search to never end.


    Both thoughts made his heart split open, springing forth fresh tears. Prayers died on his lips as the noose closed around his throat. He was too exhausted to fight. He¡¯d been up for days and it had been even longer since he¡¯d eaten a decent meal. He hated himself. He¡¯d hate himself for as long as he could remember. Perhaps the Theocracy was right to want his people enslaved and eventually exterminated. His only hope was in his resurrection in the next Iteration? Who would he be? Would he be a more capable warrior or would he perish in a similar manner?


    The torchcoats stood in the rain, laughing and taunting him. In one flash of lightning they looked human, no less made of flesh and bone and he. In the next they turned into monstrous horned things with reptilian skin and forked tongues; the curse of the necromancers still at work. He was grateful he couldn''t hear their insults over the storm¡¯s rage.


    If this is the way it is to be, then let it end.


    The man who had lowered the bodies from the platform stood at the front of the crowd, chanting an Elysian prayer in a baritone voice. The words were lost on Crowe. He couldn''t hear anything but the helpless scream inside his own head. I have been abandoned in my greatest hour of need.


    ¡°May Elysia have mercy on your tainted soul,¡± the man intoned. He made the sign of the torch over his chest. The onlookers mimicked him. To the practitioner, the gesture might as well be another punch to the face.


    He straightened to his full height, glaring at the torchcoats, hating them. I will not spend my final moments cowering in terror. I will not leave this Iteration feeling doubt in my heart, but absolution, for Monad¡¯s flame will always burn bright within me. ¡°No!¡± he screamed in defiance of the storm, in defiance of their hypocrisy, their genocide in the name of faith. ¡°Do not waste your breath praying to me, for my soul belongs to another!¡±


    No matter how he wished the ground would swallow him while, the sorcerer watched his executioner mount the steps once more.


    Crowe had enough time to filter a final deep breath before the man pulled the lever mounted into the floor. The practitioner thought, Maybe I''ll meet Barghast in the next life and we''ll be able to understand each other, and then the floor gave way beneath his feet. For the terrible fraction of a second he plummeted. The noose snapped taut around his throat, slicing into his flesh, cutting off the flow of air to his lungs.


    His body shook. His legs kicked. His eyes rolled back in his head. His body still reacting in its final moments, fighting until the very end. Once his heart stopped, his body would purge itself of waste. Maybe the torchcoats would have a good laugh. Maybe this is for the best, he thought. At least I¡¯ll be able to sleep. I¡¯m so tired.


    Already darkness spread across his vision. He was but seconds away from death. Sweet, merciful death.


    The rope snapped.


    He landed on his back. In the mud. In the blood.


    Had something happened? Had Monad intervened?


    He sucked in a sweet breath, starved for air. Someone pulled the noose from around his neck, muttering to themselves. He couldn''t understand a word they were saying and he didn''t care. A new presence lingered on the edge of his periphery, as if having materialized out of thin air. He sensed this new presence was not entirely human, was both somehow familiar and wholly alien at the same time.


    ¡°I have waited a long time for this herald,¡± said a deep voice, soothing and male. Cool fingers touched him, clearing the blood rain and tears out of his eyes. This isn''t so bad, he thought. It''s better than being punched or kicked. Or hanging from a noose. If he had the words he would have thanked the newcomer. But he was tired, so tired, and it hurt just to swallow.


    Hands hauled him up, dumping him in the back of a cart. This was fine. It felt good just to be lying down, not running or on the back of a saddle. Of course he would have preferred to have a certain lycan wrapped around him like a living blanket of muscle and fur.


    The cart spun. A door opened. The cart was steered down a long corridor with dark brick walls. Voices spoke, but the words were lost on him. He knew he should care, that the words should be important to him, but he was simply overjoyed to be alive. Even if it was only for a moment longer. Anything it took to buy himself more time. Again he reached inside himself, searching for that flicker! It was there¡­he could feel it. He stoked it into life, feeding into kindling. It danced for a second and then went out. He tried to hide a sigh of disappointment. It had worked if only for a second longer than last time. I need more time.


    The journey ended in a square room with a long steel gurney at its center. Here Crowe was lifted, chains banging against the steel rail of the table. There his shackles were secure so that he was chained to the table. He could move his arms a few inches but no more. His captors left without comment, without looking at him. What did he matter to them? He was just a practitioner who had been condemned for simply being what he was: one of Monad''s people. Once the door shut, locking shut with the final thud of metal hinges, Crowe looked around the room.


    There was nothing in the room he could see that could be used to an advantage. Apart from the wooden chair opposite him and the table which he lay on, the room was completely spartan. The windows had been barred. If his circumstances had improved it hadn''t been by much. It''s better than being dead. Don''t waste time feeling sorry for yourself. Use this time to pray. Use this time to think. Monad has yet to abandon you. He will help you find a way.


    ¡°You pray to Monad even though he sleeps in the Void. Even though he doesn''t care. To the Lion-Headed Serpent we are all but ants marching across the landscape of his dream,¡± said a cool voice from the shadows to the practitioner''s right. Crowe snapped his head around to get a look at the speaker. Silver cat eyes with vertical slits for pupils watched him with great interest. Crowe recalled the touch of cool fingers against his skin. He forced his heart to slow, preparing him for what was to come next. Whoever this is, they are no friend to me. They''re with the Theocracy. Whatever they want with me, it isn''t to help me.


    And yet the voice pulled at him, pulled at a secret locked deep inside him that had yet to see the light. Once more he could feel the cycle spinning around him, waiting for him to put the puzzle pieces in place. Another test.


    ¡°W-will y-you step into the light so I can see you? Please?¡± Crowe asked through chattering teeth. The temperature in the room had dropped. Or maybe now that he was no longer facing imminent death, his body had returned to its normal vulnerable state.


    A predatory flash of amusement passed through those eyes that the sorcerer did not like one bit. ¡°I¡¯m usually not one to take requests from prisoners¡­especially those who are one breath away from hanging from the noose¡­but since you asked so politely I feel obligated to oblige you.¡± The figure stepped into the pool of light streaming in through the window.


    Crowe''s eyes widened. He¡¯d encountered a Seraphim only once before. The memory forever burned in his mind, the experience had not been a pleasant one. This encounter would most likely be less pleasant. The alien features of the Seraphim were all there - skin so pale it was gray, slanted eyes, narrow features so sharp they were almost birdlike. Six arms stuck out of the sleeves of its uniform. The creature was tall. Not quite as tall as Barghast, but still taller than Crowe who stood two meters. These details clashed with the fact this Seraphim did not wear the plated armor shaped from the same material Monad had used to build the Eternal City, but wore a Theocracy uniform tailored to fix his extra arms and his long narrow frame.


    Crowe couldn''t look away even if he wanted to. Even while gripped by the terror of his situation, the angel was one of the most beautiful things he¡¯d ever seen. The angel took a step closer to the gurney, all six arms folded neatly behind his back. The way he carried himself, shoulders and back straight, the deep tenor of his voice suggested he was male. ¡°Is this better?¡± the Seraphim asked politely. He spread his arms like a showman on stage, vying for compliments from the crowd.


    ¡°Where am I?¡± the practitioner asked warily.


    ¡°Good question.¡± The Seraphim snapped his fingers as if he¡¯d only now thought of this question. ¡°I suppose the men who arrested you didn¡¯t take the time to explain things to you. They can be rather hasty to hang prisoners. Bloodthirsty mongrels they are.¡± He said this apologetically, settling all six hands on his hips as if this was an issue he couldn¡¯t help. ¡°You are at Fort Erikson. We are but a small force that has recently settled here in the Plaesil Mountains¡­I must say, no matter how many times I visit these Northern lands, I remain enchanted by the clean mountain air. It does much for the weary in spirit.¡± The angel slapped him lightly on the shoulder with a chuckle. ¡°As I¡¯m sure you know. Forgive me for being rude, I am Inquisitor Charoum. I serve the mother of the heavens, Elysia.¡±


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    He flapped his wings excitedly in anticipation of Crowe¡¯s response. When the practitioner did not offer one, his smile faltered, downturning into a scowl of annoyance. The sorcerer merely watched him like one who has made a new and profound discovery. ¡°If you are a Seraphim then why do you serve the Theocracy?¡± He felt like a small boy asking his tutor why the sky is blue.


    ¡°Many of us switched our allegiance after the Second Iteration.¡± Charoum watched him closely from the window. Outside the room, somewhere in the square perhaps, a voice shouted at an insubordinate.  ¡°You don¡¯t know this already?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid there¡¯s not much I do know.¡± The sorcerer winched, shifting. His body had become a cushion for pins and needles. His breath came out in clouds of misty vapor. ¡°I only started this job recently. You could kind of say it was thrust upon me.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± The angel continued to study him inquisitively. His wings twitched every few seconds. The longer he stared the more Crowe wished he could turn away, his skin crawling. The cold stare of the Seraphim could not be more different than that of the amber-eyed Barghast. The lycan¡¯s scrutiny always made him feel warm¡­safe. He yearned for it now more than ever. ¡°I will say there is something very different about you. The last herald was much like the Prime. Weathered. He had quite a bit of proverbial gray around the temples. You could tell he¡¯d been more than a few battles. You¡­¡±


    With the membrane flicker of wings, Charoum seemed to disappear out of sight before materializing directly in front of Crowe. The practitioner yelped, trying to jerk back, only to feel the cold press of the gurney block his way. The angel leaned in close, the tip of his nose a hair¡¯s length away from touching the sorcerer¡¯s cheek. ¡°...are young. Green around the ears to be sure. You¡¯ve yet to see the world. You¡¯ve yet to see just how cruel the world can be. But I daresay you¡¯re finding out.¡±


    Crowe forced himself to look the Seraphim in the eye. Despite his affiliation with the Theocracy, the angel¡¯s demeanor was more akin to the necromancers who continued to pursue the practitioner relentlessly. Perhaps it was the way the Seraphim grinned constantly. A grin that spread from ear to ear, unnatural and stiff. A grin that failed to hide the core of sadism underneath. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you have me at a disadvantage,¡± was all he could think of to say.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I must agree.¡± Charoum took a single step back. ¡°I almost pity you, herald. You were given an impossible task and you are being punished for the crimes of those who came before you.¡±


    ¡°Crimes?¡±


    Something dark flashed in the angel¡¯s eyes. ¡°If you know what¡¯s good for you, you will not interrupt me again.¡±


    The practitioner glared at him, the angel¡¯s threat falling on deaf ears. ¡°I have committed no crime. It is your beloved Pope Drajen who executes¡­¡±


    Still grinning, the angel held up a black briefcase with silver clasps. Crowe stopped. A cold chill dropped down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. The delightful glint of childlike wickedness in Inquisitor Charoum¡¯s eyes was cold enough. Perhaps the noose was the preferable way to go, the practitioner thought.


    Paralyzed by terror, he watched Charoum flicked the clasps open. Opening the case, the angel made a show of turning it around on the opposite chair so Crowe could see what the case contained.


    ¡°I doubt you would know this, but the revenants¡­the most common, basic of Hamon¡¯s servants¡­use these instruments on their task subjects,¡± Charoum said in the same tone of voice he would have used to talk about the weather. ¡°They make for the best interrogators. Do you know how they extract information from their victims?¡±


    The practitioner shook his head with a whimper. In that moment he would rather be chased through the streets of Boar¡¯s Head by the revenants than look into the eyes of this creature. However he might appear on the outside, there was nothing angelic about him on the inside. In those silver cat eyes he saw exactly what the Seraphim intended to do to him.


    ¡°They don¡¯t have ears with which to ear or brains with which to comprehend. You could say they are extremely limited beyond their capabilities to hunt and kill¡­¡±


    ¡°My Monad is with me,¡± Crowe whispered.


    The angel struck him. The blow turned his head to the side. He flinched, preparing himself for another blow.


    Icy fingers grabbed him by the hair and wrenched his head back against the table. ¡°You will not speak such blasphemy in my presence!¡± the angel seethed, his teeth gritted in rage. The practitioner sensed if he wanted to, the Seraphim could very easily kill him. What damage could he do with a single blow if he were to use all his strength? Crowe didn¡¯t want to think about it.


    At last the angel drew back. He ran a hand through the curtain of his long silver hair, hair that had fallen down to hide his rage long enough for him to compose himself. Crowe could only glare at his back, his face red and stinging. If not for the fury mounting in him he would have sobbed in fear. You better hope you kill me before the drug wears off, for the moment I can draw on my mana¡­He didn¡¯t finish the thought. It was enough to imagine the Seraphim burning.


    ¡°Is that all you got?¡± He spat blood on the floor. Perhaps it wasn¡¯t best to antagonize the inquisitor but he didn¡¯t care. Over the last few weeks I¡¯ve been shot at, fell down a fifty foot waterfall, almost hung from a noose and now I¡¯m being tortured.


    ¡°Not even close.¡± Charoum gave him a look that said he would like nothing more than to strike him again. ¡°If I were to use my full strength, you¡¯d look nothing like yourself. You¡¯d no longer resemble a human being.¡±


    ¡°So this all because of some feud? Someone pissed you off during the last Iteration?¡± The practitioner scoffed. ¡°Who knew you Seraphim could stoop to such lows? And here I thought you were supposed to be so much better than us humans. According to the stories my tutor used to tell me anyway.¡±


    ¡°You speak of Petras.¡± Charoum¡¯s expression shifted from one of stewing anger to wide-eyed eagerness. Once more he leaned towards the practitioner until their faces were but an inch apart.


    The practitioner looked up. ¡°You knew Petras?¡±


    ¡°You tutor and your predecessor are one in the same, are they not?¡± the Seraphim shot back.


    Crowe thought of the withered man he¡¯d taken care of during those long winter months, after that night with Bennett, Delilah, and he in the cave and longer still after Bennett¡¯s father had come to him for a cure to his son¡¯s ailments. He closed his eyes to keep the tears of denial at bay. He¡¯s only confirmed what you already knew. What you¡¯ve known for weeks¡­months. From the moment the Seraphim touched your hand and showed you what would happen to your people - what has already begun to happen - if you did not act.


    ¡°Aye, I knew Petras,¡± the Inquisitor continued despite the stunned look on the sorcerer¡¯s face. ¡°He was a very off-putting man. Charismatic in a lot of ways. He certainly had a way with words, especially when it came to stirring things up before a great battle. But he also had a temper like you wouldn¡¯t believe. He also had an inflated ego. A sense of grand self-importance. He started out well-meaning enough. He wanted to change things.¡± Charoum shook his head thoughtfully, holding something in his mind that confounded him. ¡°It was his words that encouraged Hamon to rebel against his creator¡­though I don¡¯t know if that had been Petras¡¯ intentions.¡±


    Charoum made less and less sense the longer he spoke. He¡¯d returned to his vantage point by the window, looking out across the square. Crowe had the sense the Seraphim was no longer here in the Third Iteration, but somewhere in the lost waters of the Second. He had no records of the truth (what few records remained had been commandeered and locked away by the Theocracy), only what Charoum and others told him. Could the angel be believed? Whatever had driven the Seraphim to turn away from Monad and indenture himself to Elysia, it had more than just embittered him; it had driven him insane.


    Once more his thoughts turned back to the old man. He felt his heart turn cold. You lying bastard. There is so much you didn¡¯t tell me. So much you could have told me that would have helped things make sense. It wouldn¡¯t have made the fact you didn¡¯t love me hurt less, but at least I wouldn¡¯t have wasted so much time asking myself ¡°why¡±.


    ¡°It seems I am not the only one who has been dealt a cold hand by Petras.¡± Charoum watched him with a knowing twinkle in his cat-slitted eyes. ¡°If the chicken raises the egg, you would think the egg would love the chicken, but that isn¡¯t the case is it? Tell me, what is it like to be raised by one¡¯s future?¡±


    Crowe closed his eyes. I don¡¯t want to have this conversation anymore. I wish he¡¯d just kill me and be done with it.


    ¡°In the end it doesn¡¯t matter.¡± Charoum reached out, caressing the sorcerer¡¯s cheek. Crowe didn¡¯t have the will or care to pull away. ¡°I have dedicated the rest of my eternity to Elysia, the true savior. After lifetimes of serving a tyrant, repeating the same hellish cycle, I have found someone who¡¯s truly capable of freeing us from this nightmare.¡± The angel held up a pointed blade for Crowe to admire.


    ¡°A whole race of people just have to die to make that happen,¡± the practitioner said acerbically.


    The angel pressed the tip of the blade into the sorcerer¡¯s flesh until he drew blood. He drew the blade up, making a three inch cut. Crowe screamed. He thrashed against his restraints, against the shock of pain, to no avail.


    ¡°Aye,¡± the angel said casually as if he hadn¡¯t just cut a man, tortured a man. ¡°I will spill the blood of every practitioner until it soaks the earth¡­much like this storm¡­if that¡¯s what it takes to end this eternal nightmare. Luckily I don¡¯t have to. I have the one who brings it all crashing down right here.¡±


    ¡°You lie!¡± the practitioner spat. Bloody seeped freely from the incision. The wound didn¡¯t look deep but that didn¡¯t mean the next one wouldn¡¯t be.


    ¡°I don¡¯t. I promise you. I saw it with the Prime, our creator and I saw it with your predecessor. You will start out with the best intentions. People will flock to you, thinking you are their savior, but with every bit of change you create, the true core - the dark core of who you are - will reach the surface¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re nothing but a shame-faced liar.¡± It was growing more difficult for Crowe to keep his thoughts straight. ¡°You claim to want justice. You claim to want peace. You claim you want the Cycle to end, while enslaving hundreds of thousands of people and exterminating the rest who don¡¯t serve your cause. That is why I do this. Your fears are no excuse for your genocide.¡± For the first time he saw something like fear enter the Seraphim¡¯s eyes. Fear of what, he didn¡¯t know, but it lit a spark of triumph in him. If these are to be my last moments, then why not have a little bit of fun before I go? ¡§So why you¡äre at it, you might as well hang yourself by the noose next to me and Pope Drajen beside you. But you wouldn¡ät do that would you, you sadistic fuck!¡§


    The flame inside burst into life once more. The drug was starting to wear off. In his mind, he fanned the flames with his hands, willing it to burn higher, brighter, hotter. It burned for several seconds before blinking out. I just need to keep this angelic bastard distracted for a few more minutes¡­just long enough for the drug to wear off. Monad, only with your light can I get through this. Don¡ät abandon me when I need you the most¡­


    The Seraphim grabbed a hold of his hand with icy fingers. He held of a metal clamp. The practitioner tried to pull his hand away to no avail? the angel¡äs strength was absolute. ¡§I told you what would happen if you spoke such filth in my presence. Now you¡äll pay for it¡­¡§ Crowe felt the clamps close around his index finger, holding it in place.


    When the Seraphim held up the scalpel, the practitioner began to scream. He no longer cared about trying to hold onto his pride. The terror he¡äd be holding onto since this whole nightmare had begun - a nightmare within a nightmare within a nightmare - could no longer be contained. It burst out of him in a shrill, animal scream. He bucked against his restraints. He looked up into the angel¡¯s grinning face. The utter delight on Charoum¡¯s face frightened him more than the threat of the blade ever could. Whatever half-truths the Seraphim had fed him in order to weaken the practitioner¡¯s resolve paled in comparison to the transparent sadism being displayed before him.


    The nerves in his hand screamed as the blade of the scalpel cut into his finger.


    ¡°Have no fear,¡± Charoum chortled as he worked the knife with the practiced fingers of a surgeon. ¡°I can assure you I¡¯ve had plenty of practice. Many of your compatriots have sat in this very chair.¡±


    Through half closed eyes, the practitioner had no choice but to watch as the blade cut through flesh, bone and nerves. Blood sprayed from his fingers, splattering his face, splattering the angel¡¯s face. The Seraphim did not blink once, the grin of pleasure fixed permanently on his face. ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°I have waited over a millenia for this moment. The moment when I might make Monad¡¯s beloved herald scream in pain for making me a part of this hellacious existence¡­¡±


    The amputation only lasted a few seconds, but for Crowe it felt longer. His stomach twisted in agony. He gaped wide-eyed at the stump where his finger on his right hand - his good hand - had been. The angel had removed the finger completely past the final knuckle. Bile rose up his throat before he could stop its passage. It burst out of him, spilling down the front of his robes.


    Inquisitor Charoum stepped back to examine his handiwork. ¡°Yes, this is a most fitting image,¡± he said with a self-satisfied sniff. ¡°I¡¯d say it was worth waiting over a thousand years for. If I had one of those new cameras Tannhaus built, I would take a picture and hang it on the wall of my dormitory.¡± He held up the knife to Crowe¡¯s face so he could watch his own blood drip down the blade to the handle. ¡°Scream for me,¡± he growled. His voice no longer sounded serene; if anything it sounded more akin to the growl of a lycan.


    ¡°No,¡± Crowe managed to squeak through gritted teeth. His vision had squeezed down to a single focal point. The sharp burning pain from his stump kept him from slipping into unknowing.


    ¡°I want to hear you scream.¡± The Seraphim closed his eyes, pursing his lips in an expression of pure bliss as if he¡¯d never wanted anything more in  his immortal life.


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    Charoum slapped him again. His face contorted into a wild look of rage that made him look anything but angelic. His eyes burned with an inner silver light. If looks could kill, the practitioner would have been in his grave. ¡°Scream for me! I want to hear you scream!¡±


    ¡°Fuck you¡­¡±


    This time when the angel started cutting into him, the herald didn¡¯t scream; he simply didn¡¯t have the voice to. He watched Charoum amputate his thumb with a numbed terror. Now the first two fingers of his right thumb were gone. Will I ever be able to use this hand again or will I be crippled? He watched his blood fall to the floor in a spreading puddle of red.


    Outside the room the explosion of gunfire started.. The sound of men cursing, shouting orders, screaming in agony.


    The angel swore under his breath. He went to the door, throwing it open long enough to poke his head out into the corridor. ¡°What in Hamon¡¯s name is going on?¡± he demanded of the guard outside.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± shouted the guard. The sorcerer couldn¡¯t see his face but he sounded young. ¡°Something just breached the gates - must have climbed over the walls! Whatever it is, it¡¯s moving too quick for the guards to get a bead on!¡±


    The Seraphim stormed into the room without bothering to close the door. Crowe felt the chains binding his wrists to the gurney fall away. He couldn¡¯t have tried to escape if he wanted to; like his lack of a voice he didn¡¯t have the energy. He¡¯d accepted his death two amputations ago.


    Finger¡¯s grabbing him by a fistful of hair, the Seraphim yanked him to his feet. Before the practitioner could gather his surroundings, the angel spun him around before shoving him forward. The practitioner¡¯s belly slammed into the edge of the table, knocking the wind out of him. More bile shot from his mouth, splattering across the table. The Inquisitor yanked the hem of his robes up. Strong fingers yanked his filthy breeches down, exposing his bare flesh to the air.


    He doesn¡¯t mean to¡­Surely not¡­


    The Inquisitor held up a metallic device with a pear-shaped end and a round handle. ¡°Do you know what this is?¡± Charoum asked Crowe, raising a pale eyebrow.


    The practitioner shook his head stupidly.


    ¡°In the days of Pope Vigilius - we¡¯re talking the preliminary days of the Third Iteration, long before we had the technology we do now - we called this The Black Rose. I¡¯ve used it on many a practitioner like yourself. I¡¯ve been longing for the day when I can use it on you. With women we just put it in their honeypot¡­¡± The Seraphim turned the handle in demonstration. Screws turned. With each turn of the handle, the petals at the end of The Black Rose expanded, spreading open like a blooming flower. ¡°I think you get the idea. Since you don¡¯t have a honeypot, there¡¯s only one place we can put it¡­¡±


    A scream outside the room made the angel stop again. ¡°What now?¡± he grumbled.


    A dark shape loomed up, seeming to rise from the floor itself. It towered over the Seraphim, its dark gray fur dripping with the blood of torchcoat¡¯s. It glared at the angel with bulging eyes the color of molten gold.


    Barghast.

 Fort Erikson Part Two

    The city of light hovered over the massive building like a beacon leading him straight to the destination of what he desired most.


    Hiding in the shadows, Barghast sniffed the air. He could not smell his twin o''rre but he could feel that he was close. The torchcoats were holding him somewhere inside the building. A hot cord, invisible to the naked eye but that tethered them together nonetheless, pulled at him urgently. While the lycan could not sense time in the same way Crowe could, his instincts told him it had been too long already.


    Who what was being done to him right now - the indignities he was being forced to endure. He could have torn a chunk out of himself. It was his fault his beloved had been snatched up by the torchcoats. If I had not gone after that man he would still be here with me. He would still be safe. I promised him I would keep him safe and I failed.


    ¡°Save your self pity for later,¡± the seer advised him. She crouched next to him, but even now the barbarian knew she was not there. Not in the physical sense. The torchcoats wouldn''t be able to see her and he didn''t think Crowe could either, for she only came to him when the practitioner was asleep or away. ¡°There are over a hundred guards in there and they are all armed with rifles, knives, and tools that are meant to subdue you. They¡¯ve drugged Crowe. He will not be able to help you. You will be on your own.¡±


    ¡°I don''t care!¡± Barghast snarled under his breath. ¡°I will find him and we will both leave this place. And if we die, then we will die together with him in my arms!¡± After this the seer did not offer anymore advice.


    The ground was flat in all directions, the shadows thick; it made it easy to move around without being undetected. Guards moved in regular intervals along the outer walls of the fort. They had no idea death had come for them, was lurking on the ground beneath them, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He watched the shift change three times. There was an open space of fifteen of his own heartbeats before two guards passed one another. Sometimes they stopped to exchange words, then moved on.


    Barghast stopped long enough to make sure his rifle was loaded. He wouldn''t be able to use it until he found Crowe¡­better if they could escape without him having to fire a single shot. Better to kill with his claws and teeth so he could taste the hot blood of those who had taken what was his.


    The exterior of the fort was made of wood, making it easy for the Okanavian to sink his claws into the wood. Carefully he pulled himself, stopping when he sensed movement above his head. His heart pounded with excitement. This night, this mission, reminded him of his old life when the other men in his clan and he would raid enemy villages for resources: guns, tobacco, whatever they could get their paws on that they could trade in the markets for capital. The thrill during the quiet moments before the battle started; a thrill that never ended until the final body dropped. He felt that same thrill. He felt hunger. But stronger still was that growing sense of urgency. If he didn''t reach Crowe he would be too late - after that there would be no point in living. A thought he didn''t like to think about one bit.


    Now directly beneath the guards, he waited until they passed each other. Once they were close to the end of the walkway, he swung over the edge of the wall, his movements swift and silent. The movements of a natural born predator. A natural born killer. A thousand vibrations passed through the air from a dozen different directions straight into his ears. The sound of boots sloshing through puddles of blood rain. A hundred heartbeats. His nose detected the smell of wet hay, sweat, and alcohol.


    He crouched behind a stack of crates. When the moment presented itself he darted out behind them at a lunge. He leapt over the railing. For a moment he soared through the air before his paws hit the ground. He heard a gasp behind him. He turned to see a female torchcoat reaching for her rifle. She opened her mouth to scream. Barghast''s claws sliced through the air before he could make a sound. He ducked behind a cart, dragging her still kicking body out of sight. He pressed a paw to her mouth to muffle her last breaths. Only once her chest stopped moving and her eyes looked up blankly at the sky did he lower her to the ground to let the storm take her; it was a more merciful death than she deserved.


    A cluster of guards passed the cart, making disgruntled sounds of displeasure. Barghast sniffed the air. He looked up desperately at the sky. Though the city of light still hovered over the fort, they walked under its belly without looking up. Only I can see it and right now I need a sign where I can find Crowe. As if hearing the Okanavian''s thoughts, a beam of light shot from the city''s white spires. It shined directly on something floating on top of a puddle of scarlet. Barghast knew what it was before he reached it. He snagged his twin o¡¯rre''s necklace before darting back behind the cart¡¯s cover; the beam of light disintegrated.


    He held the necklace up to his snout. He sniffed heavily. Crowe''s scent, a scent that Barghast would haunt him for the rest of his days, hit him like a shock to the brain. He closed his eyes, forgetting where he was.


    A scream cutting across the courtyard brought the lycan back to reality. If anyone else heard it, the torchcoats showed no signs. This was a place of torture; they were probably used to it. But he knew that scream.


    Barghast acted before he knew what he was doing. He launched himself into the air, bounding over the cart in a single leap. Shouts of alarm sounded beneath him, but he didn''t care. Now that he knew where Crowe was, nothing could stop him from reaching his beloved. Shouts sounded in an alien language but he knew he¡¯d been discovered. Boots sloshed through the rain, heading in his direction. A torchcoat jumped in his way, fumbling for his saber. Barghast streaked past him, disemboweling with a single swipe of his claws. The torchcoat¡¯s innards tumbled out of him with a wet splat.


    He rounded the corner, ducking into a long corridor. Bullets sparked against the wall behind him. A bayonet flashed towards his belly. He sidestepped the blade, slamming the butt of his rifle into the torchcoat¡¯s face. Before the man could straighten from the blow, the lycan grabbed a hold of him. The torchcoat spasmed when Barghast sunk his teeth into the flesh between his shoulder and neck. Hot blood gushed into his mouth, running down his throat. Vengeance never tasted sweeter. He wrenched his head back with a grunt, tearing away muscle and bone so that the man¡¯s head flopped on the single strip of flesh that kept it attached to the rest of his body. He backtracked long enough to bar the doors shut with a steel bar. It wouldn¡¯t hold the men back for long. He could smell his twin o¡¯rre. The smell was strong, so sweet it made him feel light and flighty. It could be the smell of one thing: Crowe¡¯s blood.


    A scream sounded from the end of the hallway. Barghast could hear voices and the sounds of resistance coming inside the room. He burst into a run, a snarl on his lips. Only when he saw the blood - his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s blood - on the floor, did he stop. The smell was so strong it was intoxicating.


    A tall form with long silver hair, pearly white wings, and six arms had his wraith pinned to a metal table by the hair. He¡¯d torn the hem of his robes and exposed his rump, holding a steel device to it. The creature froze, looking up, a grin on his face.


    It was not the sight of his beloved¡¯s exposed flesh or what the creature was about to do to him that sliced into Barghast¡¯s heart, it was what he¡¯d already endured. Crowe¡¯s face was bruised, one eye almost swollen completely shut from where the winged-man had struck him, his cheek black and red, his lip split. His hands were braced against the table. The first two fingers of his favorite hand were completely gone - not even stumps. His beautiful, long-fingered hand was ruined. Worse still was the look of defeat on Crowe¡¯s face. There was no light in his eyes, only pain.


    As with the man he¡¯d feasted on in the tavern, Barghast felt his bloodlust ignite. His vision shrunk down to a single focal point and that was on the winged-man who had mangled his twin o¡¯rre.


    ¡°I wondered when your beast lover would come along,¡± the angel snarled in Crowe¡¯s ear. He wrenched  the practitioner back by his hair before flinging him back. Crowe slammed into the wall. He crashed to the floor with a grunt.


    Rage and despair tore the Okanavian asunder. He brought his musket to bare on the birdman. With a howl he pulled the trigger. He watched the black round ball explode from the muzzle of his weapon, spinning through the air. The impact knocked the birdman several steps back. Blood sprayed from a hole the size of a silver coin in his chest, where his heart should be - if such a creature had a heart.


    It gave the Okanavian the spare second he needed to lunge forward. He slammed the front of his paws into the birdman with all his might. No sooner had the creature slammed into the wall, Barghast was on top of him, flinging him across the room. The birdman rolled over the table, collapsing on the floor in a pile of twitching limbs both humanoid and feathered. He staggered to his feet, a stunned expression on his face. The lycan could smell the fear in his blood. It made his knot swell in its sheath. A spurt of hot urine wetted the inside of his tunic.


    The angel snarled something. In a gale of wind, his wings propelled him towards the Okanavian, bearing razor sharp talons. Sharp enough they could slice the lycan open were they to pierce his flesh. He had no intention of letting that happen. Not until he¡¯d avenged his beloved. He weaved out of the way. The talons whizzed past his face, parting the air with a hiss. He dropped to the ground, before lunging up, slicing into the birdman¡¯s face with his claws.


    The birdman aimed a fist towards Barghast¡¯s face. The lycan caught it in his paw. He jumped to the side before the remaining five fists could land a blow. Again he slashed and slashed, dancing around his prey, cutting him deep enough to open veins. He grabbed him by the throat and drove him back once more into the wall opposite where Crowe¡¯s unmoving body rested.


    This time the birdman was ready. He seized Barghast with all six arms. Though the lycan towered a foot over him and outweighed him with a considerable amount of muscle, the winged-man lifted him as if he were made of air. He only had enough time to brace himself before the angel released him. He spun, unable to stop his trajectory. He slammed into the ground with enough force to crack the ground beneath his shoulder. The impact knocked the wind from his breath. He tried to rise. A muscle in his arm faltered. He sank back down with a whimper.


    The angel advanced towards him, wings drawn back from the killing blow. His silver cat eyes burned with the promise of death.


    A white light exploded through the room like a wave. Barghast shrank away from it, blown by the force of the power. The floor shook beneath him. Darkness threatened to pull him from down into its black depths. Only the thought of his twin o¡¯rre, injured or possibly dead - please Gaia, if you truly love me, don¡¯t let him be dead; if he¡¯s dead then I truly have no reason to live - kept him from succumbing to defeat. He looked up. His breath caught in his chest.


    Crowe stood in a halo of white light. The air pulsed around him, thrumming with a build up charge. His bruised flesh glowed with an inner white light. His eyes burned with celestial fury¡­the same white light that surrounded the spires of the city of light. He clutched his damaged hand to his chest. Trails of blood ran down the front of his filthy robes. Never before had he looked so beautiful¡­so ferocious. All of that fury was focused on the birdman.


    ¡°Get away from him,¡± Barghast¡¯s beloved snarled.


    ¡­


    ¡°I wondered when your beast lover would come along.¡± The angel¡¯s breath felt cool against the inside of his ear; it made the skin on the back of his neck prickle unpleasantly.


    Crowe couldn''t bring himself to move or speak. He knew he should feel happy. He knew he should have felt some measure of relief. Once more the Okanavian had proven himself to be the only person who he could truly depend on; once more he¡¯d risked life and limb to keep the practitioner safe for reasons he would never truly understand. But the Seraphim who had proven to be every bit as sadistic as Hamon''s servants, fueled by a grudge that spanned over a millenia.


    Worse than the pain of his bruised pain, worse than the pain from where the Seraphim had cut him, worse than the pain of his mangled hand was the pain of Barghast seeing him brought so low. He won''t want me now. Not if I can''t even hold a staff. He would have cried if he had the tears but he was all dried out. He had enough time to wish the angel would just kill him and be done with it, when his world shifted again. Always shifting, always changing before he had time to prepare for what came next.


    His back slammed into the wall. White stars exploded behind his eyes. Bells rang in his ears.


    When the white cleared he found himself resting on his belly. I should be dead, he thought. How am I not dead? How much damage could the body take before it simply couldn¡¯t take any more?


    Shapes flickered in and out of view, outlined with blurred edges. Something pulled urgently at his mind, but the thought was out of reach; it slipped from his reach before he could wrap his fingers around it.


    So he watched. Watched the two titans in the room circle around each other, trying to kill one another. The one with the large wings and six arms and the giant wolf who stood on two legs like a man. He knew that wolf. Barghast. He¡¯s my friend. He¡¯s the only friend I have. And right now his friend was in danger, fighting for his life, and Crowe couldn¡¯t move.


    No, he thought. Not like this. Monad, help me. Fill me with your light. Don¡¯t leave me when I need you the most. Somehow he managed to roll on his back. It was like moving stone. His body screamed at him from a thousand places. Had that final blow paralyzed him - his spine snapped in two like a severed cord?


    He blinked. The ceiling above him had grown porous so that he could look through it and see the night sky. A ray of celestial shot through the hole, directly into his eyes. Warmth spread through him like a hot fire, not painful but soothing. He could see the underbelly of the Eternal City. Monad had not abandoned him after all! He sucked in a deep inhalation, feeling Monad¡¯s flame reignite inside him. He still hurt from a thousand places. His hand stung like a son of a bitch. He still felt the ache of fatigue. But he was no longer helpless. The gift that had been passed down to him by generations of practitioners had been returned to him.


    The sound of a body hitting the floor hard enough to make it shake and a pained whimper made him tear his eyes away from the light. Barghast lay on the ground across from him, looking up at his adversary in defeat. The Seraphim who had beaten Crowe, cut off his fingers, and twisted his mind, all in a few short minutes, stalked towards his Okanavian, ready to deal the killing blow.


    No! He drew on his mana, feeding the flame with all the kindling he had. Kindling that had been building up from the moment he woke up in the back of the wagon with a bag over his head. Terror, desperation, rage, doubt. It all roiled inside him, a storm yearning to break free and wreak havoc on his oppressors. It gave him the strength to rise to his feet, blood pumping through him like heated oil. A thousand needles stabbed into his numbed flesh. At last the feeling was starting to return to his body. I should be crippled¡­paralyzed. If not for his Lord¡¯s light he would have been.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Now he turned his attention on the angel who stalked towards the lycan. His friend. The sight of his friend injured and defeated was the catalyst he needed to unleash everything he¡¯d been unable to let go on his enemy. He let it out all in a scream. His fury tore the air apart, filling the room with a blinding white light that thrummed in his ears, deafening him. He couldn¡¯t contain it. He couldn¡¯t control. It was a force of its own. The walls shook. The gurney on which he¡¯d been tortured flew across the table, slamming into the wall.


    Motes of dust stirred through the air. Barghast was curled on the floor. Still breathing. Still alive. Still here with him. In his darkest moment yet that was all that mattered to Crowe. He directed his fury on Inquisitor Charoum who was now rising to his feet. ¡°Get away from him!¡± the practitioner heard himself snarl.


    A silver glint caught his eye.


    The scalpel - the scalpel the angel had used to cut off two of his fingers.


    As if reading his thoughts, Charoum¡¯s gaze fell on the blade.


    The practitioner was already sprinting towards it, snatching it up with his least favorite hand; the only hand that still had all five of its fingers. It didn¡¯t matter. He¡¯d send the bastard to the pits of Inferno with it all the same. He threw himself on top of the angel. ¡°You bastard!¡± He slammed both fists into the Seraphim¡¯s pretty face. He didn¡¯t care that it sent flares of pain through his damaged hand; he didn¡¯t care that it made the stumps where his fingers bleed anew.


    He sliced the Seraphim¡¯s cheek open with the scalpel, his throat, his eye. Each swing of his arm cut into flesh, drew blood. Charoum rolled beneath him in an attempt to shake him off, but the herald¡¯s fury was absolute. Insurmountable. He stabbed him in the chest. He sank the blade into the place where a man¡¯s heart would be. He screamed curses, insults.


    When strong hands seized him, restricting his hands, he screamed some more, ready to maim the torchcoat who had dared to stop him. Only when he saw the black paws engulfing his arms, the amber eyes, did he stop.


    ¡°Crowe,¡± the lycan rumbled.


    The doors outside the room burst open. Crowe heard the thunder of boots race down the hallways. He had but seconds to think, to act. He threw himself against the barbarian, wrapping his arms around his broad waist, pressing his face against his chest. He smelled of sweat, of blood, of things most unpleasant, but it was him. Now it¡¯s my turn to keep you safe. With this thought a wall of mana rose up around them. He felt the lycan¡¯s arms close around him with a frightened, ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡±


    The world exploded into chaos. Bullets slammed into the shield, sparking off it, turning the wall behind them to dust. No longer able to stand, the wall fell away with a groan like a fallen soldier. Pillars of smoke rose up all around them. Torchcoats filed into the room, emptying their weapons. More marched across the courtyard. The explosion of a grenade made the ground shake beneath their feet. Dozens. A hundred. Too many to count. It seemed every torchcoat in the land had come to thwart their attempt to escape. Their right to breathe.


    Something stirred inside Crowe. Something alien. It wriggled up from his belly, seizing his body before he could give it a name. Monad¡¯s holy white fire filled him. All he could do was cling to Barghast as every bone in his body shuddered. He opened his mouth to say the Okanavian¡¯s name; he raised his eyes to look up at him. Beams of white light spilled from his eyes, his mouth. It exploded out of him, tearing up clumps of earth until it was all he could hear. The world shook, thrown into chaos.


    The air shifted.


    Then¡­


    Stillness. The burble of water close by.


    The force that had entered his body, taken over it, was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He could still the faintest trace¡­like an aftertaste. But it was gone. His heart ached with something akin to despair and fear. He had never harnessed such power.


    He turned to see what damage he¡¯d caused only to lose his footing. The world spun. A hot throbbing pain hit him like a spike through his skull. He fell to the ground. The world lurched and tilted. Every bruise, every scrape, every cut made itself known. Whatever had seized hold of him at Fort Erikson, its intervention had not come without a price.


    Somehow he¡­they?...were not in Fort Erikson anymore. Not more than three feet away was a burbling creek. Water not red with blood. No blood fell on him from the sky. They¡¯d escaped the necromancers¡¯ wrath at last. We should not be here. We should be dead. It¡¯s a miracle we¡¯re alive.


    Beyond the burble of water it was hard to tell where he was. His vision was grainy. He knew he would not be able to get up on his own. I¡¯ve done all I can do. I¡¯ve taken all I can take.


    Something heavy dropped beside him. Before he could turn his head, he was seized once more, lifted, only to be plopped down into a very large, very warm, and very furry lap. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± a deep voice rumbled in his ear, followed by a whine. A large hot tongue covered the left half of his face, reeking of slaughter. He was beyond caring. If he¡¯d had the strength, the energy to rejoice he would have. Two paws large enough to wrap around his hands twice over lifted his hands.


    Another whine. The Okanavian¡¯s body folded around him, forming a cradle of muscle and fur and warmth. His heart kicked powerfully against the herald¡¯s back - he didn¡¯t feel like much of a herald; he didn¡¯t feel like much of anything.


    ¡°Water,¡± he croaked.


    Barghast lifted his head. ¡°Crowe?¡±


    ¡°Water.¡± He gestured to the creek.


    Not willing to part from his twin o¡¯rre for a second, the lycan scooted towards the creek with the practitioner still planted in his lap. He cupped both paws and lowered them into the water. Carefully he brought them to Crowe¡¯s lips. He chanted in his strange language, a chant that oscillated between soft words, whines, and light growls. The rhythm sounded like a lullaby to the herald¡¯s ears, but the words could have met anything. Once he started to drink he found he didn¡¯t care.


    The water was so cold it stung his lips. He drank greedily until his lips puckered against the leather pad of Barghast¡¯s paw. ¡°More¡­¡± he crooned. ¡°More!¡±


    Again, the barbarian brought his hands up. Water fell between the cracks in his fingers. Crowe gulped it down. He leaned back so the lycan could give himself the nourishment he needed. Who knew what ordeals he¡¯d suffered while they¡¯d been separated. If only he could tell me with words.


    His vision had cleared enough he could see a house in the distance. A tall two-story home with a sloping roof and a dark porch. Overgrown weeds poked out of the snow in front of it. Could it be that Monad had granted them another blessing? Shelter from the cold? A place to rest long enough for me to heal?


    ¡°Barghast.¡± He pointed with his damaged hand while the other scratched at whatever fur he could reach. ¡°Look. Pick me up.¡±


    Barghast lifted him obediently, placing the practitioner on his shoulders. He planted his paws firmly on his thighs to keep him from falling. He marched easily across the creek, impervious to the water¡¯s chill. He shrugged aside tangled weeds, occasionally grunting when he had to slice his way through with a claw. Crowe hung on as best he could with his good arm while he kept the injured one close to his chest. He couldn¡¯t bear to look at it. Each aching throb was a cruel reminder of the challenges he would face in the imminent future.


    The porch steps creaked beneath Barghast¡¯s paws. This time he did not hesitate to check for vengeful spirits; apparently they were beyond that for the time being. The door opened easily enough. A draft of stale air hit Crowe in the face. Barghast sniffed the air. He said something in Okanavian that sounded certain. The herald took it as a good sign.


    The barbarian sniffed the air again. His ears twitched. The muscles beneath Crowe¡¯s hands tensed. After half a minute, Barghast moved towards the staircase directly in front of them. He didn¡¯t bother to close the door. Up the stairs he climbed, stopping every so often to test the silence. Crowe counted the portraits of the house¡¯s previous owners hanging on the wall. Judging from the size of the house and these photographs, the sorcerer could only surmise the family had had money. Riches were a rare thing in the North.


    The Okanavian entered the master bedroom at the end of the hallway where a large four poster bed awaited them. There Barghast set Crowe down as gently as if he were made of feathers. He scooted the practitioner over so he could lay beside him, their heads resting on pillows, their noses touching.


    They were both filthy, injured¡­as bruised and scraped as anyone could be just shy of death. What raving mad force kept them going? But they were together. Rather than abandon him to be tortured and killed at the hand of the torchcoats, the barbarian had risked his life to save the sorcerer. Had he ever known such devotion? No. Not even from the one who¡¯d claimed to love and know him more than anybody else.


    ¡°I missed you,¡± Crowe whispered. ¡°I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d ever see you again. I¡¯ve missed you.¡±


    Barghast kissed his forehead. A human kiss. ¡°I keep you safe,¡± he rumbled. Pulling his body against his, he curled himself around the herald, to shield from the night and whatever force that dared to try and do him harm.


    ¡­


    Thirty miles away from where Crowe and Barghast were camped in an abandoned house, a vortex of black light opened in the night. On the other side one could glimpse the ash-colored spires of the Black City, the alien red skies of Inferno.


    Tara and Pa emerged from the vortex. The heels of their worn boots landed in tilled earth. Pillars of smoke rose around them. Burning things rained down around them, smoking and sizzling. They could hear voices screaming from what had been a war fort but was now a wreckage. ¡°Looks like the work of our herald,¡± Tara said lightly.


    Pa did not look happy. Tara couldn¡¯t remember the last time she¡¯d seen him smile. Fifty years? A hundred? Several hundred? ¡°We¡¯re running out of time.¡± His voice crackled and wavered, weak. Tired. She bit her lip, feeling uneasy with no way to express it. She had a tendency to take her emotions out on those around her with Pa being the greatest exception.


    ¡°It¡¯s already begun,¡± the older necromancer said. There was a strange eagerness to his voice that had not been there a second ago. He looked back at her, his eyes flickering. ¡°Can you still not see it? Things are different this time¡­things are happening earlier¡­¡±


    She looked at the ruin before her. A feeling of disquiet stirred in her belly. He¡¯s right. Hamon knows I don¡¯t want to admit it. If things were different, did that truly mean this was the last Iteration? Which implied only one thing: We¡¯re losing. She ground her teeth together. In the name of my Lord Hamon, I swear to do everything in my power to make sure that doesn¡¯t happen. ¡°He¡¯s still young, still inexperienced. Expelling a force of this size would befall any practitioner.¡± She grinned. ¡°He¡¯ll have a very massive headache. He hasn¡¯t reached the North yet. We can still change things so that they rest in our favor. Let¡¯s go and have a looksee shall we?¡±


    Pa followed closely behind enough not to further gather Tara¡¯s suspicion.


    They strolled through what had once been the main entrance. Human screams broke shrilly through the gloom, sounding like music to Tara¡¯s heart. The music pulled at her mind, bringing to the surface memories that she¡¯d buried deep within herself. Memories of when she¡¯d hidden in her mother¡¯s embrace while the undead raided her village, feasting on the flesh of the only souls she¡¯d ever known, laying ruin to her small world¡­it had been the start of her new life. A man lay half on the ground, held aloft by a pillar of wood that pierced his belly all the way through to the other side. The torchcoat looked at her with unseeing eyes. ¡°Help me,¡± he sputtered. Blood spilled from his lips.


    ¡°Of course I¡¯ll help you,¡± Tara crooned sweetly. She held up a long finger. His eyes widened, crossing on the tip. He opened his mouth to beg. She pressed a finger to his lip, shushing him. ¡°No need to fear. It won¡¯t be much longer now. Let me ease your suffering.¡± She pressed the tips of her finger to the flesh just below his chin. She pressed through the three-weeks growth that covered his face. Her nails cut easily into him, sharper than any manmade blade. His legs kicked and spasmed when she pulled his face away so that his bleached skull looked back at her.


    She held it up to Pa, grinning. ¡°I¡¯ll share.¡±


    They found other such unfortunate souls, some in worse shape than others. Men and women ran from the wreckage, hair and skin on fire. The smell of cooking meat made the necromancers salivate. Even Pa stopped to quench his thirst for blood.


    They came to a room at the end of a long corridor. Tara could smell the foul stench of the herald and his Okanavian lover all over it. Here, she could see, was the source of the wreckage. Much had happened in this room. There were blood splatters everywhere. One wall had completely fallen in. Everywhere she looked faces and arms turned to bone stuck out of the piles of growing ash that rained from the sky, only to be washed away and turned into mush by the spreading clouds of blood rain.


    ¡°It looks like we just missed the show,¡± Tara said.


    At the sound of her voice, a mound of wooden boards and debris shifted. Rocks flew in every direction. A tall form rose up from the cloud of ash, soot-covered wings fanning out around him, blowing Tara and Pa¡¯s hoods back with a gust of powerful wind.


    A single silver cat eye glared at them from the ruin of a disfigured mask; the other eye was completely gone, leaving an empty eye socket in its place. His lips had been sliced in two. A crisscross of ugly slashes had turned the cheek into a bloody flap, spilling a long trail of blood that traveled all the way down his robes. Six long-fingered hands clenched into fists. Those silver eyes narrowed on them. ¡°Servants of Hamon,¡± the Seraphim spat in a voice sharpened by disgust. ¡°I can smell the blackened filth of your blood. I should have known you would eventually appear.¡±


    ¡°We want to stop the herald every bit as much as you do, traitor of Monad,¡± Tara said, casting a playful smile in his direction. A smile that literally ruffled the angel¡¯s feathers from the way he scowled and his wings twitched. The end of the Third Iteration is nigh, indeed. Everyone is so touchy these days.


    ¡°Is that supposed to keep me from bringing the swift fury of Elysia¡¯s justice upon you?¡± His wings flapped and his feet left the ground. He hovered in the air, preparing to dive towards them.


    ¡°Come now, Charoum, I¡¯ve always known you to be stubborn but certainly never stupid,¡± Pa said with the familiarity of an old comrade. ¡°As the hunger for vengeance made you thick-headed? Mired in your own pettiness?¡±


    ¡°You know what I do to those who mock me, necromancer,¡± the angel threatened.


    The older of the necromancers rolled his eyes as if he¡¯d heard this jest many times. ¡°Must you always be so abrasive, Inquisitor? Whatever happened to the adage, ¡®The enemy of my enemy is my friend¡¯?¡±


    ¡°We will never be friends.¡±


    ¡°The many backhanded refusals to join my masters in the efforts to thwart the herald of Monad has proven that,¡± Pa responded wearily. ¡°I¡¯m merely trying to state¡­Well, I¡¯d like to point out your attempts to obtain the herald to face justice for his crimes haven''t exactly been successful either. He¡¯s done what not even the last herald could do: he disfigured you. And he¡¯s only a boy, at that!¡±


    ¡°He did not¡­¡±


    ¡°Do not let pride ruin you more than it already has,¡± Pa pressed without raising his voice. ¡°You were defeated tonight. The herald has escaped beyond your reach but not beyond ours¡­even now the spirits we have set upon lurk about to wreak havoc on his mind. Return to the one who commands you and report your failures. And stay out of our way, lest you want us to finish what the herald started.¡±


    ¡°And wait until the next Iteration to take what is mine: my revenge?¡±


    ¡°There won¡¯t be another cycle!¡± Tara crowed shrilly. ¡°Now do what you do and bugger off!¡±


    Charoum snarled something under his breath, but the sound was lost under the mighty flap of his wings. Tara watched him soar upwards, seeming determined to breach the very heavens before angling East where Pope Drajen¡¯s domain awaited.


    ¡°His arrogance will be his undoing,¡± Pa croaked.


    ¡°I like him. Seeing him always warms my black little heart. He takes himself far too seriously.¡±


    ¡°That he does.¡± He grinned at her with the first true glimmer of humor she¡¯d seen all day. The first clue that his old self was still somewhere hidden in the depths of his immortal soul. ¡°But if there¡¯s anyone who hates the herald as much as our Lord does, it¡¯s Charoum. Come, my beloved. We have a herald to catch.¡±

 The Apparition

    ¡°Barghast, help me. You said you¡¯d help me¡­You said you¡¯d keep me safe.¡±


    His twin o¡¯rre watched him with wide eyes, begging. Begging in a language he couldn¡¯t understand, only the high pitch of his voice raised in desperation. I¡¯m coming, my beloved! Do not lose hope¡­


    Only he couldn¡¯t move. His paws were planted to the ground. A shadow fell across Crowe, who was shackled to the metal table. Unable to flee. Unable to do anything to defend himself. The silver glint of a knife caught the light. A tall winged finger leaned forward, blocking the practitioner from view. That didn¡¯t stop the Okanavian from hearing his screams.


    Upon waking, Barghast was on his feet in an instant. He dropped into a crouch, his teeth bared in a snarl. He snatched his rifle up from where it leaned against the wall. The sounds he¡¯d mistaken for the sound of boots pounding through the earth was the house creaking, buffeted by the wind. Slowly his hackles lowered. After several seconds his pulse slowed.


    His ears twitched at another sound. A crackling, wheezing sound he didn¡¯t like. He sniffed the air. The air smelled sweet, like overripe fruit. He whimpered, dropping beside the bed where his twin o¡¯rre rested on his side. Crowe, shivered, muttering in his sleep, eyes roving behind closed eyelids. His teeth rattled together. His breath came out in puffs of white air. Barghast sniffed him once more. He wanted to throw his head up towards the ceiling and howl in distress. The fever that he¡¯d smelled in Crowe over the past several days had taken old of his beloved at last, no doubt shaken into motion by the miracle the practitioner had achieved back in the war fort. Barghast could still remember being eclipsed by white light, the way the earth shuddered beneath his feet before it all went away in the blink of an eye. Now he was discovering the price the sorcerer¡¯s people paid to use such gifts.


    He pressed his paw to Crowe¡¯s forehead. His skin felt sweaty and hot to the touch. His pallor had turned from pale white to a deadly shade of gray. Beneath the smell of overripe smell was another, more unpleasant smell that made the barbarian think of wilted flowers: Death.


    ¡°No,¡± he growled to the empty room. ¡°I will not let you die. Not after I failed you. I will not fail you again.¡± This time he could not hold back a yelp of shame, remembering the smell of blood when he entered the angel¡¯s torture room, remembering the dazed look of agony on Crowe¡¯s face. Barghast jammed his wrist into his mouth. Before he could make another sound, he bit into his own flesh until he drew blood.


    ¡°He will need his things if he is to survive,¡± the seer told him through a series of growls and yips from her position in the corner of the room. Barghast hadn¡¯t felt the spirit - if a spirit she was - enter his sphere of awareness. ¡°You are not far from your last settlement. You must grab his staff, the horse, and medicine if he is to survive. You must help him get better.¡±


    ¡°Torchcoats will be roaming all over the place.¡± Barghast whimpered at the thought of going back to that settlement where so many bad things had happened.


    The seer gnashed her teeth together in disapproval. ¡°Foolish pup! Your beloved is but a step away from death if you do not act. Look what already happened because of your recklessness. What more must he endure due to your failings?¡±


    Her words burrowed into him like red hot barbs. He only needed to look at his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s pallid face to know he must act once more. Kneeling back down, he nosed Crowe¡¯s face. Even if he was sick, even if he smelled unpleasant, it made Barghast¡¯s heart flutter with delight just to breathe him in. Delight that turned into tears of reluctance and despair. The sorcerer stirred. He moaned something under his breath, then went still.


    The barbarian lifted his legs gently so he could pull the blankets out from underneath him. They¡¯d been so exhausted from their ordeal, they''d simply tumbled straight into bed, into one another¡¯s arms. Now Barghast tucked him safely under the blanket. He wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him, to hold him until he got better, to chase the fever away with the heat from his own body. To never part from him again. The seer must have thoughts, for she said, gently, ¡°Part from him now so you don¡¯t have to later, pup.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯ll be vulnerable to the spirits,¡± the Okanavian protested.


    ¡°They are weak conjurings summoned by their masters. Even in his vulnerable state, the spirits can do little but whisper foul things in Crowe¡¯s ears. If you quit your groveling, you can be back before he ever knows you were gone. Right now he is deep in fever dreams. Say your goodbyes to him and do what needs to be done.¡±


    Barghast pressed his ears back against his head in submission. He kissed Crowe¡¯s cheek, the red swell of his nose. He wanted to pick him up. He wanted to hold him. He wanted to rock him in his arms and sing to him all the Okanavian prayers his mothers back in the desert had sung to him. The sorcerer seemed to like it when the lycan sang to him. ¡°I will be back before you know it,¡± he whispered in his beloved¡¯s ear. ¡°Please don¡¯t wake up and think I left you. I would never leave you. When I get back I will make you strong again.¡±


    And so with one last lingering glance, Barghast stole through the night.


    The seer guided him across the field, back to the main highway. She pointed at the sky with a clawed finger. In the distance Barghast could easily pick out a long wavering red line that spread from one end of the horizon to the other. He growled at the thought of heading back into the necromancers¡¯ accursed stew, but he knew if he wanted to keep Crowe alive he didn¡¯t have a choice. He would do the same for me.


    He broke into a full run. Without anything to carry, he could travel unburdened. Open fields of snow, overgrown weeds, and pine trees blurred past him in lines of white, green, and black.


    Not since his days in the desert had he been able to run like this. Since coming to the North it felt like he¡¯d always restrained himself in fear that his more animalistic instincts would draw unwanted attention to himself. Now he felt his chest expand. He loved the feel of the wind passing through his fur, keeping him cool. Elk, wolves, and other creatures from the mountain fleeing from the necromancer¡¯s storm veered away from him. Were he not intent on his task, Barghast might have given chase, but he¡¯d feasted on plenty of torchcoats. He felt stronger and sharper than he had in weeks. I can do anything. His feet carried him farther and faster than the shire horse at a full gallop.


    Nothing had changed about the town since his last visit here. The streets still looked deserted, the villagers tucked inside away from the storm. The seer led the way down the slope, bone earrings rattling in the wind. The sound took him back to his life back in the desert, when he and all the other pups would visit her cave to sit around the fire and listen to her tell stories. Only he didn¡¯t want to hear her stories anymore - I¡¯m too old for them. What he wanted was resting in an empty house, deathly sick. It felt wrong to leave Crowe so shortly after reuniting. His thoughts shot back to his hand. The stumps of his fingers. The very image made him yip and whine. He stopped in the middle of an alleyway long enough to bite into himself again. It was the only thing he could to stay focused. I must be quick. Crowe depends on me.


    The seer led him around to the back of a square building. He¡¯d yet to step inside, but already he could smell the herbs stored inside. This would be a place of healing then. He saw no lights inside. Scanning both ends of the streets for torchcoats, he crawled through the window, pulling his rifle after him. Once inside he slung the rifle back over his shoulder. He knew Crowe would not want him to kill if absolutely yesterday. For the time being his bloodlust had been quenched.


    Even in this strange building, made of wood unlike the buffalo hide huts he¡¯d shared with his mothers and siblings, it was not hard to find his way to the storeroom. His nose was the perfect guide. He ripped the lock away from the storeroom door. Inside he found shelf upon shelf filled from end to end with glass jars of various herbs. He found empty jars and cloth bags in a large square object with double doors. Carefully he climbed the shelves, lowering the jars, removing the tops to sniff them. Despite the urge to ask hastily, he worked meticulously. He did not want to give his twin o¡¯rre a substance that would make him more sick than he already was.


    He snorted when he happened upon peppermint, almost dropping the bottle.


    ¡°Peppermint is good for you!¡± the seer told him. ¡°Good for fevers and¡­¡± She flattened her ears disapprovingly, her eyes flashing. ¡°...bad breath.¡±


    ¡°I hate the taste of peppermint!¡± the Okanavian snarled with a dismissive wave of his paw.


    ¡°You don¡¯t intend to kiss your twin o¡¯rre with that foul breath of yours, do you! Not when you¡¯ve been muzzle-deep in a man¡¯s guts. Show your beloved the respect you say you behold for him¡­¡±


    Tucking his tail in between his legs, he tucked the jar of peppermint in the bag. In went the jars of garlic, ginger, and honey. To make sure the bag would hold all that it contained, he fitted into another bag.


    ¡°That should be enough!¡± the seer hissed. ¡°You don¡¯t want to carry too much. You still need to get his staff¡­he¡¯ll need that¡­and the horse.¡±


    ¡°I know what I need to grab!¡± he yipped. He stepped out into the corridor without bothering to close the door behind him. He walked out the front entrance. There was no one around to see him leave.


    He hesitated outside the tavern door only a moment before ducking inside. He lunged swiftly up the steps before he could give himself time to see if his sins still remained untouched.


    May Gaia take mercy on my foolish ways¡­


    He found the unfinished staff on the floor by the bed. He wished he¡¯d thought to grab it sooner, but he¡¯d been too panicked and it would have been just another thing to carry. Now he knew this object could be crucial to his and his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s survival. Would Crowe be able to finish it with his damaged hand? He bit another hole into his tongue. He descended through the broken window, dropping fifteen feet to the ground below. He barely felt the impact race up his legs.


    A quarter of an hour later, the Okanavian raced up the hill, saddled on Mammoth¡¯s back for what he hoped would be the last time. He tried not to wag his tail in excitement. He wasn¡¯t coming back empty-pawed. On his way out the stables, he¡¯d managed to fill a saddlebag with chicken eggs. Tonight his twin o¡¯rre would eat and eat well. And I will eat the heart of anyone who tries to touch him, be it man or beast or undead thing. He is mine. He snapped the reins, willing the horse to go faster, wanting more than anything to be back with Crowe.


    ¡­


    Crowe drifted in the yellow seas of his fever. He wiggled beneath the blanket, now soaked in his sick-sweat. He was at the crossroads between dream and memory.


    The sorcerer cut a knife¡¯s path through the woods. Tree branches snagged at his robes and hair. He ducked under the last line of trees, arriving at the cave where he was to meet Bennett. He tried to contain his eagerness, hoping to find the older boy inside already waiting for him.


    A high-pitched girlish laugh sounded from inside the cave. The sorcerer stopped, listening. Rather than slink away before he could be seen, he inched his way inside to see what betrayals life had in store for him today. Bennett danced around a crackling fire with a towheaded girl. She was pretty, Crowe thought, and that was one of the reasons why he didn¡¯t like her. She was the quintessential sixteen year old girl any randy young man like Bennett would desire, with a fully developed figure and eyes that lit up when she laughed.


    When Delilah saw Crowe, she stopped dancing and gasped. Bennett didn¡¯t seem to notice; he raised a bottle of whiskey to his lips, taking a long swig. He beamed at the practitioner before clapping him on the shoulder. ¡°Hey, buddy, glad you could make it! Look who I found. Figured we could make it a trio and have a party tonight!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize this was your spot¡­¡± Delilah looked only at Bennett, refusing to look at Crowe.


    She¡¯s afraid of me.


    The sat around the fire, Bennett and Delilah together on one side, the practitioner on the other by himself. Cedric the mongrel slumbered in the corner of the cave, head resting on his paws. Crowe kept trying to catch Bennett¡¯s eyes. As the silence stretched itself thin the resentment began to build in him. He watched Delilah take a swig of the drink. She made a face, swallowing as if it pained her. Not much of a drinker, is she? he thought smugly.


    ¡°May I?¡± he asked. He reached a hand out for the bottle.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    She actually looked at them. Her eyes appeared to be black in the shadows. When she did not offer the bottle to him, Bennett pried it from her stiff fingers with a scowl. He held it out to Crowe with a stiff smile. ¡°There you go, mate.¡±


    Crowe took a long swig from the bottle. Then another, then a third. The whiskey burned his throat, but the sting of spirits could not quell his emotions.


    Bennett forced a chuckle. A crease of worry appeared between his eyebrows. It was unlike Crowe to drink this much at once.


    The practitioner glared at him over the flames. He pulled at the bottle a fourth time. ¡°Why? I thought we were having a party.¡± He lit an aether joint and passed the bottle back to Bennett. He turned his attention to Delilah. ¡°Did he tell you we got stuck in the snowstorm the other day?¡±


    Delilah arched her golden eyebrows at Bennett in accusation. Her voice sounded stiff when she answered. ¡°No, he didn¡¯t.¡±


    Bennett¡¯s eyes fastened on the practitioner, warning him not to say another word.


    What are you so afraid of? You don¡¯t want her to know what went on in this cave, do you? Afraid of what she might think? Afraid she¡¯ll run to your father and tell him you¡¯re in love with a practitioner¡­As if he doesn¡¯t already know.


    The satisfaction he felt was both black as pitch and suffocating. It seemed only fair he should indulge in some trickery of his own after Bennet had invited him¡­for what? The truth of Bennett¡¯s character hit him as it never had before. There was no turning away from it this time. ¡°I would have died if it wasn¡¯t for him,¡± he croaked hoarsely. He pinned the older boy in place with his glare, daring him to challenge him. ¡°I got caught in the storm and came to this cave. I was at death¡¯s door from exposure to the cold. Luckily he was here. He nursed me back to health. Kept me warm by sharing his body with me¡­¡±


    Bennett staggered to his feet with a roar. He charged at Crowe like a bull. Before the practitioner could get up, Bennett pinned him to the ground, straddling him. Bennett¡¯s fist filled his vision. Never before had the boy struck Crowe with fury before. Now every impact drove his head back into the cave floor, filling the black behind his eyes with stars. When Bennett¡¯s fury receded, Crowe clung to the edge of consciousness, bruised and bleeding. Delilah¡¯s voice sounded shrill. Far away. Stupid bitch, he thought. She never should have come here. This was our place. The thought hurt more than he would ever be willing to say.


    She sounded distressed. Perhaps she was crying. She¡¯s crying, but I¡¯m the one who¡¯s bleeding.


    His face smarted. His head throbbed. He could taste blood in his mouth. How had the tables turned so quickly? How had things gone so wrong?


    When Bennett drifted back into the field of Crowe¡¯s vision, he looked at the practitioner with wide eyes, as if he couldn¡¯t believe what he¡¯d done. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said in a gruff voice. Tear tracks marked his ruddy face. ¡°Oh, Monad help me, your face, Crowe¡­¡± He reached out.


    The practitioner staggered to his feet, backing up until there was nowhere else to go. He glared at the other boy through his good eye; the other was swollen completely shut. Delilah wasn¡¯t in the cave. She must have done the smart thing and fled the scene before Bennett could start swinging again. ¡°Go get your girlfriend before she falls and breaks her neck!¡±


    It was his turn to escape. The cold air was a balm to his bruised flesh, Bennett¡¯s voice a distant echo at his back thanks to the ringing in his ears.


    ¡°Damn you to the Void, stop!¡± Bennett ducked around him, blocking his path.


    Crowe gave him a hard shove. ¡°Get a good look at my face! Is this what you do to the people you claim to love?¡±


    The older boy¡¯s eyes shined with tears. ¡°I don¡¯t know why I did that¡­I didn¡¯t mean to¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not a healer. There isn¡¯t anything you can do about it. You did it because you¡¯re just like everyone else in these Monad-forsaken mountains: you¡¯re a liar who cares too much about what other people think.¡± Tears of his own stung his eyes. Tears of betrayal and a hurt that went down to the core of him. ¡°I love you, Bennett. I always have. I would do anything for you. I thought you loved me. You told me I was beautiful. That you loved me and then you fucked me.¡± The older boy¡¯s head turned as if the practitioner had struck him. Crowe continued unabated. ¡°But the moment that stupid girl comes along, you¡¯re all over her and you leave me hanging! Now look at me!¡± He stepped into a shaft of moonlight so the other boy had no choice but to look at him. ¡°Get a good look at my face - get a good look at what you did. Because this is the last time you¡¯ll ever see it¡­¡±


    ¡­


    ¡­because this is the last time you¡¯ll ever see it.


    Those final words echoed in the herald¡¯s mind, following him into the waking world. He opened his eyes, aware he was no longer alone. He could feel someone watching him through the dark.


    He sat up with a wince. His body ached in a thousand places. His robes stuck to him. His eyeballs felt like hot coals in his skull; it felt as if someone had stuffed it full of cotton. The only illumination in the room came from the pool of moonlight streaming through the window. Unfamiliar objects left over from a life not his own loomed out of the shadows to taunt him. He expected - hoped - to find the Okanavian close by but no matter which way he turned his head, Barghast was nowhere in sight.


    ¡°Barghast.¡± His voice sounded alien to his own ears. The inside of his throat was inflamed by fever.


    Only silence and shadow answered him.


    No, he thought. Not again. Determined to find the barbarian, he threw off the sweat-stained blankets. He knew he should remain in bed but the thought of being alone again, even for a moment. The floor tilted precariously beneath his clammy his sticky heels. His unmangled hand fell on top of the nightstand. He leaned on it, feeling the wood groan beneath his weight. His back screamed. The mere act of getting out of bed had rendered him completely breathless. The phlegmy rattle of his lungs made him think of Petras, an unwelcome parallel.


    He turned, determined to cross the room to the door. He didn''t want to be alone in this room, in this house. He didn''t want to be trapped in bed, unable to defend himself. He made it no more than a few steps when his legs gave out from underneath him, dumping him on the floor. There he remained, more breathless than before, momentarily defeated. His feverish eyes remained fixed avidly on the puddle of moonlight next to his foot as he counted each breath.


    A giggle sounded from the other side of the room. The voice sounded clogged, as if it came out of the silty waters of an ancient well.


    Crowe froze. His pallid skin broke out in gooseflesh.


    ¡°Alone,¡± said a girl¡¯s voice.


    ¡°Alone,¡± said the deeper voice of a male. Both sounded as if they came out of the same ruined throat.


    ¡°He doesn''t want you,¡± giggled Delilah''s voice.


    ¡°He¡¯ll never want you,¡± laughed Bennett''s.


    ¡°Why would he want you?¡±


    ¡°Why would anyone want you?¡±


    Slowly a hunched form rose to its feet, towering over Crowe''s shivering form. Swathed in black, its back turned, the practitioner couldn''t make out the intruder¡¯s face, but he had no doubt the voices of Delilah and Bennett emerged from a single mouth.


    It turned, stepping into the moonlight.


    A low moan escaped Crowe. If he¡¯d had the voice to scream, he would have.


    The creature was an aberration if he¡¯d ever seen one. Its face was one-half Bennett''s, one-half Delilah''s; it was as if a cruel surgeon had merged both halves together to make something wholly new. Its throat was an open slit that opened and closed like a hungry mouth, spurting out a clear transcluent fluid that splattered Crowe''s face every time it snapped shut. It''s tongue was a long tendril that writhed out of its mouth like a twin headed snake.


    The practitioner''s fingers reached instinctively for his necklace; it surprised him to find it dangling around his neck. I thought I lost it back in Fort Erikson! Barghast must have put it around his neck before leaving. Proof he hadn''t abandoned Crowe. Proof he would return. The sorcerer drew courage from the thought.


    The abomination took a jerky step towards him, cackling with uncontained mania in its twin voices. Both eyes watched him blindly from behind white cataracts. With large hands much too wide for its bone-thin wrists, the aberration removed its robes, letting them fall to the floor with a whisper. Crowe blinked, too terrified to move let alone think. Thousands of faces with gaping mouths and eyes glaring into his. High-pitched screams deafened him. He clapped his hands over his ears, but there was no getting away from it. A few of them were faces he knew; many of them were faces he didn''t.


    The creature drifted closer.


    Somehow the herald managed to rise to his feet. The action made him break into a series of racking coughs. He tried to smother them.  Once he could breathe, he gasped, ¡°Stay back.¡±


    He couldn''t take his eyes off those faces - so many, too many to count - all stitched together, merging and separating with no pattern to hint at the purpose of this terrifying phenomenon. They pulled at his attention despite the shrill voice in his head that begged him to turn away. To run.


    ¡°You''re tired,¡± the abomination said in Delilah''s voice.


    ¡°Broken,¡± it said in Bennett''s.


    ¡°We can smell your fear.¡±


    ¡°The illness that has taken hold of you.¡±


    ¡°Your mangled hand¡­¡±


    ¡°...it pains you still.¡±


    The aberration reached out with both disfigured hands. Crowe drew away from its touch with an audible shudder. The spirit continued to taunt him, its mutilated face set in a permanent rictus.


    ¡°We know you are tired of struggling.¡±


    ¡°Tired of suffering¡­¡±


    ¡°We can end the struggle.¡±


    ¡°We can end your suffering.¡±


    ¡°For what is a warrior with a crippled hand¡­?¡±


    ¡°A nothing. A reject.¡±


    ¡°How could a proud and fearless warrior like Barghast ever want you?¡±


    ¡°If you are tired of suffering and want to know true peace¡­¡±


    ¡°...then all you need to do is take our hand.¡±


    The creature unfurled its arms. Bones creaked beneath it''s wriggling flesh. The faces that stitched it together screamed and moaned and panted in pain and in ecstasy. The room was filled with the smell of blood, of shit, of sex and cum. Crowe gagged, choking on the taste of bitter fruit. The last shred of his resistance fell away like a severed rope. He caved in, stepping towards the abberation¡¯s embrace if only so he didn''t have to bear the burden of being herald anymore; the abomination¡¯s words echoed in his head, taking root.


    Monad saved him yet again.


    The charm caught the moonlight, reflecting it straight into his eyes. He wrenched it from around his neck with a snarl. ¡°Get back, creature! I know what you are. Do not think you can fool me so easily a second time!¡±


    Brandishing the crucifix, he advanced towards the creature.  The aberration unleashed an ear piercing shriek. It shrunk back against the wall, shielding with its withered arms in a pathetic attempt to ward the practitioner off. Crowe would not be so easily swayed from his faith this time. ¡°Even in my weakest moment, Monad is still with me! He will never leave me and nor will Barghast! I trust him more than anyone I¡¯ve trusted in my life. Whenever he¡¯s gone I know he will return¡­I know he will keep me safe!¡±


    He stopped, wheezing. He felt as if his lungs would burst. Feeling as if his legs were too thin to bear his weight. The room teetered. He was paying for his overconfidence. His arrogance. Just as Petras always told me I would.


    The sound of hooves pounding into dirt made him turn his head towards the window; he staggered towards it, still holding up the necklace, using it as a shield. It was the only thing keeping the abomination from devouring his soul. Even in his feverish state, he recognized the large equine shape racing across the creek. Mammoth!


    Gathering what little strength he had left, Crowe lurched drunkenly out of the room. It was everything he could to remain upright. The aberration stalked after him, never letting him out of its sight. Thousands of mouths screamed in fury at his act of defiance, deafening him. He feared his skull would explode at any second. Monad must have been with him still, for somehow he managed to drag himself down the stairs, clinging to the banister. At last he reached the door, flinging it open. He tripped over the threshold, crawling across the porch. The aberration was almost upon him. Its mouth yawned open, ready to devour him whole.


    The herald dragged himself down the porch steps, through the snow, towards the sound of footsteps running his way. It was all he had breath for. Strength for. A deep bark cut through the air. A towering figure with broad shoulder covered in dark gray fur (black when under the night sky) stepped between him and the abomination. The glint of claws flashed through the cool air.


    The creature came apart in a burst of writhing fleshy tendrils that crumpled to ash.  Its agonized screams made the sorcerer want to burrow into the earth to get away from the pain spiking through his skull. Only when the shrieking ceased did he let his head fall into the snow.


    No sooner had he taken his first shuddering breath, he was being hauled up and carted back towards the house. He burrowed into the familiar warmth, burying his nose in the chest fur of the one who carried him. Protected him when he could not protect himself. They wound up the stairs, the house caught in a whirlwind. Amber eyes held his feverish blue ones intently. Unblinking. Unwavering.


    The spirit is gone. My lycan has returned. I am safe. I can rest now.


    Safe in all ways but dreams.


    Crowe lifted his leaden arms, reaching for the barbarian. ¡°Come here,¡± he said. ¡°I want to look at you.¡±


    Tail thumping eagerly against the bed, Barghast leaned forward until the upper half of his body covered Crowe and their noses almost touched and all Crowe could see were the twin suns of his eyes. He licked the practitioner''s face with a whine that turned into a rumble of pleasure when the sorcerer started scratching the fur between his ears. The Okanavian nosed at him, his ears flat against his massive head. The herald didn¡¯t last before he was seized by another fit of body shuddering coughs. Barghast lapped at him anxiously.


    ¡°It''s¡­it''s alright,¡± the practitioner reassured him with a sickly sniff. ¡°I just don''t feel the greatest. I need a day or two to rest¡­to get my strength back. That''s all.¡±


    Barghast did not appear relieved by Crowe¡¯s feeble attempt at consolation. He held the sorcerer in a vice grip, just short of crushing him. After several moments of silence, broken only by Crowe coughing, wheezing, and retching, Barghast pressed a handkerchief to his bruised face. ¡°Ictu,¡± he said. The word was sharp and abrupt, almost a bark.


    Crowe blew until his bruised cheeks turned a flamy red color. When the Okanavian pulled the soiled rag away, the practitioner let his head fall back with a tortured moan. All at once he was exhausted again. I think I''m dying, he thought. Perhaps dying wouldn¡¯t be such a bad thing as long as he was alone with the barbarian when it happened. Just the two of us¡­I think I could let him hold me like this for the rest of my life.


    When Barghast lifted his body to set him down on the bed, Crowe clung to him, desperate to remain exactly where he was. His hands rested against Barghast¡¯s shoulders. He marveled at the broad wall of solid muscle beneath the Okanavian¡¯s fur. Shoulders as broad and solid as a boulder. Crowe fitted perfectly in his lap, giving him plenty of room to move about if the lycan would give him enough room to do so. His toes poked out from underneath his blanket, exposed to the chilly air inside the house. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me!¡± he cried. He didn¡¯t care how pathetic he looked or sounded. The thought of Barghast leaving him again even for only a second filled the practitioner with a panic that left no room for rationality.


    Resting a paw against the back of his neck to support his head, Barghast helped Crowe to sit up. ¡°I stay,¡± he rumbled. He kissed the practitioner¡¯s forehead. ¡°I keep you safe.¡±


    The herald pressed his face to the Okanavian¡¯s chest so that his cheek rested upon a pillow of fur. There was nowhere else he would rather be.

 I Keep You Safe

    The next morning Barghast opened his eyes to find his twin o''rre had not moved from his embrace. His head rested in the crook of the Okanavian''s arm, pillowed by a thick patch of fur. His nose was inflamed and constantly drained with a thick greenish slime that Barghast wiped away with the handkerchief. No matter how much he wiped away, there was always more. His beloved¡¯s breaths were labored hearts that had Barghast listening constantly, fearing each exhale would be the practitioner¡¯s last.


    ¡°Why does his nose look so red?¡± Barghast asked the seer, for she had appeared beside the bed. He stroked Crowe¡¯s hair. Hair matted to his skull.


    ¡°The same force that give practitioners their strength is also their greatest weakness,¡± the seer answered, looking the sorcerer over. ¡°You¡¯ve seen it yourself. How he weakens when he uses his mana. The lethargy. The nosebleeds. All which come from the brain.¡±


    ¡°His brain bleeds when he uses his mana?¡±


    Before Barghast could shake Crowe awake, the seer gnashed her teeth disapprovingly. ¡°Do not wake him. Right now he wages war with his very own body and mind. You better than anyone should know what thats like.¡±


    Her words cut into the Okanavian like white-hot daggers. He looked away, his ears flattening. He did know what that was like. He only needed to look into a surface of reflecting water or a mirror to remind himself of what the torchcoats had done to him. ¡°I do know what it''s like,¡± he said after a moment. He raised a head, casting a glare in the seer¡¯s direction. ¡°But it scares me, not knowing what''s going on inside him.¡± Taking great care not to wake him, the barbarian lifted Crowe¡¯s injured hand to his lips. ¡°I keep thinking about what that birdman did to him¡­what he would have done had I not gotten there when I did. Help me,¡± he whined at the seer. ¡°How do I help him get better? He feels so hot to the touch yet no matter how much I cover him up, he shivers as if he''s cold.¡±


    The seer¡¯s voice softened fractionally. ¡°You must tend to him. You must keep him nourished. It''s not just the fever. He''s lost blood and he''s been up for days. It''s a wonder his mind is still intact.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Barghast agreed. He eyed the morsel resting against him. His heart swelled like a blooming flower. Every day we are together I fall in love with him all over again. ¡°He is resilient, isn''t he? He puts even the most fierce warrior to shame. I do not deserve him.¡±


    ¡°Enough fawning over him!¡± the sneer snapped. ¡°Keeping him warm will help fight off the fire. Right now he is in no state to eat or feed himself. You must do that for him! Make him tea¡­¡±


    ¡°But that means I have to put him down and I don¡¯t want to,¡± the Okanavian whined.


    ¡°He''ll die if you don''t.¡±


    The barbarian bit back a growl. He knew she was right. He lowered Crowe''s slumbering form on the mattress as if he were made of glass. He supported his head long enough to fluff the pillows up. He''d noticed noticed the practitioner¡¯s breathing improved when his head was elevated. He drew the blankets up to his chin.


    ¡°He''ll be fine on his own for a short time,¡± the seer reassured the lycan. ¡°You''ll only be downstairs.¡±


    Barghast backed reluctantly out of the room. He found the jar of herbs and bag of eggs on the table where he¡¯d left them the night before. A peek out the door showed the shire horse was still tied to the post, unmolested. Later he would go out and hunt for prey. It was time to make the tea.


    He marveled at all the things the previous inhabitants had left behind. Objects he had no name for. Most of it was covered in a thin layer of dust, eluding to how long the house had been unoccupied. He found a pot in a cabinet beneath a round basin made of porcelain. He marched past the field to the stream. Filling the pot with water, he paused long enough to admire the sky and sniff the air. Air that did not smell of blood. Air that smelled of the mountains and pine. Crowe¡¯s smell.


    Once he got the fire going the pot hung from an iron hook over the flames. Within moments the water started to boil. He tipped garlic, honey, ginger, and mint into the bottom of the mug. By this time the kitchen was filled with steam. While the tea steeped, the eggs he''d gathered went into the boiling water. He found a flat rectangular object and round dishes in a cabinet mounted into the wall. Not for the first time Barghast marveled at the ingenuity of the people in this region. In the desert such discoveries would have been disputed over in a way that tore flesh and spilled blood. Here in the North war was a beast with a different gait. Treasured items were abandoned in favor of survival.


    Once he had everything placed on the tray the way he wanted it, he climbed eagerly up the stairs, ready to return to his twin o''rre. The seer had vanished, Returning to whatever pocket of existence She hid in when she wasn''t berating him. Crowe slept heavily. His mouth hung open. Each breath was a wet rattle Barghast didn¡¯t like one bit. Setting the tray On a small table beside the bed, he leaned over. He kissed Crowe¡¯s cheeks, his eyelids. He would have covered him in kisses were it not for the fact he needed to eat. ¡°Twin o''rre,¡± he rumbled. He nosed and looked and kissed his beloved until he stirred with a sleepy mumble.


    In spite of his ashen appearance, Crowe smiled at the barbarian in a way that got Barghast¡¯s tail wagging. Such a sweet smile. Barghast wished there was a way he could paste on there forever. ¡°Hey,¡± his beloved croaked, drawing the Okanavian¡¯s attention from his thoughts. A shy look entered Crowe¡¯s eyes. ¡°Sorry I¡¯ve been asleep for so long.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s ears twitched at the concern he heard in the ? voice. Here he was deathly sick, two of his fingers missing and Crowe was still trying to protect him. ¡°I''m well,¡± he told the practitioner in Okanavian. Placing a hand on top of Crowe¡¯s, he rubbed a thumb over his pale, furless hands, communicating with touch what he could not words. ¡°Do not worry your pretty little head about me. You are the one who¡¯s not well. I''m going to take care of you the way you''ve taken care of me.¡±


    Pulling Crowe into his lap - he felt lighter than ever; he was practically starving, wasting to bone before Barghast¡¯s eyes - he reached for the mug of tea. It still felt hot to the touch, releasing curls of steam into the air. He blew on it for several seconds, until he could be sure the liquid would not scald his beloved¡¯s lips. Resting a paw on the back of the practitioner¡¯s head, he slowly raised the mug to his lips. Crowe sipped at the liquid without making a fuss. Before he would have jerked away or hesitated at the very least. We''re making progress. Getting to know each other.


    Crowe struggled to swallow the tea at first but seemed determined to ingest it on his own. He coughed, covering his mouth with his damaged hand. Barghast picked up a hard-boiled egg; he¡¯d already peeled the shells in the kitchen.


    The sorcerer looked taken aback when Barghast offered him a piece of the egg. The slackened jaw of surprise turned into another shy but happy smile. ¡°Breakfast in bed? No one''s ever done that for me before? I used to feed Petras his breakfast every morning. There were times when all we had was broth to live off of.¡± A frown of worry twisted momentarily at his mouth.


    Barghast listened to his voice. Even while crackling and wet with sick, his twin o¡¯rre''s voice - the fact he deigned to talk to Barghast, smile at Barghast, touch Barghast, rub Barghast, kiss Barghast, comfort Barghast after after the lycan had failed him, left him to perish at the hands of the birdman - was the Okanavian¡¯s favorite sound. He tried not to stare at the quarter of egg that sat in the palm of Crowe¡¯s hand, but there was no hiding the growl in Barghast¡¯s belly.


    ¡°Here.¡± Crowe used his bad hand to offer the morsel to Barghast. His wrist shook, unsteady.


    With great effort Barghast turned his head away. Strings of slobber dangled from his muzzle.


    ¡°It''s okay,¡± his beloved insisted in a reassuring tone. ¡°What''s mine is yours. You act as if we haven''t shared food before.¡±


    At his prodding, Barghast relented. Leaning over, he tried to take Crowe¡¯s offer as gently as he could. He reached for the second egg, tore it in half, and held it out. ¡°Open,¡± he said in Okanavian.


    Crowe opened his mouth obediently, a playful glint in his eye Barghast had never seen before.  When the practitioner rose up long enough to plant a kiss on the Okanavian¡¯s cheek, he thought his heart would explode with happiness and love. When he reached for the third egg, Crowe shook his head. He pouted miserably. ¡°I don''t think I can eat anymore. I''m sorry.¡±


    It was Barghast¡¯s turn to kiss him. To comfort him. There is nothing you could do that would stop me from loving you. We are inextricably bound.


    Crowe gave him one last loving smile. He patted Barghast on the shoulder before settling back under the blankets. ¡°Don¡¯t let me sleep too long, okay? If you get lonely, wake me up.¡±


    ¡­


    Crowe did not wake up again until the next morning. He opened his eyes. It hurt to swallow. The corners of his eyes were crusty from half dried tears. Before he could call the lycan¡¯s name, Barghast appeared at his bedside. He panted, his tail waving excitedly high above his head. ¡°Crowe!¡± He bathed the herald in shadow when he leaned forward to kiss him affectionately on the lips.


    The herald resisted the urge to draw back. He could only imagine how his breath - his body - must smell to the Okanavian. How long have I been out? he thought guiltily. The last thing he remembered was the barbarian feeding him eggs. He smiled to himself. That had been nice.


    The smell of meat cooked on the flame pulled at Crowe¡¯s stomach, disrupting his thoughts. Barghast waved a paw for him to scoot over while the other balanced a tray. Feeling an overwhelming emotion he couldn''t name, the sorcerer almost burst into tears. Perhaps it was embarrassment. Perhaps it was shame. Perhaps he was simply grateful. While I slept he went out and hunted for game. He''s watched over me, he''s fed me, and I can barely remember any of it.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Barghast tore off a back leg of the rabbit. Juice dripped onto the tray.


    Barghast paused. He smiled, then turning grave, he growled as if he were lecturing a child, ¡°Ymg ahnythor lllln¡¯gha. He waved the paw that held the meat, holding it out with a more urgent growl - a sign he would not take no for an answer.


    ¡°If it makes you happy.¡± Crowe swatted playfully at the lycan¡¯s paw. Merely tapping it was like hitting a brick wall.


    He watched the barbarian tear off a large hunk of meat for himself.  The Okanavian¡¯s muzzle yawned open so that Crowe could see every glittering fang and the pink lining of his mouth. Barghast tossed the whole thing in as if he were tossing a stone into a pond of water. He didn''t even chew. He merely swallowed the whole thing with an audible gulp.


    Crowe had no choice but to swallow slowly. His throat was raw from constant coughing and he couldn¡¯t stop his hands from shaking. Barghast watched him intently for a moment before tearing off the third rabbit bone. He imitated Crowe¡¯s hold on the rabbit leg, holding it with both hands. The rabbit leg looked ridiculously small in his massive paws.


    In but a few short moments the rabbit was little more than bone and marrow. After days of not eating, the sudden consumption of food left the practitioner feeling bloated and lethargic. I''ve slept enough. I''ve slept and I¡¯ve been fed. It''s time to start getting my strength back¡­Monad knows I hate being sick.


    He tossed the blankets back. He sucked back a breath; the chill in the room made him break out in goosebumps. Barghast was on his feet in moments, guiding Crowe towards the washing room attached to the bedroom where a washing basin full of still-hot water waited. Barghast climbed in before helping Crowe do the same.


    ¡°Uh,¡± the herald croaked. ¡°I don''t think this tub is big enough to fit the both of us.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s determination for them to both fit in the tub outweighed his inhibitions whether or not they both could. His inhibitions died when Barghast pulled him down into his lap, down into the water that made him suck in a breath¡­it feels so good. Barghast¡¯s arms closing around him even now, pressing the moist tip of his snout to Crowe¡¯s cheek. His voice rumbled softly in the practitioner¡¯s ears, words mixed with whines, lips, and growls that could have meant anything. The herald didn¡¯t care. I''m exactly where I want to be.


    With one shaggy arm covering the lower half of his torso and the other resting beneath his skull, Barghast turned Crowe¡¯s to face his; the sorcerer¡¯s heart sped up with excitement. The Okanavian¡¯s amber eyes loomed large, cooling to bronze as their lips collided. His paw drifted up to the practitioner''s throat as if to strangle him, but Crowe knew not to fear his touch. Time and time again Barghast had proven himself worthy of Crowe¡¯s trust; Crowe would not repay it with doubt.


    The barbarian¡¯s tongue pushed into his mouth. Far wider and longer than his own, the sorcerer was more than happy to let him set the pace. After Bennett it was nice to find a lover who gave him his all.


    Barghast¡¯s other paw snaked down between Crowe¡¯s leg. The pads of his fingers closed around the sorcerer¡¯s aching cock, eliciting a groan of pleasure from him. The lycan stroked him slowly. Methodically. All while exploring the inside of his mouth as if it were his domain and his alone. He would break off long enough to whisper a few soothing words in Okanavian and then dive back into the sorcerer¡¯s mouth as if he''d never stopped.


    It didn''t take long before the pressure started to build up in Crowe¡¯s lower region; it had been days since that sweet moment between them in the church stables. His feet kicked beneath the water, splashing small waves over the side of the tub. He pulled away, wriggling, moaning. All he could do was moan, high keening sounds that made Barghast pant and whine and growl with excitement. His hold tightened around Crowe, keeping him close, making it so he couldn¡¯t escape.


    His climax was so intense his vision went porous, stars exploding behind his eyes. By now the floor was soaked with water. He sagged against the lycan, spent. Happy. When Barghast lifted him up so he could climb out of the tub, Crowe grabbed his paw, stopping him. ¡°Where are you going? What about you?¡±


    Barghast¡¯s arousal could not be plainer. His cock tapered out of its sheath, dripping fluid. Crowe could see the start of his knot. His eyes traveled up Barghast¡¯s torso, taking in every scar, every vein, every muscle. In spite of his fever, his bruised and abused body, the sorcerer felt an even greater need to explore the Okanavian¡¯s.


    Barghast held up a single finger, giving the practitioner a crafty wink. One moment.


    Crowe waited until he''d left the washing room before he hauled himself out of the tub; it took effort but he was tired of feeling weak. He wanted to share his body with the barbarian. I want to give him everything I have to give.


    Crowe¡¯s eyes flashed with excitement when the lycan returned with a familiar looking satchel: the gift Rake had given him before leaving Timberford. He''d also brought a book of matches. Grinning, Crowe restrained himself, resisting the urge to snatch the satchel. For whatever reason Barghast liked to do things for him¡­dress him, feed him, open doors for him, kiss him, and jerk him off. He doesn''t do it because he think I can''t. I don''t think he does it to dominate me. I think it''s one of the ways he knows how to show me he cares. I''m just going to have to get used to it. And I would be lying to myself if I thought I didn''t like it.


    Barghast held out an aether joint. Crowe leaned forward, looking the lycan intently in the eye. The perfumey taste of the paper made a current of excitement travel up his spine. The familiar scratching sound of the match striking the box - TANNHAUS INDUSTRIES printed in a bold black font on the side - was music to his ears. The moment the tip of the joint ignited, Crowe pinched the end between his fingers with his good hand and took a long drag. The result was a coughing fit that doubled him over, tears streaming from his eyes. He struggled to catch a breath, leaning over the sink. Before Barghast could cross the room, he waved him off.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he said once he could breathe. ¡°I just got a little overzealous. Thank you for grabbing these. The aether will help with the fever.¡±


    He went to the lycan, running his good hand over his chest. He took him by the paw and tugged lightly at his arm, leading him in the direction of the bed. The Okanavian needed further coaxing. He tagged along behind him. His tail swayed from side to side eagerly.


    They sat shoulder to shoulder on the bed. Crowe looked out the window, noting the clear sky. The daylight. A brief reprieve from the hell they would have to return to once he was well enough to confront the necromancers. He pushed the thought away. We¡¯ve more than deserve a break. I want to enjoy it while we can.


    Barghast leaned forward, sniffing at the joint.


    ¡°You want a hit?¡±


    The lycan wagged his tail, whining in answer.


    ¡°Just take it easy. You saw what happened to me when I hit it too hard.¡±


    They passed the joint back and forth. By the time the joint had been smoked down to the last inch, all the tension had drained Crowe¡¯s body. It helped that he was with the only person he wanted to be with right now. Once more his eyes traveled down the muscular length of the Okanavian¡¯s body. His cock had receded back into its sheath. Lurid images passed through Crowe¡¯s mind. That simply will not do.


    ¡°Hey.¡± He stood up, sliding towards the lycan.


    As if able to read his every thought (or perhaps he smelled the change in Crowe¡¯s body chemistry), Barghast lifted him into his lap all too eagerly. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± he growled. He fell back so that the practitioner was straddled across the solid muscle of his belly, softened by thick tufts of dark gray fur.


    Crowe leaned forward to kiss him, his hands rubbing every bit of the barbarian he could reach. Hungry with a need he¡¯d never felt before - not even with Bennett - he trailed kisses down Barghast¡¯s throat, only stopping when he got fur in his mouth. It didn¡¯t bother him and he didn¡¯t want to stop. When his tongue lapped at the lycan¡¯s nipple, the Okanavian let out a high-pitched yip Crowe had never heard before unless he was in pain.


    He sat up with such a speed, the practitioner almost fell off the bed onto the floor. Just as began his world began to tilt back, Barghast¡¯s paws closed around his rump, hauling him back up so that the sorcerer¡¯s legs were wrapped around his muscular thighs missionary style. He growled possessively, showing his teeth. It was hard to discern what he was feeling - the rapid wagging of his tail suggested happiness or excitement, not anger.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Crowe whispered. He pressed his nose to the lycan¡¯s. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to frighten you or hurt you¡­¡±


    Barghast fell back against the mattress again before the sorcerer could finish his apology. His paw closed around the back of Crowe¡¯s head, bringing his mouth level with his pec. A very large pec shriveled and hard with arousal. He barked something sharp in Okanavian that could only mean one thing: Don¡¯t stop.


    Crowe didn¡¯t stop. Wouldn''t stop. Couldn''t stop. He was in the thick of it now and there was no pulling away. He teased Barghast¡¯s nipple, flicking the flesh with his tongue. When he was done with that one, he switched to the other. Barghast growled his name, a growl that turned into a whine. His digits twisted through his black locks, lightly grazing his scalp. The sensation made the practitioner shiver, but he didn''t dare stop.


    He continued his passage down Barghast¡¯s torso, tasting every inch of his flesh. When his fingers found the engorged sheath of the lycan¡¯s cock, the barbarian let out another snarl. ¡°Twin o''rre,¡± he whined.


    The sorcerer nibbled at the muscled meat of his thighs, breathing in his musk, a smell not unlike rain and wet soil. His palm slid up and down Barghast''s shaft, squeezing a filmy fluid from the pointed tip. His sole focus was to pleasure the man who had not only won his trust, but was now beginning to win his heart. Soon he would have an absolute claim over it. Perhaps he had it already.


    Now below the pelvis area, Crowe pressed his lips to Barghast¡¯s ballsack. His skin tasted salty and primal. Cautiously, experimentally, he licked at the tip of the barbarian¡¯s cock.


    Barghast snapped up into a sitting position with a yelp.


    ¡°Are you good?¡± Crowe asked.


    The Okanavian swiped his tongue across Crowe¡¯s forehead. ¡°Good,¡± he rumbled.


    The practitioner resumed his ministrations. He took the first inch of the barbarian¡¯s cock into his mouth, his lips forming a wet seal. He bobbed his head, pushing his tongue into the sheath every few seconds while the fingers played with the weighty testicle dangling beneath his chin. He could feel those balls shifting in his hands, pumping out an endless supply of fluid. Already his jaw ached. Like the rest of his body, the Okanavian¡¯s organ was larger than that of any man. Luckily Barghast did not rush him. In spite of the tortured sounds he made, he seemed perfectly content with letting the sorcerer take his time. When the herald stopped out of concern, Barghast growled, prodding insistently at the back of his head with a paw.


    Crowe had managed to work half the length of Barghast¡¯s cock into his mouth with another six inches to go when the lycan let out a bellow unlike anything the practitioner had heard before. Before he could prepare himself, before he could pull away, Barghast¡¯s paw closed around his head, restraining him. He howled, seed flooding out of cock, warm and thick and salty and earthy. It was all Crowe could do to keep up with the neverending torrent that hit the back of his throat; thick white fluid broke past the seal of his lips, flowing down Barghast¡¯s shaft, marking the sheets. When his vision started to darken, the sorcerer tapped his thighs. Barghast released him immediately, his cock still spurting out copious amounts of cum.


    Exhausted but happy, Crowe slid into the spot beside Barghast, wiggling into his embrace, his heart racing. All too soon it would end and their pilgrimage would end, but for now he was content to enjoy this temporary reprieve.

 Invocation

    Crowe stood naked in the bathroom, trying to get to know the stranger in the mirror. Many of the bruises he''d incurred had begun to fade, the fever gone. If given more time it would soon be as if nothing had happened at all.


    Only that''s not true. Something did happen.


    He only needed to look down at his hand to see what had been taken from him. The hand he''d used for so much. To cut, to carve, to write. Simple but important things. Things he needed to be able to do in order to survive.


    Memories and sensations circled around him like a black cloud. There was no pushing them away this time. The feeling of a blade slicing into his flesh, into his nerves, through bone - he could still feel them itching, still feel  him twitching, but they were no longer there. The burn of the rope snapping tight around his throat as the platform beneath his feet fell away, constricting his breathing.


    It wasn''t just the torture. The taunting. There was Petras. Petras who was dead - should be dead - but somehow continued to live on from beyond the grave in the hearts and memories of Crowe¡¯s adversaries. Never once in the eighteen years the practitioner had known him, had his mentor even hinted at being the herald.


    Would it stop you from hating him for the way he treated you? If he¡¯d told you would it have made it easier to live with? The dirty looks and scathing comments? His unpredictable temper? The abuse?


    Rage rose up in him like bile. He screamed - he could no longer contain it. The mirror shattered, glass spilling onto the floor as if someone had driven a fist into it. But he didn''t need a fist to break things. Or all his fingers.


    A knock at the door. A familiar whine. ¡°Twin o''rre?¡±


    The sorcerer chuckled, wiping the tears from his eyes. You were alone before but you aren''t now. Monad took Petras away and gave me someone better.


    Someone who hadn''t left him stranded and alone in the middle of the night. Someone who didn''t berate him for his infections. Someone who had saved his life time and time again, even nursing him when he was sick. And I''m in here feeling sorry for myself. Monad, forgive me for my insolence.


    A more insistent knock, this one hard enough to make the door rattle in its frame. Crowe knew he had but seconds to act before the barbarian ripped the door off its hinges and forced his way inside.


    ¡°I''m coming.¡± He laughed, taking note of the fact that his chest no longer felt tight. ¡°Don''t tear the door down.¡±


    The door opened. ¡°Hi,¡± Crowe said. He tried on a smile. It felt real enough.


    Barghast nudged him to the side, unconvinced. He peered first at the broken mirror, then at the jagged shards of glass on the floor. He gave the practitioner a long disapproving look before taking his hands in his paws, looking them over for new injuries.


    ¡°I''m fine.¡± The sorcerer tried to hide the tremor in his voice with a chuckle. ¡°I just had¡­a moment.¡± How could he explain to the Okanavian everything that had happened to him at Fort Erikson? I wasn''t just tortured. I almost died, saved only by the hands of fate. There was a moment when I thought I would never see you again.


    Seemingly, satisfied with his inspection, Barghast wagged his tail. ¡°Good¡­morning,¡± he rumbled. Another new phrase Crowe had taught him. Cupping his face, the barbarian leaned forward for a kiss. His other paw cupped the practitioner¡¯s ass. ¡°Mine,¡± he growled possessively.


    Crowe shuddered. ¡°Yours,¡± he said.


    Barghast drew back with a grumble of reluctance that quickly turned into a loving smile. ¡°Breakfast,¡± he said.


    The practitioner let the barbarian lead him back into the bedroom. Breakfast was trout charred over the fire. Crowe was ravenous. Now that the fever was gone, his appetite had returned with a vengeance.


    The two travelers wasted little time scarfing down their meal. Afterwards a heavy silence fell between them. Dark thoughts of the inevitable pulled at the practitioner¡¯s thoughts. The world is in ruin. Half the North drowns in blood while the other half burns at the stake or hangs from the noose.


    Barghast nosed at him, interrupting his thoughts, sensing his inner turmoil.


    Thinking of the necromancers, Crowe said, ¡°I''m done running. I''m done hiding.¡± He let the anger he''d been keeping at bay seep into his voice. ¡°I''m done running.¡± He made a diagonal slashing motion with his hand. ¡°We must fight.¡±


    Spurred by the emotion in the practitioner¡¯s voice, the lycan jumped to his feet. ¡°Fight,¡± he agreed with a nod.


    ¡°We must prepare.¡± Crowe sighed, wondering if he wasn¡¯t about to condemn them both to death by making this decision.


    I don''t care, a voice separate from himself echoed in his mind. They''ve chased me for days. They''ve played with my mind. They want to play games with me? I''ll play.


    When he stood, Barghast rose with him. ¡°No, no, no.¡± Crowe scratched at his shoulder. ¡°I have something I need to finish.¡±


    He went down to the porch with the unfinished staff and his carving knife. Would he still be able to carve or was he truly crippled? There''s only one way to find out.


    He sat in the rocking chair that no one had bothered to bring with them. He lit an aether joint, staring across the field. There was nothing around them for miles. One could almost trick themselves into thinking they were safe. We''ll never be safe if we''re constantly on the run like this.


    He forced himself to look at his damaged hand. The empty spaces where his fingers had been were scanned over. And yet he could still feel them, a phantom tingle that made him want to wiggle them. Gone, he thought. They''re gone and you will never get them back. It doesn''t change what you and Barghast have to do.


    He pulled his necklace from around his neck. He forced himself to take a deep breath, filter it out. He hit his joint. He repeated this action until it no longer felt   his heart would burst out of his chest; until he could turn his thoughts to the heavens. He closed his eyes, recalling what it was like to feel Monad''s like flooding him. He pushed himself towards him even as everything else inside him wanted to draw away from the thought of confrontation.


    ¡°Monad,¡± he whispered. The wind stirred around him in response, brushing his hair back from his face. Beyond that the world was so quiet he could have been the last man on it. ¡°Guide me. Guide by broken hand. Help me do what needs to be done.¡±


    Monad¡¯s fire unfurled in him, a small flame like a reassuring touch that said, I am with you¡­and I will never leave.


    A familiar force pulled his eyes up to the sky where Metropolis peeked at him through the clouds while Monad¡¯s flame guided his fingers to the wood.


    Not a moment later it seemed, someone else was shaking him. He lowered his head to find Barghast towering over him. The sky behind him had darkened considerably. They had a few hours before night was here.


    Crowe stood, wincing. His back popped audibly. He looked down at the finished product he still held in his hand. What he held was not five feet in length but a much more reasonable three feet. In his trance he¡¯d rounded it out so that it was perfectly cylindrical. Not a staff, but a wand. He grinned to himself. Monad, guide my hand indeed.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    In hand to hand combat, it created the problem of distance. He would have to close in on his adversary to strike. For something like that he would have to find another avenue. A pistol. I need a pistol. But this will do for now. He pushed his mana into it. The runes lit up with an enthusiastic thrum that made his grin widen. He never felt more naked than when he didn¡¯t have a staff - a way to channel his mana. It was the difference between control and chaos.


    He lifted his eyes to see he wasn¡¯t the only one who had been busy; a testament to how much time had passed while he¡¯d been under. Barghast had made several spears, carving them from tree branches. He held an ax. His rifle was strapped to his shoulder. His eyes burned bright like the sun on a hot Summer day. His tail flicked back and forth in anticipation. He¡¯s just as tired of running as I am.


    His thoughts briefly turned to the necromancers. He felt not fear but anger. For now it was a low flame, but it was enough to make the end of his wand shoot sparks of blue light from its tip.


    He went to the lycan, rubbing his arm. Barghast put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him against his hip while Crowe continued to scratch. It had become his favorite way to pass the time. Especially when it garnered such a reaction. After a few minutes, the practitioner stopped. He said the Okanavian¡¯s name sharply, looking him straight in the eye. Barghast straightened, his ears flicking in the sorcerer¡¯s direction. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something else I have to do.¡± This time he did feel a pulse of fear and he let it creep into his voice, making the barbarian¡¯s tail halt midsway. ¡°It will be dangerous.¡± He laughed shakily, lighting an aether joint with a match. He continued, his voice husky from the smoke. ¡°I will be vulnerable. But then what we¡¯re doing is most likely suicidal. The lady in my dreams says we¡¯re not strong enough to defeat them. Maybe we¡¯re not. But I¡¯m tired of everyone telling me what I am and am not strong enough to do. So we¡¯re going to kill them. Or we¡¯re going to try. So I¡¯m going to reach out to them and I¡¯m going to tell them exactly where to find us. In order to do that I will have to astral project.¡± He rolled his arms out from his chest, miming his soul leaving his body.


    Barghast surprised him by nodding in understanding. ¡°Orr''e bugnah,¡± he said.


    Crowe grinned. ¡°So then you know what I¡¯m talking about it. Do you practice something similar in your culture?¡± He waved a hand in dismissal. ¡°It¡¯s not important right now. If you know what it is then you know I will be extremely vulnerable. I need you to watch over me.¡±


    Barghast nodded again with a growl. His hackles rose slightly before settling. ¡°I stay. I keep you safe.¡± He patted his lap eagerly with a wag of his tail.


    Letting the lycan pull him into his lap as if he were little more than a child, the herald laughed in spite of the butterflies of anxiety fluttering in his belly. ¡°You¡¯re incorrigible, you know that? Absolutely rotten to your furry soul.¡±


    Setting a digit under his chin, Barghast lifted his chin. He kissed Crowe hard, parting his lips with his tongue, placing a paw on the back of his head, pulling - or pushing - him deeper into it. Crowe wrapped his arms around his broad neck, wanting to fall into the Okanavian¡¯s embrace. But he knew if he did he would never do what needed to be done. It took everything he had to pull away. He pressed his forehead to the barbarian¡¯s. ¡°Wait for me, won¡¯t you?¡± he whispered.


    ¡°I stay,¡± Barghast whined. He kissed him again. ¡°I keep you safe.¡±


    Turning to face the field of overgrown weeds that stuck out of the half-melted snow, Crowe let his head fall back against the Okanavian¡¯s chest. He peeked inside his satchel. There were only three joints left. Damn. Who knows when I¡¯ll be able to get more? Monad, guide me¡­


    He unrolled one. He ran his tongue along the paper, licking up the ground aether. He coughed, his eyes watering. The taste of the aether stung his tongue, making the muscle tingle. Already he could feel tendrils of warmth spreading through him. The air shimmered around him, taking on a surreal quality. Relaxing him. Distracting him from the fear that he was making a huge mistake. That he was making a decision that would get them both killed. Fear and inaction are the true enemies, he thought, bolstering his courage. Through Monad I can do anything.


    Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He focused on the sound of the heart, on the feeling of the heart kicking powerfully against his back. He breathed in the scent of the lycan¡¯s musk, a smell that had begun to imprint itself in his mind and on his flesh. He focused on the gentle gusts of wind caressing his face like a lover¡¯s hand. Then he pushed it all away. He recalled what it was like to fly. He recalled what it was like to live life as a wisp of smoke.


    Rather than fear it and draw away, he pushed himself towards it. He embraced it. With the help of the aether shooting sparks through his body, he could already feel himself growing lighter. Becoming untethered from his body. I¡¯m doing it! Petras didn¡¯t teach me¡­I can do things on my own¡­


    He wished the old man were still alive long enough to see him now. I don¡¯t need you. I never did. Everything I need¡­everything I want¡­is right here with me¡­


    Like a severed cord, his soul detached from his body. In an instant he was rocketing towards the sky, spiraling towards the clouds, leaving everything he loved somewhere below him. Before he could shoot through the membrane of clouds above his head into the Void, he thought of the necromancers.


    Like a bullet pulled by a magnet, he shot East, towards the red divide in the sky not more than thirty miles away. He flew past naked trees and empty fields and homes that had been abandoned in the face of the war. Flashes of thunder lit the underbelly of the roiling red clouds, reminding him of his glimpses of Inferno. That''s what Hamon and his infernal servants want, he thought. To bring Inferno onto this planet. To keep us stuck in this eternal loop.


    As if encouraged by the thought, his flight sped up so that the whole world was little more than streaks of color. He reached the divide, soaring under reddened skies. Skies that bled red as if someone had cut them wide open with a blade. Disemboweled the heavens themselves. He almost understood the Theocracy¡¯s fear of mana-use and the havoc it brought were it not for the hypocrisy. From so high above he could see the devastation the necromancers had wreaked: homes flooded by the endless torrential downpour; families taking shelter where they could - huddled together in churches, in caves. Some prayed to Hamon; many prayed to Elysia. In the end, who they prayed to didn¡¯t matter. It seemed the bloodstorm was beyond either dieties¡¯ consideration.


    Not beyond mine¡­Barghast and I will end this storm one way or another. This Iteration be damned, we will part the heads of those who summoned this storm into being.


    At last his flight slowed to the ruin of an old mill where the necromancers had stopped to rest from their journey. He plummeted from the heavens before falling through the ceiling. As the ground rose up to meet him, he imagines spreading his arms and flapping them like wings, slowing his descension. Eyes closed, he formed his astral body out of thought. The trick came natural to him - latent, as if it had always been there, only now recently brought to the surface. The feeling of power, of mastery, was intoxicating. I must watch it. Many a practitioner have condemned themselves to Inferno under the weight of such arrogance.


    He studied them. The unnatural pallor of their skin; the black veins that coursed through it. Just how old were they? They too had encountered Petras¡­or so they claimed. At the thought of his mentor, an all too familiar worm wiggled inside his belly. Hurt. Disappointment. Rage.


    He pushed it all away. Save the rage for when you need it most.


    He stepped out of the shadows. He cleared his throat. ¡°Looking for me?¡±


    The two necromancers turned their heads, their pales eyes aglow. Not pale like celestial fire, but pale like death.


    The female rose to her feet, her breasts puffing out in excitement. She grinned, showing him her filed teeth. ¡°Come to play, have you? Did Charoum finally light a fire under your pearly white arse?¡±


    Crowe returned her grin acerbically. His eyes burned with Monad¡¯s fire. ¡°He did, indeed. He held up his ruined hand. ¡°He paid for his sins and so you shall reap the bitter fruit of yours.¡±


    ¡°Threats, is it?¡±


    ¡°I don''t make threats, I make promises. Think of this as a provocation¡­or an invitation. Whichever you perfer.¡± He bared his teeth in ill-contained fury. ¡°You want play games, bitch, come find me!¡± He flicked his eyes in the direction of the older necromancer who had not said a word. ¡°The both of you. You can find me in a house thirty miles from here.¡±


    ¡°Ooooooh!¡± The female shook with excitement. ¡°I''m wet, already!¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s see how wet you get when I rip off your face with my bare teeth!¡± he said.


    In his mind, he imagined pulling on a cord. Instantly he shot out of the windmill like a comet arching back to his body. He landed back in his body with a thump that had him gasping for breath. Rage filled his mouth with the taste of smoke.


    ¡°Crowe?¡±


    He turned his head just in time to get a slobbery kiss from his lycan lover. ¡°They''re coming. They¡¯all be here soon.¡± He clambered to his feet, his newly carved wand in hand. He pushed his determination, his rage into it.


    Already, thirty miles East, he could see the bright clap of thunder. They''ll be here soon.

 Provocation

    The necromancers came and they brought the apocalypse with them. Crowe and Barghast stood on the porch, watching the red clouds cover the night sky like a malignant membrane. Blood rain fell heavily, tapping against the roof like fingernails and flooding the gutters.


    The herald watched them cross the field, moving at a stolid pace, in no rush to get to where they were going. Why would they be? He¡¯d sensed their age, their power. He imagined the sense of fear had dried up in them long ago, if they had ever feared anything at all.


    Barghast growled, his hackles rising. He had his rifle in hand. He wasn''t the only one who anticipated this confrontation. Monad¡¯s flame burned inside the practitioner, ready to punish those who stood in his path and opposed him from completing his pilgrimage. Their reign of terror ends now. He focused not on the older male, but on the female. In a way he could not explain, but with a preternatural certainly he could not forsaken, he knew she was the one who had set evil spirits on him; it was she who had planted the webs of deceit in his mind. He''d promised her pain and pain he would inflict on her.


    This Iteration will be their last.


    The Servants of Hamon stopped several meters away from the house. The bitch let out a loud cackle that made the lycan press his ears flat against his head and his lips peel back in a predatory smile. The necromancer¡¯s laugh was high pitched and girly, but there was nothing sweet about it. ¡°Herald of the Third Iteration!¡± she cawed. ¡°I can''t tell you how long I''ve been waiting for this moment! I''d prefer it if Petras were here, but I''ll make due with his prot¨¦g¨¦ and his beast lover.¡±


    The other necromancer remained silent. What the practitioner could see of his face was remote and as impassive as stone. The herald could feel him watching him. Studying him.


    Crowe descended the steps, his boots sinking into the sodden earth. Barghast followed closely behind. Aiming his rifle at the bitch¡¯s chest, Barghast watched his twin o''rre, waiting for the signal to strike. Crowe glared at the female with filed teeth. His eyes burned with Monad¡¯s celestial fire. Fingers clenching around the rod until his knuckles turned white, he said, ¡°Petras is dead. I buried him in the dirt two months ago. It seems once again I have to clean up his mess. Only this time I will take great joy in it.¡±


    At the exact moment the bitch sprinted away, Crowe¡¯s rod flared into life. Surrounding him in a bubble of Monad¡¯s vengeful light. He swung his arm around his head with a flourish, whipping the rod through the air. White fury struck the ground, kicking clouds of sodden earth into the air. She was already sprinting out of the way, teasing him with her raucous giggles.


    Barghast¡¯s rifle split the air, lighting up the night. No sooner had he taken aim and pulled the trigger, he was prepping the weapon for another shot. The first shot slammed into the ground between her feet. The second hit her in the shoulder. The shot should have knocked her off balance, but she kept running and taunting. Black ichor bled steadily from the wound, reminding Crowe of the black ichor he''d seen in Timberford. The Okanavian bounded after her with a mighty roar.


    Crowe turned to face the older necromancer. There was something disquieting about his silence - something he couldn¡¯t place his finger on. It doesn''t matter. It doesn''t change what I have to do.


    The necromancer lifted his arms, turning his open palms towards the sky. The ground before him churned as if alive. Undead limbs unfolded from the muck like ants that had tunneled up from the bowels of Inferno. Hellish orange light washed over empty eye sockets and pitted faces. Those long arms unfolded, revealing weapons meant for torture and murder.


    Crowe didn¡¯t give himself to think. He seized the ax leaning against the house, using the undamaged hand to lift most of its weight. He sprinted through the storm with a war cry, charging for the nearest revenant. Before the undead creature could take its first steps, the herald swung the ax with all his might. The blade hissed through the air, parting the revenant''s head from its shoulders like a blade cutting through butter. He shouted the Okanavian¡¯s name but there was no time to see if the lycan had heard him. He ducked just in time to avoid the blood-stained edge of a hatchet; it narrowly missed his skull. He spun on his feet like a dancer, ax raised above his head, before dispatching the revenant with another swing.


    No sooner had the herald straightened from his battle stance, a fist crashed into his face with enough force to knock him to the ground. Fueled by rage and adrenaline, Crowe shook the fog from his head. Staggering to his feet, he glared at the necromancer who''d struck him. He didn''t remember reaching for his rod; it was simply there, in his hand. He slashed the air with it. Shards of light shot from its tip, spinning towards their target.


    The necromancer twisted into a cloud of black smoke. The shards that would have cut into him like actual glass passed harmlessly through him. He rematerialized back into solid form. ¡°You¡¯re different from Petras,¡± he croaked with an inquisitive cock of his head. ¡°Younger.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right!¡± Crowe spat through gritted teeth. Bolts of light shot from his rod, striking the ground. ¡°Let me show you just how different I am!¡± He fired volleys of mana at his adversary, for once letting his fury take hold. It was always there, always close to the surface, never far out of reach. Now it drove the necromancer back, forcing him to protect himself with a wave of black smoke that absorbed the impact of Crowe¡¯s rage.


    Crowe cursed. Raising the axe above his head, the herald charged at the necromancer, ready to end this fight - ready to end him. Before he could reach the man, the necromancer spun his arms around his head. The black cloud bloomed like a tumor, surrounding the practitioner until it took on a spherical shape. The wall surrounding them crackled and spun as if it had taken on a life of its own.


    Crowe swung the ax at the wall desperately, hoping to break through it. The ax passed through the wall, parting it, but doing no damage. He caught a glimpse of the other side, caught a glimpse of Barghast running towards him, heard him roar his name, and then he was gone, the wall healing itself like skin.


    The herald rounded on the necromancer. He pointed at him with his damaged hand, speaking through gritted teeth. ¡°Let me out right this instant!¡±


    ¡°I will do nothing until you and I talk,¡± the necromancer said.


    The sorcerer scoffed. ¡°If you wanted to talk you could have said something before you tried to kill me last time. You could have reached out to me in my dreams. Instead you have chased me from one end of the north to the other. You have fucked with my mind and threatened the one I love. We are past the point of talking.¡±


    Once more he raised the ax over his head and charged.


    ¡­


    Barghast watched his twin o¡¯rre disappear into the cloud of smoke - devoured by it. There one second, gone the next. He charged towards the sphere with an Okanavian curse. For the briefest of moments, he glimpsed Crowe¡¯s face: He was trying to cut his way out of the cloud of noxious black smoke to no avail. Unfurling his claws, Barghast cut through it. He could hear his beloved¡¯s voice through the cloud - he sounded angry - but the words were muffled. The lycan did everything he could to break through to the other side, but no amount of strength or will would prevail.


    The mad scream of the bitch sounded behind him. He turned in time to catch a jab to the face that knocked him back into the sphere. Hitting it was like slamming into a solid wall. The impact sent a shockwave up his spine that knocked the air from his lungs. The bitch was quick and strong. Far stronger than she appeared.


    ¡°I will enjoy feasting on your flesh,¡± he told her in Okanavian.


    ¡°Ymg'' would nafl ah ehyeog,¡± she said with a grin that only a predator could hold. You would not be the first.


    Her fluent use of the desert language caught the barbarian off guard. He cocked his head at her.


    She laughed, holding up her fingers so that he could watch them elongate into bone-like claws four inches long. Longer than his and sharper. ¡°Perhaps h'' ymg'' ah bthnkor Y'' ephaifeast ll. Mgah''ehye''s yog mgah''n''ghft, ahor c''?¡± Perhaps it is your flesh I will feast on. Let¡¯s find out, shall we?


    A gale of strong, foul-smelling wind picked up at her will. The gale lodged her into the air. She spun mid flight like a dancer. Her claws sliced into the barbarian¡¯s face, opening cuts deep enough to bleed. The blow stung, but his rage - his lust to maim the bitch who had tortured him and his beloved - overmasked it. He snarled, rounding on her.


    He lashed out at her, hoping to open some wounds of his own. She stepped lithely to the side, jabbing her claws into his side. Each jab drew blood, causing him to whine in spite of himself. He swung again, only to hit open air. She rolled over the ground like a rolling ball before bouncing up on her feet. Barghast dropped back to the ground, pretending to be more hurt than he was. Blood flowed freely from his wounds but it would take more than a few cuts to get him down. The feint was enough.


    She charged, screaming something under her breath. The words were lost on him. She drew her claws back, ready to open him up somewhere else.  When he felt she was close enough, vulnerable enough, the Okanavian struck out with all his might. His claws stabbed into her belly, bowing her in. The words in her throat died, turning into a moan. Not of pain, but of pleasure. Her lips spread into a playful grin, revealing her razor-sharp teeth. Her silver eyes flashed and he knew once more she had turned him into the fool. A feint within a feint.


    The thought no more passed through his mind when Barghast was airborne again. He flew twenty feet before crashing through the front of the house, the wall disintegrating beneath his weight. At last rolled to a stop on the floor, covered in dust and wood splinters.


    He sat up. He tried to stand. He faltered. Already he could see the bitch moving towards the house, moving towards him. He waited, gathering his strength. Better to let her think he was defeated. Better to perform the ultimate feint. It¡¯s the only way I¡¯m going to win this fight, Barghast thought with a whine. Meanwhile his twin o¡¯rre was stuck in his own battle. Trapped. Possibly wounded.


    Barghast shoved all thoughts from his mind, forcing his body to still itself. He could hear the bitch climbing through the hole in the wall he¡¯d made. Hear her breaths. Hear the hummingbird beat of her heart as it raced in excitement. She thinks she¡¯s won. In her arrogance she will lose, for Gaia never hunkers down in defeat.


    He could sense her standing over him now, her breasts rising and falling with each breath. Only when her claws closed around his neck did he open his muzzle as wide as he could and close it down on her wrists with all his might.


    She screamed then, falling back onto the floor. This time she did not scream in pleasure, but in agony. Streams of black ichor spurted from the stump where her hand had once been. She looked up at him, her eyes glowing pools of hate. She said something to him in a raspy voice. Though he could not understand the words that poured from her mouth, Barghast knew she was threatening him.


    ¡°No one harms my twin o¡¯rre,¡± he told her. ¡°No one touches him but me.¡±


    He grabbed her head in his paw. His paw covered it entirely. She screamed, kicking her feet. Before she could strike him with her other claw, he began to squeeze. Squeeze until her head caved in. Squeezed until her head burst open like an overripe melon. Black ichor downpoured from his curling paw like spilt paint. At last her body went limp. He dropped her carelessly to the ground. There was nothing left but a stump where a head should be.


    Barghast rounded his shoulders, snarling in triumph. Now it was time to deal with the other one.


    The sphere of black smoke was still there. It rolled and spun, its state unchanged. Barghast let out a whine. His beloved was still trapped inside.


    ¡­


    Crowe¡¯s arms ached, the ax growing heavier with each swing. The necromancer did not attack him, but seemed intent on evading his attacks; it was hard to kill a cloud of smoke. The curve of the ax struck the dirt for the dozenth time.


    ¡°You are different,¡± the necromancer repeated. ¡°You have started far earlier, younger than the other heralds. Petras was the equivalent of a middle-aged man when he started. You are little more than a boy. Hamon can''t see it. Too fooled by hate for his creator. Stuck in the hell he has created for himself. Aren''t we all?¡±


    ¡°Say what you want, it makes no difference.¡± Crowe glared at him, stooped over, the head of the ax planted in the ground. Beads of sweat and blood rain sluiced down the side of his face.


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand the importance of what this means. The implications.¡± The necromancer¡¯s voice trembled with what could have been fear¡­or excitement¡­or both. ¡°This is unprecedented.¡±


    ¡°You know what I think?¡± the herald croaked hoarsely. ¡°I think your master, Hamon, and Pope Drajen are more the same than they are different. All of you. None of you want things to change. None of you want the nightmare to end. Not when you can maintain your position near the top. Because that¡¯s what this is all about. What every war ever is about: Power and greed. Everything else¡­the lies and trickery you spout¡­is all just a smokescreen to keep me distracted. I know I''m on the right path, and unlike Petras, I will not fail.¡±


    He lifted the ax again. The necromancer broke apart into smoke, rising above his head. At the exact second Hamon¡¯s servants rematerialized behind him, Crowe whirled around and swung the ax with all his might.


    The blade parted the necromancer¡¯s skull right down the middle, stopping at his chin. Black ichor spurted from places unseen. Crowe gaped at the ruin of bone and gore he''d made and knew it would stay with him for the rest of his life. The body hit the ground with a wet thunking sound that made him flinch.


    The cloud of black dissipated.


    The moment he could break free of its confines, he lunged towards the familiar shape rushing to meet him in the middle of the storm. Adrenaline pumped through him, making his skin prickle and the air feel charged. Or maybe I''m just happy we''re alive. We did it. We beat them. The woman in the North said we wouldn''t be able to, that we aren''t strong enough, but together we are. Together we can overcome anything.


    He felt a pair of familiar strong arms close around him, felt them haul him easily off the ground until he was airborne. Airborne but safe. Always safe when he was in the arms of the lycan. He didn''t remember the climb up the stairs. He was too busy kissing whatever he could of the barbarian¡­whatever he could reach.


    The Okanavian set him down on the bed as if he was made of glass. He nosed at the sorcerer, nosing and lapping and kissing him, whining and yipping, shaking so hard it made Crowe''s world vibrate. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre¡­safe?¡± He pulled off his boots, his breeches freshly stained with blood. It seemed in the blink of an eye the herald was naked. Exposed.


    But not unsafe. Never unsafe.


    ¡°I¡¯m safe. I¡¯m safe.¡± He reached for the barbarian who was in the middle of dappling his belly with kisses. Crowe rubbed between his ears, trying to pull his head back up. ¡°Come up here. I want to see you. Are you safe? Are you hurt?¡±


    Barghast raised his head until his muzzle hovered an inch from the practitioner¡¯s face. Amber eyes held intently onto blue. Crowe ran his hand along the claw lines that marked the Okanavian¡¯s face. In the dim light it was impossible to see how deep the cuts went.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°I¡­safe¡­¡±


    Crowe found himself crawling backwards on the bed with Barghast tracking him, his tongue and saliva hot against the practitioner¡¯s buzzing skin.


    Sometime later¡­he couldn¡¯t say how long¡­Crowe found himself curled up in the protective arch of the barbarian¡¯s body. A joint smoldered in his hand. He could hear the deep breaths of his companion. What he couldn¡¯t hear was the rain. It had stopped, and so had the wind.


    ¡°Barghast?¡± he whispered with a grin.


    ¡°Crowe?¡± He felt the bed shift when the Okanavian sat up, attentive as ever.


    ¡°Do you hear that?¡± The sorcerer pointed at the ceiling. The lycan¡¯s ears swiveled in the same direction as his finger. ¡°Nothing. I hear nothing.¡±


    The barbarian said something under his breath with an inquisitive cock of his head.


    ¡°Not the sound of rain. Not the sound of the thunder. All I hear is us. Just us chickens.¡± Crowe reached for his breeches pulled on the floor. Barghast reached to stop him with a whine. The practitioner laughed. ¡°I want to go see.¡±


    Before he could get up again his bare feet were being lifted off the floor. His rump landed back in the Okanavian¡¯s lap. Barghast nosed his ear. ¡°Stay,¡± he rumbled.


    Crowe  scratched at the fur along his muzzle, earning a growl of pleasure. ¡°You¡¯re not going to give me much of a choice, are you? I have no say in the matter. You''re the biggest brat!¡±


    The Okanavian kneaded the herald¡¯s rump possessively. ¡°Mine,¡± he rumbled. He fell back on the bed, pulling the practitioner up with him.


    ¡­


    Black ichor spurted from the widening gap; the hand twitched with phantom life. Crowe turned away, his gorge rising. His own hands shook uncontrollably, the sound of steel slicing through flesh transporting him back to that horrible room in Fort Erikson. A burning pain stabbed through the stumps where his fingers had been. He gritted his teeth, pressing his knuckles against his mouth in an attempt to block out the sound.


    Of course Barghast noticed. No matter how hard the practitioner tried to hide his turmoil from his Okanavian companion, Barghast noticed everything. He lifted his head from his crude surgery, cocking his ears in the sorcerer¡¯s direction.


    The practitioner forced himself to breathe in through his nose. ¡°I''m fine.¡± He gave the barbarian a tense smile. ¡°Just keep doing what you''re doing.¡±


    The necromancer¡¯s finger came away with a wet peeling sound. Crowe glanced at what remained of the bodies piled up in front of the house. The report of the axe cutting through flesh and bone still reverberated through the herald¡¯s mind. Take comfort in the fact they can no longer do you harm in this Iteration, he reminded himself. They''re nothing more than a pile of severed limbs.


    Now Barghast stood, holding out his paw to Crowe; the severed finger rested in the valley of his palm.


    Crowe resisted the urge to turn away from the offering. He faced the bonfire they''d made of tangled weeds and the wood they''d procured from the trees surrounding the property. It''s just a finger. A dead one at that. You don''t even know if this is going to work. It would probably be a good thing if it didn''t.


    There was no turning back. It was time to learn who this Hamon was. He took the dagger from the lycan. He pressed the blade into his own flesh until blood flowed freely down his hand. He cleared all thought, all emotion from his mind. He sensed Barghast close by. Close enough he could feel heat wafting from his body. He longed to give himself to the Okanavian¡¯s and embrace - and never leave it - but the pull of the Cycle called to him. The pull of something.


    He pulled on his mana until his eyes burned with Monad¡¯s  holy fire. ¡°I call to Hamon, the king of the Black City. Raise your head to my call, enemy thine¡­¡± The words slipped from his lips like gossamer thread, somehow both alien and familiar to him. He repeated the chant, his skin buzzing, his skin singing in his veins. He could hear Barghast whine but the sound came to him as if from a great distance.


    The air around them thinned, growing porous. A strong gust of wind picked up, making the trees sway where they stood. When he opened his eyes a small rent no bigger than a bronze coin punctured the air. Through the hole between this world and the next he could glimpse Inferno¡¯s crimson skies.


    One more time.


    The moment he started the third chant, the moans of the damned sounded around him as if stirred into wakefulness by the wind itself. The clink of chains dragging through ashened soil, taking him back to the temple in Timberford. Red drops of his own blood caught the air, devoured by the portal he¡¯d made. With each drop of life given to the doorway, the mouth thrummed, growing larger and larger until he could step through if he wanted.


    He didn''t. That would be suicide. What we''re doing is foolish enough¡­dangerous enough.


    Through the other side of the portal he could now see the interior of a large chamber. And at the center of a large platform he could see the Black King in all his glory. I used to think you were just a bedtime story Petras used to tell me to keep me frightened of the dark. Come to find out, you''re all too real.


    ¡°Hamon, I presume?¡± His voice sounded steady to his own ears in spite of the fact his heart would burst its way out of his chest.


    The king of Inferno lifted his great head. His skin glowed with an eerie luminescence that filled the shadowed corners of the chamber.  His eyes fell on Crowe like heavy weights. A long, slow smile spread across the width of his bonelike face.


    ¡°Only deranged and the suicidal have the courage to summon me,¡± Monad¡¯s first creation said in a voice so deep it made the chamber and the earth beneath the practitioner¡¯s feet shake. ¡°Which might you be?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps a bit of both.¡± The herald took a step closer to the portal. ¡°I''m the herald. I hear you''ve been looking for me.¡±


    Hamon¡¯s eyes smoldered: With interest, with resentment, with hate. His smile remained stitched to his face. A face that would have been perfect - too beautiful to behold - were it not for the black veins that tunneled through his flesh. ¡°So, suicidal. You must be if you are brazen enough to contact me in my own home.¡± The fallen angel cocked his head, his great black wings twitching inquisitively. ¡°The old fool was right¡­you are different. Younger than the last¡­¡±


    ¡°I have a gift for you, O mighty Hamon.¡± Crowe felt his mouth twist into a smile when he saw the flash of surprise in the Black King''s imperious eyes. ¡°I figured I would be gracious enough to return to you what you''ve lost.¡±


    He waved his hand.


    Hamon¡¯s eyes closed on the lycan, who''d begun throwing the severed limbs of the necromancers through the rent.


    Hamon¡¯s eyes fell on the remains of his servants. Crowe watched human emotions flicker under his face like shifting plates. First the eyes widened and then the mouth trembled. The practitioner felt a savage stab of triumph knowing that if nothing else, he''d rendered the Black King speechless. ¡°The next time you want to kill me, do it yourself!¡± the herald spat. ¡°Don¡¯t send your lackeys after me¡­it''s insulting. I beseech you O mighty king of the Black City, rise up from your throne and do it yourself if you are so inclined.¡±


    Seething, the Black King rose from his throne. His silver hair spilled down his broad shoulders. Snarling, he reached for the portal.


    Stepping back, Barghast barked something at Crowe in Okanavian. The practitioner could hear the whine of fear in his voice but he himself could not move for he was not afraid. The force inside him - the same force that had saved them at Fort Erikson - kept his boots anchored to the ground. Just as he suspected, when it seemed like Hamon¡¯s hand would breech the portal, crossing into the material universe, the fallen angel jerked his hand back as if he¡¯d been burned.


    Crowe laughed with bitter triumph. ¡°You can''t, can you? You''re stuck. Imprisoned in this nightmare the same as everyone else. And to think the bedside stories my tutor told me used to have me shivering beneath the blankets. Color me disappointed.¡±


    As the fallen angel began to curse him and the world began to shake beneath his feet, Crowe severed the link between him and the portal. The doorway between dimensions closed with a loud pop.


    Crowe swayed on his feet. His body felt heavy. His ears rang with a thousand alarm bells. Blood trickled down his nose. Barghast was at his side in an instant, wiping at his face with a handkerchief, chanting gently in the desert language. The practitioner grinned, fatigued but happy. The necromancers were dead. Provoking Hamon could carry consequences for the both of them. Isn''t it better to look the enemy in the eye and stare him down with courage rather than cower in fear?


    Crowe rubbed at the lycan¡¯s shoulders. ¡°I''m fine,¡± he reassured the Okanavian. ¡°Just a little banged up. No more than usual.¡± He found himself looking around, scanning the night for signs of movement. Just because we''re alone doesn''t mean we''re safe. A familiar sense of urgency pulled at him.


    It was time to reach the Mirror Expanse before something else impeded their journey.


    Deep within the bowels of the Black City, the Surgeon worked tirelessly. He pulled severed limbs from torsos he''d opened like boxes, and tugged flesh from bone with tweezers. The movements of his four long spider-thin arms were meticulous, moving with a thoughtfulness borne of passion that had never once waned in his eternal existence¡­no matter his allegiance.


    The lab in which he worked was a large cavern submerged deep underground, beneath Inferno¡¯s tall spires. Even in a place of damnation, few souls wandered through the tunnels of caves that led to his lab. Those who did usually found it solely by accident¡­and never found their way back out¡­or were dragged against their will. Such an unfortunate soul might have been surprised by the immaculate state of the room as much as by the creature - not to mention downright terrified - who occupied it.


    Shelves that reached up to the domed ceiling were filled end to end with various specimens that had been preserved in a tar-colored substance: insects and the fetuses of species that had gone extinct during the First and Second Iterations, hands, feets, brains, coils of intestine. Things that would both fascinate the mind and sicken it. Beakers filled with chemicals and alchemies stood neatly spaced on the tables, releasing vapor into the air. Air that smelled of the human anatomy; air that smelled sterile with anesthesia. Surgical tools hung from hooks grafted into the thick stone walls.


    A lost soul who had wandered into his domain now laid on the gurney beneath the domes of amber light that beamed down from the ceiling. The young man''s torso had been opened from collarbone to crotch like the wings of a butterfly spread open, the flaps of skin, blood, and muscle pulled neatly aside to reveal the bleached bone of his ribcage and organs. The only sign he felt anything at all were the silent tears that streamed down his cheek. His eyes remained fixed on the Surgeon¡¯s beaked face, silently begging him to end his suffering. The Surgeon continued on, lost his own thoughts, muttering incoherently to himself, cutting strips of the specimen away to drop them into the jar of black fluid set on a cart.


    The Surgeon paused, lost in thought. Lost in memories. Memories that had fallen into shadow and cobweb. Memories that spanned back Iterations. He pulled his bulbous head back, a head that ended in a single sharp point, insect-like and bird-like in equal measures, to look up at the ceiling. One eye was fixed on a distant memory, while the other one - covered with a white cataract - peered into the Void. One eye peers into madness while the other peers into Nothing, his master always said of him - the closest to a compliment the Surgeon had ever been granted.


    Quite recently the Surgeon had become very distracted, indeed. His thoughts pulled back to his first body, his first name, his first life when he¡¯d been called Boamiel. The name echoed through his mind as if whispered from the sweet lips of a lover. Only the Surgeon couldn¡¯t recall loving anything. If he felt anything close to love at all, it was for what he was doing now: to cut open living things and see how they ticked. Better yet, he loved to make new things out of the old¡­


    But¡­this memory?...this feeling?...filled him with despair. It reached back into the memories he¡¯d abandoned when he¡¯d given his soul to Hamon and betrayed his master.


    When he closed his eyes (the one that could see and the one that couldn¡¯t), the Surgeon saw the white spires of a great city that was anathema in every way to the Black City. Towering statues stood in between the towers, their arms raised to the sky, palms outstretched to support the heavens.


    In these moments¡­these spells¡­he wandered the streets. Not in this used up body twisted out of shape by his own sins and misdeeds - his betrayal - but in his old body. A body that had been powerful. A body that¡¯d had wings and could take flight. He dreamed of standing in the white hall of Monad, looking up at his creator with love as so many had once done.


    Something had changed.


    A betrayal.


    A new allegiance.


    A fall from grace.


    A fall into darkness.


    This body with insect limbs and a bird¡¯s beak and wet reptilian eyes. A body that was big and clumsy and ugly to behold. This is why you stopped looking into mirrors. This is why you can no longer bear to look at your reflection¡­it sickens you to behold.


    He ran a hand - a hand that was both a limb and a mandible - over his scaly white-gray flesh and shuddered in disgust. A feeling that was new and familiar at the same time. A feeling he hated every bit as much as he hated himself.


    A prick at the back of his neck like a needle sliding into his brain ripped him from his thoughts. The call of his master. The call of the Black King. In the reverberation that spread through the cavern of his chest where his heart quickened, he felt Hamon¡¯s anger. His frustration.


    Something¡¯s happened. Something of great importance! I¡¯m on my way, master!


    His claws fluttered excitedly, knocking scalpels and sutures onto the lab floor. He left his subject to spoil forgotten on the gurney, scuttling towards the lab¡¯s exit. Many damned souls had lost their way in the seemingly infinite sprawl of tunnels and corridors, but even half-blind the surgeon traversed them easily. Insects - roaches the size of small dogs, rats with two heads the size of large dogs - scattered in his wake. He stopped when he reached the round hole that had been carved into the bottom of the spire. He hesitated, pausing at the line where Inferno¡¯s daylight divided the shadow of his domain. The nerves that lined his back told him it would be night shortly and all the things that lived in the dark during the day would come out to walk the streets while the sun hid. He looked up at the sun for the first time in hundreds¡­thousands?...of years. Its warmth washed over his skin, making him shiver.


    Do you remember when you stood under a different sky? When you could look up and see the heavens, unobstructed by clouds of poison? Unburning? Do you remember when you looked down upon the Eternal City while the first people praised your name, looked upon you with respect, not with revulsion? All that you gave up when you sold your soul to another.


    The Surgeon gnashed his teeth together. If the voice that echoed within the halls of his mind had vocal cords, he would have ripped them out with his pincers.


    ¡°My soul was never my own,¡± he snarled to the petals of dust motes that filled Inferno¡¯s narrow and rickety streets. Dark, human-shaped figures flitted in between the spires, moving about while the daylight hours allowed.


    Another tug - needles stabbing into his brain. The call was more insistent, more impatient. More angry. Don¡¯t keep me waiting.


    The Surgeon jerked like a puppet on a marionette. He didn¡¯t like this sudden invasion¡­these memories from another life that left him feeling confused and vulnerable.


    ¡°My life for you, Hamon,¡± he whispered to the eddying spirals of dust that billowed through the streets with tortured moans. He repeated the same words once he stood before the Black King, stooping on his six insect legs into a bow. ¡°What can I do for you, your Grace?¡± It had been centuries since he¡¯d last laid eyes on his master, but it only felt like it had been yesterday; if he could understand what the concept of ¡°yesterday¡± meant.


    In answer, Hamon gestured at the pile of severed limbs that lay in the center of the chamber as if to say, Is it not obvious? Black ichor stained the floor.


    The Surgeon¡¯s only seeing eye widened; the other remained fixed on his master. ¡°Is that¡­?¡±


    ¡°Pa and Tara.¡± The anger in the Black King¡¯s voice made the walls of the chamber shake. Instinctively the Surgeon shrunk back, not wanting to further incite his majesty¡¯s fury. ¡°What remains of them.¡±


    The Surgeon gaped at the remains, emotions warring on his scaly face: eyes wide, beak slightly parted as if wanted to speak but couldn¡¯t find the words. Shock. Such an ugly surprise after so long spent in his lab without anyone to bother him - with only his specimens to keep him company. He longed to go back to his domain and continue his work. He tried to hide his inner turmoil before Hamon could see it - the Black King had a way of mocking such displays of emotion - but he needn¡¯t have worried. The lord of Inferno was lost in his own seething thoughts, his hands gripping the sides of his throne hard enough to crack the ancient stone. Many of thrones had been destroyed in the wake of his ferocity. Many more would be destroyed and rebuilt over the passing of Iterations. The Surgeon closed his beak and rearranged his features into something more placid. He resisted the urge to clear his throat. The lord of Inferno is not to be rushed, he reminded himself.


    ¡°The herald has returned.¡± The Black King ran his fingers around the pouty bracket of his mouth.


    This time there was no hiding the emotion in these words. The Surgeon felt a shiver crawl up his spine. Fear. Something he hadn¡¯t felt in a long time. Not since the early days of the Second Iteration when he¡¯d stood before his creator to be judged for his treachery. He felt that same fear coursing through him now like black barbs. Not for the first time he wondered if his king felt such things: if he, too, had been plagued by memories of his first life before Inferno ever existed. Before the banishment of his creator to the Void, before the exile of the First People to the material universe. Do you shake in your skin the way I do? Do you fear the retribution that will surely come for us? If not in this Iteration, then in the next?


    To ask such a question would have been an act of Hubris. He could already see it now: the floor opening beneath his legs opening; the endless fall through the Void. Imprisonment to the Void was the worst punishment an immortal could suffer - worse even than death. To live for eternity was already a punishment. To freefall for an eternity was damnation itself. At least here in Inferno, we are a kingdom unto ourselves.


    The herald has returned.


    Which could only mean one thing: The Third Iteration is here¡­and soon it will come to an end. The implications tumbled through the Surgeon¡¯s mind, both exciting him and frightening him. War was close at hand¡­assuming it hadn¡¯t already begun.


    When the Black King spoke, the rumble of his voice pulled the Surgeon from his thoughts. ¡°Things are different. Pa tried to tell me, but I didn¡¯t believe him. Not before I saw the herald with my own eyes. He¡¯s younger than the previous heralds. Things have started¡­early.¡±


    The Surgeon was silent for a long moment, trying to think of a response. He didn¡¯t like the edge he heard in Hamon¡¯s voice. Fear. Confirmation that the lord of Inferno did, indeed, feel fear. Second passed in silence. Minutes. Maybe even years. Time did not grace the reddened skies of Inferno the way it did the material universe. Like a child who fears their parents¡¯ temper, it was the Surgeon¡¯s instinct to soothe his master. ¡°Master¡­?¡± he ventured cautiously, pinchers clacking open and closed in anticipation. ¡°What can I do to help?¡±


    Hamon looked up at the demon as if he¡¯d only just realized he¡¯d been standing there the entire time. The Surgeon waited for the floor to open up, for the Void to swallow him whole - his master only needed to wave his hand - but it didn¡¯t happen.


    ¡°There is little I can do from here,¡± he answered eventually. He spoke haltingly as if the words were hard to pronunciate. Hard to admit to. Was it the Surgeon¡¯s imagination, or did he sound embarrassed? Best not to ponder. Best to act as if you didn¡¯t hear anything at all. ¡°He''s with the lycan, which makes it impossible for me to reach him that way. I cannot physically leave Inferno without a vessel.¡±


    The Surgeon almost clapped his pinchers together in excitement; he already knew where this was going. He kept his eagerness contained. Best not to interrupt his majesty while he was in a foul temper. He waited, letting the heaviness of his silence speak for him. What would you have me do?


    ¡°I want you to build me a vessel worthy of your talents, Surgeon.¡± Hamon rose from his throne, his burning eyes ablaze in the dimly lit interior of the chamber. ¡°I want you to use their remains so that I may breech Monad''s new world and take the measure of this new herald. Build me a vessel that will strike true terror in the hearts of men.¡±


    So it had been decreed. With a final wave of his hand, Hamon dismissed the Surgeon.


    Stooping, the insectile demon clacked his pinchers open and closed. ¡°As is your will, Your Grace.¡±

 Roguehaven

    Roguehaven was the last settlement before the Plaesil Mountains gave way to the endless white tundra that was The Mirror Expanse. The smell of smoke and the thought of sitting by a warm fire with a glass of mead pulled at Crowe¡¯s stomach, making it rumble with desperation. Apart from the liver of an arctic fox, he hadn¡¯t eaten in two days. His teeth had not been suitable for the gamey, stringy meat while Barghast had no trouble devouring what the practitioner couldn¡¯t.


    They watched the town from a distance. He could see people moving about with the pelts from wolves wrapped around their shoulders. He saw no torchcoats, but after the trouble they¡¯d encountered in Boar¡¯s Head hesitant to take any chances. A glance at the bleak landscape beyond the cluster of wooden buildings capped by snow only served to conflict him. This was the last vestige of civilization they would encounter for who knew how long. Who knew what dangers awaited them in the vast open space?


    Crowe threw a look over his shoulder. Even from a quarter mile away, he could see the Okanavian¡¯s silhouette pacing impatiently by the horse. Watching. Waiting. Worrying. Always worrying. The sorcerer hated being the source of that worry. Making up his mind at last, the herald waded through the calf-deep snow in the direction of his companion.


    When he saw Crowe, Barghast bridged the distance between them, leading Mammoth by the reins.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to say what we¡¯re dealing with from where I was standing,¡± the practitioner croaked hoarsely. When the Okanavian cocked his head in confusion, Crowe gave him a small smile and started gesturing with his hands. ¡°I have to go down there with Mammoth.¡± Dipping his arm towards the ground, he made the sign for the horse, pointing the index finger on his good hand and the pinky finger of his bad hand over his head like horns. ¡°Mammoth won¡¯t be able to carry us through the rough terrain. We¡¯ll need dogs who can pull a sleigh. You stay¡­¡±


    He turned to walk in the direction of the settlement. He didn¡¯t make it far before a large paw closed around his arm, pulling him back. ¡°No,¡± the Okanavian growled. ¡°I¡­go.¡±


    Rather than pull his arm away, Crowe rubbed his arm. ¡°It could be dangerous. I¡¯ll come right back.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the lycan insisted. ¡°I go! I keep you safe!¡±


    The practitioner sighed. ¡°Aye. I suppose I can¡¯t talk you out of it.¡± If he was being honest with himself, he didn¡¯t want to go by himself. After the last time they¡¯d gotten separated, he didn¡¯t want to part from the barbarian any more than the barbarian wanted to part from him. ¡°You can come with me¡­¡± He reached up, resting a hand on the lycan¡¯s muzzle. He spoke in a firm voice until the lycan looked at him. ¡°But no snapping at people. No snarling. You stay next to me and you stay quiet until we leave. Do you understand?¡±


    Barghast flattened his ears. His tail lowered. He nodded.


    Crowe nodded, as satisfied as he was bound to get.


    His heart quickened the closer they got to Roguehaven. The few heads he could see within sight turned in their direction. Eyes widened. Mouths whispered. Crowe pretended to keep his eyes straight ahead, but remained tense. His hand remained in his pocket, ready to pull out his wand at a moment¡¯s notice. Barghast stayed close to his side, letting the sorcerer lead the way. He, however, did not keep his eyes straight ahead. He kept the stunned onlookers at bay with a silent glare that dared them to attack if they so desired.


    They reached the tavern.


    A cloud of aether and spirits greeted Crowe the moment he opened the door. He stepped back, coughing, waving a hand in front of his face. The sound of laughter and voices raised in drunken cheer was a welcome sound. His chest loosened when he saw Monad¡¯s sigil burned into the tavern¡¯s frost-covered sign. The sign proclaimed the place as The Maudlin Bear Inn. Could it be he¡¯d at last found a place where practitioners didn¡¯t cower in fear of being discovered by torchcoats?


    Stopping in the doorway, he scanned the ruddy bearded faces on both sides of the tables. The moment Barghast and he stepped inside, every face stopped to turn in their direction. Crowe reached hastily for his necklace, pulling it out from underneath the collar of his robes. He stood close enough to the lycan he could feel his chest vibrate with a hidden growl.


    A few voice murmured in silence:


    ¡°...a lycan¡­¡±


    ¡°...this far North, away from the desert? Surely not¡­¡±


    ¡°Is he traveling with that young practitioner? In the name of Monad, he¡¯s massive! He towers over him¡­¡±


    ¡°Oi!¡± called the plump woman who stood at a bar with a grease stained rag bunched in her fat fingers. ¡°It¡¯s rude to stare! Back to your drinks!¡± She winked at Crowe, eyeing the necklace. She thumbed the silvery chain around her neck, revealing she too had a necklace of the exact same design. Another glance around the room revealed she was not the only one; several patrons wore them.  ¡°Welcome, welcome,¡± she said kindly enough. Her voice was deep but pleasant. Welcoming. Genuine. No fear. No reproach. ¡°Name¡¯s Meese.¡±


    When Crowe did not let his guard down, she lowered her voice. ¡°You can relax. We¡¯re just shocked to see a lycan, is all. We¡¯ve heard of them but we¡¯ve yet to see one.¡± She side-eyed the lycan cautiously, not daring to look at him fully. ¡°...as long as he doesn¡¯t bite, that is.¡±


    Crowe caught the shift of Meese¡¯s arm. The movement was subtle but deliberate. She wanted him to see it. She wanted him to know she was reaching for the weapon¡­most likely a rifle¡­under the counter if the barbarian proved to not be friendly. You¡¯ve been welcomed, but you¡¯re also being warmed.


    The practitioner cleared his throat. ¡°I can assure you he¡¯s friendly and so am I. I can also assure you, we won¡¯t be staying long. We just wanted to warm up with some mead.¡±


    ¡°We got plenty of mead, plenty of aether if you smoke it. Assuming you got the coin for it.¡±


    Aye, coin makes the world go ¡®round, does it not? ¡°I do. I¡¯ll start with two rounds of mead, ground aether, and rolling papers.¡±


    He pulled out the small purse he kept in his pocket; the rest of the money Barghast and he had procured over the past month since the defeat of the necromancers stayed in the saddle bag slung over the lycan¡¯s shoulder. Crowe reached into the purse, carefully counting the assortment of bronze, silver, and gold coins. He was about to hand the money over to the woman, when he noticed the dried red stain on a gold coin. A high-pitched sound made Meese jump, made him jump, made several heads look up. Only when the large woman blinked did the sorcerer realize he was the one who¡¯d made a sound.


    ¡°Sorry, sorry,¡± he muttered before the woman could ask him if he was in his right mind. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he told Barghast before the lycan could start nosing at him. He scrubbed furiously at the coin with the tip of his thumb nail until the stain was gone. He dumped the money into Meese¡¯s outstretched palm.


    She eyed him cautiously but asked him no questions. He was grateful for the silence. He was even more grateful when she returned with the mead and a tray with a bowl of ground aether and perfumed rolling papers set on a smaller tray. Crowe thanked her hastily, taking a stool at the bar. Barghast took the stool next to him. He could feel the lycan watch him. Always watching him. Always trying to discern the thoughts that spun through the herald¡¯s mind like an unceasing wheel. You don¡¯t want to know what goes on inside my head, friend. You¡¯ll find nothing pleasant there.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he told the barbarian. The tension in his voice revealed him to be a liar.


    Unconvinced, the lycan leaned forward to sniff at him with a reproving look.


    Crowe leaned back. ¡°Drink your mead. You¡¯ll like it.¡± He gave his tankard a little shake to show what he meant before taking a sip. He could still see the lifeless faces of the torchcoats they¡¯d stolen the money from¡­the coppery smell of blood heavy in the frigid air. That had been a week and forty leagues back ago.


    You did what you had to do. You need the money. They would have killed you and Barghast for less. Simply for being what you are. Simply for breathing. You¡¯ll have to spill more blood before this night ends. A lot more.


    He sipped his mead. He rolled it around his mouth. It tasted far better than the swill the villagers in Timberford had served. He wondered if Rake had managed to lead them to Caemlyn, or if the torchcoats had burned them at the stake the way they burned everything else.


    He turned his focus on the bowl of ground aether and rolling papers he''d paid for. He¡¯d run out of the last joints Rake had given him weeks ago. Now his heart galloped like a worked up steed in anticipation. Already he could feel the smoke curling in his mouth.


    If only he''d been thinking. The last time he''d rolled his own joint, he''d had all ten of his fingers. He''d tried exercising his left hand - anything to increase the strength and coordination in it - but there was no denying that the stronger hand and the damaged hand were one in the same.


    The practitioner laid out a small line of paper on the table. He used a spoon to scoop up a bit of the herb. His arm started to shake. He steadied his wrist with the other hand; he noted that the empty space where his fingers used to be had almost completely healed, stabbed flesh giving way to paler newer flesh. He paused. He could feel the fingers - the ghost fingers - wiggling. No, he told himself. It''s just your silly brain telling you they''re there when they aren''t. Forget them. Quit crying over what you''ll never get back.


    A bead of sweat descended down the side of his face. He could feel Meese watching him as she wiped down the counter, like she''d been doing for the past quarter of an hour now; he could feel the cold weight of her pity. Look away! he wanted to shout at her. I don¡¯t need your pity!


    A large paw engulfed his wrist all the way up to his forearm. He turned from the small beady eyes of the bartender to the large amber ones that held him with a different regard. Not pity, but love. Hot, all-encompassing love, like the sun. Even after all these weeks they''d spent traveling together, even after all they''d endured, there were times when Crowe wasn''t sure he could stand the heat. Even now there was a deep-rooted part of him that wanted to turn away before the fire of the barbarian¡¯s gaze could consume him completely.


    Barghast raised his eyes long enough to give Meese a piercing glare. He growled. She looked away hurriedly. The barbarian leaned towards Crowe, wrapping a large furry arm around the herald¡¯s bony shoulders. The upper half of his body formed a tent that shielded the sorcerer from view. His muzzle hovered close to his ear. ¡°Mgah''ehye ya ymg'' hafh, ya beloved.  Ah nafl feel ashamed¡­¡±


    Giving into the soothing rumble of his voice, Crowe reluctantly relinquished his death grip on the spoon. The Okanavian wiggled his fingers at the tray. The practitioner slid it across the counter, cocking an eyebrow in amusement. His amusement immediately turned into slack-jawed surprise when Barghast picked up the spoon; he held it with great care. He sprinkled the herb on the paper. He rolled the paper into a tight bundle with his claws. His eyes never left Crowe¡¯s nor did his deliberately cocky grin. He topped this act of love by rubbing his thumb and index digits together. Matches.


    ¡°Been watching me, have you, you furry sneak?¡± Crowe grinned, fishing in his pocket for the matches. Lipping a joint, he held the tip out to the offered flame. ¡°It wasn''t my intention to become a bad influence. I appreciate it.¡±


    This earned him a wet kiss on the cheek.


    Once his nerves were settled, Crowe turned his attention back to Meese. ¡°I need to get to the Vaylin Ruins.¡±


    The round-faced woman laughed caustically. ¡°I knew you had an air of danger about you. Farm boy looking for adventure?¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± the practitioner said dryly.


    ¡°You''ll get yourself killed.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    The Mirror Expanse''ll do it.¡±


    The practitioner¡¯s jaw clenched with determination. ¡°Can you be more specific?¡±


    ¡°Well let me put it this way. Do you want to know why this place remains untouched by Pope Drajen''s torchcoats. They''ve lost interest in the place. The only reason they come this far North is to reach the Vaylin Ruins. I don¡¯t think they ever make it that far. They certainly never return. Reevers.¡±


    Crowe lit a freshly rolled joint with a match. The tip bloomed bright in the dimly lit tavern. ¡°Reevers?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what we call them. The creatures who live in the underground caves near the glaciers. They come out at night to hunt. Mostly they¡¯ll hunt foxes or wolves¡­if they hunt in packs of three they can take down a polar bear.¡± She smiled, as if she was merely telling the practitioner of a tourist destination he simply had to see before he left Roguehaven. ¡°If you rent a room and stay for the night you might even get to hear one. Lately they¡¯ve been rowdy, venturing closer and closer to the settlement. They¡¯ve broken into homes in the middle of the night and taken a few of our own.¡± She shook her head. Her smile fell away, turning into a frown of worry. ¡°Something¡¯s got them all stirred up. Monad only knows what it is.¡±


    She stopped when she saw the look on the practitioner¡¯s face; all the blood had drained from his face. He could hear Petras¡¯ creaky voice in his head, telling him stories of the creatures who came down from the mountains to snatch naughty children from their beds.


    ¡°You¡¯ve heard of them,¡± she said with a knowing glint in her eye.


    ¡°I thought they were just stories.¡± I¡¯d hoped they were just stories hung in the air between them. The lycan remained silent but watched them closely, his tail flicking back and forth anxiously.


    ¡°They ain¡¯t just stories. They¡¯re real and they¡¯re right nasty. Where else do you think the stories come from? We¡¯ve set up sentry stations¡­you haven¡¯t seen them yet, but you will if you stick around long enough to explore what little there is of Roguehaven.¡±


    The practitioner repressed a shiver. In his mind he saw the little boy with raven-black hair and raven blue eyes who hid under the covers while the mountain winds buffeted the house. Waiting for the reevers to break into his house. Or crawl out from under the bed - convinced they lived in darkness and could pop out anywhere as long as it was nighttime. Convinced they would snatch him away, drag him deep into their dark home where they would devour him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take a room for the night,¡± he said. He fished for coin once more.


    ¡­


    Another tavern, another room. A future lined with taverns, with rooms in different locations that all looked the same. There was always the chance this was the last tavern. The last room. That a cruel twist of fate would cut their journey short.


    But for now everything was quiet. For now he could think. The only sound was Barghast¡¯s loud snores. The lycan sat on the bed, with his back pressed against the wall, his head slumped in dreams. Occasionally his tail would flicker in his sleep or he would let out a low whine before settling back into whatever scenario played out in his mind.


    Crowe sat in an armchair before the fire. He set a fresh log in the hearth. The fire rose, eager to consume. Half-drunk, half-high and with nothing to distract him, the practitioner could only think of the coin. The coin with blood on it. The blood money and the guilt that came with it - for nothing comes free, he thought, everything comes with a price.


    A high piercing shriek shattered the silence, making him jerk upright in his chair. He rose from his chair, going to the window. In the hours since Crowe and Barghast had arrived at Roguehaven, the wind had picked up, blowing drifts of snow past the window. The practitioner squinted. His face was close enough to the window he could feel winter¡¯s chill through the glass. He looked over his shoulder at the Okanavian. The barbarian had yet to stir from his slumber. Good, the sorcerer thought. Keep sleeping. You¡¯re going to need it.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Not more than a week ago, Crowe had heard such a scream. High-pitched. Animal-like. The kind of sound an animal makes when they¡¯re afraid; the kind of sound they make when they¡¯re afraid. Only the scream hadn¡¯t come from an animal - or from the vocal cords of a creature he¡¯d hoped only existed in stories.


    The cabin, windows shattered, the door hanging off its hinges from where a torchcoat had kicked it down. The smell of smoke. The screams. The laughter. Just like the night he¡¯d found Barghast bound to the tree, the centerpiece of a ring of torture.


    He remembered how Barghast and he had crouched behind the fat trunk of a pine tree. Watching. Waiting. Trying to decide whether or not they should get involved. The man burning. Bound to a stake, his arms twisted behind his back by rope. The smell of his flesh cooking. The woman¡¯s screams - was she his wife, his mother, his sister? The sound of the torchcoats laughing. There were five of them. Barghast whining beside him, slobbering with hunger.


    When he could no longer stand the screams, Crowe started to move out from behind the trees. Once he¡¯d almost abandoned another to this fate. He would not hesitate again. Before he could raise his rod, Barghast grabbed his arm, yanking him back behind the trees with a growl.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he hissed.


    ¡°Stay,¡± Barghast rumbled. He shook his head, glancing in the direction of the torchcoats. ¡°We go.¡±


    The woman rose to her feet, screaming something. A name. The man¡¯s name. Her husbands, Crowe thought. Her voice was drowned out by the agonized pitch of his. She started to run towards the flaming pyre only for a torchcoat to intercept her. A gauntleted fist slammed into her belly. She doubled over, dropping back into the snow. She whimpered something under her breath. Crowe thought he caught the word, ¡°Monad¡±, but it was impossible  to tell from this distance.


    Crowe scowled at the lycan. ¡°You want us to leave them the way I almost left you?¡± He ran a finger along a scar that marked a pale line through the Okanavian¡¯s gray fur. He cocked his head in the direction of the commotion. ¡°They would have done the same thing to you they¡¯re doing to them had I not intervened.¡± The thought of how close he¡¯d come to leaving the barbarian to his fate made his stomach cramp with guilt. Not more than four yards away a new ring of torture played out.


    The bitterness in his voice reached through to the lycan. He stepped back. He shrugged his shoulders, his tail drooping between his legs. He grumbled something in Okanavian. The meaning was clear: I¡¯ll do it, but only for you. He unshouldered his rifle, already taking aim.


    Crowe unsheathed his dagger. ¡°It¡¯s not a complete waste of time.¡± He took note of the eagerness he heard in his own voice. The way his pulse quickened in anticipation of the torchcoat blood he was about to spill. ¡°You love killing torchcoats.¡±


    After counting to three, the herald burst out from behind the trees. The crack of Barghast¡¯s rifle exploded behind him. A bullet whizzed past Crowe close enough he could feel the parting of air - but the shot was not meant for him. A torchcoat dropped into the snow with a heavy thud. Before the four remaining torchcoats could break away in wake of the attack, the practitioner leapt onto the back of another. Wrenching his head back, he drew the blade across his throat.


    Movement to his right.


    Another was sprinting for the trees. Without thinking, Crowe threw the dagger with all his might. It spun through the air, whistling towards the torchcoat. The throw should have missed its mark - it had been sloppy and uncoordinated. But somehow, perhaps by the grace of Monad, it stabbed into the back of the torchcoat¡¯s neck.


    Distracted, he didn¡¯t see the torchcoat charging towards him until they slammed into him with the force of a freight train. The large man fell on top of him, knocking him into the snow. Before Crowe could react, a steel gauntlet slammed into his face. Stars exploded behind his eyes. The torchcoat snarled something under his breath, hands seizing him around the throat. Squeezing with the intent to kill. Weight pressing down on him. Crushing him into the snow.


    The torchcoat was so intent on killing him with his bare hands he didn¡¯t see the practitioner see the handle of the revolver sticking out of its holster. He didn¡¯t see Crowe reach for it until the sorcerer pulled it free. His eyes widened when Crowe pressed the muzzle to his forehead. He started to say something but the herald didn¡¯t give him time to finish before he pulled the trigger. The man fell back like a heavy weight.


    Crowe rolled onto his knees.


    Another voice screamed at him. More movement from his left. A bayonet flashed towards his face. The revolver almost slipped from the practitioner¡¯s sweaty, broken grip. He had to use both hands to keep it steady. He drew back the hammer. He squeezed the trigger. The chamber turned once. The gun shook violently in his hand, almost knocking him off balance.


    The torchcoat stopped. Her eyes widened. Crowe watched the blood drain from her face. She dropped to her knees, placing her gloves over the smoking hole in her throat. He pulled the trigger again, his face set in a rictus of fury. Her head snapped back with a boneless crack.


    He staggered to his feet.


    A twig snapped behind him.


    He whirled around. He drew back the hammers. Barghast halted a meter in front of him. He raised his paws in surrender. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± he breathed.


    The herald let the revolver drop towards the ground. He tried not to think about how close he¡¯d come to pulling the trigger.


    The man who burned at the stake no longer screamed, no longer moved. His body had been completely blackened by the flames, the shape of his face a charred ruin. The woman huddled on the ground before the pyre. The tangle of her hair hid her face but there was no mistaking her grief. Her slender shoulders shook from the force of her sobs.


    Crowe waved for Barghast to stay back. The smell of charred flesh made his eyes water. He knelt down in front of the woman, keeping the revolver at his side. He reached for her cautiously. ¡°Hey,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re dead. They can¡¯t hurt you anymore.¡±


    She jerked back on her haunches, flinging her hair back from her face with a toss of her head. One eye was swollen completely shut. Her cheeks were swollen and puffy and dark with bruises. Her lip was split. Her dress was torn. Her life was ruined. ¡°What do you want? You want me to thank you? You want to fuck me? You want to finish what they started? Go ahead.¡± She shook her head. Her voice broke. Crowe watched the single eye she could see through fill with tears. ¡°Take what you want. Do what you want.¡± She eyed the smoking body that had once been someone she loved. ¡°I don¡¯t care. You¡¯re too late.¡±


    A gust of wind combed through the trees, blowing flecks of ash into the air. Crowe looked at the broken windows, at the sagging door. The cabin was the only shelter they¡¯d found for miles. Had the woman and her husband woke up that morning with any idea that their lives would end in tendrils of smoke? He watched Barghast circle the corpses of the torchcoats, freeing purses full of coins from their pockets. He forced himself to turn his attention back to the woman.


    ¡°I¡¯m not just going to leave you here,¡± he told her in a high-pitched voice, not his own.


    ¡°Then kill me. Shoot me yourself.¡± The woman gave him a sharp look that put any doubts he had as to whether or not she meant it to rest. ¡°Pull the trigger.¡±


    Useless words caught in his throat. All he could manage to say was, ¡°No¡±, and shake his head like a fool. The revolver still hung at his side. He wished he¡¯d never picked the revolver up, but now that it was in his hand he couldn¡¯t drop it. With two less fingers than he used to have it would make a useful weapon for desperate measures.


    The woman surprised him by spitting on his boots. Spit reddened with blood and snot. A string of curse words, ugly and acerbic, streamed from her mouth. ¡°You¡¯re nothing but a cock-sucking coward!¡± she raged. She crawled towards him, seizing him by the robes while still crouched in the snow. Her movements mirrored that night in the cave when Barghast had begged to join his pilgrimage. ¡°What was the point in wasting your breath, then? Why bother?¡± She waved a hand at the blaze from which tendrils of black smoke rose in earnest. ¡°What is there left to keep me anchored to this life? You should have just let the damn torchcoats finish what they started.¡±


    He sucked in a breath. He exhaled through quivering lips. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡±


    Tears fell down her cheek, freezing to her skin. ¡°Shoot me. It''ll be a faster train to Inferno than the one my husband took.¡±


    He took a step back.


    The woman laughed caustically. The voice issuing from her bruised throat rang with hysteria. ¡°I''m sure your beast companion wouldn''t hesitate¡­¡±


    The practitioner cocked the revolver at her forehead. His finger weighed on the trigger, a hair from pulling it. The woman froze. Her breasts heaved. Her eyes bore into his. Pleading with him silently to vindicate her. ¡°How dare you!¡± he spat. ¡°Don¡¯t ask me to be the hand that snuffs out Monad¡¯s flame! If you want to throw your life away so easily then pull the trigger with your own finger!¡±


    He tossed the revolver into her lap. He would find one in Roguehaven; until then the rod was proving more than adequate. Walking away, he signaled for Barghast to grab Mammoth and follow him. The silence that followed the report of the revolver made it impossible to sleep that night.


    The next morning he would begin counting through the money they''d lifted from the torchcoats. Letting them spill into his hand. Feeling the individual weight of each coin after weeks of being broke. Only when he dropped them back into the purse did he see the blood on his hands.


    In the present, another shrill, inhuman scream pulled him back into the present. This was followed by the crack of a rifle. And then the other. Barghast was on his feet in an instant, reaching for his rifle with a snarl. ¡°You¡¯re safe,¡± the practitioner whispered. He crossed the room. Barghast¡¯s arms closed around him, pulling him in until Crowe¡¯s back rested against the barbarian''s belly. ¡°We''re both safe.¡± For now hovered over the room like a black cloud.


    He wasn''t sure how long they stood there holding each other before they heard a third crack, followed by a fourth, a fifth. Each report made Crowe¡¯s blood skitter inside his veins. He wasn''t the only one who was curious. He could feel the Okanavian¡¯s heart kicking powerfully against the back of his shoulder. The practitioner raised his eyes from the frosted window to the lycan''s. ¡°Should we go see?¡±


    This earned him an eager tail wag. ¡°See,¡± Barghast rumbled.


    If the patrons inside The Maudlin Bear heard the gunshots, they showed no signs. In fact, when Crowe looked around the tavern he could see no signs that anything had changed at all. The violin music still played. Slurred voices cursed at the game table where bearded men were bent intently over a card came, while whores sat on their laps, ooohing and ahhhing over the potential victor. Meese had been replaced by a stick-thin man with a narrow face and a long, slightly crooked nose.


    They¡¯re used to the chaos, the practitioner thought as Barghast and he left the toasty interior of the tavern, stepping out into the arctic chill. Living at the edge of the world where human civilization ends, they know how to live in the moment. He felt a growing respect for the people of Roguehaven.


    The snow-covered streets and alleyways of the settlement had taken on a purgatorial glow. Sharp-tipped icicles hung from the sills of windows, catching the stray ray of moonlight that peeked through the smoky wreath of clouds. Taking his hand, Barghast led him past the settlement¡¯s only well. The warmth of his fur and reassuring weight of his arm around Crowe¡¯s shoulder kept the chill at bay.


    They found the guard posts on the Eastern edge of the town. The shelters stood nine feet off the ground, held aloft by sturdy looking stilts. Excited whispers and laughs sounded from atop the shelters. ¡°Who goes there?¡± a voice shouted when Crowe and Barghast drew closer.


    The muzzle of a musket glared at the practitioner, daring him to take a step closer before he stated who he was. The practitioner raised his hands above his head; Barghast followed suit.


    ¡°Just a traveler passing through your settlement.¡± The herald fought to keep his teeth from chattering together. ¡°I heard the gunshots. I hear you have an issue with reevers. I¡¯ve never seen one before¡­¡± He paused for a moment, trying to sound casual. ¡°Neither as my companion. We wanted to take a look.¡± As an extra measure of caution he held his necklace up to the dome of light shining down from the gas lamps grafted into the side of the building.


    Crowe¡¯s answer was met with a lengthy response in which the only sound was the moan of the wind. The herald was about to draw back when the man¡¯s voice said, ¡°Alright. Your friend¡­he doesn¡¯t bite, does he?¡±


    The sorcerer resisted the urge to suck in a breath. You better get used to being asked. It¡¯s better than being shot at. ¡°He¡¯s friendly enough as long as no one gives him a reason not to be.¡±


    Another hesitation. And then a hand waved at him. ¡°Come on up! You might be able to see a few from this distance. We¡¯ve dropped a few. They¡¯ve been bold tonight.¡±


    A ladder led up through a trap door in the bottom of the shelter. For a moment the practitioner worried the ladder wouldn¡¯t be able to bear Barghast¡¯s weight, but the lycan quickly put his fear to rest. In spite of his size, the Okanavian once more proved himself to be the agile predator, squeezing his bulk through the trap door. Three pairs of eyes watched them with open curiosity. Two men and a woman. The two men stood at the window overlooking the expanse of land that gave way to the open tundra. In the distance he could see clusters of ice and rock that stuck out of the earth like the molars of giant dead animals buried beneath the snow. Somewhere beyond that¡­the Vaylin Ruins. The woman was huddled in the corners with a patchwork quilt wrapped around her shoulders.


    ¡°Name¡¯s Hargreaves,¡± said the man who¡¯d spoken earlier. Even in the dim of night the long tangles of his hair and beard were as brightly orange as a carrot. Bright blue eyes scanned Crowe intently from head to toe, measuring him up. The practitioner could feel his companions doing the same. ¡°This is Topher.¡± He pointed at the slimmer shorter man who blew tobacco clouds from a pipe. ¡°The lady over there is Faux.¡±


    ¡°Crowe.¡± The herald hooked a thumb over his shoulder. ¡°Barghast.¡± He pointed at the window. ¡°May I?¡±


    Both men stepped back, giving him and Barghast room to take a look.


    It took a moment for Crowe¡¯s eyes to adjust. The pools of moon reflecting off the ice and snow made it to parse the gloom. Barghast nudged him excitedly. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± he whined. He raised his paw, pointing.


    Were it not for the Okanavian he would have mistaken the smaller mounds sticking out of the ground for tiny seracs. A longer look showed him they were not so mundane. Their shape was too angular. And rocks didn¡¯t have limbs folded at an angle only achieved in death¡­


    Barghast tensed beside him. He growled.


    Crowe jerked in spite of himself. Only now did he realize he¡¯d been holding his breath for the last minute. ¡°What is it?¡± he gasped.


    ¡°Did the beast see something?¡± Hargreaves heavy footfalls sounded behind him, his voice tense.


    He¡¯s not a beast, the practitioners almost said, but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to speak. His eyes remained fixed on the rocky formations ahead, unable to see what the Okanavian could. Barghast unslung his rifle, taking aim. His teeth flashed like silver needles in the dark.


    Crowe saw them a second or two later. Pale, reptilian limbs bounding across the snow. Shrieks sounding from pointed muzzles parted in blood-thirsty rage. A nightmare hybrid of human and amphibian. For the moment the practitioner was glad he couldn¡¯t see more. Watching them move across the ice so easily, the stories Petras used to tell him replayed in his mind, evoking childhood fears. He heard someone shout something at his back, but he couldn¡¯t make himself move. He couldn¡¯t even reach for his rod which was just within hand¡¯s reach.


    A hand pulled him back from the window roughly. Hargreaves took the vacated space.


    Barghast backed to Crowe¡¯s side while the three guards stood at the front of the shelter. Crowe could only watch as they fired, his chest tight, his blood thick. The reports from their rifles lit up the night, washing the ground in white fire. Kill them! he wanted to scream. Kill them all! He didn¡¯t have the air in his lungs to form the words. His fingers fumbled for the Lion-Headed Serpent.


    The creatures shrieked, slipping easily over the ice. Bullets slammed into the ground, kicking up puffs of snow. In spite of the firing squad, the reavers continued to advance towards the settlement. ¡°Load!¡± Hargreaves roared.


    Three rifles bucked in unison. This time one of the shots hit its mark, catching a reaver in the leg. It rolled over the ground, coming to a stop in a sprawled heap. The other two continued their charge unabated. Hargreaves cursed under his breath. His legs disappeared through the trapdoor. Crowe watched him fall past the final rungs; the snow cushioned his landing. He sprinted towards the ambush, a machete in hand.


    The practitioner marveled at the man¡¯s bravery. The way he sprinted towards the creature''s with a war cry, weapon raised over his head. These two men and woman were risking their lives to keep the abominations from breaching the settlement. Just when it seemed one of the reavers would crush him to the ground, Hargreaves swung the machete. The blade sliced through a limb, spraying dark green ichor into the snow.


    The skirmish lasted less than a minute, but for Crowe it seemed he stood there for an hour, frozen in silent anticipation. The tightness in his chest followed him through the trap door, down the ladder. Hargreaves grinned at him from where he stood next to a carcass of one of the dead creatures. Even on all fours, even unmoving, the lifeless creature rivaled him in size. Crowe gaped at the scaly features that were both incredibly inhuman and not; the smell of ash and sulfur surrounded it. Inferno.


    ¡°You can get closer,¡± Hargreaves drawled. ¡°It¡¯s dead. It''s not going to hurt you.¡±


    ¡°This is close enough,¡± the practitioner heard himself mutter. He glanced at Topher and Faux who had joined them from the guard post. ¡°The three of you took out these three creatures on your own with no help.¡±


    Hargreaves cocked a bushy eyebrow. ¡°What''s your point?¡±


    ¡°If you can keep them at bay then what''s stopping the Theocracy from reaching the Vaylin Ruins?¡±


    The man chortled humorlessly. ¡°That was just three of them. Out in the Expanse they hunt in packs of half a dozen or more. In the past we''ve worried about one or two trying to get in town and those incidents used to be sporadic. For the past month something has got them more riled up. They happen two or three times a night now. We shoot the bullets faster than the blacksmith can make them.¡±


    ¡°What do you think has frightened them?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know, but whatever it is it''s enough to get them to come this way. That doesn''t bode well for Roguehaven.¡± An odd glint sparked in Hargreaves¡¯ eyes. ¡°You¡¯re not thinking about going out there, are you?¡±


    Crowe bit back a scowl. ¡°We don''t have much of a choice. There''s something out there we need.¡±


    ¡°It must be something if it''s worth dying for¡­because that''s exactly what will happen if you go out there,¡± the man replied in the same voice he might have used to talk about the weather. He flicked a glance in Barghast¡¯s direction. ¡°The both of you. Especially with the storm coming. It''ll be here anytime.¡±


    ¡°All I need to know is the best way to get across the ice. What we do with our lives is our problem.¡±


    Hargreaves eyebrows due together. He took a step back. ¡°Dogs,¡± he said. ¡°You need dogs and a sled.¡±

 The Mirror Expanse

    There was nothing around them. Only the wind and the snow and the mountains and the dogs. And each other.


    Crowe glanced over his shoulder, wondering if he¡¯d still be able to see Roguehaven. He couldn¡¯t. The settlement had been swallowed up by the land so that all he could see were rolling crests of white. Facing North stood the formation of a small ruin. Stone pillars made of black stone stuck out of the snow. Monad willing, Barghast and he would reach it by nightfall. Already the sky was darkening. Strong gusts of wind blew at him, stinging his wind-burned cheeks. He pulled the hood of his fur-tinged parka down, burrowing deeper down into Barghast¡¯s lap.


    Barghast had hold of the reins. He was panting excitedly, his tongue hanging out of his mouth while the dogs barked and yipped, pulling the sled at almost twice the speed as Mammoth at a full gallop. In spite of the storm clouds that darkened the sky at their backs, the practitioner grinned to himself. The lycan¡¯s joy was infectious. Half a league away a polar bear loped across the frozen landscape, heading Northeast. Spotting it, Barghast shouted something in Okanavian. He raised his rifle and mimed shooting at it.


    Crowe laughed. He could picture the lycan giving chase. He wondered which predator would win¡­the barbarian or the polar bear? Too bad we don¡¯t get to find out.


    A moment later, Barghast patted him on the shoulder. ¡°Stay,¡± he said.


    The practitioner felt a bone pop in his neck. He twisted his head around. ¡°You want me to stop?¡± He hated the way his voice immediately rose with alarm.


    Barghast held up a flat palm. ¡°Stay,¡± he repeated. There was nothing to suggest they were in danger: His hackles weren¡¯t raised and his tail was wagging, which most likely meant he¡¯d spotted something else. Something less nefarious.


    ¡°What is it? What do you see?¡±


    Barghast touched his nose. He rumbled the latest word the practitioner had taught him. ¡°Water,¡± he said.


    Crowe frowned. ¡°Fresh or salt? We can¡¯t drink salt water, remember?¡±


    ¡°Drink,¡± the lycan said with a firm nod.


    The practitioner leaned back, letting his head rest against the barbarian¡¯s belly. It was nice not to be the one to call the shots for a change.


    Barghast steered the sled in the opposite direction of the polar bear. They rose up the curve of a white snowcrest. Sure enough when he shielded his eyes with a gloved palm, Crowe could see a dark line of open water where the ice had yet to freeze over. The practitioner grinned, licking at his cracked lips. Monad proves he is with us still. They¡äd filled their waterskins before leaving the settlement. Through stubborn will the sorcerer had managed to drink from his only once. Still, any chance to replenish their supply before the snowstorm hit was a blessing.


    Crowe stayed by the sled while Barghast went to the spring to refill the waterskins. Happy for a chance to spread his legs and catch a smoke, the practitioner walked in between the dozen dogs he¡äd paid to transport them to the Vaylin Ruins, scratching each one by the ears. He stopped only when he heard a growl at his back. He turned to find Barghast had returned from the spring with the waterskins. Now he stood, glaring at Crowe. His hackles were raised. His tail was arched towards the sky.


    The sorcerer went to him, getting a final lick across the hand from the lead mongrel. ¡§I thought we¡äd be done with the jealousy by now.¡§ He reached up to scratch the lycan¡äs chin. ¡§Are you worried I don¡ät have enough love and pats to go around?¡§


    Barghast seized the seat of Crowe¡äs breeches with a growl. He squeezed it. ¡§Mine,¡§ he said.


    ¡§I see. So you are jealous.¡§ Crowe took a waterskin. He removed the cap, taking a long sip. The water tasted briny but felt good against his parched throat. He lit a joint.


    The lycan drew up beside him, falling silent. The dogs were now resting in the snow, unbothered by the wind. Out here this far away from civilization the quiet was misleading. It could be easy for one to pretend they were safe. They¡äd yet to spot a reaver. You¡äve become so used to chaos that it makes you uneasy when it isn¡ät around. Learn to enjoy the small moments. The herald indulged in a long private look at the Okanavian. His dark gray fur stood out sharply against the frozen earth. The wind rippled through his fur. His eyes scanned the horizon. He let out a deep, thunderous breath, his eyes cooling to pale shades of amber.


    ¡§Beautiful, isn¡ät it?¡§


    Barghast cocked his head. ¡§Twin o¡ärre.¡§


    ¡§Beautiful. All this.¡§ Crowe waved his hand in a circle, indicating the tundra.


    He opened his dominant hand, pointing up with his remaining fingers. He completed the sign by rolling his fingers counter clockwise across the front of his face. He repeated the gesture three times, pointing at the sky. ¡§Beautiful,¡§ he said.


    ¡§Boo¡­¡§


    ¡§Beautiful.¡§


    ¡§Boo-tit-fool¡­¡§ Barghast flicked his tail against the snow anxiously.


    ¡°Close. It¡¯s nothing to feel embarrassed about Barghast. You¡¯ll keep trying.¡± Again the herald pointed at the sky. He repeated the word. He pointed at the water. He repeated the word. He pointed at the snow-capped mountains to the South. Beautiful, he said again. He patted Barghast¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Beautiful,¡± he said again. He made sure to grin.


    Barghast turned to face him. ¡°Beaut-i-ful.¡±


    ¡°Good. Close - very close. Keep trying.¡±


    Barghast pushed back Crowe¡¯s hood. He cupped his face in his paws. He stooped, leaning over until their noses touched. Until their lips were but an inch away from touching. ¡°Beautiful,¡± he rumbled. He kissed him.


    The herald continued to scratch at the Okanavian¡¯s chin bristles. ¡°Very good. You¡¯re a fast learner.¡±


    Bolstered by his praise, the lycan seized his rump once more. This time with both paws. ¡°Beautiful - mine.¡±


    The practitioner laughed. Blood flooded his cheeks. ¡°I see what you¡¯re trying to do.¡± He stepped back reluctantly before casting a nervous glance at the sky. Dark clouds rolled in from the North. In little more than an hour the storm and night itself would be on top of them. He didn¡¯t like the idea of being exposed to the storm with nothing around them in the shelter. He liked the idea of being in the storm with hunting, hungry reavers even less. Hargreeves had marked the temple where he hoped they would camp for the night on the map; it marked the halfway point to the Vaylin Ruins.


    ¡°Don¡¯t whine at me like that!¡± the practitioner snapped - without conviction - when the Okanavian groaned in disappointment. ¡°I told you there wouldn¡¯t be much time for cuddles and pats once we left Roguehaven. You don¡¯t want to stay stuck out in the storm, do you?¡±


    A shriek split the air - a shriek that was too high, too cold to be the wind. Crowe knew exactly what the sound came from. Reavers.


    Already the dogs were yipping and howling and baying in fear. Seizing the reins, Barghast offered a paw to help the practitioner up. The sorcerer scanned the horizon in all directions. The moment he was seated, the Okanavian¡¯s arm closed around him like a steel band. The moment he snapped the reins they were off, racing back in the direction of the temple.


    Each jolt of the sled made the herald¡¯s teeth rattle inside his skull. Barghast muttered under his breath, but whether it was a curse or a prayer, Crowe could not be sure. Clinging to the barbarian¡¯s arm, he risked a peek over the side of the sled.


    With the way the sled shook and rattled, it was impossible to discern anything at first.  When he did spot them, he wished he hadn¡¯t. He counted half a dozen of the reptilian creatures a mile back and quickly closing the distance.


    The wind whipped at his face, blowing his hair in his eyes. He pulled out the overpriced revolver he¡¯d bought before leaving Roguehaven. He checked to make sure it was fully loaded before rolling the chamber back in. He held his rod in his damaged hand. ¡°Keep going!¡± he shouted at Barghast. ¡°Don¡¯t stop!¡± With any luck we¡¯ll reach the temple before they reach us. He pushed his fear and determination to reach the temple into his rod. It thrummed hungrily, ready to unleash chaos.


    The dogs must have sensed the danger they were in. Their strong four-legged bodies pulled the sled with all their might and still it was not fast enough. Already the reavers had closed a third of the distance. An anvil of dread crashed to the bottom of the practitioner¡¯s stomach with a thud.


    We won¡¯t make it to the temple before they reach us.


    He thought of Hargreaves, Topher, and Faux huddled in the guard post, doing what they could to keep the population of Roguehaven safe. They were not like the villagers of Timberford who had huddled behind closed doors while waiting for their troubles to pass. If they can be brave¡­if they can persevere¡­then so can we.


    Like oil poured over an open flame, the thought ignited the spark in Crowe. ¡°Hold onto me!¡± he shouted at Barghast.


    He clambered to his feet.


    The world tilted. Before gravity could haul him to the ground, Barghast seized a fistful of his robes. Crowe¡¯s world righted itself again.


    The reaver in the lead was close enough Crowe had an unobstructed view of its face. Its maw yawned open like the mouth of a living cave, revealing row upon row of needles that went back as far as the eye could see. Its gray tongue was long and forked. The practitioner could already feel the jaws of death closing around him, breaking him down as it devoured him whole. It was not the reavers face he saw when he fired a kinetic burst of mana at the abomination, but Petras¡¯.


    The reaver jumped nimbly to the side. Its companion behind it was not so lucky. Crowe¡¯s spell slammed into it like an invisible fist of steel. The impact crushed the front of the creature inward with an audible crunch. Its brethren spilled over it without a second glance, clearly intent on pursuing their prey.


    Crowe fired twice more. Both times he missed.


    The leader closest to the shed launched through the air like a spring. The sled cleared the space a second before the creature could land atop it. Still it pursued, its progress unimpeded by its landing. Its mouth opened. Crowe thumbed back the hammers of the revolver. All he could see was the inner lining of the reaver¡¯s throat.


    With each pull of the trigger, the pistol bucked in the practitioner¡¯s hand. Three bullets hit their mark, blasting holes in the reaver¡¯s thick hide. Another blast from Crowe¡¯s rod knocked the creature down.


    In the seconds since the chase had begun, the gale had picked up force. It closed in on the parade, another adversary intent on keeping the herald from reaching his destination. A black magnet pulled his attention to something behind the reavers - a new and terrible mystery. Another shape. A smaller shape. It moved through the growing gloom with a broken pace, as if its twisted limbs were all wrong. At the speed with which the sled was moving, it should have long since fallen behind. Somehow it stayed ahead of the draft.


    A thought struck Crowe like a hot iron: The reavers aren¡¯t chasing us. They¡¯re running!


    Running from the shadow. Running from the shadow that was no doubt following them. Crowe threw a desperate glance over his shoulder. He tried not to feel relieved. They were almost at the temple. Monad help us. Will we safe inside?


    Another shriek pulled his attention back in the direction of the reavers. This time the sound was pained. Fearful. The sound a predator makes when it becomes prey. The mysterious shadow stood behind it, dragging it back into the gloom by its tail. The creature pawed helplessly at the frozen snow. When Crowe blinked it was gone as if it had never been there at all.


    Crowe was so focused on the commotion, he didn¡¯t realize a reaver was closing in until it was too late. It slammed into the side of the sled. The practitioner had just enough time to scream the lycan¡¯s name and then his feet left the sled. His world spun. He landed on his back, the snow cushioning the impact of his fall. A thousand alarms rang inside his head.


    Already he could feel the earth shaking beneath him. He raised his head. A reaver charged at him, hissing. Up close it loomed larger and larger, rivaling the size of a carriage. The practitioner jumped to his feet. He had mere seconds before the creature was on top of him. Before Crowe could pull on his mana, the reaver veered to the right, loping towards the Western horizon.


    The practitioner blinked. He squinted. It was impossible to see in the thickening gloom. He strained, listening with his ears. Beneath the wail of the wind he could detect the small crunch of feet on ice. He blinked. The shadow he¡¯d glimpsed earlier staggered towards him. Dread creeped up the back of his throat, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of fear. The movements of the figure were wrong. One arm was longer than the other, cocking its body at an angle that was anything but natural. A thousand insects crawled over the practitioner¡¯s skin. The sense of wrongness followed the figure¡¯s every disfigured movement. Crowe¡¯s bladder felt heavy. With all the will he could muster, he freed himself from the spell of paralysis that kept his boots rooted knee-deep in the snow.


    Before it could emerge from the mist, before he could see its terrible visage, Crowe turned and fled in the direction of the sled.


    In the collision with the reaver, the sled had overturned upside down. Barghast¡¯s claws slashed through the air, severing the ties that bound the dogs to the sled. Freed from their restraints, the dogs bounded for the temple. The terror in their yips and howls only reflected the terror that made the practitioner feel as if the world was closing in around him. Only when he reached the Okanavian did he stop. Still the shadow figure pursued, its face hidden in shadow.


    ¡°We have to go.¡± Crowe tugged at the lycan¡¯s arm. Tried to tug at his arm. Merely lifting his paw was like trying to pull a hefty rock out of the ground. He looked into the Okanavian¡¯s eyes. Eyes wide and frozen with fear. The hot yellow smell of the barbarian¡¯s piss colored the frigid air.


    ¡°Come on, damn you! Move it!¡±


    It was too late.


    The creature stopped three meters away. Its cracked blue-gray lips spread across its moldering face in the twisted imitation of a grin. The stitches that held flaps of its patchwork flesh together strained as if fighting to break free. Crowe¡¯s gaze slowly drifted down the length of its misshapen body. It wore no clothes. A long trail of stitches trailed from the top of its neck all the way down to its groin where its genitalia should have been. Patches of flesh were completely missing, showing the bone underneath. One half of a female body fused to the body of a male to make something new.


    Another one of Inferno¡¯s twisted experiments.


    ¡°Herald,¡± the abomination said in a raspy voice. ¡°We meet at last. Officially.¡±


    ¡°Hamon,¡± Crowe breathed. He couldn¡¯t stop his legs from shaking.


    Hamon spread its - his? - arms, a showman on stage catering to the whims of his audience. ¡°You called for me and so I came. Do you like my body? You should recognize it.¡±


    Crowe did recognize it. He remembered Barghast throwing the limbs through the portal into Inferno. You idiot! You gave him exactly what he needed to make a vessel¡­A body that can walk the earth¡­


    ¡°It suits you,¡± the practitioner heard himself say in a voice that sounded steadier than he felt. He jabbed his elbow into Barghast¡¯s belly with all his strength. It was like hitting a wall made of mortar, but it was enough to get the lycan moving. He backed towards the cave with a whimper. ¡°Move!¡± Crowe pushed at him again.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°Run all you want. Run to the Vaylin Ruins if you think it will keep you safe.¡± The undead creature laughed. The smell of fecund meat hit Crowe like a freight train. He gagged, his eyes watering. ¡°There¡¯s no where you can go that I will not find you. Even if you were to destroy this vessel - good luck with that - I can always make another. Believe me when I tell you, herald, there is no version of this in which you win. You failed in the first two Iterations, and you¡¯ll fail in this one.¡±


    The Black King¡¯s clawed hand rose into the air. Prisms of crimson light erupted from his blackened fingers. They streaked towards Crowe, leaving trails of light behind them. Before they could strike their target, Crowe raised a wall of kinetic energy with his rod. The prisms shattered on impact.


    Hamon laughed. ¡°You¡¯re a fool if you think you can stand against me! You¡¯re nothing more than a child. What chance do you have against the Black King of Inferno?¡±


    A comet of fire streaked from Crowe¡¯s rod. Hamon stepped back, encasing himself in a sphere of black smoke. Crowe¡¯s spell struck the sphere and rebounded off it. It struck the sled. The sled burst apart in a smoking cloud of wood splinters that caught in the practitioner¡¯s hair. Tendril of the black smoke twisted away from the sphere. They slithered across the snow towards the practitioner like snakes. The herald braced himself, gathering his mana in anticipation of the attack.


    Before the black smoke could strike him, Barghast was pulling at his arm, shoving him towards the temple. It seemed he¡¯d broken from his spell of paralysis. Crowe snagged his saddlebag. He slipped and staggered after the barbarian who had no trouble traversing the treacherous landscape. If anything he was made for it. Before he could lose his footing, the Okanavian seized him around the waist and slung him over his shoulder. Hamon¡¯s cruel laughter followed him as he receded into the gloom.


    The barbarian lunged up the steps of the temple. Once he stopped before the entrance of the temple, he set Crowe down on his feet. He peered into the darkness with a whine.


    ¡°Get inside!¡± Crowe snapped breathlessly. Already he could feel the beginnings of a migraine building behind his eyes. ¡°We don¡¯t have time for your superstitions! If anything awaits us inside, it can be worse than Hamon himself.¡±


    Speak the name of the king Down Under and he shall appear. Sure enough Hamon mounted the steps. He did not hurry. Why would he hurry when he had all the time in the world? Why would he worry when he¡¯d been playing this came century after century, Iteration after Iteration?


    There was no where else to go. There was no where else that could offer them safety. He led Barghast into the temple.


    Crowe had the sense he was stumbling from one time into another. The dusty air was electric, dancing with an energy that made his skin tingle. He whirled around to face the entrance. The Okanavian reached to pull him after him, but the practitioner stepped back. ¡°Wait!¡± he hissed. He held up his palm. ¡°Wait!¡±


    Hamon reached the top of the steps. The practitioner found he could not look away from the walking corpse: the mismatched limbs stitched together to make a doll of disproportionate scraps. The design, while grisly, was not without its carnal appeal. It took the talent of a true surgeon to fit two unseemly parts together so seamlessly. The Black King sneered, watching him through the eyes of what had been the older necromancer.


    Crowe brandished his rod at the ceiling. A stream of yellow light lashed from its tip, latching onto the stone as if it were a hook. In just a few moments Hamon would be through the entrance and there was nowhere to run.


    The thought, the fear lent Crowe strength. He screamed, pulling at the rod with all his might, every muscle in his body screaming with him. He felt the floor beneath his feet crack. The ceiling groaned.


    A large paw seized him by the back of the robes and yanked him out of the path of the falling rock. Dust smothered him. He coughed, waving it out of his face. Dead silence greeted him. He looked up, expecting Hamon to close the distance between them. Instead the entrance was blocked off by a wall of falling rock. His plan, though desperate, had worked. Time, he thought. That''s all you''ve bought yourself is time. And not much of it because now you''re trapped. What if there isn''t another way out?


    There has to be!


    The lycan cowered against the wall. He hugged himself, tail tucked around his knees. Crowe stepped towards him only to falter. He''d never seen the barbarian look so afraid. So obviously frightened. You were so busy taunting the enemy out of pettiness. you completely forgot who truly matters.


    A voice of caution echoed in his mind, warning him to give the barbarian space.


    He''s never hurt me before and he won''t hurt me now. Crowe dropped to his knees. The frozen tundra outside the temple¡­the temple itself¡­the reavers and Hamon fell away. Tucked away in a secret compartment of his mind where he could consider them later. All that mattered was his companion.


    ¡°Barghast!¡± The steel in his voice turned the word into a command.


    The Okanavian¡¯s head turned in his directions. Tears borne of terror pricked the corners of his eyes. The practitioner couldn''t recall if he''d seen him cry before.


    Crowe reached for him cautiously, bridging the distance between them. He released a sigh of relief he didn''t realize he''d been holding until the barbarian took his hand. With the warmth and familiarity of the Okanavian''s touch, he felt his own racing heart slow.


    Though his hand was far smaller than Barghast''s dinner-plate sized hand, Crowe squeezed it. He tried to transmit his thoughts to the barbarian. Can you feel me? Can you feel my touch? Can you feel I''m here with you?


    ¡°Look at me,¡± he demanded.


    Molten gold eyes met dark blue ones.


    ¡°You are safe.¡± The conviction he heard in his own voice surprised him. ¡°He can''t come in here. We''re together. You and I are safe.¡±


    ¡°Safe,¡± Barghast repeated.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. It''s just you and me.¡± He wanted to stay with the lycan. He wanted to comfort him. He wanted to feel those strong arms wrap around him like a shield. But there was no time. I got us in this mess. Now I have to find a way to get us out of it. ¡°Barghast,¡± he said gently.


    ¡°Twin o''rre.¡± Barghast¡¯s paw engulfed his hand. The pads of his palms were clammy with cold sweat.


    ¡°I''m going to leave you here for a moment. I''m going to look for a way to get us out of the fresh hell I''ve gotten us into. Stay here. Catch your breath. Breathe.¡±


    He moved to stand up. Before he could step away, the lycan¡¯s hold tightened on his hand. ¡°Stay. Not safe.¡± The frightened round globes of his eyes pulled at the practitioner¡¯s heart.


    For his formidable size and intimidating appearance, Barghast was childlike when it came to his superstitions. A quality Crowe found frustrating and endearing in equal measures. At the moment he found it frustrating.  ¡°If you want to hold my hand that''s fine, but we can''t just sit here. I have to take a look around so I can try to come up with a plan.¡±


    For the next several minutes, the practitioner continued to coax the barbarian. ¡°It¡¯s just you and me here. Just us chickens. There is nothing else here that can hurt us¡­defeat us. Do you know why?¡± Crowe dropped a kiss on the Okanavian¡¯s muzzle. ¡°Because you and I are together, and as long as we''re together there''s not a thing on this Earth or outside of it that we cannot withstand.¡±


    At last the Okanavian climbed to his full height. In spite of his size, he clung to the practitioner as if he were a lifeline.  Crowe lit an aether joint. He took a long drag from it before handing it to the lycan. Once the joint had been passed around a few times, Crowe led him into the center of the chamber. With the joint pinned between his lips, he held up a gas lamp with his good hand. The crippled hand remained trapped in the vice grip of the lycan. One of the dogs ran up to lick his hand. Barghast scared it away with a growl as if to say: I''m the only one who gets to do that.


    The herald stopped in the center of the chamber. His skin continued to buzz. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling he was being watched yet no matter which way he looked, his physical sight revealed nothing.


    Hieroglyphs resembling the ones carved staff marked the wall. A shiver crawled up the practitioner¡¯s spine. He did not feel the same superstitious fear of the dark the way the Okanavian did. Why would I? This used to be our home before the plague of madness came and took it away from us. A plague that would allow the Theocracy to bring his people down to their knees and enslave them.


    The echoes of the past pulled Crowe deeper into the chamber. Barghast followed along beside him, holding onto Crowe¡¯s hand as if afraid the darkness would swallow him whole. Not for the first time the sorcerer wondered if the Okanavian could see spirits he himself could not see. With a language barrier that kept them apart, it was impossible to ask.


    Near the center of the temple, they walked around a tall statue that once could have once been a fountain. Carved into the shape of a man, Crowe felt his breath catch in his throat when the front of the statue fell into the light.


    Crowe looked into its marble face. A face carved in such intricate detail, it could have been alive. He gasped in recognition. The eyes, closed in thought, the mouth downturned in contemplation. A face that very much resembled his own face. A restless sigh blew through the temple, stirring the dust at his feet. He wanted to walk away from it. He wanted to deny it, to destroy it until it was nothing, but no state of denial made it impossible to ignore the fact it was his face he looked into. Other statues surrounded the room. Winged creatures who forever stood with their hands forever placed on the ceiling to keep the heavens from falling.


    That''s not me, he thought. It might look like me, but there''s no way it could be me because I have no memory of coming to this place. Didn''t he? Only when he was close enough to the statue he could reach out and touch it did he notice the door. Had the light from his lamp not bounced off its reflective surface, he wouldn''t have noticed it all.


    He reached for it.


    A voice in the back of his mind warned him to be careful¡­a tiny echo he could barely hear against the buzzing that filled the inner chambers of his skull. Unlike the stone walls around it, the door was in the shape of a half circle and made of a thick steel no blade could penetrate. It drew him like a copper coin to a magnet. He reached out to touch it.


    The steel felt ice-cold beneath his hand. Voices stirred around him, churning a darkness that had not known the touch of light for many centuries. He pressed against the crack of the door. He felt the slightest draft of air. If there''s a way in here, there to be a way out. I just have to find it. He glanced hastily at the statue in the center of the chamber to make sure it hadn¡¯t moved from its position. You¡¯re every bit as spooked by this place as the Okanavian is.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯orre¡­ look!¡±


    Barghast had released his hand long enough to point at a new discovery: a pedestal made of the same steel as the door. The bottom rose up out of the stone floor like a steel stem before spanning out into a bulbous shape at the top. The practitioner approached the pedestal cautiously. He held the lamp up to get a better look. Runes matching the hieroglyphs on the wall had been carved into tiles two inches wide.


    Crowe poked a tile with his finger. The moment his skin made contact with the tile a shock struck him. He jumped back with a yelp.


    Barghast moved to pull him back. He growled at the pedestal.


    The practitioner waved his hand. ¡°I''m fine. It just surprised me, is all.¡± This time he let his hand hover over the tiles but did not touch them. The runes began to glow. Glowed with the same white light that burned in all of Monad¡¯s children. The warmth was faint¡­so faint he could barely feel it. After a few uneven pulses, the light flickered before dying completely.


    Another obstacle to overcome. Another riddle to solve. Monad, you never make anything easy, do you?


    Crowe stepped back from the pedestal, blowing a hiss of frustration through his teeth. He went  to the wall with the hieroglyphs. Surely the answer was there, carved into the ancient stone. When he touched it, nothing happened. The air inside the chamber did not stir, phantom voices did not whisper revelations in his ears.


    ¡°Another test of faith.¡± He backed up several steps until he looked up into the impassive face of the statue. The resemblance to his mentor¡­and to himself¡­was uncanny. The high cheekbones, the long, hooked curve of the nose. The lips a straight line of contemplation. He could have been sleeping. Or praying.


    Which is what I should be doing.


    His mind had slowed down to a sluggish crawl. The race to the temple had taken more out of him than he thought. Or maybe the cold was zapping his strength. All their things¡­their blankets, their tents, everything they needed to keep themselves warm¡­was outside. Out of reach.


    I''ve gone and done it this time. I''ve damned us both to the Void.


    He could feel Barghast watching him intently. Waiting. Believing Crowe would find a solution to get them out of this new predicament. I don¡¯t have enough fingers to tell him I''ve completely fucked us.


    Hysterical laughter boiled inside Crowe. He searched the blank-faced statues, the face of the statue who resembled his mentor. He waited for the temple ceiling to become porous. For the Eternal City''s holy light to shine right through and enlighten him. It wasn¡¯t going to be that simple. The only time I''ve gotten answers is when I''ve gone looking for them.


    Barghast was already seated on the ice-covered steps of the fountain. Wagging his tail, he patted his thighs excitedly in anticipation of his next opportunity to make bodily contact with his next twin o¡¯rre. Two of the dogs circled Crowe only to be scared off by a warning growl from the Okanavian.  The dogs scampered away with mingled yelps, tucking their tails between their legs. No sooner had the practitioner started to lower himself, the lycan seized him around the middle. He glared at the dozen dogs huddled together in the middle of the temple for warmth. ¡°Mine,¡± he snarled. To further his claim he licked Crowe¡¯s cheek, whining.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to have to learn to share.¡± The practitioner scratched at the fur between the barbarian¡¯s ears.


    Barghast leaned forward until their foreheads touched. ¡°Mine,¡± he said again.


    ¡°Yours,¡± the herald agreed. ¡°All yours. There''s only one way I can think of to find the answers I need¡­¡±


    The lycan pressed his ears back against his head. ¡°Away,¡± he rumbled with another whine. ¡°Stay.¡±


    ¡°I can''t.¡± Crowe twisted around so that he faced his companion. ¡°I know you¡¯re afraid of the dark. I am too. But there''s not a thing in here you need to be afraid of. Everything you need to be afraid of is out there.¡± He pointed at the chamber''s only exit. ¡°We''re in more danger of freezing to death. At least I am.¡±


    He lit a joint, rolling the smoke around his mouth. Why am I not panicking? Why do I feel so calm? Outside the temple the wind wailed and whispered. He listened for the reaver¡¯s screams, for the scrape of Hamon¡¯s bare feet against the ice. ¡°This place used to belong to my people,¡± he told the Okanavian for the simple fact he was tired of hearing his own thoughts. ¡°Back before we were slaves. Back before we were relegated to building railroads.¡± He shook his head as if to disentangle the knotted threads in his mind. ¡°Why? At the start of every Iteration we start off powerful¡­a force to be reckoned with. And then we end up being nothing more than dust. A tombstone that sticks out of the ice.¡±


    Barghast watched him intently, listening. It never matters if he can understand me or not. When I talk he stops to listen. When I''m hurt he stops to soothe me. When I''m afraid he stops to let me know I''m not alone. When I leave he waits for me¡­


    Crowe took a long drag from his joint before passing it back to the barbarian. For the next several minutes they passed the joint back and forth without speaking. With each drag, Crowe felt his lycan companion relax. Felt the tension beneath his fur fall away. He wasn''t the only one. When the sorcerer closed his eyes, he imagined himself falling back. Imagined himself falling back until he landed in a pool of welcoming sun-dappled water. He rested his cheek against the lycan¡¯s chest, lulled into complacency by the powerful kick of his heart.


    He stood in the center of the chamber, surrounded by robed figures. Their faces were obscured by hoods. They chanted in unison so that a dozen voices came together to form one. They raised their hands towards the ceiling while the lights of the Eternal City flooded the temple. One such figure approached him, holding a jeweled dagger.


    ¡°You have returned just as you always promised you would,¡± the figure told him in a woman''s voice breathless with wonder. The other disciples had stopped chanting and watched him - waiting for his response. She turned to face the ancient steel door. ¡°Only you can open the way to the city of Vaylin. Only you can lead us to safety.¡±


    He placed his hand over the pedestal. The tiles glowed on contact with his skin as he fed his mana into it. The glow filled the temple, eclipsing it.


    ¡°Twin o''rre!¡±


    Barghast was shaking him. Whimpering. Afraid. Crowe lifted his head from the past, his thoughts spinning. The dream (memory?) had felt so real. Now the temple was shaking all around them as if it wanted to come apart. Barghast had risen to his feet, hoisting the practitioner off the ground. Now he set him down, clinging to them. Silky whispers filled the cave, sifting through the dust. Shadows took shape, forming a circle in the center of the chamber around the fountain where the herald had stood in his vision.


    ¡°Herald, you have returned at last¡­We have been waiting for you for so very long.¡± The longing in their mingled voices pulled at something inside him. Something that had been locked away unbeknownst to him.


    He wriggled out of the Okanavian''s embrace. Or tried to. The lycan held him as tightly as he could without crushing him; he shook so hard it made Crowe''s teeth rattle inside his head. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre¡­stay¡­¡±


    ¡°Put me down. You have to.¡±


    With great effort, Crowe managed to extricate himself from the barbarian¡¯s steely grip. He staggered towards the pedestal, drawing on his mana. A thousand needles pricked his hand. For over a thousand years this temple had been dormant. Waiting for him. Waiting for this moment. Now he was feeding the temple. The chanting of the spirits rose in pitch; beneath that he could hear the panicked howling of the dogs. The longer he held on the more he could feel the pedestal zapping his strength.


    Ancient gears churned behind the door. Slowly it rose until it revealed a dark tunnel way that went back as far as the eye could see. ¡°We did it!¡± Crowe dragged his hand away from the pedestal. He grinned at the Okanavian in spite of the wave of exhaustion that swept through him. ¡°We got it open!¡±


    Barghast took a few steps towards the tunnel. He sniffed the air wearily. ¡°Safe?¡±


    ¡°I don''t know.¡± The practitioner sniffed. ¡°Right now it''s our only way out of here. We don''t have a choice.¡± The smell of dust and age made the herald¡¯s head swim. He tried not to think about the cellar of his old childhood home. Stay focused. Right now Barghast is counting on you. Already he could feel the world begin to shrink around him.


    Barghast took his hand. In the absolute darkness of the temple his eyes burned like twin suns. The familiarity of his touch anchored the sorcerer to the present. He let the lycan lead the way. Dust crunched beneath their feet. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the tunnel, blown into motion by cold drafts of air. Nothing else moved. Nothing else breathed. They could have been the only two living beings in existence. Crowe summoned a ball of spinning flame that trailed after them like a rock pulled on a string. Even with the light it was impossible to tell how long the cave continued. What if there isn''t an exit? What if it''s caved in? What if we''re trapped?


    This time there was no keeping the panic at bay. Bile rose up the back of his throat. He had just enough time to turn away from the barbarian and lean forward. In the name of Monad¡­not here, not now! I just need to push on a bit longer.


    Wiping at the back of his mouth with his damaged hand, Crowe almost walked straight into Barghast''s chest. ¡°I''m fine,¡± he reassured the lycan. ¡°Let¡¯s just keep going. I don''t want to be stuck in this place any longer than we have to.¡±


    But Barghast wasn''t looking at him. Or facing him. He''d planted himself in the center of the tunnel with his legs spread slightly. He gripped the rifle in his paws. His growl was low and threatening and directed at something the practitioner could not yet see. His hackles were raised. His tail flicked back and forth. The breadth of his shoulders filled the narrow corridor.  Crowe held his dagger in his clammy hand. The thought of using the rod in such a confined space only made his chest feel tighter.


    He could hear the steps of the newcomer scraping along the ancient stone beneath their feet. A small dome of light in the shape of an oil lamp coalesced in the gloom. The gleam of silver-white hair trickled through the darkness, revealing the hooded face of the woman who¡¯d led them all this way. She dropped her hood.


    Crowe gasped.


    Barghast roared, ushering the practitioner back. His lips peeled back from his teeth bared in threat.


    The woman''s eyes were the unnatural silver of a fox''s. ¡°Hello, Crowe,¡± she said with a welcoming grin. ¡°I was wondering when you would show up. As always you''re late.¡± She looked at the Okanavian.  ¡°Ah calm.  Y'' ephainafl ymg'' ngahnah ngnah ymg'' beloved mirror orr''e.  Llll nog ya if ymg'' l'' ahmgr''luh escape ''drn pursues ymg.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s growl lowered to a rumble. He pressed his ears back. His hackles fell.


    The woman once more turned to look at the practitioner. There was an odd knowing glint in her fox eyes that made the herald want to turn away; he felt as if he was made of glass. He''d only known one other person who could make him feel that way. ¡°You may call me Maeve. You do not know me, but I know you. I''ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time. I know you''ve traveled a long way and been through much.¡± She graced him with a bitter smile that was not without kindness. ¡°I¡¯m afraid it will only get more difficult from here. For now you must come with me and be quick! We don''t have much time.¡±


    Without another word, she turned, already disappearing into the shadows.


    Barghast took Crowe¡¯s hand. ¡°I keep you safe.¡±


    Together they followed Maeve deeper into the tunnel.

 The Ghost of Petras

    Crowe and Barghast followed the woman in silence, keeping a weary distance. Who are you? How do you know me? Why have you brought me here? Where are you taking us? What do you intend to do with us? Half a dozen questions spun through the practitioner¡¯s mind, but now that he was here it was as if the woman had cast a spell over him. Barghast guided him after her, refusing to let him go. The practitioner was grateful for the contact. The temperature in the tunnel seemed to drop lower the deeper into the tunnel they went. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, shimmering when they caught the light from Maeve¡¯s lamp.


    Barghast and he exchanged anxious looks. The lycan gave his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. His tail wagged slightly as if to say: I am here. I am with you. I will not leave you alone. As long as you and I are together there¡¯s nothing we cannot withstand.


    The practitioner squeezed back. He drew closer to the barbarian¡¯s heat. Their shoulders brushed together.


    The herald wasn¡¯t sure how long they traveled like this - it could have been an hour, it could have been longer - without speaking, without stopping. Maeve did not look over shoulder once to make sure they followed. By the time Crowe noticed the change in the air his body ached with fatigue. It had taken a lot out of him to fuel the pedestal. He released a sigh of relief when the woman stopped at the end of the tunnel. At last she turned to face them. The wind blew her hair around her like a veil. Behind her the spires of Vaylin towered above the ice where they had stood silent vigil for thousands of years.


    ¡°Welcome to what used to be the city of Vaylin,¡± the woman said with a wry smile. Her silver fox eyes flashed with bitter amusement and familiarity. ¡°Look at the spires. Note the architecture. Do they remind you of anything, Crowe.¡±


    Don¡¯t call me that, he wanted to tell her. He hated the fact that she knew his name when he knew nothing of hers. He hated the way she looked at him, as if she could see right through him. As if she knew everything about him that he did not yet know about himself. He realized he knew that look. It was the same way Petras had looked at him and Bennett the morning Bennett had let him out of the cellar. In spite of the knot of discomfort that tightened in his belly, her voice pulled at him. He stepped closer to the mouth and looked up.


    ¡°Metropolis.¡±


    She nodded with an approving curve of her lips. ¡°There are dead cities just like this one all over the world, built in the Eternal City¡¯s likeness. In its heyday, Vaylin was a majestic city, teeming with life. All this¡­¡± She gestured at the frozen, empty street behind her. ¡°The snow, the ice¡­was not here. This land used to be verdant. Full of trees and life, everything our civilization needed to survive. This was a completely different climate.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    Something dark flickered in the woman¡¯s eyes. ¡°The same thing that happens in every Iteration as the world begins to degrade and the Cycle approaches its end. Monad¡¯s people¡­our people¡­always thrive in the beginning. There is peace in our society. Our people don¡¯t have to hide who they are. They don¡¯t cower in fear. Until the plague of madness hits.¡±


    ¡°The plague of madness?¡±


    ¡°An affliction every practitioner should fear. As you know practitioners have very long lifespans. We can live for thousands of years, assuming fate does not cut the thread early. Closer to death we become senile. We lose our memories, forget where we are, who we are¡­¡±


    Petra¡¯s empty blue eyes flashed before Crowe¡¯s mind.


    Maeve smiled cryptically. ¡°You know of what I speak. You¡¯ve seen it with your own eyes.¡±


    Crowe gulped.


    ¡°The plague was different. It afflicted the young as well as the old. It passes at the beginning of every Iteration. It will pass through the next. When the plague of madness came, the Theocracy charged through the streets on horseback, slaughtering any practitioner who stood in their way.¡± Something dark and distant entered Maeve¡¯s eyes. ¡°I can still hear the thunder of their hooves¡­¡± Maeve shook her head, freeing herself from the grip of the past. ¡°Come. I could spend all night telling you what happened and longer. Unfortunately we do not have that kind of time. You bring trouble with you, herald.¡±


    ¡°I - ¡±


    Maeve raised a gloved hand. ¡°We have prepared for such an eventuality. Though the city has been dormant for many centuries, it is not without its defenses. Were it not for the plague, the Theocracy would have never been able to breach these streets. There is a reason why they always wait¡­¡±


    Her voice trailed off. Crowe and Barghast had no choice but to follow.


    The practitioner¡¯s head craned in every direction. Though there was not another soul around them, the same eerie feeling they were being watched nagged at him. The spires were tall enough they provided a barrier from the worst of the wind, but the air was still frigid.


    ¡°Heeerrraaalddd¡­¡±


    The voice sounded in his ear, a low moan that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He jumped with a yelp, pulling his hand free from Barghast¡¯s grip. He backed away, searching for the source of the voice, only to find a very confused looking lycan staring back at him.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    ¡°I¡­I¡­¡± The sorcerer shook his head helplessly. ¡°I heard something¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not the only one who¡¯s been looking forward to your arrival,¡± Maeve said. Another knowing smile, another playful glint of the eyes. ¡°This city has been waiting for you.¡±


    Crowe and Barghast continued to follow the woman. Phantom voices tracked their journey. Crowe kept searching the empty corners. Occasionally he would catch a flicker of movement, sure it was a person, only to look and find he¡¯d been made a fool yet again. While the necropolis¡¯ silent streets did not frighten him, he did not like feeling he was being made the subject of an elaborate trick.


    ¡°Oi!¡± he snapped when he could no longer keep his frustration at bay. He rounded on the woman. He no longer cared who or what she was. ¡°I¡¯ve had it up to here with the cryptic passages and riddles. We traveled here all this way because you said it was the only way we¡¯d survive the necromancers. We killed the necromancers and we¡¯re still on the run.. I think it¡¯s high time you tell us why we¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°I know how far you¡¯ve traveled. I know what it¡¯s taken for you to get here.¡± Her gaze flickered down to his crippled hand. ¡°Unfortunately I can tell you this is only the start of your journey and it will only get more difficult from here. For the both of you.¡± She wiggled her fingers to include Barghast. ¡°One day you will find the answers you seek, herald, but that today is not today and it¡¯s not for a while. I¡¯m simply the next mark on the map to guide you on your journey. We are here.¡±


    She¡¯d stopped outside the flagsteps of the tallest spire. The front was guarded by a fountain replicated from the one inside the temple. Her words echoed uneasily in Crowe¡¯s mind:  this is only the start of your journey and it will only get more difficult from here¡­One day you will find the answers you seek, herald, but that today is not today and it¡¯s not for a while¡­


    Up ahead the entrance into the spire was as black and empty as the Void - nothing to hint at what the practitioner and lycan would be walking into. ¡°Wait¡­wait!¡± Crowe jogged after the woman. He snagged a hold of her robes. He stepped back hastily when she turned. She did not look happy to be grabbed in such a way. Perhaps you shouldn¡¯t be so bold, he reminded himself. Whatever she is, she¡¯s about as old as Petras was before he died and she¡¯s no mere practitioner. Those eyes¡­they¡¯re the eyes of a demon. But surely a demon wouldn¡¯t help me. ¡°What you said about not finding the answers I¡¯m looking for doesn¡¯t work for me. You can¡¯t just expect us to follow you blindly. Who are you? What are you?¡±


    ¡°Ah, Crowe. Is it really too much to ask you to take a leap of faith with me? You do it every day. You follow Monad blindly. You took a leap of faith when you saved your twin o¡¯rre from the torchcoats. You¡¯ve been taking leaps of faiths every day since then. You will have to take thousands more before your journey is over. Each one more difficult than the last. I can only tell you what will happen if you do not take this one.¡±


    Crowe laughed bitterly. ¡°What will happen? Please tell me.¡±


    ¡°We will all die,¡± Maeve answered in the same voice she might have used to tell him the color of the sky. ¡°You and your lycan lover will never leave this place.¡± She arched a snowy eyebrow. ¡°Is that incentive enough for you?¡±


    They followed her into a large chamber. The floor beneath their feet was uneven, cracked in places and raised in others. Flakes of snow slid in between cracks set in the ceiling, gathering in clumps between the stone pillars. Faceless winged statues watched them from atop stone altars. The city of Vaylin was beautiful in all its empty glory. Just remember the society that existed here is dead. The Theocracy slaughtered them and enslaved those who were left. The same thing will happen again if you fail.


    After passing through a series of equally empty corridors, Maeve led them up a spiral staircase. Crowe was surprised to find candles had been lit atop altars. He could feel voices raised in argument.


    ¡°Who else is here?¡± he demanded.


    ¡°Others who have been waiting for this moment as long as I have. Waiting for you. They¡¯re friendly.¡±


    The sorcerer frowned. ¡°They don¡¯t sound friendly.¡±


    ¡°You will meet them shortly. First I want to show you something.¡± She stepped through an open doorway.


    Crowe glanced over his shoulder at the lycan. Still there. ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± he whispered. ¡°I don¡¯t like this one bit.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s eyes cooled from molten gold to pale amber. He settled a paw on Crowe¡¯s shoulder; he squeezed it gently. ¡°Together,¡± he said. Another word the herald had taught him.


    ¡°Together,¡± the herald agreed.


    Maeve stood behind a large oak desk. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Bookshelves lined the wall, filled with leatherbound volumes. A room that was anything but empty. But none of the objects in the study captured Crowe¡¯s entrance the way the two portraits over the fireplace did. He walked towards them with the gait of a man who finds himself trapped in a dream and can¡¯t wake up. ¡°These are¡­¡±


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°You,¡± Maeve said. ¡°Well¡­not exactly. They¡¯re your predecessors.¡± She went to the fireplace. She pointed at the first portrait. A man stood in the center of a temple, surrounded by hooded figures: an echo of the image Crowe had seen in the room with the pedestal. He wore rich robes made of purple silk. The man in the portrait appeared older than Crowe was currently, but the shape of his eyes and the hooked bridge of his nose were the same. ¡°Monad,¡± she said. ¡°The Prime himself. The one who made all of this.¡± She waved a hand to indicate everything. ¡°And this¡­You know who this is.¡±


    Crowe¡¯s blood turned to ice. He looked into the cold eyes of his tutor. Already he could feel his disapproval. You are a mistake¡­


    Next to the portrait of his mentor was an empty space. ¡°That¡¯s where you would go,¡± Maeve said in her raspy voice.


    ¡°Would?¡±


    She nodded sadly. ¡°Things are different this time.¡±


    ¡°Different? Different how?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re different. Things have started early. The herald is not supposed to appear for another two-hundred-and fifty years.¡±


    ¡°Two hundred and fifty years?¡± Crowe scoffed even as the necromancer¡¯s words replayed in his mind about things being different. ¡°You can''t expect me to believe you.¡±


    Maeve''s eyes narrowed. ¡°Even after everything you''ve seen? Even with everything you have accomplished?¡±


    ¡°I grow tired of your riddles, woman! For over a month we have raced to get here, pursued from one end of the North to the other. You speak look as if you know me - know the both of us. You clearly can speak Okanavian. You told me you know Petras. What else do you know?¡±


    ¡°More than I''d like to and nothing at all,¡± came the silver-eyed woman''s reply. ¡°As you know Petras was your predecessor. We worked together. When he failed to change things at the end of the Second Iteration we went into hiding with the vow that the Third Iteration would be the last.¡± The woman beamed at Crowe with such appraisal it made the practitioner uneasy. ¡°You are the product of that change. Now everything is in flux. Everything we think we know has changed. Petras¡­where is he?¡±


    ¡°Buried under the dirt, being feasted on by the vermin of the earth.¡± The words came out in a cold, sharp rush before he could stop their passage.


    If Maeve heard the icy fury in his voice, she didn¡¯t show it. ¡°How long ago did he pass away?¡±


    ¡°A little over three months ago.¡±


    She nodded. The way the blood drained from her face told him the news he''d delivered was not the news she''d wanted to hear; he could also see it didn¡¯t surprise her. ¡°Not so long ago we weren''t just colleagues, we were friends. The enemies we fought together¡­.the battles we won. I''ve never met anyone who had a mind quite like his.¡± She smiled sadly. ¡°When we met I was trapped in a hell of my own making. I was in too deep and couldn''t see my way out. He helped me to find a new reason to continue living when I had none. It hurts to see him in your face and feels good at the same time. Like I''m seeing an old friend I haven''t talked to in years.¡±


    Crowe tried to steel himself against her words to no avail. The genuine grief he heard in her voice hit an exposed nerve. Whoever she was¡­whatever she was¡­it was clear she had cared about Petras. He glanced at the portrait of his mentor. Even now it seemed he glared at him with disapproval from the portrait. It never occurred to you in all those years you lived with him that you have the same face, did it? That centuries from now you will look exactly look as he did and the madness will eat at your brain as it eventually does all practitioners¡­?


    He turned his head away from the painting. He couldn¡¯t bear to look at it a second longer. ¡°I''m sorry for your loss.¡± It surprised him to find he meant it.


    Maeve turned away. She wiped at her face with long fingernails. ¡°He raised you, didn''t he?¡±


    ¡°He''s the closest thing I had to a father.¡± The bitterness crept back into his voice. He couldn¡¯t stop his hands from trembling. ¡°He became sick with the madness. I cared for him until the day he died. I didn''t know him the way you did. It''s like hearing about a perfect stranger the way you talk about him. All I know is I''m the one who has to clean up all his mess.¡±


    The woman nodded as if she understood something he didn''t. ¡°I think it is time you met the others. This way, please.¡±


    She led Crowe and Barghast out of the room. Crowe was happy to be out of the study, where Petras couldn''t watch him from beyond the grave. Even now he hovers over me like a phantom that will not leave me be? Will I ever truly be free of him?


    A dark gray tail brushed across his face, pulling him from his thoughts. Amber eyes bore into his with concern. ¡°Safe?¡± the Okanavian rumbled.


    Crowe looked away guiltily.  He''d been so lost in thought over his mentor, he''d forgotten about the barbarian. Even if they could understand each other, how could he find the words to explain the complications of his relationship to Barghast? He reached over, giving the lycan¡¯s paw an affectionate squeeze. ¡°I''m fine. I''ll feel better when we''re away from this place. When it''s just you and me again.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s tail wagged. ¡°Together.¡±


    The practitioner nodded. ¡°Together.¡±


    They could hear the sound of voices again raised in agitation. The source of the commotion came from a door at the end of the hallway; the door was open. A man dressed in robes marched past the door, rolling his shoulders in anger. Maeve looked at Crowe over her shoulder; the resigned look on her face told him this was a common occurrence. ¡°Prepare yourself.¡±


    They entered a large dining room. A dozen men and women sat around a long dining table made of wood. Crystal goblets had been placed at each seat. The faces that lined the table were cracked with age, hair shot through with streaks of gray; others had the same silver-white hair Petras had before he died and the same nimbus Maeve currently had now. The charged feeling in the air and the staves they each held at their side told Crowe they were practitioners just like him. Had he ever seen this many practitioners in a room at one time? Have they all been here the same as Maeve, waiting for me? The thought made the herald nauseous.


    The man who he''d glimpsed from the hallway stopped at the farthest end of the table, having sensed the new arrivals. The angry flush of his cheeks and wheeze of his breath and the uneasy hush in the room suggested he had been shouting for some time. Unlike the others seated around the table, he did not carry a staff or wear the Lion-Headed Serpent around his neck. Bright red hair shot through with bristles of gray hung down to the meaty curve of his shoulders. His mouth twisted beneath the red whiskers that covered the lower half of his face. Sharp green eyes bore into Maeve''s fox eyes. He raised a dark bottle to his lips; Crowe detected a whiff of whiskey.


    ¡°Finally you¡¯re here. We''ve been waiting here all bloody night.¡±


    ¡°Ah, Matthias.¡± Maeve''s answering smile was dry and mocking. ¡°I''ve seen you found the stash of whiskey. I figured it wouldn''t take you long to find it.¡± She scanned the faces around the table. ¡°I''m sorry to have kept everyone waiting; I know this is unpleasant business we''ve been doing. There have been some recent developments I did not foresee, so we do not have much time. The Black King has found a vessel and is but moments from breaching our doorstep¡­¡±


    Mutters and curses of alarm fluttered around the table. Maeve silenced them with a wave of her hand.


    ¡°We have spent centuries waiting for this moment,¡± Maeve continued. Her voice rang with passion, drawing every eye in the room to her. Not even Crowe could bring himself to look away. ¡°Hiding in the shadows while the Cycles spun on without us with the hopes that our sacrifices would pay off in order to change things. That moment is here.¡± She stepped back, forcing Crowe to the forefront.


    All eyes in the room turned to him, pinning him in place. Several bodies rose from the table. Crowe wanted to step back, wanted to cower behind Barghast where he could hide from their scrutiny, but his legs had turned to the stone.


    ¡°The herald¡­¡±


    ¡°He is here¡­¡±


    ¡°He should not be here yet. It¡¯s too early in the Iteration¡­¡±


    A roar of laughter broke through the room, silencing their whispers. Several pairs of eyes glared at Matthias with disapproval. He took a long pull from the bottle of spirits before pointing a fat finger at the herald. ¡°That is not a herald, Maeve. That is a boy. He looks like he¡¯s barely weaned off his mother¡¯s teat. I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re looking so happy about, demon. All these centuries of toil, all these sacrifices only for you to bring a boy to fight our battles.¡± The man¡¯s voice trembled with ill-concealed resentment. ¡°Aye, things may be changing. Events are starting earlier in the Third Iteration than they did in the First and Second. But have you stopped to think of the consequences? You¡¯ve already changed one event and look at what arose from it. Hamon stands on our very doorstep¡­¡±


    A growl sounded behind the herald. Barghast stepped around Crowe, shielding him with his body. He showed his teeth to Matthias.


    Many people would have cowered back, but the ruddy-faced man laughed again, wiping at the back of his mouth with a liver-spotted hand. ¡°And where would our beloved herald be without his lycan lover? I wondered when I would see you again.¡±


    ¡°Matthias.¡± It was Maeve¡¯s turn to glare at him. ¡°You¡¯ve had more than enough to drink.¡± She cocked her head in the Okanavian¡¯s direction. ¡°I suggest you hold your tongue lest you lose it.¡±


    Matthias opened his mouth to argue. Seeming to think better of it, he snapped it shut. He took the empty seat near the front of the table at the opposite end of the room. Crowe leaned towards Maeve. He dropped his voice to a whisper, fixing her with a pointed glare. ¡°I knew there was something else you were hiding from me. You are a demon.¡±


    ¡°Aye, as everyone here knows.¡± Crowe expected Maeve to look away guiltily. She didn¡¯t. She looked him directly in the eye. ¡°I am not a demon, though a demon resides inside me.¡± She widened her eyes in indication of this. ¡°I am not a demon, nor am I your average practitioner - just as you aren¡¯t. I am neither and both at the same time. We live together in harmony, she and I. We share this body. This mind.¡±


    Numerous faces flashed through the practitioner¡¯s mind. First Bennett¡¯s, then Tannhaus¡¯, then Lagerof¡¯s. Their eyes were black as the Void. Hers are silver. Why are they different? Why is she different? ¡°I¡¯ve seen what happens when a demon from Inferno inhabits a human body. But you have found harmony with the one inside you? How is that possible?¡±


    ¡°Another question I cannot answer. Matthias, as drunk as he is, is right about one thing. We don¡¯t know what the consequences this night could bring are. Against all odds you stood against Hamon¡¯s servants and won when we did not think capable of doing so. Now Hamon has risen to take their place. He is a far more formidable enemy. Even with our combined strengths¡­¡± She flicked her gaze in the direction of the table. ¡°...we are not strong enough to stand against Hamon¡­¡±


    ¡°We need Petras here!¡± Matthias piped up.


    ¡°Petras is dead!¡± Crowe snapped. He whirled around to face Matthias. However he must have looked it was enough to silence the man and drain the blood from his face. ¡°I didn¡¯t know him the way you did. So far all everyone as said about him is how brilliant he was, how kind he was, how there was none other than him, but the Petras I knew was cruel. Manipulative. Abusive. And by the end of the life he was but a shell of himself. I know. I fed him every day and emptied his bed pan. I¡¯d also like to remind you he failed. Failed all of us¡­¡±


    A bell dinged in the room.


    He stopped, looked over his shoulder.


    There was nothing there except the frost-covered window and the wail of the wind beating against the glass. You¡¯re hearing things. Petras is dead and in the ground.


    Back to the table.


    ¡°We¡¯re not supposed to be here,¡± he continued. ¡°This world is a mistake. Our people still remain locked in chains. I have seen firsthand what the Theocracy is willing to do in the name of their dogmatic faith. I don¡¯t know if I can change things. I don¡¯t know if I can make this Iteration better than the last one. But I will leave Monad¡¯s people to suffer unjustly. Pope Drajen¡¯s reign of terror will end.¡± To Maeve he said, ¡°You brought me here for a reason. You said we cannot defeat Hamon on our own. Have I doomed us?¡±


    ¡°Not yet.¡± Maeve bit her lip.


    ¡°You don¡¯t sound confident.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not. It¡¯s an idea. An experiment we have yet to try.¡±


    ¡°An experiment?¡±


    Before the demoness could elaborate, a shriek sounded outside the window. Crowe¡¯s blood turned to ice. I¡¯ll never be able to forget that sound as long as I live. Already the practitioners around the table were getting up from their seats, staves in hand. The hairs on the back of Crowe¡¯s neck and arms stood on end. The air seemed to draw in on itself as a dozen practitioners drew on their mana, runes ablaze with Monad¡¯s fire.


    ¡°Reavers,¡± Maeve whispered. She didn¡¯t sound any happier than Crowe felt. ¡°Herald, it seems we are out of time.¡±

 A Leap of Faith

    Crowe watched the practitioners file out of the room. Their collective silence reflected the flutter of anxiety in his chest. Everything was happening too fast. Faster than what he could keep up with. We''ve come all this way for help, for answers, and I feel more lost than the day I buried Petras.


    ¡°You and Barghast must come from me.¡± Wrinkles of panic etched brackets of worry around Maeve''s mouth.


    Barghast paced back and forth. Already his rifle was in hand. He stopped in front of the window and looked out the window. More reptilian shrieks sounded from the ghostly streets below.


    ¡°I can help.¡± Crowe pulled out his rod.


    ¡°You will only get Barghast and yourself killed if you tried. This is our fight not yours.¡±


    The herald gnashed his teeth together in frustration. ¡°I''m getting real tired of everyone telling me how to do my job. I''m done running. I''m done hiding. Barghast and I are going to help whether you like it or not. Let''s go, Barghast.¡±


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± the lycan growled. He followed Crowe out into the corridor.


    Crowe and Barghast followed the thunder of footsteps down the staircase. Despite the chill in the tower, the herald¡¯s blood boiled with excitement. The clack of heels at his back made him pause at the bottom of the staircase. Maeve was right behind them. She carried her staff with her. ¡°Not going to try and change my mind?¡±


    ¡°I know better than to waste my breath. If you''re anything like Petras, there''s nothing I can say that will change your mind.¡±


    ¡°Stop comparing me to Petras!¡± No sooner had the words left his mouth, the floor trembled beneath his feet. Shouts, shrieks, and detonations sounded from the street. The herald staggered into the night with Barghast and Maeve on his heels.


    Streaks of fire and blue light shot through the air, throwing the reptilian shapes of the reavers into illumination. Crowe watched one burst apart in an explosion of green ichor. Half a dozen more crawled over its ruined carcass, hissing and spitting. The sorcerer squinted. Am I seeing what I think I¡¯m seeing? The shape of the creatures was different from what he¡¯d seen before. Spines of bone that ended in sharp tips trailed the lengths of their back. Was it just the trick of the gloom or did their scales look black when before they had been pale. An all too familiar dread pulled at his mind.


    The practitioners who had sat around the table now formed a line in front of the spire. Their arms spun and weaved, their curses steaming the air. Each time fire struck the ground, the stone beneath Crowe¡¯s feet shifted. The battle drew him forward.


    An older practitioner surprised the herald by stepping back to give Crowe and Barghast space at the front of the line. The man''s eyes twinkled with genuine warmth. ¡°We have waited so long for you, herald. We will fight for you. We will die for you.¡±


    There was no time to respond. The reavers were spilling over each other in greater volumes than Crowe had yet to see. When a dozen crumbled away under the onslaught of mana, a dozen more advanced forward to take their place. Already one leapt through the air, talons catching the moonlight.


    Pushing his will into his rod, Crowe slashed the air. Monad¡¯s fire burst from the tip, suffusing the street in white light as it whistled towards its target. Like a flare striking oil, the reaver was engulfed in fire. Foul-smelling excrement pelted the combatants below, catching on the shoulders of their robes and in their hair. Crowe twisted his head to shake the filth out of his eyes.


    Barghast shouted something in Okanavian, pumping a clenched fist in the air. The rifle swung around to bear on a target closing in on the line. The rifle bucked. The reaver¡¯s limbs went limp in death. It slammed into the ground, sliding across the ice. It stopped a foot away from where the barbarian stood. Up close Crowe could see that the body of the creature had indeed been altered, its skins blackened by the corruption of Inferno. A familiar growl pulled the practitioner¡¯s eyes to the lycan. They exchanged uneasy looks.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± Crowe asked the sorcerer who had said he would give up his life for the herald. They fought beside each other, dancing and pivoting, weaving back and forth as the endless assault continued.


    ¡°Maximus. It is an honor to fight at your side.¡±


    The reverence in the man¡¯s voice sent waves of uneasiness through the practitioner. We''ve never met before. He doesn''t know me. Why would he want to give his life for me?


    Crowe gulped. I need to stay focused! He pointed to the nearest dead creature. Maximus¡¯ eyes flicked quickly away from the empty space where his first two fingers had been. ¡°These creatures are different. They¡¯ve been altered. I¡¯ve seen this before in a place called Timberford. And once before that.¡±


    Maximus swung his staff, before slamming the end into the ground before his feet. Twin balls of crackling blue light burst from the top end. After a moment he peered at the dead creature the younger practitioner had referred to. ¡°Aye,¡± he agreed. ¡°This is Hamon¡¯s doing. He¡¯s corrupted them to do his bidding. He¡¯s bound them to him by feeding them the black filth in his veins.¡±


    A scream sounded somewhere to his right. One of the fighters was being hauled back by a reaver, her leg gripped in its muzzle. Her screams were shrill and sent slivers of ice down the sorcerer¡¯s spine. Hands reached for her, but she was already being dragged back into the hoard, leaving a streak of blood in the snow behind her. Someone cried out after her, but the sound of her name was lost in the cacophony.


    The battle continued. The bodies of dead reavers filled the street, forming a barricade. It did not slow down the hoard.


    Maeve appeared at Crowe¡¯s side, her hair damp with sweat. Gone was the wry sense of humor, replaced by a grimness that made the herald stop to give her his full attention. A glance to the left showed that their numbers were dwindling. Where a line had been formed out of a dozen practitioners he now counted only eight, excluding himself. ¡°We cannot remain here,¡± she panted. ¡°We must back away into the building. There¡¯s too many of them.¡±


    The herald searched the gloom for a smaller shape with misshapen limbs. ¡°Where is he? If it¡¯s me he wants, why hasn¡¯t he appeared yet?¡±


    ¡°Hamon is devious. This tactic is just like him: draw everyone¡¯s eyes to the front and dwindle their numbers while he sneaks around from the side. That is why we must go inside and barricade the door. It¡¯s time we play our last hand.¡±


    The practitioner¡¯s heart plummeted. ¡°I¡¯ve doomed us, haven¡¯t I?¡±


    Maeve¡¯s frown softened. ¡°We¡¯ve always known we were doomed long before you came here and still we fight. We will die so that you can live. That is the way things must be if we are to change them.¡± She lifted her head towards the sky. ¡°Fall back!¡± she bellowed, cupping her hands around her mouth. ¡°Everyone fall back!¡±


    The remaining practitioners started to  back towards the tower. Crowe turned to follow only to feel someone slam into him from behind. He fell forward, scraping his palms on the steps. A second later, Barghast hauled him to his feet, steering him towards the entrance as a new wave of reavers flooded over the barricade made of their father brethren. Just when it seemed they would make it through the door, Barghast yipped, ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡±


    The sound stabbed into Crowe¡¯s heart like a dagger. His head twisted around so fast his neck popped.


    A reaver had Barghast by the back of a leg and was dragging him back down the steps. Down into the growing hoard.


    Images passed fleetingly through Crowe¡¯s mind in rapid succession. That brief glimpse of the woman¡¯s hand disappearing into the reaver¡¯s hoard, as Barghast¡¯s paw was doing right now¡­reaching and then gone; that brief moment of quiet when they¡¯d been in the water with the bear right before Barghast fell over the side of the waterfall. That terrible moment when the practitioner thought he would die alone; the terror at the thought of losing the Okanavian now. It echoed inside him now and exited out of his mouth in a scream of defiance. His eyes blazed white with fury and fear. ¡°No!¡± he shouted. Sparks shot from the end of his rod.


    An Inferno-corrupted reaver scuttled towards him, insect legs a blur, spines glinting in the moonlight. Its mouth snapped open and closed as it loomed closer. Crowe slashed the air with his wand. An invisible blade dropped down from the sky like a guillotine; it sliced through the creature, bisecting it in half.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The practitioner charged down the steps, slicing his way through the hoard. Flames shot out of him, turning scaly flesh into charred meat. One dead reaver became two dead reavers. Three became four until he lost count. It seemed black ichor sprayed him from every direction. It was impossible to breathe. With every second he felt his heart would combust. No, no, no¡­this is not how things are meant to happen!


    He found Barghast at the center of a standoff. Even while surrounded by a half a dozen reavers, the Okanavian was like a mountain. Several slashes marked his back and shoulders¡­a set of new scars to add to the museum he¡¯d acquired¡­but he was very much still alive. He stood at his full height, his claws unfurled. His teeth flashed like steel needles. Spittle frothed at his lips. Tectonic muscle and vein stood out against dark gray fur that stood on end.


    ¡°Barghast!¡± Crowe shouted.


    He blasted one apart with his rage. He dodged the claws of another and turned it into smoking slag.


    The barbarian¡¯s claws sliced through the air, parting scaly flesh, spilling out blackened intestines that had begun to fuse together.


    They fought their way to each other until they met in the middle of the street. There was no time to rejoice in their reunification. Already the gap they¡¯d opened for themselves was closing, reavers pouring in from every side. Barghast lifted Crowe in his arms, securing him to his chest. He lunged over the ice and snow, leaping up the steps four at a time. Crowe clung to him, an arm hooked around his shoulders. In the twisting, writhing hoard of reavers that teemed between the rotting spires, a single slim figure strolled between them, grinning at them with a cruel stitch of a mouth.


    As soon as Crowe and Barghast were through the door, a wall of shimmering white mana appeared over the door. The creatures at the front of the line drew away with hostile hisses before they could collide with it. Crowe went to his lycan companion. ¡°Are you okay?¡± He spun circles around Barghast. The sight of the wounds made the inside of his mouth go numb with fear. ¡°Please, somebody¡­I need bandages.¡± He searched the unfamiliars faces for Maeve.


    The lycan¡¯s paws fell on his shoulders, pulling him around to face him. Warm lips engulfed his. All too soon he pulled back; his eyes were round orbs of concerns that pulled the practitioner into their depths ¡°I¡­safe. You¡­safe?¡± His other paw rested against the practitioner¡¯s lower back. He pressed his snout to Crowe¡¯s forehead and sniffed several times. ¡°Safe,¡± he confirmed with a satisfied nod.


    A wave of disquiet stilled the chaos around them. Barghast growled, pulling Crowe tighter against him. Every pale grim-eyed face in the room was focused on the front of the tower. The reavers had fallen back. Hamon¡¯s twisted face grinned at them through the barricade. The air inside the spire crackled with the sorcerers¡¯ mingled effort to keep the shield in place. Hamon pressed a rotting finger to the dancing wall. ¡°This will only hold me back for so long,¡± he said in a voice that sounded like dead leaves scraping against stone. His flesh sizzled and smoked on contact, but he did not pull back. ¡°You only delay the inevitable. I will take great joy in making each and every one of you suffer.¡±


    Maeve pulled urgently at the sleeve of Crowe¡¯s robes. ¡°You and Barghast must come with me. There is something else you must see. If you don¡¯t, you will die and if you die everything we have sacrificed will be in vain.¡±


    Crowe waved at Barghast to follow them. ¡°Lead the way.¡±


    ¡°Matthias!¡±


    The man stepped out of his hiding place behind a winged statue. ¡°Demoness?¡±


    ¡°Your moment is here. Are you sober enough to do what needs to be done?¡±


    The man paled, flicking a nervous glance in the herald¡¯s direction. ¡°I suppose I don¡¯t have much of a choice.¡±


    Crowe looked to the seven remaining sorcerers who stood in a half circle before the entrance. Every bit of their focus was put into maintaining the barrier. Hamon slammed his fist into it, The shield shuddered as if it were made of solid matter. Cracks crawled up the sides of the wall, splitting stone. It seemed wrong to leave them to fight his battle¡­to die for his cause. His feet moved of their own accord, moving along a path that had been set for him long before this moment. Matthias stumbled ahead of him, huffing and puffing. The practitioner caught the occasional curse beneath his high-pitched wheezing.


    ¡­


    The sounds of battle followed them up winding staircase after winding staircase. The air crackled and popped. A window exploded just as Crowe passed it. Shards of glass caught in his hair. Maeve did not stop to make sure he and Barghast followed. She was a woman intent on reaching her destination. One flight of stairs became two. Two became three. By the time they reached the last landing and the demoness came to a door, the practitioner thought he would collapse from exhaustion.


    ¡°The hardest part is yet ahead,¡± the fox-eyed woman told him.


    ¡°You really know how to offer one words of encouragement,¡± the herald muttered dryly. He straightened to his full height.


    Matthias grunted under something under his breath. ¡°Didn¡¯t you just say we don¡¯t have all day?¡± He shoved past Crowe, bustling into the room like a temperamental rooster.


    Crowe stepped into the room after him. His eyes rose to the ceiling. His jaw dropped. He simply had no words to describe what he saw. Black cables with steel casings trailed from a large oculus in the ceiling; they traveled down the wall like reaching tendrils, leading down to a metal table set in the center of the room. Four poles stood at each corner of the table with a round glass globe at the top with twin prongs inside. What he found himself looking at resembled the surgery room of a doctor.


    ¡°What is this?¡± The practitioner felt everything inside of him go rigid. The last time he¡¯d been strapped to a table like this was all too fresh in his mind. The empty spaces where his first two fingers used to be burned.


    ¡°My invention,¡± Matthias said. The unmistakable pride in his voice echoed around the room as he shuffled to the front of the table. ¡°I finished it just before I got here.¡±


    Crowe looked to Maeve for an explanation.


    ¡°All of Monad¡¯s people - each and every practitioner - carries a spark of Monad¡¯s flame,¡± she told him as if this was the answer she¡¯d recited many times over for this very occasion. ¡°It is the source from which we draw our power. You already know this.¡±


    ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°Events are taking place in this Iteration earlier than they did in the last Iteration. You are here when you should not yet be.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    The demoness shook her head. ¡°That is not for us to answer.¡±


    Crowe ground his teeth. ¡°Who can?¡±


    ¡°Petras would have been able to.¡±


    The herald scoffed. ¡°Petras is dead.¡±


    ¡°Then I suppose you will have to take another leap of faith.¡±


    ¡°And what does that entail exactly? What is it you¡¯re asking me to do?¡±


    ¡°While every practitioner contains a spark of Monad¡¯s flame within them you store within you the biggest ember of all. But it is premature. Underdeveloped. If you are to survive this night we must give it strength from the source.¡±


    With each question he asked only more confusion awaited him. ¡°The source?¡±


    It was not Maeve who answered but Matthias. ¡°Metropolis - your beloved Eternal City. These wires channel the energy - the same energy a practitioner expels when they use their mana - from the city itself. Into you. It will give you a boost. The currents would travel through this¡­¡± The portly man held up a heavy round device that resembled a helmet. Nuts and bolts had been screwed into the top. A tangle of wires fed into the back. More bolts at the side of the device gave it a most ominous appearance.


    ¡°So you mean to stick that on my head?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s more to it than that.¡± Matthias¡¯ face reddened. ¡°It doesn¡¯t just stick on your head. These two needles - ¡± he pointed two needlike prongs the sorcerer didn¡¯t like the look of one bit - ¡°go into your temple, straight into the brain, where we believe the source of Monad¡¯s power resides.¡±


    ¡°You believe.¡± Crowe arched an eyebrow. ¡°So you¡¯re not certain?¡±


    Matthias shot Maeve a frightened look. Whatever guidance he sought from her, it seemed she did not have to give; her intent was focused solely on the herald. ¡°We¡¯ve run tests in the past and were successful. But there are still risks.¡±


    A heavy silence filled the room. Crowe could feel Barghast watching them from the corner of the room; each confused flick of his tail reflected the growing confusion mounting inside the practitioner. Maeve and Matthias both looked away when he tried to meet their gaze. ¡°There¡¯s something else you aren¡¯t telling me, isn¡¯t there?¡± he demanded in a sharper tone than he¡¯d meant to; a tone that sounded strangely reminiscent of Petras¡¯. He clamped his jaw shut hard enough to hear it clack. ¡°As you said, we don¡¯t have a lot of time, so you might as well just come out and say it¡­¡±


    Maeve¡¯s lip trembled. She glanced at the lycan quickly before returning her gaze to the practitioner. ¡°The process could kill you. It could do irreparable damage to your brain. What we¡¯re doing isn¡¯t natural.¡±


    ¡°So I only have two options. If I go through with the surgery there is a very real chance I could die. But if I don¡¯t, there is a definite chance we will die¡­is that what you¡¯re telling me?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Maeve and Matthias said in unison.


    Crowe sucked in a deep breath. A leap of faith, is it? A leap of faith it is then. You¡¯ve yet to lead me wrong, Monad. He kissed the necklace at his throat. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s do this. What do I do?¡±


    Matthias patted the table. ¡°Lay up here.¡±


    Crowe brushed past Maeve. He climbed up the three metal steps to the table.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± Barghast took a startled step towards the table.


    The practitioner held up a hand, stopping him. The shadow of the helmet fell across his face. Already Matthias was lowering it to fit the crude device over his head. ¡°It¡¯s going to be okay, Barghast.¡± He wanted to look at the barbarian, anything to comfort him, but in order to do so he would have had to move his head. ¡°Monad is with me still. Maeve, he has no idea what¡¯s going on. He¡¯s frightened. Talk to him, damn you. I know you can speak in Okanavian.¡±


    He listened to the soothing murmur of her voice as Matthias fitted the helmet over his head. He had a perfect view of the night sky through the hole in the ceiling.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to like this¡­¡± Matthias said apologetically. ¡°The needles have to go directly through your temples into your brain. It will help like a bitch and I don¡¯t have the time or the supply to give you anything for it.¡±


    ¡°Just do it.¡± The practitioner injected more courage into his voice than he felt. ¡°Whatever it takes, I will do it¡­¡±

 A Hole in the Earth

    Barghast¡¯s eyes swung from Crowe to Maeve and back again. Their exchanges were quick and unpredictable, their tones impossible to read. Crowe was tense, his eyebrows drawn in confusion in one second and then flattening in the next with surprise. His heart quickened and steadied in time with his reactions. The woman¡¯s¡­Barghast fought to restrain a growl; he didn¡¯t like her¡­remained calm. Not for the first time, the Okanavian thought about striking her while she wasn¡¯t looking. The fact that Crowe seemed to trust her even though he didn¡¯t was enough to keep the barbarian from acting on the impulse.


    Careful, my beloved. She is a slippery serpent. She might come to us in the guise of a friend, but never forget what she is. Do not let her pretty words pull the scales over your eyes.


    He tried to remain calm. He reminded himself his twin o¡¯rre, while young, was no fool. Crowe knew what she was. The fact that he could bear to stand so close to her reflected his courage. Gaia gave me the most courageous twin o¡¯rre¡­


    The herald said something, his voice sharp as a blade. Barghast took a step towards them, ready to intervene at a moment¡¯s notice. Crowe glared at the demoness. His hands were clenched into fists but he didn¡¯t appear to be in physical distress.


    The woman nodded. Her expression stated she didn¡¯t like the subject of their conversation anymore than he did, but she was helpless to do anything about it.


    Crowe sighed. He turned away. Barghast could hear his heart racing faster than ever. Whatever the woman was proposing, his twin o¡¯rre didn¡¯t like it. The Okanavian imagined charging forward and grabbing his paw. Pulling him along. Strolling right out of this place. We don¡¯t need their help. We¡¯re better off on our own. Let them deal with their own mess¡­


    But then his twin o¡¯rre turned back around. He looked at the table. Barghast followed his gaze. Whatever they were discussing it had to do with the table; it was also the source of Crowe¡¯s distress. Barghast could all too easily remember the night he¡¯d been taken to that awful place; the memory still grabbed a hold of his heart with guilt when he saw Crowe¡¯s damaged hand. Now his beloved was climbing up onto the table while the fat man stood too close for Barghast¡¯s liking¡­


    He¡¯d tried, but he could hold back no longer. What perilous thing was his twin o¡¯rre about to do now? ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡±


    Crowe held up his hand. Stay back. He spoke in a low, soothing tone. Though he did not look directly at the lycan, the Okanavian knew the voice was meant for him. He only uses it for me, he thought and the thought made his tail wag once. Crowe said something to the fox-eyed woman. The round-faced man was fitting a bulbous thing of steel over Crowe¡¯s head.


    Barghast howled. He couldn¡¯t hold back any longer. What are you doing, my beloved?


    He snarled, starting towards the table. The woman stepped in his way, fixing him with her demon eyes.


    He unfurled his claws. ¡°Step back, demon! I will only tell you once. The only reason why I haven¡¯t parted your head from your shoulders this instant is the fact he seems to trust you.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the woman replied in the desert language. ¡°As should you. We would not be taking this risk if we did not absolutely think it was necessary.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing to him?¡±


    ¡°Making him better.¡±


    The fat man fit steel bracelets over Crowe¡¯s slender wrists that bound his arms to the table. Barghast tried to keep a whine at bay and failed.


    ¡°I know it hurts,¡± the demoness told him in a voice that was meant to be soothing but made his skin crawl. ¡°It always hurts when we must stand aside and watch our loved ones put their lives at risk. It is his burden to cast his soul into the darkness. It is yours to bear witness to it¡­and to pull it back into the light when he falters.¡±


    ¡°You know nothing of me, woman!¡± he snapped. ¡°Or of him!¡±


    The bitch smiled sweetly. ¡°On the contrary, Barghast, I know you quite well. I know you will do anything to keep him safe. I know he is the thing that drives you. Your passion. The thing that has called to you from beyond the mountains since you were a young pup. From the first moment you can remember.¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± he whined. He was powerless to stop her. Her words had a power over him that glued his paws to the floor.


    ¡°Do you remember the first time you saw him?¡± she asked him in the language of the desert. ¡°Not on the night in the clearing when he saved you from the torchcoats. I speak of the night you won¡¯t allow yourself to think about. The night you¡¯ve hidden in shadow.¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± he told her again, only this time he said it in his mind. His jaws were clenched shut. He wanted to go to his beloved, but he couldn¡¯t move. He couldn¡¯t look away.


    ¡°The night you went into the seer¡¯s cave and you spirit-walked. You saw him, didn¡¯t you? Through a window of blue light. A window through time. He reached through to you and you touched him and smelled him for the first time and knew from that night he would be yours and that you would not stop until he was yours and there is nothing you would not do or kill to keep him¡­If I let you go to him, if I let you touch him, will you behave. Will you interfere with this procedure? If you do, you will surely kill him. Do you understand?¡±


    He nodded. It wasn¡¯t until the spell broke he realized he¡¯d been crying. He to his knees by the side of the table, seizing Crowe¡¯s clammy hand in his own. How wretched he looked strapped to that awful table. ¡°What are you doing, my sweet?¡± he whined. ¡°Why do you let them torture you in this way?¡±


    His twin o¡¯rre squeezed his paw, speaking to him in that same sweet voice. Comforting the lycan even as he shook and sweated with terror. It shredded Barghast¡¯s insides, not being able to do anything but sit by his side and hold his hands. He wanted to kill the fox-eyed woman and the fat man. He wanted to free Crowe from his restraints and carry him out of here, away from this cold place.


    Crowe gave his paw another squeeze. ¡°Stay,¡± he said.


    Barghast kissed his hand. ¡°I¡­stay.¡± He kissed his hand again. It wasn¡¯t enough to kiss his hand. He wanted to kiss his face. He wanted to smother him in kisses. He wanted to smother him in love. He wouldn¡¯t. I will stay and hold your hand until you tell me I can kiss you again.


    The fat man said something in a nervous voice that made Barghast look up. He stood directly over Crowe, his forehead sheened with sweat. The smell of spirits on the man was unpleasant. Outside of the building everything was disconcertingly quiet.


    Crowe nodded reluctantly at the fat man¡¯s question. Barghast knew by the way he clenched his jaw and his hand trembled in his that he was afraid. That¡¯s what makes you such a strong and capable warrior, my beloved, the lycan wished he could tell him. Not because you¡¯re fierce, but because you keep facing down fear even when you feel like backing away. I learn so much from you.


    The fat man reached over, touching two bolts on the side of the helmet. Wires snaked from the top of the helmet, trailing up through the hole in the ceiling. The fat man asked another question in that same tense voice to which the practitioner nodded. He said something in that short snappy voice he used with Barghast when he wanted the lycan to stop doing something he didn¡¯t want him to do, or when he wanted him to hurry.


    The fat man began to turn the bolts on the side of the helmet. He licked his lips. His sweat smelled of spicy oil and fear. Not a pleasant smell. The shrieking of the bolts hurt Barghast¡¯s head as they turned, but he did not dare let go of Crowe¡¯s hand.


    Crowe let out a piercing shriek then. Tears sprang to his eyes before they closed down to crinkled slits. His fingers clenched around Barghast¡¯s as much as they could. The sweet smell of his blood bloomed in the air like perfumed flowers. Blood trickled down the side of his face from where the lycan could see twin needles - one on each side of the helmet - stabbing through the soft flesh of his temple. The practitioner¡¯s face paled from the color of milk to a sickly gray color the barbarian had seen before and didn¡¯t like; it reminded him of those all too long days when his twin o¡¯rre had been sick with fever.


    He wanted to round on the fat man. He wanted to snap at him. He wanted to bite his hands off so he could no longer turn the screws and make his twin o¡¯rre bleed and cry out. Stop that! You¡¯re hurting him! But the fat man didn¡¯t stop. He kept turning the screws until blood flowed freely like an open channel. At last the fat man stopped turning the screws.


    The fat man asked something.


    Crowe lifted the hand not holding Barghast¡¯s in a lazy wave of confirmation.


    Maeve stepped up to the table. Barghast had been so completely focused on his twin o¡¯rre he¡¯d completely forgotten about the fox-eyed demoness. She reached for the practitioner¡¯s arm as if to touch it consolingly. Barghast growled at her, showing her his teeth. Only I get to touch him - no one else. Certainly not you, demon bitch! The woman drew her hand back with a knowing look. The echo of her words passed through his head:


    ¡­I know you will do anything to keep him safe. I know he is the thing that drives you.


    How could she know about such things? How could she know that he¡¯d seen Crowe in the window of blue light? Only the seer knew about that. He hadn¡¯t told anyone else, not even Crowe. One day I will when we can speak to one another and understand each other.


    It doesn¡¯t matter how she knows. She is a demon who will use trickery and half-truths to get what she wants. As soon as she is done with Crowe, as soon as you know he is safe, you two must leave this place. Let these people face their own fate.


    ¡°It is time,¡± the bitch said to Crowe.


    The lycan¡¯s ears swiveled in the direction of the table.


    ¡°What must I do?¡± his twin o¡¯rre asked in a small voice dulled with pain.


    ¡°You know what you must do.¡±


    Crowe nodded. He closed his eyes and Barghast knew he was spirit-walking. All he could do was sit beside the table and hold his hand and wait. I will always wait for you. I will never leave you. When you come back I will be here and we will leave this place.


    ¡­


    ¡°What do I do now?¡±


    ¡°You know what you must do.¡±


    He swallowed. Or tried to. It was impossible. He could feel blood trickling down the side of his face. Waves of nausea passed through him. At any moment he feared he would vomit - if he had anything in his stomach to vomit up. Nothing was worse than the pain in his hand. Right now you have two needles stabbing directly into your brain - of course it hurts. It was hard to talk. Hard to think. Only Barghast¡¯s touch - the warmth of his presence kneeling at the side of the table like a faultless guardian - kept him anchored to the room. Kept him from drifting into unconsciousness where the pain would not be able to find him. He wished he could look at him again, but he could not move his head except to nod a little.


    He nodded in acceptance. After all, what was this if not another leap of faith? He thought of all the practitioners somewhere down below him, waiting for the inevitable. Waiting to die. For him. He would not pay their sacrifice with cowardice.


    He had to summon the Eternal City. But how? He¡¯d never been able to call for it on his own. It always came when he was in trouble. When he needed guidance. When I don¡¯t know where to go next.


    He had to do it. I don¡¯t have a choice. Have I ever had a choice?


    He forced all out of his mind: The waves of black nausea that rolled through him; the cold steel pressing through his temples into his brain; the chill in the room; the cold press of Maeve¡¯s intent gaze; the warmth of Barghast¡¯s paw which he wished he could sink into until Vaylin, the Mirror Expanse, and the Black King were all gone. He forced the tension to leave his body one exhale at a time.


    Once he felt calm, he closed his eyes.


    He recalled then all the moments he felt Monad¡¯s fire burn through him. The way it erased all fear, such as when the hands of the damned had erupted from the ground to pull Barghast, Mammoth, and he down into the depths of Inferno. He¡¯d felt it again in Fort Erikson, when he¡¯d been sure that Barghast and he would die at the hands of Inquisitor Charoum. It had felt different then. A living thing with a mind of its own that was both a part of him and separate from him. It saved us. Had it not intervened the torchcoats would have killed us.


    At first all he could see was the darkness behind his eyes. The material universe was gone. He reached out with his mind. He forced himself to push beyond the physical limitations of his aching skull. He felt his heart grow steady. He felt the tension in his body start to unravel. Yes, you¡¯ve done this before, the hoarse voice of Petras whispered in his mind. You¡¯ve been in this spot before. It¡¯s like muscle memory to you. Monad¡¯s flame burns within us all, but for you it¡¯s closest to the surface than most.


    Down and down he drifted. Falling. Falling had never felt this good. This peaceful. Somewhere outside of him he felt the edges of the material universe. It shook around him as chaos rocked it. His body was still somewhere back there with his arms strapped down by steel and two needles sticking in his brain and Barghast holding his hand. A pulse of eagerness at the thought of returning to his lycan - not the lycan, he noted, his lycan - threatened to unravel the state of hypnosis he¡¯d put himself under. Already he could feel his mind begin to rise back towards his body.


    No, he told himself firmly. He burrowed deeper into the darkness. I need to do this.


    He swam through the murk like a deep diver pulling himself lower and lower beneath mysterious waters. Searching. Searching for that inner flame. Seeking its warmth. Seeking its strength. Seeking its favor. He found it in the deepest part of him. The flame loomed larger and larger, its warmth growing as he drew closer. There you are. Will you help me?


    He drew it into himself. The flames rose, crawling up his insides. If he were a forest every tree would be ablaze, spirals of smoke twisting into the sky until it blocked out the sun. He opened his eyes and when he opened them, they unleashed rays of white light that made Barghast, Maeve, and Matthias all draw back with a collective gasp. He wanted to say something to comfort them but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to speak¡­he could barely think. Monad¡¯s flame burned so brightly within him, it eclipsed all. His teeth rattled inside his skull. The foundation of his body groaned. He feared Monad¡¯s flame would consume him until he combusted. Until there was nothing left of him. Not even dust.


    Through the hole in the ceiling he had a perfect view of the sky. The ray of light struck the sky with an audible shattering sound that made him think of breaking glass; if the sky was a window he¡¯d punched right through it. The clouds parted as if a cosmic blade had sliced through them. Light exploded across the surface of the sky with such force the entire world seemed to shake. If he could have, he would have glared at the fox-eyed demoness. It¡¯s not just me who will come apart¡­the whole fucking world will.


    But it was too late. There was no stopping the process now that it had begun. He was in the grip of a power too great to pull back, though he tried with all his strength. And even then he didn¡¯t want to. He felt the need to release it, like a clenched fist unfurling. And yet he feared what would happen if he did. The destruction he could wreak.


    Too late. The sky growled as dark thunderclouds amassed over the dead city of Vaylin. Crowe felt as though he¡¯d fallen through a crack in time. He was back in a body of the past, standing before a burning house while a vortex opened in the sky. That same vortex opened before now. Like the head of a baby poking out from the cave of his mother, the Eternal City appeared in a dome of celestial light.


    A beam of Monad¡¯s light shot down from the bottom of the city. It hit Crowe. It spread throughout the room like a shockwave. The world shook, rumbling in his ears. A thousand angels sang around him¡­sang praise to him, the second herald of Monad; they sang to Monad the Prime, the creator of the holy city. He wept from the sheer beauty of their voices. He couldn¡¯t see him but he could hear them and he knew if he could turn his head and look he would find them staring down at him with love. With reverence.


    The creator¡¯s holy light engulfed him from the inside out. A thrumming sound built around him, blocking out even the sound of the angels. Strong gusts of wind battered him like hammering fists. He wanted it to scream but he couldn¡¯t. He wanted it to stop but it wouldn¡¯t. What had felt liberating before overwhelmed him. At any second his body would no longer be able to contain the light that flowed through him. Something wet seeped out of him. It trickled down his face, into his mouth. The taste of blood. This experiment was costing him in more ways than one; more proof that his body would not be able to contain the ember. I¡¯m not ready yet. I¡¯m premature just as Maeve said.


    ¡°Stop!¡± the raspy voice of the demoness screamed through the cacophony. ¡°You must stop before you explode and you take all of us with you!¡±


    Only through will and desperation alone did the herald manage to part his jaw to scream, ¡°I can¡¯t! I don¡¯t know how!¡± A sob escaped him. Why did I allow them to put me in this fucking chair?


    A second later warm paws closed over his face. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± a deep voice whined.


    I¡¯m here, he wanted to say. I can hear you.


    ¡°Nog back l'' ya, ya beloved.  Ahlloigehye nog back l'' ya¡­¡±


    He didn¡¯t know what the words meant, but the misery he heard in that voice pierced his heart. Hold onto me and don¡¯t let go. You are my anchor.


    Anchor. Yes. That was the right word for the purpose Barghast served in his life. You keep my feet planted on the ground when everything else wants to blow me away.


    He drifted towards that voice. Clawed his way towards it. How could it be that the same voice that had created him...created everything¡­be the same force that destroyed him? It could not be so. Everything that has happened in my life has happened for a reason and this is no different.


    Bit by bit the fire began to recede. The voices softened. The Eternal City in all its blinding glory receded. He watched the vortex shrink, feeling¡­conflicted. Part of him was relieved to see it go. Relieved to return to his body. Relieved to return to the only man worth returning to.


    But there was another part, childlike and impulsive, that felt as if something vital was being taken from him. A cosmic finger that wagged its finger at him and told him, No more for you. Hot tears wetted his cheeks. Whether they were tears of happiness or tears of grief he could not say; they could have been both.


    He searched for the Okanavian but he couldn¡¯t find him. He wasn¡¯t blind. His senses were overwhelmed. Noises banged and started all around him. Colors danced and jumped out at him. He felt nauseous. Before he could stop it, bile shot up his throat, soaking the front of his robes with a foul stench. He sobbed, embarrassed, bereft, only to feel a rag wipe gently at his face. He tried to ward the rag away but the hand that held was too big, too heavy and he couldn¡¯t turn his head away even though he didn¡¯t want to be seen. Not like this.


    A familiar deep voice spoke to him insistently, pushing his hand back down. The rag resumed its ministrations. Over and over again the owner of the voice proved him wrong when he doubted the Okanavian would stay by his side. Even now in this compromised state, covered in sick, he remained.


    Other voices in the room spoke but he didn¡¯t have the energy to focus on them. Only the one. He held onto the Okanavian¡¯s paw, afraid to let go of the anchor lest he be whisked away.


    Another familiar voice sounded above his head. He sensed movement around him. He heard another voice. This one belonged to a female, slightly raspy. She spoke urgently. She sounded frightened.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying!¡± cried the other voice. A man¡¯s. ¡°He¡¯s not out of the outhouse yet. I still have to pull the needles that are lodged directly in his brain. I could kill him taking them out of him. Do you understand? This isn¡¯t going to be pleasant¡­¡±


    Another sharp piercing pain. Crowe cried out. He shrank back in his seat as far as the restraints would allow. Just when he thought the pain was over, it started again. Then it was over as quickly as it began.


    ¡°Taking off the helmet now¡­¡±


    The helmet came off his head with a wet pop. His head fell back against the headrest. A rag wiped fresh trickles of blood from the side of his face.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± a deep voice whined. ¡°My beloved! Are you okay?¡±


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    Crowe froze as two large paws closed over both sides of his face. Two large slobbery lips closed over his, marking him with heated kisses.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Crowe,¡± the Okanavian said. ¡°Once I get you out of this damned machine, you and I will leave this place.¡±


    I can understand him. How is that possible? ¡§Barghast,¡§ he croaked. He tried to stand on legs made of jelly. The world started to tilt beneath his feet. Barghast supported his arm while the other was wrapped around his waist. He started to lift him up but the practitioner shook his head. ¡°No,¡± he whispered. ¡°I need to stand.¡§ He gasped for air. Why was it such a struggle to speak? Barghast stop for a second. I can understand you.¡±


    Barghast drew back but did not release him. He blinked in unmistakable confusion. He wasn¡¯t the only one. The practitioner didn¡¯t know if he should be afraid or rejoice. What if the surgery had caused damage to his brain? ¡°Can you understand me?¡± Crowe asked. His voice sounded like the whisper of the wind against dust. But the words Can you understand me were not what came out of his mouth. What came out was broken Okanavian. Ahor ymg'' kadishtu ya? Oftentimes the lycan¡¯s speech was interceded with growls, whines, and yips. In the places where Crowe might have done those things he hummed instead. It was an unconscious effort. Perhaps I¡¯m simply incapable of making those sounds. Human beings were not meant to speak the desert tongue.


    He watched the barbarians expression turn from concern to confusion to excitement, back to concern. ¡°Crowe are you hurt? What did they do to you? If they¡¯ve damaged your beautiful head in anyway, I will rip that bitch¡¯s throat out!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m okay, I¡¯m okay. I just feel a bit weak.¡± Somehow he managed to laugh. ¡°Barghast, I can understand you? Do you understand me?¡± He stroked at his fur. Though it hurt to laugh, even a little if the guffawing sound he made could truly be called a laugh, he couldn¡¯t stop. ¡°Keep talking. Say something else.¡±


    The lycan¡¯s tail made tentative sweeps back and forth. Flattening his ears, he leaned forward to sniff at the herald. ¡°You are safe? You are not hurt? What has happened?¡±


    Hot tears stung Crowe¡¯s cheeks; it seemed for the first time in his life they were tears of joy. ¡°I¡¯m safe. I¡¯m with you. I can understand every word you say.¡± He blinked. I¡¯m mgepnnn.  I¡¯m llll ymg''.  Y'' ahor kadishtu nilgh''ri aimgr''luh ymg'' ai. Though he still spoke in half fluent Okanavian, he understood his own speech perfectly, as if he was using the tongue common to the North. The effect was disorienting to say the least.


    ¡°You¡­can speak Okanavian?¡± Barghast¡¯s arms closed around him in a suffocating hug. Crowe¡¯s feet left the ground. ¡°You can understand me? At last Gaia has blessed us.¡±


    Crowe opened his mouth to respond. Before he could breathe a word, the lycan¡¯s tongue filled his mouth, hot lips enveloping his own. The practitioner was smashed against his chest, his boots dangling off the floor.


    ¡°There¡¯s no time to rejoice. You¡¯ll have to celebrate later. They¡¯re coming,¡± the demoness said. She stood at the front of the room, facing the door. ¡°They¡¯ve breached through the barrier.¡±


    Barghast plopped him down on his feet. The urgency in her voice pulled Crowe from the blink of oblivion. Even now there was no time to rest. There¡¯s never time to rest.


    ¡°It would probably be good if you didn¡¯t,¡± Matthias squeaked from the other side of the table. He cast a wary glance in the herald¡¯s direction. ¡°You¡¯re very lucky to be alive. We all are at this point.¡± He held his thumb and index finger an inch apart. ¡°Another ten seconds, maybe less, and all of this would have been gone.¡± He slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand to illustrate an explosion. He grinned wickedly. ¡°It would have been an excellent way to send Hamon back to Inferno. But then we¡¯d all have a ride with him.¡±


    Crowe scoffed. ¡°And I thought I was a pessimist. We don¡¯t have time for me to rest. I went through your bloody surgery and I¡¯m still alive. Now what?¡±


    Matthias shrugged with a humorless grin. ¡°Your guess is as good as mine. All I did was test the machine. We never used it for the purpose we did tonight. I suppose you could consider this a freak accident.¡±


    An explosion surrounded somewhere outside the room. The entire building shook from the shockwave; dust rang down from the ceiling. The floor vibrated beneath their feet. Crowe looked to his necklace. The medallion was covered in half-dried blood. His blood. He¡¯d risked his life for this surgery. This couldn¡¯t be where it ended. He pulled out his rod. He reached inside himself for the flame. The attempt sent a spike of pain through his skull worse than the needles pushing into his brain. Had Barghast not been there to support him, he surely would have lost his footing. Through will alone he pushed through the field of black dots that danced before his vision.


    Through Monad I can do anything.


    As the first words of prayer touched his lips, the double bolted doors flew off their hinges with the shriek of steel. The door slammed into the opposite wall hard enough to crack the ancient stone that had remained uncompromised for over a thousand years. Black vapors slithered into the room like seeking tendrils, bringing the smell of rot with them. The practitioner knew that smell. He knew what was coming. The whisper of bare feet on dusty stone confirmed his suspicions.


    Hamon¡¯s skeletal face leered out of the twisted wreaths of smoke. His naked, sexless body was covered in splattered blood from head to toe. His skin smoked from where it had been charred by mana-fire. The curve of a rib bone poked awkwardly through a bloody hole in his chest. And still he move, oblivious or uncaring of his body¡¯s lurching, broken movements that made Crowe think of a crippled animal. Only if one had any kind of heart, they would at least feel pity for the beast. The very sight of the Black King caught in Crowe¡¯s mind with barbed hooks. The only thing that kept him from giving into his fear was the terrible knowledge that it was up to him to end this nightmare.


    ¡°I¡¯ve found you at last,¡± Hamon said to Crowe. ¡°I told you there is nowhere you can go where I will not find you.¡± He spread his misshapen hands in a mocking gesture of humility. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be here if it weren¡¯t for you.¡±


    The sight of the Black King seemed to be the fuel the herald needed. Monad knew he had plenty of it. It was Hamon who had set the necromancers on his trail. They¡¯d hounded him and his lycan companion over hundreds of miles. They¡¯d cursed him, driven him mad. All under the orders of the demonic tyrant who stood before him. A tyrant whose body was made from their mangled flesh like a poorly made doll. Crowe¡¯s mounting fury was directed at himself as much as Hamon. It was he, in an act of pig-headed anger, who had kicked the parts that would give Hamon his body through the rent. At the time he had felt so self righteous, his blood pumping hotly in his veins¡­he felt that same anger now - the kind of rage that could tear through rock and make the earth split open. Through the red haze he felt green shots of guilt that made his heart feel heavy. How many brave souls had paid with their lives to fix his foolish mistake?


    Sometimes when bad things happen it has nothing to do with the turning of the Iteration. It has nothing to do with fate. Sometimes bad things happen due to one¡¯s own hubris. Monad, give me the chance to make up for my mistakes if I live beyond this horrible night.


    This time when he drew on his mana, the door inside him didn''t fly open - it crashed open. The runes on the side of his wand burst into life. The air thrummed around him like a charge building up. White light filled the room. Instinctively Barghast, Maeve, and Matthias drew away from him. Everything around him went still, as if the world was holding its breath. And still Hamon stalked towards him, fearless of the wrath he''d incurred.


    With a wave of his wand, a violent explosion rocked the room. An invisible train slammed into Hamon. The undead creature flew through the empty space where the double doors had been until he crashed into the wall at the other end of the corridor. Someone nearby was making a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scream. It wasn''t until he turned his head to see who it was that he realized it was himself. Power like this is dangerous, he thought. He would use to it to crush his enemies and break the chains that bound Monad¡¯s people to their oppressors. He prayed good intentions were enough. He prayed he could break the cycle his predecessor had failed to bring to a halt.


    Already Hamon was rising to his feet. Crowe didn¡¯t let him reach the top. His fury tore stone from the wall and turned every window in the corridor to dust. Again and again he drove into Hamon with invisible blades. The Black King would start to step forward only for his back to slam into stone until it started to buckle. One of the arms fell off. Black ichor sprayed the debris-strewn floor. The severed arm jumped up like an insect and scuttled along the wall towards Crowe, dragging severed tendons after it.


    Crowe blasted it.


    Smoke filled the hallway. Sweat matted his hair to his skull. Now that he stopped he could feel the aches in his skull he hadn¡¯t allowed himself to take notice of. He bled from his nose and his ears. Even with this newfound power you still have limitations.


    His heart tap danced. His nostrils flared. Barghast drew up beside him, his rifle drawn. Maeve stood at his other side. Several long seconds passed before the smoke cleared. Hamon''s crudely made body twitched and danced where it half rested on the floor. Back arcing in the air, remaining arm legs bending and twitching with boneless crackles that made Crowe want to scream if only to block the sound out.


    When the rest of Hamon¡¯s limbs broke away from his body, Crowe did scream. It was a scream of utter fear. Mindless, childlike fear. His rod sliced the air. The wall fell away under the force of his fear. Ancient stone that had stood since the first days of the Third Iteration tumbled darkness, and Hamon¡¯s writhing body with it.


    No one moved. No one sighed in relief. They waited for one of Hamon¡¯s limbs to come wriggling back over the side of the broken wall like a caterpillar.


    When something fell softly on the herald¡¯s shoulder, his insides jumped. It was only Maeve''s hand. She gave him a heavy look that felt both very familiar and very final. ¡°Your time in Vaylin is done here, herald. For now, anyway. You will return one day. Almost a thousand years from now near the end of your journey.


    ¡°A thousand?¡± the practitioner uttered with a strangled croak.


    ¡°We used to have a name for Petras back in the day.¡± Maeve grinned. Her fox eyes lit up with a fond memory.


    ¡°The Perennial,¡± Matthias said with a nod. A nod that also somehow felt final.


    ¡°Because the herald¡¯s journey is long and eternal.¡± The demoness¡¯ smile. The look she gave Crowe made him feel as if  he were made of glass. ¡°And for all that you will sacrifice in your war for peace, you will find little. So I beg you to hold onto your faith. Hold onto your strength. The previous herald did not fail due to a flaw in his character. He failed because the Second Iteration was doomed long before he arrived; there was no course correcting its destruction.¡±


    ¡°And you think this Iteration will be any different?¡± Crowe¡¯s voice echoed with a hollow ring.


    This earned him another cryptic look that gave away nothing. ¡°It already is. You are flesh-and-blood proof of Petras¡¯ accomplishments.¡± Before Crowe could spit out another acidic comment, the demoness raised a hand the way a tutor might a rowdy student. The practitioner¡¯s jaw snapped shut. It didn¡¯t stop him from glaring at her with resentment. ¡°From the moment Petras realized there was nothing he could do to save the Second Iteration he began to make preparations to change the events of the Third. We helped him. This is the result. Now we¡¯ve wasted more than enough time. You must go.¡±


    ¡°And leave you here?¡± Crowe swallowed. An iceberg had lodged itself in this throat.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid my time in this Iteration is over. But do not fear for me, herald, for Monad already spins another for me. We will meet again. Though it will not be the me you met this evening.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°I know you don¡¯t. One day you will but it is a long way from now. When you find me, be merciful. In the days before I became Maeve I was trapped in a hell of my own making and I couldn¡¯t see my way out as I¡¯ve told you before. At the start of his tenure as herald, Petras could be quite merciful. He gave me a chance when many would have disposed of me given the chance. Only you can decide what her fate will be in this Iteration. And one last thing. You and Barghast¡­¡±


    Crowe looked at the Okanavian. Before he knew he meant to do it he offered a clammy hand to the lycan. Barghast¡¯s leathery pad closed around it as if he were afraid of breaking glass.


    When Maeve spoke continued, she spoke in the language of the desert. ¡°The relationship you have, like everything else that happens in the Cycle, goes deeper than you think. From the moment you were both born your lives became entangled. Never doubt your love for each other.¡± A rustling sound reached them from outside. There was only thing it could be. Meave¡¯s voice shook with strain; she switched back to the common tongue of the North.  ¡°Now Matthias, you must take them, and you must leave us. You know what you must do. You know where you must take them.¡±


    For the third time in one evening, Crowe watched the blood drain from the fat man¡¯s face. ¡°The fail safe.¡±


    Maeve nodded, turning away from them. She¡¯d already said her goodbyes. Crowe sensed she was not a sentimental woman.


    Matthias gestured impatiently for Crowe and Barghast to follow. At any moment the Black King would pop over the side of the wall. The herald couldn¡¯t move. His feet were still glue to the floor. Only when Barghast pulled at his arm and said, ¡°Come, my beloved; there is nothing you can do we must leave this place¡± did the spell of paralysis break. And still her words echoed in his mind. Echoed with the inevitability of prophecy.


    They flew down the steps at a dizzying speed. Had Barghast not been there to grab the back of his cowl, Crowe would have rolled head over heels on more than one occasion. The embittered half drunk Matthias moved with a speed that had the practitioner reassessing the inventor''s physical capabilities.


    By the time they reached the bottom of the staircase the practitioner felt as if his lungs would rupture. And still the man did not stop. Did he sense his death close by, snapping at his heels like a hungry dog?


    A heartbeat later the sorcerer found himself stumbling through a nightmare field of corpses. For every dead sorcerer he counted two dead reavers. Red and black sprayed the walls and floor alike. Not even their combined power and wisdom had been enough to withstand the cruel might of Hamon. How would Maeve fare on her own? How much time could she buy them?


    They veered into what had once been a large library. Shelves carved into the wall rose up to the shattered glass dome ceiling. The spines of thousands and thousands of leather-bound volumes, glittered, preserved in ice. Icicles clung to the steel frame of the shattered dome. Living shadows danced and twisted beneath ghostly beams of silver moonlight. The echoes of their screams, shouts, and manic laughter reminded Crowe this was a place of madness. A place of death. All at once he couldn¡¯t get away from the Vaylin Ruins fast enough.


    ¡°You''ll see more of them on your way out,¡± Matthias told the pale-faced sorcerer. ¡°In some fashion they probably sense what''s about to happen.¡±


    Barghast pointed his head at the ceiling and let loose a howl. The eight foot tall barbarian with claws as long as Crowe¡¯s fingers - who had gnawed on a torchcoat a time or two; who had been beaten and tortured within an inch of his life; who had faced down demons and reavers - was afraid of the shadows who only seemed to take notice of Crowe. They would circle around him, their speech if the echoing pitches they made could be called speech stirring within him a great melancholy; more proof of all that Petras for all his supposed great wisdom had failed to prevent. Meanwhile Barghast clawed at his way as if he meant to break through. ¡°The spirits are angry,¡± he whimpered. ¡°We never should  have come to this place.¡±


    No, the practitioner thought sadly. We shouldn''t have.


    Matthias made a shooing motion at the Okanavian with his fat hands. ¡°If you will just step out of the way, I can get the secret passage open. Move, you mangy beast. Even as a pup you are intolerable¡­¡±


    Barghast moved only when Crowe pulled at his arm. The practitioner ran his hands along the fur at his shoulderblades. The lycan shook so hard the vibrations traveled up the herald¡¯s arm.


    The switch to the desert language was effortless. The words were there in his mind as if carved in stone though he had never uttered a word of it in his life. Once more there were sounds he could not make - the whines and growls and yips that Barghast used as a way to express his emotions - but his heart danced with excitement at the fact he could now understand his traveling companion.


    ¡°Barghast,¡± he said with a voice that was both gentle and firm. He repeated his name until the barbarian whipped his broad head to gape at him with wide eyes. ¡°They won''t hurt us. These are the spirits of my people.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± The barbarian yipped. ¡°I know I''m being a foolish pup, but I just want away from this place.¡±


    Crowe could not  begrudge him this.


    Matthias blew dust off the top a shelf of books. He pulled at one as if he meant to take it off the shelf.  Even in his growing exhaustion Crowe did not miss the internal clock behind the wall. Numerous gears turned out of view. There came a great rumble as steel that had not been active for centuries parted from the stone, releasing white clouds. Through the doorway the practitioner could make out another large room.


    This room was not as large or grand as the previous caverns he''d surveyed thus far, but it was sizable enough to remind him how small his life on the farm had truly been. The room was empty except for a single statue of the herald; whether it was a cast of Petras or the Prime was unclear at first glance but the resemblance to his own face was enough to give him a seconds¡¯ pause. The statue held out a hand as if beckoning for the herald to take it.


    ¡°What in the Void is this?¡± Crowe demanded. ¡°Is this where you tell me I have to chop off a limb in the name of the Iteration? Because if that''s the case you can forget it.¡± He held up his crippled hand for the inventor to see; Matthias looked away. ¡°I''ve lost enough appendages as it is.¡±


    ¡°No, but you will have to bleed a bit.¡± Matthias eyed the statue as if he wanted nothing more than to get away from it. Apparently he didn''t like it anymore than Crowe did. ¡°When it came to coming up with contingencies there was no one more careful. If the failsafe was going to be used he wanted to make damned sure only a herald like himself could activate it.¡±


    ¡°I get the feeling you didn''t like my predecessor anymore than I did.¡± Crowe tried to hide a bitter grin and failed. ¡°Which is why you''ve been so welcoming of Barghast and myself.¡±


    Matthias shrugged. ¡°Petras had his moments. In the beginning he was nothing like who he turned out to be before he finally gave up and backed out on us to clean up our mess. Maeve didn''t mention any of that within her appraisal of him, did she? In the beginning he was quiet and introspective¡­much like the way you are now. He had a core of steel but he only let it show when he had to. We were both young men the first time we met. I suppose you could say, like Maeve, he helped me out of my own personal hell. More than once.  While I could never say we were friends I would never turn my back on him. Thanks to him I''ve seen more than I could ever bargain for. After so long the responsibilities of being herald weighed on him and he turned into something a little less pleasant as you¡¯ve discovered. None of us end up being who we were in the beginning or who we thought we would be.¡±


    The scientist grinned. ¡°Luckily you can blow it all to the Void. All you have to do is take the statue''s hand. Once you do you two better start running and you better not stop until you''re through the tunnels. Me¡­¡± He made a show of sitting down with his back against the wall. ¡°I''m going to sit and watch it all go.¡±


    The relief in his voice chilled Crowe¡¯s blood; his voice cracked with an age beyond what his appearance suggested. He turned to the lycan. The Okanavian stood a foot away, his rifle trained on the corridor. So gar nothing else had stirred outside the room, but past experience had taught the traveling duo silence could be misleading. ¡°Tunnels,¡± he said in Okanavian. ¡°Can you lead us back?¡±


    Barghast''s golden eyes flicked in his direction. ¡°I can find our way out of this place. My nose will guide the way.¡±


    Crowe approached the statue. Though its face did not move he could feel it watching him. Could the spirit of Petras and Monad see him through its impassive eyes. He had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach its hand. He felt a small depression in the center of its palm. Something clicked when he pressed it.


    No sooner had the practitioner¡¯s heels settled back on the ground, the stone beneath his feet shifted. Instinctively he stepped back. A massive force pushed up underneath the statue, casting its imperial gaze skyward. Then it was gone, swallowed down into a hole that went as far down into the earth as Crowe could see; and all Crowe could see was endless black.


    ¡°I would run if I were you!¡± Matthias shouted over the deep roar. The spire shuddered all around them. Dust rained down on their heads. ¡°The hole''s only going to get bigger.¡±


    Crowe stopped in the doorway of the chamber. ¡°Surely you don''t mean to throw away your life after all you''ve given up for this night. On your feet!¡±


    The red faced man shook his head. He took a long pull from a silver flask. ¡°Leave me here. Like Maeve my time in this Iteration is done.¡±


    Had he the time the herald might have tried to convince the man not to throw his life away so carelessly. But a draft had picked up in the chamber, pulling at him like a greedy hand. The gap in the ground spread with the hungry intent of a living beast. Had Barghast, clinging to the doorway with one paw, not grabbed him with the other, the herald would have been swallowed by the eye of the black. The same could not be said for Matthias. The draft scooped him up as if he weighed little more than a feather. In the blink of an eye the hole in the earth devoured him whole.


    No sooner had the lycan pulled Crowe to him, a powerful arm closed around his waist, swinging him around to his back. ¡°Hold onto me, my beloved! Don''t let go!¡±


    Crowe didn¡¯t need to be told twice. He clung to the lycan¡¯s back like a monkey clinging to a tree. Barghast secured him by hooking his paws beneath his thighs. They were off, racing through the entrance into the cold. The first pale rays of morning poked through whisky gray clouds. Crowe risked a glance over his shoulder, wanting to watch the spire where so much death had occurred shrink in the distance. He wished he hadn¡¯t. Like a lingering omen, Hamon appeared, stepping out of the shadow of the building. Still he wore that horrible Inferno-made grin. A second later the spire fell away like a tower of sand that had been kicked over. Chunks of mortar the size of wagons were launched into the air before spiraling down into the widening mouth.


    Gone, Crowe thought with a numb sense of dread that was too deep to be called grief. They¡¯re all gone. In a single evening Monad had wiped out a dozen of the most powerful practitioners he¡¯d yet to see. Men and women who had lived for centuries; who had seen entire lives pass by them in the blink of an eye when theirs had dragged on day after day. The horrors - and the wonders - they¡¯d seen over the years. All gone with no one to remember them. No one but me.


    And still Hamon stalked after them like a lingering bad omen that would never completely go away. Crowe prayed. Prayed that the draft would sweep the Black King off his feet and swallow him whole. ¡°Come on you son of a bitch,¡± he hissed under his breath. ¡°Just die already. There has to be something that can kill you.¡±


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± Barghast whined. ¡°Hold onto me tighter.¡±


    The edge of panic in the lycan¡¯s voice twisted the sorcerer¡¯s head back to the front. Cobblestones were ripped from underneath the lycan¡¯s paws a second after he cleared them. The draft tried to impede his progress, but the barbarian fought against the wind, determined to reach the tunnel. Crowe thought he could see the entrance in the distance - no bigger than a black pinprick. And all he could do was hang on like a tick. The source of the lycan¡¯s panic presented itself as a dark shadow that blotted out the sky. Instinctively Crowe ducked his head just in time to witness a spire soar his head.


    Another frantic glance over his shoulder. ¡°Please,¡± he whispered to himself. ¡°Please, please, please¡­¡±


    He caught a final glimpse of Hamon before the spire slammed into him - one second there and then gone the next, dropping into oblivion along with the tower.


    Crowe howled at the sky. He pumped his fist into the air, allowing himself to feel a moment¡¯s triumph. If only for a moment.


    The liberation of triumph died when they shot into the darkness of the tunnel; Barghast did not stop or slow down. If anything the darkness seemed to fuel his stamina. The practitioner closed his eyes. He pressed his cheek against the lycan¡¯s back. When I open my eyes this nightmare will be over.


    It seemed like the nightmare did not end for a long time. The earth continued to growl at his back. He could picture the gap getting bigger in his mind. He didn¡¯t dare open his eyes. When he sensed they¡¯d stopped moving, close to an hour could have passed - it was impossible to say.


    The world pitched over. It was all the warning he had before Barghast fell to his knees. Crowe¡¯s fall was cushioned by freshly fallen snow. He rested on his back. Stacks of smoke and emissions of dust twisted above his head. He allowed himself to suck in a breath. Sweet air. One could forget about the simple pleasures of breathing - of living - when they¡¯d spent the last several hours, the last several days, the last several weeks running from one false sense of security to the next. With another breath he managed to pull himself into a sitting position. Not more than a foot away the ground stopped before plummeting into a bottomless pitch.


    No matter how hard he looked, the herald could not see its bottom. ¡°It looks like we¡¯ve reached the end of the earth,¡± he muttered to himself.


    He staggered to his feet. The lycan sat where he¡¯d fallen, breathing heavily. His head hung low towards his chest. Other than the slash marks from where he¡¯d been grabbed by reavers, Crowe could see no new obvious injuries, but that did not stop the sorcerer¡¯s belly from twisting with worry. ¡°Barghast.¡± He crawled to the Okanavian on his hands and knees. He didn¡¯t have the strength to stand. His head still pounded. He ached in a thousand places.


    The lycan raised his head. When he saw Crowe crawling towards him, he let out a small whine. He pulled the practitioner to him until their bodies were entangled together as one. Barghast brushed Crowe¡¯s hair back from his face. ¡°Hello,¡± he said in Okanavian.


    ¡°Hlle¡¯o,¡± Crowe said. He frowned. This being able to switch from one language to the next was going to take some getting used to. Still, his heart fluttered with excitement. He offered a hand. ¡°It¡¯s nice to truly meet you.¡±


    The barbarian laughed, a deep sound that had the practitioner looking down under his feet to make sure the ice wouldn¡¯t crumble from beneath them.  ¡°Crowe, you say the oddest things sometimes. We¡¯ve known each other for many days.¡± His eyes brightened from pale amber to molten gold. He drew closer, watching the practitioner intently. ¡°And we will know each other for many, many more days.¡±


    The practitioner¡¯s cheeks reddened. He looked away with a shaky chuckle. ¡°I know. It¡¯s just this is the first time you and I have truly been able to understand each other instead of me wiggling my fingers and stamping around like an idiot. I thought we would make our introductions official. Guess it was silly¡­¡±


    Before he could raise a hand to rub at the back of his flaming neck, Barghast seized it. ¡°It is¡­¡± Growl. ¡°...nice to¡­¡± Whine. ¡°...truly meet you.¡±


    They shook hands.


    Barghast beckoned Crowe away from the hole in the earth with an arm around his shoulders. ¡°Come. Let us leave this accursed place.¡±

 Fireside

    Crowe never thought he would be happy to see Roguehaven again, but a glimpse of the settlement but a shout of joy worked its way up the sore passage of his throat. Had he the strength he would have given it voice. Still he allowed himself a small grin. He patted Barghast on the back. ¡°We did it. You did it. We made it.¡±


    Barghast did not reply. His chest heaved breathlessly. For almost two days he''d been at a constant run, charging over the ice as if death was on his tail with Crowe clinging to his back like a monkey. They''d only stopped at the spring outside the ruins to refill the waterskins and when the practitioner insisted he stopped to take a drink. Only when the guards at the posts waved through the gates did it occur to Crowe that the barbarian probably wanted as far away from the frozen tundra as he did. He didn''t recognize the faces of Hargreeves or the man and women who had been stationed with him the night before Crowe and Barghast left for the Vaylin Ruins.


    Barghast kicked the door open, setting Crowe on his feet. His tongue hung out of his mouth. He looked as if he might collapse at any moment. Crowe nodded at the chairs by the fireplace. He told Barghast to rest while he saw about food and drinks and getting a room for the night. ¡°I''ll only be a minute,¡± the sorcerer assured the barbarian with a scratch between the ears when he started to whine; now that they could communicate more frequently, Barghast was clingier than ever. ¡°Monad willing, we¡¯ll be behind closed doors soon.¡±


    Barghast pressed his ears flat against his head. ¡°Don¡¯t keep me waiting. These people reek¡­¡±


    Crowe wanted to point out it had been days since either one of them bathed - he doubted neither one of them smelled pleasant either; Barghast¡¯s fur gave off the damp musky smell that reminded Crowe of mold growing in a dark cellar. Instead the herald watched him slink across the room, lowering his head and raising his shoulders against the wary onlookers and whispers of speculation. The sorcerer studied him for another minute. His heart swelled with an eagerness to be alone with the lycan. Every time we are around I feel like my world turns upside down. Only once I am alone with you does it feel like it turns right side up again. The words rang in his chest like a bell. This time he did not turn away from them. This time he did not push them away. He faced them as one might the wind.


    With a private smile, Crowe went to the bar where Meese was still carrying out her purgatorial duties of wiping down the counter with a tattered grease-stained rag. Only when she saw him did she stop. Her colorless lips thinned down to a straight line. ¡°You made it back.¡± The surprise in her voice said she''d expected otherwise. ¡°I lit candles for you and your lycan friend while you were gone. It''s not very often when I''m proven wrong. I take it you two will be wanting that room back?¡±


    It took a moment for Crowe to find the words to respond. He had not been expecting such a welcome upon returning from the Mirror Expanse. ¡°I would.¡± He reached for his coin purse.


    Meese waved her rag at him as if she were waving a flag. ¡°Nuh nuh, deary. Judging from the beat up look on your face you''ve seen more than a thing or two. I say you''ve earned more than a few nights of rest and food on the house. Monad must have been by your side the whole time you two were out there.¡±


    The herald¡¯s eyes were transfixed on the lycan¡¯s broad back, tracing the scars that marked pale lines and circles through the thicket of his dark gray fur. Every step of the way,¡± he murmered absently.


    Meese assured him she would have everything brought up to him shortly before granting him the key to the suite. ¡°All on the house,¡± she insisted when he offered to pay for the food at the very least.


    The room smelled of wood and smoke. The linens on the bed had been changed and smelled of soap. That night Crowe and Barghast made short work of the small feast Meese brought them. Fragments of chicken bone pinged across the table as Barghast tore into a leg. His amber eyes fastened on Crowe and then down at his plate where a bare chicken leg rested with a bite of bread and gravy. Those golden orbs dropped down to the platter where only a few scraps of meat remained. He pressed his ears flat against his head. Crowe watched him tuck his tail between his legs. He already knew what was coming.


    He reached across the able, took his paw before the whining could start. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± he said gently. ¡°It''s alright. Drink your mead, you''ll feel better. Your nerves are most likely from our travels.¡±


    Barghast tipped him a wink. He raised the tankard to his muzzle before downing three-quarters of its contents in a single gulp; the rest sloshed down the front of his chest and tunic. Crowe didn¡¯t realize he was laughing until he stopped, until Barghast stopped to watch him over the burning candlelight - the only light in the room apart from the lycan¡¯s eyes. ¡°Maybe you shouldn''t drink it so fast or else you won''t be able to make it over to the bed.¡± He took a moderate sip of mead from his own tankard.


    Two tankards of mead and an aether joint later, Crowe stood before the window watching the sky darken to night. Another joint burned in his hand. In his reflection he could see what Meese had meant about having seen a thing or two out in the Mirror Expanse. His face was marked with sores from prolonged exposure to the cold, his flesh and lips cracked like porcelain; ghosts danced in his eyes that no attempt at a smile could decieve. He found himself searching for the lights of Metropolis. Searching for a sign of where he was to go next. You''ve been on the run for months, you''ve finally bought yourself a moment''s respite. Do not squander this blessing. You might not get a moment''s rest for a while. Even with this thought running through his mind, he searched the shadows for an undead corpse with mismatched limbs shambling across the ice.


    You saw that wretched thing he called a body get pulled into the belly of the earth. Even if he survived, it would take some effort to climb his way out. He blew out a ring of smoke. What would be, would be. He didn''t have the energy to spare it another thought for the rest of the night. I''ve earned this. We''ve earned this.


    Barghast¡¯s whine interrupted his thoughts. ¡°Can we rest now?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Crowe murmered. He wondered, quite suddenly, if it would be any warmer South.


    He felt the Okanavian draw close until the warmth of his breath brushed against the back of his neck. Could the lycan hear his heart quickening in his chest? He remained facing the window, wondering what his oversized traveling companion would do. But he''s become so much more than that to you, hasn''t he? Bennett¡¯s voice asked. Crowe hadn''t heard that voice in weeks. Even now, after the devotion he has shown you and the short trials you''ve endured in the short time we''ve known each other, would you be able to find the words to tell him how you feel?


    Barghast reached around him from behind, his paws covering the entirety of Crowe''s chest and torso. His nose felt cool against the practitioner''s skin. He swiped his tongue across his cheek once, leaning over slightly to look down at him. When he stood to his full height the tips of his ears touched the ceiling. ¡°Can you understand me.¡±


    ¡°Every word.¡± He stopped, realizing he''d spoken in his own tongue. This switch to Okanavian - thinking in Okanavian - was effortless and in its simplicity impossible to describe. ¡°Yes,¡± he said in the desert tongue.


    ¡°We are both very tired. We have not slept in days.¡± Barghast pulled locks of Crowe¡¯s hair out of his face, dropping warm kisses on his forehead. ¡°There are dark circles under your eyes. I am tired too. So I will undress you and carry you to bed.¡±


    Crowe tried to bite back a snort and couldn''t. ¡°I''m not a child, you know? I am perfectly capable of undressing myself.¡±


    This earned him a whine. The Okanavian¡¯s ears flattened. ¡°I know you are not a child or an invalid. You are a strong and capable warrior.¡± He pressed his muzzle to Crowe''s ear, sliding his paws down the length of the practitioner¡¯s torso as if he were exploring a new discovery. ¡°I like to undress you. And kiss you. And carry you. I''d carry you everywhere with me if I could. We wouldn''t need that idiot horse.¡±


    The practitioner laughed. ¡°His name''s Mammoth. He''s been waiting in the stable this whole time. We''ll have to grab him on the way out.¡± He scratched at the thick coats of fur on Barghast¡¯s broad forearm, earning himself a rumble of pleasure. ¡°Or we can leave him and you can just carry me around everywhere?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t weigh much. I can see your ribs through your skin.¡± The tips of Barghast¡¯s claws pulled at the clasp of the sorcerer¡¯s breeches. Slowly he pulled the breeches down, tugging them gently off Crowe¡¯s legs. Next he lifted the herald¡¯s robes over his head, tossing it carelessly on the floor.


    Skin buzzing, heart racing with the need to look up at him, Crowe turned away from the window. Dark blue eyes melded with amber.  Barghast leaned forward until their lips were on the brink of collision. His paws closed around Crowe¡¯s rump, giving them a playful squeeze with a satisfied growl while the practitioner worked at the lycan¡¯s tunic. The moment they stood before one another naked, their bodies exposed to the ray of moonlight streaming in through the window, Barghast grabbed his rump and lifted him in the air as if to prove just how light his twin o''rre truly was.


    His intent gaze never left the practitioner''s as he set him down on the mattress. Though the bed could have easily fit two full grown men with room to spare, Crowe was left with a small wedge just wide enough for his narrow body to rest on. Barghast remedied this by folding his longer body around the herald¡¯s, pulling him into the center of the bed.


    Barghast continued to play with his hair. ¡°You are beautiful,¡± he said. His eyes were now the pale orange of the sun when it first rises in the morning. ¡°Your hair, your eyes, your skin. Such soft glowing skin. I''m always afraid I''m going to leave a bruise on you when I touch you.¡±


    ¡°You are too,¡± said Crowe, remembering how he''d admired the Okanavian from the bar.


    Barghast closed his eyes with a whine. ¡°I am not.¡±


    Crowe sushed him, running his bad hand along the barbarian¡¯s cheek. ¡°You are to me. Never listen to anyone.¡±


    Barghast kissed him long and deep then, hovering over them. His breath tasted of mead. He pressed his body down on the practitioner¡¯s while being careful not to crush him with his full weight. When he pulled back and Crowe opened his mouth to protest, Barghast pressed a finger to his lips. ¡°Sleep now, twin o''rre. When we wake up in the morning we will talk about everything. We will eat together and bathe together. And then¡­¡± His voice deepened into a growl so rough the practitioner could only understand what the lycan meant by the hungry look in his eyes. ¡°...I will make you mine.¡±


    ¡­


    When Crowe awoke from the best sleep he''d had in weeks, Barghast was still snoring. Each time his chest rose to release his breath the practitioner thought of the first night they¡¯d spent in the cave. He remembered how wary he''d been of the Okanavian. How foreign he''d been to him. Now his gaze traveled unabashedly down the length of his companion''s body.


    He drank in every scar. Every press of vein. Even in sleep Barghast¡¯s body was an illustration of pure strength and vitality. If you took away the parts of Barghast that made him a lycan he would have been a regular man. But he isn''t. Bennett''s face loomed in front of Crowe¡¯s mind. Any other man would have gotten the right idea and left you by now.


    He wanted to reach out and touch. He wanted to press his nose into the lycan¡¯s fur and breathe in the smell of his musk. A musk that made him think of the earth, natural and life-giving. But he couldn¡¯t. Barghast rested on his side, his face angled towards the practitioner. He looked so peaceful. Crowe found himself wondering what Barghast¡¯s childhood had been like? Puphood? Was that the word? Maybe he''ll tell me if I ask him when he wakes up. A grin played across his lips.


    In the room a set of double doors led out onto a small balcony. The last time they''d been here, Crowe had been far too cold and exhausted to venture onto it, but now he wrapped his robes around himself and shuffled outside for a smoke. He watched the sun rise over the mountains. He breathed in the still, frigid air. After a moment he closed his eyes and pushed himself beyond the physical limitations of his body.


    This time astral projecting was effortless. He soared towards the sky. Weightless. Free. This time life as smoke wasn''t so bad. Monad guide me. Show me where it is I must go next.


    A second later a flash in the sky pulled him South. Like a bullet he streaked past snow-capped mountains and pine trees. He traveled over a thousand miles in seconds over what have been impossible for a horse of Mammoth¡¯s size to traverse. Dark blue sky became a brighter, warmer blue. Brown earth turned to golden sand, briny fresh water to salt. He had yet to see the ocean but now it was spread below him like an aquamarine blanket that stretched beyond the horizon without end.


    If he were looking at a map of the South he would know that he was soaring along the banks of the Gaulhill Sea. Crustaceans the size of small headstones scuttled along the beach, stalk like eyes waving about in the ocean breeze. A glance to the east end of the beach showed that these creatures were in the infancy stage of their development. Their mature counterparts gathered around like villagers in the market, keeping an eye on the little ones from a distance while the adults gossiped. Thinking of the reavers, Crowe hoped Barghast and he could skirt around any nasty encounters with these oversized crabs that were larger than the reptilian creatures they''d encountered in the Mirror Expanse. A hundred miles further South was the Eternal City. It hovered over the city of Caemyth , dwarfing it in size.


    On its own Caemyth  would have been a grand sight enough. Unlike the brooding architecture in the North, everything was bright. Golden towards were surrounded by clusters of smaller buildings with shingles hooves that crowded the narrow cobblestone streets. How many times had Bennett and he excited themselves into a frenzy, talking late into the night about visiting the city and the adventures they would have? Bennett was gone. He''d gone and got himself blown up in the war. Someone new had come along to fill the spot he''d vacated.


    On the Northern edge of the city his flight stopped above a tall round building with arched windows. Through an open doorway on the top floor of the building he could see several men standing around a wood table, bent over the map.


    A strange form of magnetism pulled his attention towards the man who stood at the head of the table. He was Crowe¡¯s height with shoulder length hair that had once been a golden brown but was now streaked with slivers of silver. His narrow face coupled with the brackets of strain and wiry bristles that bracketed his mouth hinted at a man who had given up his youth in the name of the burden he currently carried. Crowe wondered if this was his future. The man wore a blue coat with gold-edged sleeves. A white diamond was embroidered on the back. Though he had never seen the man before with his own eyes, intuition or something like it told the herald this was Benedict Matthiesen, the Governor of Caemyth and an outlaw in the eyes of Pope Drajen and the Theocracy.


    One of Matthiesen''s long skinny fingers traces the edges of a circle that had been drawn in red ink near the Eastern edge of the map. Though they were the only ones in the room - as far as they could tell - his voice hardly rose louder than a whisper. ¡°This is it? This is where we think Gyrell and the troops have gone missing?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the man to his left said with a grimace. His wild mane of white hair and scarred face made Crowe think of a battle-hardened lion; the man could have been Barghast¡¯s human counterpart.


    ¡°That¡¯s strange, don''t you think?¡± said the man to Matthiesens¡¯ right. He was shorter than the other two men and his cheeks were as smooth as a baby''s bottom. Somehow Crowe his name. Both of their names. Lion Mane''s name was Lucijan and the other was Roan. Where this knowledge came from the sorcerer could not say and he wasn''t sure if he liked it.


    ¡°There¡¯s not supposed to be anything there,¡± Roan finished.


    An implication Crowe was not privy to hovered above their heads; it oozed into the uneasy silence that solidified between the three men.


    Benedict steepled his hands together. He glared down at the map as if he could wring answers from it through will alone. ¡°What do we know?¡±


    ¡°On this matter we are completely in the dark,¡± Lucijan replied gruffly. While his voice was hard as stone, his eyes were not. The look he gave Matthiesen said he hated delivering such news.


    Benedict''s eyes glinted with a frustration he could no longer contain. He slammed his fist into the table hard enough to make it rattle. When he spoke again his voice was wedged somewhere between a whisper and a growl. ¡°This can''t be a coincidence: Loras Gyrell and the refugees disappearing simultaneously with the appearance of this ¡®black spot¡¯ and Drajen¡¯s proclamation that he has become Elysia¡¯s vessel.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s too soon to say,¡± said the man named Roan. ¡°Whatever the cause is, none of it sits well with my stomach.¡±


    ¡°Nor does it mine,¡± said Matthiesen. ¡°I want you to send three of our best scouts to this black spot. Maybe they''ll find traces of Loras and the refugees. But tell them to be careful and to come back as soon as they find something.¡±


    Lucijan nodded with approval. ¡°Commander Gyrell is an integral part of our military efforts¡­I don¡¯t mean to sound like a paranoid old man, but like you, Roan, my gut tells me something wrong is afoot. My instincts tell me that the forces of Inferno are involved, not Drajen. How else could fifteen hundred soldiers and seven hundred refugees just disappear into thin air - without a trace?¡±


    Loras Gyrell. Maeve¡¯s face floated before Crowe¡¯s mind. We will meet again. Though it will not be the me you met this evening¡­The red circle on the map glowed as if it were on fire. The three men didn¡¯t seem to notice. Perhaps it was only something the herald was meant to see


    Benedict opened his mouth to speak but before he could utter a word, Crowe¡¯s astral body slammed into his physical one with a rushing crash. He staggered slightly only to feel a familiar paw drop on his shoulder, cementing him to the ground. He looked up into Barghast¡¯s unhappy face. The lycan growled at him. The sound was strangled as if he was trying to hold it back. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± he said. ¡°You were spirit-walking.¡± The statement was accusatory, not a question.


    In the herald¡¯s head spirit-walked translated as o¡¯rre mgephugnah. ¡°Aye,¡± he mumbled. He looked away. He hated the way the Okanavian looked down at him with disapproval. He hated the way guilt curdled in his belly like milk gone bad.


    A finger slid under his chin, tilting his head back up. The barbarian¡¯s expression had softened; he¡¯d stopped growling. ¡°Do not fret, my beloved. I am not angry with you. I am not trying to scold you. You are a powerful warrior who knows his mind, not a child. I know that. But I also know that when your soul leaves your body, you are vulnerable. You should have woken me. I would have sat with you and watched over you.¡±


    ¡°You were asleep. I didn¡¯t want to wake you.¡± He hated the way his voice came out weak and pleading. He felt the same doe-like panic he¡¯d felt as a small boy standing under Petra¡¯s brooding glare. Only Barghast wasn¡¯t brooding and he wasn¡¯t Petras and it still it did not stop Crowe¡¯s heart from racing.


    Barghast bent his knees, kneeling before the practitioner as if he were a king. His other paw cradled the back of the sorcerer¡¯s head. He leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed together. All thoughts of Petras and the past and the guilt floated out of Crowe¡¯s mind. ¡°You are all I have in this world,¡± the Okanavian rumbled. ¡°We must trust each other. We must stay together. This ugly world will do everything it can to tear us apart¡­We mustn¡¯t let it.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± the practitioner agreed.


    Barghast kissed. The kiss was deep and slow and gentle. When he pulled back leaving Crowe flushed and breathless his eyes had returned to their molten gold color. The naked hunger in that look made the practitioner shiver.  ¡°I want to take you inside and undress you again, twin o¡¯rre,¡± he growled. The not inconsiderable bulge straining against his tunic told Crowe he wanted to do a lot more than just undress him; the front of it was raised enough that Crowe could see the bottom curves of his balls. Crowe felt the absurd urge to touch them, to feel their heft in his hand again. They looked¡­full.


    ¡°Later I will undress you.¡± The Okanavian¡¯s eyes bulged out of his head. His pupils were as large as saucers. His tail thumped excitedly against the railing of the balcony. ¡°And then I will make you mine.¡±


    I¡¯m already yours, Crowe wanted to say. Then he saw the wicked look on the barbarian¡¯s face. His own turned a deeper shade of red. And then I will make you mine could only mean one thing.


    ¡°First we eat.¡± Barghast kissed his hand. ¡°The fat woman brought us food and drink while you were away.¡±


    Crowe laughed, leading the way back into the room. ¡°Her name is Meese and you shouldn¡¯t call her fat - it¡¯s not nice.¡±


    ¡°Not nice. Rude. It¡¯s rude to say something bad about something they can¡¯t help. It¡¯s not much different than when the torchcoats tried to kill you the night we met.¡±


    Barghast stopped and growled at the mention of torchcoats. ¡°Is the fat woman a torchcoat?¡±


    ¡°She is a follower of Monad. She helped us. She gave us this room for free.¡±


    ¡°Why do the torchcoats want to kill us so badly?¡±


    ¡°Because they¡¯re afraid of us. They¡¯re afraid of what we are. They think we are bad.¡±


    ¡°Are we bad? Do you think I¡¯m bad?¡± Barghast¡¯s ears twitched dubiously.


    It was the herald¡¯s turn to give his paw a comforting squeeze. ¡°No, you¡¯re not bad. I¡¯ve seen you do bad things in order to survive. So have. We¡¯ve both killed. We¡¯ve both spilled blood. Do you think I¡¯m bad? Do you think I deserve to be enslaved? Killed?¡±


    ¡°I do not think you¡¯re bad. I think you¡¯re very good. You try to help everyone¡­even when they don¡¯t deserve it. Like that woman we found outside of this place.¡±


    Crowe thought of the woman who had watched her husband burn alive at the hands of the torchcoats. You should have let the damned torchcoats finish what they started, she¡¯d said. He could still hear the concluding echo of the gun going off. ¡°We did the right thing when we helped her. We would have been just as bad if we didn¡¯t do anything.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Barghast whined.


    The practitioner ran his palm along his forearm. ¡°It¡¯s alright. One day you will. But you¡¯re not bad¡­and neither am I. Let¡¯s eat.¡±


    Sure enough the tray Meese had brought was covered with dishes: plates topped with eggs, roasted potatoes and vegetables, biscuits, a serving dish of half-melted butter, strawberry preservatives, chocolate cake and a decanter of chilled wine. The practitioner licked his lips. His belly growled audibly. ¡°Looks like she brought us a feast.¡± He offered Monad a prayer of thanks in the name of Meese; it couldn¡¯t have been an easy task to carry the tray up the stairs after working the bar all morning and all night.


    Barghast prowled around the table.  He eyed the steaming platters of food; thick strands of drool hung down from his mouth.


    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± Crowe waved impatiently, reaching for plates. ¡°Go ahead and serve yourself.


    Barghast bowed his head. ¡°You first,¡± he whined. ¡°I will eat after you.¡±


    ¡°For Monad¡¯s sake.¡± Crowe stabbed at the roasted potatoes and scooped them onto the plate. As he filled the plate with heaping piles of food. ¡°These are potatoes. They''re a staple here in the North, especially in the Winter months.¡± He remembered how in the early days of Petra¡¯s decline in health, they''d survived off of potatoes for several weeks. We probably ate them until we couldn''t taste them anymore. This time he had butter; this time they would taste better.


    Barghast listened and watched with great interest. He sniffed at the practitioner as he poured mead into the goblets and grabbed eating utensils for himself. When Crowe sat at the opposite end of the table, the Okanavian mimicked his movements, pulling the back and sitting down. The chair groaned beneath his bulk.


    ¡°What are these?¡± Barghast pointed at the silverware. He looked at them with a mixture of caution and wide-eyed wonder.


    Crowe speared a bite of potato on his fork. ¡°This is a fork,¡± he said, switching to the Northern tongue, then back to Okanavian. ¡°You used to pick up things.¡± He tried to demonstrate, reaching for another bite. It wasn''t until his hand started shaking that he¡¯d realized he was using his bad hand. His wrist shook uncontrollably. The bit of the potato fell back on the plate. Crowe cast a nervous glance at Barghast. Still watching him intently, the lycan lowered his head, pressing his ears back. The matter of Fort Erikson hung between them, unspoken, but there all the same. Not just Fort Erikson, but the dead city too. We have a lot to catch up on.


    He switched the fork to his left hand. He reached across the table with the other, laying his palm on top of the barbarian¡¯s furry knuckles. The lycan¡¯s ears twitched upright. His tail wagged hopefully. Crowe smiled. ¡°You try. But be careful. I don''t know if the silverware is made of real silver or not. It might burn you.¡±


    When Barghast picked up the utensil his skin did not begin to smoke.


    ¡°You¡­¡± The herald gulped. ¡°You know you don''t have to eat the way I do, right? I just eat this way because it''s what I''m used to.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a part of your culture?¡±


    ¡°Aye. But you can eat however you want to.¡±


    ¡°I want to learn how your people eat,¡± the Okanavian insisted.


    ¡°What about your culture? Your people? Your family?¡± The questions rushed out of the practitioner¡¯s mouth before he could prevent their passage; these questions had been rattling around inside his head for months, gathering dust and cobwebs.


    ¡°Your culture is my culture. Your people are my people. You are my family.¡±


    Barghast growled these words with such finality Crowe did not dare offer a response at first. He didn''t know what to make of the guarded look on the Okanavian¡¯s face. When he spoke he ventured cautiously; his response in answer in response to the lycan was maladaptive, born from a lifetime''s practice of keeping the tension in the room leveled. ¡°Barghast¡­ I just want you to be happy. I don''t want you to feel like you have to hide who you are from me. I want you to know I accept you.¡± I want you to know I love you froze on his tongue. Somewhere in the back of his mind Bennett flashed him flashed him a knowing wink.


    Barghast¡¯s Guarded expression, shifted into a carefree grin he seemed to only reserve for Crowe. He leaned forward in his seat, making the legs creak and wobble. His paw was heavy and warm on top of Crowe¡¯s. ¡°Your words are like honey. You say the sweetest things my beloved. I do not mean to act like an angry pup. I do not want you to think I am angry with you. I want you to know you can trust me. I will never lie to you. I will never betray you as I know others have.¡± The practitioner¡¯s cheeks burned at this; Barghast watched him so intently he felt as if he was made of glass. Barghast continued, whining slight. ¡°But¡­it is difficult to talk about home.


    The practitioner nodded slowly. At times it was easy to forget Barghast was man as much as he was a beast. Like every man he had things he didn''t like to talk about; and like a man he feared what others would think if those things came to light. With one vulnerable admission the lycan had revealed a depth of himself the sorcerer had only suspected could exist. ¡°I understand. It''s hard for me to talk about home as well. Every time I have a thought about it I try to duck out of the way.¡± Deciding it was time to change the subject to lighter table conversation, he held the fork out before him as if it were a grand sword, the tines facing up. He switched to the Northern tongue. ¡°The fork¡­¡±


    For the next twenty minutes he wrestled with the art of showing Barghast how to hold and use the fork. It wasn''t an easy task. The lycan¡¯s paws were as cumbersome as they were large. It didn''t help that Barghast became discouraged when he failed to bring the fork to his mouth without spilling food. Crowe had to bite his lip to keep from giggling at the dogged look Barghast would give him. His ears flat, his tail flicking anxiously from side to side, he had the look of a child who fears they are about to be scolded. The bloodthirsty lycan everyone is so afraid of has been outmatched by the indomitable fork.


    ¡°Don¡¯t fret over it, Barghast.¡± He wiggled the three remaining fingers of his bad hand. ¡°It¡¯s hard to learn from a cripple.¡± He sat in the lycan¡¯s lap, making the Okanavian perk up. He raised the fork to the barbarian¡¯s mouth. ¡°Just try it. You''ve never had potatoes before, have you? They''re good with butter.¡± If anyone thinks it''s impossible to get a lycan to eat out of the palm of your hand look no further.


    Barghast halted the practitioner¡¯s hand when he tried to pass him another bite. ¡°Now it''s your turn. You must eat as well, twin o''rre. You are much too thin.¡± He held the fork out to Crowe . ¡°Open,¡± he growled. His tail rapped against the table hard enough to make the dishes rattle.


    Crowe tried not to dispute the absurdity of what was transpiring between them. If someone had asked him if he would one day let a lycan spoon feed him while sitting in his lap, he would have said it sounded like something out of a sensational tale. Now all he could take notice of was how light he felt. It felt good to be alone with the man he had come to depend on and trust - and love once he allowed himself to admit it aloud. For the moment they were not on the run, constantly looking over their shoulders. No torchcoats. No revenants. No necromancers. No reavers or sadistic angels or Black King. Just us. Just the way it should be.


    By the time they''d cleared the platters the dining area looked more like the sight of a brawl than a meal of laughter and mead. Crowe found himself reclined back in bed, his naked body sandwiched between Barghast''s chest and his arms, half drunk, stoned and awake.


    ¡°These are the moments when I am happiest,¡± Barghast rumbled, pulling the practitioner into his molten gaze. His paw fanned through Crowe''s freshly washed hair. Hair that had grown past the edge of his shoulders. ¡°When I wish the world would just stop and leave us be.¡±


    Crowe shifted a little. Each time the lycan exhaled a small draft of wind blew his bangs back from his face. ¡°When is that?¡±


    Barghast kissed him. ¡°When you are naked, in my arms, and I can kiss you.¡±


    ¡°You''re absolutely shameless, Barghast.¡± His heart fluttered excitedly. Somehow he felt like the young boy he''d been when Bennett and he would cavort through the woods, acting out their fantasies. A sensation he''d feared would never grace his heart again. ¡°What will we do when we wake up?¡±


    ¡°Whatever we want, beloved. As long as you are with me I am happy.¡±


    ¡­


    He stood on the platform, facing Elysia¡¯s judgment, her noose around his neck. His robes stuck to him like a second skin, plastered in place by the accursed blood rain. It was wrong. All wrong. He would never get the chance to say goodbye to the lycan. This and the helpless despair he felt were all he could think of when the platform beneath his feet dropped out from under him. Elysia¡¯s noose tight around his throat. Cutting into his air. Cutting into his flesh.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    He pulled at the noose. He struggled and kicked as he had never struggled and kicked before. I don¡¯t want to die. I want to live¡­


    And then someone was screaming. Screaming in terror. Screaming in defiance. The person who screamed he realized was himself. A high-pitched sound that made the tendons in his neck stand out. A voice somewhere outside of him called his name, but he was lost. The same speaker reached for him. Crowe shrunk back like a frightened animal. He was frightened. ¡°Get the fuck away from me!¡± he snarled.


    The gloom of his nightmares was replaced by a flair of blinding white light. The world around him shook and rattled, threatening to come apart. A tidal wave of wind passed through the room, knocking framed portraits off the wall. Somewhere glass shattered. I''m doing this, he thought. I''m making this happen. And he couldn¡¯t stop it. He could not douse out the flames that spread through him like a growing wildfire.


    A familiar tall shadow loomed out of the light. Crowe did the only thing he could think of to do and fell towards it. Strong arms closed around him. Barghast pinned him to his chest, paw on the back of his head, muzzle at his ear. ¡°Twin o''rre, you must stop this. The whole place will go¡­¡±


    ¡°I''m trying. I don''t know how¡­¡±  A sob shattered inside Crowe''s throat.


    ¡°You are safe.¡± Barghast held him so tightly, they could have been the same body. The same person. We are alone, my beloved. ¡°Just you and me the way it should be.¡±


    The words spilled out of the practitioner like a flood of black water. ¡°At Fort Erikson they were going to hang me. They did. The rope was cutting into me and the world was going black and all I could think about was never seeing you again. And that man from the inn¡­¡±


    ¡°No more thinking about it now. You must stop it!¡± The lycan¡¯s voice drove into him like a fist. He tried to turn away from it, but the Okanavian wouldn''t let him. He rose from the floor like a canyon, surrounding Crowe. Folding around him until he had no choice but to submit.


    The floor dropped beneath his feet. Just when he thought he would fall with it, the herald was lifted and pressed once more against the living wall that was Barghast. The hold was absolute. There was no escaping this creature who kept pulling him away from the brink of self destruction. Now he was draped across a bed of muscle and fur. The lycan¡¯s paws slid over his body, stroking him.


    ¡°I am so sorry my beloved. I am sorry that happened to you. I am sorry I was not with you. I know you are frightened. I know you feel afraid. Do not hide from me. Come to me¡­¡±


    ¡°I don''t know how.¡± He couldn¡¯t move. His limbs felt impossibly heavy. The world had no top and no bottom. There was only the face of the wolf above him. He crawled towards it because there was nowhere else to go.


    ¡°Do not fret. I will help you.¡±


    The world shifted again. He was laid on the bed, his head sinking into the pillow. The lycan hovered above him so that Barghast was all the practitioner could see from all directions.


    ¡°When they took you away from me I felt such despair. Such fear. Such fury. It felt as if the bottom had dropped out of my stomach. I had to get you back. There is nothing that could keep you away from me. There is no throat I will not rip out to keep you safe. I balk at the thought because I know this will happen again. Again and again until we reach the end of our pilgrimage. They will take you away from me and I will go on the endless prowl until you are mine again¡­¡±


    Crowe crawled towards the voice. It shook the ground beneath him. It held him up when nothing else would.


    ¡°Be here with me,¡± the voice pleaded. ¡°Don¡¯t think about the darkness. I am here. I won¡¯t let it touch you¡­¡±


    A warm arm enclosing him, lifting him again. Soft fur pressing against his skin. Keeping him warm ?. Shielding him. Anchoring him. Above him a grinning mouth, a single white tooth poking up from the pink lining of a lip. Twin suns burned in the Void, burning with love if he¡¯d ever seen it. Love so intense, so total it frightened him. Crowe crawled towards those lights. Climbing. Crawling. Calling. It all amounted to the same thing.


    Whatever it took to reach the top.


    ¡°Crowe, we are entwined you and I. That''s what it means to be a twin o¡¯rre. From the moment I can remember first wanting something I''ve searched for you. And now that I''ve found you what kind of fool would I be to let you slip away?¡±


    ¡°I don''t understand.¡± His voice sounded distant and echoey to his own ears.


    ¡°One day - very soon - I will explain,¡± the deeper voice assured him. Its owner brushed his hair back from his face. ¡°For right now I am so happy that you can understand me. There has been so much I''ve been wanting to say to you for so very long and now that I can, I don''t even know where to begin.¡±


    Crowe reached up, searching through the dark. He didn¡¯t have to search long before Barghast took his hand and guided it to his face. ¡°I know what you mean,¡± the practitioner whispered. ¡°But then we¡¯ve never needed words to understand each other, have we? You¡¯ve always shown me.¡±


    Those fiery orbs hanging in the Void loomed closer. Barghast¡¯s chest settled on top of him so that the practitioner was sandwiched between the bed and his broad torso. All he could move were his arms and his head. The lycan had entwined his legs with his own. Crowe suspected he would not be getting up for the rest of the night. Powerful hips spread his legs until he was folded in whatever position the Okanavian deemed satisfactory, their hips conjoined. The lycan¡¯s words echoed in his head. We are entwined, you and I. Wasn¡¯t that one of the things Maeve had said in Vaylin before they parted? Before the earth swallowed the dead city whole?


    Before the herald could think more on it, Barghast spoke again, his voice somewhere between a whimper and a growl. ¡°I ache for you, twin o¡¯rre. I want you like I¡¯ve never wanted anything else.¡±


    Something hot and spongy and hard pressed against the practitioner¡¯s backside. A musky, meaty smell wafted up from the dark. Barghast was panting now, his tail thumping against the mattress. This time he did not pull away nor did he hesitate. ¡°I want you, too,¡± he said thickly. His skin was hot and he could feel all the blood in his body flowing down to a single focal point.


    Barghast could feel it as well, pressing against his furry belly. A keen gleam entered the lycan¡¯s eyes. ¡°As much as I want to be inside you¡­want it so bad I can¡¯t stand it¡­you are so small and I am so large. I could hurt you without meaning to.¡±


    Crowe messaged the fur of his arm. He could feel Barghast leaking against him, the fluid hot and syrupy against his flesh. ¡°I trust you with my life. I know you¡¯d never hurt me.¡± He tried to pull the barbarian¡¯s head down to his but it was impossible. Barghast¡¯s skull was like a big unmovable rock.


    He didn¡¯t need to try hard. Barghast¡¯s lips, like his body, dwarfed his entirely, warm and velvety, his eagerness pushing Crowe¡¯s skull back into the cradle of his paw.  He rocked against him, grinding the tipped head of his cock against the sorcerer¡¯s ass. The friction made the herald gasp with pleasure. After weeks of being on the run and keeping his feelings for the Okanavian at bay he felt he would burst. I¡¯m going to burst, he tried to say but his mouth was filled with the lycan¡¯s tongue.


    He pulled back, gasping. ¡°I¡¯m going to¡­I can¡¯t¡­¡±


    It was all he managed to say before a long, smooth tongue trailed a straight line from the cleft of his chin down to his groin. The lycan lapped at his pulsating erection before sucking it into his mouth. Crowe moaned, unable to move unless Barghast decided to let him. As such the barbarian had his own priorities and was preoccupied. Even in the thick darkness that filled the room it was impossible not to notice just how much bigger the Okanavian was than the practitioner. Everywhere he touched he could feel solid muscle bulging and rippling beneath the fur.


    The sound of the bed¡¯s legs scraping against the floor reminded him of the many times he¡¯d seen the lycan kill. Rabbits, deer, necromancers, and torchcoats. He¡¯d seen him rip out throats with his teeth; he¡¯d seen him shrug aside walls until they crumpled to dust. He knew if he wanted to Barghast could just as easily kill him. All he would have to do is let the rest of his weight fall on top of me and he could snuff me out like a candle. (But he knew Barghast wouldn¡¯t, the fact written in his flesh. In his soul.)


    The thought burst through him like fire. Now there truly was no holding back. He shouted the Okanavian¡¯s name and then his back arched off the bed. Or tried to. The barbarian had him pinned to the mattress the way a boulder pins soil to the earth. All he could do was shudder and stare stupidly as Barghast lapped at the head of his leaking cock. Crowe wanted to kick with his feet, his toes curled so tight it hurt. ¡°Monad, help me,¡± he wept, his cheeks wet with tears of ecstasy. ¡°Help me, help me, help me.¡± He could barely hear himself over the growls of relish Barghast made as if what he had to give was the sweetest nectar.


    Once the practitioner was empty to the point of aching, Barghast raised his head. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre, you are delicious.¡±


    Crowe laughed, drunk from the release. ¡°Does this mean I¡¯m your next meal?¡±


    This time it was the barbarian¡¯s turn to chuckle. The deep gravelly sound sent a thrill of pleasure down the sorcerers spine to his tingling toes. ¡°No, I think I¡¯ll keep your right here where you are. Beneath me where you can¡¯t get away. And I will hold you and kiss you and make you scream with pleasure. It is time, twin o¡¯rre. It is time to make you mine.¡±


    Before Crowe could ask what he meant by ¡°make you mine¡±, Barghast rose onto his knees, lifting the practitioner''s lower body by the legs while his head, shoulders, and upper half of his back still rested on the bed. ¡°I can hear your heart racing,¡± Barghast rumbled. His breath caressed the back of the practitioner¡¯s backside. ¡°It sounds just like those¡­what do you call them, the little creatures with the pointed ears?...you always catch them in your snares.¡±


    ¡°Rabbits,¡± the herald replied breathlessly. ¡°They¡¯re called rabbits.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what your heart sounds like. A rabbit. The way they scamper off when they¡¯re startled. You need not be afraid of me, twin o¡¯rre. I won¡¯t hurt you. I would never do anything to hurt you.¡±


    Crowe couldn¡¯t reach for him, so he pressed his foot against the barbarians solid chest. ¡°I know you won¡¯t. I trust you. And I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that, right?¡±


    He saw the outline of the Okanavian¡¯s head bob up and down. ¡°Yes. You saved me from the torchcoats. You made them pay for what you did to me.¡±


    At these words the sorcerer thought of the man from the inn in Boar¡¯s Head. Barghast had made him pay. And Charoum. He didn¡¯t want to think about things¡­not now when it felt like he was floating and carefree for a change, not when he was around the only man who made him feel safe, so he pushed the thought away. ¡°Don¡¯t stop, Barghast. Please¡­¡± What he didn¡¯t say but thought was, I don¡¯t want to think about dark things. Right now I just want to be with you.


    Barghast didn¡¯t need any further encouragement. When his tongue entered Crowe, smoothe and hot as heated butter, the practitioner cried out before he could stop himself. His spine arched towards the ceiling and his eyes clenched shut. His toes curled as tight as they would go. Barghast¡¯s cold nose brushed against the sensitive flesh between his thighs, making his skin break out in gooseflesh. Each nose he made - each grunt, whimper, cry, each whisper of his name - seemed to only spur the Okanavian on. Just when it seemed like he couldn¡¯t go any deeper¡­surely not¡­he did. Slicking his insides. Preparing him for the moment of collision.


    He wasn¡¯t sure how long this went on. Time became as fluid and malleable as water, the seconds, minutes (hours?) ticking by without definition. When Barghast did pull, back Crowe¡¯s body sagged deeper into the bed. He felt like a wrung out dish rag. But he knew the lycan wasn¡¯t done with him. Probably wouldn¡¯t be done with him for a while. He thought of all the lingering glances they¡¯d exchanged, touching, the moments of horror and pain and pleasure and affection they¡¯d shared with each other. All building up to an inevitable climax. All building up to¡­this.


    Barghast lowered his legs and hips back onto the bed. He leaned forward, spreading Crowe¡¯s thighs apart with his broad, muscled hips, his weight making the bed sag, but not crushing the smaller body beneath him. I won¡¯t hurt you, he¡¯d said, I would never do anything to hurt you, and Crowe truly did believe him. The fact was written in his flesh. In his soul. Our souls. We are twin o¡¯rre. Twin souls. Two sides of the same coin.


    Barghast kissed him tenderly, smoothing his hair from his head, grinding the head of his cock against the practitioner once more. The bed creaked with each rock and forth motion. Somewhere in the back of his overstimulated mind, Crowe wondered if this was what it was like to be on a ship at sea. Maybe one day we¡¯ll find out while on our pilgrimage. All the while the lycan leaked against him, teasing him open, folded around Crowe in a way that should have been physically impossible for someone of his height and weight, but was not due to what he was. Barghast pulled away, panting. Strings of saliva sluiced down the herald¡¯s slickened belly. ¡°Are you ready, my sweet? Are you ready for me to be inside you?¡±


    Crowe trembled with excitement not fear. ¡°Yes. Yes. I¡¯m ready.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t the only one who trembled. Barghast¡¯s body quaked around him, making the darkness in the room vibrate. Another gasp escaped the practitioner when the first inch of hardened flesh pushed into him, spreading him open like he¡¯d never been opened before. His fingers snarled in the tangles of sweaty blankets, bunching them up in his hand. The nerves in his body were on fire. Fireworks exploded behind his eyes. Deeper and deeper Barghast pushed into him, kissing him, reminding Crowe to tell him to stop when he needed a moment to catch his breath. When Crowe did - when he could remember to - Barghast stopped, stroking his body, kissing his forehead, the soft flesh of his eyelids, his mouth, his neck. Only when the herald begged him to continue in a high, keening voice did he resume his ministrations.


    By the time Barghast¡¯s balls pressed against his ass, he was full. Full of Barghast. Full and heavy. Though he could not see it, he knew if he were to look down at his belly he would see a bulge dimpling his skin slightly. He could feel the heaviness in the lycan¡¯s balls and knew it wouldn¡¯t be long.


    A meaty slapping sound filled the musky-smelling darkness of the room. The headboard creaked, scraping against the wall. There was something else trying to push its way into him. A muscle or an organ, harder than a rock, harder even than Barghast¡¯s cock. His knot. He¡¯s going to push it into me. And then we really will be inextricably bound.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± Barghast groaned. ¡°I cannot hold back any longer.¡±


    He gave one final push and there was an audible popping sound. Heavy and full. So pleasantly full. Then Barghast raised his head and howled. A high animalistic sound that made Crowe¡¯s teeth rattle and his nerves sing. He could feel the Okanavian¡¯s cock twitching inside him, pumping his seed deep into his body. It seemed to go on forever - certainly longer than Bennett could ever manage during those rendezvous in the cave, when he¡¯d fooled himself into believing his childhood best friend truly loved him - and when it tapered off, he was the anchor, not Barghast.


    For the longest time neither one of them said anything, short-winded from their exertions. Crowe must have fallen asleep for a short time because when awareness returned to him, he was sitting in the lycan¡¯s lap facing the wall at the end of the bed, his back resting against Barghast¡¯s muscled belly. His belly still felt full. He went to stand up, only to feel something pull slightly at his innards.


    ¡°You will not be able to get up for a time,¡± the barbarian informed him. There was a playful edge to his voice. Pride. ¡°My knot is still inside you. We must wait for it to shrink before I can pull it out.¡±


    ¡°When?¡±


    ¡°It could be a few hours. It could take all night¡­¡± Barghast kissed his cheek. ¡°Either way, you 0are mine until then and I am not letting you go.¡±


    Crowe tried to think of a response - something equally teasing - and couldn¡¯t. All the tension had drained from his body like oil from a canter with a hole at the bottom. All he could manage in the end was a small murmuring sound.


    ¡°You are tired, my beloved. We both are. Close your eyes. You will sleep well tonight.¡±


    The sorcerer needed no further coaxing. He closed his eyes and drifted into a dreamless sleep.


    ¡­


    When Barghast opened his eyes, his twin orre was gone. He jolted out of bed with a whimper, his heart racing. Already he could feel his blood start to boil, pumping quickly through the veins, igniting his bloodlust. The torchcoats had come and taken him away again.


    He remembered what happened the last time he lost control over himself and the trouble it had caused. The thought was enough to stall the impulse to go on the endless prowl. ¡°Crowe?¡± he whined.


    ¡°I''m out here.¡±


    His voice sounded from the balcony. Barghast felt the tension leave his body in a single exhale of relief. Of course he''s on the balcony smoking a joint. That''s where I found him the previous morning and it did not wake your thirst for blood.


    It was the confession Crowe had made about what had happened at the fort that had seeped into his mind like a poison unbeknownst to him. He''d been holding onto that for weeks and months and I had no idea. Of course I couldn''t. We couldn''t understand each other then. What else has he been holding onto that I''m not aware of in my ignorance?


    He found Crowe standing on the balcony with an aether joint. He turned with a small tentative smile. ¡°Good morning.¡±


    ¡°I was scared. You were gone when I got up,¡± the lycan confessed reluctantly. He pushed his ears back, watching the practitioner dubiously. He probably thinks I''m a foolish pup who can''t be alone¡­and he would be right. The thought made his blood skitter in his veins, made him want to cower back inside the room. What if Crowe grew tired of him? What if he left him?


    The herald smiled and when he did there was no tension in it; it was a warm sweet smile that made Barghast¡¯s heart melt and fall in love all over again. A stray ray of pale new morning light hit his eyes, making them sparkle. Brushstrokes of cosmic pink and orange streaked the sky at his back. ¡°I wouldn''t leave without waking and telling you first. I couldn''t stay in bed any longer.


    ¡°Are you hurt?¡± Barghast took a hasty step forward then hesitated. ¡°Was I too rough with you last night? I¡­¡±


    Crowe crossed the balcony to him, the half finished joint dangling from his mouth. His fingers skimmed a path through Barghast¡¯s chest fur, putting the lycan''s renewed worries to rest. ¡°You didn''t hurt me. I promise. What we shared together last night meant the world to me, meant more than you could know. So don''t fret. I''m just jittery.¡±


    The Okanavian blinked. That was a word he''d never heard before; sometimes the sorcerer said the most befuddling things and he seemed to switch between Barghast''s language and his own without thinking about it. ¡°Jittery?¡±


    ¡°Anxious. Restless. Nervous. I know we''re trying to rest, but¡­¡±


    The barbarian¡¯s tail began to wag. ¡°It''s not who you are¡­¡±


    There was that sweet grin again, but there was a cautious glint in his eyes that was tucked away as quickly as it appeared. Barghast only spotted it because he knew to look for it. ¡°I don''t think either of us are.¡± The herald shivered, pulling his robes tighter around himself. A crack appeared between his dark eyebrows, his veneer of calm beginning to slip.


    I may not be able to read your mind, Barghast thought, but all those months we spent unable to talk I watched you. I studied your face. The way your eyes darken and your mouth puckers and body shrinks as if you want to hide when you want to hide. He wanted to say these words, but he didn''t. Better to show through action. Better to be patient and take his time plundering the treasure standing before him. Still¡­


    Barghast hugged him. He wanted to pick him up and carry him into the room but the practitioner had already lit another joint. ¡°Something bothers you. I can tell. I may not know anything about your old life, but I know you down to the marrow in this one. Tell me what perplexes you, my beloved.¡±


    Crowe blew out a cloud of sweet smelling smoke that made the air dance and pop with crystals. ¡°I''ve just been thinking a lot. About some of the things Maeve - the woman with the silver eyes said - and some of what you said.¡± Now the sorcerer raised his eyes to look up at the lycan and this time there was no caution in his face, only trust. ¡°How we''re inextricably connected. How this¡­¡± He waved his three-fingered hand at the white expanse beyond the balcony. ¡°...nightmare keeps repeating. I keep thinking about my predecessor.¡±


    Crowe shivered again and that dark look entered his eyes again. A bitter smile touched his lips. ¡°He''s been dead for almost four months now and yet¡­he''s still here. And I keep feeling as if I''m at the center of a game where everyone knows the rules but me. Petras knew the rules and he never told me. Yet he failed. If he hadn''t you and I wouldn''t be here.¡±


    His face became drawn. Haunted. It was a look Barghast had seen many times in those quiet moments when the practitioner sunk beneath the surface of the black water that only existed inside his mind. ¡°What if I fail? What if all this is just one big lie, the world, you and me, all of it?¡±


    ¡°You mustn¡¯t think of these things,¡± Barghast told him as gently as he could. ¡°Such thoughts only open a doorway to doubt. When we find ourselves beginning to doubt we must believe in ourselves¡­and each other. No matter the challenges we face. Do you understand?¡±


    The practitioner nodded. That sweet, almost dreamy smile was back. ¡°You are my anchor, you know that? I would be lost without you.¡±


    Barghast pressed his forehead to the sorcerer''s. ¡°You are my compass. My heart. Without you my chest would be an open wound.¡± He ushered him back towards the room. ¡°Let¡¯s go inside before you catch your death.¡±


    ¡­


    Charoum stood at the top of the balcony beneath a sky streaked with smoky gray clouds. His face, once as smooth and pale as unspoiled milk, was set in a permanent rictus of resentment. A diagonal scar split his face, starting at his brow, ending just above his lip; the black eye patch he wore covered part of it. He watched Monad''s people shuffle along the center of the circle. Chains snaked between their ankles and wrists, scraping along the filthy cobblestones.


    A hundred of Elysia¡¯s children stood at every corner of the square; the Mother of Creation¡¯s torch gleamed at their back. Their faces were stony, their posture rigid. Despite the air of solemnity they displayed, Charoum could sense their fear. They exuded the spicy smell of fear that made the Seraphim¡¯s heart - Seraphim did indeed have hearts - race with excitement. Yes, he thought, watching the dead parade stop before the platform. You are right to be afraid. Lest you rest until every one of Monad¡¯s people is dead.


    At the moment they were harmless. The drug that had been produced at The Black Diamond bound their abilities. While effective, the drug was only a temporary solution. Soon it would wear off and then it wouldn¡¯t matter how many guards there were. A dozen sorcerers alone could turn a thousand of the Good Mother¡¯s children to dust in the blink of an eye.


    The words of the cleric reading their last rites floated over the flags flapping in the wind. Carrion birds wheeled over the condemned in anticipation of their next meal. The Inquisitor paid no attention to the cleric¡¯s words that were meant to offer vilification and salvation in the same recitation of passages from the sheath of parchment in his hands. Not once in his immortal life had he bent the knee in the name of Elysia except to appease the Pope and make it appear that he was a loyal agent of the Good Mother¡¯s will. Behind closed doors and behind his remaining eye he was his own agent. A man who used his guise as the Mother of Creation¡¯s servant to meet his own ends: the eradication of Monad¡¯s people.


    Every last one of them.


    The first of the condemned was freed from his restraints. Two guards stood in front of him, two stood behind him. The man was old. A wild mane of white hair blew in the wind, revealing a face hollowed by age and starvation. Bright blue eyes stared at the guards in front of him with silent defiance. The flicker of a smile appeared on Charoum¡¯s lip, though he was not aware of it. I enjoy it when they hang the defiant ones. They always struggle the most¡­even though they know it¡¯s futile. They can¡¯t help it. They kick until the lights behind their eyes go out.


    Once the cleric gave the closing nod that he was finished for the time being, one of the guards behind the old man¡¯s back gave him a shove with the back of his rifle. The man staggered forward, stubbing one of his toes against the cracked edge of a cobblestone. With the aerial sight of a bird and the nose of a bloodhound, it was impossible not to notice the bead of blood that swelled from the wound or the coppery smell of blood that bloomed through the air like the sweetest pollen. The Inquisitor closed his eyes. His eyes closed. His nostrils flared. His puckered lips softened into a look of pure rapture - the closest thing to arousal a creature like Caroum could experience. Both hands were clenched until the knuckles turned white. The fact that he identified as a ¡°he¡± was a matter of preference.


    The man looked like he might tilt over like a tower crumbling under its own weight. Before he could fall to the cobblestones he straightened. Knobby bones and ropy muscle shifted beneath flesh stretched so thin the Inquisitor could see right through him. Up the steps he staggered, the four torchcoats closing around him like a box. They escorted him up the steps where Elysia¡¯s noose awaited. Apart from the sputtering sobs of one of the prisoners, the square was as silent as the Void.


    The hangman dropped the noose over the man¡¯s ratty tangle of hair. He tightened it with black leather gloves. The aged practitioner who had witnessed the passing of centuries lifted his chin, closing his eyes. His lips fluttered with whispered offerings to the False Creator. When the hangman tightened a bit more for good measure he continued unabated. Charoum watched intently. A fascinated glimmer danced in his silver cat eyes. A large stone was set on top of his arthritic feet.


    It was then that the old man raised his eyes to the Inquisitor. The Seraphim¡¯s leer returned to its default state as a grimace. It was not fear he saw in those eyes - eyes that made him feel like glass. Eyes that made him feel small and young. A feeling he hadn¡¯t experienced since the  final days of the Second Iteration when he had stood before his creator like a chastened child. No, it was not fear he saw in those eyes, only acceptance. And¡­triumph? ¡°I do not fear death; I do not fear the Whore of Creation¡¯s torch. I will return to the home to which my soul was always bound. I will walk the white halls of the Eternal City. I will know splendor.¡± You think you¡¯ve won, but you haven¡¯t, those eyes taunted.


    Down below one of the prisoners a woman with ratty dark hair raised her filthy fists to the clouds, her eyes fixed on something. ¡°Yes! The Eternal City awaits us even now. Look¡­¡± She pointed at the sky with a singly bloody finger; all the fingernails on that hand had been completely removed. ¡°The Theocracy lies to us. Monad does not sleep within his prison in the Void. He lives in the city still, watching over us. Beckoning us¡­¡± It was not tears of pain or fear or anger or regret that cut pale lines down her filthy, bruised cheeks, but tears of awe. Tears of triumph. Same as the old man¡¯s. Such tears of joy, such an absence of fear in the face of certain death could be infectious as was evidenced by the prisoners. They raised their hands, cheering, laughing, crying. They were all pointing at the sky, seeing something the torchcoats could not see. Charoum searched the horizon in all directions. He saw nothing. Of course you can¡ät see the Eternal City, a cold voice whispered in the back of the Inquisitor¡äs mind. When the False Creator exiled you to live out the remaining days of your everlasting life with the dogs and the worms, he exiled you from Metropolis¡ä holy streets.


    Before he knew he was doing it, Charoum climbed down the wood plank steps to the landing. ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± he snapped at the hangman, glaring. ¡°Hang him! Hang him for Elysia¡äs sake!¡±


    The old man shouted one last praise to Monad, this one perhaps the most damning of all. ¡°The herald rises! His light grows ever brighter! Soon it will eclipse all shadow and he will free us from the Whore of Creation¡¯s tyranny¡­¡±


    The square door beneath the practitioner¡äs feet fell open with a wooden clatter. He fell through it. At the exact same moment the rope around his throat snapped taut, the rock tethered to his ankles pulled at him. An audible crunching sound filled the square. The man¡äs eyes widened. His jaw clacked open and closed, open and closed, open and closed. His body spasmed, the chains rattling around him. When the Inquisitor blinked it was not the old man he saw dangling from the noose, but the herald. Crowe. The herald who should not yet be active yet was, looking up at him accusingly.


    The Inquisitor had hoped the death of their martyr would instill fear in Monad¡¯s people, but they did not falter. If anything the man¡¯s death only spurred them on. They may not have access to their mana, but that did not mean they were entirely powerless. They sang to the man whose final seconds in the material universe were quickly running out like sand filling the bottom of a cosmic hourglass. They wept. They laughed. They held hands. They rejoiced.


    The spell Monad¡äs people cast was working on the torchcoats, too, though to different affect. Faces both young and old turned to him, eyes flashing, cheeks draining of color, rifles aimed at the prisoners. Three of four guards - even with his superior eyesight, he could not count the mass growing in the center of the square. The sounds of wood and fist slamming into bone galvanized Charoum. He clenched his hands into fists hard enough to bend steel like elastic - if he¡¯d been holding steel. His one remaining eye had narrowed down to a slit. His teeth were bared in a feral grin. How had things spiraled out of control so quickly. Control. I need to gain control of the situation.


    He was screaming now, his voice trumpeting the screams and shouts below. ¡°Line them up against the wall! Do it! They cannot stop you¡­they are powerless against you. The Mother of Creation protects you from the lies and corruption of the False Creator¡­¡±


    Elysia¡¯s children pushed back like a wave bullying over a ship. They shoved and slapped and punched and kicked, marshaling Monad¡¯s people against the northern wall until they stood or cowered like rabbits cornered by a pack of slobbering wolves. The Inquisitor dismounted the steps. His wings twitched with a heady mixture of agitation, uneasiness and excitement. He made sure to place himself at the center of the square, making sure to distance himself from the firing squad. While the bullets would not kill him, getting shot was still an unpleasant experience. His good eye twitched at the memory of cold steel slicing into his flesh.


    ¡°Kill them!¡± he shouted then, unaware of how his voice cracked and wavered. ¡°Kill them all! Do not stop until every last one of them is dead¡­¡±


    Two dozen rifles went off at once. Fire bloomed from the black eyes of the torchcoats weapons. Charoum did not hear the blasts of the rifles. He could only hear the pounding of his own heart - the Seraphim indeed did have hearts. Wreaths of black smoke and red mist blanketed the square. Charoum froze, his mouth slightly agape. His wings twitched. Human silhouettes flitted through the smoke, there one second and gone the next.


    When the smoke did at last clear he grinned at the macabre tableau before him. Monad¡¯s people, who had sang praises to the False Creator, stomping their feet and sobbing for their savor, laid in a pile of tangle bloody limbs. The feeling of satisfaction spreading through him did not last long. It was not pain or terror he saw on their blood splattered faces. His eyes shot to the corpse hanging from the noose and saw the same look of peace and triumph on the wrinkled, bruised face. He trembled. His tongue roved at the top of his gums, pondering the metallic taste in his mouth. After a moment he recognized it for what it was: fear. Raw, primal fear.


    He couldn¡¯t say how long he stood there before someone cleared their throat. His head snapped around in the direction of the steward at his side. The steward was young (a maggot who would not turn into an adult fly for another few years), with a few fine whiskers coloring his lip. His olive skin turned a pale shade of green at the look on the Inquisitor¡¯s face. The Inquisitor smiled. A smile that was wolfish and toothy. The steward¡¯s legs trembled visibly. ¡°Yes?¡± Charoum asked courteously. His eyes were anything but courteous.


    The steward gulped before hiding his quivering lips behind a mask made of steel; the mask was almost convincing. ¡°Your Lordship, Master Drajen wishes to speak with you in his chambers.¡± He faltered as if he wanted to say more but didn¡¯t dare.


    ¡°And has his condition improved?¡±


    ¡°Sadly not. As of today it¡¯s been three weeks. This is the longest spell yet. Each one keeps getting longer and longer in duration and severity. The last one lasted seventeen days, the one before that fourteen.¡±


    The Inquisitor bared his teeth in a predatory snarl. ¡°I know how long they¡¯ve lasted. I will go now.¡±


    He turned away from the maggot, the heels of his boots slapping heavily against the bloody cobblestones. He pretended not to hear when the steward let out a sigh of relief.


    `Less than a quarter of an hour later, the Inquisitor found himself standing in a dark sleeping chamber that smelled of another man¡¯s sweat, his madness. Dark drapes had been pulled over the windows to block out the last dregs of the day¡¯s fleeting light. Candles danced atop expansive table tops, splashing the casts of two distorted shadows against the wall. One shadow paced madly back and forth, scratching at the back of its head in agitation.


    Charoum watched the Pope make his laps from one side of the room to the other with a dull expression. It was something he¡¯d seen many times over the millenia. Hundreds of popes, their faces blending together until they could have been a single face. The Pope muttered to himself, snatching glances over his arthritic shoulders as if he feared someone else watched him though the only person Charoum could see was himself. That doesn¡¯t mean something isn¡¯t in here in the room with us. He found himself searching the murky corners even though he knew it was fruitless. The power to discern the drifters who visited the material universe from beyond had been stripped from him when the False Creator passed down his judgment. The Pope wore not but a pair of filthy briefs stained yellow from where he¡¯d soiled himself some hours ago. The guards standing vigil outside his room reported he¡¯d been violent when the servants came to clean him up in the adjoining chamber, throwing whatever he get his hands on at them: books, a heavy wood paper weight, and crystal glasses; at the present moment he showed no signs he was aware of the Inquisitor¡¯s presence.


    The Inquisitor waited patiently. He could be very patient when he wanted to be.


    Suddenly Drajen stopped with a gasp. He raised a shuddering hand to his gaping mouth as if trying to muffle a scream. His eyes were wide and glassy in the candlelight. ¡°The herald¡¯s out there,¡± he hissed. ¡°The False Creator¡¯s puppet. I can feel him at my back, breathing down my neck. His flame grows stronger. He should not be here. Not yet. It is too soon¡­¡±


    The Inquisitor¡¯s head snapped up. The first keen glint of interest made his remaining eye glow like moonlight. The Pope shrank away as if it were something that could do him harm. Then awareness entered his eyes. Cunning. Recognition. ¡°Charoum,¡± he gasped. He staggered forward, reaching for the Inquisitor with flailing liver-spotted hands.


    The Inquisitor, a magician adept at changing masks for whatever purpose he needed to serve him, affected an expression of wide-eyed concern. He caught the old man before he could collapse to the ground. For a moment they crouched together on the floor. The magician with a thousand faces managed to keep the disgust at the nose curling wash of Drajen¡¯s stench from showing on his countenance. ¡°Voice of Elysia, it is a miracle you have returned. You have been gone for many days.¡±


    Drajen¡¯s throat worked as if it was difficult to speak. Dark eyes yellowed with jaundice bulged from their sockets. His breath smelled of wine and spoiled meat. ¡°Never before as Elysia spoken to me like this before. Even now her voice rings in my head, full of panic. She has transported me to another time. I¡¯ve seen what happens¡­Already the world - this world - spirals towards annihilation. We may not be able to see the obvious signs, but they will appear soon enough. Charoum, you are Elysia¡¯s torch - the flame that cauterizes the infection that is the False Creator¡¯s people. I am just Elysia¡¯s mouth. You must save us. You must find the herald and you must not stop until you¡¯ve parted his head from his shoulders. And then you must bring it back to me so that I may mount it on my wall¡­assuming the flames of Inferno doesn¡¯t take me first. Do this for me, I beg of you! You must!¡±


    Charoum hid his inner grin of triumph behind the mask of a devoted servant. He did not voice his suspicion that the voice of another did indeed whisper in his ear, but he did not think it was Elysia. Helping the Pope to his feet, he stooped into a low bow. ¡°I will do as you say O Holy One. And only once I have the herald¡¯s head in my possession will I return.¡±

 The Gaulhill Sea

    Barghast did not like the ocean like he''d thought he would. He didn''t like the way it curled up from the earth, advancing towards the beach, bubbles of white foam appearing at the top of the water. Though he knew the waves were not alive - were not capable of thought in the same way he was - he also knew (sensed) there were living things that lived in them. The crustaceans for example (that was the word his beloved used to call them, a word he could not pronounce in Okanavian or his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s tongue) often came out of the water to scuttle along the beach for gulls and squirrels. There was one now heading East, leaving six long lines behind it. It was not as large as the others the lycan had seen, but it was large enough.


    Crowe on the other hand had not been so cautious. Upon seeing the gray-green water, his eyes flashed with excitement. His lips curled into a smile and his heart gave a flutter of excitement that made the lycan¡¯s ears twitch. ¡°Behold!¡± he said breathlessly, and when he turned to look over his shoulder at the Okanavian it wasn''t just a small smile he wore but a big one that showed all his teeth and made Barghast feel as weightless and flighty as the white birds that soared overhead. ¡°Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± Barghast asked.


    ¡°The Gaulhill Sea.¡± Crowe faced the rolling waves. ¡°I¡¯ve read about it in books - but reading about it and seeing it with your own two eyes are two completely different things. Look back towards the horizon.¡± He pointed with his bad hand. ¡°Do you see those things gliding along the water with the flag looking things at the top?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Barghast said, not without interest. But he was only interested because the sorcerer was interested. ¡°What are they??¡±


    ¡°Fishing boats.¡± Crowe shifted, swinging his leg stiffly over Mammoth¡¯s broad back; the massive shire horse seemed as content to watch the waves crest and roll as the herald.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Barghast whined. The practitioner surprised him by lifting the hem of his robes to pull down his breeches. At first he could only gape wordlessly as Crowe stripped down to his delicate furless hide. Barghast recalled how sheepish his beloved had been when they''d first met, often gesturing for the lycan to step just out of sight. Now he grinned shamelessly at the lycan, wiggling his butt in a way that was both deliberate, and provocative.


    During this whole show the Okanavian had searched all four corners of the horizon to make sure no prying eyes watched him; the only eyes he could see were that of the crustaceans on the northwestern edge of the beach; the creature making its own pilgrimage East had disappeared from view. Now Barghast returned his full attention to his twin o''rre.


    And gaped at the empty spot where he¡¯d been standing not a second before.


    Barghast did not hear the whine that escaped him of its own volition. He did not feel his heart stop in his chest. He only saw the pale streak darting towards the gray-green water, kicking up clouds of sand, black hair streaming behind him. Eyes as bright and blue as the sky above him. Crowe was still so thin, but not as thin as he''d been during those restful days in the place the practitioner called Roguehaven. The thought sent a flutter of anxiety through him he didn''t like, only to be extinguished when the sorcerer shouted, ¡°I bet you can''t catch me!¡±


    ¡°That''s what you think, my beloved!¡± Barghast growled, shooting into a lunge. His heart felt fit to burst with excitement; they''d never played chase like this before. Not with each other and not for fun. ¡°I will catch you and carry you back safe to shore and kiss you all over!¡±


    Had Crowe not bought himself precious time by surprising the lycan, Barghast would have caught him well before he reached the water. However he was quick and graceful for a human, his tiny feet carrying him easily over the sand. By the time the Okanavian reached where the sand touched the saltwater, Crowe was already kicking and pulling himself through the rolling water as if the ocean had never been a stranger to him and he''d always known it.


    Barghast dove into the water, instinctively sucking in a breath and holding it before his head was submerged beneath the surface. It didn''t occur to him that he''d entered a world completely alien to anything he''d experienced thus far. Clusters of tiny organisms with scaly flesh and tails swerved to avoid him. Up ahead he could see his twin o''rre pull himself back towards the surface, his feet kicking to stay afloat. The lycan grinned to himself before grabbing a hold of Crowe''s foot before popping up behind him.


    Only when his head hit the air and he sucked in his first breath did Barghast realize where he was and what he''d done; and in doing so it was as if someone had kicked a bucket full of fear over. He sucked in another breath only to feel it catch in his throat.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± he shouted. Only what came out of his mouth wasn''t a shout, more like a choked yip. There was no ground beneath his paws to stabilize him. There were no handholds to grab a hold of. He was drowning in the drink, drowning in a fear he hadn¡¯t experienced since encountering a group of murderous torchcoats eight months ago.


    And then his twin o¡¯rre was there, using a voice that was both commanding and soothing: ¡°Barghast, it''s alright. I¡¯m right here¡­¡±


    Rather than calm him, the sound of Crowe¡¯s voice in the middle of this blue void only made the Okanavian panic more. He clung to the practitioner, thrashing with his paws while gulls soared and cried overhead, heedless of his thalassophobia. ¡°Help me, twin o''rre!¡± he begged. ¡°Help me, help me¡­¡±


    Only when Crowe shouted ¡°Barghast!¡± - not only did he sound commanding, but angry - did he stop thrashing. When he stopped the practitioner¡¯s face was red and dotted with beads of water. ¡°You have to stop.¡± He was no longer shouting but his voice had not lost its sharp edge. ¡°Did you see those small things under the water? The fish?¡±


    Barghast nodded. Of course he knew what they were. The sorcerer called them fish. He¡¯d seen them in lakes and streams. ¡°They¡¯re harmless.¡±


    Crowe nodded, his head bobbing above the water. The pull of the tide rocked them back and forth. ¡°We''re not at home. This is the ocean. There are much bigger fish and some of them have teeth. Teeth even bigger than your claws. So you have to stop and you have to be calm.¡±


    His touch - his very proximity - was a tonic for Barghast¡¯s jangling nerves. ¡°You must think me a foolish, weak pup,¡± he whined before he could stop himself.


    The practitioner shook his head, giving the lycan that sweet smile that appeared more and more often with each passing day; that made his heart feel as if it would soar straight out of his chest to take flight amongst the gulls. ¡°I think nothing of the sort. I think you are a very smart, very brave pup.


    ..It''s just that you''re like me. You''re learning about the world even as you walk its hide. We both are. We''re learning together aren''t we?¡±


    Word by word breath by breath, Barghast began to forget where he was and how he''d come to be here. All that mattered was the beautiful morsel in front of him. ¡°Together,¡± he agreed.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to be afraid of,¡± his twin o''rre reassured him. His voice no longer had that clipped quality that always made Barghast want to lay his ears flat and tuck his tail between his legs. ¡°We''re not even a mile away from shore. Look behind you. Don''t freak out¡­just look behind you. Aye, that''s it.¡±


    Slowly Barghast could feel his heart begin to steady. Crowe was right: They were not far away from the beach. But how?


    He was here floating in the middle of the ocean with his beloved. When he looked back the memory of cutting through the water while a school of fish swarmed out of his way was a blur of fleeting images. A small wave crashed over him again and he felt as if he was looking up at the sky from a bucketful of water.


    Crowe¡¯s face loomed before his, startlingly clear beneath the ocean. He took Barghast¡¯s paw and tugged upwards before kicking up with his feet. The lycan followed. In doing so he discovered swimming was a talent that came naturally to him, born of instinct and breathing. I still don''t like the ocean, he thought. Not when there are fish that have teeth that are bigger than what I have.


    The practitioner must have sensed his turmoil. He ran his bad hand over his shoulder. ¡°Let''s go back.¡±


    Back on the beach, they laid in the sand side by side, their shoulders touching. Barghast kept snatching glances at his beloved. Even now, after spending the better part of a year together, it was still hard to believe the practitioner was here with him; even while surrounded by opulence he was the most beautiful thing on the beach if you were to ask the Okanavian.


    He listened to the languid ticking of Crowe¡¯s heart. Patches of red were beginning to appear on his milky flesh from exposure to the sun. He had a sleepy, pleasant look on his face. They could understand each other now after months of only being able to communicate through touch and hand gestures, but Barghast could still not read his mind. To try and discern what his beloved was thinking through body language alone was impossible. ¡°What are you thinking?¡± he rumbled before he could stop himself, his tail twitching anxiously. He¡¯d spent the last several minutes (or was it an hour?) trying not to ask, afraid he would annoy his beloved. This thought often led to horrid images of waking up from a doze one night to find his twin o''rre had abandoned him.


    But now Crowe''s gaze dropped from the crowd of gulls swooping overhead and when he looked at the Okanavian, Barghast could see no such thought had crossed his mind. ¡°Right now I''m not really thinking,¡± he murmured in a voice that sounded sluggish, almost drunk. ¡°I''m just feeling.¡±


    ¡°What are you feeling?¡±


    Crowe lifted his foot, letting the salt wind blow golden flecks of sand from his skin; he nudged Barghast¡¯s thigh teasingly, then began to brush him with his heel. The lycan closed his eyes, taking full advantage of his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s affections. ¡°Content,¡± came the answer.


    The Okanavian¡¯s eyes shot open. He frowned intently, instinctively pricking an ear in Crowe¡¯s direction even though their shoulders were touching. This was a new word. ¡°What does it mean to be content?¡±


    Crowe rolled on his stomach, looking him fully in the eye. Drifts of wind fanned his hair, now past his shoulders, around him like a shroud. The smell of honey and pine coming off him was stronger than that of the sea. ¡°It¡¯s being happy,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s when you find a place¡­or someone special¡­¡± He grinned sheepishly, closing his eyes¡­there were times when he still hid from Barghast as if fearing the lycan¡¯s judgment. ¡°...somewhere or someone you could spend the rest of your life with. I¡¯ve always wanted to see the ocean. Up until now it¡¯s only something I¡¯ve heard  or read about.¡± Returning to his back, Crowe watched the waves crest and crash with wonder. ¡°Now that I¡¯m here I simply don''t have the words. I could¡­¡± He nodded thoughtfully. ¡°I could stay here for the rest of my life.¡±


    It was Barghast¡¯s turn to sit up. He curled a digit beneath the practitioner¡¯s chin, tilting his head so that they were looking at each other again. ¡°And would that make you happy?¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡± His beloved smiled again, but this time it was not one of his open, happy smiles. This one was cryptic and pained.


    Barghast took his hand, letting it rest in the valley of his palm. It still amazed him just how much smaller the practioner¡¯s hand was to his own. His entire hand sits in the valley of my palm. ¡°We could. We could stay right here, just you and me. I can build you a hut¡­I can build you anything your heart desires.¡±


    Crowe gave one of his fingers a squeeze. His smile illustrated half a dozen emotions: wonder, happiness, sadness, and a few others Barghast had no names for. ¡°That sounds lovely.¡± He looked at the water longingly. The lycan tensed, wondering if he would go streaking off towards the water again. He didn''t. ¡°To look out a window or step out a door and see that every day. We wouldn''t need to worry about food because we could live off the ocean.¡± He sighed. There was a heaviness to it no smile could hide. ¡°Unfortunately I don''t think that''s the life Monad gave me. But it is something.¡±


    Barghast pressed his ears back against his head. His tail tapped anxiously against the sand. He wanted to hold him and comfort him - he didn''t need a beach, he already had everything he needed to be happy - but he sensed his beloved was not finished yet.


    ¡°It''s something to fight for,¡± Crowe said after a long pause that seemed to go on forever. His lips spread into another crooned smile that trembled. A smile on stilts. ¡°And you¡­being with you¡­that''s something to fight for as well.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s heart thumped heavily in his chest. There was an odd fluttery sensation in his belly he had no name for. I don¡¯t want to move from this spot. I don¡¯t want to move from this moment. I, too, could stay here forever. There''s no war here. No torchcoats. No pilgrimage. But he also sensed the truth in Crowe¡¯s words. The cycle pulls at us the way the tide pulls at a rock. Our pilgrimage continues. When it''s over¡­if it''s ever over¡­then we will be free. A whine started to unfurl in his throat at the thought. For now we must enjoy the small moments. He reached out, curling a stray lock of hair around the practitioner¡¯s ears. He loved the soft, gentle curve of those ears. Crowe closed his eyes but he did not wear the expression of one who is hiding; he appeared to be at peace, the creases of worry gone for the moment. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    A scream split the air.


    ¡­


    Crowe was thinking how little he knew about the world - how he''d barely begun to scratch the surface - when the scream came to him on the wind. It was high-pitched, full of fear and despair, and female.


    Like the crack of a pistol signaling the start of a race, Crowe and Barghast popped to their feet. The practitioner shoved his arms through the sleeves of his robes as they sprinted back towards Mammoth.


    At a snap of the reins from Crowe, the massive shire horse burst into a full gallop. The screams steered them East in the direction the crustacean had gone. They rounded a wall of limestone followed by a thick jungle of trees that stretched back as far as the eye could see. And just a bit further they spotted several caravans that had halted in the middle of the beach. Several human figures stumbled around the hulking bodies of the wagons while two or three dozen more huddled together, forming a single mass. Even from this distance (a distance Barghast and he were quickly closing), Crowe recognized signs of shock when he saw them.  He could feel the tension - the terror - in the air like an electric current that made his skin buzz and crawl. He sucked in a breath, preparing himself for what would surely be another nightmare.


    Before Barghast and he jumped from the saddle, Crowe started to put together the details of what had happened. The dead carcass of the crustacean they had seen wandering along the water¡¯s edge earlier now rested on its back, legs stiffened in the air. White pus oozed from several dozen bullet holes. Earlier when the practitioner had glimpsed it, it hadn¡¯t looked as large but up close it was a small-scaled monolith. The stench rolling off its hide reminded the sorcerer of the dank cellar from his childhood. Debris studded the sand: strips of wood from where the creature had torn holes into the roof and side of the wagon with its massive mandibles. Tin cans stuck out of the sand like hidden treasure that was determined to be sought after. One such can rested against the side of his boot. Feeling like a man who suddenly realizes he¡¯s caught in a surreal dream, Crowe pickled it up. The label read it was salted pork with TANNHAUS INDUSTRIES printed above it. Is there anything they don¡¯t manufacture? the part of his mind not reeling in shock wondered.


    Armed with pistols, rifles, and staves, several men started to their feet when they saw the newcomers approach. The women closed in around the small group of children, forming a human barrier. Mind spinning, Crowe counted several necklaces that matched his own. He yanked it from over his head, letting it dangle from the wrist of his crippled hand. ¡°We mean you no harm. We were traveling along the beach, heading to Caemyth, when we heard the screams.¡±


    ¡°Lower your weapons!¡± a man with dark eyes roared. His rugged voice carried easily over the crash of the waves. ¡°He¡¯s one of us.¡± The man eyed Barghast suspiciously. ¡°Is your Okanavian companion friendly?¡±


    ¡°Friendly,¡± Barghast rumbled; arching his tail high in the air, he wagged it to show this was so. He, too, had lowered his weapon. Several mouths dropped open at the lycan¡¯s response. Apparently no one had expected him to reply let alone understand.


    The large man with dark eyes dropped to his knees beside the woman who still knelt in the sand. She¡¯d folded herself in half so it looked as if she were bowing. Her fiery red dreads fanned around her, obscuring her face. The man laid a hand on the small of her back; she flinched slightly but did not pull away. The contact between them suggested an intimacy or at least a familiarity between longtime spouses. Crowe wondered if Barghast and he would come to know each other so well; he pushed the thought away. The sorcerer regarded the dead crustacean a final time and felt a muscle in his face twitch. The creature reminded him all too well of the reavers Barghast and he had encountered in the Mirror Expanse four months ago.


    ¡°She¡¯s gone!¡± The woman with red hair pointed her face at the sky. Her face crumpled. Crowe could feel her grief mounting. Soon it would overwhelm her and she would break into fresh hysterics. ¡°She¡¯s gone,¡± she crooned again. She hugged herself with thin arms. Silver bracelets - matching serpents with the head of lions eating their own tails - jangled at her wrists. She laid her head on the broad shoulder of the man as if it were too much effort to hold up. ¡°Oh Felisin.¡±


    ¡°Try not to worry.¡± The man kissed the top of her head. The tremors around the man¡¯s mouth spoke of a man who was on the brink of hysterics himself and trying to keep it together. ¡°We''ll find her. She just got scared and ran into the jungle. She can''t have gone far¡­¡±


    ¡°What''s happened?¡± Sensing an opening, Crowe chose that moment to step in. ¡°One of your own is missing?¡±


    The man looked at him with eyes reddened by tears of hopelessness and terror.


    ¡°Our daughter. She fled into the jungle when we were attacked¡­She¡¯s only five.¡±


    ¡°Crowe!¡± Barghast beckoned the herald over with a wave of his paw. He lowered his voice, speaking in Okanavian. He pointed at a set of tracks in the sand that the sun had yet to erase. Together they followed the tracks away from the crowd of refugees who had no doubt been heading towards the same place as Crowe and Barghast before tragedy befell them. The lycan sniffed the air.


    ¡°Do you smell anything?¡± Crowe asked in a hoarse whisper. He switched to Okanavian.


    The barbarian nodded intently. His ears twitched. ¡°I can smell her. I can smell her fear. I can smell them. The girl didn''t go into the jungle, she went into the caves. That''s also where the creatures go to lay their eggs during breeding season. I can smell this, too.¡±


    Crowe tried to repress a shiver and couldn''t. He turned back to the man and woman. He saw another man, younger than the leader but a few years older than the herald himself. He sat against the bulk of the overturned caravan, hands placed over a suppurating wound. Kneeling before the older boy (he could have been Bennett¡¯s age if Bennett was still alive), Crowe asked Barghast to bring him the pack from Mammoth''s saddle. Barghast obeyed without hesitation. Crowe traded him with a small if slightly trembling smile, I ¨°plklll¨¤lalllarunning a finger across the lycan''s knuckles as he took the pack.


    The young man''s face was pale. Beneath his sweaty, bloody hands Crowe could see bandages that had been completely gored through. Knowing that the man would need more than bandages to keep him alive before he removed them - or at the very least his leg - did not prepare him for the severity of the wound. The gash was bone deep and half a foot long, revealing the white of bone, the red of muscle, and the interconnecting strings of tendon.


    Crowe reached for his dagger. He held the blade up to his wrist.


    Barghast started forward with a high-pitched yip that made several pairs of eyes turn in their direction. ¡°Twin o''rre, what are you doing?¡±


    The practitioner gave him a hard look. You know exactly what I¡¯m doing.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± he asked the older boy.


    ¡°Ashe,¡± the boy said.


    ¡°Ashe, you¡¯re probably not going to like this, but if we don¡¯t do something you¡¯ll bleed to death. Bandages won¡¯t help.¡±


    The boy clenched his eyes shut. A sob shattered inside his throat. ¡°I-I don¡¯t want to die. Not like this. We were close¡­we were so close to safety¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to die,¡± the herald reassured him in a voice that was hard and reassuring and allowed no room for doubt. ¡°You will live and you will be able to keep your leg. But you¡¯re going to have to do what I tell you, do you understand?¡±


    The older boy nodded jerkily. Then he said, ¡°Who are you?¡±


    You¡¯ll find out soon enough. Crowe drew the blade across his wrist until blood welled from the wound. He held it out to Ashe. ¡°Drink it. You must if you want to live.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± a voice roared. It was the voice of the leader. He started towards Crowe and Ashe.


    Barghast intercepted the man, his paws clenched into fist. The man stopped.


    ¡°Stop!¡± the herald said. He glared at the man. ¡°I¡¯m doing what I have to do to save his life. Do you want him to die? Do you want to find your daughter?¡±


    The man shot him a suspicious glance. ¡°Yes,¡± he said after a moment.


    ¡°Then I suggest you let me do what I need to.¡± He turned back to the boy, still bleeding. ¡°Now drink.¡±


    The boy did not hesitate the way Barghast had. His lips formed a seal over the wound. Where Barghast had been gentle, tongue lapping over the wound, the boy was greedy, hungry. The moment the blood touched his tongue he became feral, back arching, dirty fingernails digging into the meat of Crowe¡¯s arm. Barghast stepped forward with a snarl, about to pry them apart. Crowe stopped him with a glare even as he resisted the urge to tear his arm loose from the boy.


    When the bells started to peel in his head he said, ¡°Enough! That¡¯s enough!¡± He pressed a palm to the boy¡¯s head and pressed hard. The boy¡¯s teeth pried loose of him, jaw snapping shut with a bony clack. He sagged against the bulk of the caravan. Trails of blood dribbled from his reddened lips, mixing with specks of sand that clung to his flesh. Crowe watched as his eyes lit up and fogged over. The practitioner recognized the look of euphoria on his face and resented him for it. He¡¯d seen the look on Barghast¡¯s face, marveling at his healed wounds in the morning light; he¡¯d experienced it several times when he¡¯d chanced upon an aether tree and drank from their sap. It made his skin crawl to think that his blood could have the same effect on others. Perhaps my blood and the sap from the aether tree are one in the same. The thought sent an inexplicable shiver down his spine.


    The shiver, however, was not one of displeasure. It broke his flesh out in hives and made the hairs on the back of his arms stand on end. Somewhere inside him a black grin opened. He balked at it, repulsed. Monad help me, what was that?


    ¡°Monad help me,¡± Ashe gasped. His voice only partially echoed the herald¡¯s thoughts for his voice was one of slurred pleasure. He looked down at his knee. Already the bleeding seemed to have slowed. ¡°It doesn¡¯t hurt anymore!¡± he said wondrously. Then like ink spilling out of a canter, his eyes darkened, becoming suspicious. ¡°Who are you? What are you?¡±


    The sound of boots sifting through the sand coming to an abrupt halt at his back made the sorcerer turn his head. Ashe¡¯s expression was fixed in the brooding face of the caravan leader. ¡°What did you do?¡± he boomed. Though he stood only a few inches taller than Crowe, he was no less intimidating. He smelled strongly of sweat and piss. Barghast loomed close on the other side, baring his teeth in a growl, making it clear he would intercede if necessary.


    Crowe felt strangely calm. He did not begrudge Ashe or this man their suspicion. Outside of their right to be suspicious of me, they¡¯ve been through a traumatizing ordeal, he told himself. The man¡¯s young daughter is missing, her mother is hysterical, and the other children are frightened out of their minds. Who knows what other terrors they¡¯ve seen in their odyssey to reach safe harbor. ¡°You will see that soon his leg will heal and he will be able to again. But first you must stay here and watch over him. He will need water and food if you have it. If not, you must take your men and whatever weapons you have into the woods and hunt for game.¡±


    The leader threw his head back, barking with laughter. A laugh that was edged with hysteria. ¡°Who are you to give me orders, son?¡± He poked a wide finger into the practitioner¡¯s chest hard enough to send the sorcerer staggering back a step. Out of instinct, Crowe lifted a hand in the air to restrain Barghast. Somewhere inside him a voice said, This situation is spinning out of control. The thought was small. Inconsequential. There was only two things he was certain of: if something happened to the young Felisin he would not be able to live with himself; the second was that the only way they would be able to get her back was if Barghast and he went into the caves alone.


    He inhaled. Perhaps it¡¯s the sea breeze and the cry of gulls. Perhaps they do good for the soul. His hand twitched with the urge to slap himself. What a stupid thought? The sea breeze was not doing the refugees any good. ¡°I am not trying to give you orders, sir. My point is that my companion has a keen nose and is a far better tracker than any of your men. Your daughter has not ventured into the jungle, she¡¯s gone into the caves where these creatures breed.¡± He¡¯d lowered his voice so that only the man could hear him.


    The sight of the blood draining from the man¡¯s face jerked the practitioner fully out of his euphoric stupor. He blinked. ¡°I can assure you I will bring your daughter back.¡± He clasped the necklace at his throat. Somewhere he felt a spark of Monad¡¯s light strike inside him; it only appeared for a moment before winking out, but a moment was all he needed. ¡°In spite of what Theocracy claims, never forget that Monad is with us. Even in our exile his flame burns within us. We have the power to part the sky and turn mountains to dust. Couldn¡¯t that mean it is possible to bring your daughter back alive?¡±


    His words threaded through the clusters of refugees who all now watched him like hands undoing a knot. Their dull eyes glittered with something akin to hope. Even the glaciers of tension in the leader¡¯s face eased. He gulped audibly. ¡°What is your name, stranger?¡±


    ¡°Crowe. That¡¯s Barghast. We travel to Caemyth just like you. And you?¡±


    ¡°Edward. And the broken red-haired beauty you see is my wife, Claudia.¡±


    Acting on impulse or some strange form of intuition, the herald rested a hand on the man¡¯s broad shoulder. ¡°Try to hold onto yourselves until I return. Be ready if more of these creatures return. We saw more of them further back¡­not too far from here. I¡¯ve never seen anything like them.¡±


    ¡°Nor do I,¡± Edward said with a shaky exhale. For a moment his face reddened and it seemed that it was his turn to burst into his tears. ¡°We¡¯ve been seeing them along the coast for the last three days and they seemed completely disinterested in us. So you can imagine when this one the size of a train car came and attacked us! I believe you when you say Monad is with us, because it¡¯s a Void damned miracle we¡¯re alive at all. We will do whatever we need to until you return. Just bring back my Felisin.¡±

 Tunnel Vison

    Barghast steered Mammoth  up to the caves, trying not to think about the tracks leading up to them or the uneasy silence that followed them. He was grateful to be away from the caravan scene at the bank¡¯s edge. The caravans reminded him of the scavengers¡¯ caravans from his old life back in the desert. A life he worked very hard every day not to think about. I like this one much better.


    The stench of fear pulled his eyes back to the tracks; their spacing and rapidity of the tracks suggested she had run. Fled from the scene of carnage to the only place where she might find safety. Only that supposed sanctuary turned out to be a den of death. He wrinkled his snout at the stench emanating from the mouth of the caves that tunneled beneath the earth. Wedges in the dirt showed the caves were not naturally formed. Something massive had made them, clawing its way through rock, perhaps burrowing under to sleep and wake when the Iteration dictated. The thought made Barghast whine.


    The barbarian peeked over his shoulder in need of a comforting glance, to find his twin o¡¯rre staring intently ahead. His brows were drawn in a pensive expression; he often looked this way when his mind was stuck on something that bothered him. Which was often the case. His beloved had quite the habit of getting himself tangled up in his own dark thoughts. The Okanavian relished every opportunity to pry him loose of them but there were moments when such issues could not be addressed. Moments like this. Still, he thought stubbornly. I must try. We have half a mile and a half before we reach the caves. They¡¯d both silently agreed to leave Mammoth behind, not wanting to risk their own mode of transportation. Still the practitioner moved with a speed and determination that grew more apparent with each day. A powerful will drove him as never before. He¡¯d seen that power at play on the beach. A power that had left the lycan and everyone around him in awe. How could Barghast not follow?


    ¡°What bothers you, my sweet?¡± Barghast asked in Okanavian.


    Crowe waved his hand dismissively. ¡°Later. When we find the girl.¡±


    The Okanavian opened his muzzle to persist, but dropped it at the thought of upsetting the practitioner. The joy of getting to know him was in the unfolding of every crease. Crowe was like the most intricate of puzzle boxes, delicate but complex. He¡¯d had the treat of holding such a puzzle box many times when visiting the seer when his ears were still floppy. His twin o¡¯rre was a puzzle box that liked to open on his own one corner at a time.


    Crowe surprised him by speaking half a mile away from the cave. ¡°Damn it to the Void!¡± he snapped in the language to the North. He fell into a shy silence before continuing cautiously. That boy. The way he acted after he¡­drank my blood. You acted the same way, but he acted feral. You showed more control. He acted how I thought you would act when we first met.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s ears twitched at the guilt he heard in his voice. Wrapping an arm around him and pulling him against his broad chest, he needed the comfort as much as the practitioner did; the stench coming from the caves had grown so strong it made his eyes water and his nose tingle unpleasantly. He nosed at the top of the herald¡¯s scalp, inhaling his scent. The quivering in his belly calmed.


    ¡°Fret not, twin o¡¯orre. You did not know me like you do now.¡± One day we will come to know each other so well it''s like we can read each other''s thoughts, he did not add. Better to let things build between them naturally. Remembering the scene on the beach all too well, his voice became grim. ¡°I didn''t like it either. I know why you did it¡­that fool would have died if you hadn''t¡­but it pains me when you cut yourself like that.¡±


    Crowe laughed. The sound had an edge of hysteria the lycan didn''t like. ¡°He''s not a fool, Barghast. He cannot control what happened to him. You know, you are going to have to learn to get along with others at some point. It won''t always just be the two of us.¡±


    Barghast pressed a kiss to the top of his head with a growl. ¡°Don¡¯t remind me.¡±


    As the network of caves loomed ever closer, Barghast¡¯s mind returned to the scene on the beach and his own brush with death. It had been Crowe who had saved him, giving him his own blood; had he not done so Barghast would have only known agony during his final moments; for this alone he would follow Crowe to the end of this Iteration. He recalled how Crowe¡¯s blood had tasted like honeyed fire. Like the sweetest of wines. It had taken all his will not to devour him whole in that moment. A thought he didn''t like to think about and one he would never share with his beloved.


    Another thought pricked at the barbarian¡¯s mind. The first time - with me, he thought possessively - his beloved had been so exhausted he couldn''t keep his head up after the exchange. This time it had not slowed him down a bit. If anything it seemed to have bolstered his determination to find the missing girl.


    Before he could decide how he felt about this new development, Mammoth stopped. They''d reached the caves.


    ¡­


    As soon as Mammoth came to a stop, Crowe climbed down from the towering shire horse. He scanned the darkness inside the massive gouges that had been punched into the limestone. No doubt the creature that is the cause of this formation still dwells somewhere beneath our feet. He bit the tip of his tongue to stall a bitter laugh. The girl sure knows how to pick a hiding spot. That he could find humor in the situation at all made him cringe inwardly.


    He lit an oil lamp, pulling his rod from the strap at his belt. Barghast followed suit, lighting his own lamp and unslinging his rifle. The darkness inside the tunnels beckoned to them like a black palm. Half a dozen tunnels seemed to converge to make one giant tunnel and couldn''t. The practitioner tried to imagine what would possess a young girl, even one who was in a fright to run into such a place.


    All at once the thought of going down into the caves for any reason seemed insane. Who knew what horrors awaited them down there. We have a more important mission than saving the stupid girl who wandered blindly into the monster¡¯s den. The future of my people is at stake. He only needed to think of her parents waiting on the beach to ward off his momentary lapse in courage. ¡°Monad, give me strength.¡± He flicked a glance back in the lycan¡¯s direction. ¡°And Gaia as well.¡±


    He turned back to Mammoth for a final time. ¡°Go back to the caravans, Mammoth. Wait for us and remain there until we return.¡±


    He felt a nudge of acknowledgement from the massive horse inside his mind. Since leaving the Mirror Expanse, the bond between animal and rider seemed to have only grown stronger. He could communicate with the mount without touching him now. When the notion that it might be another consequence from the surgery crossed his mind, he turned away from it as one might a disturbing facial deformity. Regardless of his feelings on the matter the horse turned about and centered off with a bellow of farewell. Crowe hitched his pack up on his shoulder once more. His rod was charged. He stepped to the side, letting Barghast take the lead. Crowe had the sense he would be relying a great deal on the lycan¡¯s senses through this nightmare.


    Together they entered the cave.


    If the practitioner needed further proof that the cave was not made by natural means then they need look no further than the inner curve of the wall. Grooves and ridges carved in the rock formed a pattern that was organized. Decorative. Who could guess its true purpose?


    ¡°Twin o''rre.¡±


    They¡¯d only walked thirty paces or so into the main chamber and the bright golden sunlight had dwindled down to a weak glow. Even so, Barghast was impossible to miss. He was master of the dark, able to see without light when he could not¡­he''d brought the extra lamp to increase their chances of finding the girl or the girl finding them. Now he stopped. His eyes flashed intently in the dark. He pointed at something he''d discovered on the floor.


    Covered in a puddle of translucent muck was a child''s doll. Crowe felt a bolt of ice shoot through his chest. It doesn''t mean anything. It''s not an omen of death. Monad is just as much with Felisin as he is with me and Barghast.


    He bit back a protest when Barghast stooped to pick it up. The lycan did not shriek or begin to writhe in pain when he lifted it curiously into the lamp light. He sniffed it. He winced with a snort that made every nerve in the sorcerer¡¯s body leap. Barghast coughed. He pressed his ears back, giving the practitioner an embarrassed sidelong. His tail flicked anxiously from side to side.


    ¡°She went this way.¡± He cocked his head in the direction of the perfectly smooth archway leading into the next cavern. ¡°Her scent is growing faint. The stench of those foul creatures is too strong. I''m sorry, twin o''rre,¡± he said in a voice that was somewhere between a whine and a growl.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± His own voice sounded strange and far away. ¡°We''ll just have to find her the old fashioned way.¡± They entered a long tunnel that had been smoothed out into a corridor with the same ridges that continued on from the cavern they''d just exited; the ridges trailed along the curve of the tunnel that wrapped out of sight. Crowe imagined a small girl staggering along the corridor, so terrified she''d forgotten her only doll.


    The practitioner shook the thought from his head. Stop it! Have faith! You were all courage and bluster earlier¡­


    You were a fool and a hypocrite is what you were! a voice snapped in his head. It might have been Petras¡¯ or it might have been Bennett¡¯s or an amalgamation of the two. Both had grown fuzzier over time until the only voice that seemed to exist in his mind was Barghast¡¯s. He chucked all doubts and voices out of his mind, focusing on the lycan¡¯s broad furry back. Appreciating the plates of muscle that pushed up beneath his coat, muscles that were most definitely human. Barghast who would follow him anywhere and do anything to keep him safe. Barghast who kept pulling him to his feet when he fell.


    The stench was all around them now, so strong there was no escaping it. Clots of the muck they''d seen earlier clung to the walls. Crowe shrunk away from the walls, sucking in a deep breath. He suddenly became quite aware of a wet crunching sound. The sound of moldering bone crunching beneath water. He saw the bones of animals who had made the misfortune of wandering into the caves or perhaps dragged in when the crustaceans left the water to breed during the summer. He saw the skeletons of squirrels, rabbits, fish, and heels; and that over there, leaning against the wall with vines of ivy sprouting out of human eye sockets. It wasn''t the sight of a human skeleton that slammed into Crowe¡¯s stomach like a fist of steel, it was the man¡¯s uniform. He recognized the blue diamond. One of Matthiesen¡¯s men.


    A scream built up in his throat. Soon the panic would overwhelm him and he wouldn¡¯t be able to hold it back. What horrible fate would he reign down upon their heads if he did? Before he could act upon his terror, he lunged forward, kicking aside jawbones and femurs in his haste to reach the lycan. He snagged the back of his harness. ¡°Don¡¯t stop,¡± he hissed when the barbarian came to an immediate halt. ¡°We don''t have time. Nightfall will be upon us soon and who knows what ills will fall upon us then. Lead the way. I''m right behind you.¡±


    He felt the barbarian nod. The tip of his tail streaked across the practitioner¡¯s cheek like a loving caress. Crowe smiled. In spite of the stench of rot and algae and salt water that filled the cave, he found he could breathe now. Whenever he was frightened just being near the lycan - touching him, reminding himself he was there, reassuring himself he wasn''t going to go anywhere - was a comfort.


    The tunnel sloped downhill, the descent leading them smoothly further underground. Crowe was not sure how long they traveled like this before Barghast paused in his step. ¡°There is something up ahead,¡± he rumbled. There was a small pitch of both caution and wonder beneath the gravelly sound. ¡°You can''t see it yet, but you will. It''s coming from up ahead.¡±


    ¡°Do not let the light fool you,¡± Crowe cautioned through clenched teeth. In his mind he was back in the corridors of the temple in Timberford. ¡°We cannot afford to let our guard down.¡±


    Barghast must have been thinking of the temple in Timberford as well for his broad head bobbed up and down. He had to stoop to keep his ears from touching the ceiling. To Crowe the tight fit in the tunnel looked uncomfortable but the barbarian showed no signs of displeasure. ¡°I am prepared for anything, my beloved,¡± he said in an attempt to reassure the herald.


    The practitioner was not convinced. You can never be too prepared. He noted that Barghast had tucked the doll in his pack; he could see the head sticking out of the bag. Crowe smiled to himself a little more convincingly this time. He wasn''t the only one determined to return Felisin to her parents alive.


    A moment later the darkness was broken by a pale blue glow emanating from the opening at the end of the tunnel. Tendrils of mist slithered through the opening, coalescing at the bottom where the stone flattened out. A chemical smell broke through the heady aroma of salt water and algae. They doused out the lamps, setting them in the corners of the tunnel where they wouldn¡¯t be in the way should they need to make a quick getaway.  Crowe and Barghast exchanged looks. The practitioner pushed a trickle of his will into his blasting wall. At once the runes carved into the wood lit up with a hearty thrum. He was prepared as he was going to be. He nodded, the signal for I¡¯m ready. He cocked an eyebrow. Are you?Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Barghast nodded with an excited flick of his tail. I¡¯m ready.


    Together they entered the chamber.


    Crowe didn¡¯t know whether to be amazed or terrified.


    Blue spores twelve inches in diameter pocked the walls, climbing up towards the wall. Crowe craned his head back until his eyes reached the night sky somewhere high above their heads. He could just make out the first glimmer of stars peeking out from the darkening sky. The spores pulsed with an inner light, glued to the wall by thick puddles of the translucent muck that had covered Felisin¡¯s doll; only this time it looked like it had hardened halfway, forming a white crust. From each spore he heard something throb inside like a heartbeat. These aren¡¯t spores, the sorcerer thought. These are eggs. He thought of the crustacean who had attacked the caravans. He could only assume that the creature had been an adult and there were hundreds, maybe even thousands of miniatures who would one day grow to be its size. And what of the creature who had laid the spores? They had yet to see it, but it had to be here somewhere within the caves or else there would be no spores.


    A disturbing thought.


    The more he looked, the more he saw, the more he didn¡¯t want to see.


    Because held aloft by the same transparent goo and serpentine veins of algae were human figures in various stages of decay. Skulls grinned back at him, their bones beginning to turn to jelly. Others were shriveled, flesh darkening and caving in, peeling away to reveal the bones underneath, mouths yawning open in silent screams. Just when it seemed like the sights couldn¡¯t get any worse they did. Many of the corpses had holes, holes in their arms, holes in their chests, holes where their eyeballs had exploded out of their skulls, flaps of flesh pushed out from where something had pushed or clawed its way out of their bodies.


    Crowe felt the blood drain out of his face. What in Monad¡¯s name could do that? It must be a creature corrupted by Inferno. With this thought the panic he''d felt earlier fell away, leaving a cold resolve in its wake. Whatever the nature of the creatures who dwelled in the cave only one thing was clear: he''d led Barghast into another death trap.


    ¡°We need to find this girl and leave,¡± he hissed through clenched teeth.


    ¡°Aye,¡± Barghast whispered with a nod.


    Crowe opened his mouth to suggest that they were out of their depth when something seized him from behind. He whirled around, ready to slash the thing that had him with his rod; it was his body''s first instinctive impulse. Only the thing that had him did not have scaly flesh, massive claws that could rend flesh like shears slicing through paper, and scuttled about on six legs. The thing that had him was a man.


    The man waved his hands in front of him. His face was milky white in the glow emanating from the spores. He sobbed, falling to his knees. He made unintelligible sputtering sounds. Crowe didn¡¯t need to understand him to know what he was saying. The gestures he made were universal. Don¡¯t kill me, I want to live!


    The practitioner felt everything inside him come crashing to a halt. Barghast and he had come here looking for a little girl. The circumstances hadn''t prepared him for the complication of there being others trapped in this cave of parasitic carnivores that originated from the sea. His eyes shot to the lycan in search for the counsel of someone who was trapped in the same nightmare as he. No luck there. While his rifle was trained on the twitching man, the look Barghast gave Crowe reflected the practitioner¡¯s own uncertainty.


    For Monad¡¯s sake, what am I thinking? He shook his head as if someone had slapped him. I can''t leave him here. I can''t leave anyone in this mess. He balked at the thought of what he''d been about to do. Monad, help me, who is this pilgrimage turning me into?


    An ember sparked in the darkness. He sucked in a breath. He exhaled. With it calm washed over him. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± he said. Though he did not shout, the wide space of the cavern amplified his voice, making it sound like a bark. It reassured the man, stilling him enough to gawk at the herald with wide eyes. ¡°A-Am I d-dead?¡± he stammered.


    ¡°Not as of yet.¡± The practitioner could not hide the bitterness in his voice. It was the bitterness of his youth chipping away one terrifying encounter at a time. ¡°Who are you?¡± He scanned the man¡¯s uniform. He wore a thick coat over a worn blue vest, breeches, and knee high boots. The blue diamond on his back marked him as a member of Matthiesen¡¯s renegade army. If this were the case, Crowe hoped he would be a friend to Monad¡¯s people. Right now we need friends. Right now we need all the help we can get.


    ¡°Corporal Harvey Lask,¡± the man said. He raised a shaking hand to his dirt streaked forehead in a pitiful salute. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you if the feeling isn¡¯t mutual, but I am very glad to see someone else walking around here. Something that only walks on two legs.¡±


    The feeling wasn¡¯t mutual so the practitioner said nothing.


    Barghast drew closer to Crowe. He cocked an ear, listening for movement. The practitioner drew reassurance from the lycan¡¯s presence. ¡°How did you come to be here, Corporal Lask?¡±


    ¡°My squad was sent to this bloody beach by the big man himself,¡± Corporal Lask said. A hint of pride shown like steel through his quaking voice. ¡°Governor Matthiesen. He wanted someone to get rid of the crustaceans causing mayhem on the beach. He was rightly disturbed by them. You see, for the past several months they¡¯ve been tracking up and down the coast, wreaking havoc on the goods that come in and out of Caemyth if you catch my drift.¡±


    The practitioner nodded. He thought he could understand the implications. If the Theocracy decided to strike out against the governor¡¯s army, the resistance could be at a disadvantage in terms of resources. ¡°Is this malignant behavior common among these creatures?¡±


    Lask cocked his head in speculation. ¡°Forgive me for sounding overly suspicious but that¡¯s why the captain and the rest of the squad¡­myself included¡­thought we¡¯d find Hamon¡¯s black hand all over it. Dating as far back as Caemyth¡¯s records go these creatures have been known to feed off whatever lives in the ocean during the cycle under the water. During their time on land they are known to eat the fish and ocean life that wash up on land, gulls, the occasional runaway, horse, or cow, but they¡¯ve never been known to aggressively attack humans unless actively provoked. At the very least let me put it this way: we¡¯ve never seen anything like this before and it scares the shit out of us all. Enough to send a squad of the best to exterminate the infestation. Only the infestation ended up exterminating us, I think.¡±


    The practitioner narrowed his eyes, studying the soldier of the resistance intently. ¡°What do you remember?¡±


    ¡°Nothing to be honest.¡± Lask¡¯s face squeezed up as if he could lodge the memories from his mind if he flexed it hard enough. ¡°It¡¯s all quite fuzzy. A lot of noise and motion and terror. And forgive me for sounding like a coward, I don¡¯t want to remember.¡±


    The sorcerer smiled humorlessly. ¡°No, I imagine you don¡¯t.¡±


    The corporal¡¯s eyebrows drew together as if he were truly just noticing Crowe for the first time. When he looked beyond the practitioner to the towering edifice of the lycan, the blood that had begun to color his face again drained back out. ¡°Is that a lycan?¡±


    ¡°He is.¡± Crowe reached back to run a hand along the muscled curve of the barbarian¡¯s shoulder. This earned him a playful swat on the rump from the lycan¡¯s bushy tail.


    ¡°Monad, help me, he¡¯s not going to eat me, is he?¡± Lask reached for his belt, perhaps searching for a pistol or a knife. He didn¡¯t seem to have either. The severity of the situation made Crowe feel for the man. He¡¯s about as helpless as the girl. A harsh reminder that time was of the essence and it was best to leave this place sooner rather than later.


    ¡°We¡¯re here looking for a little girl. She¡¯s five years old. Her name is Felisin.¡±


    ¡°Why the fuck would a little girl run into a place like this? She¡¯d be better off in the jungle.¡±


    ¡°What does it matter? We found her doll here in the caves. We brought it with us in case we find her.¡±


    Lask¡¯s lips peeled back from his teeth in a grimace. ¡°I¡¯ll help you look for the girl but I don¡¯t think we¡¯re going to find her. We thought we were safe, the place was mostly deserted, and then we were attacked by a swarm of them and though they were just babies they were big enough. All I remember is waking up in a cocoon made of the same nasty shit you see sticking to the walls and ceiling. The only way I managed to break free was to cut myself loose with my knife. I snapped the blade in the process. Can¡¯t say I¡¯m not grateful. What I can say is I don¡¯t want to know what would have happened had I not woken up and cut myself free. I imagine we¡¯ll see more cocoons just like it further in.¡±


    The thought of seeing more victims made Crowe shudder.


    The trio fell into silence as they picked their way carefully along a more or less straight path down the center of the chamber. Being the most graceful and the one with superior senses, Barghast took the lead. Whatever his stance was on the barbarian, Lask seemed eager enough to accept the lycan¡¯s presence in the matter of survival. The practitioner volunteered to take the rear of the group. ¡°It¡¯s best to make sure we aren¡¯t being followed,¡± he said earnestly.


    If Lask thought he had an ulterior motive, it didn¡¯t show on his sickly looking face. In truth he didn''t trust the man. It was growing more and more difficult to trust anyone but the lycan. It''s been the two of us for too long. Perhaps it¡¯s getting to the point where I don''t know how to get along with others. Strangely the thought made him feel numb.


    They were almost to the other side of the cavern when Barghast lifted a fist into the air. The signal for them to stop. A second later he snarled, his muzzle snapping shut. ¡°We should leave this place!¡± His hackles rose. He turned his flashing eyes to Crowe. ¡°Forget the girl¡­¡±


    ¡°What''s happening?¡± Lask groaned. He clutched at his stomach. Crowe wondered if he would vomit. The practitioner felt like vomiting himself.


    ¡°The mother!¡± the lycan hissed, though he addressed the practitioner not the soldier. ¡°She has awoken from her slumber. She knows we are here¡­¡±


    Before the herald could utter a reply, a roar sounded with such force it shook the walls and floor around them. Crowe clapped his hands over his ears as the barbarian yanked him out of the path of falling debris. Agony battered him from all sides. The merciless pitch of the roar drove into his skull until he feared it would explode. Hairline fissures appeared in the stone beneath his feet. All around them the spores strobed, shaking with an inner vibration that made the air ripple.


    Remembering the corpses stuck to the wall trapped like insects fossilized in amber, Crowe thought, I don¡¯t want to know about what lives in those spores.


    But it was too late to turn away. The spores burst apart in a cloud of gelatinous membranes and fluid. Crustaceans no bigger than the size of the practitioner''s first knuckle scuttled along the walls in waves, each spore filled with thousands of parasites.


    Just when the herald thought the nightmare couldn''t get any worse, the bodies pinned to the wall began to move. Not all of them are dead! a voice screamed at him shrilly inside his mind. It was the voice of a frightened child who finds themselves hovering on the brink of insanity. No, he could see men and women thrashing about, waking up from a deep sleep. Their muffled cries of confused agony as their flesh began to writhe and then come apart in torrents of red as the creatures that hatched inside them burst their way out.


    A moaning sound pulled Crowe¡¯s dazed eyes back to Lask. The Corporal seemed to dance before his eyes, his flesh writhing with things that crawled beneath. He reached for Crowe. ¡°Help me!¡± he cried, even as larvae poured from his mouth, his nose, his eyes, his ears, until his head burst apart like an overripe tomato.


    Crowe felt Barghast tug at his arm and they were fleeing into the next chamber away from the terror that swarmed at their back. Older versions of the larvae scuttled out of the darkness at them. A blur of scaly flesh and flashing pinchers was all Crowe could see. And all he could think was, Damn it all to the Void if I''m going to die the same way.


    His fear made his wand pur eagerly. It was the only warning Barghast needed to duck out of the way. The practitioner struck out at the cause of his fear with a scream of defiance. The crustacean closest to him burst apart in a cloud of torn flesh and slimy ichor that had the sorcerer dancing out of the way to avoid it. Already another lunged to take its place. The size of a horse, its mouth stretched open to reveal a cavern of razor sharp teeth that went back as far as the eye could see. According to Lask, up until recently these creatures had been benign for the most part. Now they were terrifying creatures of destruction written from the pages of the practitioner¡¯s nightmares and for everyone he sheared apart with Monad¡¯s flame, three more appeared in its place.


    He was vaguely aware of Barghast pulling on the back of his cowl. Other times he would appear in front of Crowe like a wall, steering him through the gloom. Occasionally he would turn and fire his rifle. A single round would barrel through half a dozen of the larvae that swept towards them like a living carpet. They twisted through a narrow tunnel, dodging where jagged pieces of rock jutted out of the wall. Barghast climbed down into a depression where the ground dropped into darkness. He twisted around, offering Crowe a paw. There was no time to question whether or not they were heading deeper into Inferno - they most certainly were. The only thing they could do was keep moving forward in order to survive.


    The rock crowded in from all sides. Barghast led them further away from the tunnel, away from the furious screeches that sounded somewhere just behind their heels. He would stop every few feet and wait for the herald to catch up. For Crowe his world had shrunk down to a single directive: survive. All else had fallen into the forgotten corners of his mind so that he was no longer sure of how¡¯d they come to be here in the first place. What he did know - the only thing he could trust in - is that when all else failed he could trust the Okanavian to keep them alive. Only one fact rang loud as steel in his heart: He is my anchor.


    The opening in the rock seemed to grow more narrow but still he pushed on. Never mind that he felt as if his lungs would explode at any moment. If Barghast can squeeze his lumbersome bulk through the cave then I should be able to do the same; if Barghast can be brave then I can be brave as well. Never mind that if he were to open his mouth he would scream and the scream would be one of utter insanity. He hated dark spaces. He hated feeling trapped with no way out. He hated insects. Especially ones that could lay their eggs inside you so that their spawn hatched from in. He found himself pleading with Monad. Transport us out of here. You¡¯ve done it before. You¡¯ve used me as a conduit to perform miracles. You did it when we were at Fort Erikson, when there were a hundred torchcoats bearing down on us with rifles, and you can do it now.


    The thought vanished when Barghast¡¯s paw closed over his hand. Somehow he¡¯d managed to twist around to look back at the practitioner. ¡°Quiet,¡± he whispered now. ¡°Be as silent as the night.¡±


    The barbarian needn¡¯t have worried on that count because he couldn¡¯t speak, let alone move. All he could do was stare into the familiar suns before him and draw comfort from their glow. We¡¯ll get through this, Crowe thought. As long as we¡¯re together we can get through anything.


    He wasn¡¯t sure how long they remained like that, crammed into a tiny wedge of empty space between two molars of rock, before the screeching and the sound of insect legs slipping over rock faded and all he could hear was the thunder of his own heart. At last Barghast patted his arm affectionately. ¡°It¡¯s safe, twin o¡¯rre. We should leave this place while we still can.¡±


    ¡°The girl,¡± Crowe heard himself in a weak whisper of defiance. The swarm may be gone for the time being but it didn¡¯t stop him from shaking so hard his teeth rattled together.


    Barghast¡¯s face softened. He pressed a kiss to the practitioner¡¯s forehead. ¡°I know you want to save her. I know you want to save all of Monad¡¯s people.¡± He swept a lock of the practitioner¡¯s hair out of his face. ¡°What good are you to them¡­to anyone¡­if you¡¯re dead?¡±


    Monad¡¯s flame burned inside him, stilling all his doubts with leaden certainty. ¡°She¡¯s alive. She¡¯s still alive. And she¡¯s close.¡± He did not say, We must not lose faith! They were the scripted words of a lunatic. He was not ready to stoop to such lows just yet. He clawed his way back to the main vein with a hidden reserve of stamina he didn¡¯t he had. I pray it¡¯s enough to carry me out of this place.


    ¡°You feel her?¡± Barghast rumbled softly. ¡°I cannot smell her. I cannot smell anything in this befouled place!¡±


    Was it just the practitioner¡¯s imagination or did he hear doubt beneath the disgust in the lycan¡¯s voice? Can you blame him? You led him into this mess and you keep leading him deeper into it when you should very well leave.


    Yet the deeper he led the lycan into the crags the brighter Monad¡¯s flame burned. Felisin was alive and soon they would find her.

 The Lost Daughter

    Even as a thousand voices told Barghast that the likelihood a child, lycan or otherwise, could have made this far inside the cave and lived, he followed his twin o¡¯rre deeper into the cave. Doubt is the boon of progress. Words the seer liked to say often when he was a young pup fresh from his womb mother¡¯s teat. The seer would say this when he felt the urge to fling the puzzle box across the cavern in frustration.


    Whatever cord guided Crowe and Barghast deeper into the caves was far superior than the lycan¡¯s senses. The source of the practitioner¡¯s powers transcended the limits of the physical senses.Time and time again it had led them deeper into the darkness only to lead them back into the light. With each agonizing trial they overcame, with each hard won victory earned Barghast sensed that something was building not just between them. Not just binding them together stronger than ever - it went beyond that. Something great was in the works. We will not see it until we stand in the light of day, but it is there nonetheless.


    It was the same force that brought them together time and time again. Sometimes it came in the form of the seer who Barghast was beginning to suspect was Gaia. Sometimes it came in the form of the glimmering city on the horizon. Sometimes it came in the form of Crowe pushing through the fear even when it threatened to consume him. Even when Barghast was sure the burden of his undertaking seemed like it would surely crush him, his twin o¡¯rre had a way of defying expectations.


    After what seemed like a lifetime of sliding past jagged rock and squeezing their way through narrow spaces they came to another foul den. The only relief in reaching the den was the chance to stretch his limbs and his lungs and that the cavern was not being used as a nest but as a simple burial ground for the dead. Crowe looked upon the piles of bones both human and otherwise, his expression flat. He is more determined than any lycan warrior I know, Barghast thought with a rush of affection that made his chest feel warm. Many of my clansman¡­my brother Shibas for instance¡­would have turned and run back for the buffalo tents with their tails in between their legs. My father? What would my father have done? He would not have taken such risks for one wayward child. Not for one of his own. Certainly not for me¡­


    There were times when each test seemed inconsequential: the Cycle pulling a cruel on the practitioner, using his heart to lead him astray. This was not the case. In the small town called Timberford and now with the people on the beach he was carving a space for himself in this black world. A light that slowly grew brighter. If he says the foolish girl is alive then she¡¯s alive. My beloved has yet to lead me astray.


    They picked their way through the bone pit, cutting left through another narrow passageway. Barghast heard Crowe¡¯s heart speed up. For the first time since crawling out from under the wedge where the Okanavian had thought they would surely die (a thought he would never share with his beloved) the crease between his eyebrows ease and his frown turned into a broad grin of triumph that made the barbarian¡¯s heart start to wag and his hopes rise.


    It was here that he detected something faint but familiar through the sickly sweet stench of the crustaceans. The sweet honey scent was not as strong as Crowe¡¯s smell nor was it the same but it was similar and it was growing stronger with each step. Strong enough that it squashed all doubts and made him feel like a guilty cowardly pup for having any doubts at all.


    They found the girl in the next tunnel. How she¡¯d gotten this far Barghast could only imagine. She was so small it scared him. Scared him to think of her squeezing her way past these jagged tunnels with all its countless dangers. Just one of those carnivorous larvae could prove fatal to her. He¡¯d seen how they¡¯d devoured human flesh. She was huddled in the middle of the cavern, resting in a wedge of rock, her scabbed knees tucked towards her chest for warmth. Her eyes roved behind resting eyelids in a torturous doze that could hardly be called sleep. Her face was streaked with dirt.


    Crowe hissed words under his breath. Words that could have been prayers to his Monad - is he my Monad as well? Do we share Monad and Gaia? the lycan wondered absently - or words of reassurance to the girl. He¡¯d pulled a blanket from the pack at his back and was now spreading it out to wrap protectively around the girl. He was trying to be soothing so as not to frighten her.


    His movements were stealthy and graceful but he was no lycan. His foot scuffed a stray ridge of rock next to the spot where she rested. Underneath the sky or in the field such a mistake might have proven inconsequential, but here so far underground the sound was amplified.


    The girl''s head jerked up. Her eyes snapped open so that Barghast could only see rings of white.  Her hair, once a coppery red color, was now burnished by dirt from the cave. The lycan had enough filth in his coat to brave a dip in the ocean if they ever escaped this labyrinthine nightmare. The Okanavian believed now more than ever that they would. His beloved had said they would find her and they had. He''d known where to find her when Barghast''s Gaia-gifted senses had failed them.


    Before the girl could let out a shriek, Crowe clapped a hand over her mouth. He pressed a finger to his lips. ¡°Your parents are safe on the beach. They''re waiting for you on the beach but right now we have to be very quiet. This cave is full of those creatures. Do you understand?¡±


    Slowly the girl nodded. Her eyes were very wide and glassy. She reeked of fear.


    ¡°If I take my hand away are you going to stay quiet?¡±


    Again the girl nodded.


    Crowe pulled his hand away. Slowly she clambered to her feet. Her eyes widened when she saw Barghast. ¡°Don¡¯t scream,¡± his twin o''rre whispered. ¡°His name is Barghast. He''s not nearly as frightening as he looks.¡± The sorcerer tipped him a conspiratorial wink. ¡°We are going to get you out of here and we are going to be very quick and very quiet about it. Do you understand?¡±


    Felisin gave him a shaky nod. She made a small sound that could have been an, ¡°Aye¡± or could have been a sob. Barghast was too distracted with thoughts of leaving this place when Crowe said, ¡°And Barghast is going to carry you.¡±


    The Okanavian laid his ears back with a whine. ¡°No.¡±


    The practitioner placed his hands on his hips with a frown. ¡°And why not?¡± he demanded in that clipped tone he used when the barbarian had said something to displease him.


    Offering his arms to his beloved, Barghast stepped forward. ¡°I''ll carry you.¡±


    Crowe gave him a long pointed look that said he was no fool. ¡°I don''t need you to carry me. I need you to carry her and lead the way while I cover our back. Do you understand?¡±


    The lycan tucked his tail in between his legs. ¡°If it makes you happy¡­¡±


    ¡°It isn''t about what makes me happy. It''s about what keeps us alive. Now do as I say.¡±


    Barghast bowed, spreading his arms out to the girl. With a prod from Crowe she came willingly enough. When he lifted her and felt how light she was and she put her arms around the lycan¡¯s shoulders, a strange thought struck the lycan. Once you were this small and I never got to see it. How I wish I could have seen you when you were this innocent and you didn''t bear the weight of the world on your shoulders.


    With this thought in mind it was time to focus on the task at hand. It was up to him to lead the girl and his twin o''rre to safety. Tucking the girl securely against him, he began to climb back towards the nest with Crowe close on his paws.


    ¡­


    It was impossible for Crowe not to look into Felisin¡¯s eyes and see himself in them. Eyes so wide all he could see were the whites. Eyes that had seen more than a child her age should see. When he looked at her he saw the small boy who had spent many cold nights shut in the cellar of the old house. He¡¯d spent many of those nights clawing at the door until his fingers were bloody nubs; he would beg for the old man to let him out, often screaming until his voice was raw. When the primal fear of the darkness finally numbed him, the young boy would huddle in the middle of the cellar and wear the same blank look Felisin wore now. Waiting. Waiting for the moment when Petras would open the door and release him.


    Only I didn¡¯t have anyone to free me from the dark like she does, he thought. I faced the dark and the cold alone. Had I known I wasn¡¯t powerless back then I would have fought back. I¡¯m not powerless anymore¡­


    He reminded himself that just because they¡¯d found the girl did not mean they were safe. They still had a long way to go before they reached the beach. By now her parents, Edward and Claudia, were most likely wondering if Barghast and he would return or if they had perished with their daughter as well.


    They had made it back to the nest without incident but now the shadows writhed. A crustacean the size of a large cattle dog shot from behind a rock pillar, pinchers flashing open and closed. Felisin screamed. Barghast shouted something in Okanavian, lunging forward. Crowe slashed at the creature with his rod, letting out a war cry. Invisible blades sliced into the creature, splitting its carapace down the middle. Its body went limp, skidding across rock.


    ¡°Keep going!¡± Crowe shouted, no longer aware that he was shouting. The walls of the cave were teeming with monsters. They scampered down the walls from unseen places. They rose out of the ground, seeming to rise from the pits of Inferno itself.


    He spun in dizzy circles. His rod whipped through the air like a knife. Explosions of white light shook the ancient rock around him. Crustaceans died with tortured shrieks that brought a savage grin of triumph to his lips. If the practitioner could have seen himself he would have balked at the sight of his face: lips stretched in a leer, beads of sweat trickling down his face. Because it wasn¡¯t just crustaceans he drove apart with fury and retribution. He saw the faces of torchcoats; he saw the faces of the occultists who had dwelled in the temple outside Timberford; he saw the undead servants of Hamon; he saw the reavers from the Mirror Expanse. In the end they were all the same: they¡¯d all tried to stand in his way and they¡¯d all fallen into the Void¡¯s Oblivion for making the mistake to do so.


    Having turned a full clockwise circle, he could now see through the smoke and detritus that he¡¯d opened a hole wide enough for Barghast and he to break through. Already that hole was closing. More crustaceans squeezed their fat bodies through fissures in the ceiling, in the floor. Spores burst apart to unleash thousands of spawn. In front of him, Crowe could see Felisin had buried her face against Barghast¡¯s shoulder. Good girl, the practitioner thought. I don¡¯t want you to look. I don¡¯t want you to see my true face when the masks come off.


    He sensed the mother before he heard her. The air inside the chamber seemed to thicken and grow still. For a moment - only a moment - the swarm closing in on them hesitated. Then the mother - still yet to be hidden, yet to be seen - let out a roar from somewhere beneath their feet.


    This time Crowe and Barghast were ready. The lycan tucked his shoulders around the young girl, whispering something in her ear. In that moment Felisin must have been more afraid of the monsters in the cave than she was of the one carrying her to safety for she clapped her hands over her ears without hesitation. A fury of wind whipped at him, threatening to throw the practitioner off his feet. He screamed - not in pain or fear but in defiance. He found a foothold within himself and dug his heels in. Cracks webbed away from his feet, spreading towards the swarm that had begun to advance forward again only to hesitate once more as if uncertain. They fixed him with their stalk-like eyes, mandibles and pinchers snapping at him. A wall of mana thrummed around him, solid as a wall. A carpet of larvae roiled on the floor as if contemplating whether or not they wanted to take a chance and attempt to breach the barrier he¡¯d formed around himself.


    The shaking in the chamber calmed. He could hear Barghast moving behind him, moving ever closer to the mouth that would lead them back onto the beach.


    Hundreds of stalk-like eyes watched him with rage. With intelligence.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± he heard the Okanavian whine behind him. ¡°Come!¡±


    The herald did not turn. He did not so much as twist his head around. He gave the swarm a feral grin. His eyes were no longer blue but twin points of white fire. When he spoke his voice was not that of a youthful boy who had left his farm to go on a pilgrimage not a year ago, but the voice of a commander who had faced down many battles and emerged victorious. ¡°You¡¯re more than just the brainless insects you appear to be, aren¡¯t you?¡± demanded with a laugh. ¡°You know who I am and you know that in all your hundreds of thousands you do not stand a chance against me. Tell me, do you sense your end?¡±


    Barghast appeared at his shoulder. His eyes bugged from his head. His ears were pressed flat against his skull. Felisin sagged in his arms. Most likely she had crawled back into the den of her mind where it was dark and it was safe.


    Only for the time Crowe looked into those amber eyes did the storm that grew inside him still. ¡°I¡¯m right behind you. But I don¡¯t want anyone to stumble into this cave of horrors. Not ever again. Not even an Elysian-damned torchcoat.¡±


    The lycan nodded in understanding. ¡°We shall wait.¡±


    The practitioner turned back to the swarm.


    Another bellow from below shook the caves. Large chunks of rock broke away from the wall, slamming into the floor like the errant fists of an enraged giant.


    The swarm slithered forward, screeching as one creature with thousands of mouths.


    Crowe screamed at the gust of foul-smelling wind that battered him. Such a force should have sent him crashing into the wall at his back but once more Monad¡¯s light anchored him to the earth. The cave shook as if thrown into a whirlwind. Each pulse of his will tore through the scaly creatures, twitching appendages still hot with life even as they were torn away and strewn carelessly through the air. And still the thing still hidden - their mother - roared and in that roar the herald could hear her fury, her agony. No mother likes to know they¡¯ve failed in protecting their children, the practitioner thought. Perhaps it will teach her not to let them attack others.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    In the wake of his own fury the cave was tumbling down like a tower of playing cards. Rocks larger than train cars rained down on top of the crustaceans driving them back into the tunnels. Those who were not quick enough were crushed to puddles of glue.


    Barghast pulled at Crowe¡¯s arm and this time the herald did not choose to stick around. The caves were truly coming down in earnest now and it was a mad dash through the first cave where they¡¯d found Felisin¡¯s doll. Felisin had the doll and was hugging it to her as if her very life depended on it. She did not release her hold on it even as the practitioner and the lycan burst into the night.


    At their backs a hungry beast snarked hungrily. The sorcerer risked a glance over his shoulder. They were not being pursued by the beasts from the sea. The cave was completely gone, having tumbled down into a growing pit that reminded the practitioner of the gaping hole they¡¯d left in the Mirror Expanse where the ruins of Vaylin had once been. It seems in spite of all our efforts, we leave holes everywhere we go, he thought. Were it not for the fact it felt as if his ribs would rupture through his flesh, the bitterness of his laughter would have reflected the gloomy din of his thoughts.


    A bellow pulled his attention back to the front. Mammoth¡¯s massive equine form parted from the darkness. His hooves kicked up clouds of sand as he backpedaled to a stop. He found himself strolling forward to greet the shire horse, the rider every bit as relieved to see the mount as the mount was the rider. The horse nipped at his hand affectionately as he ran his fingers down the length of the mount¡¯s broad neck. Cords of muscle stood out beneath the beast¡¯s fur. Tension that eased beneath the practitioner¡¯s familiar touch.


    The rolling horizon at the ocean¡¯s edge was a silver line that spread from edge to edge. The cries of the gulls had ceased for the evening. Barghast settled Felisin on the horse. If the young girl was aware that she was out of the cave, she showed no signs of it. She still wore that dazed expression that had the practitioner worrying for her mind. Whatever horrors she had witnessed before this dreadful day did they compare to the ones she¡¯d endured in the caves?


    A dark-gray tail - black in the night - swatted him playfully on the back of the rump. Now that they were out of the cave, the adrenaline that had been coursing through the sorcerer, lighting his nerves with lightning, was ebbing. All at once he felt drowsy. There was no denying his stomach¡¯s rumbling demand for sustenance.


    ¡°Climb up on the saddle,¡± the lycan rumbled. The keen glow in his eyes said he was happy to be out of the cave. Happy to be alive. Crowe felt it too somewhere beneath the fatigue. ¡°What will you do?¡± he asked in a sleepy voice.


    ¡°I will walk alongside you. It is not a far walk to the beach for a lycan.¡±


    Crowe wavered on the spot, overcome by a longing for the lycan that left him uncertain - that momentarily swept aside any thought of where he was or why he was here. All he was aware of was the towering yet familiar outline of the lycan. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to sift his fingers through his fur.


    Later, he told himself. Later when it is just the two of us. Just the way it should be.


    He nodded. Before he could reach for the reins Barghast lifted him into the air as easily as he¡¯d lifted the girl. As the horse started back in the direction of the beach, the Okanavian¡¯s paw closed around the herald¡¯s hand. Together they walked side by side, holding hands, their silhouettes framed by moonlight.


    The crash of the waves against the sand pulled at him. The stars winked overhead like spectators craning to get a look at the hapless travelers below. The night had taken on a surreal quality: They shouldn''t have been alive but they were. The girl had run into the cave fleeing monsters only to fall right into their den. Apart from scraped knees and elbows, she was physically unscathed but she looked up at the stars with a withdrawn expression that made the herald eager to be rid of her.


    You can''t make it as if she isn''t here simply by ignoring her! Petra¡¯s caustic voice crashed in with the tide, making the practitioner¡¯s shoulders jerk. Barghast caught the reflex. He turned his head, taking note of the hooded expression on the practitioner¡¯s face. It seemed the ghosts of the past always haunted his beloved after a battle. The herald showed no signs he was aware of being lost. For Crowe the past was a real thing and it had a way of lurking around the corner, waiting to upheave him from his foothold in the present. Petras continued unabated. As always he had to have the last word. We want to believe children are exempt from war¡¯s uncaring eye. That the flames of retribution and change will skip over them. After all they are our guides to the future. Through them we believe we can change the future. But now you are finding out the hard way¡­aren¡¯t you? The warmachine doesn¡¯t care whose blood it spills as long as it has what it needs to keep its engine spinning. It doesn¡¯t care who it gets it from.


    Before Crowe could respond to the phantom who taunted him in his mind, Barghast said his name. He paused long enough beside Mammoth to point at something in the distance. Sure enough from where he sat atop the saddle, Crowe could see the billowing flames of a large bonfire. Though they were little more than blurs from this vantage point, the practitioner knew the faces he saw encircling the blaze belonged to that of the refugees. He breathed a sigh of relief. They were still here. They hadn¡¯t left. He looked down at the girl. The darkness was thick enough it was impossible to tell whether or not she was awake. The steady rhythm of her breathing stilled the panic jolt of his heart. She¡¯s still alive. Within moments she will be reunited with her parents.


    The blood of the damned and the innocent alike might feed the engines of the warmachine but at least there was one innocent who did not deserve to die and who would live to see another day.


    The quiet murmur of voices grew into an excited clamor as Mammoth drew closer to the makeshift encampment. Bodies shrouded in light jumped to their feet. More human forms came darting back from the water¡¯s edge with makeshift torches in hand.


    He didn¡¯t know how they could be here so quickly. All at once things were happening more quickly than he could keep track of. Peter and Claudia seemed to materialize straight out of the night. The sobs of delight they made were primal and naked as they pulled a stirring Felisin from the saddle. Other refugees gathered around them like a veil. Ashe loped towards Mammoth, a broad grin on his face. He limped but that he could walk at all was a miracle. Mammoth stepped back with a startled snort.


    ¡°You healed me!¡± Ashe cried. He reached for the stars with his palms. His eyes appeared to burn with Monad¡¯s fire but it was only the cast of the moon that created the illusion.


    ¡°We thought you were dead,¡± Edward boomed in a voice that wavered. The look of wonder he gave the herald turned his blood to ice. ¡°We heard the roars. It made the ground shake beneath our feet. At one point all the crustaceans on the beach lumbered into the caves. They didn¡¯t even look our way; it was as if we didn¡¯t exist. We heard the caves come down and we were sure¡­But you¡¯re here and you brought our daughter back to us. And Ashe¡­his leg is mostly healed. By the time the sun comes up in the morning it will be nothing but a scar and a story to wow the lasses. Monad sent you to us. You¡¯re the herald, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    The inside of his mouth tasted of lead. His tongue sagged in the bottom of his mouth like stone. The words were there and he knew the answer, but to tell the man the truth, to actually say it out loud, would open a door he wouldn¡¯t be able to shut. The door¡¯s already open. It¡¯s been open. It opened long before that day the Seraphim fell from the heavens and set you on your pilgrimage.


    ¡°I am,¡± he croaked hoarsely. ¡°But I¡¯m also just a farm boy who¡¯s traveling with his companion to Caemyth. Herald or no, I couldn¡¯t just stand by. Your daughter, is she¡­?¡±


    Felisin stirred, rubbing at her eyes with grubby fists. Her eyes widened like saucers of milk the moment she saw her parents were bent over her. Feeling like a voyeur watching something he was not meant to witness, the practitioner steered the horse past them. He passed Ashe who lurched after Mammoth like a drunken idiot. He passed the refugees who followed cautiously behind Ashe, their eyes bright with wonder. He felt Barghast tense behind him; his chest vibrated against the hollow between the sorcerer¡¯s shoulder blades.


    Once he was sure they were no longer being followed, Crowe brought Mammoth to a halt with a pat on his long neck. Barghast and he climbed down. He felt the lycan¡¯s eyes on his back like hot irons. ¡°I do not blame you for not wanting to stay back at the caravans,¡± Barghast said as he pulled out the bedrolls and laid them in the sand. ¡°You know I prefer it when it¡¯s just the two of us. But their reaction bothers you. Why?¡± He came up behind Crowe and pulled him against his chest. ¡°You brought their daughter back to them. Had we not gone into the caves she surely would have suffered the same fate as that soldier. I can think of no worse fate.¡±


    ¡°Nor can I,¡± Crowe murmured.


    ¡°Does their admiration bother you?¡± The barbarian curled a finger beneath the herald¡¯s chin, massaging the flesh gently. His shadow blotted out the stars.


    The practitioner closed his eyes with a contented sigh. ¡°Not just their admiration. That boy¡­you saw how he reacted. He didn¡¯t just look happy to see me, he looked mad. It wasn¡¯t natural. He acted drugged.¡±


    ¡°It will wear off, twin o¡¯rre. By morning he will be back to normal.¡±


    ¡°Did it for you?¡±


    ¡°Indeed. Though it did seem to have a stronger effect on him.¡±


    Crowe giggled. He looked up into Barghast¡¯s golden eyes. Their glow made a chill of pleasure trace his spine. When they¡¯d first met he¡¯d found them unnerving but now they were becoming familiar. As familiar as the lycan¡¯s earthy smell. As familiar and comforting as his touch. ¡°You¡¯re a lot bigger than he is.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Barghast growled again. Slowly his face drew closer. ¡°I¡¯m also a lot bigger than you are, my sweet.¡± His arms folded around the practitioner. His lips pressed hard against Crowe¡¯s. His tongue poked teasingly at the smaller lips smothered against his. The sorcerer¡¯s lips parted, granting him entry.


    Barghast kissed him deeply, tongue swirling inside his mouth. Though the practitioner could not see them because his eyes were closed, the lycan¡¯s flickered open and shut, focusing on Crowe with a look of utter rapture. Only when Barghast sensed all the tension had drained from Crowe¡¯s body did he pull away with great reluctance. ¡°Let me carry you to bed, twin o¡¯rre. It has been a very trying day.¡±


    He lifted Crowe as easily as he¡¯d lifted the girl. Settling down on the bedroll, he curled around the practitioner, forming a cradle. The practitioner felt something very hot and hard pressing against his backside. He rolled around to face the lycan so that the tips of their noses almost touched. He trailed a hand suggestively down the barbarian¡¯s broad chest to his belly, earning him a rumble of pleasure. ¡°Do you want me to¡­?¡±


    Barghast laughed. The sound was like gentle thunder in Crowe¡¯s ears. His paw combed through the practitioner¡¯s hair, twining it lazily around his fingers. Crowe could hear the contented lull of his heart. ¡°I would like nothing more. But I am bigger than you and though I do my best not to hurt you I leave bruises on your flesh.¡± He lifted the practitioner¡¯s arm to his lips. He trailed kisses from his palm down to the inner cup of his elbow.


    ¡°You¡¯re very gentle,¡± Crowe assured him. He pressed the tips of his fingers into Barghast¡¯s chest.


    ¡°I know you would never hurt me without meaning to. And you don¡¯t. We don¡¯t always have the luxury of resting in a bed, do we? I won¡¯t press if you¡¯re certain, it¡¯s just¡­¡± the practitioner¡¯s cheeks flushed scarlet. ¡°...you do sweet things for me all the time. I rarely do anything sweet for you. I want to pleasure you when you are aroused. I want to make you feel the way you make me feel.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s paw engulfed the right side of his cheek. ¡°You do more for me than you know. You keep me safe. You are fierce and loyal and kind. You are a patient teacher who shows great discipline and wisdom for one so young. How could those who are lost not follow you into the light?¡±


    Crowe pressed the heel of his hand to his mouth to smother another giggle.


    Barghast¡¯s tail thumped excitedly against the bedroll. ¡°What is so funny twin o¡¯rre? Am I being witty?¡± He grinned, deliberately letting his tongue fall out of his mouth. His eyes widened in a dopey expression that sent the practitioner into a deeper fit of laughter. How I love that sound, Barghast thought. It is like the sweetest music. Bit by bit he lets down his walls and opens himself up to me. He grows both more comfortable in his own skin and more trusting in my arms. I shall cherish every moment with you, my beloved. I shall turn over every secret rock with care and admiration.


    Once he was able to regain his composure, the sorcerer cleared his throat. ¡°Who would guess you were such a romantic?¡±


    The Okanavian pressed his ears back. ¡°Romantic? This is a new word? What is it?¡±


    Crowe hesitated, trying to reconfigure the jumble of words in his head into something coherent. His mind had grown sluggish and gauzy. He was tired and he knew it wouldn¡¯t be long before sleep took him, but he wanted to stay up with his lycan a bit longer. Once we wake up in the morning, it will be time to get back on the saddle again. We¡¯ll be lucky if we make it to Caemyth by nightfall. ¡°A romance is like what you and I are doing, I suppose. It¡¯s when two people care about each other so greatly they are bound together by their connection.¡±


    ¡°Like twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    ¡°Very much like twin o¡¯rre.¡± The herald continued to pamper the fierce looking barbarian. ¡°Similar in concept but different in culture. Do you see what I mean?¡±


    ¡°I do!¡± The excitement and wonder in Barghast¡¯s voice was palpable. ¡°How are they different culturally?¡±


    ¡°The connection is built over time. There¡¯s usually a process that forms the connection. It¡¯s when the pair do things they enjoy together. Dancing. Going to shows. Eating together.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s ears twitched back and forth; his eyes beheld the sorcerer with great fascination. ¡°What are shows?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re performances put on by actors. They used to perform them at the synagogue in my hometown. Actors get up on what¡¯s called a stage and they dress up as characters and act as them to tell a story.¡±


    Barghast was shaking with barely concealed excitement now. ¡°Indeed. I know now of what you speak! Back in my old life we put on similar ¡®performances¡¯ as you call them. Often they were renditions of well known clan leaders from previous generations and Iterations - stories preserved by our most respected elders. Clan leaders like Vhamus Fiercepaw and his rival and brother, the arrogant but no less ambitious One-Eared Khamus. The den mothers would wait until the moon was high and the stars dappled the sky and they would set and light the torches around the stage. My siblings and I would jostle for the best spot - oftentimes it was a tie between my brother Shibas for we are the oldest and largest of the litter - and the ¡®actors¡¯ as you call them would take their positions.


    ¡°My father would often play the opposing clan leaders, sometimes filling in as both if they were not in the same scene together. My father, Rhaederghast, chieftain of my clan, was an audacious man blinded by his own hubris. The clan would sing his name in praise after the torches were blown out as if he were a great actor, but really he was only playing himself¡­no matter the role!¡±


    Barghast¡¯s gentle rumble had turned into a resentful growl that made the practitioner pause to choose his words carefully. This is the first time I¡¯ve heard you talk about your past life, my lovable lycan. It might even be the first. It seems even in our attempts to outrun the ghosts of our past lives we are connected, you and I.


    ¡°Are you asleep, twin o¡¯rre?¡± the barbarian whined cautiously. ¡°I didn''t mean to get upset. I am not cross with you. It¡¯s just¡­there¡¯s a reason why I don¡¯t like to talk about my father. We rarely saw eye to eye. He never understood me. I don¡¯t think anyone ever understood me except the seer, Llamia was her name. She was my mentor when I was a young pup.¡±


    Wrapping his arms around his broad shoulders, Crowe pressed a kiss to Barghast¡¯s snout. Barghast¡¯s tongue swept across his lips and chin. ¡°I thought we were past the point of apologizing to each other for our flaws. It seems we have both suffered ills in our past lives. Perhaps even then Gaia and Monad were trying to prepare us for what was to come.¡± His laugh harbored within it with an edge of bitterness. ¡°It almost cheapens the experience, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    A heavy silence followed. He could feel the lycan watching him intently. He could hear the train gathering speed in his broad skull.


    When the lycan did speak it was with a wistfulness that pulled at the practitioner¡¯s heartstrings. ¡°I would have liked to have courted you in the way that is proper in your culture. To treat you with the respect you deserve.¡±


    ¡°That''s kind of hard to do when you''re on the run and you can''t understand each other, don''t think, you silly lycan? Aren¡¯t you the one who keeps reminding me reminding me we have all the time? Or¡­¡± Crowe paused before admitting a hard unavoidable truth. ¡°Maybe we don''t.¡± He held up his three-fingered hand. Maybe we don''t. Perhaps we''re not as important as we think we are and one of us could go at any second. In two days time, tomorrow at the earliest, we will reach Caemyth. I''ve longed to see the city since I was a child. They say it''s guarded by massive walls and the market spans several whole blocks. Of course I don''t know what it looks like now with the way things are now¡­but it''s enough that you and I will get to explore it together.¡± He resisted the urge to hide a shy grin. ¡°In truth I can''t think of anyone I''d like to see it with more.¡±


    Barghast kissed him the final time for the evening. It was brief but no less hungry. ¡°Sweet dreams, twin o''rre. When you open your eyes, I will be here.¡±

 Caemyth

    When they awoke, stiff but well rested, Crowe had hoped they would find that the refugees had done the smart thing and moved on ahead of them. You already lost your daughter once. Do not squander the second chance you have been given. Not for me. Naturally Monad''s kindness only went so far. The refugees were still there and seemed to have recovered from their crisis. And they were trundling up the coast having formed a sort of train. Gone was the shroud of terror that enclosed them the night before. Broad grins were plastered on faces thinned by starvation and pocked with weather sores, but resilient happy grins all the same.


    ¡°What idiots,¡± Barghast grumbled. His tail sliced an agitated arch through the air. ¡°We still have a ways to go before we reach Caemyth, do we not? Anything could happen between now and then. We could be beset upon by a squadron of torchcoats¡­¡±


    Crowe laughed, his eyes darkening. ¡°Aren''t you always reminding me that doubt is the boon to faith, Okanavian?¡±


    The lycan swatted him on the rump with his tail. ¡°And now I hear my own words reflected back at me.¡±


    The mischievous tilt of the sorcerer¡¯s mouth soured into a grimace as the shadow of the lead caravan fell over them.


    ¡°Good morning.¡± Edward beamed down at the herald and the barbarian from atop the wagon. He wore a straw hat on top of his bare sunburnt pate. Claudia and he looked like different people with their faces scrubbed free of grime. Felisin was not in appearance. She was most likely tucked in the back of the wagon where she would be the safest should misfortune befall her family once more. ¡°Monad smiles upon us on this most beautiful morning. Hopefully yesterday''s woes were nothing more than just a pitfall that shall not be repeated.


    Were he here to speak for himself (or any of the people that had been strung up on the walls as living incubators) Crowe wondered if Corporal Lask would have called his fate a pitfall. While he could not begrudge the man his ignorance, the acute understatement stung. The practitioner tried on a grin and hoped it did not appear as a grimace.


    ¡°He does indeed though it begs the question of what interesting developments await us today.¡±


    He tried to sound good-humored but his heart remained as heavy as lead. The illusion must have worked because Edward¡¯s grin only widened. ¡°You speak the truth, herald! We are barreling the rest of the way to Caemyth. We are determined to reach its armored walls no matter what it takes. After what happened on the beach yesterday we do not want to take any more risks.  While we are more confident than ever Monad will see us safely to the end of our journey, I am sure we would all feel safer if you accompanied us the rest of the way.¡±


    She was quite beautiful. Eyes the same gray-green as the ocean water accentuated her high cheekbones and the rosiness of her lips.  Her apparent uplifting in spirits after her display of agonizing grief was enough to lift the practitioner¡¯s spirits fractionally. If I fail at all else I can say I reunited a family. If I keep helping people by the tens, by the thousands, by the hundred thousands¡­town by town, refugee by refugee¡­maybe I can bring this nightmare, this world that is not supposed to be to an end.


    ¡°We would love to hear stories of your travels if you would so entertain us,¡± she said in a voice that was both raspy and musical. ¡°It¡¯s hard to find amusement when you¡¯ve been staring at the same horizon for the past three days. We have roasted boar. While you and your lycan companion went into our caves to rescue our daughter - a quest you didn¡¯t have to make your own - the men went hunting in the jungle. Monad has proven bountiful in more ways than one. They brought back enough to feed us all enough meat to last until we reach Caemyth.¡± She pulled out bundles wrapped in cloth from a bag at her side. Barghast¡¯s nose twitched. He let out an audible whine when the smell of fresh meat touched the air. ¡°Take it. Take more. We have plenty. Make sure your traveling companion is fed as well.¡±


    Crowe felt he had no choice but to accept the parcels. He feared they would spoil the meat by dropping them in the sand had he not raised his hands to take the offering. He fumbled them back into Barghast¡¯s eager paws, forming a haphazard assembly line. The practitioner thanked them with a grateful bow of his head. He told them Barghast and he would prefer to ride the back of the train where it would be easier to spot an advancing torchcoat patrol. Edward and Claudia accepted this offered truth without too much disappointment. However, the reason he¡¯d given was not his true motivation for distancing himself from them.


    It has been Barghast and I alone together for so long. Almost a year now. We have been through so much together. Whatever other cards may keep us bound together, we are also bound by the experiences we¡¯ve survived together. Long before we could talk the way we do now, I learned to understand him through touch and action. A single glance from across the room could contain a thousand words. Now the cords bind us together tighter than ever. I was never good at talking to others to begin with.


    He lifted a hand in farewell. ¡°We¡¯ll come back up to the front once we see the gates of Caemyth,¡± the herald assured them. ¡°Until then may you find splendor.¡±


    Crowe felt conflicted as he steered Mammoth to the back of the try; eyes peeked at him through moth eaten holes in the drapes of the wagon, tracking his progress with wonder. The whispers of herald floated on the air, bringing sweat to his brow.


    At the back of the train he found relief. The only sounds he could hear was the crash of the waves and the trundling sound of the caravans marking trails in the sand. If torchcoats do choose to pursue us, they¡¯ll know exactly where to go. But there was nothing behind them. If there had been, Barghast would be able to see it. At the moment the lycan seemed content to simply be on the move again, his shoulders relaxed. Occasionally he would exchange a glance with the practitioner, the corner of his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth.


    Edward did not keep his promise about charging ahead and the sorcerer was grateful for this. The air around the train had changed from one of anxiety and doom to one of calm wonder. The sky was a soft blue above them, the waters of the Gaulhill Sea crashing against the banks. The white underbellies of gulls soared beneath white clouds. They were traveling at a slow enough pace that refugees could get out and stretch their legs beside the cabin. Crowe and Barghast chose to join them; both led their horse with a hand on the reins.


    After several miles the trees slowly gave way to fields of green vegetation. Grass grew beneath their feet. Bushes with fat spade shaped leaves bounced in the warm breeze that had yet to weaken. The sea was still at their backs, ever present. Dogs loped through the field, tails wagging with joy now that their masters had let them free. A small pack of them barked in greeting, sniffing at Crowe, nosing and licking his hand, only to be chased by an over-possessive overprotective lycan. ¡°Get away from him!¡± the barbarian roared in the desert language. ¡°Only I get to mark him! He is mine!¡± He pulled a rag from the saddle bag and took Crowe¡¯s hand in his paw. He wiped at the practitioner¡¯s soiled hand with the rag. His ears twitched with annoyance. His scowl twisted into a grin when he looked up to meet his beloved¡¯s eyes. He turned his hand this way and that. ¡°All better now.¡± He raised it to his lips. ¡°And all mine.¡±


    Crowe grinned. ¡°You¡¯re a brat.¡±


    The Okanavian¡¯s ears twitched. ¡°What¡¯s a brat?¡±


    ¡°A misbehaved child.¡±


    Barghast swatted him teasingly with his tail. ¡°Are you saying I¡¯m a misbehaved child?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m saying you¡¯re acting like one.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s voice dropped into a low growl. His eyes fixed on the practitioner with a predatory glow. ¡°Why? Because I do not want anyone to touch you? Because I want you all to myself? Because I want to be the only one you need?¡±


    The practitioner¡¯s expression turned grave. ¡°It¡¯s okay to want other things, Okanavian.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s in a lycan¡¯s nature to be easily content.¡±


    ¡°Are you content?¡±


    The barbarian¡¯s tail wagged. ¡°Very.¡±


    The practitioner studied his companion with intent fascination. ¡°How old are you, Barghast?¡±


    ¡°It is hard to say. Lycans do not measure time the same way you do, but I cannot say for sure. We do not count the days by seconds, minutes, hours, and days the way we do. We know how many days pass by when the moon goes down and the sun rises. For your people there are how many days in a year.¡±


    ¡°Three hundred and seventy-two,¡± the herald answered without hesitation. ¡°The moon goes down and the sun rises three hundred and seventy-two times in a year.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen the moon fall and the sun rise thirty-eight-thousand-three-hundred-and-sixteen times.¡± The barbarian looked away sheepishly.


    ¡°That means you¡¯ve lived a hundred and three years by my measurements,¡± Crowe said. His cheeks flushed.


    ¡°Is something wrong, twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly wrong. It¡¯s just¡­you have quite a few years on me. And it amazes me that you can keep count of how many days you¡¯ve seen¡­even if you don¡¯t measure time the way we do.¡±


    ¡°How old are you, my beloved?¡±


    ¡°Nineteen.¡±


    ¡°What does it matter to us, twin o¡¯rre? We will live to be hundreds of years old. We may even see thousands. We are babies right now. Babies with a lot of growing up to do. Everyone we know in this century will have long turned to dust by the time we see our first wrinkle.¡±


    ¡­


    When the great walls of Caemyth appeared after two days at a constant trot or walk, the practitioner could see why so many of Monad¡¯s people traveled thousands of miles to reach the sanctuary. The walls were taller than the shortest cliff Crowe had seen and the spires, while not the impressive heights of the architecture from Vaylin, was still impressive enough to inspire awe. His hopes were slightly dashed but not completely sunk by the sight that awaited him.


    Refugees by the thousands waded before the wall forming a human tide. The clamor of voices raised in desperation, pathos, and fury rose over the walls like alarms that corrupted the early morning light and shattered the illusion of safety. The euphoria Crowe had felt at the thought of finding a place where torchcoats and the servants of Hamon did not tread crashed around him, swatted away by an altogether new reality. A reality that was hard as steel and burned like a bullet in between the shoulderblades: Until we are behind those walls, we are not safe.


    Like Edward, Claudia, and the rest of their group, the sea of exhausted refugees were a massive collective of farmers who had fled from their villages and parishes out of fear of Drajen¡¯s tirade: a flame that threatened to consume the last of Monad¡¯s people. Had Crowe ever seen so many of his ilk gathered in one place? They were never my ilk until the Seraphim fell from the heavens and crowned me their savior. The thought rose up inside him tasting of bitter stomach acid. It surprised him. An old resentment he¡¯d hoped to drive out when he¡¯d burnt his childhood home and abandoned the town that should have accepted him but had not.


    Even they shunned me. Not because I¡¯d done anything to wrong them¡­not directly¡­but because of who I lived with. Because of their fear of him. They feared his madness and by proxy they feared me. Never mind that I was a child who lived with fear so much of the time he was used to it, never aware of the black tumors of fear and resentment that grew in the well of his denial. Are any of them down there now, hoping Monad will turn their savage hopes into a reality? Perhaps Bennett¡¯s father, Jebediah, is down there, waiting amidst the masses. Does he know that his only son is dead? Does he know how he died?


    ¡°Monad help us,¡± Edward whispered beside Crowe. The sound of his voice parting the air made the practitioner¡¯s spine jolt. He¡¯d been so lost in thought he hadn¡¯t heard the man come up behind him. He held a slumbering Felisin in his arms. Her head rested on his shoulders. Claudia stood at her husband''s side, her face shadowed by exhaustion. They were all exhausted and the fact that another leg had been added to their journey only added to their fatigue.


    Barghast¡¯s ears twitched towards the city¡¯s gates. ¡°Something¡¯s getting ready to happen!¡± His paw closed around Crowe¡¯s hand. His tongue hung out of his mouth. His tail streaked excitedly through the air from left to right.


    A second or two later a metallic shifting sound silenced the mad clamor of the crowd standing in front of the wall. For a moment the human wave parted, momentarily cowed into uncertainty. The claxon of turning gears beat in time with Crowe¡¯s heart.


    An opening appeared in between the two thick stone doors that opened like a jaw. A column of guards pressed through the opening amidst the shattering calls of whistles and horns. What had to be over two hundred guards formed a small band that spread out before the crowd of traumatized refugees.


    Soldiers riding atop towering mounts advanced towards the mass, warding them back. Blue diamonds flashed on the back of their armor, waving banners. Their formation did not suggest aggressive intent to the refugees who were back to thrusting their fists into the air. They¡¯re like rabid animals, Crowe thought. He held his breath. Monad must watch us from his prison in the Void and feel only shame towards what he has created. No wonder our nightmare existence repeats itself. Look at how low we continue to fall.


    The thought saddened him, but it was true nonetheless. A truth that drove a hard point home. None of us get to wash our hands free of this; all of our hands are covered in blood. Monad¡¯s children, Elysia¡¯s children, Hamon¡¯s. We all wave our hands and our moral flags and shout in each other¡¯s face to be heard¡­Our self-righteous act of hubris is what keeps us locked in this purgatorial loop.


    The crowd at the front of the line were starting to calm, forming a straight line. Husbands corraled their wives ahead of them, who held small children to their bosom, escorted by armored horses through the archway into the city. Of course not everyone was not happy. Rocks were thrown at the back of soldiers. Shells, rotting food. They rode on, seemingly unaware of the maelstrom starting up with renewed vigor around them. Man or woman, it didn¡¯t matter, their faces were set in the same stony expression. We bring control to utter chaos, those faces said. We keep the world from coming apart at the seams.


    Crowe envied the confidence they displayed. Like a brick wall which no arrow, blade, or bullet could penetrate. He knew it was simply an illusion - but the illusion of strength could be the difference between victory and defeat; between life and death. He wanted their armor. To shape himself into something that was not so easily influenced by his environment. You have your armor. He''s standing right beside you.


    The refugees standing in line were disappearing through the archway. More started after them only to be intercepted by a raised fist. The meaning was clear: You''ll have to wait your turn.


    Crowe turned his back on the gate. He''d seen all he needed to see. ¡°We could be here for a while,¡± he said to Barghast.


    The Okanavian''s lips curled in a relaxed smile. ¡°Are we in a rush?¡±


    Crowe was already at Mammoth¡¯s side, pulling out the bedrolls. He tossed them down into the sand with airy thumps. ¡°Not particularly. If the world tilts off its axis what are we to do about it? I''m not going to say no for a chance to relax while we wait for the line to go down.¡±


    Barghast touched the practitioner¡¯s lower lips. ¡°Your lips are cracked. You are dehydrated. You should drink some water.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re like an overbearing parent, always worrying over me.¡± Crowe grinned, rubbing the lycan¡¯s arm to show that he was merely teasing.


    Barghast pulled him in, leaning in for a kiss while his other paw slid into the bag for the waterskins. ¡°And you are like a child who is always distracted. If I did not remind you to eat food and drink water, you would simply not do so. You would waste away to nothing and there''s already too little of you as it is.¡± He pulled the cork of the waterskin from the waterskin with his incisors. Resting a paw on the back of his head, he brought the waterskin to his lips.


    Crowe¡¯s eyes hardened into a look of intense scrutiny. ¡°I can hold the bottle with my own hands, lycan. I promise my fingers shan''t fall off.¡±


    A wicked glint entered the barbarian¡¯s eyes. ¡°I know, twin o¡¯rre. You are stronger than I give you credit for and I fear for anyone who underestimates you. I don¡¯t do this because I don''t think you can do it for yourself. I do it because I want to. It brings me joy to do things for you.¡±


    Crowe''s face softened. He accepted several sips from the waterskin. Not once did he look away. For the moment it was just the two of them. ¡°I''m sorry, Barghast, I don¡¯t want you to think I''m angry.¡± He rested a hand on the lycan''s paw. ¡°I just worry¡­¡±


    Barghast cut him off with a growl. Three of his fingers covered the lower half of the practitioner¡¯s face. ¡°You worry too much, twin o''rre. You worry about everything¡­even things you have no need to worry about. I don¡¯t know who proves to be more of a danger to you: the Theocracy, Hamon, or yourself.¡±     If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Crowe felt all the blood drain from his face. Not for the first time he was taken aback by the Okanavian¡¯s level of insight. Just when you think he doesn''t know you¡­couldn''t possibly know you¡­he lays down his cards and leaves you speechless.  He wanted to turn away again. Wanted to turn away as he had on that night in Roguehaven. Barghast hadn''t let him turn away and so he knew he wouldn''t let him do so now, so Crowe didn¡¯t. He looked up at him. You''ve earned my trust. You''ve won my heart. And so I let you see me, exposed nerves and all. ¡°I''m not good at this. Romance.¡± Saying those words alone was like spitting out cement so he stopped.


    Barghast¡¯s shadow blotted out the sun. His paws felt warm and heavy on Crowe¡¯s hips. He leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed back. He laid his ear back. ¡°I''m not very good at it either. You are my first. You are my only. We are both pups with much to learn, just starting out in the world. There will be growing pains. As long as we are together there is no storm we cannot withstand, no mountain that can climb higher than us. Do you want to make me happy, twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± The herald sniffed, blinking away tears, fearing that Barghast would mistake them for tears of hurt. ¡°Please tell me.¡± He tried to tighten his arms around the lycan¡¯s waist, but it was impossible; he could hardly get his legs around him when they were in bed together. ¡°I''ll do anything!¡±


    ¡°Sit with me,¡± Barghast rumbled. Already he was lowering himself to the bedroll, pulling the practitioner down with him. ¡°Let me smell you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. Whenever I want. That''s all I want.¡±


    ¡°You weren''t lying when you said you were easily content. Considering all the times you''ve saved my life and stolen my heart, I think it''s only fair.¡± A wicked glint entered the sorcerer¡¯s eyes. ¡°There''s one thing you forgot, though. One thing I know you absolutely cannot resist.¡±


    The barbarian cocked his ears inquisitively.


    ¡°Belly rubs!¡± Crowe¡¯s nails dug through the lycan¡¯s fur into his chest. Holding the practitioner by his hips so he didn''t fall off, the Okanavian dropped back into the bedroll with a deep groan of pleasure. The sorcerer straddled him, scratching and rubbing with fervor. The dopey look of utter happiness was worth the effort.


    ¡°You are utterly shameless, twin o''rre.¡±


    ¡­


    Over the next two days the gates of Caemyth opened, letting in the growing thread of refugees an inch at a time. The wailing of horns marked the quarter hour of each day. Seven times each day a small battalion of soldiers marched out on horseback to escort a thousand refugees at a time. Those who waited outside the walls waited with dogged patience, stretching out on bedrolls or pallets made from whatever scraps and sewings they could put together.


    After months of constant travel, much of that spent in terror for their lives, Crowe and Barghast recognized a small blessing when they saw one. During the first two quarters of the day, Barghast would roam the beach and jungle, hunting for fish or game at the beach or in the jungle. Crowe had made what he called a trammel net, made of finely cut strips of linen Barghast had made under the practitioner¡¯s stomach, filling in when the sorcerer¡¯s bad hand grew tired. In this way the lycan¡¯s beloved proved himself to be a patient teacher. Not once in the hours they toiled, overlaying thread twisting and braiding, and pasting over with the sap Barghast was instructed to extract from tree trunks.


    While Crowe volunteered to hold their place in line, Barghast took the net with him. He¡¯d run out of ammo for his rifle, so he made spears fashioned from tree branches. Upon his return scores of refugees would gather around him with cries of thanks. It was not their faces of joy that pleased him, but his twin o¡¯rre¡¯s. He would find Crowe grinning at him as hands snatched fresh fish from the nets or whatever beast Barghast had hunted in the forest. Sometimes he would return to find the practitioner dozing under the sun.


    During these occasions, Barghast took advantage of the opportunity to wake him with kisses. To see those blue eyes flutter open sent his heart into a fresh dance. ¡°I bring you a feast, my beloved,¡± he would say each time and he would pull Crowe up into a sitting position. Together they would build a fire, often with help from Edward, Claudia, and other refugees. Each night they stretched out beneath a blanket of stars, their bellies and thirsts sated.


    ¡°Soon it will be our turn,¡± Crowe told Barghast one day. ¡°The bell after this next one the gates will open and we will get to see it.¡± He¡¯d pulled off his boots and stockings, resting on the bedroll with his feet bouncing in the air. Barghast¡¯s eyes tracked their back and forth arch with fascination. When he could stand it no longer he halted their progression with their paws. He began to knead the tension from the practitioner¡¯s heels. The sorcerer continued, pretending to ignore the Okanavian, but Barghast had been searching for the small curl of his lip and found it. At last Crowe looked at him with a full unabashed smile. ¡°Bennett and I used to keep each other up all night with fantasies of coming here. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d ever thought we would actually go¡­the fun was in the planning, if that makes sense. But I¡¯m here and I¡¯m here with you.¡± He laced his fingers through the lycan¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯m so glad it¡¯s you. I¡¯m so glad that it¡¯s you here with me, that you and I get to share this experience together.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s ears twitched. His curled muzzle downturned. ¡°Bennett? I¡¯ve heard you say that name before.¡± The Barghast listened for the slight stall in Crowe¡¯s heart and heard it. It always happened when he mentioned Bennett and when he mentioned Petras.


    When they stood before the gates of Caemyth and the arches parted to let out the resistance¡¯s greeting party, the two travelers exchanged grins as cries in thanks to Monad sounded from the refugees behind them. By now the feral panic that had ridden the refugees had fled from their bodies. They milled into formation, docile before the horse men and women. Crowe felt an eerie sense of calm as the thread began to push through the opening in the wall. He had no real plan for how he would get in contact with Matthiesen - this he knew was his next task. Without it he would not be able to advance to the next step of his journey. The next task. The next test. The next burden.


    He forced his thoughts away from the sinkhole that threatened to pull them down. He glanced hastily at Barghast from the corner of his eye. It had taken time for him to pick up on it, but he¡¯d surmised that the Okanavian could smell the changes in his body chemistry. He may not be able to read my thoughts, but he can sense the change in rhythm my body makes when my feelings get dark. And like a canine he seeks to appease and comfort me. He can¡¯t help himself. It¡¯s in his nature. Just as I suppose it is in my nature to be bitter. I wish it wasn¡¯t so. I¡¯m trying, my loving lycan. I¡¯m trying to smile more. I¡¯m trying to lower my walls. Just give me more time.


    He needn¡¯t have worried. For the moment the typically fastidious lycan was distracted by all that was happening around them. His eyes were wide as they passed between the stone archway, leaving the never waning tide of refugees behind them. Crowe was glad when the doors folded shut behind them with a heavy thud. The clamor of angry voices and shouts that had risen behind them like a living wall had been silenced like a commanding hand clapping over an angry mouth.


    Crowe and Barghast had ridden up to the front of the train to join Edward, Claudia, and Felisin as they¡¯d promised. Now they rode behind them. The raw press of unwashed bodies that had assailed them outside the gates of Caemyth gave to a new reality. A new world. A world Bennett and he had only read while poring over books or talking excitedly about over a shared aether joint and a flask of whiskey.


    The avenue up which they traveled was narrow. Throngs of people moved at a snail¡¯s pace before horse or bull drawn carriages weighed down with goods that had fallen behind due to one disastrous circumstance or another, or sentimental items refugees simply couldn¡¯t leave behind. The smell of horse and cow and pig shit hit the practitioner from all directions in one second, making his stomach roll, only to be replaced with the smell of frying sausage in the next, a whiff of perfume that made him feel as if his head was floating. Brightly colored awnings only seemed the more vibrant beneath lanterns strung up from silk drapings.


    Everywhere there was one form of music or another: the frustrated braying of a donkey as it trundled indignantly over the cobblestones away from an unhappy merchant who chased it while shouting at the top of his lungs; the bittersweet wail of a violin followed by the rhythmic crashing of a drum that made Crowe¡¯s blood feel hot and boiling. He kept shooting glances over at the lycan. Part out of worry that all the noise and stimuli - children chasing one another through the press of caravans when the wagons stalled, the hiss of angry curses when a crate fell, spilling goods or spices onto the street, sparks spiraling out of a sizzling grate - would overwhelm the Okanavian, but Barghast was every bit of as fascinated by the activity as Crowe. As if sensing the practitioner¡¯s anxiety, the lycan pointed excitedly as they passed a tiny square where a crowd of people gathered around a brimstone stage; traffic had stalled, providing the perfect time for a pleasant distraction. On top of the stage a man danced amidst applause and the wail of violins and the bashing of tambourines. He juggled empty mead bottles as he danced about. His face was painted in an exaggerated leer. His movements were both graceful and contorted.


    ¡°Look, twin o¡¯rre!¡± The lycan barked excitedly. He jostled the practitioner awake as if he¡¯d dozed off at a crucial time. ¡°It¡¯s just like the shows we used to put on in the desert I told you about!¡±


    The lycan¡¯s enthusiasm was infectious. He started clapping in time with the crowd, the sound powerful and resounding, his golden eyes dancing beneath the swaying glow of the lanterns dancing in the breeze sweeping in over the walls from the coast. He seemed unaware that he was an outsider in a world of strangers. That is one of the reasons why I love him even if I am not yet able to say the words aloud, the herald thought. In spite of his more primal nature he is innocent in a way. Easy to please. Some might think he¡¯s simple¡­he¡¯s not. He¡¯s simply a man who knows what he desires and therefore is driven by them. He strives courageously into the dens of foreigners and murderers and torturers under the pretense that I am his guide, but it is he who guides me. It is he who gives me the strength to keep going. Without him and the guiding hand of Monad I would have given up a long time ago.


    With this thought, Crowe lost all interest in the dancer even as the Okanavian held him on the saddle, rocking him back and forth in time with the bounce of his shoulders. The practitioner¡¯s attention was absorbed completely in his companion. His anchor. For all our similarities, we are also different. He is not as bitter as I am. He¡¯s able to enjoy himself more. I learn much from him. Perhaps more than from anyone else.


    Like a magnet, Barghast must have felt the weight of his gaze, for their gazes met through the rising tendrils of smoke curling from the burning tip of Crowe¡¯s joint. His expression turned from one of utter joy to one of cautious amusement. He pressed his ears flat. He inched his muzzle forward, nuzzling at Crowe¡¯s cheek with his snout. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre, you have the oddest expression on your face. That expression you wear when you have a thought that you¡¯re trying to hide. I can always tell when you¡¯re trying to hide something from me because your heart speeds up.¡± The tips of his fingers closed over the practitioner¡¯s chin. ¡°Your heart always betrays you. But this time it sounds calm. Sometimes¡­it is so difficult to tell what you are thinking. What you are feeling.¡±


    The practitioner smiled sweetly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know I can be difficult.¡±


    Barghast growled. The sound was not aggressive, but it suggested the sorcerer had said something he did not approve of. He pressed his lips to Crowe¡¯s in a brief but deep kiss as if to stop him from saying anything else foolish. ¡°You are not difficult. You are complex. Your mind fascinates me. Just like that puzzle box I told you about. Each part is intricate, crucial to the whole design. Like that puzzle box I enjoy unfolding you. I know you don¡¯t believe me, which is why I¡¯m happy to reassure you as many times as you need¡­¡±


    ¡°I was just thinking how magnificent you are.¡±


    ¡°Magnificent¡­? Another new word.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just another way for ¡®beautiful.¡¯ ¡±


    Barghast¡¯s head dipped low with a whine. He looked away. ¡°You say the sweetest things, twin o¡¯rre¡­even if they¡¯re wrong.¡±


    ¡°I thought you said what I think is the only thing that matters.¡±


    ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°Well then I think you¡¯re beautiful.¡±


    This earned him a rumbling laugh. ¡°You are blinded by aether.¡±


    ¡°And you are not blind?¡±


    ¡°Blinded by what? My affection for you? My undying devotion?¡± Barghast¡¯s face loomed large as he leaned forward again. Sparks flew and glass shattered against the cobblestones but it was a wash of white noise that meant little to the both of them at the moment. ¡°I was never blind! I knew you for what you were - who you were - the moment I saw you. I was searching for you, but you found me first.¡±


    Crowe shivered at the thought of what had happened if he hadn¡¯t found Barghast in the clearing; how different things would have been if he¡¯d kept moving on as he¡¯d intended. ¡°I just don¡¯t see why you find it so hard to believe that someone might feel about you the way you feel about them¡­¡±


    The Okanavian silenced him with another lingering kiss. ¡°We¡¯ve discussed this, twin o¡¯rre,¡± he said firmly when he pulled back. ¡°Gaia, help me. The incessant chatter in your mind is most insistent today. Where does it come from? Each time you start, I will just silence you with kisses! That seems to be the only thing that does the trick¡­¡±


    At last the procession moved on.


    The parade of activity and light gave way to tightly compacted brick buildings. The smell of sawdust dusted the air, making Barghast sneeze; he¡¯d managed to turn his head away before he could cover the practitioner in a downpour of snot. Workers filed through the double doors of a factory. Men and women and young men a few years younger than Crowe. No matter their age they all seemed to wear the same expressions of weary exhaustion. The empty casts of their eyes reminded him of how he felt in those quiet moments when dark thoughts took a hold of him. Thoughts of the past. Fears of the future. I know what it¡¯s like to carry a burden that makes your shoulders groan and your knees buckle.


    Vagrants huddled under ripped awnings that flapped in the wind, their faces paled and shadowed. Stray dogs and cats scrounged through overturned trash bins churning with maggots and flies. Everywhere he looked Crowe saw signs of a once great city straining to protect its citizens and those who sought refuge from the Theocracy¡¯s ruthless tirade. Crowe no longer felt the wonder and joy he¡¯d experienced with Barghast while watching the dancer on stage. That was just a smokescreen to hide the truth of what¡¯s really going on. People need a distraction¡­something to hold onto. But if you walk no more than a block or two over you see that no one is exempt from suffering and that the vermin are the ones who truly rule the streets.


    Crowe was not the only one who took notice of the change in atmosphere. The guards up ahead had tensed, their horses wickering nervously. Atop their caravan, Edward wrapped a hand protectively around Claudia¡¯s shoulders. Felisin was still hidden behind curtains, tucked away like a pearl in a clam. She had made few appearances since leaving the cave. If I could, I think I would hide from the world, too. Barghast growled at the shadows stirring past murky alleyways, the hackles along his shoulders and back raised.


    Even here you can feel the lurking presence of Inferno, the herald thought. Nowhere is free from the corruption of this nightmare. We are all bound by its web. If only we could stop killing one another long enough to come together and do something about it. Drajen keeps feeding the warmachine with the blood of Monad¡¯s people and the Black King devours their souls. It seems like a good business arrangement.


    A turn and two blocks later they passed a street sign that read GRAND STREET. Here the buildings transitioned from crumbling brick and wood tenements gave way to pillared mansions and apartment buildings guarded by black iron gates and thick stampedes of rose bushes and ivy that perforated the air with the savage perfume of pollen and rotting fruit. Not for the first time the practitioner had the feeling he was wandering through a world he did not belong in. A sensation that did not feel him with the same sense of wonder that used to turn his blood hot and make his eyes flash during those nights alone with Bennett.


    They stopped at a large round compound with marble pillars that reminded him of the sketchings of colosseums he used to gawk at from Petras¡¯ books when he¡¯d gathered the courage to sneak into his study - architecture reminiscent of the Second Iteration. The sight of it pulled at Crowe, stirring something hidden inside of him. The feeling was not unlike the deja vu that had plagued him in the Mirror Expanse. This time it was weak enough he could shake his head at it in denial. You¡¯re just exhausted. While you and Barghast have been able to rest it, sleeping outside isn¡¯t the most restful. Not to mention you are over-stimulated and in a place that is completely unfamiliar to you. You need a bed, food, and ale to soothe the nerves. You will have those things soon enough. All who remain patient shall prevail.


    Lucijan, the man Crowe had seen in a vision talking with the governor of Caemyth and the great cities beyond, awaited at the bottom of the steep stone steps. The practitioner recognized his grizzled face immediately. He watched the caravans approach with affable indifference. A dozen guards, six on each side, formed a formidable barrier around the man. Lucijan snapped his arm into the air in a halting motion; the scars on his face darkened. The practitioner did not miss Barghast¡¯s answering grimace or the deepening of his own facial scars as a response.


    A man with white tassels lining the shoulder seams of his uniform marched forward. He raised a bull horn to his lips. He raised his voice in a shout that brought the horses to an instant halt. Lucijan barked a command that was lost on the practitioner, but he did not miss the waving motion of a gauntleted hand. Crowe wavered in the saddle. A mysterious but irresistible urge rose in the pit of his stomach.


    The guards parted at the commander''s behest. The painful limp in his gait did not detract from the confidence in his stroll. This was a man who had struggled with pain for much of his life and fought through it; perhaps it was part of his mask. ¡°Are you Edward Coltrane from Visage County?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Since leaving the beach Edward seemed to have gained a new confidence or regained the confidence he''d had in his old life.


    Lucijan scowled, his nostrils flaring. ¡°We expected you days ago, Commander! We sent a scouting team in search for you and your family! Where in the Void have you been?¡± He didn''t sound overly angry, only mildly perturbed.


    ¡°We had a delay,¡± Edward said. He dropped a kiss on Claudia¡¯s hand before descending the steps of the caravan. He wiped a worn handkerchief across the beads of sweat that dappled his broad forehead. ¡°We were attacked by the creatures we¡¯ve seen roaming the beach. A crustacean the size of a train car attacked us, injured one in our party. My daughter became separated from the caravans in the onslaught. We were graced by Monad¡¯s never wavering eye to have been able to get her back at all.


    During this explanation the tension had been building in Lucijan''s scarred face. The nerves beneath his flesh trembled like plates threatening to shift apart. ¡°Damn it all to the Void!¡± he snarled, punching the air in ill-contained frustration. ¡°We sent a team of demolitionists to blast apart the nest! What happened?¡±


    At that moment, Crowe acted, stepping before the man. He kept his eyes trained respectively on the heels of his boots. ¡°I went into the cave to retrieve the girl. I found Lask and the remains of your team inside the cave. They didn¡¯t make it. I''m sorry.¡±


    Lucijan rounded on him, his eyes wide and incredulous. ¡°What do you mean they didn''t make it?¡± he demanded as if Crowe knew of their exact demise. ¡°They were the best we had!¡±


    The practitioner could think of no answer that would give the man comfort so he didn''t give one. Instead he pushed on, still being tugged onward like a dog on a chain even as he felt the urge to bite his tongue, to hide in the comforting shadows of obscurity; such a mercy was not to be afforded to him. ¡°There are other matters that need to be discussed as well with the Governor. Like the matter of Loras Gyrell.¡±


    He felt the reverberation of shock pass through the man before he saw it. ¡°How do you know about that?¡±


    ¡°Because you''re speaking to the herald of Monad,¡± a weary voice said from the stairs. Benedict Matthiesen looked at Crowe with a thin but warm smile. He stooped in a bow. ¡°Welcome to the city of Caemyth. Your arrival could not come at a more dire time.¡±


    The air around the gathering went heavy and still. Crowe stared at Matthiesen; Matthiesen stared at Crowe. Lucijan also glared at Crowe. Barghast drew closer to the practitioner, his shadow casting a long pillar on the cobblestones. A growl trembled in his throat. Crowe reached out, grazing his shoulder with the tips of his fingers: Stay where you are. Let me do what I do best.


    Barghast stopped growling but did not relax. He fixed Lucijan with a glare that made the man draw a step back. Even for a man of his stature he could not compare to the gargantuan proportions of the Okanavian. Edward and Claudia backed towards the caravan. Edward called for Felisin to stay out of sight - don¡¯t come out unless you hear me tell you to.


    The practitioner did not feel tense. He did not feel afraid. That¡¯s got to be a first. He only felt an eerie certainty that he was exactly where he needed to be when he needed to be here. The fire in his chest, still both dialectically familiar and unfamiliar, was not an unwelcome guest but a comfort. While almost every eye in the circle was trained on him, he only had eyes for Matthiesen. ¡°And you are Benedict.¡± An inner part of him free of Monad¡¯s influence balked at the smooth confidence he heard in his own voice. Lowering his head, he stooped in a bow. ¡°It is an honor to meet you.¡±


    Barghast turned his head to gawk at him in shock. His eyes narrowed. Apparently he did not like his twin o¡¯rre humbling himself in the shadow of another. I would be a fool not to show respect to one of my role models, the practitioner thought. Standing before me is the first person to stand up to Drajen and offer sanctuary to my people. A man with courage and integrity. A man who stands up to tyranny at the cost of himself and his constituents. A man I could learn a great deal from if given the opportunity.


    Barghast was not the only one who gawked at him. Matthiesen cleared his throat, rubbing anxiously at the stubble at his cheek. He¡¯d shaved since Crowe had last glimpsed him, but already looked unkempt in spite of his attire; his hair was unbrushed and there were dark circles around his eyes that the sorcerer recognized all too well. The eyes of a man who carries a burden greater than himself. ¡°You do me, honor, herald,¡± Matthiesen said before flicking a hasty glance in Lucijan¡¯s direction. ¡°I have been looking forward to your arrival for a few days now.¡±


    Lucijan made a sputtering sound. He started towards the Governor. The Governor shot him a glare that the practitioner also recognized - a look he¡¯d given his lycan companion many times: Don¡¯t say another word!


    Once it was clear chaos would not ensue, everyone began to relax.


    Crowe cleared his throat. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking, how is it you know I come to be here? I¡¯m sure you have questions for me as well that I would be more than happy to answer.¡±


    Matthiesen surprised him by smiling. ¡°Are you consistent with making understatements as well as grand entrances, herald? I do have many questions for you, which I promise we will answer very shortly. Might you and your lycan companion indulge me long enough to return to my quarters with Lucijan here? I can assure you, you are in safe company.¡±


    It was the sorcerer¡¯s turn to exchange a questioning look with his confidante. Barghast nodded with a confirming wag of his tail. He¡¯d relaxed completely.


    ¡°Lead the way,¡± said Crowe.

 Matthiesen

    Benedict and Lucijan led Crowe and Barghast down a long corridor with white pillars. A blue carpet, the shade of the resistance, swept down the length of the hallway. Benedict had waved the guards away, but this did not mean the practitioner and the Okanavian were not being watched. Quite the opposite in fact. There were guards stationed everywhere: in every corner and on every balcony.


    There were no statues of deities - not of Monad or Elysia or Hamon or their servants. There were statues of war heroes who had fought and sacrificed their lives for the resistance, an organization that had proven to be atheistic, but not amoral. The closer I get to the painting of war, the bigger the painting gets, Crowe thought.


    Up ahead of him Lucijan hissed at Matthiesen in harsh whispers. A heavy silence hung around the Governor that said he was not listening, let alone present. Crowe did his best to hang back several steps, to give the two men space. Naturally Barghast matched him step for step. As always he could feel the lycan watching him from the corner of his eye. Protecting him. Always protecting him.


    At the top of a long spiral staircase, through an arched doorway, they met in the large room the practitioner had glimpsed once before. Crowe did not spot the narrow-faced Roan sitting in one of the armchairs before the fire that had been prepared in anticipation of their rival; this was a private conversation and few would know of it. Benedict gestured for Crowe to sit in one of the seats with a ringed hand.


    The practitioner was grateful for the chance to sit down. The journey from the beach had worn on him ways it had not his Okanavian companion. His inner thighs were chafed raw from riding the saddle, making walking a painful affair. ¡°Wine?¡± Matthiesen as he crossed the room to a large mahogany desk. Unlike Lucijan, who continued to glare at the herald, his eyes were not narrowed in suspicion. He was simply a businessman offering another drink to another businessman. ¡°Would your lycan friend like to partake in a glass as well?¡±


    Barghast¡¯s ears twitched in the Governor''s direction; not once had he stopped eyeing the man. While he could understand Crowe he could not fully understand the people of the practitioner¡¯s land - though he was learning quickly. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, making him look formidable even in the Governor¡¯s impressive space. Crowe relayed the question. He spoke in a soothing tone, making it clear they were in good company. Barghast relaxed, nodding at the offer. Glasses were offered and taken. The tension between the party seemed to have eased between everyone in the room except for Lucijan who seemed determined to be contrary.


    The Okanavian sniffed the wine cautiously before taking a sip. Crowe resisted the urge to drain the glass of its contents. The wine was both tart and sweet, and cool to the throat. ¡°How did you know to expect my arrival?¡± He¡¯d managed to keep the edge of suspicion out of his voice; perhaps the wine had helped.


    Matthiesen¡¯s eyes shot away from him. He raised the goblet to his lips and drank deeply. Crowe did not like the way the blood drained from his face or the wine painted his lips red, making him look corpselike. It was not the look of a man who had been sent holy signs but infernal omens.


    Again Crowe felt the roar of the mysterious fire within him, driving him to act. ¡°I do not mean to be disrespectful, Governor. I imagine the burden you carry is great. But we have traveled many miles for many months, a majority under great duress. I won¡¯t disrespect your wisdom by mewling about the state of things outside the city when I imagine you have already been well informed.¡±


    Benedict Matthiesen smiled at him and there was something knowing and familiar in it. Worse than that, there was a terror in the stiffened curve of his lips. ¡°I wish I could, more than anything. Unfortunately I cannot have this conversation at the present moment.¡± Something guarded and panicky entered Matthiesen¡¯s dark eyes; it was the look of a cornered rabbit.


    ¡°Can''t or won''t?¡± the herald asked in a steely voice.


    ¡°It¡¯s as you have said, you and your companion have traveled thousands of miles and however the strain of my burden might appear to affect me, I do not carry the fate of the entire Iteration on my shoulders. That being said, will you kindly give me until tomorrow evening to explain?¡±


    The desperate pull in his voice frayed at Crowe¡¯s tenuous resolve. He clung to it with bloodied fingertips. ¡°We have encountered many trials in our long journey to your beloved city. We have encountered torchcoats, servants of Hamon, and two skirmishes with the Black King himself. Skirmishes that have not left us entirely unscathed. I must ask¡­Are you a friend or a foe?¡±


    Matthiesen grimaced. ¡°Honestly, I cannot say for sure at the moment, herald. While I can say my intentions are good and I certainly have no direct intention of doing you harm we are slaves to the machinations of the Iteration.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the practitioner said with a matching grimace.


    ¡°Then I think you will also agree that there are cycles within cycles. Each of us¡­¡± Matthiesen¡¯s gaze swept the room to include a remote-faced Barghast and an increasingly bemused Lucijan. ¡°...are spinning on a track with its own trajectory.¡± His eyes fell back on Crowe with a weight that had the practitioner feeling as if the heels of his boots were sinking into the floor. The mysterious fire was back, but it was not the roar it had been in the past. It pulled him in a different direction. It calmed him.


    ¡°At least take the rest of this evening and the day tomorrow to enjoy the city,¡± Matthiesen continued, though the air of a desperate man who teeters on the edge of hysteria was gone. ¡°While the city no longer retains the beauty of its glory days, it still has much to offer. You told me once how you and a friend of yours named Bennett used to dream of coming here¡­¡±


    The Governor''s words were like a slap to the face. The practitioner lifted a hand, silencing him. When he spoke his voice came out sharp as steel and cold as ice. ¡°How could you possibly know about Bennett? I have never seen you before a day in my life. We have never talked before this moment¡­as far as I am aware. And yet you seem intent on keeping me in the dark. I really don''t think that''s a wise idea. Especially when I am only here to be of service.¡±


    Benedict ran a hand over his sweat-sheened face. His skin had darkened he practitioner regret losing his temple. This is clearly a man who is not well. Is he under the influence of something? Inferno perhaps? Something else Barghast and I have yet to encounter. Monad, help me. With each new discovery it becomes more and more difficult to make sense of anything.


    ¡°Monad led you to me for a reason, did he not?¡± Benedict asked in a trembling voice after a long moment of silence. ¡°You were guided by the Eternal City the same way I was. Deep down inside you know that you can trust me and that we are meant to work together in order to end this nightmare¡­¡±


    ¡­end this nightmare.


    The words echoed with the ringing of a coin striking stone. Crowe blinked. He gulped. Matthiesen was right. Deep down inside he did know he could trust the Governor of Caemyth and leader of the resistance in spite of the lack of evidence. Once more I am being tested. Once more I am being asked to take a leap of faith. Each test grows more difficult, each leap spread further apart.


    ¡°Aye,¡± he conceded reluctantly. He couldn''t help but wonder if he was retreading the steps of a fool. ¡°Let tomorrow''s golden hours a time for respite and the night¡¯s blackened hours a time for truth. Is this something we can agree to?¡±


    The herald and the governor closed the matter with a final toast and the clasping of hands. Crowe did not miss the exchange of adversarial but knowing glances between Barghast and Lucijan: the dubious understanding between guardians who fear their charges have led them into another dangerous alliance.


    Matthiesen promised Crowe and Barghast they could have free run of the city during their stay behind the walls of Caemyth. ¡°Make sure you take the time to explore the market,¡± the governor with the renewed air of a swindling merchant. The smell of fear and sweat lingering around him like a black cloud hinted at an unpleasant conversation that had only been temporarily averted.


    Only once the door to Matthiesen¡¯s apartment had closed and he could no longer feel Lucijan''s scathing glare on his back did the sorcerer realize he was glad to be out of the room. A room that had smelled rife with exhaustion and paranoia. A gloom that Crowe was all too familiar with. You knew such madness when Hamon¡¯s servants planted the seeds of deceit in your mind, Crowe reminded himself grimly. You remember that particularly nasty stretch of hell when you didn''t sleep because they pursued you relentlessly; the way innocents turned into demons in the blink of an eye. And though those servants are dead - if they can truly be killed - many of the Black King''s emissaries lurk in the shadows. Though they may not be able to walk the plains of the material universe, that does not mean they cannot orchestrate events from behind the scenes.


    The anxious chatter in his mind ceased abruptly when four guards closed around them. Barghast tensed but did not growl. His tail merely flicked agitatedly back and forth with a warning glare. The leader of the group, a middle-aged man, calmly explained they would be escorted by carriage to a penthouse suite where they would be housed for the night.


    Housed or imprisoned?


    He was relieved when Barghast drew close, resting a heavy but reassuring paw on his shoulder. Crowe rewarded him with a pat on the back that in turn earned him another playful swat on the rump from  the lycan¡¯s tail.


    The practitioner spent the next several minutes amused with the sight of Barghast trying to squeeze himself into the carriage. The narrow passageway of caves were no obstacle for the lycan, but the tight space of the cabin proved to be a challenge of great difficulty and patience. By the time the Okanavian managed to force himself into the carriage, much of the paint and wood had been clawed away. The sight was not unlike that of the crustacean attack on the beach. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, twin o¡¯rre,¡± the lycan groaned once he was inside and the wagon had taken off.


    One street turned into another as the carriage swayed this way and that. Barghast yanked Crowe into his lap as if he were a talisman, growling Okanavian prayers under his breath. He exuded a musty smell that made the practitioner feel light-headed. In spite of the thrill of physical contact it was long before the sprawl of labyrinthine passageways reflected the uneasy interworkings of Crowe¡¯s mind.


    He acted as if he knew me¡­as if we¡¯d met before. He knew about Bennett even though he and I have never exchanged a word before today.


    Another mystery. Another puzzle he and Barghast had been dropped in the middle of. It cheapened the thrill of being in Caemyth. He searched beneath the flickering domes of gas lamps and torches grafted into moldering brick walls for pitted faces veiled in tattered cloth. None presented themselves to the naked eye but Crowe had learned not to trust what his eyes had showed him the hard way. It¡¯s best to walk along the tightrope between rationality and superstition, he thought.


    Of course tired eyes and fraught minds could see anything. While his mind was certainly alert, their travels were starting to catch up with him. It would be a relief once Barghast and he were alone behind closed doors again.


    He had enough time to smoke a joint before the carriage came to a stop before a large tenement. While it did not possess the marble opulence where Benedict¡¯s office had been housed, the tenement was in better shape than the sagging edifices the practitioner had glimpsed when they¡¯d first entered the city.


    Crowe and Barghast were led up a long flight of stairs past several landings. The practitioner heard the sound of life playing out behind several of the doors - a mother singing lullabies to lull her squalling babe to sleep, the sound of lovemaking - but the corridors were deserted with no one else to greet them. The sorcerer was grateful for this. He already felt uncomfortable with the lingering glances cast by the guards.


    He supposed it was unreasonable to begrudge them their curiosity.


    Crowe and Barghast did not relax the moment the double doors into the suite were closed. They hovered before the doors, the practitioner watching intently while the Okanavian listened. ¡°They¡¯ve left,¡± the barbarian rumbled after several seconds. ¡°Do you sense anything?¡±


    The herald shook his head, frowning intently. He couldn¡¯t get the look of terror and exhaustion on Matthiesen¡¯s face. He dreaded to think what could drive a man of reputed composure to the brink of insanity. You¡¯ll find out soon enough.


    Barghast pulled him from his thoughts by offering a paw. He grinned, his teeth flashing white in the gloom of the room. ¡°Let¡¯s see what we have here,¡± he said with a buoyant wag of his tail.


    Taking the offered paw, the sorcerer couldn¡¯t help but smile back.


    After almost a year of traveling together, they¡¯d stayed in plenty of taverns along the way. Outside of basic variations, the room always had the same setup. Looking upon the spacious room with wonder, the practitioner got his first true glimpse of what a suite was. The apartment had been opened up into a single room so that the large four poster bed, wardrobe, and crystal glass doors leading out onto the balcony were on one side of the room while the dining room table and sitting area were on the other. A doorway led into a large bathing room with a large basin large enough to fit two dozen bodies in the dip. Crowe marveled at the faucet sticking up out of the marble floor. Plumbing, he thought. Actual plumbing.


    Back in the sitting room area they found wood in the fireplace and a handwritten note written by Matthiesen himself. The note explained that a bag of coins had been left on the dining room table to enjoy during the day. The names of several venues had been written down as polite suggestions.


    The note was written in tight cramped handwriting. Crowe didn¡¯t bother to finish reading it. Now that Barghast and he were behind closed doors he wanted to leave all else outside the room. Slipping through shadow, he slid open the double glass doors and stepped out onto the balcony. Weeks ago he''d stood on such a balcony in the Mirror Expanse overlooking the frozen tundra.


    The icy mountains and glaciers had been replaced by smoky chimneys and the rippling channel of water visible beyond the great walls of Caemyth.


    ¡°What did that man say to frighten you?¡±


    The growl in Barghast¡¯s voice made something in the practitioner flinch. He lit another joint to buy himself another few seconds. He glanced at the lycan, waving a smoking match through the air with his crippled hand. ¡°He talked about things only I could know - only I could tell him - even though we¡¯d never met. I would certainly remember if he had,¡± the practitioner replied in Okanavian. ¡°He knew about Bennett and our boyhood fantasies to come here. To meet him. He was a hero to us. The only man brave enough to stand up to Drajen and his torchcoats.¡±


    Barghast drifted closer, slowly looming larger. His eyes were fixed on Crowe with a predatory fascination. He seemed to grow, to expand. To ascend. ¡°Are you disappointed after meeting your hero? I must admit he did not seem like much.¡±


    ¡°I think I am beyond disappointment, my sweet lycan,¡± the herald said with a bitterness he had not intended to vocalize. ¡°He is but a man. As am I.¡±


    The barbarian now stood directly before him, a solid wall of muscle and fur that blotted out the stars and the moon. The sharp tip of a fang poked out from his lower lip, making it look as if his muzzle was set in a permanent grimace. That grimace curled into a smile of utter affection. The trunks of his arms enclosed around the practitioner, pulling him to his chest while the wind coming in from off the coast combed through his fur. ¡°You are not just a man.¡±


    ¡°I am.¡± Crowe ran his fingers over the bony ridges of the Okanavian¡¯s knuckles. His eyes were silver pools in the dark of night. ¡°I am capable of great failure as we saw in the Mirror Expanse. Were it not for my actions, the Black King would not have been able to walk the earth, Petras¡¯ followers would still be alive, the ruins of Vaylin would still be standing, and we might have had a shot at discovering answers as to why these Iterations keep repeating. While I hesitate to say anything for certain anymore, I can say this: I will spend the rest of my days doing everything I can to make sure a disaster of that magnitude doesn¡¯t happen again.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s other paw rose to cover the other half of his face. Slowly he lowered himself, stooping until his gaze was level with the practitioner¡¯s. ¡°I would scold you for returning to that dark well that stands in the center of your mind, but at this point I know it would do no good, my beloved. And I certainly have no wish to scold you. Those fools were doomed long before we got there. Long before you provoked Hamon from rising from his Black Throne. Are you so intent on tormenting yourself?¡±


    His lips closed over Crowe¡¯s, stalling any thoughts the herald might have voiced on the subject. His mind had a way of emptying itself completely when Barghast kissed him.


    The warm breeze stirred around them, seeming to encourage this exchange in affection. When he opened his eyes, Crowe found Barghast staring deeply into the windows to his soul.7 The twin glints in those golden rings were ones of utter bliss. Once again, the thought that they only seemed to grow closer the longer they were together, the more they discovered about each other, made the practitioner feel feverish with giddiness.


    Somewhere a dog barked. Voices shouted in cries of excitement and gruff curses of frustration when traffic stalled too long. A high voice rose above the streets, chanting in a high undulating voice that Crowe was only vaguely away of. Barghast let out a low satisfied moan that sounded more like a growl. The practitioner responded with a gasp of pure pleasure, relishing the way Barghast surrounded him, hunkered before him, sheltered him even though they were safe for the time being.


    Barghast pulled back, his chest heaving, his tail swishing languidly. Crowe was not sure how long they looked at each other, in a world and a society they''d created for just the two of them, before he turned to study te aero view of the streets below. Barghast continued to hold him, caging him in his embrace. Occasionally he dropped kisses against the curve of his ear and the top of his head.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Whatever happens, whatever trials we shall face in the coming days, we will deal with them the way we always have: together.¡± The crackle of Barghast''s voice was gravelly and subterranean.


    ¡°No mountains shall stand before us.¡± Crowe¡¯s skin buzzed against the Okanavian¡¯s touch.


    ¡­


    Barghast¡¯s paw was a heavy weight on the sorcerer¡¯s shoulder was a reassuring weight that steered him protectively through the throng of people that pressed in on them from all sides.


    After the constant gloom of the Northern region, the bright blue sky and golden light was a welcome change. Barghast''s tail wagged excitedly.bFor the first time he seemed unfettered by the riot of unfamiliar places and faces. His excitement was palpable, his voice oscillating between a yip and a growl with each new discovery. He pointed at brightly colored awnings.  He exclaimed over trinkets that had been wielded into various shapes from wired steel.  The herald could only follow in his wake, letting Barghast lead the exploration of the massive, overcrowded city.  Were it not for the Okanavian¡¯s superior senses and infectious confidence, Crowe would have been overwhelmed by the roar of human activity.  Instead he only felt great joy and amusement - a level of enjoyment he''d hoped to experience with Bennett once not so long ago. Better to spend it with someone who actually knows how to return my affection, he thought, running a thumb over the barbarian¡¯s immense knuckles.


    Muzzle twitching, Barghast stopped at a large stall with wicker baskets brimming with produce. Many of the blankets had been picked clean or knocked onto the ground in a desperate haste to grab produce before the last of it was claimed. The lycan¡¯s eyes were larger than Barghast had ever seen before. ¡°What are these, twin o¡¯rre?¡± He held up a green olive to his snout before sniffing experimentally.


    Crowe picked an olive up, turning it this way and that in illustration. ¡°They¡¯re called olives.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever had one before?¡±


    ¡°A couple of times. But in the North they are quite the commodity; a commodity just means it is highly expensive since they are mostly native to the South.¡± He watched the Okanavian flit from basket to basket, oblivious of the curious glances thrown their way.


    ¡°What do they taste like?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re a bit salty. They¡¯re very good.¡± Crowe passed the merchant four bronze coins in exchange for two olives. Olives were a luxury he could afford since he was spending the Governor''s money. We might as well as enjoy it while we have it. He popped an olive into his mouth, grinning deliberately as he chewed. Barghast watched the practitioner with the undiminished fascination of their first encounter. Crowe wiggled a finger in a gesture for him to come closer. ¡°Do you not have olives in the desert? Would you like to try one?¡±


    ¡°We have something like it, but they are not this rich or bright in color.¡±


    Pinning it between his thumb and index finger, the practitioner instructed the lycan to open. The barbarian obeyed without hesitation. His jaw unhinged like a trap door to reveal the pink lining of his gums and a top and bottom line of incisors meant for tearing through flesh. Crowe tossed the bit of fruit inside the Okanavian¡¯s maw and watched as his oversized companion chewed thoughtfully.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± Judging from the way Barghast groaned in relish, he already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it directly from the source. ¡°I have never tasted anything so wonderful.¡± Seeming to realize he''d made a mistake, Barghast hastily ran the pad of his thumb across the ridge of the practitioner¡¯s cheek. ¡°Other than you, of course. There''s not anything in this world that tastes better than you do.¡±


    Crowe looked away, his cheeks flaming. His heart pounded against the wall of his chest. ¡°It¡¯s not a sin to like the taste of other things than myself. It¡¯s certainly not the betrayal you seem to think it is.¡±


    ¡°Not at all, my beloved.¡± The look the lycan gave the practitioner was so full of happiness and love - happy to be with me, Crowe thought though he did not know he was thinking this, love he feels for me - it made Crowe''s legs feel weak. ¡°You know I can''t help but dote on you and shower you with adoration and affection any chance I can get.¡±


    The practitioner pretended to be interested in a seashell bracelet; his face burned more hot than ever.  The clanging roar of bells pulled the two travelers deeper into the bowels of the city. They¡¯d walked the length of several city blocks when Barghast casted a dark look over his shoulder. Not more than a second or two later, he pulled the practitioner to the side, steering him beneath the overhang of a bridge. Barghast pushed Crowe gently against the wall, shielding him with his body as if to shield him from view. ¡°We¡¯re being followed. A single man. He¡¯s been tracking us for two blocks now¡­I wasn¡¯t sure at first, which is why I didn¡¯t say anything. You can¡¯t see him from this vantage point because there are too many people.¡±


    ¡°Can you tell if he¡¯s a servant of Hamon or is it too hard to say?¡±


    Bargahst whined. ¡°It is hard to say¡­there are too many smells, all of them so wonderful.¡± A thick string of saliva swung from his bottom lip. Crowe wiped it away with his hand, the gesture unconscious. He did not wipe his hands on his breeches.


    ¡°Relax,¡± he encouraged the lycan, throwing chest rubs into the mix. ¡°Let¡¯s let him catch up and give him in a nice surprise. Until then come here¡­¡± It struck him this was a strange moment to start canoodling, but the thought dispersed the moment Barghast sagged against him, leaning in for the kiss.


    This was where their stalker found them, two lovers simply stopping under the bridge for a bit of necking; it just so happened one of the lovers was a lycan. When he felt the lycan tense beneath his questing hands and heard the footfalls bouncing off the walls of the chamber, Crowe glanced slyly at their approaching tail. He recognized the narrow features of the man immediately.


    Roan.


    Suddenly the man¡¯s absence in the meeting with Benedict made sense. It certainly was not an implausible hunch.


    Crowe gestured for Barghast to step back by patting him on the shoulder. He turned to face Roan as the man came to a stop with a start of surprise. The anxious flash in his eyes told the practitioner he hadn¡¯t expected or intended to catch up.


    ¡°Hello, Roan,¡± he said in his most courteous voice. He grinned, watching the blood drain from the man¡¯s face. Roan was dressed in a dark blue cloak with the brighter blue diamond of the resistance embroidered on his back. Had he been a torchcoat, Crowe would have sliced his throat open with a dagger.


    The man stopped as if he''d stepped on broken glass with bare feet. A nerve twitched visibly in his face; his expression closed like a trap door, turning remote, but Crowe had caught the tell all the same; he hoped this meant he had the upper hand. ¡°How do you know my name?¡±


    The practitioner dismissed the question. ¡°Was it Matthiesen or his lapdog, Lucijan, who sent you to spy on me?¡±


    ¡°We wanted to make sure you were not an informant.¡±


    Crowe laughed, the sound caustic. ¡°And who would I spy for? The Theocracy? Hamon, the Black King of Inferno?¡± He held up his necklace for Roan to see. ¡°I can assure you I am no spy.¡±


    Roan nodded but the stiffness of his neck and the skeptical pursed mouth expression on his face told the practitioner he did not believe him. ¡°If you are not a spy, then how do you know my name?¡±


    ¡°Monad guided me to you. I know about Loras and the missing refugees and soldiers. I was there when Lucijan, Mathiesen, and yourself were looking at a map of this region.¡±


    Roan appeared to eye him indifferently. When he spoke, his voice was cold and clinical. ¡°There was no one else in the room with us. Just us three. How did you get inside without being detected?¡±


    Crowe noticed his hand was close to the pocket of his robes. The practitioner curled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for his rod. He did not want to start a conflict with this man if he could avoid it. ¡°I astral projected.¡±


    Once more, Roan''s mask of composure slipped long enough for the sorcerer to see what existed beneath the surface. Roan still looked simultaneously skeptical and shocked. ¡°That is a skill that was wiped out by the plague of madness; your people no longer possess the power they once did.¡±


    ¡°You are right about that. However, I am not just any practitioner, I am the herald of Monad.¡±


    Roan blinked. ¡°Lucijan said you had made such a claim.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a claim, it''s the truth, and if you don''t believe me watch and you will.¡±


    Something flashed in Roan¡¯s eyes. His lips curled in a humorless smile. ¡°Oh, you can believe we will be watching. Until then I hope you enjoy your stay here in Caemyth.¡± He turned, the tail of his robes billowing around him.


    Barghast snarled something under his breath. His tail flicked agitatedly through the air. He rounded on Crowe, his fur bristling. ¡°How can you let these people insult your reputation like this, twin o¡¯rre? Your loyalty? How can they accuse you of being a spy?¡±


    ¡°As hard as it is, you can''t blame them, Barghast. We are in a time of war. You¡¯ve seen the state of things both inside and outside the city. It is up to me as herald to win their trust.¡±


    Barghast pressed his ears flat with a sigh of defeat. ¡°You are a far wiser warrior than I. Our enemies will do well not to underestimate your patience.¡±


    Crowe grimaced. His thoughts took him back to the Mirror Expanse where a pit had been drilled down crust-deep into the earth. The Black King''s gloating face appeared before his mind''s eye. ¡°I haven''t always been patient or made the best decisions, however you might try to convince me otherwise. Actions have consequences, Barghast...even the smallest of them. Always remember that.¡±


    Crowe had not been telling the full truth in pretending being watched closely didn¡¯t bother him; any excitement he felt in exploring the rest of the city curdled inside his chest. While he could certainly understand Lucijan''s need for caution, it didn¡¯t stop the notion of being suspected a traitor from chafing.


    When they returned to their apartment a courier who could have been Crowe¡¯s age was waiting outside the door; a blue ribbon was tied through the belt loop of his soot-stained britches.


    The blood drained from the courier''s face when he saw the eight foot tall Okanavian casually following the sorcerer. He handed a rolled up piece of parchment with a matching blue ribbon to Crowe without looking in the practitioner¡¯s direction. The parchment turned out to be an invitation to Benedict Matthiesen¡¯s residence for dinner.


    An invitation or a summons? A simple dinner or an elaborate trap? the practitioner thought.


    ¡°The Governor''s invited us for dinner,¡± he replied to the lycan¡¯s questioning look.


    ¡°Why would he invite us to join him for dinner?¡±


    ¡°To kill us or to ask us for help.¡±


    ¡°If he asks us for help?¡±


    ¡°We help him because that''s what we do: we help people.¡±


    ¡°And if he tries to kill us?¡±


    The herald let his grim answering silence speak for him.


    ¡­


    The carriage trundled down a long narrow road lined on both sides with trees edged in shadow. Somewhere in that strange, impenetrable murk an howl hooted, seeming to make a mockery of the carriages safe passage. Barghast¡¯s tail rapped an anxious song against the wooden seats.


    ¡°I wish you would stop that.¡± Crowe blew out a ring of smoke through the open shutter.


    ¡°I am sorry, twin o''rre. I can''t help it. I am nervous.¡±


    The herald smiled at his furry companion. He rested a palm on top of the lycan''s hand. ¡°I know you are. There''s nothing to be afraid of. Not tonight.¡± Normally this would have been enough to convince the Okanavian, but he continued to watch the sorcerer dubiously. ¡°Do you not believe me?¡±


    Barghast gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. ¡°I believe you, my beloved. I will always believe you without hesitancy, without fail. It''s just¡­now I see why the wheels in your head are always turning. The more we discover about the world the more complicated it becomes.¡±


    From the very beginning the world has always been complicated. Before he could give voice to the thought, the driver steered the carriage around a final vanguard of trees. Behind a black wrought iron gate wreathed in tendrils of pale mist, the practitioner caught his first glimpse of Matthiesen¡¯s residence. The manor loomed larger the closer the carriage drew to the gate. The gate was pushed open by a figure dressed in black robes. The light flickering from a lamp could not penetrate the veil of shadows within the hood; Crowe suppressed a shiver. He lit a joint in the hopes that the taste of the herb would calm his nerves. Nothing to be afraid of? You spoke too soon. Anything could be waiting for you inside the house.


    The mist parted, his view of the manor now completely unobstructed. He marveled at the thick white pillars in front of the house and the sweep of stairs that led up to the thick white windows. Already the doors swung open as the carriage came to a stop beside the fountain. Crowe recognized the two figures even though he''d seen them both once in separate instances: Lucijan and Roan. The slender, narrow shape of the Governor was nowhere in sight. Had the invitation from the courier been a ploy just to get him to come out here with his guard down? He pulled his rod from the pocket of the robes. The runes lit up when he pushed a whisper of his will into the thrumming wood. Don¡¯t jump to conclusions, he reminded himself, though he could already feel a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face. No one¡¯s started shooting yet. He exchanged an anxious glance with Barghast; he regretted telling the Okanavian to leave his rifle behind.


    ¡°Ready?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the lycan said, ¡°but what choice do we have?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t. I¡¯d say we¡¯re past the point of changing our minds.¡±


    Crowe pushed the door open with the heel of his boot. He drew himself to his full height, pulling down his hood to fix Lucijan and Roan a glare. While he certainly had no intention of starting unnecessary conflict with these men, he would not hide the fact he was displeased with their treatment of him - even if their caution was understandable. There¡¯s something to be said about good manners¡­even in a time of war.


    ¡°You¡¯re late.¡± Lucijan grinned at him the way a shark might grin at flailing prey. He raised a cigar to his scarred lips. ¡°We weren¡¯t sure you would make it, herald.¡± He said herald with a mocking lilt that made Crowe¡¯s skin buzz.


    In his mind, Crowe imagined a bootheel stomping down on an open flame, extinguishing its light. He affected a grin of casual indifference. ¡°My apologies for the tardiness. I hope I did not keep the Governor waiting. Unfortunately, my companion had a hard time getting into the carriage.¡± Sure enough he turned towards the Okanavian who was straining to push himself through the small opening, dropping a string of curses in Okanavi. Crowe stepped forward, dropping his voice into a whisper. He held out his crippled hand to the lycan. He dropped his voice into a whisper. ¡°Slow down, Barghast. By straining, you¡¯re just making it more difficult for yourself.¡±


    Barghast sucked in a great breath. His shoulders rose before settling into submission. After another minute of struggle, he managed to squeeze himself through the opening. ¡°Sorry, twin o¡¯rre.¡± He cast a mistrustful begrudging look up at Lucijan and Roan.


    The sorcerer rubbed at his back, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder blade. ¡°Never apologize to anyone, my loving lycan. Least of all to me.¡±


    This earned him a gentle caress across the cheek from the Okanavian¡¯s tail.


    No sooner had Crowe and Barghast turned to challenge Lucijan and Roan, the entry doors at the top of the stairs opened once more long enough to cast a rectangle of light on the flagstones. Matthiesen appeared in a blue freshly-tailored three-piece suit with a black bow tie adorning the collar of his shirt. His hair had been slicked and combed back with oil, his beard trimmed into something civilized. Crowe could not say he¡¯d come similarly dressed. Though dress robes had been sent to him in light of the formal (and ominous) dinner from another courier, the practitioner had made a point to stick with his uniform black robes. It was one thing to use manners; it was another to bow down in submission.


    Judging from the look of surprise when he saw his two advisors standing on the steps, Matthiesen had not invited Lucijan and Roan for the occasion. Anger turned the brackets of distress around his whiskered mouth into cracks before being quickly tucked out of sight as soon as they¡¯d appeared.


    ¡°Not to be overly candid, gentlemen, but I did not invite either one of you here. This is a private discussion between the herald and myself.¡±


    ¡°I think this should be a discussion in which we are all involved.¡± Crowe did not miss the lingering look of concern Roan gave Mathiesen. These men were not just bound by politics, they were friends.


    ¡°I agree,¡± the sorcerer chimed in; he ignored the flash of disdain Lucijan flashed in his direction. He grinned. ¡°All three of you were in the room together while discussing the black spot - the place where Commander Gyrell''s force and the refugees disappeared - were you not?¡±


    It gave him a savage thrill to strike indignance off Lucijan''s face and replace it with shock.


    The practitioner was not done twisting the dagger. Any thoughts of maintaining diplomacy had vanished. Let me make my mark clear enough so he knows not to cross me ever again. ¡°Still think I''m a spy, Lucijan? Not many spies I know would wear Monad¡¯s sigil. Not when it would draw unwanted attention¡­which I would think defeats the purpose of being a spy. My hope is that after this dinner my cooperation will prove to be a comfort to you and you won''t feel the need to have me followed when I''m in the city.¡±


    Benedict rounded first on Roan and then on Lucijan, eyes flashing with tired rage where they lingered. The practitioner sensed not just anger, but hurt. The hurt one feels when someone they love and trust with their lives betrays them. Secrets and lies are the poison that blackens the heart, the herald thought. He told himself it was too late to take back the irreparable fallout he might have put into motion between the three men.


    All because Lucijan insulted my reputation.


    Another hard lesson delivered through failure should this prove to be the case. He gulped. The last thing he wanted to be was an agent of chaos like Hamon and his ilk.


    ¡°You and I will be having a discussion about this in due time - and I can assure you it will not be a pleasant conversation!¡± Matthiesen¡¯s shoulders rose with the cool, calculated fury of his words. Such was the look on his face Lucijan looked away. Matthiesen strikes me has the sort of man who''s feathers are not easily ruffled¡­but when they are, people stop and take notice, the practitioner thought. With a single comment he''d learned quite a bit about the men by how interacted with one another. He was eager (frightened) to see what surprises (terrors) the ominous dinner would hold on this warm Summer night.


    ¡°Alas,¡± the Governor continued with a sniff, ¡°the practitioner is right, though what I will have to say over dinner will be hard to understand¡­or believe. I will simply tell staff to set the dinner table for two more guests.¡± The sharpness of his voice did not leave until he turned to face the practitioner and the lycan. He climbed down the steps with a grin that was both cautious and apologetic. He looked boyish and like an old man in the same moment. ¡°I hope you can forgive my companions. They did not inform me that they planned to have you followed. I can assure you I did not decree such orders, herald.¡±


    Crowe exhaled deeply through his nose. ¡°No offense taken, Governor. I hope I did not spill bad blood between the three of you by bringing things out into the open. It came from a place of childishness. Apparently I still have some growing in my boots to do.¡±


    Matthiesen chuckled. His smile was small and tired but it was small, and he looked at the practitioner with a familiarity that made the sorcerer feel as if the stone beneath his feet would turn to stone at any second. ¡°As ever, you are wise beyond your years, herald.¡± If he noticed the dazed look on Crowe¡¯s face, he did not show it. ¡°Enough talk. The conversation ahead will be unpleasant as it is. I know I do not look forward to it¡­¡±


    Lucijan and Roan shot looks over the Governor''s head. Crowe did not miss the signal of uneasiness that passed silently between the two men. He felt Barghast draw beside him, a furry arm encircling his shoulders. Crowe leaned against him, grateful for the comfort. Benedict waved, beckoning the four men to follow him into the house.


    Crowe shivered, unable to shake the feeling that something wrong was afoot.

 Weve Had this Conversation Before

    On another night Crowe might have been impressed by the opulence of Benedict¡¯s home. How clean everything was. The framed portraits of aristocrats gazing down at him in disapproval forever preserved in oils. The rich blue carpet beneath his feet. The paneled walls and air that smelled of the salt from the Gaulhill Sea. Instead of appreciating the decorations, the luxuries that a life in a house like this must present, he found himself reaching out with his mind, searching for what the regular eye could not reveal. No shouts of alarm sounded in his mind, but the enemy had proven itself to be tricky. Barghast seemed calm enough. If there was danger afoot he would most likely sense it before the practitioner.


    At the end of a long corridor two servants dressed in black uniforms with white aprons tied around their waists waited on either sides of the door. They greeted the Governor with studious bows. Crowe and Barghast ignored their lingering glances. Four other stewards stood in the corners of the room like soldiers awaiting orders from the commanders. The moment the dinner party entered the room they sprang into life, pulling back chairs from a long rectangular wood table that took up most of the room. Matthiesen positioned himself at the head of the table. A fire roared in the hearth of his back. Lucijan took the chair to his left, Roan the chair to his right. Crowe took the chair at the opposite end of the table. Barghast lowered himself cautiously into the chair next to the practitioner. The chair groaned precariously but held his weight.


    A heavy silence filled the room as goblets were filled with chilled wine. The pitcher was placed in the center of the table; beads of condensation marked the side of the pitcher. The second their goblets were filled, Matthiesen and his men raised their glasses to their lips and drained the contents. Lucijan reached for the pitcher without ceremony. Wine sloshed over the sides of the glass. The smell of fermented grapes blossomed in the air. Barghast raised his snout and sniffed with an appreciative grumbling sound. Crowe almost laughed in relief. If the wine had been poisoned, Benedict and his companions would not have emptied their goblets so readily; in this much he could take comfort in.


    Catching Barghast¡¯s eye, Crowe drained his goblet. He smacked his lips appreciatively to show that no harm would be done to him. The lycan¡¯s eyes flashed excitedly. He tipped his head back. At the other end of the table, Lucijan watched with a mix of wide-eyed fascination and terror as the Okanavian opened his muzzle and simply dumped the goblet¡¯s contents down his goblet. Benedict slid the pitcher down the table to the herald. Within less than a minute of it being set down, the pitcher had been emptied; now it was being whisked away for replenishment. Servants continued to filter in and out of the room, setting silver-topped platters down on fancy silk cloths unlike anything Crowe had seen before. The tops of the platters removed to reveal roasted duck, a stack of meat pies with golden brown crust, roasted vegetables, bread, a serving platter of freshly churned butter¡­the more he saw, the more his mouth watered.


    ¡°Alright, enough beating around the fucking bush,¡± Lucijan growled, glaring at Matthiesen. Crowe was happy to see his suspicious scrutiny fixed on someone else for a change. ¡°You have been acting very strange today. At first I thought it was exhaustion - the weight of your burdens finally starting to get to you - but I know something else is afoot and it stinks of Inferno.¡±


    Crowe felt his heart jerk inside his chest at the mention of Inferno.


    ¡°Up until recently you''ve always kept Roan and I apprised of any notable developments so that we might prepare contingencies for future crises. You know I don''t scare easily so you also know I don''t say this lightly when I tell you the way you have been behaving has scared the living shite out of me.¡±


    This was followed by another pregnant moment of silence that seemed to have no end.


    The proof that Matthiesen cared how his advisor felt could nor be more evident than when he leaned back in his chair, his nostrils flaring as he sucked in a deep breath. Crowe almost felt sorry for the man; he leaned forward in his chair, eager to hear what Lucijan had to say. In spite of his barbaric appearance, the practitioner knew better than to underestimate  the shrewd Lucijan.


    Matthiesen did not respond for a long time.


    He looked at Lucijan as if he were only seeing the man for the first time. No, it was deeper than that; it was not just a look of bewilderment, it was a look of pain. It was the look of a man stuck between a rock and a hard place. It was a look Crowe knew well because he had worn it many times. Not for the first time Crowe felt as if he were a voyeur witnessing something he wasn¡¯t supposed to see. He focused on serving Barghast and himself, letting the three men bicker amongst themselves while he filled the lycan¡¯s plate with generous portions of roasted duck and meat pies.


    Crowe wasn¡¯t sure how much time had passed in this fashion before he realized there were more than just the five of them in the room. He turned his head to find two children standing shyly in front of the double doors with a woman herding them along at their back. Despite the sudden fuzziness of his head (he¡¯d drank more wine than he¡¯d intended), it didn¡¯t take long for the herald to surmise these were the Governor¡¯s children.


    The boy, the older of the two siblings, resembled his father the most. Crowe could see that the youth softening his face would one day fall away, slimming down into the narrow, deep set features of Benedict. He stood with his shoulders and back ramrod straight in a posture that was meant to imitate the man he most aspired to be. The girl had Matthiesen¡¯s slender height but must take more after her mother. Her hair was a tarnished gold color that hung down to the middle of her back in willful springs. Where the boy looked dour, the girl¡¯s smile brightened up the grim mood in the room. The willowy older woman who had followed them into the room wore a blue turban around her head.


    ¡°Ah, Tilde.¡± Benedict smiled at the woman with a smile of genuine warmth. ¡°Thank you for bringing my children to see me before tucking them into bed for the night.¡±


    ¡°They would badger me all night if I didn¡¯t,¡± the woman chortled. Her eyes shot to Crowe and Barghast where they lingered on the lycan. She gulped audibly before looking away with a jerk of her head. Thankfully, the lycan was too busy scarfing down the food the practitioner had put on his plate to have noticed. Unfortunately the practitioner noticed. Even here Barghast will not be fully accepted. There will be people who will take one look at him and immediately be afraid because of his appearance. The thought saddened him.


    The children did not notice. Their focus was on their father. He spoke to them in lowered voices, cuffing the boy and ruffling his hair and kissing the girl on the cheek and giving them fierce hugs. Crowe watched this display, unaware of the look of longing on his face or the hunger for fatherly affection. With a few more whispered words to the children, and a peck on the cheek to the old woman, they were dismissed out of the room. After a long silent moment in which the Governor seemed trapped in his own sense of longing for familial connection, Matthiesen returned to his seat. When he spoke, the words were rushed as if he could not get them out fast enough. His eyes bore into Crowe.


    ¡°I¡¯ve held back long enough. I know you have a lot of questions so I¡¯m just going to dive in. This is not the first time you¡¯ve sat before me, herald. You, your lycan companion, Lucijan, and Roan. We¡¯ve all sat here at this table. We¡¯ve had this conversation before.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean you¡¯ve had this conversation before?¡± Lucijan was deep and booming but Crowe caught the undercurrent of fear all the same. In spite of the world we live in this is a man of practicality. Even as the events happening around him defy the laws of gravity, he will continue to deny his own insignificance to cling onto his sense of control.


    ¡°I mean¡­¡± Benedict closed his eyes. A vein pulsed in his forehead: the first crack appearing in his mask of serene calm. It¡¯s best if you just shut your mouth and listen, Crowe urged Lucijan silently. This conversation isn¡¯t for you anyway. ¡°This day has already happened. I¡¯ve already experienced it once before.¡±


    ¡°In a dream or for real?¡± the practitioner asked.


    Benedict narrowed his eyes in thought. ¡°For real¡­though I have my doubts. It didn¡¯t completely feel like a dream. In it you and your lycan companion sat before me the way you are now.¡±


    The words sounded ludicrous even to Crowe. And yet he could feel the Cycle pulling at him again, turning like an unceasing wheel. ¡°Is that how you knew about Bennett?¡±


    The Governor nodded shakily. His skin had become pasty with sweat.


    ¡°I have no recollection of having had this conversation with you. Any of it. Do you think it¡¯s possible Monad sent you the dream as a warning?¡±


    ¡°You have no recollection of the dream. Why would he send me a warning and not you? I am not the herald. You are.¡± A thought¡­a question that disturbed him.


    The older man shook his head in befuddlement. ¡°That is a good question. If you can¡¯t answer it then I don¡¯t think anyone can.¡±


    ¡°What else happened in the dream?¡±


    The man rose slowly from his chair. ¡°You and your lycan friend should come with me. I¡¯ll show you why you are here, some of which you already know. Still, I think it¡¯s worth seeing again.¡±


    Crowe tried not to stand too eagerly. He¡¯d been patient, knowing the answers to this latest mystery would present themselves when the time came. Now that a few seemed close at hand he could hardly contain his impatience. He took a long pull of wine to calm his fraught nerves. Barghast lowered his plate to the table, licking his chops with satisfied smacking sounds. The chair he¡¯d been sitting in groaned in relief when he vacated it.


    The heavy silence that had followed the group into the manor stalked them out of the dining room. Crowe ignored it deliberately. The feeling of being pulled that had assailed him at the table continued to grow in the pit of his stomach. He watched the Governor closely, making sure to match him stride for stride. They were almost the exact same height with Matthiesen having an inch or so on him, so it wasn¡¯t too great of a challenge. He could sense Benedict¡¯s concerted effort to avoid his suspicious glare. I cannot feel Hamon¡¯s influence around him. If he¡¯s being used as someone¡¯s puppet, who would it be?


    At the top of a long spiral staircase they reached the large room where Matthiesen, Lucijan, and Roan had gathered before. There in the center of the table was the map with the red ring in the center. The dried ink pulsed at the practitioner like a watchful eye.


    The spot where Loras, her troops, and the refugees had gone missing. Something cold and unpleasant wormed its way into his belly. He felt a strange urge to trace the circle with the pad of his finger in spite of his disgust towards it. The way they know they shouldn¡¯t touch something unhealthy but simply can¡¯t help themselves. He could see himself reaching out, laying a finger on the map and knew the second he did, the ring would show him things. Terrible things. Things he didn¡¯t want to see.


    He reached for the lycan¡¯s paw until he felt large digits engulf his. And still even then he could not take his eyes away from it. ¡°You sent out scouts, right? Months ago, when you first discovered it?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± This came from Roan whose expression reflected the same uneasiness Crowe felt. ¡°Since then we¡¯ve sent half a dozen scouts to follow suit. None of them returned. When we realized the pattern would only continue, we stopped sending parties.¡±


    ¡°How long has it been since you sent out the last scouting party?¡±


    ¡°Eight, nine weeks ago.¡±


    Barghast took position over by the window, looking out the window. Somehow Crowe had managed to take his eyes off the ring without realizing it. He latched onto the sight of the lycan¡¯s muscular back. The perfect distraction. He bit back a smile.


    Lucijan hooked his thumbs through the belt loops in his breeches. ¡°We''re calling it ¡®the black hole¡¯. Because it''s not just our scouts who are getting swallowed up by the damned thing, but Drajen¡¯s as well.¡±


    ¡°Fortunately, we don''t think Drajen is aware of it just yet,¡± Roan continued. ¡°Part of this is due to the location of the black hole; it''s still technically in our territory. We have man-made forts set up all through the Southern lands and the reports state that all of the forts are deserted.¡±


    ¡°Deserted?¡± Crowe parroted. ¡°Were they taken? Was there a skirmish?¡±


    ¡°One would almost prefer it. It would be easier to track and confirm,¡± Matthiesen replied grimly. ¡°But from all appearances they were not taken, they simply left their things and went of their own accord. Almost as if they were called.¡±


    ¡°The only clue we have are a few scrawlings on the walls of the fort,¡± Lucijan drawled. ¡®The Mother of Caldreath¡¯ calls to us. Not written in blood or anything like that, thank Monad, but in ink or paint or oil¡­things like that.¡±


    ¡° ¡®The Mother of Caldreath?¡± Crowe¡¯s eyes narrowed at the memory of the name. ¡°Wasn''t Caldreath burnt to the ground by the Theocracy? There was a massacre. Story goes they burnt every villager at the stake on Drajen¡¯s predecessor¡¯s orders.¡± This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°Many stories are told with dramatic flair for shock value,¡± Lucijan growled with a roll of his eyes. ¡°I''d there were no survivors there would be no tales. There were survivors and Commander Gyrell was one of them. It was the boot heel of vengeance that propelled her up the ranks to the role as commander. No one could blame her for wanting to strike down every Theocracy soldier for making her watch her whole village burn¡­including her husband and daughter.¡±


    ¡°For almost a hundred years - starting at the tail end of my grandfather''s third and final term as Governor - Gyrell waged her own private war against the Theocracy,¡± Matthiesen continued. ¡°What give me pause is the location of the black hole. It''s on the exact same spot where Caldreath used to be. It used to be the farmers and simple folk stayed away from it out of superstitious dread, but now refugees are being drawn to it like a moth to a flame.¡±


    Roan cleared his throat.  ¡°Before they disappeared Gyrell reported her party had stopped at Fort Teague which is a hundred miles West of where the black hole is.¡±


    ¡°And you think this all has to do with Gyrell?¡±


    ¡°I''m certain it does,¡± Matthiesen said with the same undeniable pang of certainty Crowe felt banging around inside his chest. ¡°There are too many oddities for it to be coincidence¡­far too deliberate. Eventually Drajen will take notice that his soldiers are coming up missing. Word has it the pope is going mad¡­his mind caving under the pressure of old age. I can only shudder the conclusions he could jump to and the avalanche that would cause.¡± The Governor watched the practitioner so intently, the sorcerer had no doubt he was speaking solely to him; at that moment they could have been the only two men in the room.


    ¡°You sent me and I never came back,¡± Crowe said with grim wonder. He could feel the ring of red ink trying to pull his eyes back to the map.


    ¡°You were gone for weeks. You and your lycan. We sent scouts after you but as before they never returned. The day we got the news was declaring open and indiscriminate war against Monad¡¯s people and the resistance alike, I went to bed and awoke to find myself reliving the past few days. While there are subtle differences, the instances are similar enough I fear it could happen again if you go. Will you go?¡±


    ¡°I don''t think I have a choice,¡± Crowe said. ¡°The path is set for me. But maybe not entirely. You said this conversation happened and that I left to investigate the black hole but never returned. After several weeks Drajen declared open war and then you woke up to find yourself reexperiencing this dream. Maybe by telling me I don''t make it back will keep it from repeating a second time because I will know to be on the lookout.¡±


    Crowe watched all the blood drain from the Governor''s face. ¡°I do not know what you will find in the black hole, herald, but I do know it will only lead you into damnation.¡±


    ¡­


    The sun was sinking, filling the sky with red light; to Crowe it made the heavens look as if the heavens were bleeding. The failing light cast elongated shadows on the flat earth still cooling from the day¡¯s blistering heat. Fort Teague was the largest shadow of all, a bulky silhouette in which nothing around it but weeds stirred. Not a squirrel, not a bird. No one moved along the walls. No one shouted and fired off warning shots as the practitioner willed Mammoth into a cautious trot with a pull of the reins.


    Mammoth forged on, albeit cautiously. Crowe could feel the mount¡¯s fear when he touched a hand to the mount¡¯s broad neck. The massive shire horse was not the only one who was afraid. Barghast¡¯s chest and belly was a constant rumble that quivered against the herald¡¯s sweaty back. The lycan had his rifle loaded and in hand.


    Abandoned wagons pocked the land around the fort like gravestones. Sun-faded drapes flapped miserably in the wind. Tracks in the dirt marked the passage of man and beast. Crowe hypothesized that if they were to follow the same path, it would take them a hundred miles West to the black spot. Whoever or whatever is doing this isn¡¯t trying to hide or be sneaky, the sorcerer thought. It wants to be found, leading practitioners and torchcoats to it alike. But to what end?


    He parked Mammoth by the bulk of a large cabin. While Barghast continued to scan the walls and sniff the air, Crowe worked on soothing their horse. While Barghast searched the inside of the fort, Crowe fed and watered Mammoth. He took a moment to appreciate the three bulky packs Matthiesen had supplied them with before leaving Caemyth. We¡¯re loaded for bear. The practitioner had the feeling they would need every bit of it.


    Barghast returned, his tail flicking back and forth with annoyance.


    ¡°Problems?¡± Crowe asked.


    ¡°No.¡± The lycan¡¯s voice was half growl, half whine.


    ¡°Is that a problem?¡±


    ¡°It bothers me. It is as you said: The fort is completely deserted. I do not smell the influence of the Black One. I just smell people¡­your people, my beloved¡­I smell a few torchcoats as well. A small band of scouts stopped here a few days ago. They didn¡¯t stop for long. Just long enough to scour the place.¡± He bared his teeth in the lycan  equivalent of a grin; there was no humor in it. ¡°What they saw spooked them. I could smell their fear¡­but then there was a change in their scent.¡±


    ¡°The torchcoats?¡±


    ¡°They got on their horses and started back in the direction they came and then stopped before turning around to follow the same path as your people.¡±


    The wheels in Crowe¡¯s mind turned. ¡°As if they changed their mind.¡± Or called. He filed this information in the large leatherbound book he stored in his mind; it was a book that grew larger everyday. ¡°I don¡¯t like this place anymore than you do; and like you, I don¡¯t intend to stay any longer than we have to, but I want to take a look myself. Maybe I can pick up something you weren¡¯t able to. Anything that can give us an idea of what awaits us ahead of time. At this point I think it¡¯s safe to say you can never be too prepared.¡±


    Inching forward, muscles bulging beneath fur that rippled in the turgid Southern winds, Barghast towered over him until the broad plateau of his shoulders blotted out the remaining light. Kneeling down on one knee, he leaned forward until their foreheads touch: a familiar gesture of comfort that always soothed the restless spirit. ¡°As always, you are wise beyond your years. I will follow you anywhere. Even into the depths of Inferno. You know this, twin o¡¯rre.¡±


    With this final gathering of courage they turned to face the fort.


    By the time they reached Fort Teague¡¯s gates, night¡¯s full moon  had taken its rightful place over the earth, casting everything in a ghostly glow. ¡°I know this makes me sound like a foolish pup, but I would prefer it if the place were crawling with torchcoats and evil spirits,¡± the barbarian rumbled.


    ¡°Because it makes more sense?¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    Stepping out onto the square was like stepping into the center of a graveyard. Blue flags with the white diamond of the resistance flapped in the cooling wind, sounding like the rustle of bat wings. The tops of row upon row of tents seemed to stick up out of the ground like the pointed teeth of a leviathanian beast. Crowe and Barghast tip-toed cautiously past them though they were certain they were completely alone. The entrances of the tents yawned open, encouraging them to explore their mysterious depths. Bit by bit the details of his conversation with Matthiesen and his advisors filtered through the practitioner¡¯s mind.


    In spite of the baffling number of empty tents, they had not discovered anything to be alarmed about. The orderly set up of the rows suggested the soldiers inside the fort had attempted to establish order and routine amongst the refugees to distract them from the chaos happening outside. Spaced evenly apart there was not a scrap of litter or bullets or corpses scattered in between the canvas huts. And to think there are over a dozen forts just like this one, the sorcerer thought. He was unable to suppress a cold shiver.


    They were eventually drawn to a message scrawled on the side of a tent in red paint. A worm of uneasiness wriggled into Crowe¡¯s gut: the paint was the exact same shade of red as the inky circle on Matthiesen¡¯s map of the South. The ring that had called to him with images of insanity.


    WE GO TO THE MOTHER OF CALDREATH! read the declaration. WE ANSWER HER CALL OF RAGE AND GRIEF WITH VENGEANCE! MAY WE SPILL THE BLOOD OF THE WHORE OF CREATION¡¯S CHILDREN!


    The paint called to Crowe the way the ink had: a susurrus buzzing sound that made him think of a nest of angry wasps. Back in Caldreath the ink¡¯s call had been an echo he¡¯d been able to resist with effort,. Here within the silent walls of Fort Teague the call of the paint - the call of the Mother - the call was like a punch to the gut that threatened to bow him over. It pulled at him like steel to a magnet, drawing him forward on stilted legs made of wood. He tried to utter Barghast¡¯s name, but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth.


    Barghast, who had made it his mission to protect the practitioner for better or worse, reached for him, claws snagging against the back of his hood, but the herald was already stepping out of reach. He raised his hands, his expression remote and devoid of emotion. He walked with the languid shuffle of a man whose eyes are open but he is not awake. The paint glowed with an infernal red light that bathed his face in a sulfuric warmth. He was vaguely aware of the fear he heard in the lycan¡¯s voice, but the sound barely breached the surface of the mind. As he walked forward he was being pulled back - forced - into a whirlwind that was impossible to break away from.


    He called to Monad, trying to summon the flame that had abandoned him in his time of need. No, no, no! he growled helplessly in his mind; if he could have, his teeth would have been gritted in terror. He has long since discovered that Monad could be just as opaque and as negligent as any deity. Don''t abandon me now! Don''t you dare cast your eyes elsewhere - help me, damn you!


    If Monad was infuriated by Crowe¡¯s claim that his priorities were more important than anyone else''s, the flame did not offer a response to this. In a lot of ways you truly are no different than Petra''s, Crowe thought.


    The moment he touches the paint that burned with an inner light, fire raced up his arms. He felt Barghast pull him back but the sound of the lycan¡¯s voice was drowned out by his own screams. Tendrils of flame pushed into his mind like hungry vines seeking his brain. He had just enough time to fear what might happen to him before the ground was swept beneath his feet.


    Fort Teague was gone and so Barghast. He was in the middle of a burning village. Caldreath, he thought. I am in Caldreath. A shrill voice in his mind - the voice of a jibbering frightened child - told him this could not be possible. Caldreath had burned down a century ago. But he knew better than to draw a line between what was possible and what was not. Wooden huts were engulfed by raging fires, propelling stacks of smoke into a sky that rained ash on the snow-covered ground below. Voices screamed all around him. Vague human shapes darted through the thickening wall of smoke, pursued by torchcoats on horseback. They were indiscriminate in their butchery of the people of Caldreath, stabbing and chopping. No woman or child was spared.


    He tried to move towards the commotion - to intervene in any way he could; to prevent history from repeating itself - but his arms were bound to something solid and unyielding. He remembered the last time he''s been bound in such a way. They hung me from a noose and I almost died¡­but Monad was with me.


    Monad was not with him now. Monad had abandoned his people.


    Crowe searched the gloom frantically with a growing sense of terror. There were others bound to stakes just like him, their heads lowered in defeat or raised towards the sky in prayer. Their bowls and undulating cries of agony reached pitches that were beyond human.


    The sorcerer was alerted to movement at the center of the maelstrom. A slim figure emerged from the flickering light. Even as years drained from the corners of his raw and puffy eyes, Crowe could see that the newcomer was a woman from the feline swing of her hips. Atop her head she wore a headpiece carved from bleached bone. Silver fox eyes peered at him intently through the hollow sockets of the skull.


    Crowe was vaguely aware that a crowd of torchcoats had gathered before his stake. He could hear the high self-righteous voice of the cleric who read his final rights from a scroll.


    He turned his attention away from the cleric, from the growing audience of religious zealots who had come to watch him burn. He¡¯d heard the rites before and he did not wish to hear them a second time. He was aware of being splashed with something wet and foul-smelling.


    Through the unbearable dread and the cries of the condemned, Crowe could not take his eyes off the woman. He knew her. Or rather he would come to know someone very much like her.  It was the grief in her eyes that pulled him to her. He couldn''t turn away from her even if he''d wanted to. To turn away from her would be to dismiss her.


    ¡°Look at how they slaughter Monad''s children.¡± Her voice crackled with a rage that was older than the land around them. Despite the growing heat of the flames, Crowe shivered with fear - fear of what would happen should the woman decide to turn her fury on him. ¡°Look at what they do to any child who is not their own, who do not share in their beliefs.¡± She lifted a lean, but muscular arm to indicate the massacre still playing out before them; bone bracelets jangled at her wrists.


    A pocket of air cleared the smoke, creating an opening of visibility. Through this opening Crowe could see three more unfortunate souls were being added to the mass of victims. A woman, a man, and a young girl. Though he had yet to lay eyes on her, the practitioner knew this second woman was Loras Gyrell. Tangles of black hair whipped around the woman¡¯s face, blown into a frenzy by the backdraft. She twisted her head around to track the progress of her husband and daughter. Jalif and Kara. They, too, will burn and there''s nothing I can do to stop it. To know a thing and not be able to stop it is a special kind of damnation, the herald thought.


    ¡°Please,¡± he begged the tribal woman. He began to weep. Even as a voice screamed in the back of his mind that this was not real¡­could surely not be real in the name of Monad¡­he was so hot and so thirsty. If he could have, he would have bowed before the woman and seized her skirt in desperation the way Barghast had once done with him. ¡°I don''t want to see this¡­don''t make me watch.¡±


    ¡°Everyone must watch,¡± the woman hissed. Tears cut pales paths down her cheeks, washing some of the soot away. ¡°Everyone must know and witness the becoming of the Mother of Caldreath.¡±


    Ashen fingers seized the back of Crowe''s head, pinning his skull to the board so he had no choice but to look ahead. Before him, Loras sunk to the ground, her body bowing under the threat of exhaustion. Her knees dug furrows in the ash and snow. Behind her the girl wriggled out from the grip of the torchcoat steering her towards her death. She reached for her mother, her pudgy hands snapping open and closed like claws.


    At the same time the guard pursuing Kara caught up with her, the pack surrounding Loras closed around her like hungry wolves. Jalif was equally helpless. The guards kicked him towards his death. Strings of blood and mucus hung down from his broken nose. Both eyes were sealed shut, his face a contorted mask of black bruises and swollen flesh. Loras was also beaten mercilessly. Her body rocked with the force of each blow delivered with militant precision.


    At last, death came to save him. Two torchcoats approached, wielding torches.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Crowe laughed. Loras and her family were gone now, swallowed up by a billowing mushroom cloud that would stain this land a century afterwards. Hearing their screams and knowing what would happen to them was bad enough.


    When he began to burn, his howls of hysteria turned into undulating screams of agony. Had he ever felt such pain before? He could feel the fire already scouring his flesh from bones. He felt his eyes shrivel and then turn to jelly inside his own. Even through the agony was the knowledge that Loras would suffer a fate even worse than this. She would live beyond this moment and it would haunt her for the rest of her days.


    These were Crowe''s last thoughts.

 The Forest at the End of Time

    He was no longer in the village of Caldreath, but in Fort Teague. He looked up at Barghast. ¡°What in Monad¡¯s name?¡±


    The Okanavian took a cautious step towards the practitioner with a whine. ¡°My beloved¡­what happened? You were screaming but I could not find the source of your pain. It¡¯s not like when your soul leaves your body and injuries suddenly appear¡­There was nothing¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you,¡± the sorcerer croaked, ¡°but first get me in the Void out of here.¡±


    He hitched his pack over his shoulders. He started in the direction of the gates, overwhelmed by a superstitious need to get away from the fort. He made it past three tents before he realized he wasn''t being followed. He whirled around. ¡°Barghast¡­? Why are you just standing there? We need to leave!


    Those were the words he wanted to say, his throat tight with fear. They snagged on something sharp when he saw the way Barghast was standing. His ears drawn back, his hackles raised, his lips drawn back in a bestial snark. His broad head was fixed on a point in the night sky Crowe could not yet see. He took another cautious step towards the lycan and stopped.


    He could see movement in the blackness of the Void. It shot towards them, leaving streaks of scarlet light in its wake. Crowe squinted. The narrowness of its body suggested a human shape but it was still too far to be sure from this distance.


    The light it cast below fanned out, spreading over the bed of empty tents; the puddles of shadow grew deeper, brighter as the comet drew closer.


    The practitioner was reminded of the day Metropolis had appeared to him after he¡¯d buried Petra''s. Wile this instance was similar, it was different. On the day the Seraphim dropped through the sky to tell him he was the herald of Monad, Crowe had been terrified. The terror of a farm boy who has felt his entire world rip open and has come to realize just how insignificant he is.


    This was an all too different kind of terror: not the terror of religious awe, but the kind of terror that made his nerves scream and his flesh want to crawl off the bone. The figure let out a scream at the exact same second Barghast fired his rifle.


    The sound that came from the mouth of the vengeful wraith ripped into Crowe¡¯s skull like hot knives. He clapped his hands over his ears, gaping up at the wraith from a kneeling position. His heart stalled in his chest. Through the screen of red light the shape of humanoid features were unmistakable: two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Wings flapped with such force they knocked over tents as if they were little more than silk linens caught in a draft. What was not swept over simply went up in flames.


    The wraith let out another shriek. Crowe shrieked with her, if only to give voice to his own pain. It felt as if his head was being crushed between two stones. A voice in the back of his mind told him he had to keep moving lest he wanted to go up in flames as well. He didn''t and so he crawled, pressing himself flat to the ground as the wraith swooped by overhead. The ground rocked beneath him hard enough to make his teeth rattle in his skull. Something wet dropped from his nose and down from his ears. There came an explosion and the sound of wood being ripped apart.


    It won''t be long before she comes back for another round, he thought dazedly. His vision had become grainy with a field of dancing dots. Cautiously he lifted his head. His jaw unhinged like a trap door.


    The entire Eastern wall of Fort Teague was completely gone. Smoking piles of rubble littered the ground. Ember spiraled towards the night sky. Crowe knew he needed to get up, to get moving, but his body wanted to press itself flat into the dirt and become as small as possible. Barghast came up behind him, hauling the practitioner into the air as if he weighed nothing at all. He barrelled through the smoke, his chest rising and falling as he charged towards the gate. Crowe shrank away from the heat of passing flames.


    Each time the wraith screamed in fury, each time the ground shook, the herald prepared himself for a death that did not come. Once they were through the gates, he gestured for Barghast to put him down. They ducked behind the bulk of the wagon. Crowe sucked in a breath. He willed the frightened child in his mind to stop screaming.


    They¡¯d bridged half the distance back to Mammoth when the wraith began her search outside the fort. She¡¯d slowed down her flight to a passing glide. Having slid beneath the bottom of a wagon, the sorcerer watched her passage. He couldn''t shake the feeling that there was something familiar about her¡­the certainty he knew her. He had a hunch, but what good were hunches when you were too dead to prove them?


    He willed all thoughts away. The wraith was swinging back for another round. Each blast of flame blasted pits in the ground, throwing up clots of baking soil. Mammoth galloped and brayed, searching wildly for his masters. Crowe had spent the past minute - or had several minutes passed, hiding under this particular wagon like frightened mice? fear had a way of turning the passage of time porous - trying to signal to the horse. Through the chaos he could feel Mammoth¡¯s determination to reach his riders intermixing through his own, as if their courage was interlinked. As if to illustrate this, the shire horse shot towards where they hid at a full gallop, hooves kicking up black puffs of ash. White foam frothed against the pink lining of his lips. Crowe and Barghast tensed, readying themselves to lunge out from underneath the wagon and make a run for it.


    As with previous attempts, the wraith seemed to anticipate their renewed attempt at escape. She howled, swooping low, raking the roof of the wagon with her claws. Splinters of wood rained down from above. Crowe felt the wood shudder around them as their own form of protection threatened to come apart. He felt a jolt of alarm from the horse pass through him.


    Get back! he commanded with his mind. Besides him the barbarian rumbled something under his breath, but the words were lost in Crowe''s waning attempt to concentrate. Each tick of his heart sent an answering spike of pain through his skull. She''s not after you! She''s trying to keep us boxed in so you can''t get to us¡­I need you to stay out of sight, but remain close by¡­With a mixture of thoughts and images, the herald telegraphed his tenuous plan to the massive steed. If he could call it a plan. It was more of a risk - and a suicidal one at that. He received a reluctant pulse of acknowledgment from the shire horse. Had he ever encountered a more courageous beast? What he lacked in speed he made up for in determination and loyalty.


    Crowe let out a sigh of relief. He could hear the thunder of Mammoth''s hooves drifting away. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the wraith before she disappeared behind a pillar of smoke on the opposite side of the field.


    ¡°Crowe?¡± Barghast whined.


    The practitioner inhaled only to suck in ash; there was more and more of it in the air just like when he¡¯d been in Caldreath. We¡¯ll die from the heat and smoke and inhalation if we don''t think of something fast, he thought. Scrabbling furiously to remain cautious, he squeezed Barghast¡¯s paw. ¡°I need you to grab Mammoth while I distract her. When she flies in the direction of the fort again, I¡¯m going to draw her attention while you swing around on horseback.¡±


    Barghast nodded back with a reluctant whine. ¡°I do not like this plan. I do not like the thought of being separated again, but I know we do not have a choice. As always I will do as you say.¡±


    Crowe chuckled. His voice cracked like overheated clay. He kissed Barghast''s cheek. ¡°It''s only for a moment¡­and then we¡¯ll be in each other''s arms again.¡±


    Another shriek. Once more Crowe felt his teeth rattle in his skull. He forced himself through the pain. Rather than fear he felt only a growing sense of determination. I can do this. Monad is with me. His flame burns inside my chest.


    The moment the wraith was past the wagon, Crowe pulled himself forward. He clawed at the dirt frantically until he was clear. He yanked his rod from the pocket of his robes. He darted back towards the fort, towards the place he wanted to get away from most at the moment. Sweat oozed from every pore in his body, thick and sharp and black-smelling. He kept searching in between the burning carts for torch coats and refugees only to remember that Barghast and he faced the wraith alone.


    With this thought circling around the center of his brain, Crowe funneled all of his emotion into a single point. The current traveled up his arm into his wand like a built up charge. Sparks of white fire shot from the top. A single line of celestial light streaked towards the sky, striking the rolling underbelly of black above his head. He risked a glance over his shoulder. The bulk of Barghast''s outline appeared from underneath the ruined wagon. Once he was out of sight, the practitioner resumed his search for the wraith. ¡°C¡¯mon, you bitch,¡± he hissed. ¡°I¡¯m right here where you want me. I¡¯ve literally put myself on a platter.¡±


    A few seconds later the wraith reappeared, growing larger, ever more real the closer she got. Crowe wasted no more time. He turned, breaking into a full sprint. He could feel the inferno of her fury burning a hole in his back. He did not dare look over his shoulder to see how much he was tempting fate. Up ahead Barghast was visible on Mammoth''s saddle. It''s a race, the practitioner thought. The question is who will reach me first: the wraith or the lycan?


    The wraith let loose another fiery shriek. Her fury slammed into the ground where Crowe had been standing not a second before. Hissing clots of dirt pelted him, blistering his skin. Barghast was quickly closing the distance, already reaching for the sorcerer. The wraith was almost on top of the herald. Her eyes were beacons of rage that threatened to sear his flesh from its bones.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± Barghast roared.


    At the exact second the wraith unleashed another wall of fire, Crowe launched himself into the air. Barghast''s paw closed around his arm. His feet left the ground. He swung his leg over the saddle as they passed directly beneath the wraith unscathed.


    Crowe tried to suck in a breath only to make a weird hitching sound. By now the smoke had grown so thick it was impossible to breathe, impossible to see. He clung to Barghast, knowing the way he knew his own name that the barbarian would steer them to safety. This was the last thought shooting through his head: crisp and coherent. Even during this moment of terror it was a comforting thought.


    His next when he opened his eyes and lifted his head was that they were still alive. The burble of water was his first clue they had left Fort Teague behind. His eyes searched the canopy of trees for the wraith. She, too, was gone¡­for the time being. I won''t hold my breath, but here''s to hoping we don''t run into her again, he thought.


    He tried to swallow. He winced. His throat stung like an open wound. Barghast emerged from the shadows, his eyes flashing. His tail wagged. ¡°Good,¡± he said with a pleased nod. ¡°You are awake.¡± He knew before the practitioner, offering the waterskin.


    Crowe drank greedily. When he emptied the canteen of its contents, Barghast returned from the stream with more.


    ¡°Are we safe?¡±


    ¡°For the time being.¡±


    ¡°That thing that attacked us from the fort?¡±


    ¡°Once we were away from the fort it seemed to lose interest in us.¡±


    The herald nodded. He started to get up. ¡°We should get moving before she changes her mind and decides to pursue us again.¡±


    Barghast intercepted his path to the horse. His eyes were focused on Crowe with their usual rapt attention. The weight of his paw was as warm and familiar as the earthy musk his fur exuded. ¡°Your skin¡­Your beautiful skin. You have burns all over you.¡±


    ¡°They''re not important.¡± The practitioner looked away, felt his cheeks burn, then forced himself to meet the Okanavian¡¯s gaze. Even now you can''t help but balk away from his comfort, a cruel voice whispered cunningly in the back of his mind. He sucked in a breath, willing air into his lungs. Air that no longer tasted of ash and smoke. Air thick with the smell of pollen and rich soil and the buzz of insects gliding through the gauzy darkness. ¡°They hurt, but it''s a pain I can live with for the time being,¡± he continued gently. ¡°For now I will have to. We are still a ways from the black spot.¡±


    The barbarian nodded reluctantly. He receded away slowly, hovering as if afraid the darkness would swallow the sorcerer whole the moment he turned his back. ¡°It is as you say, twin o¡¯rre.¡±


    They walked through the tangle of tree growth side by side. Barghast insisted on leading Mammoth by the reins, brushing growth out of Crowe''s way with his thick arms, and passing him the waterskin. The sorcerer could hear the wheels turning in the Okanavian''s head. He knew he wanted to ask but wouldn''t out of reverence for Crowe.


    ¡°When I touched the paint it was like I was there,¡± he said in a strange thick voice.


    Barghast''s ears twitched in alarm. ¡°The black spot?¡±


    ¡°Caldreath. I saw what happened there a hundred years ago. What the Theocracy did to the villagers.¡±


    For the next hour he relayed all he¡¯d seen in his vision. Not once did his voice rise beyond the clinical tone in which he¡¯d begun this recounting with. His gaze remained fixed on a single point that only he could see. When he finished it seemed nothing about their surroundings had changed. Not the trees, not the position of the stars. An odd thought considering they were on foot, moving at a solid pace, yet they should still be making some progress. We¡¯ve been on the move this entire time.


    He reached into the pocket of his robes. It''s time for a joint.


    Barghast was silent for a long moment. Crowe was grateful for this. While the deep purr of the lycan¡¯s voice was always a comfort, the practitioner needed the time to think. The time to breathe.


    ¡°The man¡­¡± Barghast started with a perplexed cock of his head; his ears twitched in contemplation. ¡°...the one you call Matthiesen¡­he said this has all happened before. He is the only one who has any memory of it, which means we are not meant to remember. Not yet. Otherwise I would certainly remember what had happened at the fort...¡±


    ¡°Me too.¡± Crowe laughed. He didn''t like the edge of hysteria he heard in it. He took a long drag from his aether joint. Sweet smelling smoke drifted up towards the treetops. Barghast passed the waterskin to him. He sipped at it before passing it back.


    ¡°It is possible when you touched the message the refugees left back at the fort, you unlocked a memory that was latent?¡±


    Crowe stopped. His lips were tilted in an odd smile. Barghast scanned the trees around them, his paw sliding towards the rifle strapped to his back, a habit so natural to him the practitioner knew he often did it without thinking. ¡°Did I say something wrong, my beloved? Am I being a foolish pup again?¡±


    The herald laughed. This time there was no edge of hysteria to it. He scratched at the thick patch of fur on the lycan''s chest. ¡°No. The opposite in fact. The level of intelligence you possess continues to astound me, Barghast. Not that I ever thought you were stupid¡­but we do come from different cultures. And yet I have thought many times during our travels together that the Theocracy should not underestimate your people lest their ignorance be their undoing.¡±


    Barghast puffed his chest out with a triumphant growl. He hooked an arm around Crowe¡¯s waist, pulling him to him. ¡°I am quite intelligent, aren''t I?¡±


    Crowe stood on the toes of his boots. He dropped a kiss on the lycan''s snout, earning himself a whine of pleasure and a lick on the chin. ¡°No doubt about it. Just make sure you don''t let it go to your head lest arrogance should become your undoing. That¡¯s good advice for the both of us.¡±


    They walked and walked but the feeling that they were going nowhere persisted. Crowe smoked three joints in the space of an hour. The aether curling through his bloodstream numbed the panic he would have felt otherwise, diluting it into something akin to wonder. At one point he looked up at the stars twinkling above their heads like spectators waving at them encouragingly from the cosmos and thought, We¡¯re safe. There¡¯s nothing around us but trees and the stars. No one is shooting at us, no one is trying to twist our minds to their own ends. No evil spirits to taunt my dreams. So why not enjoy the peace¡­even if it¡¯s just for a moment?


    He was so lost in the pleasure of this thought, he did not realize the lycan had stopped until he walked face first into him. Crowe sputtered in surprise. He staggered back, blinking. ¡°Barghast¡­what in the Void?¡±


    He stopped. Barghast dropped the reins, advancing forward several paces. For a moment he blended in completely with the darkness¡­or seemed to be swallowed by it. The thought entered Crowe¡¯s mind like an intruder and would not leave despite his objections. He felt his heart kick up and a voice cry out in his mind. He had to bite his tongue to keep from voicing it out loud. He reminded himself Barghast was there. He appeared in the center of a clearing, his towering form carved out by blocks of moonlight. He faced East, pointing his ears up at the sky. The agitated swing of his tail suggested he was uneasy. When he came back to Crowe, his eyes were large and his ears were pressed flat against his head. ¡°I do not like this, twin o¡¯rre,¡± he whined. He held his rifle in his paws. Crowe knew it was just as much his talisman in the same way the practitioner wore a necklace that served as his own personal talisman.


    ¡°I know.¡± For the first time since smoking the first aether joint, the first note of alarm crept into his voice. He didn¡¯t want to feel it. He wanted to smoke another joint. He wanted to smoke another joint until he was so high he no longer cared what happened. A luxury I don¡¯t have. A luxury I¡¯ve never had.


    ¡°The trees and the stars are the same,¡± Barghast insisted. ¡°I am a foolish pup. I¡¯ve had the hunch that we¡¯ve been stuck in the same jungle when we should not be for hours. Only now am I sure. Only now can I admit to myself.¡± He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. ¡°I hear water through those trees.¡±


    Crowe did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the dark shroud behind Barghast. He led Mammoth forward. Barghast followed alongside him. The occasional whine told Crowe that the lycan was trying to contain his fear and was not able to do so. He could feel his own fear growing, bypassing the gauze the aether had laid over his undeniable uneasiness. Now that fear pierced him like a spearhead as he came to a stop before the same stream he¡¯d woken up by after Barghast and he had escaped from Fort Teague. How can we be here when we walked in only one direction? And yet we are back where we started as if we walked in a loop.


    ¡°I do not like this, twin o¡¯rre,¡± Barghast whined a second time. ¡°I¡¯m scared.¡±


    Crowe did the only thing he could think of to do. The thing he supposed a child might do. He burrowed his face into Barghast¡¯s chest as tight as he could. ¡°I am too and I have no idea what to do. Monad is not being of much help at the moment. As much as I hate to say it, maybe we¡¯re exactly where we are supposed to be. But I am exhausted and we¡¯ve been walking for hours and the canteens are empty. We need rest. We need to come at this with clearer heads.¡±


    Barghast clung to him. He was trembling so hard the practitioner felt as if he was caught in the throes of a minor earthquake¡­yet even now in his terror the lycan was oh so gentle with him. ¡°I do not need to sleep¡­I wouldn¡¯t be able to even if I did. The wraith might come back while we are in the middle of the night. This is her doing. I am sure of it. She doesn¡¯t want us to leave. What if we are already trapped in the black hole? The black hole she created?¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Crowe lifted the lycan¡¯s paw to his mouth. He kissed a finger. ¡°We will figure a way out of this. We always do. No mountain can stand before us, remember?¡±


    Barghast laughed. He leaned down, swiping his tongue sloppily across Crowe¡¯s face. ¡°Using my own words against me, my beloved? Very wise. You always have been from the moment I met you. There is nothing I can¡¯t survive with you by my side.¡±


    Crowe kissed his hand a second time. ¡°I¡¯ll grab the bedroll.¡±


    Three minutes later they were stretched out beneath the stars. The entirety of the practitioner¡¯s body save his head was shielded by the Okanavian¡¯s body. Despite the aches that bloomed throughout his body, Crowe could not sleep. He could not shut off his mind.


    ¡°Barghast?¡±


    The barbarian pressed the cold tip of his snout to the sorcerer¡¯s ear. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    ¡°Will you tell me a story until I fall asleep?¡±


    ¡°What kind of story would you like to hear? I have many.¡±


    Crowe voiced the thought that he had been holding onto for months. He¡¯d waited patiently, waited for the day when the lycan would tell him and he could wait no longer. ¡°In Roguehaven you told me you knew me before we ever met. You said you went to your seer and you saw me in a window of blue light.¡±


    He felt something inside Barghast bolt. ¡°But you need sleep¡­it is a story for another time.¡±


    ¡°Damn you to the Void!¡± the practitioner cursed before he realized he was angry. Now that he was angry he couldn¡¯t take it back. The moment Barghast relinquished his hold in surprise - very rarely had Crowe lost his temper with him and he certainly had never cursed at him - Crowe wriggled out of his embrace. He shot to his feet, rounding on the barbarian. ¡°I have waited and waited for you to tell me! Any time I think about it, I chase it away by thinking of something else because I am sick to death of you dodging it. You can¡¯t tell me something like that and tell me not to be curious. Especially when you stop to consider the current circumstance we find ourselves in. So you are going to tell me right now or¡­¡±


    Barghast¡¯s ears, which had been pressed back, now lifted up cautiously, his eyes wide with fear. ¡°Or¡­?¡±


    ¡°No belly rubs.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Barghast whined. He lowered his head.


    Crowe ignored the guilt pooling in his own belly. I¡¯ve been more than patient. I am not waiting another second longer. ¡°Or kisses.¡±


    Barghast let out a braying sound that made Crowe regret bringing up the subject at all. It was the sound a wounded animal makes after they¡¯ve been shot. Barghast was covering his face with his paws now as if he wanted to hide. Crowe opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could Barghast lifted his head.


    ¡°I am sorry, twin o¡¯rre. I did not wish to upset you. Of course you have been very patient¡­and I don¡¯t want you to stop giving me belly rubs¡­kisses. I need your belly rubs and most of all I need your kisses.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯ll tell me? Because on the night you told me you saw me ¡®in a window of light¡¯ you made it sound like a good thing, but then keep avoiding it. Was meeting me that night a bad thing?¡± He felt a bolt of pain shoot through his heart. The next question filled his mouth with the cold taste of steel but he voice it already. ¡°Do you regret meeting me?¡±


    Barghast made that terrible pained animal a second time and it was just as bad as the first. Before Crowe could apologized he was being snatched off his feet. He managed to say the lycan''s name once before he was bombed with kisses both human and Okanavian. ¡°Regret seeing you? I have been a foolish pup if I have ever made you think I regret seeing you¡­even on that day. Oh my sweet.¡±


    ¡°Barghast, I know you don''t regret meeting me,¡± the practitioner managed to squeak. The heels of his boots dangled eighteen inches above the ground. ¡°I know you don''t like to talk about home. I don''t either¡­and I know I haven''t been the most forthcoming myself and I will tell you about my home if you want, but will you put me down. You''re going to crush my ribs if you don''t ease up.¡±


    Barghast set him down on the ground delicately. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched. ¡°I am sorry, my beloved. Did I hurt you?¡±


    Crowe laughed again in spite of his aching ribs. He dropped half a dozen kisses along the length of the barbarian¡¯s snout. ¡°No, you didn''t hurt me, my lovable lycan. You never have.¡±


    Barghast sat on the bedroll before pulling the herald into his lap. ¡°And I never will. But I must also remember to be careful.¡± His voice oscillated between its usual deep reverberation and a high-pitched whine that meant he was emotional or distressed. Crowe listened intently, clinging to the Okanavian as tightly as the Okanavian clung to him. ¡°I know you aren''t weak by any means, but I forget how small you are. How delicate. I suppose I¡¯m stalling.¡±


    The practitioner chuckled. ¡°Yes, you are.¡±


    ¡°Lay your head against my chest and listen.¡±


    Crowe did, resting his cheek directly over Barghast¡¯s heart where he could feel it kicking powerfully. He closed his eyes, inhaled the earthy aromas of soil and pollen and sweat and aether. For the time being they were not stuck in a wood that had no intention of letting them out; for now it was the same as it had always been from the moment they met: just the two of them.


    Barghast began his tale. The familiar reverberations of his voice pulled the practitioner into the past, into a place he had never seen before.


    ¡°I told you a little what it¡¯s like there. How the clans fight each other and themselves. Neverending political clashes. You say the Theocracy underestimates us¡­that they think we are just dumb animals¡­and that their arrogance will be their defeat. Perhaps you are right. But are any of us truly any different, the practitioners from the lycans, the lycans from the torchcoats? It was this sense of arrogance in my own clan that always made me feel like an outsider long before I ventured beyond the canyons. My father Rhaderghast and his expectations was a big reason for this. No matter what I did, I never gained his approval. I was a constant disappointment to him.


    Our family is different than your families in the North. We don¡¯t have one mother but many. I had four. Four mothers to take care of a dozen very rambunctious pups.¡± Barghast chuckled, giving Crowe¡¯s forehead a single lick. ¡°You better believe Rhaderghast needed all the help he could get to keep us all in line. He would tell you I was the worse one of all if you were to listen. If I¡¯m to be honest I am glad you will never get to meet them or see my home.¡±


    Crowe lifted his head, his eyes flashing with alarm. ¡°Why? I know you hate it there. I can certainly understand that. But there is no part of you I don¡¯t want to know. There is no part of you I don¡¯t love. Even the parts of you that bring you displeasure.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s eyes twinkled mischievously. He pressed the pad of a single finger to the practitioner¡¯s lips. ¡°Quiet, twin o¡¯rre. Let me tell my story. I know you love every part of me¡­as I love every part of you. It just¡­¡± His voice rose into a whine. ¡°It pains me to think of the life I had before I found you. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I do. It pains me to think about my life before you were in it, too.¡±


    The Okanavian cleared his throat. He continued. ¡°My brother Shibas and I were born in the same litter, but as the larger of the two, my father groomed me to take over the clan. Or should I say he tried to at first. But even from the age of a very young pup, still nursing off the teats of my den mothers I knew my own mind. I was not to be corralled into passivity as everyone else. From the moment we were able to walk on our own two feet and carry a spear, Rhaderghast taught us to guard the clan and fight to protect what was ours from the Theocracy patrols who were stupid enough to venture into our territory. This is where we learned how to use firearms.¡±


    Crowe felt Barghast¡¯s heart speed up with excitement at the memory¡¯s recall. ¡° You never knew what they would bring with them. Weapons of every kind. Rifles, pistols, blades. Grenades. They would come to the desert to enslave our people in the same ways they have yours. Unlike your people, the Theocracy has not pushed us to the brink of extinction. Serves them right, I¡¯d say. All night we would walk around the parameter, guarding it from rival clans. Mostly from Kheker, my father¡¯s constant adversary. He would send his clan members out in the very middle of the night to snatch our findings out from under us. There were many bloody skirmishes.


    ¡°In spite of my prowess as a fighter and size - I¡¯ve always been quite larger than Shibas - and my aptitude with firearms, I still never gained Rhaderghast¡¯s approval while my brother soared into his good graces. This is not a personality flaw on Shibas¡¯ part, so I don¡¯t think I begrudge him the closeness he has achieved with my father. My brother always did his best to bridge the distance between Rhaderghast and I, but some bonds are just not meant to be.¡±


    Petras¡¯ face wavered before Crowe¡¯s mind. He nodded, understanding in his own way.


    ¡°Shibas, while not as big as me, has always been much more suited to be clan leader than myself. What my father was too thick-headed to understand is that Gaia made Shibas to think about others while my purpose was to leave my clan. To be with you, twin o¡¯rre.¡± Barghast raised Crowe¡¯s hand to his lips. He inhaled the practitioner¡¯s scent deeply, squeezing his eyes shut in rapture.


    ¡°There were many days where I felt like the people who were supposed to know and love me were absolute strangers. I could never articulate this feelings with words, but it always propelled me away from my clan, not compelled me towards them. When Rhaderghast, my brother, and I went out on the prowl, I strayed out on my own. I was a very selfish pup for doing this. I did it because I knew it would upset my father and Shibas would do his best to get the fool to see things from my perspective - until this day I am not sure if Shibas has ever succeeded in this endeavor. I hope I never found out and I suppose that is the most selfish thing of all.


    ¡°Outside of Shibas I only found an ally in one other person while in the desert: Llamia, the seer. The one Gaia takes the form of when she guides me. I haven¡¯t heard from her in weeks.¡±


    Crowe resisted the urge to lift his head. ¡°Does that concern you?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The barbarian answered the question so hastily it was almost a bark. ¡°No,¡± he pressed on more gently, combing his digits through Crowe''s hair. ¡°I¡¯d be lying if I said she''s been helpful in the past and I¡¯m not grateful to her. I¡¯d be a lying pup as well as a foolish one. She and Monad both led me to you when you were taken to Fort Erikson. This leads me to believe they are allies the way you and I are allies.¡±


    Crowe nodded but remained silent. He hadn''t mistaken the uneasiness he¡¯d heard in the Okanavian''s voice.


    ¡°I know your relationship is different from mine with Gaia and I am grateful to her for guiding me to the herbs I needed when you were sick¡­otherwise you surely would have perished. But I also don''t trust her. Not all the time.¡±


    ¡°I know what you mean in my own way. I don''t always trust Monad.¡±


    Barghast brushed Crowe''s hair out of his eyes. ¡°But you always seem to follow him so willingly.¡±


    Crowe laughed. The sound was bitter and without humor. ¡°It doesn''t usually feel like I have much of a choice. He¡¯s literally inside me. He¡¯s inside all practitioners, but after we left Vaylin he felt stronger. Now he''s being very quiet. He has a way of giving information on a need to know basis, and when he does it''s not always in the most timely of manners. But enough of that. Please continue. You were telling me about Llamia.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± The barbarian''s molten gold eyes flashed with something akin to fondness. ¡°Llamia was my mentor. Spiritually she was a den mother to me in a way not even the den mother who carried me was. Like Cenya, she was the oldest member in our tribe. The most revered. Even more so than my father. It is said she is even older than the mountains in the desert. She was - still is - revered not only to commune with spirits and divine the future, but she was sought after for her infinite wisdom. But she was my friend. She may not have said it with words, but I always knew I was her favorite. For as long as I can remember she told me my destiny was beyond the desert, which is why Rhaderghast always resented it when I visited her.


    ¡°Do you recall how I told you Rhaderghast would put on those performances. On the night I saw you for the first time, he put on such a performance. One of the same two performances he always did.¡± Barghast''s tail tapped agitatedly against the ground. ¡°I can remember that night all too well. The heat from the torches. The lazy drone of the insects. The smell of spirits.¡± Barghast chucked. ¡°The strength of our spirits would put you under in a few sips, twin o¡¯rre. Lycan play can be particularly rough. After the show ended and the audience started giving my father the usual round of applause - as if he''d never heard the words hundreds of times before - how my skin buzzed and I gnashed my teeth together in fury. No amount of spirits could put right how wrong I felt.


    ¡°And then I noticed her beside me. As usual I''d never heard her passage. Even for one her age no lycan has a lighter step than Llamia. I was not surprised to see her because she managed to sneak up on me, but because she rarely came down from her cave unless it was to bless a fresh litter of Cubs in the name of Gaia. Those who needed her wisdom always went to her and this was no easy journey. Not only is the cave a good distance from the clan, but there are many dangers in the desert. Dangers I will tell you about on another night, my beloved.


    ¡°I always went to her when I was feeling particularly angry and depressed which was often in those days¡­and so my first thought was that she had something important to tell me to have traveled so far from her dwelling. ¡®You and I must talk, pup,¡¯ she told me that night. She never called any of us by our names, not even my father, for we were all pups to her. But when  she looked at me it was with the respect and infection she did not hold for the others. When she told me this I went with her immediately. I did not hesitate. Many times she had told me my destiny was beyond the desert and that when it was time she would come to me, take me back to the cave, and reveal it to me.


    ¡°The final journey to her cave felt like the longest of all. Though she could very well live a thousand years longer I doubt she will want to. The bones in her legs were riddled with arthritis and she had several large tumors. She seemed particularly agitated that day. The spirits were in a high mood that evening and I knew their incessant chattering had to be unpleasant for her.


    ¡°And yet unlike before I felt completely calm. I was comforted by the fact that Gaia had a plan for me and that my life would not be confined to the desert. She did not say a word to me the whole journey, only to her spirits. Once inside the cave I breathed in the smell of the perfumes she used for I knew I would never return to her. You done much to turn the cave into a comfortable home, letting the floors and walls with the pelts of her prey. Before the air inside the cave was a place of calm; that is why we would go when I was feeling restless; just like you, twin o''rre, she had an aura around her that was a tonic of the soul.


    ¡°On that night the air inside the cave was frenetic. I''d glimpse spirits of the wild in the past but that night they moved freely through the dark like I''ve never seen them before. The key was full of whispering voices. Excited voices. Voices that cried out and despair and shouted in rage. I should have been frightened. Many spirits, foul prowling things that would come in the middle of the night to feast on our livestock or drag pups out of their tents¡­and yet somehow I knew these spirits were not of the same ilk.¡±


    ¡°The spirits of the wild are hungry things who are unable to fulfill themselves. They devour flesh but they find no satiation¡­they are no different from the spirits who the necromancers cursed you with. But these spirits while restless were not malignant. The moment I saw them I felt not fear but despair. I wanted to whine. I wanted to howl in the name of whatever suffering they had been to. But I couldn''t.


    ¡°I remember how Llamia approached me with a bowl full of burning leaves and smoke. She  asked me to sit on the ground before her and told me not to be afraid. ¡®I know you are,¡¯ she told me oh so gently and in her voice I heard the love I knew she felt for me. ¡®It is okay to be afraid. I know you are. We all fear the things we do not understand. Even in the many centuries I have been alive, even after everything I¡¯ve seen, there is so much I haven''t seen and still I am so very afraid. But you have no reason to be. Not on this night.¡¯ She rested her hand on my shoulder. She wagged her tail with joy. She smiled. These were only things I¡¯d seen her do with den mothers going into labor and pups.


    ¡° ¡®Breathe in this smoke,¡¯ she said, waving the bowl in front of me.


    ¡° ¡®What will happen?¡¯ I asked.


    ¡°I knew I shouldn''t have. In the past she always scolded me for my impatience - she hates to be interrupted when she was teaching - but on that night it didn''t upset her. She was crying too. We both were. She told me that once I inhaled the smoke my soul would leave my body. Just like you do. She said the smoke would help me to do this. It was the same aether you smoke only I did not know this at the time.


    ¡°I might have felt some initial fear at this prospect but it was quickly dismissed by a feeling of eagerness: this was the moment I had been waiting for my whole life; I could feel it in my bones. And I trusted her. Trusted her with my life in the same way I trust you, my beloved, so I inhaled the smoke. The moment the aether hit my blood stream it was like what I had imagined plunging into the ocean to feel like. An ocean of calm. Only instead of sinking it felt as if I was rising.


    ¡°After a second or two - it could have been a minute, lycans do not measure time in the same way your people do, but I knew it wasn''t long - I lost awareness of my surroundings. I was still aware of the spirits but their presence was like smoke¡­it''s there but it''s of little consequence to you. There was another kind of smoke. A pale glowing smoke that filled the room and pulled with an inner blue light. Through it I could see Llamia sitting in the room the same as I was: sitting in the center of the room, her legs crossed, her eyes closed. I knew the position could not be comfortable due to the bone disease that plagued her, but she looked completely calm.


    ¡°Though her lips did not move, her voice spoke inside my head. Again, she reminded me not to be afraid. She told me to give into the effect that the aether would have on me. Any fears I had, she put to rest. She told me that spirit-walking is a dangerous ability. Once it was an ability all lycans had, but it had long since diluted with the passing of Iterations, but now only the oldest, wisest of lycans are able to do it without the help of aether.


    ¡°I felt my spirit leave my body. I had no arms. I had no legs. I had no shape. It was like being a cloud of smoke.¡±


    Crowe emerged from the tale Barghast was spinning long enough to nod. ¡°I know exactly what you mean. That''s what it''s like for me, too.¡± He took another drag of his aether joint before lapsing back into silence.


    ¡°I passed through the ceiling of the cave,¡± Barghast rumbled, shifting slightly beneath the practitioner. He pressed another kiss to his forehead before continuing. ¡°All at once I was a bird with wings soaring towards the sky. I could see the Void above me and the distant lights that hands can never reach; I could see the ground and the mountains shrinking until they were nothing but little points. Llamia¡¯s voice called to me, an echo that rode the desert wind. And then I was plummeting. Falling so fast the sand and the mountains rose up to me in a blur. Even though I had no body, the sensation of falling felt all too real. But I was not afraid. I was not afraid because the seer told me to trust her, and I did. I trusted her in a way I will never be able to trust Gaia.


    ¡°When I reentered my body again, the seer was gone, but I could still feel her. I could still hear her voice in my head. The cave had changed. All the animal pelts Llamia had put on the wall were gone. In their place was a mural that covered the wall. It was impossible to make out the figures and formations that had been seared into the walls by Okanavian hands. While I could recognize the shapes I could not give them names. It was a mural of your people and my people uniting as one. It showed them amassing beneath a point in the sky, hands and paws linked together. From that point in the sky a single point in the sky emerged. You, my beloved. They had gathered and united in the name of your arrival. I¡¯m not sure how long I gawked at the mural, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to think before the seer told me to turn around and face my destiny.


    ¡°I turned around, my heart racing in my chest, but again I was not afraid.


    ¡°In the center of the cavern was a small blue light no bigger than the bronze coins I¡¯ve seen you trade with. My heart began to beat really fast. I¡¯d never before seen a light so blue, so beautiful. Slowly but steadily it began to grow bigger, wider, as if someone were trying to push through from the other side until it was a perfect rectangle that filled the center of the cave.


    ¡°Someone was trying to push through from the only side, for a hand eventually popped through. A pale hairless hand without claws. Not the paw of a lycan, but the hand of a human man. Bit by bit he emerged. A man wore torn rags for clothes. A man with skin as pale as milk and with hair as black as the night sky. He smelled of honey and pine. I could tell he had been through a lot of hardship. Both by the scars imprinted in his skin and the kind of scars that can only be seen when you look into someone''s eyes.


    ¡°Once he was fully emerged he simply stood there, looking around and blinking.


    ¡°My first thought was that he was a torchcoats. Those were the only humans I¡¯d seen. I¡¯d fought and killed several dozen of their kind, but all I knew of them was what father told me. It didn''t take me long to surmise that the man who had just stepped out of the window of blue light was not a torchcoat.


    ¡°I can''t tell you how long he stood there, looking so lost, so confused, so lonely. I¡¯d spent much of my youth thinking no one could ever felt as indifferent and unwanted and unbelonging as I did, but in that moment I knew I was wrong. Then the man lifted his head and looked at me with eyes that were as blue as the light he¡¯d stepped out of. When he looked at me he recognized me. And though I had never had a conversation with him, asked him his name, or laid eyes on him, a deep part of me recognized him, too.


    ¡°He said my name as if he couldn''t believe it was me. He took a step towards me and lifted a hand as if he wanted to reach out and touch me, but then stopped. I wanted to ask him how he knew me. I wanted to ask him what his name was. I wanted to ask him what he was and how he had stepped out of the window of light, but I couldn''t bring myself to move or speak. I was not paralyzed. I was spellbound. In that moment he was positively the most beautiful thing I¡¯d ever seen. He smelled of aether. He smelled the exact same way you smelled. Like honey and pine. Like the mountains and snow in the north.


    ¡°He told me things then. Strange things that didn''t make sense. He said that though we had not met we knew each other. He said that we were inextricably bound and part of something much bigger. As he talked his voice shook. When he looked at me it was with such love and tenderness and despair it made my heart ache even as I told myself I was clearly talking to a mad man. He continued to say strange things that made no sense, but I could not have turned away if I¡¯d wanted to.  He said that soon we would meet again. He said that when we met, I would meet a younger version of him. He said I would know him but he would not know me.


    ¡°When he reached for me a second time, something in me became unmoored. I went to him and took him in my arms. He was so small, so delicate I was afraid of breaking him. When he began to sob I was sure I¡¯d hurt him without meaning to. I sat down, pulled him into my lap, and pressed his head against my chest the way I am doing with you right now. I felt his heart''s kicking against mine. I forgot about the window of blue light. I forgot about Llamia and I forgot about my woes for I discovered someone whose heart ached more than my own. Through his tears he told me many strange other things - that the world we are living in is a nightmare. A mistake. Everything that happens in exist within it was never meant to be. He told me we were the only ones who can make things right. The whole time he talked, he kissed me and I kissed him and he ran his fingers through my fur and I ran my fingers through his hair and I basked in his scent.


    ¡°The man was you, twin o¡¯rre. Not the man you are now but the man you will become. It was you not Gaia who sent me on this path; it has always been you. We fell asleep like that together and when I woke up the next morning he and the window of light were gone as if it had all been a dream. But I knew all that I''d witnessed and the man I''d held to me had been his real install it as you are now, my beloved - even if I can''t entirely make sense of this night after all this time.¡±


    Crowe looked up at the sky, a black diamond-studded quilt that held more questions than answers. If it holds anything at all, he thought bitterly, his mood every bit as dark. His body felt as heavy and cumbersome as stone. During the remainder of Barghast''s tale, he felt disconnected from his body - the same sensations Barghast and he had experienced when they spirit-walked. He wanted to speak but he didn''t know what to say. He didn''t know what to think. All he felt was the heavy weight in his stomach.


    Barghast said his name but his voice echoed has if the sound was coming from a great distance; never mind that they were right up against one another.


    ¡°Crowe?¡± The unease in the likens voice reflected the unease the practitioner felt clanging around in his own chest.


    ¡°I''m here. I''m with you.¡±


    ¡°You''re being very quiet. Have I upset you?¡±


    ¡°Not you¡­¡±


    ¡°You believe me, don''t you?¡±


    ¡°Of course. I know that you would never lie to me. ¡° The sorcerer reached up, scratching at the Okanavian''s chin. The lycan closed his eyes. His expression settled into a mask of complete contentment. ¡°I''m not sure I like what all this implies.¡±


    A single molten gold eye creaked open reluctantly. ¡°Implies?¡±


    ¡°You said the man who stepped out of the cave was the man that I would become. You said his clothes were torn and he was scarred. He told you that you were supposed to find me - the younger version of me. Which also believes me to believe this has all happened before. It also means we failed.¡±


    That morning Crowe extricated himself from Barghast''s hold and went into the stream to bathe. The lycan must have sensed his need to be alone for a moment, staying on top of the bedroll. It didn''t stop the barbarian from searing rings of longing and concern into the flesh between the practitioner¡¯s shoulder blades.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯ve been so quiet,¡± Crowe said when he returned with a towel wrapped around his waist. He lowered himself back down into the Okanavian''s lap. ¡°I¡¯m not upset with you.¡± He ran a hand up the length of Barghast''s broad forearm. ¡°What you told me last night doesn''t change anything. It doesn''t change what we have to do and it certainly doesn''t change how I feel about you. It only strengthens what you and I have always known about each other: We are inextricably bound.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡± The morning light cast kaleidoscopic shards of pink around the lycan''s eyes. Gently he removed the towel from around Crowe''s shoulders. His gaze crawled hungrily over the herald¡¯s pale gleaming flesh. ¡°You are positively exquisite, twin o¡¯rre.¡± He lowered his head and ran his tongue along the sorcerer''s collar bone, eliciting a shiver of pleasure. ¡°I cannot stop looking at you¡­or tasting you.¡±


    ¡°Not I you, my sweet lycan.¡±


    Barghast tucked a stray lock of hair behind Crowe''s ear. His ears flattened slightly, his head inching forward. Crowe did not miss the minuit twitch of the snout though he knew Barghast was trying to hide his anxiety. ¡°What is on your mind, my beloved?¡±


    The practitioner smiled in such a way it made the lycan''s tail tap excitedly against the ground. ¡°I was just thinking I¡¯m glad you told me what you did last night. At first I was frightened, sure that when you glimpsed a future version of myself you¡¯d glimpsed a doomed future. A future in which I failed like my predecessor. It took some reframing, but I came to the conclusion that if this cycle keeps repeating, then we can change it and there is nothing that can stand in our way. It means there¡¯s a way out of these accursed woods. So what do you say we find this Caldreath?¡±

 The Forest at the End of Time Part Two

    By the time they finished packing up camp the nervous buzz that had filled Crowe''s mind had dissipated. In its place was a familiar kernel of determination hard as stone. Barghast''s tale had given him the renewed vigor he needed to continue their journey.


    They moved at a stolid place lapsing into a silence that was both tense and familiar. Tense because they were listening for changes in the air¡­anything that could give them a clue to get out of the woods - if there''s a way out, a snide voice taunted Crowe; a voice had to make a repeated effort to push away. Familiar because of the months they had spent together having to communicate with words. A single glance, a single nod, a single smile, or tail wag could hold more meaning than a thousand words. The practitioner smiled at the thought.


    After a time Crowe found himself looking up at the trees. He couldn''t shake the notion that the trees were different this time, the trunks taller, the branches wider. He heard no birds, not even the buzz of insects. When he gathered the courage to relay this thought to Barghast, the lycan nodded.


    ¡°The lighting is different, too.¡± Barghast pointed at the failing light. ¡°When we left the stream it was the early hours of the morning. My senses tell me night is already on the approach.¡±


    A mile later the first tendrils of mist curled between tree trunks that cracked and bled sap. Barghast snorted, shaking his head with displeasure. His nose twitched. Crowe passed a tattered handkerchief to the lycan from the pack at his back. His robes clung to him, glued in place by sweat. He longed to be back at the stream where the air was cool. He raised the waterskin to his lips and took a sip; he resisted the desperate urge to drain the waterskin of its contents. His eyes remained fixed on the mist advancing towards him, a mist that had thickened into a shroud that blocked out the last of the light.


    Besides him Mammoth whickered uneasily, backing away. He nipped nervously at the practitioner''s ear, making the sorcerer jump in the alarm. He¡¯d been so focused on the mist that he¡¯d completely forgotten about the horse. Now a shiver of uneasiness passed from the horse into him. It traveled up his arm, down the length of his torso to his balls. They shriveled painfully.


    ¡°Barghast,¡± he heard himself say in a squeaky voice.


    The Okanavian said something in response but the words were lost on the practitioner. He squinted, unsure of what he was seeing. Dark shapes flooded around inside the fog, shapes that looked human only to disintegrate and break away like dust blown on the wind. He remembered the last time he''d seen such shapes and it was enough to break him from his paralysis. Seizing Barghast''s paw, they turned only to face another wall of fog that had been closing in unbeknownst to them.


    They turned this way and that but they were surrounded from all sides. Barghast whined, his hackles rising. He held the gun steadily but Crowe knew the  lycan was every bit afraid as he was. Shadows continue to shift within the pale shroud. Voices hissed, the syllables too muddled together to be understood. There''s nowhere to run! It''s going to swallow us whole.


    Terror as mysterious and impenetrable as the fog threatened to rise up inside of Crowe and suffocate him. Gritting his teeth, he willed his hand to slide into his pocket for his rod. The moment he touched the wood, the rooms lit up with white fire. His other hand was engulfed by Barghast''s paw.


    Something slippery and dark flapped past Barghast. Crowe thought he heard the rustle of wings. Barghast heard it, too. Before the practitioner could warn him not to let go, the Okanavian whirled around with a snarl. The sound was deafening.


    Crowe staggered back, his ears ringing. He started at Barghast''s back only to watch him be swallowed up by the fog. No, he thought. This isn''t right. I don''t want to be separated again.


    But that was exactly what was happening. He screamed Barghast''s name but his own voice sounded muffled even as the terror made his throat vibrate. He called for Mammoth, but the shire horse was gone too.


    No. I¡¯m alone again. I can''t be alone again.


    Again he heard - felt something slip behind him. He whirled around with a yelp, only to face the bleeding trunk of a tree. He slashed the air with his arm, letting out a scream that was equal parts defiance and fear.


    A streak of white fire burst from the end of his rod. The tree in front of him exploded. The world shook. Clots of dirt and smoking splinters of tree bark rain down on him from the sky. He whirled about again and let out another burst of fire. Another tree came apart.


    He could have burned every tree in the forest. He could have burned through the world if it reunited him with bar gas. The thought of being separated from him once more tore into him like a blade slicing through sinew. Only the thought that burning down the forest would make things worse, not better kept him from giving into the urge. Instead he fled, fled in the direction that he thought would lead him back to the stream where they had camped the previous night.


    Brambles and twigs snapped beneath his feet like firecrackers. His breath came out in harsh whistling gasps. As he fled he tried to find the foothold of courage within himself. We always find our way back to each other, he thought. He promised me that whenever we got separated he would find his way back to me. I know he will keep that promise and I, too, will keep that promise. I just have to stay calm. I just have to keep pushing on until I find him.


    He wasn''t sure how long he ran like this. He stopped occasionally when he thought he heard a voice call his name, or he heard the flutter of leathery wings. When this happened he stopped and froze in place, his eyes wide and staring, searching the gloom. The purgatorial fog had followed him like a creature with the mind of its own and now he was unsure if he was being followed at all.


    When such an occasion occurred for the fourth or fifth time - he¡¯d lost count - he stopped in the middle of the clearing. The outline of trees loomed out at him, but he was no longer sure what direction he was running in. He''d been searching for the lycan''s tracks, but there were none to be found. Thoughts that threatened to throw him into a fresh panic threatened to seize his mind and thwart him. You are separated again and this time you will never find him. These woods don''t want you to find him. It wants you to remain lost. It wants you to give up. It wants you to be afraid. And you''re giving it exactly what it wants because you were a coward. You don''t have what it takes to do what needs to be done. Petras failed and so will you. You already have. And you''ll fail again.


    ¡°No, no, no!¡± he howled. He leaned against a tree, on the verge of collapsing from despair. He pressed his head against the trunk of a tree, pressed it until he felt the bark bite into his flesh hard enough to draw blood. As if turning away from the fog and the forest could make it all go away and bring Barghast back to him.


    He slapped himself once hard across the face, the sound deafening in the now silent gloom. He was alone or so it seemed, but he knew better than to take comfort in the illusion.


    ¡°I am not alone,¡± he whispered to himself. He kissed the necklace at his throat. ¡°Monad is with me. Monad has always been with me. Barghast will search for me and he won''t stop until he finds me and I won''t stop until I find him¡­We are inextricably bound.¡±


    With these words fluttering on his lips, he shambled forward. The cowl of his robes had fallen. Sweat dropped from his matted hair. His eyes were wide and searching. For now the feeling of being followed abated. Whatever had stalked him before had given up the chase for now. Or maybe it''s just playing with me.


    Best not to think of such things. Best to keep moving. With his rod in hand, he staggered forward. He could be moving in any direction, maybe even moving further away from Barghast, but he knew - hoped - that whatever direction he kept moving in, the woods would eventually take him back to the stream. There I will wait until he finds me.


    He wasn''t sure how long he moved in this fashion with the same wide-eyed look on his face before he heard the sound of voices. Voices breaking through the fog. He stopped. He cocked his head, listened.


    He could hear them coming closer, but from which direction. These particular woods had a way of being misleading.


    Are you really hearing voices or do these woods just want you to think you are hearing voices?


    There was only one way to find out. Gathering all his courage, Crowe sucked in a deep breath and inched forward.


    ¡­


    He was gone. Again. Snatched right out of his paws because he had turned his back just for a second. He was right there. I only let him go for a moment.


    But the forces that threatened to tear Barghast from his beloved time and time again had anticipated this. A moment was all it had taken - the blink of an eye, the flick of a tail.


    ¡°Will you ever learn your lesson, foolish pup?¡± Rhaderghast¡¯s voice barked, so startlingly close Barghast leapt away, yipping in fear. His rifle fell from his grip. He knelt to pick it up, tearing through wreaths of fog with his claws, Gaia¡¯s name on his lips.


    ¡°Gaia, loving mother, guide me through the bone valleys of hungry teeth and pestilence. Bolster me with your primal fury, still me with your maternal love - ¡°


    Rhaderghast laughed again. This time the sound was in front of him, close enough the Okanavian felt his breath tickle his face. ¡°Ain''t no use in praying, pup. The primal mother cannot hear you - ¡°


    Barghast screamed, his terror was so great all else was forgotten - all except the need to get away from his father; away from the world he had left behind. He scrambled backwards, his claws leaving tracks in the dirt. Only once his back was pressed up against a tree did he stop.


    The thing that continued to speak in the voice of his father continued to follow him. He couldn''t see it, but he could hear it shifting through the fog, a hungry growling thing that wanted to eat him.


    I am not the predator, I am the prey, he thought.


    ¡° - how could she when you turned your back on your family, your clan, the den mother who carried you, the den mothers who devoted their lives to you - ¡°


    Barghast clapped his paws over his ears, screaming as loudly as his throat would allow, and still Rhaderghast''s voice rang in his ears like the dirge of a thousand angry spirits; if shook him to his core.


    His father was right on top of him now. At any second he would feel his claws bite into his flesh. His father would draw blood yet again as he had been prone to do when in a foul temper. Only his brother had known how to keep his temper at bay. It''s why it was always he who should have become pack leader, not I. But because he wasn''t as big or strong as I was physically, you passed him over in spite of his superior intellect. The intellect of a true leader much like my twin o¡¯rre.


    In other circumstances he might have been able to stand up and say these words to his father. He might have even been able to snarl, to lash out with his claws - certainly if Crowe had been here with him. But Crowe was not here with him therefore he was defenseless. ¡°- instead you chose him over us. Your beloved, pearly twin o¡¯rre. As soon as I¡¯m done teaching you a lesson, pup, I¡¯m going to FIND him and I¡¯m going to FEAST on him, I''m going to FEAST on the flesh you love so much - ¡°


    Barghast''s eyes shot open at the mention of his twin o''rre. ¡°No, you won''t,¡± he growled. ¡°No one touches him but me. No one gets to taste his flesh but me and I will not eat him. I will only miss him and make him happy¡­¡±


    With a snarl, he shot to his feet, unfurling his claws. He charged forward, ready to rip apart the thing that had taken on the shape and the voice of Rhaderghast¡­only to find himself gaping at empty air.


    ¡°It is all a distraction,¡± said another voice in Okanavian.


    Barghast whirled around to face the seer.


    ¡°That was not truly your father,¡± the seer pressed on insistently. Her amber eyes shone through the fog like burning coals. ¡°That was an illusion cast by the Architect who has awoken in this land. She who keeps everyone trapped in a prison of her own design. You must find your way back to the stream. There Crowe will find you. Follow me, pup¡­I will lead you back to him.¡± She beckoned to him, receding back into the fog.


    ¡°Now you show up after all these months?¡± Barghast snapped. He snatched his rifle off the ground. ¡°Why now?¡±


    Llamia glared back over her shoulder at him. ¡°I know you resent my counsel, so I give it when you need it. I am also not only at your disposal when you need me, though I suppose it is natural for an arrogant pup like you to think otherwise. Many of my children, both those who have chosen to remain in the desert, and those like yourself who have ventured beyond canyons, need my guidance¡­¡±


    Barghast stooped in a bow. ¡°My apologies, primal mother. Please forgive me for my insolence.¡±


    A loud wickering sound broke through the fog before Mammoth came to a stop beside the lycan.


    Llamia wagged her tail with something akin to playfulness. ¡°It seems the horse is just as determined to find your beloved as you are, pup.¡±


    ¡­


    Crowe inched forward. He hardly dared to breathe. The voices were slowly growing louder. He could smell wood burning. Dread curdled in his belly. Slowly human shapes took form, huddled around another shape.


    Crowe stopped. I¡¯ve been here before, I¡¯ve seen this before. These woods are playing tricks on me. They''re trying to drive me insane.


    Three men standing around a lone figure strapped to a tree. Yes, he had witnessed something like this once not that long ago, but it was not the exact same scene. The first time around it had been Barghast strapped to a tree. This time it was a man. The Lion-Headed Serpent dangling from his neck marked him as one of Monad''s children. Vicious patches of black and dark purple bruising marked the flesh that had not been stripped away by a blade; now the man threw his head back, howling in pain as his torturer meticulously peeled off a fresh strip with a heated scalpel and a pair of tweezers.


    The two torchcoats who stood off to the side, unaware they were being watched, exchanged pale-faced glances. They were young, clean-shaven. They could have been Crowe''s age. When they turned their doubtful gazes back on the scene before them, their focus was not on the captive, but on the winged back of the torturer.


    Wings, Crowe thought.


    He felt something cold pass through him.


    He shuddered.


    You were a fool to think he would let you go¡­that once he had a taste of your blood he wouldn''t chase you to the end of the Iteration.


    The man bound to the tree sagged forward, his head drooping. His expression was not one of agony, but one of relief; death had set him free from a much worse fate. Yes, Crowe thought. Death really isn''t so bad, is it? Not when you consider the alternative. Better to go to sleep and never wake up than to be under the mercy of this creature¡¯s whims. I should know. I¡¯ve been there. I survived, but it''s forever left me scarred¡­


    Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice screamed at the practitioner to get moving. Move before the bad man with the wings takes notice of you! You remember all too well what he did to you the last time¡­You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    But Crowe couldn''t move. He couldn''t move because he was trapped in restraints of his own. He was not bound to a tree like the dead man, but to a metal table inside his mind. Though he did not know it, his eyes were fixed on the birdman¡¯s back, his quivering mouth set in a rictus of terror. His hands twitched, particularly the one where two fingers were missing.


    He wasn''t sure how long he stood there before the man with the silver hair and bird wings turned around and took notice of the practitioner.


    It was plain to see their encounter with one another at Fort Erikson had scarred them both. Spiderwebs of scarring spread across Inquisitor Charoum¡¯s face. Crowe felt a pulse of triumph through the terror at the sight of the black eyepatch he wore. I did that. He may have taken two of my fingers, but I took one of his eyes and a good deal of his pride.


    ¡°Either this is another illusion cast by these bloody woods or an all too fortuitous circumstance has quite literally stumbled into our midst. Is that you, herald of the third Iteration?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately,¡± Crowe said in a steady voice that did not reflect the fear quivering through his legs.


    The Seraphim grinned slyly at him. ¡°I should have known you would be drawn to the same anomaly I was. You can''t help yourself, can you? It is in your nature to travel into the dark places¡­I suppose no one can blame you. For what are you if not an echo doomed to repeat the same mistakes as your predecessors?¡±


    Crowe did not so much as make an attempt to speak; his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He watched one of the Seraphim''s graceful hands slide down to the handle of the saber sheathed at his hips. The two torchcoats raised their rifles, aiming at the practitioner''s chest. They flashed timid awaiting looks in the Seraphim''s direction, but the Inquisitor was too focused on the herald to pay them attention.


    ¡°Alas, I won''t let you make those mistakes again. I won''t let what happened before happen again. You will pay for the sins you committed in your past lives.¡± The blade of Charoum¡¯s saber danced mockingly in the gloom as he raised the foot long blade above his head. His wings unfurled.


    The angel shouted something but Crowe''s heart was beating too loudly in his ears to have heard it. It didn''t matter - he didn''t need to hear Charoum to know he had just delivered the death order.


    Bullets slammed into the wall of mana the practitioner formed around him, the rounds sparking as if they were bouncing off impenetrable steel. Dark clots of soil arched towards the sky. Charoum''s wings unfurled, spreading out their full width. A mighty flap of those wings launched him into the air. The torchcoats advanced, reloading their rifles with practiced fingers.


    Crowe did the only thing he had the mind enough to do: he fled. A voice in the back of his mind taunted him for being a coward, but his body did not pay heed to it. Even as he fought for his life in the present he was trapped in a body of the past. He feels the noise tightening around his throat; he could feel the bite of the Inquisitor¡¯s blade as it bit into his flesh.


    He fled in a blind terror. His breath came out in a mixture of boyish sobs and breathless hitches. He was all too aware of the Inquisitor¡¯s passage on his tail; each flap of his wings bowed the trees this way and that. The Seraphim screamed something at him, but once more the words were lost on him, drowned out by the roar of gunfire. Jagged shards of bark were ripped from the sides of tree trunks. A piece sliced into the flesh of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. The pain was an inconsequential echo of the pain he knew he would endure at the hands of the Inquisitor before death finally took him.


    A glance over his shoulder showed the Inquisitor was closing in, a bullet with silver cat eyes, his sword drawn back for the killing blow. He turned back to face the way he was heading just in time to see the ground drop off steeply. Rather than scramble to a stop, Crowe sucked in a big breath - never mind that it felt like he was taking hits to the ribs - and put in a desperate burst of speed. A fall into unknown depths was far more preferable than the death the angel had in store for him.


    He jumped just in time to avoid a fatal swipe from the Inquisitor''s sword. Then he was plummeting through open air, plummeting through tendrils of white fog. Dark earth and verdant green grass rose up to meet him. Suspecting that landing at this angle would shatter both of his legs, Crowe managed to angle his body before striking the ground.


    He didn''t just strike the ground, he struck the peak of a steep decline. The force of the impact launched him back up into the air before slamming back down into the ground again. He bounced down the hill; each jolt felt as if it broke something inside him. He landed in a sprawled heap at the bottom of the decline. If he could scream he would have, but he couldn''t draw in the breath to do so.


    Something dark swooped overhead, blotting out what little source of light filtered through the trees. The backdraft of air that battered him from the side of blackness that threatened to drown him propelled him into a sitting position. Like a wounded animal, the herald crawled, nails scrabbling over dirt and dislodging pebbles. His hair hung in his face. He could hear the shouts of the torchcoats somewhere behind him, but it was impossible to judge the distance.


    ¡°Crowe.¡±


    The voice sounded from the mist directly in front of him at almost exactly the same moment the scraped palms of his hands landed on the black tops of a pair of worn leather boots. He looked up.


    He screamed.


    He backed away from the ghost. From the illusion that the woods had cast upon him to keep him trapped here.


    He¡¯d seen the face everyday, from the moment he was born - this much he was sure. It was the face that belonged to the man who had raised him, mentored him; who had been the closest thing to a father he would ever know. It was the face he saw staring back at him when he looked in a mirror or a reflective surface of water. One day, many many centuries from now, it would be his face. But it also wasn''t him. They were merely identical figures carved from the same source of wood.


    And still he looked so real. He felt so real.


    ¡°No,¡± Crowe sobbed, shaking his head. ¡°You can¡¯t be here. You¡¯re dead - I buried you.¡±


    Petras smiled at him. It was not just the fact that he was smiling that tugged at Crowe¡¯s heart - the herald could not recall a time when his predecessor had ever smiled at him. His robes were spotted with clots of mud, his boots cracked, his face thin and scraggly with stubble, but there was no cell in Crowe¡¯s body that could deny his former mentor was standing before him.


    ¡°We never truly die,¡± Petras told him with that same sad smile. ¡°Even when we wish we could. Even when we think it¡¯s the best thing. The cycle won¡¯t let us rest until we do what needs to be done.¡±


    ¡°How¡­how are you here?¡± Crowe shook his head, denying Petras even as he shrank away from him. Only when his back pressed up against the hard reality of a tree did he stop for at the moment it seemed there was nowhere else to go. No way to escape. At that moment the threat of Charoum had completely left his mind.


    ¡°I know this is confusing,¡± Petras told him, his smile still sad but now urgent. ¡°I know you don¡¯t want me to be here and I know you won¡¯t believe me when I say this¡­but I am only here to help you. I¡¯m here to take you back to Barghast.¡±


    The herald shook his head. ¡°A trick,¡± he spat out. ¡°This is a trick. You¡¯re not really here. This is an illusion spun by this place to keep me in place.¡± He laughed. ¡°And even if you are really here, you¡¯re not Petras. My predecessor would never do anything to help me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± Petras rested a hand on Crowe¡¯s flesh, wrapping long icy fingers around his wrist. ¡°I¡¯m here to help you. I know you don¡¯t believe me, I know you¡¯re angry with me, and I know you don¡¯t want me to be here, but right now Barghast is waiting for you back at the stream and the Inquisitor will not stop chasing you until he finds you¡­so I need you to set your feelings aside for the moment and come with me.¡±


    His fingers tightened around Crowe¡¯s hand. He pulled the stunned practitioner to his feet. He briefly glanced down at the empty space where two of the practitioner¡¯s fingers had once been before turning away with an unhappy frown screwed on his face. Crowe gaped at him. He¡¯s here. He¡¯s really standing here. He¡¯s not an illusion. He¡¯s not a figment of my imagination. He says he¡¯s Petras, but he¡¯s younger than the Petras I knew and he doesn¡¯t act anything like him. Monad, help me understand.


    How is this possible? How are you here?


    Before he could give voice to the question, shouts and shots rang out behind him. Any questions Crowe had vanished along with Petras, who sprinted off into the fog, waving for the herald to follow behind him. He¡¯s taking me to Barghast, he thought and followed him.


    It hurt to run. It hurt to breathe, but Crowe ran after Petras anyway. Shouts and shots continued to sound behind him, smacking into trees, smacking into the ground, their view impeded by the now blessed fog. Just as this place doesn¡¯t want me to succeed, it doesn¡¯t want them to succeed either, he reminded himself.


    As if to prove this theory there came a mighty roar as a tidal wave of wind ripped through the trees, whipping through the mists, clearing it away. A backward glance showed that Charoum was still in pursuit, gliding effortlessly through the trees, the torchcoats huffing and puffing several yards behind him. Charoum flapped his wings once more, appearing to be undaunted by the draft. His teeth were bared in a rictus of determination and fury. Petras shouted something but Crowe was too busy running for his life to pay it heed.


    Charoum defied the traps of the woods, close enough he could now strike Crowe. He brought the sword back, ready to deal the killing blow. That was until the practitioner saw something dark and thin and quick shoot through the air a split second before it slammed into the Inquisitor. The angel was thrown to the side before slamming hard into the ancient trunk of a tree. A tendril of wood pierced through the Inquisitor¡¯s armor, pinning him to the trunk. Crowe stopped, knowing he shouldn¡¯t, knowing he should keep running, but unable to keep himself from watching.


    A hand tugged at his arm.


    Petras.


    ¡°We have to keep going,¡± his predecessor huffed. His predecessor who so far had acted nothing like his predecessor.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Crowe panted. He bent over, placing his hands on his knees. It was the only thing he could do to keep from collapsing. If I fall I won¡¯t be able to get back up. He had enough energy to raise his head and glare at the Inquisitor.


    Charoum¡¯s blade sliced through the branch impaling him into the tree only to have two more shoot out of the gloom and stab through his torso. He cursed, a howl of frustration tearing free from his lips.


    ¡°I want to watch the woods tear him the fuck apart!¡± Crowe spat.


    ¡°Is it worth it to keep Barghast waiting?¡± Petras gasped. ¡°Is vengeance worth the risk of defeat, worth the repetition of another Iteration?¡±


    The plea in Petras¡¯ voice tugged at Crowe¡¯s mind. Never before had he heard his mentor sound so desperate. Never before had he heard him beg. ¡°Alright,¡± he huffed. ¡°Alright.¡±


    He left the Inquisitor and the torchcoats to their demise.


    During their journey Crowe did not take his eyes off his predecessor nor did he ask questions. It wasn¡¯t that he didn¡¯t have them. A thousand questions swirled around his mind like black ink, buzzing with anger; he simply didn¡¯t have the energy to ask them. For now it was enough that he was alive; for now it was enough that he had escaped Charoum for the time being; for now it was enough that he would be reunited with Barghast again. For now.


    By the time Crowe heard the burble of the creek through the gloom, it seemed that he and Petras had walked many miles over many hours with no change in the light to mark the passage of time; he¡¯d pushed himself to the point he thought he might faint from exhaustion.


    ¡°We are here.¡± Petras turned to him with that same sad grin.


    Crowe glared at him. He blinked, fighting back tears of rage and a plethora of other emotions he couldn''t give name to. ¡°Don''t think this changes anything¡­just because you helped me once. I want you gone. You died. I buried you. And when I did I¡¯d hoped I¡¯d freed myself of you. But I am not free, am I?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid not.¡± Wreaths of mist enfolded Petra''s, thickening, devouring him. ¡°It is as Maeve said in Vaylin. The cycle never ends for us. Not until we fix the thing that makes everything go wrong.¡±


    ¡°And what makes everything go wrong?¡± Crowe could not stop the anger he felt or his voice from rising. His heart beat thickly in his throat, filling it with the taste of blood and acid. ¡°For once tell me something other than riddles.¡±


    The mist was so thick now Petra''s was almost completely gone. He was receding further back, the sound of his boots crunching over leaves and brambles growing fainter. Crowe followed, somehow knowing that once his mentor was gone he would never have an opportunity to seek answers from him again.


    ¡°I wish I could, but like Maeve I can not let you stray from your path more than you already have¡­This Iteration is already out of balance. Things are happening sooner than they are meant to¡­You are the only one who can fix things, Crowe¡­it has always been you¡­¡±


    ¡°No, no, no!¡± Crowe staggered forward, his hands clenched into fists. ¡°That is not good enough¡­You don''t just get to walk away! You don''t just get to bow out and not say anything to me, not ever again¡­¡±


    But Petras was gone. Once more he¡¯d abandoned him. Once more he''d left him with more questions than answers.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    A familiar deep voice cut through the gloom with a whine.


    The tension that had tightened around the practitioner''s heart like a clenched fist immediately vanished. ¡°Barghast?¡± He staggered forward, his eyes wide and hopeful.


    He stepped out into clear air¡­into bright sunlight and the song of birds. And Barghast was walking towards him, his ears pressed flat against his head and his tail twitching nervously.


    Crowe let out a sob before bursting into a run. A fraction of a second later, Barghast lifted him in the air and spun him around once before pressing him against his chest and enfolding the practitioner in his arms as if to protect him from the rest of the world. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± the Okanavian whined. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry¡­I never should have let you go, not even for a second! I¡¯m never letting you go, not ever again.¡±


    ¡°Please don''t.¡± Crowe sagged against Barghast, every inch of his body an aching, throbbing protest.


    There was a soft whickering sound before he felt a horse muzzle press affectionately against his ear. Barghast let out a growl. ¡°Back off, you stupid horse!¡± His arms tightened possessively around Crowe. ¡°He''s mine.¡± He stepped back from Crowe, tilting his head to look at him, sniffing him, examining him. ¡°What happened to you? You''re covered in bruises! Who hurt you?¡±


    ¡°Charoum,¡± was all Crowe could say. ¡°He''s here. He was right behind me.¡± He looked over his shoulder, his blood skittering in his veins. He expected to see the purgatorial fog, but it had not returned. It was then that he realized he could hear birds and feel the sun on his face.


    Barghast''s arms tightened around him. ¡°I am sorry you had to encounter him on your own again, twin o¡¯rre. I am with you now and I will not make the mistake of letting you go or turning my back on you again.¡±


    ¡°It''s not just Charoum.¡± Crowe pressed his cheek against Barghast''s chest and breathed in the strong musky scent of the lycan''s fur. He swallowed, choking out the rest of the words. ¡°I saw Petras. He was here. He guided me to you. I don''t understand how, but he was here.¡±


    ¡°I believe you,¡± Barghast rumbled. ¡°I saw things, too.¡±


    ¡°He knew things he couldn''t have possibly known. Not unless he was there with us, which he wasn''t. He knew about Maeve and Vaylin. He knew exactly how to lead me to the stream as if he¡¯d walked these woods a thousand times¡­¡±


    ¡°I saw my father. I didn''t see him-see him, but I heard him and it looked like the outline of his shape and it was able to mimic the sound of his voice. And it also knew about things it couldn''t possibly know. He has never ventured beyond the desert a day in his life. He never will. He wouldn''t dare.¡± Barghast pointed his muzzle at the sky, pride inching into his voice. ¡°He wouldn''t dare. For all his arrogance he doesn''t have the courage. And yet somehow he knew about you when there is no way he could know about your existence. It sounds like your experience was both similar and different.¡±


    Crowe resisted the urge to pull away. He shook his head, blinking away the threat of tears. ¡°I didn''t just see him or talk to him, I touched him - I touched his boots. They were real. And he looked like Petras. Monad help me, I don''t know how I know it was Petras, but it was him. He looked younger. Barghast, I feel like I''m losing my mind all over again.¡±


    ¡°You''re not, my beloved.¡± Cupping his face in both paws, the Okanavian tilted his head up and leaned down. He pressed a firm kiss to the practitioner''s lips. When he pulled back his eyes had brightened from amber to molten gold, his voice a throaty growl that made shivers race down Crowe''s spine. ¡°Your mind is far more wondrous, mysterious, and complex than I could have imagined. But as always there are forces that aspire to breed doubt in our minds; they want to trick us into straying away from the path we know we need to walk on. So don''t stray. Don''t doubt yourself. Cling to me instead.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Crowe croaked. He chuckled wetly, wiping tears from his eyes with long, dirt-streaked fingers. ¡°Okay. Monad bless me, what would I do without you? I¡¯d be lost. You are my anchor.¡±


    ¡°My sweet twin o¡¯rre you would not be lost. You are a warrior who is wise and strong beyond your years. Alas, it makes me happy we are together¡­even in this dark place. Nothing makes me happier to pull you to your feet when you fall. It just means I get to kiss you more.¡±


    ¡°Aye.¡± It was the closest to accepting their circumstances Crowe could get. While it no longer felt like his lungs were constricting, his body was bruised and ached all over. I¡¯m blessed I didn''t break anything on the fall down that hill, he reminded me himself. Things could be worse. Miracles abound. He had to bite his tongue to keep from letting out a bitter chuckle on that last one.


    ¡°The woods have changed,¡± Barghast noted. ¡°We can see daylight and the fog is gone. Do you think this is the doing of the entity that attacked us at Fort Teague?¡±


    Crowe shrugged indifferently. ¡°I¡¯m too tired and I''m in too much pain to hazard a guess. I can tell you this much: I would much rather deal with her than the sadistic angel who took two of my fingers and was going to rape and torture me to death. I¡¯d even rather deal with her than the projection of my former mentor¡­if that''s what he was. I am sure you don''t need any reminders of your old life either.¡±


    ¡°I do not,¡± the barbarian agreed. ¡°I do not like to be reminded of home. The only life I care about is the one I have with you. Let''s move while we can. I know you are tired and in pain¡­¡±


    ¡°I can push through it. I want out of this place every bit as much as you do.¡± In his mind Crowe saw Charoum being pinned to a tree, sentient branches piercing through his flesh and armor. The comfort in the fact that the torchcoat was no more welcome than they were was meaningless in the face of his terror. How much precious time had Barghast and he wasted in finding comfort. Time we could have been using to find a way out of this accursed place. He pushed the thought away, feeling both guilty and bitter.


    But he couldn''t deny the truth: I would rather die than be at the mercy of Charoum''s whims.


    He let Barghast help him up on the saddle. Above him birds of various colors, size, and species flitted between the trees beneath a cloudy denim blue sky. Trees not rotting and bleeding, but healthy verdant trees that perfumed the turgid air with the heady haze of sap and pollen.


    A thought occurred to Crowe. The entity that had appeared as Petras had shown him back to Barghast. Just as there are forces that conspire to keep us from achieving our goal, there are also forces that seek to help us. The woods have changed. The fog is gone. There is a way out. We just have to forge ahead and find it. He held onto this thought. He locked it away inside his heart where he could stoke it into a flame. After all he was back with his lycan. Back where he needed to be.

 Welcome to Caldreath

    Crowe must have nodded off because the next thing he knew Barghast was shaking him awake. He lifted his head, wincing. Lightning strikes of pain arched up his back. He stifled a grunt of displeasure. Barghast watched him, his eyes wide and excited. What is there to be excited about? the practitioner would have asked if it hadn''t felt as if his throat were sealed shut.


    ¡°Look, twin o¡¯rre, there is a clearing up ahead! From here I can see a road! We¡¯ve made it¡­we¡¯ve found the way out of here at last!¡± Barghast yipped with joy, his tail wagging.


    No, we haven''t. Don''t let yourself fall for false hope, my sweet lycan. We both know this place likes to trick us. That''s all this is: another trick.


    But Barghast was leading them towards the opening in the trees. Crowe looked down at his hands. Even as hope tried to rise up inside him, quickening his heart, the contrary part of him squashed it down with a bootheel.


    Cords of muscle and tension bunched up beneath the lycan''s fur. Crowe knew he wanted to charge ahead, to breach the clearing before the woods sealed it shut - but he was pulling Mammoth along at a brisk march to keep the practitioner from falling out of the saddle.


    Several yards away from the clearing a buzzing sound filled the air: a high-pitched droning whine that made Crowe clench his teeth in misery. Beyond it there came crackling sounds like the splitting of wood. Tree roots tore themselves free from the ground, snaking towards them with a malignant concentration that made the sorcerer think of snakes and creatures that slithered along the ground. He has to bite his tongue to keep from screaming.


    He had enough time to press himself flat against Mammoth''s back, clinging to his back like a flea, hugging him with his arms - with his thighs, with the last vestiges of strength he had inside him.


    Barghast tugged impatiently at Mammoth''s reins, cursing and whining in Okanavian. A tidal wave of wind had picked up, battering at them from all sides. The trees were converging, the breach closing.


    We¡¯re not going to make it! We won''t make it out - we¡¯ll be trapped - we¡¯ll die!


    ¡°No,¡± he heard himself hiss under his breath. ¡°I¡¯m not staying in these shitty fucking woods another night!¡±


    Crowe yanked his rod from his pocket. His desperation and fear burst from the tip of the wand, parting the air with a comet of white flame. The comet struck the stampede of trees with a shrieking roar, burning leaves, wood, and embers raining down on them. The moment Barghast was positioned on the saddle, securing Crowe to him, the practitioner urged the massive shire horse ahead with a shout.


    Bolstered by his defiance, Mammoth let out his own screaming bray of defiance, his eyes rolling in his skull so that the whites showed. His nostril flared like the black mouth of caves. He surged ahead, braving through black tendrils of smoke, every bit as ready to be out of the woods as his riders. I¡¯m sorry, Crowe told the horse through his horse. I¡¯m sorry we always put you through this. Monad could not give us a better, more loyal horse.


    The horse answered him with an empathic surge of relief that raced up the herald¡¯s arm as if to say No hard feelings.


    At last they were through. Coughing and sputtering from the smoke, but through. Crowe could feel the air on his face. He could see the stars high above their heads. He craned his neck around, looking around Barghast¡¯s broad frame. Sentient tree branches flailed through the air, the breach folding shut as if it had never been there at all.


    We¡¯re free, the practitioner thought. For now. Onto the next trap.


    Crowe wasn¡¯t the only one who was not ready to accept the fact they were safe. Mammoth¡¯s hooves thundered against the dirt road that curved ahead of them, taking them further away from the accursed forest. Crowe could not completely ignore the hope that the road would take them somewhere safe. We need food. We need to be able to sleep in an actual bed¡­Just for a night or two.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± Barghast yipped. ¡°I see lights up ahead. Buildings¡­¡±


    Could it be? Could hope be so close at last after surviving through another living nightmare of terror? Crowe wanted to believe such a thing was possible but already he could feel a wall rising up inside his heart. No! He seized the necklace around his throat; that it was still there at all after fleeing through the woods was a miracle in of itself. Don¡¯t lose hope! Never lose hope!


    Yes, he could see small domes of light in the distance now that they the top of a hill. And here was a sign. He squinted, straining to make out the name carved into the wood.


    ¡°STOP!¡± he screamed. The voice that came out of his throat was raw and scratchy and full of terror.


    ¡°What is it, my beloved?¡± Barghast sniffed at the back of his head with a concerned whine.


    The lycan¡¯s inquiry fell on deaf ears. Crowe clambered down from Mammoth¡¯s saddle. His movements were frantic and determined despite his growing fatigue. He staggered towards the sign, his eyes wide. ¡°That¡¯s not possible,¡± he gasped.


    Barghast drew up next to him. The sign read ¡°WELCOME TO CALDREATH!¡± POPULATION: 451.


    ¡°This should not be here.¡± Crowe forced himself to look away from the sign to his companions; only the whites of his eyes showed. He had his rod out at the ready. ¡°The Theocracy burned it down years ago. A century. There should be nothing here.¡±


    But there was something there. They approached it, Mammoth picking his way cautiously down the other side of the hill at the herald¡¯s reluctant urging. Smokestacks rose above tiled roofs. The houses were made of solid oak and sturdy looking. Many of the windows glowed with the promise of warm fire. The closer they drew to the town, the more Crowe felt his inhibitions diminish at the thought of approaching civilization. It was not an immediate shift into resignation, but a gradual dawning that swelled in tune with the sound of excited voices. He could see people walking in between the buildings. Not running or fleeing, but a relaxed kind of stroll. And it looked like there were quite a few. Dozens of them.


    Crowe took comfort in the fact that Barghast did not raise any alarms of suspicion. Surely if he had sensed something wrong about the town he would have said something. When the practitioner reached out with his mind he sensed no flutterings of danger in the pit of his stomach nor did he see any celestial lights in the sky. As far as he could tell it appeared to be an actual town.


    A man waved at them happily as they passed. At first it was hard to see his face, but as he drew closer his face beamed with open delight. He reached for Mammoth as if to touch Crowe. The horse stopped, watching the man, but did not step back to avoid his touch. Barghast was not so easily suaded. Shielding Crowe with his arms, he steered the horse away from the man who continued to close in on them undaunted.


    ¡°It is you, herald!¡± the man cried. His voice rang with laughter. The look in his eyes reminded the practitioner of the boy from the beach whose blood he had given to save his life after being attacked; the transfusion of blood had caused side effects that disturbed Crowe. ¡°You have come at last!¡±


    More people became visible. Many carried weapons, wearing the diamond-backed uniforms of the resistance. Their uniforms looked clean, their boots well-made. Their faces were clean-shaven and robust. These were not the scraggly, hollow-cheeked troops the practitioner and lycan had glimpsed while on the road. They were armed with rifles with leathally sharp bayonets screwed into the muzzles. Crowe blinked. Everywhere he looked he saw men, women, and children walking amongst the soldiers. Many wore masks with the faces of deer, tigers, cats, and dogs painted on the front; others wore painted feathers glued to their dresses or the front of their shirts. The sound of laughter carried above the street. Streamers of paper and lamps were strung through the branches of trees. A warm wind caressed Crowe¡¯s cheek. He inhaled, breathing in the smell of spirits and the mouth-watering aroma of meat roasting over a fire.


    Crowe¡¯s distraction was interrupted by the gathering clamor of voices. His heartbeat quickened when he heard a voice shout, ¡°Herald!¡±


    ¡°Not again,¡± he hissed under his breath.


    People were turning to face them from every direction. More voices shouted, voicing not terror or hostility, but joy. Everywhere he looked he saw glimmers of silver on their necks, marking the Lion-Headed Serpent they wore. Monad¡¯s people! It can¡¯t be¡­How is this possible?


    He should have been overjoyed to be in a town full of his own people, but the thought of them worshiping him - of seeking his favor - made his skin crawl. Before he knew it he was taking off down the main street at a canter. Anything to get space between himself and him.


    The only forward - the only way to get away - was to go deeper into the town. Mammoth lumbered past the well in the center of the town. He was beginning to slow down; Crowe had pushed the horse to his limit. Just a little further, he urged the horse through his touch, running his fingers through his mane. Before they could take a left onto the next street, a small parade of Monad¡¯s people appeared, cheers of ¡°herald!¡± on their lips.


    They came to a stop before the flagstone steps of a tall church with a bell tower at the top. Now the bell rang in earnest, its peals seeming to reflect the clamor of excitement that echoed through the town.


    Candlelight flickered in the windows of the church. A bright half-crescent moon held vigil over the bell tower. The tall wooden doors of the church creaked open. Organ music poured out, the sound melancholic, serene, and beautiful. Crowe¡¯s body was tempted towards it even as a voice screamed in his mind to turn around and flee in the other direction. Even if he had the ability to, there was nowhere else to turn. They were surrounded from all sides and the only way of escape was to run into the church. Who knows what trap awaits us in there? he thought. Surely it¡¯s a one way ticket straight to our doom.


    And then what would happen? Would Barghast and he find themselves reliving the events that had led them to this moment? Or would it truly be the end of their journey - the end of his stint as herald?


    It¡¯s a risk you can¡¯t take! Petras screamed in his mind.


    But his body was powerless in the throes of the music. Every soul in Caldreath had gathered before the church, stretching out behind them to create a basin from which there was no escape. They swayed in time with the music, Lion-Headed Serpents agleam in the firelight. A figure emerged from the church, pausing at the top of the steps. Crowe blinked in surprise. For a moment a paralyzing terror had broken through the euphoric stupor created by the organ music. He¡¯d been sure that the figure emerging from the church would be the woman with the bone headpiece - that a twisted version of the events that had occurred in his vision at Fort Teague would play out again. But it was not the woman from his visions.


    She was taller than the woman from his visions; in her way she was far more imposing. If anything her appearance was more reminiscent of the Seraphim who had appeared to Crowe on the day his quest had started. It was the battle greaves she wore. She¡¯d fashioned a breastplate, wielding into a shape that conformed to her body. A sword swung from a sheath strapped to her hilt, the pommel edged with silver. Sharp green eyes focused sharply on the confused duo sitting atop of the massive shire horse. The cheers from Monad¡¯s people had changed at last. Instead of screaming ¡°HERALD!¡± their cries had switched to ¡°THE BITCH OF CALDREATH, THE BITCH OF CALDREATH, THE BITCH OF CALDREATH!¡±


    At last the woman began to descend the stone steps. Her descent was stolid yet confident and graceful. A woman who had trained herself to gather the favor of the crowd - a learned performer as well as a warrior. Monad knew she¡¯d had time to teach herself. Long white hair fanned away from her face. A face that was both ferocious. In spite of the silver hair and silver threads of her eyebrows, Crowe recognized the angular face and full lips of the woman at once.


    It was Commander Loras Gyrell.


    She raised her hands with the regal air of a diplomat. The cheers died. The crowd grew still but their anticipation still charged the air. She smiled at them, her teeth as white and healthy as porcelain. She exuded a genuine warmth Crowe would not have expected from someone so fierce looking. But then, Crowe reminded himself, leaders would have not become leaders if they did not possess some kind of charm to draw people in.


    ¡°It is a glorious evening!¡± she proclaimed in a voice that made the herald think pleasantly of velvet and smoke. An effeminate, slightly raspy but commanding voice that invited rather than demanded the attention of Monad¡¯s people. She too wore Monad¡¯s symbol at her neck. ¡°The evening we have been waiting for!¡± She thrust her arms out in Crowe¡¯s directing, spreading her fingers. ¡°The arrival of the herald!¡±


    Rounds of applause rolled through the crowd. Voice raised cheers of raucous joy. Loras shrugged her shoulders and beamed at the sorcerer as if they¡¯d always known each other and this kind of outrageous behavior could be expected on a daily basis. Crowe¡¯s head slowly craned around his neck, taking stalk of the strange faces over his shoulder.


    ¡°We can¡¯t tell you how happy it makes each and every one of us to welcome you to our sanctuary,¡± Commander Gyrell continued. She approached Mammoth, a hand outstretched. Rather than step back reproachfully, the horse craned his neck forward, dipping his head so she could place her palm on top of his muzzle.


    Crowe felt rather than heard Barghast growl. Before he realized he was doing it, he reached over his shoulder, placing his hand on Barghast¡¯s muzzle. Silencing him. Now his eyes were fixed completely on the woman. In his mind all he could see was the tortured show who had been forced to watch her family - her whole entire village - burn to ash. Though she would endure many centuries yet the experience had turned her hair completely white. Is this what happened to Petras? he wondered selfishly. Will the same thing happen to me? Will carrying the burden of herald turn my hair white long before it¡¯s meant to?


    The thought made something in him recoil. He also felt¡­not pity¡­but sorrow for the woman who stood before him. She¡¯d lost everything that had ever meant something to her. Long before she had become a vengeful wraith who graced the battlefields, extinguishing the lives of torchcoats, she had been a wife. A mother. Were it not for Pope Drajen¡¯s intervention, she could have spent the rest of her long life tending farm and home. Instead the Third Iteration had other plans for her. The tragedy had formed her into something new. Something powerful. A weapon that could be used against the Theocracy. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    As she continued to trace lines up and down Mammoth¡¯s muzzle, speaking to the horse in a low voice, their eyes connected. A knowing smile graced her lips, pulling one corner up towards her brows. Aye, we are two of a kind, aren¡¯t we? that smile seemed to say. There is much you have to learn from; much we have to learn from each other.


    ¡°You need not fear,¡± she said and now she spoke only to him. ¡°You are welcome here. These are our people. These are your people. They will follow you anywhere if you let them. Think of this as your home away from home.¡±


    ¡°We have no home.¡± The words left his lips before he could stop their passage.


    She rewarded him with another knowing smile. ¡°You do now.¡±


    ¡°How is this here?¡± He swiveled his eyes around to illustrate his point. ¡°How is any of this here?¡±


    ¡°I know you still have a lot of questions,¡± she told him. She spoke with a tone of understanding that said she exactly knew how he felt; there was just enough bitterness in her voice to stir his heart up a beat or two. ¡°I did when I first came here as well. I can assure you I will explain everything as best I can. I also know you are tired. You and your lycan companion have traveled far and been through much to get here.¡±


    ¡°Indeed we have.¡± Ignoring Barghast¡¯s protest, Crowe lowered himself from the saddle. He tried to keep the discomfort of his chafed thighs from showing on his face. Barghast drew up beside him, his lupine face drawn in a scowl of dislike set towards Loras. The practitioner did not notice.


    ¡°It has been my experience that we must endure long periods of great suffering before we can find a moment of pleasure,¡± Loras said. Her voice rang with sorrow and conviction.


    The herald reached for Barghast¡¯s paw. The lycan¡¯s shoulders lifted slightly when Crowe¡¯s slender fingers curled through his much larger digits. ¡°That has also been my experience,¡± the practitioner agreed.


    This response earned him a smile. ¡°I imagine though we live at the opposite end of our lives our experience is matched in this. I have heard tales of your exploits in ridding the town of Timberford of its filth. I¡¯ve also heard tales of your heroism on the Daminion Highway, your capture in Boar¡¯s Head, and your escape from Fort Erikson. Not many survive an encounter with the sadistic Inquisitor Charoum. Willing lapdog of the Theocracy. He licks Drajen¡¯s bootheel only because it grants him a position of power. He may look angelic, but he has the heart of a bloodhound. It seems you have a way of leaving a mark everywhere you go, herald.¡± Something mischievous and familiar flashed in Gyrell¡¯s eyes.


    Crowe¡¯s cheeks turned scarlet. ¡°Thank you, Commander. That is high praise coming from someone experienced as yourself. Know that I am only getting started. I hope my efforts will only back up the tales you¡¯ve heard about me.¡±


    Gyrell was backing up the steps towards the church now. Crowe understood without needing to be told that they were to follow. Barghast followed behind, his claws unfurled. He¡¯d made sure to load the rifle with several rounds in case. The Okanavian did not trust the people, nor did he trust the woman who was leading them towards the church; the only thing he trusted in was his beloved¡¯s instincts to lead them where they needed to be. Behind them the crowd dispersed as the people of Caldreath returned to their lives.


    Loras boots thunked solidly against the polished floorboards of the sanctuary. The inner sanctum smelled of wood and perfume. Vines of green health crawled through the walls as if the church itself was alive. The aura of the place gave off a sense of serenity. No one else followed them into the church. Crowe expelled a breath of relief. At the very least if this was a trap, they would only be dealing with Loras. Let¡¯s hope she¡¯s a fool we can handle. He would be sure to keep his hand close to his pocket.


    Outside it had been easy to speak when he¡¯d needed to put on a brave face before a crowd of strangers. Now in the quiet, calmer moment it was difficult to hold onto his composure. ¡°Is this¡­? Is this¡­?¡± He tried twice before giving up.


    ¡°Is this the actual Caldreath?¡± Gyrell turned around to face him. Now that she was not facing a crowd, she too had let her demeanor slip. Her expression was remote. Unreadable. Her eyes impenetrable. A mask she had created to hide her pain from the rest of the world. Crowe wished he had such a mask for himself.


    ¡°It is as far as I can tell. As well as I can remember it.¡± The humorous tilt of her mouth was of bitter memory. ¡°Everything is exactly where it should be: the well, the blacksmith¡¯s hut, the windmill. I questioned my sanity the way you are doing now when I first saw it, but after spending months here I cannot deny this is the true Caldreath. It isn¡¯t here by accident.¡±


    ¡°You speak as someone who is sane. But how can you be sure that the purpose for this town being here is not ominous? We encountered many obstacles to get here. We were attacked at Fort Teague by an entity we cannot give name to.¡±


    ¡°The entity you encountered is the guardian of this place. We encountered her as well. We lost many good people in our escape through the forest. While I cannot say I enjoyed my encounter with her¡± - Commander Gyrell cocked a snowy eyebrow, leading them past crystal glass windows with a cocked eyebrow. All the windows bore Monad¡¯s insignia. ¡°- I have come to understand her for what it is. She and the forest are what keep Caldreath safe from unwanted forces. You could even say she is the reason why this town is here in the first place. I promise to tell you more, but I can tell you are dead feet. All who come here pay a terrible price¡­¡±


    ¡°I fear the people here may pay a terrible price again,¡± Crowe blurted. The blaze of emotion had yet to fade from his cheeks. Sweat dripped down from his matted hair. ¡°I encountered Inquisitor Charoum and two torchcoats not far outside the town.¡±


    The commander rolled her eyes with the air of someone who had heard this news many times before. Her indifference to the situation reminded Crowe of his conversation with Matthiesen. We¡¯ve had this conversation before¡­ ¡°This is not the first time Charoum and his troops have tried to breach the defenses. Sometimes they succeed. When they breach again, the people of Caldreath will deal with it as we always have. And we will come out of it for the stronger the way we always have.¡± The pangs of pride in her voice was unmistakable. ¡°Your presence here will only further bolster the courage of the soldiers and refugees who have been looking to me to keep them safe.¡±


    She was leading them up a long staircase. Sandwiched between her and the lycan, the practitioner did his best to keep pace but every inch of his body was a screaming ache; once more he''d pushed himself to the limit. Barghast rested a paw against the small of his back. The warmth of his touch was a reassuring comfort. It was enough to keep him going. At the top of a landing, Loras led them into a large room that had been set up as a dormitory. A dozen beds had been set up along the walls in two rows of six before a window that overlooked the town square. Crowe could see that many of the souls had disappeared, perhaps having returned to their dwellings for the evening. A few couplings danced along to the merry strings of a violin but the roarous chatter from before had died down completely.


    ¡°I know you both want answers and soon you will have them,¡± Commander Loras said in a clipped voice that stated there could be no other way. ¡°But tonight you must rest. Take comfort in knowing you are amongst allies; that while you dwell within these walls you will not be harmed.¡±


    Crowe nodded, too exhausted to offer a protest. The mattresses on the bed looked thin and they would have to put several of them together to make a larger bed for Barghast to fit. Loras did not exchange verbal farewells, but nodded at one another, silently communicating to one another this would not be the last conversation they¡¯d have. She closed the door with a soft click.


    He closed his eyes. He let his shoulders fall. He took a deep shuttering breath. He felt the lycan''s solid presence at his back. His warm breath caressed the back of his neck. Barghast let out a whine. ¡°Beloved, I know you are tired and I know this is the place where we are meant to be, but I won''t pretend to like it.¡±


    Crowe gritted his teeth together. The stab of annoyance he felt was as sudden and sharp as a knife to the gut. He forced himself to take another breath; he unclenched his hands which had been curled into fists. ¡°I know you don''t trust Gyrell. I don''t trust her either.


    But for better or worse we are in the center of the black hole and we are in a town that should not be here, but is. What is there to like about the situation?¡±


    Barghast dipped his head low, pressing his ears back against his head. ¡°I''ve said something to upset you, my beloved.¡±


    Crowe was about to wave a hand dismissively, but held back. Something like shame pierced the gauze of impatience that had been building unbeknownst to him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Barghast.¡± He stepped into the Okanavian''s always welcoming embrace.


    ¡°I¡¯m not upset with you. I could never be upset with you, you know that. I¡¯m just tired and cranky and confused. But I also don''t know what else to do until we get more information on what''s happening. We''ve both learned the hard way about what happens when we charge into places with our guns blazing. Haven''t we?¡±


    The barbarian nodded solemnly. ¡°We have.¡±


    ¡°This time it''s time to do things differently. For all appearances the people here look safe. They look happy. Well happy and well fed¡­¡±


    ¡°That could just be illusion fashioned by the very thing that''s keeping them trapped here!¡± Barghast growled. He gnashed his teeth together before falling silent with another chastised look.


    ¡°Perhaps so.¡± Crowe threaded his fingers through the lycan''s chest fur. ¡°Perhaps you''re right. There''s nothing we can do about it on this night. I simply don''t have it in me to find a solution at the moment. I have pushed myself and pushed myself until there is nothing left. Do you understand?¡±


    Barghast tucked his head against his chest. ¡°Of course I do. We need rest. We need food and sustenance. We need to be able to lick our wounds.¡±


    ¡°Do not think I am blind to the situation my sweet lycan. I do not want to be here anymore than you do. I want to be back on the road where it''s just you and me. The way it''s supposed to be.¡± The smile Crowe tried on felt stiff. False. He hoped Barghast didn''t catch the way his heart falter a beat. At times it was scary how well the Okanavian could hear. Many times he knows what I¡¯m feeling before I do.


    He thought of the people he¡¯d glimpsed strolling around the square. Their clothes had looked clean, free of rips and dirt. If not brand new then well mended by practiced hands. He had not seen faces hollowed by starvation and exposure to the elements. He recalled the way those glowing faces had been turned towards he and Gyrell. These are Monad''s people. These are our people. They are your people.


    Crowe''s heart swelled with hope. Could it be that Barghast and he had last come to a place where they were truly welcome? Could it be that we don''t have to fight alone anymore?


    He was so lost in thought¡­he was so exhausted he was literally falling asleep standing in thought¡­that he didn''t realize things in the room had changed. While he''d been thinking of the people here in Caldreath, Barghast had been busy moving beds around the room. He¡¯d put three beds together, creating enough room for them to be able to fit together side to side. Now he took one of Crowe''s unprotesting hands and led him to the makeshift bed.


    Crowe said nothing as Barghast undressed him. He lifted his hands obediently when the Okanavian pulled his robes over his head.


    He trailed his tongue along the back of the herald''s neck, marking a slick trail to the curve of his ear. When Crowe moaned, the barbarian''s tail wagged. He¡¯d discovered quite recently that this particular show of affection - of teasing - elicited responses from his beloved that he found completely and utterly intoxicating. The way he felt - like now - the practitioner shudder, not from fear or pain, but with pleasure and longing.


    Crowe surrendered his body to the lycan''s ministrations. Barghast''s fingers were unsnapping the buttons of his breeches, tugging them gently past his lips. Crowe could not remember taking off his boots, but there they were resting innocently in the corner of the room. Though it should have been no surprise that he sported bruises and burns after their escape from the woods outside Caldreath, Barghast let out a familiar whimpering sound. Even now, though they had been traveling for a year, he still behaved as if the practitioner''s injuries were his doing. It was a part of the Okanavian''s behavior the sorcerer had come to accept, but he would never fully understand.


    Now that the herald was completely undressed, Barghast lowered himself in the makeshift bed. He pulled Crowe into his lap. Crowe leaned his head against his shoulder, looking towards the window. It was night here. Did that mean time ran the course it was supposed to here? Or was it governed by whatever had resurrected Caldreath from the ashes?


    ¡°If we don''t like it here, we¡¯ll leave,¡± he whispered, breathing in tune with the ride and fall of the Okanavian''s broad chest. ¡°We won''t stay. After all we can''t save everyone.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll leave?¡±


    The hopefulness in Barghast''s voice made the sorcerer¡¯s heart ache. I understand these misgivings you have, my sweet lycan. It has just been the two of us on the road for so long - all we know is each other. So far it has been the experience that when we do find a place inhabited by people, they seek to do us harm. But aren''t you also tired of running from place to place, with no sense of an end in sight? Wouldn''t it be nice to rest our heads and close our eyes¡­Just for a moment¡­?


    He simply didn''t have the energy to say all of this, so he nuzzled against Barghast to show the lycan his concerns had not fallen on deaf ears. ¡°We¡¯ll figure everything out in the morning, Barghast. I won''t be able to help anyone if I''m dead from exhaustion.¡±


    ¡°As you say twin o¡¯rre. As long as you and I are together there is no storm we cannot brave, no enemy we cannot defeat.¡±


    With this Crowe slept.


    ¡­


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡±


    The alarm in Barghast''s voice yanked Crowe from his dreamless slumber into a sitting position. The lycan¡¯s broad form blocked the door from view, but the practitioner knew the Okanavian well enough to sense his distress. His tail made quick swipes from side to side. His hackles were raised. He aimed his rifle at the door.


    Remembering their conversation from earlier and the fear he¡¯d heard in his companion¡¯s voice, the herald resisted the urge to tell Barghast to lower his weapon.  Instead he reached for the rod tucked safely in his pocket. On the other side of the door the heavy tread of footsteps made the floorboards creak. A deep growl rattled inside the Okanavian''s throat; he tensed slightly when the door swung open.


    The Loras Gyrell that had stepped into the room had left her battlegear behind. Her face was as remote and confident as the night before, but she¡¯d exchanged the battle armor for a denim blue dress. A brown leather belt encircled her waist. Her silver hair had been plaited - a styling job that could have taken hours to complete. The dress revealed that she was still in the prime of her health. Her figure was muscular and robust but still effeminate enough to attract the certain male gaze.


    ¡°You can tell your lycan to lower his weapon.¡± She arched an eyebrow at Crowe, her tone sharp with an undercurrent of mockery. ¡°If I didn''t want you to have your weapons, I would have taken them before we entered the church.¡±


    ¡°Barghast!¡±


    The Okanavian turned an eye to the sorcerer but did not lower his weapon.


    ¡°Down!¡± Crowe waved his hand towards the floor.


    Barghast lowered his weapon but did not strap it to his shoulder nor did he stop glaring at Gyrell.


    ¡°Good,¡± Loras said with a dry smile. ¡°Now that we can dispense with the dramatics what do you say we all have a bit of breakfast? There I promise to explain things. It will be a long conversation that could very well take us into the evening, so I ask you to open your ears. But most of all your mind.¡±


    Crowe found himself nodding to her stoic but agreeable manner. I like her. She cuts to the chase just as one would expect from a warrior of her caliber. It is easy to see why Matthiesen respects her. ¡°Of course. We are merely grateful for your hospitality alone. That you are willing to provide us answers as well is more than we deserve. However, I must inform you that Matthiesen is concerned about you. Lucijan, Roan, and he have officially labeled it ¡°the black hole.¡±


    ¡°The black hole?¡± Gyrell¡¯s laughter was hoarse, almost cronelike. Something about her reminded Crowe of the silver fox-eyed woman from Vaylin¡­if only he could say what it was. ¡°Of course he would call it something so ominous. Benedict has a pension for the dramatic as you will no doubt find out.¡±


    ¡°The black hole has the connotations it deserves!¡± Crowe snapped. ¡°Anyone that goes within its vicinity never comes back out.¡±


    Loras took a step towards him with her eyes narrowed, ignoring the warning growl from Barghast. ¡°I told you I would give you answers at first and I shall, but can we at least get to the dinner table first? I¡¯ve never been the best at conversation, but I¡¯m even worse when I don''t have food in my stomach. Soldier¡¯s folly I suppose you could say.¡±


    Crowe gave her the nod to continue. They sat at a square table that could sit up to a dozen people. Three chairs had been set relatively close together, two side by side and the other at the head of the table. The table was adorned with platters of warm pastries, bread, sausages half the width of the sorcerer''s hand, and other assorted treats; the sight of it all set his mouth to watering. Without waiting for the commander to do the same, he waved for Barghast to join him at the table. Barghast obeyed, shooting Loras another glare. The chair did not so much as groam beneath his weight, but seemed to be perfectly carved to fit his dimensions.


    The moment Loras was seated, Crowe began filling his Barghast''s plates with whatever was in reach. It¡¯s been days since we''ve eaten. I¡¯ll apologize to the commander for my lack of manners once we both have food in our bellies.


    For several moments Crowe and Barghast were consumed with the need to eat and drink. They emptied their goblets of chilled wine, only to have them refilled if they so desired. Which they did. Not only was the wine cold and refreshing on the sorcerer''s sore throat, it was sweet with a pleasing bite. By the time the practitioner leaned back in his chair, his belly filled with food and drink and his cheeks were bright and red.


    It was only then he realized Barghast, the commander, and he were no longer the only ones in the room; two others had entered the room. Now they stood on either side of Gyrell, loving hands placed on her shoulders. Her arms were folded around the narrow body of a young tow-headed girl. A man stood over their shoulder, beaming down at his family as if in that moment he''d fallen in love with them all over again. The last time Crowe had seen him, he¡¯d been beaten so badly his eyes had been swollen completely shut.


    Once Crowe was able to get over the surprise of recognizing the two newcomers, the brutal shock of their appearance kicked in. He screamed, feeling in his chair hard enough to send it tilting to the floor. Barghast yipped his name, reaching for him, but Crowe crawled back out of his reach until his back was pressed up against the wall. In his mind he was bound to the post, watching Loras, Jalif, and their daughter being escorted to their final judgement. I watched them burn¡­I smelled their flesh cook¡­I breathed in their ashes.


    Now Loras held her daughter with Jalif standing at Gyrell''s back, his sturdy farmer¡¯s hands placed comfortingly on her shoulders. Neither the husband or the daughter appeared as if they had been dead for over a hundred years.


    They looked healthy, as if they¡¯d never died at all.

 Commander Gyrell

    Crowe gaped at the ghosts of Jalif and Kara. His mind told him it was not possible that they could be standing there - a redundancy it seemed it would never entirely be able to let go of - but he¡¯d seen enough of the world to know anything was possible. They were really standing there. And judging from the smile of utter bliss on her face, they were very real to Gyrell. Her arms around her daughter, her husband''s around her to create a human chain bound by paternal love. Who are you to say what is real and what is not?


    With Barghast''s help, he managed to clamber to his feet. In spite of the conclusions he¡¯d come to, the shock of Jalif and Kara¡¯s appearance made the practitioner''s mind continue to spin like an out of control top.


    ¡°You''re supposed to be dead!¡± Crowe screamed at Jalif.


    At this accusation, Jalif raised his head. He smiled at each other as if they''d always known each other, the laugh lines around his mouth deepening.


    ¡°I see you need more wine! Quite good, isn''t it?¡± Don''t worry, we have more where that came from! You should visit our vineyard here in Caldreath if you decide to stay!¡± With this he totteres out of the room with the decanter gripped in one broad hand. His passage from one room to the next was the passage of a man who could not be happier with his lot in life.


    Kara lifted her head, blonde curls hanging down past her shoulders. She looked her mother directly in the eye with the sort of intent innocence only a child can possess. ¡°Will you come pick mushrooms with me? I found a big patch of them in the woods.¡± Her eyes closed with excitement. ¡°You know I love it when you make deep-fried mushrooms, Mama!¡±


    Seeing Loras smile was like witnessing a sexual act one was not meant to see. In contrast to the stoicism she had shown in the stairway, Loras¡¯ face opened to release an inner light. It made Crowe want to look away rather than look into it. It was a private light only meant for Jalif and Kara; it was not meant for him to see. Once again I am standing in a place where I don''t belong, he thought.


    ¡°I would love nothing more than to pick mushrooms with you!¡± Gyrell''s laugh said nothing could be more true. ¡°But first I have some very important business I must attend to. It won''t take long, I promise.¡±


    ¡°You promise?¡± Kara asked a bit mistrustfully. Apparently this was a promise her mother had made before and not kept.


    ¡°I promise. When we return I will show you how to bread and fry them. How does that sound? Would that make you happy?¡±


    Kara beamed at her mother. Her curls bobbed up and down. Her smile was every bit as radiant as Gyrell¡¯s. Gyrell pecked and tickled her until she was a squirming bundle of nerves on her lap, securely held in place by her arms the same way Barghast had done so many times with Crowe; it was the ultimate show of love to protect the person one cares about most with their body. When Gyrell had had enough play she told the girl to run along.


    She stared after her for a long time. Slowly her smile faltered. The laughter in her eyes dimmed. We can only lie to ourselves for so long, the practitioner reminded himself. Eventually the truth pokes out its hard little head whether we want it to or not. He had to bite his tongue to keep from pushing her towards the necessary revelations. It was better to let her reach the truth in her own time.


    When she spoke the truth was evident in her voice; it made her words crack and waver like eroding rock. ¡°In case you are wondering if I am not going mad. I am not under a spell. I know that is not my husband and daughter.  I know they are puppets. Projections. Just like whatever tricks the woods played on your and your lycan companion are projections - the woods played them on us then, too. I will start by saying this much in the hopes that it reassures you I am of sound mind.¡± Loras climbed out of her chair with a grunt. ¡°Will you and your lycan friend come with me?¡±


    ¡°His name is Barghast.¡±


    The commander nodded hastily in the Okanavian¡¯s direction. ¡°Barghast it is.¡±


    Crowe narrowed his eyes at her. ¡°You don¡¯t remember his name?¡±


    Loras returned his scrutiny with growing impatience. ¡°No. Why would I know his name? I¡¯ve never seen him before - I would remember if I had. I¡¯ve never seen you before either.¡±


    The practitioner let the question drop with a shrug. ¡°It¡¯s not important.¡±


    When the sorcerer did not offer more questions, Loras led them up the remaining flights of stairs to the belltower.


    Crowe¡¯s heart swelled the moment he felt the morning light on his face. Not the simulation of light created by a force who could change the environment at will, but the real thing. From where Barghast and he stood they had a better view of the town. On Caldreath¡¯s outer rim to the East he could see the windmill Loras had mentioned.  Wooden rotors churned through the small loch that spread out before the village. There were several women who fished along the bank of the loch, wearing sunhats; many had tucked flowers from the woods in the bands of their caps. They¡¯d brought buckets to fill with water and carry back home. Children frolicked above the high grass, their laughter ringing through the gold morning air.


    Crowe could not keep a smile from tugging at his lips. When¡¯s the last time you heard the sound of children laughing?


    In the square directly below, the streets were alive with its own bustle of activity. Several stalls had been set up, selling pastries and handmade wares. Loras¡¯ back was turned, so Crowe could not see her face, but he could sense the cloak of wistful happiness draped around her shoulders. He glanced at Barghast. As more peals of joyous laughter pierced the air, the Okanavian pressed his ears back, flicking his tail back and forth in irritated arcs. The practitioner¡¯s scowl. There were times when he resented the lycan¡¯s need to keep the sorcerer all to himself. Most of the time it¡¯s nice when it¡¯s just the two of us¡­but it can¡¯t just be the two of us all the time. The entire land is locked in a bloody, endless war. We need allies. And even if we weren¡¯t at war, even if things happened in the world the way they are supposed to, we still need other people in our lives from time to time. Otherwise I will grow mad from the isolation.


    He tucked the thought and the hard kernel of resentment away before the shame could kick in and cause him further harm.


    ¡°I am sure it¡¯s not too hard for you to imagine what the conditions were like before we got here. You¡¯ve been on the road. You couldn¡¯t be on the highway and not see it. You¡¯ve seen how merciless and relentless the Theocracy is: the war is everywhere and it will keep spreading until Drajen is dead.¡± Though she did not turn away from the town, Crowe sensed her words were solely meant for him. She spoke with the clinical precision of a doctor recounting events at a tribunal.


    If she had turned to look at him, Gyrell would have seen all the blood drain from Crowe¡¯s face. I do know. I know all too well.


    ¡°By the time my troops had reached Poughtown, I¡¯d lost some two hundred men,¡± Gyrell continued with that same clinical tone. ¡° I knew I would lose many more before we made it back to Caemyth. It is a fact you learn to get used to. The refugees had already been dealing with the spoils of war. Many of them were already sick and starving from lack of food and resources.¡± Gyrell waved her hand dismissively; this was something Crowe knew she had seen many, many times. How many times do you have to see a thing before you are completely numb to it? He felt an odd but hopeful stirring in his heart at this thought.


    ¡°By the time we reached Fort Teague, we were all on the brink of going mad. Starved, dehydrated, forced to breathe in the smell of our shit with no hope of salvation except to keep forging ahead. The Theocracy wouldn¡¯t let us rest or treat the injured or bury the dead. Many of them we had to leave out in the open, to be picked over by birds instead of a proper burial. I¡¯m rambling. I think I¡¯ve given you enough details, you can see it in your mind¡­¡±


    Now she did look at him. Not with desperation but something akin to respect if not a knowingness. Crowe found himself nodding. ¡°I can,¡± he said hoarsely.


    ¡°When we reached Fort Teague I had no idea about what you and Matthiesen call ¡®the black hole¡¯,¡± the commander rasped. ¡°All I knew is that we were on our own, in the dark. There was no way to get the message out that we needed help. To try and send a scout out would have been a sure way to condemn the messenger to a death at the end of Elysia¡¯s rope. At least with me they would have a somewhat better chance of surviving. I told myself there would be enough food and supplies at the fort we could replenish our strength. Our will to live. Once we were able to, we could make the final push to Caemyth. Sometimes that¡¯s all you can do when the enemy has you surrounded and you have no other options: Forge ahead.


    ¡°Our first night at the fort we were too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Over a dozen refugees and soldiers went to the Eternal City, their hearts finally giving out from the sheer terror of constantly being on the run day after day, not knowing if their children or they would live to see the next day. The next morning we held a ceremony for the dead: the ones we had no choice but to leave behind and the ones we had with this one. We cremated them and let the Southern winds blow their ashes into the sky. The refugees and soldiers sang about how they would reunite with their loved ones and Monad in the Eternal City.¡± A wry smile twisted the commander¡¯s lips. ¡°I didn¡¯t partake. I never do.¡±


    She waved a hand dismissively a second time. ¡°I suppose you don¡¯t have any interest in hearing more about that, so I¡¯ll tell you about the voice.¡±


    Crowe felt the hairs on the back of his arms and neck stand on end; he knew exactly what voice the commander referred to.


    ¡°I was one of the last ones who started hearing it. At first I only heard others talk about it. Usually with wide eyes and fevered whispers. At first it was with the refugees. At night I would find myself restless and unable to sleep and I would walk around the camp to find men and women huddled together like children with a secret to share. Men and women who were of rational mind, who might have told ghost stories to pass the time but did not believe in them. And yet the same name was on their lips - a name I¡¯d never heard before until we reached Fort Teague: the Mother of Caldreath. Over and over again like a prayer. Both with worship and terror.¡±


    Loras paused long enough to swallow and clear her throat. Once more she had turned her back to the practitioner and barbarian. Crowe was certain she was making a concerted effort to avoid their gaze. Perhaps even their judgment. Meanwhile he clutched the railing with white knuckles.


    ¡°Towards the beginning of our second night at the fort I put two and two together - it was impossible not to. That I was within days¡¯ journey of where my old hometown used to stand. I told myself it was merely a coincidence. I told myself after weeks, months, years of constant strife, the people I had been charged to protect and escort back to Caemyth had turned to the only thing they had left to them: superstition.


    I can¡¯t tell you how many times I¡¯ve seen it: how even the most rational of minds can turn to irrational beliefs, irrational means. I¡¯d seen it mostly amongst other soldiers, who like the sailors on the Gaulhill Sea already have a proclivity for superstition. So it came as no surprise when the troops started whispering about the Mother of Caldreath. The angel of death who spared through the sky, deliver death and justice to those who sought to destroy us. I remember telling myself it seemed perfectly harmless at the time.¡±


    Gyrell let out another bitter chuckle. ¡°I was not able to remain non-partial for long. By the start of our third morning at Fort Teague, I was beginning to experience strange phenomenon of my own. While I never completely fell asleep as one should, I would find myself drifting off during meals and briefings. When I did I dreamed of Caldreath. In these dreams I would be a girl. The same girl who used to visit the well¡± - Loras pointed to the well in front of the church - ¡°during the early hours of the morning when the first rays of light would appear in the sky. I would bring back water when my mother was too tired to get out of bed or because she was in too much pain because my father had beat after drinking too many spirits the night before. Or I would dream of venturing into the woods to pick mushrooms with Kara. No matter the scenario, whether I was a little girl or a mother, there was always one common factor in the dream: the woman with the headpiece of bone.¡±


    Gyrell gave the practitioner another knowing smile; this time she had seen the blood drain from his face. ¡°You¡¯ve seen her, haven''t you?¡±


    Crowe nodded shakily. For some reason the simple movement of raising his head up and down was difficult. He didn''t have it in him to offer a verbal response. Sensing his anxiety, Barghast took a step towards him, but hung back just in case his twin o¡¯rre needed space. ¡°What is she?¡±


    Something ominous and cryptic flashed in Gyrell''s green eyes. ¡°You¡¯ll find out soon enough.¡±


    The practitioner nodded, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. He was not looking forward to another encounter with the woman from his visions.


    ¡°At first the woman only spoke to me in my dreams, but by nighttime of the third day, I was seeing her while awake, too. When I glimpsed my reflection it was her sad face I saw staring back at me. When I patrolled along the walls of the fort, I would spot her walking silently between the tents. Always with the same look on her face. Not just desperation or grief or rage but an amalgamation of the three. Before long I found myself looking for her, hoping even for just a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye.


    ¡°For those first two days in which she appeared to me, I didn''t join in the others in the whispers and tales of her even as rumors of sightings continued to spread throughout the camp. I know it sounds petty to you coming from a cold-steel bitch like me, but I wanted to keep her visitations to myself as long as I could.¡± Gyrell''s mouth twisted into another smile; this one was both wistful and sardonic. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°By the time the messages inscribed in red paint appeared on the walls, I simply couldn''t keep it to myself anymore. Before I knew it I was recounting tales of my dreams with others. Men and women I had fought with, risked my life for, and for the first time I felt a sense of community that I had thought would be forever lost to me. As those few days became a week, the Mother''s call grew stronger, more insistent. She wasn''t just calling to us through our dreams, she was calling to us through the paint and we would see her soaring above the trees, a vengeful wraith made of fire. She was calling for us to leave the safety of the fort; she was calling for us to join her. It became a call we simply couldn''t resist.


    ¡°Make no mistake, the journey through the forest was not an easy one. As with any good thing we had to pay for our passage and the cost was great. Justice is not a blade that cuts one way, but both. Justice does not care who''s side you took, only that the tollment in blood has been paid. In this case the Mother''s blade struck down both torchcoats and Monad''s people. Justice is not kind, but it is fair.


    ¡°The forest played tricks on us the way it did you and your lycan companion. I saw Jalif and Kara but they were not the Jalif and Kara from my dreams at the fort¡­¡± Gyrell¡¯s voice cracked slightly. ¡°...or the real thing. They locked me. They said things the real Kara and Jalif would never say. They blamed me for their deaths. They blamed me for living when I wanted nothing more than to join them in death.


    ¡°I might have given up in the forest. Many of Monad''s people did¡­many of them with levels of experience in politics and on the battlefield equally matched to my own. Subjectively speaking. To have pushed so hard and so far, how could it be expected of them to push any harder, any farther. Alas, the cost of failure to meet those expectations was a painful and miserable death. I could have shot myself. I could have perished in any number of ways, but I kept forging ahead, pushing myself through the various layers of the forest. Fog one moment, fire the next, living trees with a mind of their own.¡± She pointed at the scratches on the herald''s face. ¡°I see the forest left its mark on you as well.


    When we left Poughtown I was in charge of over two thousand lives. There were also the refugees and soldiers already gathered at the fort. By the time we escaped the private hell of the forest, there were less than four hundred of us. That number has grown slightly as more of Monad''s people continue to trickle in. I think we''ve stood here, chatting long enough. Let''s get the blood pumping through our legs again while we continue to talk.¡±


    Crowe was glad for the break in the conversation. His mind had only begun to spin faster the more Loras talked. Barghast had yet to relax, his displeasure at being in this place unwavering. Crowe wished he could share his absolute conviction. But there''s no one shooting at us. Following Gyrell back into the morning light, he inhaled deeply. The sun felt warm and golden on his face. No one''s trying to kill us. We can actually stop and breathe and feel the sunlight on our faces.


    They were passing the well now, heading in the direction of the windmill. ¡°All of this was here just as you see it when we found the town. And it looked just exactly as I remembered it. Before the Theocracy came and laid ruin to it the way they do with everything.¡± The resentment in Gyrell''s voice reflected the echo in the practitioner''s heart. Her voice darkened only a moment before returning back to its clinical cadence. ¡°The windmill. The bakery where Ma and I used to go to pick up fresh baked bread. The church that we went to on every Sabbath day, praying to Monad so that he might hear our prayers within his prison in the Void. Always with the knowledge that the current Sabbath day might be our last, that the Theocracy would come through and burn it all down. Which of course they did.


    ¡°My first thought upon seeing Caldreath was that we were not out of the woods yet. We only thought we were. The Mother was still testing us to see if we could earn our keep if it was real. But then I touched one of the buildings¡­¡± The building stopped beside a rectangular building with a triangular roof and rested a palm on the wall. ¡°...and felt the wood. Even at that moment I did not want to believe what I was seeing, what I was feeling, but I was well on my way to deniability not being an option. That was when I began to hear someone singing. Not the Mother of Caldreath¡¯s sad, broken voice, but the voice of a child. The voice of a little girl.¡±


    Wistful tears appeared at the corner of Gyrell''s eyes. She did not bother to wipe them away. ¡°I knew that voice - could never forget it no matter how much I might want to - and so I followed it to the church. There I saw Jalif and Kara just the way you saw them this morning, herald. They touched me. They held me. They said things they used to say.¡±


    ¡°Are they¡­?¡± Crowe began cautiously.


    ¡°Real.¡± The commander shook her head. A wrinkle of sadness appeared between her snowy eyebrows. ¡°They are not the real Jalif and Kara. I know that. I don''t trick myself into thinking they are puppets used by this place to keep me here. They are limited in what they say. Kara only wants to grab mushrooms in the woods. Jalif rubs my shoulders the way he always used to every morning at the breakfast table. Alas, it is not true what they say about practitioners. We may live long life spans but we are susceptible to madness and memory loss and after a hundred years of living without them the only time I could remember their face or voice was in my dreams. You don''t know the agony of what it''s like to forget the face of those you love most.¡±


    Crowe thought of the morning he¡¯d come to the kitchen to find Petras on the floor, bleeding from a gash he¡¯d opened with a piece of glass. He cut the thought off before it grew roots in his mind. ¡°You''re right.¡±


    If the commander heard the bitterness in his voice she didn''t show it. ¡°I am not the only one who has been reunited with the dead. There are a few others who have lost wives, husbands, and children and have found them here. Those who have been granted sanctuary here - who have earned it - have found only comfort and happiness. Only Monad''s people - our people - have flourished. Torchcoats are not welcome here and have only found death. Exactly what they deserve, I say. If you need further proof I think this should convince you¡­¡±


    They¡¯d stopped outside a wooden two story house that had yet to be painted; Crowe sensed the construction of the house had only just been finished. Loras knocked on the door, fixing on the smile she¡¯d worn this morning. The practitioner looked back at Barghast. The lycan still looked unhappy but at least he wasn''t growling and frothing at the mouth still.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± the sorcerer asked.


    ¡°I am fine.¡± The Okanavian still had his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. His rifle hung from the strap from his shoulder. He no longer seemed to think they were in immediate danger.


    Crowe couldn''t keep himself from flinching at the growl in Barghast''s voice. He could think of only one time the lycan had growled at him in frustration and that had been when they¡¯d first met, when they couldn''t understand each other.


    Having seen his reaction, Barghast now turned to the practitioner. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, twin o''rre,¡± he whined. ¡°I am not upset with you. But I still do not like this place. I want to leave.¡±


    Before the sorcerer could reply the door swung open. A short, narrow-faced man with a bald head and pale blue eyes leaned against the wall. ¡°Hiya, Commander,¡±  Rake saluted with a broad grin. He turned his head and winked at Crowe and Barghast''s shocked faces.


    Rake¡¯s teeth flashed in the radiant sunlight. He appeared to be completely oblivious to the speechless expressions on their faces. ¡°I was wondering when I would see you two troublemakers.¡±


    The practitioner swallowed. He looked the man up and down. When they¡¯d met, Rake had been huddled in a small inn in a town called Timberford. He had been on the brink of starvation himself. The man Crowe and Barghast had met had been well-meaning enough, but quick-tempered and bitter. Looking back it had been understandable. His village was infected by a plague. A plague that turned the people he¡¯d known and loved his whole life. The matriarch of the village, a woman who was older than the trees that surrounded Timberford, was mutilated. All as a consequence of the Theocracy¡¯s meddlings. This man doesn''t look like the man we parted with.


    ¡°R-Rake? A-Are you really here?¡± Crowe stammered. He refused to look at Gyrell. All the blood had risen to his face, turning his cheeks as red as a tomato.


    ¡°As real as apple pie.¡± The rat-faced man sauntered up to the practitioner before slinging a thin arm around the sorcerer¡¯s strength. He had the unexpected strength of a terrier, pulling the sorcerer towards him so that the younger man was half stooped. When Barghast unleashed his warning growl, Rake did not balk away, but turned his sunny grin on the Okanavian.


    ¡°It is good to see you, too, my furry friend.¡± He clapped the lycan on the shoulder as if they had always known each other.


    Barghast immediately stopped growling. He blinked. His ears twitched. He looked uncertainly at Crowe. The practitioner shrugged. When it became clear that the sorcerer was not going to offer advice on how to proceed, the barbarian gulped, clearing his throat. ¡°I-it is good t-to s-see you,¡± he stammered in fits and starts.


    Crowe gaped at the lycan. Today is chock full of surprises. On their trek from the Mirror Expanse up until now the practitioner had continued Barghast¡¯s lessons in speaking the northern tongue; it made his heart flutter with pride to see the lycan apply those lessons in social situations. At least he¡¯s trying to be more friendly to others.


    Rake unleashed a bray of laughter. The flesh at the corners of his eyes wrinkled up in delight. ¡°I see you¡¯ve been teaching him how to speak. Teaching him some manners as well. Do you like apple pie? How about you, Commander? I have one in the oven now.¡±


    ¡°A-apple pie?¡± Barghast looked to the practitioner for an explanation.


    The sorcerer could feel his embarrassment growing. If he could, he would have sunk through the ground. Did I not tell him about apple pie? ¡°It¡¯s something we like to make in the South during the Harvest months. We make it with apples. They put it in a sort of pastry. A pastry is a type of bread. You¡¯ve tried apples before, remember?¡±


    Barghast¡¯s tail stopped mid sway before speeding up. He panted excitedly, his eyes brightening from bronze to gold. ¡°Yes, I remember when we tried apples. I¡¯ve never tasted anything more sweet or juicy¡­other than you of course, twin o¡¯rre.¡±Turning back to Rake, he switched to a semblance of the Northern tongue. ¡°A-apple pie!¡±


    Rake led them into the house. Sure enough the moment they stepped over the threshold, Crowe detected the smell of baking yeast w0ith hints of milk and butter and the sweet aroma of caramelized apples. The sitting area and kitchen were all one big room. The open space and sparse furniture gave the sense that the interior of the house was bigger than the exterior. It was not quite a home yet but with time it would be.


    For a reason he could not explain, the practitioner had been trying to avoid the commander. Now their glances collided. It surprised him to find her cheeks were every bit as red as his own. She¡¯s not accustomed to socializing around the kitchen table anymore than I am. The thought calmed his fluttering heart.


    A moment later he found himself sitting next to Barghast on one side of the table while Loras positioned herself at the head. Rake appeared at the other end, deftly maneuvering a large pan onto the table with oven mitts. Crowe watched him dreamily. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d worn a pair of oven mitts, or the last time he¡¯d partaken in the pleasure of baking. His mouth watered in anticipation of the taste of apple pie. He wasn¡¯t the only one. Strings of saliva dripped from Barghast¡¯s mouth, sheening the floor. Gyrell and Rake made a point of not noticing.


    The pie was divided out onto plates. Rake descended down into the cellar long enough to bring up a pitcher of chilled milk. For the next three minutes the house was filled with the sound of spoons scraping against plates. Barghast did not use his spoon, but picked the piece up and shoved it into his dripping maw.


    By all rights Crowe should have been able to put the piece away himself; it had been several days since Barghast had had a decent meal beyond what the surrounding land provided. Leaning back in his chair, his belly felt tight. Swollen. He glanced over at Barghast. Barghast focused intently on the pie. There was still a fourth of it left. Rake pushed the pie towards him with a knowing, self-satisfied grin. Crowe scooted his chair from the scattering of crumbs and apple filling that pattered on the floor.


    With another deep breath, the sorcerer managed to get his thoughts in working order; the pie had proved what he thought to be impossible. Rake was really here with them in Caldreath. He wasn''t just an illusion. Illusions don''t eat pie. ¡°The last time I saw you, you were still in Timberford. Now that you are sitting before me, I recall you said that you were going to Caemyth. We left there a couple weeks ago. I didn''t think to look for you there. So much has happened in the last year.¡±


    ¡°You ain¡¯t kidding.¡± For the first time since he¡¯d opened the door, Rake¡¯s newfound amiability slipped into an expression that was part grimace and part sad frown. His eyes quickly skimmed over Crowe¡¯s crippled hand. ¡°There is nothing left of Timberford. Like the original Caldreath, it¡¯s nothing but a pile of ash. The twist is that the Theocracy didn¡¯t light the oil, we did. The decision was unanimous. We decided no matter what happened - if not a single one of us made it to Caemyth - then at least we weren¡¯t going to let those Elysian bastards have it. Know what I¡¯m saying?¡±


    Crowe nodded, thinking of the day he¡¯d set flame to his own house. Sometimes it just feels good to burn things down. The thought caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.


    ¡°Like the commander here, I am one of the few left of my hometown.¡± Some of the familiar bitterness slipped into Rake¡¯s voice. ¡°Everyone else is gone. Their blood soaks the boots of every torchcoat as far as I am concerned. I decided when I reached Caemyth I would not stop until every torchcoat was dead, or I was. So I joined the resistance.¡± His eyes fell to the table. They pierced through it as if it were made of glass instead of wood. His bony hands trembled with the burden of memory. Crowe reached into his pocket for a joint to still his own quaking palms.


    After a moment Rake raised his eyes to the commander¡¯s. ¡°There were times when I hated you. When I blamed you for the shit we went through getting to Poughtown and then to Fort Teague and through that fucking forest.¡± His mouth twisted into a familiar grimace. ¡°It¡¯s pretty, I know. It wasn¡¯t like you dragged me by my cock and pulled me into joining the resistance¡­¡±


    This colorful admission earned him a throaty chuckle from the commander.


    ¡°...but I needed someone to blame for my misfortunes. Having someone to blame - anyone but myself - gave me the will I needed to survive. As arrogant and delusional as I know that is, having someone to blame is what has always given me the will to survive.¡±


    Gyrell raised her empty milk glass. She either did not notice or did not care that she had a ring of white around her mouth. Her smile was not one of bitterness but sad familiarity. ¡°I know exactly what you mean. Any soldier would be a lying fool if they boasted they didn¡¯t have second thoughts about joining the military. Those who keep fighting in spite of those misgiving do so because they are driven by a force that is far stronger than the fear. If you don¡¯t mind my saying, dear, Rake, it sounds like you and I are driven by the same thing: vengeance.¡± She turned her attention intently on Crowe. ¡°What greater driving force is there than vengeance?¡±

 This is a Safe Place

    What is she talking about? Why is she looking at me so intently? Is that meant to be an insult at my expense? Does she think I don¡¯t have what it takes to do what needs to be done? Crowe jerked his eyes away from her searing scrutiny, stifling the thoughts with a steel fist. Who is she to judge me? Beyond the stories she¡¯s heard, she knows nothing of me.


    It was time to turn his attention to the matter at hand. He leaned towards Rake, using his own intensity to gain the man¡¯s focus. ¡°We came here because we thought an agent of Inferno was involved. We had several run-ins with Hamon, including two encounters with the Black King himself.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve fought with the Black King?¡± The mixture of awe and disbelief in Gyrell¡¯s voice was unmistakable. ¡°Do you just?¡±


    Crowe lit an aether joint to keep from smiling. He took a long puff before looking the commander squarely in the eye. Dragging the silence out. I¡¯m not the ignorant farm boy you think I am. I might have a lot to learn¡­much of it from you¡­but I¡¯ve come a long way since the days of cleaning out my predecessor¡¯s bedpan. ¡°We ventured out to the Mirror Expanse. To the Vaylin Ruins in fact.¡±


    The commander blinked. ¡°What in the Void would possess you to go all the way out there?¡±


    ¡°As I said we were chased by two of Hamon¡¯s servants. They pursued us all the way to Boar¡¯s Head. There we had an unfortunate run in with a patrol of torchcoats. From there I was taken to Fort Erikson where I encountered the Inquisitor.


    The hard look of skepticism Gyrell turned into something akin to respect. ¡°You really have had quite the journey, haven''t you?¡±


    You have no idea hung between them. It was the practitioner''s turn to wave a dismissive hand. ¡°None of that is important in the end. My point is given the nature that both Drajen and Matthiesen¡¯s forces have been disappearing. You disappeared. Matthiesen sent me to investigate.¡± Given her confusion when Crowe had tested her awareness that this had all happened once before (according to Matthiesen) Crowe decided it would be safest to keep that card close to his chest. ¡°Based on what I¡¯ve seen, I do not wish to intervene any further than I already have. But I need your assurance that this Mother of Caldreath is not a threat to Monad''s people. Are you happy here? Are you safe?¡±


    Gyrell''s laugh was caustic and sharp in the sunny space of Rake¡¯s kitchen. ¡°Happy? Safe? You might be the herald and you might be wise beyond your years as I was at your age, but your use of those words in the context of war shows you for what you truly are: Just a boy.¡±


    Crowe flinched. Though she spoke the truth she might as well have struck him. He might have preferred it.


    ¡°The Mother is not our ally but she is also not our enemy. It just so happens that her goals happen to align with ours,¡± Loras continued. ¡°Yes, many of Monad''s people have paid their lives to get here, but look at the rewards. We are thriving. We have shelter. Food and land to farm. Just as many torchcoats have tried to penetrate the woods only to find themselves burnt to a crisp or skewered at the end of the Mother''s spear. Meanwhile we flourish and continue to grow stronger as more of Monad''s people flock to her call. Do you not see? She is not enslaving us or indoctrinating us into her cult. She is helping me to build an army that will cut out Drajen¡¯s beating heart once and for all.¡±


    ¡°That appears to be the case,¡± the herald answered diplomatically. ¡°At the end it is not for me judge. My motivation aligns with yours. I agree this war needs to come to an end and that the enslavement of our people has gone in long enough. So in saying this my lycan companion and I will be leaving within the hour. We will take our bets back through the forest and return to Caemyth.¡±


    The commander shook her head at the practitioner as if he¡¯d said something gravely insulting. ¡°You¡¯d be a fool to leave this place.¡± She truly sounded angry.


    Crowe could feel himself growing angry. He scoffed. I don''t need to explain myself to you. ¡°How can you expect us to want to stay given what it took for us to get here? Aye, you have food and shelter and the illusion of protection, meanwhile thousands more of our people break their backs working on Drajen''s railroad or being slaughtered and experimented on by the Inquisitor¡­¡±


    ¡°And still you fail to see the advantage we have here. Do you not see the Mother for what she is?¡±


    ¡°What is she?¡± the practitioner hedged cautiously.


    Gyrell grinned slyly. ¡°Stick around for the rest of the night. See for yourself.¡±


    ¡°We have no wish to stay.¡±


    Barghast''s ears perked up at the insistence in Crowe''s voice.


    ¡°You would be wasting the opportunity of an Iteration!¡±


    The sorcerer rose out of his chair to almost tip it back on the ground. ¡°What opportunity would that be?¡±


    ¡°To join forces.¡± Gyrell had risen with him. Now they leaned toward each other with only the table between them. Barghast and Rake watched the exchange, sharing an uneasy silence. ¡°You are the herald. Under your banner there is nowhere they would not follow you. With my wisdom on the battlefield I could forge you into an unstoppable leader. And what better place would there be to develop those skills? Here you can rest. You can see what it''s like to have allies who will fight with you. For you. I thought I would never again know what it''s like to be at home in my own skin, but somehow Monad has led me here again. Of this much I am certain.¡±


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre.¡± The lycan joined them in the standoff. Unlike Gyrell''s, his tone was gentle, his eyes full of love and fear. ¡°We do not need this place. We do not need these people. Let''s go back to the city¡­the one that you always wanted to visit when you were a boy. It is large and far more noisy than I would like, but we would be safe there until we can figure what to do next.¡± He flashed Gyrell a scathing look.


    Crowe looked from Gyrell¡¯s self righteous expression to Barghast''s desperate one. He bit the lining of his lower lip, bunching the flesh up beneath his teeth. Sensing his confliction, the commander used the opportunity to her advantage. ¡°Neither you or your lycan will survive another venture through the woods. Not in the condition you''re currently in. She challenged the Okanavian with a scathing look of her own. Crowe wondered vaguely how much of what she said he could understand. Due to his superior senses, he could pick up a lot by body language, tone, facial expressions, and smells. He growled at her once, so some of the meaning must have slipped through. ¡°If I were you,¡± Gyrell insisted unabated, ¡°I would want to rest up and gather as much supplies as I could before going back into those woods.¡±


    The point she made was strong, her logic undeniable. Her words rang in his head, ebbing at the last shred of conviction he had left in him. He wished the walls of Rake''s house would close in and smash him to a pulp. She is right about one thing: We need food and we need sustenance. Otherwise we won''t make it back.


    ¡°You''re right,¡± he said after a long bout of conflicted silence. Of course she was - and judging from the triumphant grin on her face she knew it. He flashed a defeated look in the lycan''s direction. Just a few more hours, he tried to tell his companion with his eyes. I know it''s not what we want, but I¡¯m doing the best I can.


    Barghast looked away. Crowe felt his heart give a nasty jerk. The Okanavian had never refused to look at him this way before. He choked down the plea of understanding - I¡¯m doing the best I can - and gave Loras a peremptory smile. It was the same smile he would give Petras when he was trying to keep the peace.


    ¡°That''s fantastic!¡± The commander clapped her hands together as if this was the best news she''d heard all morning. ¡°It looks like we will be having guests for dinner! I can assure you, herald, you will not regret sticking around it a moment longer. You are amongst friends. You are in a safe place.¡±


    The newfound uncomfortable silence between Crowe and Barghast made the practitioner feel sick to his stomach; he couldn''t shake the feeling he¡¯d made a terrible mistake in agreeing to stay even a few hours longer.


    He tried several times to meet the barbarian''s eyes - enough times to guarantee his certainty that the Okanavian was not happy with him. The way he walked with his tail tucked between his legs. The way he focused on anything but the practitioner.  Walking in the shadow of his silence and his anger was worse than Crowe could have imagined.


    His innards felt like a boiling pot as they mounted the steps to the room where they had stayed the previous night. At any second the panic would explode out of him and this time he wouldn¡¯t have the Okanavian to comfort him. This time the lycan¡¯s anger was the cause of his panic. Not his anger, my mistake, he reminded himself as he slammed the door shut behind him. But with the shutting of the door he could no longer keep his panic at bay.


    ¡°Alright,¡± he said, rounding on Barghast. This time he could not keep the panic out of his voice - or the despair, or the anger. Anger that he had had to explain himself, that he had to explain his actions. Despair and fear at what his decision might have cost him. A price he would never be able to pay if Barghast ever decided to leave him. This fear had alway been there, but now it speared through him, as white-hot as burning steel. His hands clenched into fists and unclenched. ¡°Why are you avoiding me? Why won¡¯t you say anything?¡±


    The Okanavian did not say anything. He merely stood with his back turned to Crowe.


    The practitioner jabbed a finger at the barbarian¡¯s back. What came out of him was fury. The type of helpless fury that did not take into account the feelings of others or the events that had led up to the situation. Fury that was built on the foundation of being alone. Of being abandoned. ¡°Don¡¯t you turn your back on me!¡± he shrieked. He saw the lycan flinch. Good, he thought with a savage twist of triumph. This is what you get for ignoring me. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare punish me with your silence! Don¡¯t you dare treat me the way Petras treated me¡­¡±


    This time Barghast really did flinch. This time his reaction was unmistakable. He lowered his head before turning around to face the sorcerer. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre¡­¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    The barbarian¡¯s ears twitched.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you give me that look!¡± the practitioner snarled through bared teeth. ¡°Don¡¯t think you just get to give me the cold shoulder and then give me that look and think that it makes everything better! I am not any more pleased about this situation than you are¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m worried this place is seducing you the way it seduced Rake¡­¡±


    Crowe struck himself. He didn¡¯t know why he did it. He didn¡¯t know he¡¯d done it until he felt the sting of his palm against his own flesh. The action filled the sound with a sharp report that made Barghast step back as if he¡¯d been the one who¡¯d been struck. ¡°So what if it is? Look at what it took for us to get here! You saw Rake! You saw the commander! Do they look like they are being enslaved? Do they look like they are under the spell of a sorcerer?¡±


    ¡°They do not,¡± Barghast admitted reluctantly.


    Crowe closed his eyes. His heart hammered in his chest. The air in the room felt thick. Suffocating.


    ¡°My beloved¡­¡± The lycan started towards him.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me!¡± the sorcerer shrieked. The look he gave Barghast was such that the barbarian backed away until his back was pressed up against the window, blocking out the afternoon light. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Organized his thoughts in the way a man with a sound mind would. When he spoke his voice had the same clinical precision Gyrell had displayed earlier that morning. ¡°We came here for a reason. This has all happened once before and now it¡¯s happening again. That means something. Gyrell has shown no indication she is aware of the repetition of events, which leads me to believe the entity behind this doesn¡¯t want her to know. And don¡¯t forget what Maeve said in Vaylin. That we would find a woman who was in need of saving from her own damnation. Gyrell is that woman!¡±


    ¡°What about you?¡± Barghast whined.


    ¡°What about me?¡±


    ¡°Who is going to save you from your own damnation?¡±


    Crowe struck himself a second time. This time with both fists. The only way he could stop himself from striking his companion was to redirect his fury at his own body. ¡°Not everything is about me! We are not here to save my soul. We are here to help people! We are here to bring this war to an end once and for all!¡± He swallowed, his throat raw from screaming. ¡°So far your only intent seems to be to stand in my way.¡±


    The moment those words left his mouth the shame hit him like a blow to the stomach. The last of his emotions burst out of him in a sob. The black taste of self-loathing scalded the back of his throat. There was nowhere he could think of to go¡­I don¡¯t care what Gyrell says, I don¡¯t belong in this place, I don¡¯t belong anywhere¡­so now it was his turn to turn his back on the Okanavian. He curled his hands into fists once more and pommeled himself in the face as hard as he could. The blunt fury of his fists was no comparison for the yawning hole that opened inside him. He didn¡¯t realize he had begun to scream mindlessly until Barghast whirled him around, burying his face in his chest fur.


    When it was clear that the practitioner had ceased beating himself for the time being, the Okanavian curled a digit under his chin, lifting his face up to stare down sternly at him. ¡°I never want to see you beat yourself again! You have red welts all over your flesh¡­¡±


    Crowe wanted to throw himself into a fresh fit; he wanted to bury his face in his hands so the barbarian couldn¡¯t see how pathetic he was. Monad knows he¡¯s seen it enough times.


    ¡°I should not have gotten angry with you,¡± Barghast boomed. ¡°I should not have pushed you so hard. You are right to be angry with me.¡±


    The practitioner pulled back with a sniff. He wiped the sleeves of his robes across his face. ¡°I¡¯m not angry with you. I just can¡¯t stand the thought of you being angry with me. I don¡¯t ever want you to be angry with me. It¡¯s the worst, most scary feeling in the world. I¡­I don¡¯t¡­¡± He willed himself not to burst into a fresh fit of sobs. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to give up on me. I don¡¯t want you to leave me.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°You¡­?¡± Barghast stopped with a look of genuine surprise. ¡°When we left the white-haire woman after eating the apple pie, you think I wanted to leave you? My beloved, I could never leave you. It is impossible. You and I are inextricably bound.¡± Crowe opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word the lycan silenced him by pressing a large finger to his lips. ¡°I am a foolish pup for questioning you. Sometimes I forget that you have never led us astray. You have only led us where we needed to go. I suppose I am still just a selfish pup who wants you all to myself.¡±


    The sorcerer chuckled wetly. He rested his fingers on Barghast¡¯s broad forearm. ¡°You will always have me first and foremost. You will always have my heart. We are inseparable, you and I. In the moments when things are most unpleasant, when we are stuck in a place where we do not want to be, that is when you and I need to stick together the most. Do you understand? This place has power. It deceives. It preys on the minds of those who inhabit it. But we know very little about the nature of that power. We must investigate.¡±


    Barghast¡¯s ears pricked up. ¡°Investigate? This is a new word I have yet to hear.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s when you launch an inquiry to find out information, but you want to be careful. We don¡¯t know if Commander Gyrell is telling the truth. For all we know Rake could be brainwashed, or coerced, or under a spell.¡±


    Barghast lowered himself onto the edge of the nearest bed. He pulled Crowe into his lap. He pressed the cool tip of his snout to the practitioner¡¯s skin. ¡°Why would someone want to put him under a spell?¡±


    ¡°So that he can¡¯t resist. So he¡¯ll tell us what we want to hear. The thing about our investigation is that we¡¯ll have to be careful. Quiet. If we are not, things could end very badly for us.¡±


    ¡­


    Barghast paced in front of the window, watching day fall towards night. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet but he had given up trying to be conspicuous almost an hour ago. Crowe¡¯s soft snores stirred the air. The practitioner slept on his side, his head turned away from the lycan. The Okanavian paused in his pacing long enough to stroke his beloved¡¯s cheek with a finger. The hint of a smile touched Crowe¡¯s lips. He made a soft moaning sound in his sleep. Barghast felt his heart flutter. Felt himself fall in love with his twin o¡¯rre all over again.


    There wasn¡¯t just love in his heart, there was fear too. Fear that he would lose his beloved to this place. He resumed his back and forth circuit across the room. Though no one had bothered them, he remained unconvinced they were safe. This place is a garden of deception.


    He watched the people move about from the window. Thinking back on it, they looked no different from the poor souls his beloved and he had encountered in the place Crowe called Timberford. A place that brought back its fair share of pleasant memories. We almost died there. I almost died there. The demon had me¡­it would have ripped off my skin had Crowe not saved me. It is because of him I am still alive. It is because of him we are still together. In my arrogance I forget that.


    He made the silent vow that he would not forget again.


    ¡°You must tread carefully,¡± a familiar voice said behind him. Llamia stood at his back, watching him from the shadows. ¡°You may be a foolish pup, but your instincts have never led you wrong.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything you can do to help us?¡± Barghast hated the fear he heard in his voice, but it was in his blood, black as poison.


    The seer shook her head sadly. ¡°I wish I could. It''s not due to a lack of wanting. The creature that has created this box you find yourself trapped in is far more powerful than I. You have seen the illusions she has conjured up. I have no such ability. I can shape your dreams, not the earth itself. Enough questions. Listen to me, pup.¡±


    Barghast bit his tongue to keep from gnashing his teeth together. ¡°I am listening.¡±


    ¡°Your beloved is being tested as he has never been tested before. This is the ultimate design of the place and the motivations of the Architect who attacked you back at the fort.¡±


    Barghast''s ears perked up. ¡°Architect?¡±


    Llamia bowed her head. ¡°The first of Monad''s creations. The Architect you know has the Black King was the very first. Since the end of the First Iteration, Hamon has always openly rebelled against creator; the way an obstinate child rebels against their father. There are many who turned their allegiance to the Black Father and there are those who have stayed out on their own path like myself and the Architect you will soon encounter.¡±


    Barghast whined uncertainly. ¡°You are an Architect?¡±


    The seer took a long time to reply. Barghast began to fear he had asked the wrong question when she spoke in a wistful whimper of her own. ¡°At the height of my power I was. Now I am much more akin to a spirit of the desert.¡±


    ¡°How did this happen to you?¡±


    The seer grimaced as if she tasted something unpleasant in her mouth. ¡°I fell from grace. Do not ask me any more questions about it - it¡¯s rude.¡±


    The barbarian dipped his head low submissively. ¡°I did not mean to offend you. It''s just¡­¡± A phrase he¡¯d heard Crowe say several times shot into his brain. ¡°...it¡¯s a lot to take in.


    ¡°Look at your twin o¡¯rre. Do you see how he''s sleeping?¡±


    ¡°Of course. I could watch him sleep all day and all night every day for the rest of my life. Nothing would make me happier.¡±


    ¡°He''s about to be tested in a way he never had before. Should he succeed, each test will only become more difficult from here. He¡¯s going to need you now more than ever. Be patient with him. Help him along when he falters. The burden he carries is greater than you could ever know.¡±


    ¡°I know how great his burden is,¡± the Okanavian insisted with an indignant whine.


    ¡°And yet you still want to keep him to yourself!¡± Llamia snapped.  ¡°You continue to treat him more as an object than a person¡­¡±


    ¡°I do not treat him like an object!¡± The Okanavian''s objection was deafening in the silence of the room. His beloved stirred on the bed with a low, uneasy moan. Barghast went over to where the practitioner lay. ¡°Don''t wake up, twin o¡¯rre,¡± he whispered. ¡°Stay peaceful and sleeping.¡±


    Crowe must have sensed him in his dreams for he opened his eyes. Even now, after all the time they¡¯d spent together and all they¡¯d endured, Barghast felt his heart stall in his chest when the practitioner looked at him. His eyes were deep with infinite depth. The lycan knew if he were to fall into those stormy blue eyes he would fall forever. Each new discovery he made would be more mind-blowing than the last.


    The herald smiled sweetly. He scooted closer to the edge of the bed, patting the space next to him in a wordless invitation. They had pushed the beds back together in case the Okanavian wanted to rest with him. Barghast sidled up next to him, pulling the practitioner¡¯s tiny body into him until the small of his back was pressed up against the lycan¡¯s belly. After a moment his beloved rolled over so that they faced one another. Crowe stroked his fingers through Barghast¡¯s whiskers, earning a contented groan from the lycan. I have been a foolish, selfish pup and he treats me with whisker rubs when he should flick my nose instead. Gaia could not have blessed me with a sweeter twin o¡¯rre.


    Barghast was not sure how long they laid together like this, their bodies entwined together, before he heard the heavy footfalls of the white-haired woman outside the door. Crowe was just pulling himself into a sitting position when the door opened. The commander stepped in. The triumphant grin she¡¯d worn earlier this morning was fixed on her face. She doesn¡¯t respect my beloved. Not the way I do. As with everyone else he is nothing more than a pawn to her. I will not let her use him.


    With this thought, Llama¡¯s words echoed through his head, reminding him: You continue to treat him more as an object than a person¡­


    He paused. Was this true? Did he only see Crowe has an object to satiate his own desires? Was he any better than the white-haired woman who eyed his beloved as if he were prey meant to be devoured and digested? He bit back a growl. He¡¯d made things difficult enough for his twin o¡¯rre as it was - Don¡¯t you dare punish me with your silence! Don¡¯t you dare treat me the way Petras treated me¡­He could still see the red welts and a couple of bruises from where the practitioner had struck himself.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± Gyrell said to Crowe. ¡°Good.¡± She held up a pile of folded garments for him. ¡°Dinner will begin within the hour. We are holding a feast in honor of your arrival. This is not an indoctrination into a cult. This is a celebration of your accomplishments and the accomplishments you will continue to make as you grow into your role as herald. Some clean clothes, good food, good drink, and good company will only serve to help you feel better.¡±


    Crowe took the offered clothes with a nod of thanks. His mouth worked as if he wanted to say something, but he didn¡¯t know what to say.  Be patient with him. Help him along when he falters. The burden he carries is greater than you could ever know. ¡°Thank you. Good food, drink, and company sounds lovely. Like you we have been on the road for a better part of a year. Sleeping on the ground isn¡¯t exactly the most restful.¡± He affected a humorous smile that almost looked genuine, but Barghast did not miss the twitch of tension in his lower lip. It was the sort of detail only a lycan would see.


    ¡°Indeed.¡± Gyrell stepped forward.


    She rested a hand on Crowe¡¯s shoulder. Barghast bit his tongue to hold back another growl. She¡¯s not hurting him. She¡¯s only trying to be friendly. Still, Barghast did not like the way people were always touching each other in this land. I only want to be the only one who touches him. But he is not an object. He is a person. He is my beloved.


    ¡°As long as you remain here in Caldreath, you will have your own bed. You will have clean clothes. You will have food and drink and you will be surrounded by people who respect you, not want to hang you from the end of a noose or burn you at the stake. You are in a safe place¡± Something akin to humor flashed in the white-haired woman¡¯s green eyes. ¡°I will leave you to get dressed. Before we head to the gathering there is something I would like to show you.¡±


    Upon exiting the room, the door clicked softly shut behind her.


    Crowe unfolded the clothes she¡¯d given him, a frown of concentration screwed on his face. After a moment he appeared satisfied. He raised his arms to pull his robes over his head. Barghast came up behind him, their reflections filling the room¡¯s only mirror. He circled his arms around the practitioner¡¯s slender hips. It struck the lycan again just how small he was. Just how delicate. But like this place that appearance of weakness was also an illusion. It didn¡¯t stop Barghast from wanting to shield his beloved from the world with his body. To tuck him into his chest where the rest of the world could not touch him.


    He pressed his snout to Crowe¡¯s ear, eliciting a shiver from the practitioner. He made a small sound in his throat that might have been a gasp. ¡°I want to undress you,¡± the lycan rumbled.


    ¡°So undress me.¡±


    So Barghast did. And he took his time. Once his beloved was naked, he gently combed his claws through his hair. He made sure to be very careful not to scrape his scalp with them. Crowe faced the mirror with his eyes closed. His head fell back against the Okanavian¡¯s chest. His mouth slackened. Softened. Nothing thrilled Barghast than to hear his twin o¡¯rre make those sweet little sounds. It only thrilled him even more to be the cause of such reactions.


    He nipped at the back of his neck, nipping at his flesh gently. He fumbled with the clasp of the practitioner''s breeches. Today his digits weren''t working with him. When Barghast let out a growl of frustration, Crowe giggled sweetly and undid the clasp for him. He kicked off his breeches. His skin looked  golden in the morning light. Barghast traced a finger up between the valleys of his shoulder blades. ¡°Gaia, bless me twin o¡¯rre. I swear you only grow more exquisite with each day. Crowe did not reply but kept smiling. Nothing makes me happier than to see my beloved smile.


    When Crowe turned away from the mirror, Barghast¡¯s breath caught in his throat. He wore a white shirt with sleeves that flared out at the end and a pair of black breeches. Barghast had combed back and straightened his hair. Free of grime and duress, the sorcerer looked positively radiant. Now his beloved bit his tongue, dismayed by the lycan''s silence. ¡°Do I look alright?¡± He chuckled timidly. ¡°Please say something.¡±


    ¡°As I said twin o¡¯rre, you look more exquisite with each passing day. But right now¡­I can hardly breathe. That''s how beautiful you are.¡±


    The tension lifted from Crowe''s shoulders. The curve of his lips softened. ¡°Shall we go to dinner?¡± At the mention of the word ¡®dinner¡¯, Barghast''s belly rumbled. Again the sorcerer laughed, the sound musical and genuine. ¡°I¡¯ll take that has a yes.¡±


    Loras was waiting for them in the hallway, her finger tapping impatiently against her thigh. She was dressed in silky violet robes that made her silver hair pair brighter. Her finger ceased tapping. ¡°Good,¡± she said briskly; once more she spoke solely to Crowe; she only glanced briefly at the lycan. ¡°Shall we go?¡±


    She doesn''t like me, the Okanavian thought. She doesn''t like me because she knows she can''t sink her hooks in me the way she can Crowe.


    The night air was fragrant with the perfume of summer. The musty smell of pollen made his nose itch. He felt a sneeze coming in. He pushed his snout into the cup of his elbow as Crowe had taught him - ¡°it''s the polite thing to do,¡± the practitioner had told him, ¡°you don''t want to sneeze all over someone; that would be bad manners¡±. Crowe waited beside him, running a soothing hand over Barghast''s arm. The white-haired woman qwaited slightly ahead of them. Barghast could hear the impatient racing of her heart. All her smiles and flourishes are all just a charade. Inside she is just a scared woman every bit as desperate to get her way as we are.


    During the few hours they¡¯d been in the room, the town had transformed. Lanterns hung from the trees; fireflies danced within the glass, their wings shimmering. Music floated over the thick humid air. Air that was electric with the spirit of celebration. It was overwhelming. It took all of his will to keep from clinging to Crowe like a child. It was a pressure he certainly didn''t need at the moment. Just keep your eye on him. Don''t lose sight of  him for even a moment. When you lose sight of him bad things happen.


    The white-haired woman led them along the curve of a dirt road. It was hard not to become distracted by the sky. Far flung diamonds glimmered in a sea of endless black. The stars had always fascinated him.


    They passed a wood post fence. The fence looked new, the dirt around it freshly dug. They walked up the path to a small two story house with big windows. Barghast bit back a whine. The windows looked like two eyes. Two eyes that watched them. Two eyes that saw right through them to the center of their soul. And the white woman was leading them to it. The lycan couldn''t see her face but he could imagine that same sly grin painted on her face.


    The door to the house yawned open. Candlelight danced within,.throwing shadows against the door. Crowe followed the woman without hesitation, without caution. His expression betrayed nothing. His heart beat steadily against his chest.


    Before he could stop himself, Barghast grabbed his arm. He pulled Crowe back away from the woman. The practitioner did not look pleased about being steered against his will, but he did not protest either. ¡°I do not want to go in that house, twin o¡¯rre,¡± he whined.


    The practitioner scowled. ¡°It''s just a house, Barghast.¡±


    ¡°Is everything alright?¡± the white haired woman asked. The lycan could not understand what she said, but he did not miss the irritation in her voice.


    ¡°Everything¡¯s fine!¡± Crowe snapped over his shoulder. But when he looked back at Barghast, the lycan could see everything was not fine. When his beloved spoke, his voice was tight and cold and weary with anger - anger at me. He spoke in Okanavian so that only the barbarian could understand. ¡°You and I have talked about this. I know you are afraid. I''m afraid, too. But I need you to be brave. So pull your head out of your ass and be the warrior I know you can be!¡±


    His words hit Barghast like a cold splash of water. Of course his beloved was frustrated with them. Had they not just had this conversation not mere moments ago? He nodded, staving back a whine. ¡°Of course, twin o¡¯rre.¡±


    Crowe did not nod or smile or rub his arm. His gaze lingered on Barghast a moment longer. His eyes said it would take more than an apology to earn his forgiveness this time. What was it he¡¯d told the lycan before? Actions speak louder than words. He said something brief and sharp to the white-haired woman. The woman nodded, looking smug. Her eyes rose up to meet the lycan¡¯s. She raised a silvery eyebrow, silently proclaiming her victory over Barghast.


    Dear Gaia, help me, the Okanavian prayed. He lifted his eyes up to the sky. If he looked at the silver-haired bitch a moment longer he would surely do something he regretted. Something that would make his beloved more angry with him. He couldn¡¯t let that happen. It will take every ounce of will I have in me not to kill her.


    The bitch said something softly. Crowe nodded. He climbed up the steps of the porch. He looked back at the Okanavian once. He wasn¡¯t smiling, but the cold look he¡¯d given the lycan was no longer there. The barbarian¡¯s heart lurched hopefully. Fret not, twin o¡¯rre. I will not cause you anymore distress this night. I trust you. You have never led us wrong. Whatever horrible situation we land in, you always find a way out. I believe in this above all else¡­


    They stepped over the threshold.


    The door closed behind them with a squeak that sent cold shivers down Barghast¡¯s spine.

 The Hour of the Herald

    I shouldn¡¯t have lost my temper with Barghast. Not only does he have a right to be scared, but he¡¯s right.


    But once more his words failed him. It was something that had been happening more and more lately. It was best to keep going. Best to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Because when you stop, the bloodhounds chasing your heel always catch up and they always make you bleed.


    Whether Commander Gyrell was a bloodhound, he could not say for sure. It was clear to see that she had fallen in love with the illusion of the place; an illusion that proved to be more and more real the longer they were here. And yet while hardened by her experiences of loss both familial and in battle, she was clearly sane minded. She did not talk as someone who could not tell reality from delusion. She herself had admitted she knew her husband and daughter were still alive. Someone who is insane would not be able to tell the difference. Their mind would do everything it could to protect them from the truth.


    Delusions may not be a sin, but weakness certainly was.


    Barghast is not the weak one. Barghast is not the one who is afraid. I am.


    While he feared being the fool who fell for another trap, there was another greater fear. Up until now it had been satisfied with lingering on the fringes, but now it reared up its head as they traveled deeper into the house.  Though several candles had been lit, Loras summoned a ball of flame. She did not use a staff or a rod the way Crowe did, but her own hand. Crowe had always feared using mana without a tool to channel it for fear that it would spread out of control and wreak havoc. Gyrell did not need such precautions. She¡¯d done it with a single wave of her hand.


    The interior of the house was almost identical to Rake¡¯s. The sitting room space and dining room were combined into a single open space. His eyes swept across the fireplace, the staircase that led up to the second floor. The place smelled pleasantly of wood.


    ¡°Why did you bring us here?¡± He did not look at Loras.


    ¡°You know why,¡± she said from the drawer.


    ¡°Was this house always here or did it just ¡®pop¡¯ up?¡±


    ¡°Does it matter? It¡¯s yours if you want it.¡±


    Now he did turn around to glare at her. He planted his hands firmly in his hips just so his hand was close to his rod. Butterflies fluttered inside his stomach. Barghast took a cautious step closer to him. His bulk blotted out the candlelight. He looked even more imposing in the house; the tips of his ears almost brushed the ceiling. He would have to stoop and tuck his shoulders in to squeeze himself through the door.


    ¡°What makes you think we want it? What makes you think we want to stay?¡±


    ¡°I know you don¡¯t want to go back out on the road.¡±


    Her words were like steel blades slicing into his heart. When he did not offer an argument she said, ¡°It¡¯s smart of you not to deny it. Every thought and feeling going on inside of you shows on your face. I can help you with that.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want your help.¡±


    ¡°But you need it. I don¡¯t want your help either, but I need it as much as it pains me to say it.¡± She pressed her hand to her bosom. ¡°I am not someone who is usually disposed to asking for help. When you open yourself up you make yourself vulnerable and when you are vulnerable you make it easy for someone to strike you where it hurts most. But I have been fighting this war for a long time¡­long since before you were born¡­and Monad help me, I am mighty tired.¡± She looked away, but it was too late. He¡¯d already seen the tears in her eyes and she knew it. But there was also calculation there, quick as a bullet. She¡¯d been alive for centuries. She was not just dangerous because of the levels of her powers, she was a master tactician. A master manipulator. A force to be reckoned with in her own right. ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡± She put just the right amount of pain in her voice. It was effective.


    ¡°I am,¡± he conceded.


    ¡°I can see it in you,¡± she said. The reproach in her tone said this was more than just a manipulation tactic; she was also being genuine. ¡°No practitioner lives an easy life. We are slaves to the Theocracy. We are slaves to the power we possess and we are slaves to our own emotions. That is why the Theocracy has always feared us. We are volatile, which is why we have always stuck to the mountains. Which is why, like the lycans¡­¡± She nodded at Barghast. ¡°...we just want to be left alone. We just want to live our lives in peace. But the Theocracy won¡¯t let us have it. We¡¯ll have to fight for our freedom. Every bit of it. Look at what they¡¯ve done. Look at the means they¡¯ve forced us into in order to survive. If you need no further motivation then look at your own hand. It''s not easy to come back from losing two fingers. You can certainly learn to make do, but it will never be with the ease you had.¡±


    Crowe looked at his hand. At the empty space where his fingers used lto be. He felt tears spring to his eyes unbidden. Rather than turn away from her he met her eyes. Whatever she is, whoever she has aligned herself with, she has one thing in common with Barghast and I: she knows  the pain of loss well.


    ¡°There is only one way out of this,¡± she said, her voice rising in a plea. ¡°Together. It is well known in past Iterations


    that the herald has always needed followers. These people have been waiting for you. Praying for the day when you would show up. They would follow you anywhere; they would follow you into the depths of Inferno. With me you would have a mentor. A mentor of great value. You have the instincts of a leader, I can see it in you already. It shines through like steel. But you are still young with a lot to learn. My knowledge combined with your power¡­you could be a formidable force.¡±


    Crowe''s mouth twisted into a cynical sneer. ¡°And all I have to do is take this house?¡±


    ¡°It''s a start. A home where you and your lycan friend can find stability while you train. Far better to train in a place that feels like home than in a muddy field.¡±


    ¡°Are we chained to it?¡±


    The commander waved her hands around the room. ¡°Do you see chains?¡±


    No, but you are, he thought. He glanced at the fireplace. I fear I might be as well.


    As this thought passed through his mind, the fantasy of having a home - even if it was a temporary one - came to life around him. It wouldn''t be the house he would have inherited from Petras. It will truly be ours. Every morning Barghast and I could have breakfast together. I¡¯ll introduce him to coffee. He ran a hand across the bench that was large enough for the lycan to sit comfortably. He dreamed of making rabbit stew during the long nights.


    Now he walked up the stairs. He wanted to see the rest of the house. He walked down the hall. He explored its rooms: the library full of his favorite books; books he¡¯d read over and over again because it had been the only way to escape from here¡­


    ¡°You could have anything you want¡­¡±


    ¡­the bathroom with a large basin in the center of the room where Barghast and he could spend long nights soaking in perfumed water¡­


    ¡°You and Barghast can be comfortable¡­¡±


    ¡­the bedroom where there was a bed he and Barghast could fit in together.


    It wasn''t until he came down the stairs that woke up from his daze, cheeks glowing with pleasant fantasies, that he realized Loras had not moved from her post at the front door. ¡°You don''t have to make a decision now,¡± she told him gently. ¡°You still have the dinner to think about things.¡±


    She offered him a tightly rolled aether joint. She struck a match and lit the tip of the joint for him before tossing it carelessly out into the night. He inhaled deeply. Smoke curled in his throat, filling it with the familiar taste of honey and pine.


    This place has chains, indeed, he thought. And they cut deeper than steel.


    ¡­


    The people of Caldreath were seated at tables that had been stationed on a grass field; the tables had been pushed together end to end. Fireflies flitted amongst the trees. Children chased them with outstretched hands, their laughter rising above the joyous laughter from the tables. Crowe found himself searching the crowd for torchcoats and bad omens. Even now I can''t fully let myself relax. We¡¯ve been on the road too long. We¡¯ve been on the run too long. He glanced at Gyrell as she was surrounded by men and women eager to snatch a fragment of her attention. Now that she was back ¡°on the stage¡± she was all smiles and laughter, rubbing shoulders and putting backs. She had traded grandiosity for something more subtle and down-to-earth. She found peace here. Why can''t Barghast and I? Would that really be such a bad thing? Or are we now so adverse to peace it''s now impossible to find?


    Barghast stood to the practitioner''s left, his arms crossed over his chest. The moment he caught the sorcerer watching him, his perpetual scowl turned into a grin. He''s doing his best just like me. Just like all of us. Crowe leaned towards him. ¡°Everything¡¯s going to be okay. As long as you and I are together, that''s all that matters.¡±


    The Okanavian returned the wink. ¡°That''s all that matters.¡±


    They grinned at each other, waiting for the commander to return beneath a large tree. Barghast became fascinated with the stage that stood several meters away from the cluster of tables. Men and women danced before it to the swell of violin music, tambourines, and drums. ¡°It looks just like the stage from my clan!¡±


    Crowe grinned. Was it too soon to hope that Barghast would try to see past his misgivings and give this place a chance?


    Do you really want to stay here? a voice whispered slyly in the back of his mind. He shoved it away viciously, hiding his doubt behind a laugh. ¡°Do you want to step closer? We could get a better look. We could dance together.¡± His pulse quickened pleasurably at the thought of dancing with the Okanavian.


    The lycan eyed the couples of swaying and spinning dancers with cautious fascination. When he looked back at Crowe he lowered his head. ¡°I would like to¡­but I don''t know how. No one ever taught me.¡±


    Crowe bit his tongue to keep from laughing. He didn''t want the barbarian to feel more embarrassed than he already did, but the tortured expression he gave the practitioner made it a challenge. He scratched at Barghast''s chest fur until the tension drain from his shoulders. ¡°I like it that no one¡¯s taught you.¡±


    The lycan¡¯s ears perked up. ¡°You do?¡±


    The sorcerer nodded. ¡°It means I get to be the one to teach you.¡±


    ¡°Nothing would make me happier than for you to teach me to dance.


    The practitioner and the lycan were so intently focused on each other they didn''t realize Loras had come up behind them until she cleared her throat impatiently. The brackets of tension around her mouth eased with a cynical smile. She nodded in the direction of the tables. She leaned conspiratorially towards Crow; her eyes lit up with something akin to mischief. and good humor. ¡°As you can see I do more than just protect the people who count on me to keep them safe. I am more than just a warrior, more than just a guardian. Leaders - real leaders - wear multiple hats. My duty is not just to protect them, but to guide them when I can and to make the hard decisions when I cannot. The role of commander is a balancing act. It''s walking on a tightrope. There are no straight lines. You will find this out soon enough.¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°What if you can''t be all things to all people all at once?¡±


    She didn''t answer. She waved at the two chairs stationed at the head of the table. To the left of Crowe was another bench, no doubt provided for Barghast. The lycan eyed it mistrustfully before seating himself. Around them the dancers ceased their spinning, the musicians their playing. Crowe watched them converge around the tables. Watch them turn from individuals and couples into a single body. It was a choice they made willingly, not with the air of the bewitched or the coerced. The momentary tension that had settled back into his shoulders eased.


    Loras raised her hands diplomatically. The last of the chatter died. All eyes turned to her. The look she gave them was not the look of a soldier charged with their protection, but a mother who is happy to be with all her children. They in turn watched her with calm excitement. With love. Crowe ached to feel such love.


    ¡°We have paid much to be here. For many of us, the price was more than we could bear.¡± Gyrell''s smile faltered enough to convey her grief and gather nods of sorrow. ¡°No one will know how much we paid in sweat. In tears. In blood. And so it has been this way with the passing of each Iteration; our suffering and our triumphs will not go down in the pages of history. Before we reached Fort Teague, I was the lowest I could remember being since the day the Theocracy took my husband and daughter from me and burned the only life I¡¯d ever known down to the ground. That was over a hundred years ago¡­¡±


    Members in the audience stirred. A single breath of sympathy rolled through them like a wave that traveled back to Loras.


    ¡°I must admit I was not as ready to trust the Mother as you lot were.¡± The commander¡¯s smile was humble. Apologetic. She waved her hand in a silent plea for grace, a woman who has finally come to grip with the errors of her ways. Several heads bombed up and down in validation. ¡°But soon I heard the truth in her call. I realized the gifts she has granted us is worth the price of admission. And that this place of sanctuary is meant for us.¡± She thrust her hands towards the stars. She dropped her head back so that her face was awash in silver moonlight. ¡°Not for Drajen and his torchcoats. Not for the Whore of Creation, Elysia, who they worship with such blind devotion!¡±


    This time the audience didn''t just murmur in adoration, they cheered. Men rose to their feet with such force they knocked their chairs back, clapping each other on the back. Women sobbed into their handkerchiefs. Gyrell let the commotion play out out for a moment before quelling it with another wave of her hands.


    She doesn''t have to scream or use acts of violence to get their attention, Crowe thought. He watched her with fascination. Like Matthiesen in Caldreath, she''s already won their respect. Their love.


    Gyrell cleared her throat before continuing. ¡°With that said all good things must come to an end. Peace simply does not last no matter how long we might want it to. The arrival of the herald has always been both a symbol of hope and change, and for true everlasting change to occur, we must first push through the flames of chaos. The era of the herald is here at last!¡±


    Every eye in Caldreath turned to Crowe. The commander nodded at him. Her smile prodded him to do his part in the performance. He stood on shaky legs. They smiled at him. They blamed at him with respect. With reverence. Even Barghast was standing now, his tail wagging, his eyes glowing with pride. The air had become so quiet all the practitioner could hear was the wind stirring through the trees and the racing of his heart. Is this really happening? Or am I dreaming?


    ¡°We have reached a turning point in our cycle!¡± Gyrell proclaimed. Now she spoke solely to Crowe though her voice was loud enough for all to hear. ¡°You are here, herald. Here to guide Monad''s people out from underneath the shadow of oppression. All that you see before you has been placed here¡­for you. To prepare you. So that you can take what is yours. So that you can lead Monad''s people back to the Eternal City where we belong. So that you can end this loop of eternal suffering once and for all.¡±


    She held up a goblet made of silver. Veins of dark red threaded from the mouth of the cup to the bottom. Inside was a silvery substance Crowe recognized immediately: aether.


    ¡°Aether wine,¡± the commander told him with that same wicked smile the practitioner was becoming more familiar with. ¡°Not only do we have our own aether grove¡­which you will soon see¡­but we manufacture and store the wine at our very own windmill.¡±


    The moment the commander raised the goblet to her lips, Crowe realized his hands were no longer empty. He looked down and saw he held a cup that could have been an exact replica of the commander¡¯s.


    ¡°How¡­?¡±


    The question died on his lips unfinished. He soon discovered they were not the only ones who held cups full of aether wine. Every villager in Caldreath had one. Even Barghast. The lycan looked every bit as surprised as the practitioner felt. How are we all holding goblets? They weren¡¯t on the tables a moment ago and I didn¡¯t see anyone pass them out¡­So where did they come from?


    His thoughts returned to the house Gyrell had shown Barghast and he. It looked new, like they''d just finished building it! As if it sprouted right out of the ground! The Architect is doing this¡­She¡¯s the one making all this happen¡­


    Gyrell was not the only one drinking from her goblet. The men and women and even the children were doing the same. They drank deeply, their eyes closed in rapture. They almost looked sleepy.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    Barghast had not drank from his goblet yet.


    Before the voice in his mind could ask more questions, the practitioner silenced it by raising the goblet to his lips. He did not stop drinking until he emptied the goblet of its contents.


    The taste of aether mixed with grapes and honey flooded his tongue. It was so overwhelming his body fought to expel it. His throat tightened. He gagged. Don''t spit it out! Tears streamed from his eyes. He clamped his lips shut. Don''t spit it out!  Drink it!


    He did drink it. Through his tears he could see that Barghast had done the same. The Okanavian''s overturned cup laid on the table but none of it had spilled into the grass.


    Currents of lightning crackled through the sorcerer''s veins. His skin buzzed. The world glowed as if everything harnessed an inner light that could only be seen by ingesting aether.  The people of Caldreath glowed. They laughed, pointing at the swarm of synchronized lightning bugs that undulated through the air in a wave. He blinked. He looked down at the table. Other changes has occurred while he''d been distracted.


    ¡°May you find splendor in the Eternal City, indeed,¡± he whispered.


    The table was covered from end to end with silverware, pitchers of chilled aether wine, and platters piled high with food. There was so much it was impossible for his overstimulated mind to give name to it all. There was every meat and delicacy he could think of - and many of which he¡¯d never encountered before. Beef, duck, fish - Mercius, help me, there''s fish! - roasted vegetables, fresh baked bread, and pastries.


    ¡°No one touch anything!¡±


    Gyrell''s voice rang through the night as powerful and commanding as a gunshot. Over four hundred heads turned to look at her with the guilt of children who have been caught in the act of doing something they are not supposed to be; their hands hovered over the platters of steaming food. Gyrell smiled as if t,I say, I won''t scold you this one time. ¡°We must restrain ourselves only a moment longer. An edge of steel slid into her voice like a blade. ¡°We are not barbarians. We are not animals.¡± She glared at Barghast. A string of bloody meat hung from his muzzle; the lycan flashed Crowe a guilty look before he gulped it down. ¡°We must first respect our guest of honor.¡±


    Again all eyes turned to Crowe.


    I feel like a bug pinned to a board for observation. For a moment he was a child again, sneaking into Petras¡¯ study while his mentor was away, watching the unmoving butterflies through the dusty glass with a mixture of terror and fascination. He pushed the memory away as quickly as it entered his mind. He turned sheepishly to Gyrell. The air smelled thickly of fresh meat pulled from the fire, aether wine, and pollen. The spicy smell of sweat underlying perfume. The perfume of summer. It seemed even the stars held their breath in the cosmos, their attention fixed on him.


    ¡°What do I do? Do I serve myself?¡±


    ¡°For now¡­nothing. You are our guest of honor. You shall be treated as such. We will serve your lycan friend as well.¡±


    ¡°His name is Barghast,¡± he murmured because it was the only thing he could think of to say. It was hard to think, hard to speak, hard to do anything but feel. He gaped at her, noting the way her eyes caught the light. He had never seen such luminous green eyes.


    One day she will have the eyes of a silver fox¡­


    He shivered in spite of himself.


    Gyrell settled a palm on his shoulder. ¡°Are you alright, herald? You look like you¡¯ve seen a ghost.¡±


    Not a ghost. Just your future.


    ¡°I just had a cold chill. It must be from all the excitement. Has anyone told you, you have the most beautiful green eyes?¡±


    She grinned. ¡°I didn''t think women were your type, herald.¡±


    His cheeks burned. ¡°They aren''t. But your eyes are still really pretty.¡±


    ¡°That would be the aether wine talking. Hand me your plate.¡±


    No sooner had Crowe handed the commander his plate, it seemed she was passing it back. Two more plates followed.


    ¡°I can''t eat all this,¡± he told her stupidly.


    ¡°Then eat what you can. Nothing goes to waste here in Caldreath.¡±


    He was not the only one who¡¯d been served. Half a dozen plates had been set before Barghast. The lycan''s shoulders shook with the effort to keep from gorging himself. After a moment he looked up at the practitioner. His tail wagged with renewed vigor. His eyes look like tiny suns, the sorcerer thought.


    His skin still buzzed. A dragonfly zoomed towards him. He felt its gauzy wings brush his cheek as it passed. He lowered himself into his seat, still blushing. He felt more self-conscious than ever. He picked up the knife and fork that had been set out on a napkin. When¡¯s the last time I used a knife and fork? When''s the last time I enjoyed a meal, not just ate because I needed to survive? He picked up the silverware. He cut into a sausage. The blade of the knife made a satisfying crunching sound when it punctured the meat. The meat scalded his tongue, but he didn''t care. He chewed a few times, then gulped it down greedily.


    He was vaguely aware of the clatter of cutlery and chatter. The rest of his focus was on his meal. He devoured sausage, beef, pork, chicken. He feasted on vegetables, boiled potatoes awash in butter and herbs, and rolls. He emptied his goblet of aether wine only to find it full again when he reached for the pitcher. He was halfway through his second plate when he leaned back in his chair, so full he thought he might vomit. You''re not used to eating like this. It''s been months since you''ve had a full meal.


    Barghast eyed the remainder of his meal. He''d emptied all six of his plates. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre¡­?¡± he whined.


    Crowe pushed his plate to the lycan. ¡°Have all you want.¡±


    It was the last thing he remembered saying; he¡¯d drunk too much aether wine. He was floating. Floating through a half-realized world full of strange voices, faces, and colors. When awareness returned to him he was being led away from the tables, towards a tall tree. Somewhere behind him he could hear the violins and tambourines; the musicians had returned to the stage. Did that mean the meal was over? The tree bent towards him, seemed to reach for him with questing branches. This was not like the trees he¡¯d encountered in the purgatorial woods. The kind of trees that wanted to kill everything. This tree was friendly. The tree whispered to him in the language of leaves. ¡°Herald,¡± it whispered. ¡°Herald, herald, herald¡­¡±


    His hand was engulfed in Barghast''s paw. The lycan moved slowly, pulling him along. His eyes danced like the lights flickering in the lamps dangling from the branches over their heads. Barghast sat on the ground. Crowe went willingly into his lap; it was something they did so often he didn''t have to think about it anymore. The lycan''s arms wound around him. His tongue lapped at the practitioner''s forehead. His breath smelled of aether wine and honey.


    ¡°I am a fool,¡± the lycan said.


    Crowe''s eyes widened. ¡°You are not a fool¡­¡±


    Before he could protest further, the barbarian placed a paw firmly over his mouth. ¡°Let me finish. I am a fool because I judged this place too harshly. I think¡­I think we could be very happy here¡­¡±


    For a moment Crowe felt such relief, such excitement he could have shrieked with laughter. Yes, they could find a life here! Yes, they could learn to be happy here! It would take adjusting and there was a still a war to be fought but they wouldn''t be fighting it alone anymore. But even now a voice of caution spoke in the back of his mind, trying to break through the haze of aether wine. He reached up, passing his fingers through the fur between the Okanavian''s ear.


    ¡°You are not a fool, Barghast. I should not have lost my temper with you earlier¡­simply for trying to express valid caution. You are right to question this place. You are right to be cautious. There is still a lot we don''t know about this place. So at least remain a little cautious in case¡­¡±


    ¡­in case I¡¯m not able to. In case I fall for this place. In case I am too weak. I need you to be my anchor.


    The words were there in his mind but they were too complicated for his drug-addled tongue.


    ¡°I keep thinking about what you said,¡± the Okanavian rumbled. ¡°About how you are tired. About how you need something different. I think we both do¡­even if it''s only for a moment. Long enough to regain our strength at the very least. There is food and wine and dance and music and no one here is shooting at us. We should take advantage of it. Are you happy here?¡±


    ¡°I think so. It''s the closest to happiness I''ve felt in a very long time. The closest to feeling safe. I can''t remember the last time I felt at home. The last time I felt like I was where I belonged. I know I belong in your arms, but I mean in an actual place.¡±


    Barghast tucked Crowe''s head in the valley between his shoulder and his head. ¡°I know exactly what you mean, my beloved. Do not fret on this anymore tonight¡­or tomorrow. Let''s just rest. Let''s just be together. Let''s listen to music. Teach me how to dance. Let''s kiss all night, well into the morning. Let me hold you. Let me love you.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± Crowe said, surrendering himself to Barghast''s embrace. ¡°Okay.¡±

 The Mother of Caldreath

    He couldn''t say how long they''d been sitting beneath the tree, their bodies entangled. It was only when he heard the sound of voices and the pounding of the drums that he lifted his head. A woman ran past them, her blonde hair streaking behind her; it appeared silvery under the moonlight. She stopped as if sensing Crowe''s attention. She turned to look at him, her eyes bright, her cheeks red.


    ¡°Come, herald!¡± she sang. ¡°Come dance with us under the stars! The era of the herald is here at last!¡±


    She let out a bray of hysterical laughter and then she was off racing past the trees towards the platform. Shouts sounded from the direction of the stage. Somehow Crowe managed to pull himself to his feet.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre? What is happening?¡± The Okanavian rose up behind him.


    Crowe watched the naked undulating bodies dancing before the stage. ¡°They''re dancing and¡­¡± He blushed.


    ¡°And what, my beloved?¡±


    ¡°They''re naked.¡±


    ¡°Does public nudity bother you, herald?¡±


    Crowe turned away from the stage. Gyrell grinned at him, her teeth glowing brighter as she drew closer to where they stood. ¡°I¡¯ve always envied those who felt comfortable in their own skin.¡± Crowe gulped. Why did I say that?


    Her smile widened. ¡°Tonight you can change that. Tonight you can be free.¡±


    At what cost? Anyone can feel free in a guilded cage. And still her words haunted him, working to unravel the last of his resolve.


    ¡°Both of you come with me. Enjoy this moment of respite while you still can. It will not last long.¡±


    He saw she¡¯d changed into a gauzy nightgown made of white silk; it left little to the imagination. He could see the soft pink buds of her nipples hardened by the caress of the wind. Her body was toned but graceful. There was no erotic intent by her nudity, but it didn''t stop Crowe from feeling like a voyeur. She wore nothing else beneath the nightgown. She raised her arms over her head, pulling at the neck of her dress. Crowe looked away before the commander could finish stripping herself bare. Only when she began to walk in the direction of the stage did Crowe and Barghast follow.


    She led them through the press of heaving gyrating bodies. Bodies sheened and slicked with sweat and ecstasy. The pounding of the drums seemed to come from within Crowe, not from an external source. He wanted to roll with the rhythm, to give himself completely to the tide. The fear of losing Gyrell in the crowd kept him focused. Without Barghast to steer him helpfully through the crowd he surely would have.


    At last they mounted the steps of the stage once more. Unfamiliar faces grinned at him as if to say, It''s about time you joined us. Loras shouted something but the words were lost in the roar of the music. Rake¡¯s face appeared like a magic trick, grinning and nude. He clapped Crowe on the back hard enough to send the practitioner stumbling forward a few steps. ¡°You¡¯re going to have the time of your life, my friend! I know I did when I first came here¡­¡±


    ¡°What are they doing¡­?¡± Crowe gasped. Hands slid under his shirt, up his torso. Questing fingers pulled at the clasp of his breeches. Stop! Please stop! Not you¡­I don¡¯t know you. Damn the aether! Why had he allowed himself to drink so much? He couldn¡¯t protest. He didn¡¯t have the strength to push them away. He was at the mercy of Caldreath.


    Just as he¡¯d hoped, Barghast pushed his way through the crowd. Shouts of protest rang around them, but no one was a match for the lycan¡¯s size or strength. ¡°Only I get to undress and undress him!¡± he boomed in Okanavian. He turned Crowe away from the masses, shielding him from view with the bulk of his body. ¡°I¡¯m with you, beloved. I¡¯m not going anywhere. No one else will touch you or try to undress you.¡±


    Crowe¡¯s hands slid up Barghast¡¯s torso. They swayed together to the music and for a moment they were in a world unto themselves again. He closed his eyes. I can¡¯t remember the last time I felt this free. This safe. This careless. ¡°I want you to undress me.¡±


    A kaleidoscope of lights, faces, and colors flashed before his eyes. Strangers introduced themselves, shook his hand furiously, threw themselves down at his feet and kissed them only to disappear into the shuffle. Just when he thought the maelstrom would sweep him away, Barghast would appear to lead him through the chaos.


    Sometime later Crowe and Barghast stood at the center of the crowd. He held an aether joint between the index and middle finger of his undamaged hand. Around him the villagers of Caldreath danced, drank, fucked, turned the dirt to mud with their sweat, but he didn¡¯t care because¡­Because I¡¯m with the only one I truly give a damn about.


    Barghast engulfed him, all fur and muscle and musk and love. They swayed to the beat, enraptured by the music. Fueled by the undying charge in the air. ¡°I didn¡¯t know it was possible to feel this way,¡± the Okanavian whispered in his ear.


    Crowe lifted his head. ¡°What didn¡¯t you think was possible?¡±


    ¡°That we could find happiness in this place.¡±


    ¡°And now?¡±


    ¡°Now I am absolutely convinced we can.¡±


    The herald grinned. ¡°I think we can, too.¡±


    Barghast pulled Crowe to him with a possessive growl. ¡°Make no mistake, twin o¡¯rre, nothing makes me happier than being with you.¡±


    The sorcerer shushed him. ¡°I know my sweet lycan. I feel the same for me. But remember what I¡¯ve told you before: It¡¯s not wrong when other things make us happy. When you hurt, I hurt. When you¡¯re happy, I¡¯m happy. We are inextricably bound.¡±


    The barbarian¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°Indeed.¡±


    Gradually Crowe became aware that someone was watching him. The sensation made his skin crawl. He pushed the thought away. They were being watched by hundreds of people. They were at the center of focus for an entire village. But no matter which way he turned or how much aether wine he drank, the feeling persisted. He whirled around. He searched the wall of rolling bodies until he found the source of the sensation: a pair of silver fox eyes watching him from the shadows. Slowly the bleached skull of an animal emerged followed by the slight form of a woman. The human walk did not move for her because they were not aware of her. What does she want from me? The last time he¡¯d seen the woman had been a vision. Were she and the creature who had attacked them the same? Or were they different forms of the same entity but somehow separate?


    ¡°The more you try to find answers the more questions you¡¯ll have.¡±


    The echo of her voice slid into his mind, raspy and full of despair. Still embracing him from behind, Barghast stiffened. He could see the woman just like he¡¯d been able to see the shriveled demon at the cabin all those months ago. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡± he whined.


    Crowe stroked the side of the Okanavian''s face without looking away from the woman. ¡°It''s alright,¡± he said though he couldn''t say for sure if they were truly safe. In a tiny voice he asked, ¡°Are¡­are you going to burn me again?¡¯


    The Mother of Caldreath shook her head. ¡°I do not mean you harm, but that does not mean harm won''t come to you.¡±


    ¡°What do you want from me?¡±


    ¡°Do not ask questions you are not ready to know the answers to!¡± she hissed. Her silver eyes flashed angrily.


    He recoiled. The terror of igniting her fury was a reminder of how in over his he¨¤d he was. Has there ever been  a moment where I haven''t been in over my head? He pushed the self-pity and despair away. He reminded himself he was dealing with an Architect. A being so powerful she could make an entire village that had burned down over a century ago sprout out of the ground; she had the power to change the very fabric of reality at will. Violence and force of will isn''t going to get me out of this either. I must think carefully. Cautiously. Not for the first time an overwhelming sense of gratefulness washed over him that Barghast had joined him on this journey. I never would have made it this far on my own. The thought bolstered his courage.


    ¡°What do I call you?¡± he asked her.


    ¡°I have many names. None of which you are fit yet to speak. The truth is a gift that must be earned.¡±


    ¡°As you say.¡±


    Her eyes flashed. She cocked her head as if studying a new species of insect she''d yet to encounter until  your. this moment. ¡°You are different from your predecessor.¡±


    He bowed his head in what he hoped was a humble gesture. ¡°Hopefully that is an improvement.¡±


    ¡°It could be,¡± came the cryptic reply. ¡°It could also be to your detriment.¡±


    She''s baiting me just like Gyrell had been baiting me from the moment Barghast and I stepped inside this wicked little town. And  the irony of it is it''s working.


    ¡°You are different from your predecessor in the fact that you are younger than he was when we encountered one another,¡± the Architect said. ¡°When we met he was in the middle of his lifespan - a man who had seen war and knew it well. You are but a seed who has hardly begun to sprout out of the soil.¡±


    ¡°Is that a bad thing?¡± he asked in a trembling voice.


    ¡°It means you have yet to be molded by your experiences. By the time I met Petras he was weary and cynical. He had the resolve to do what needed to be done.¡±


    ¡°You think I don''t?¡±


    The Mother tilted her head in a single nod. ¡°You do not. Which is why you are here: So that I may shape you into the man you need to become.¡±


    In his mind he saw the Petras who had spent many months in bed, his mind steadily declining. Blank blue eyes - my eyes - staring up mindlessly, lifelessly up at the ceiling. And this Architect thinks I don''t have the resolve to do what needs to be done, Crowe thought bitterly. What does she know about me or what I¡¯m capable of?


    The Mother stopped. Her eyes flashed behind her bone mask. Not with anger but amusement. ¡°I know everything there is to know about you, young herald. I know you better than you know yourself. Come, there is something you must see. Your test begins tonight.¡±


    He felt a chill crawl up his spine. She can read my mind! She knows exactly what I am thinking. What kind of test could an Architect have in mind for me? I¡¯m not ready to find out yet.


    The Architect offered him a chalice of aether wine. ¡°You and your guardian must drink this. It will help you to do what needs to be done.¡±


    He drank from the chalice before he could give voice to his doubts. Shivering, he passed the goblet to Barghast with something he hoped resembled an encouraging smile. Once they¡¯d both drank of the aether wine, the Mother nodded, indicating they were to follow. The chalice was gone. Crowe couldn¡¯t remember passing it back. You better get used to it. Petras¡¯ voice crackled in his mind, hard and cynical. The same rules you¡¯re used to don¡¯t apply here.


    Shouts sounded behind him. The cacophony of the drums ceased. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The crowd was dispersing. No, following, unspooling out to form a line. Gyrell grinned at him from the front of the procession; her hair gleamed like a silver nimbus beneath the star-strewn night sky. It seems this has turned into a parade, he thought.


    The excited chatter of the villagers and the strumming of violins and the bashing of tambourines was drowned out by a low buzzing sound. Crickets leapt through the grass. The night was youthful and alive and eternal.


    ¡°Look twin o¡¯rre!¡± Barghast pointed excitedly at the silver line that appeared at the top of the next hill; already the Mother had begun the ascent.


    At the top of the hill the aether grove Commander Gyrell had mentioned appeared. But it was not the appearance of the aether grove that made Crowe stop or his blood run cold. Trees sprouted out of the ground. Ancient. Monolithic. The tangled network of their branches formed a tunnel that blotted out the stars. Pinned to each tree trunk leading all the way to the aether grove was a torchcoat. They¡¯d been stripped naked; nails had been driven through their wrists and ankles. Their blood soaked the trees and wetted the soil beneath their feet. Many stared at Crowe in silent accusation. Others begged him to set them free with cracked voices that broke with desperation.


    The herald whirled around to face the Mother. ¡°What is this¡­?¡±


    She cocked her head at him inquisitively. She studied him for a long time before answering with a question of her own. ¡°Does it bother you?¡±


    His lips quivered. His hands trembled.


    ¡°Even after what they¡¯ve done to you? What they did to your hand? And still you want to give them mercy¡­¡±


    He let his silence say what he could not with words.


    ¡°Petras would have approved,¡± the Architect said.


    ¡°I¡¯m not Petras.¡±


    ¡°No¡­you are not.¡± Even as an echo it was impossible to mistake the disappointment in her voice.


    Their trek took them deeper into the forest of death. Blood soaked the foliage beneath their feet. The bodies pinned to the trees no longer plead or twitched with the final impulses of life. Many had been feasted on by animals, patches of flesh ripped away to reveal the bone and muscle beneath. Fireflies drifted lazily through the night.


    ¡°Surely there is another way,¡± Crowe said in a voice that sounded high-pitched and weak. He felt something clench painfully in his stomach. ¡°A way that is better than this.¡±


    ¡°There is not.¡± The Architect glided through the darkness without stopping this time. Her footfalls did not stir the grass or make a sound. Crowe knee that if a torchcoat were to witness their passage toward the aether grove, it would have appeared as if Barghast and he alone were leading the villagers of Caldreath. ¡°This is something Petras knew. You know it, too, but in your youth you are gullible. You choose not to see it.¡±


    The practitioner glared at the Mother, the fear of igniting her fury be damned. ¡°You also keep leaving out the part where Petras failed. He failed to stop the cycle of destruction in the Second Iteration. If he hadn¡¯t none of this would be here.¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    To this the Mother of Caldreath said nothing. The herald felt a stab of triumph even if the victory was small.


    At last they reached the aether grove. At the center of the grove, awashed in the silver light from the leaves, was a metal gurney, and strapped to the gurney was the angel from Crowe''s nightmares.


    Charoum.


    The angel had been stripped naked so that his full anatomy was on display. The milky glow of his skin. The slats of his ribs, the length of his long bones. His lack of gentalia. No wonder he hates us, Crowe thought. Underneath his blister, behind his sadism is a creature who has no control.  His lips had been shown shut.


    ¡°What is he doing here?¡± Crowe asked the Architect.


    ¡°He awaits judgment for his crimes.¡±


    ¡°Whose judgment?¡±


    ¡°Your judgment. Do you not want justice for what he¡¯s done to you? For what he¡¯s done to your people? The look the Mother gave the Inquisitor through her mask could have seared flesh from bone. ¡°He took two of your fingers. He laughed in the face of your pain. He would have done far worse to you had your beloved lycan not saved you. What atrocities do you think he¡¯s committed against Monad¡¯s people who were not so fortunate? How much blood do you think he¡¯s spilt over the centuries?¡±


    The Mother took a step towards the gurney. Charoum glared at her.


    He can see her. He knows her. They have history. Perhaps even a shared grudge. Is the enemy of my enemy my friend?


    ¡°My dear Charoum, how far you have fallen.¡±


    It was not the Mother who had spoken, but Commander Gyrell. Crowe blinked. His head snapped around in search of the Architect but she was nowhere in sight. Gyrell stood next to the gurney as if she channeled the Mother¡¯s spirit. Crowe gaped at her, sure her eyes had taken on the same silver sheen. But when he blinked they were the same green they¡¯d been when he¡¯d first met her. Her naked skin glistened with sweat. She held hernsword at her side. He was sure now that she hadn¡¯t brought it with her - she¡¯d come out to the grove without a stitch of clothing on and with nothing in her hands - but things in Caldreath had a way of materializing while one wasn¡¯t looking.


    ¡°You know him?¡± His voice came out sounding tight and accusatory. He could feel four hundred pairs of eyes burning a hole in his back. I¡¯m starting to feel like I¡¯m trapped in the performance of a stage show, he thought.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to know him to know what he¡¯s capable of.¡± Gripping the sword by the handle, Gyrell lifted the sword. Crowe¡¯s eyes fastened on the runes carved into the sword; they burned with the same inner light as the runes on his rod. ¡°Neither do you. I would think your experience at Fort Teague would be motivation enough.¡±


    ¡°You want me to kill him?¡±


    She scoffed. ¡°Don¡¯t you?¡±


    He looked at the angel strapped to the table.  ¡°Kill him!¡± a woman shrieked. ¡°Kill him! Kill the winged bastard! He wouldn''t hesitate to kill us!¡±


    A large rock soared over Crowe''s shoulder. The practitioner ducked but he needn¡¯t have worried. The rock was not meant for him. It struck the Inquisitor with a resounding thud. The impact tore a pearly brow from a forehead so that a single flap of flesh hung over his eye. The practitioner should have rejoiced, but he felt as if his mind had become unmoored from his body. He was back at Fort Erikson and it was not Charoum he saw strapped to the table, but himself. He didn¡¯t know that he was crying, that he wanted it all to stop in a broken unintelligible sob.


    When rocks and tomatoes and whatever the villagers had on hand to throw began to pelt the Seraphim one after the other, the herald fell to the ground. He buried his face in his hands, curled against the ground. If he could have, he would have burrowed into the ground if only to get away from this awful grove. When Barghast stooped to pick him up, he wriggled away with an inarticulate scream of terror - sure the torchcoats had come to take him back to the noose.


    He did not know what was happening nor did he have the mind enough to care. He did not know that Barghast had put the bulk of his body between the practitioner or the commander or that he pressed the muzzle between the commander¡¯s eyes, or that his finger was one hair away from pulling the trigger or that the villagers had ceased their shouting and throwing and were now coming forward to intercede; many of them had blades. He didn''t see Rake run forward, muttering ¡°Monad, help me!¡± like a prayer or the Okanavian growl at him in warning or Gyrell raising her hand and commanding everyone to stay back. He didn''t hear Barghast tell Gyrell to stop this madness or else he was going to put a bullet in her brain in Okanavian.


    In his mind he was in the aether grove and he was alone with the Mother. Again it was not Charoum who was strapped to the table but himself. What remained of himself.


    ¡°Do you see what he would have done to you if given the chance?¡± the Architect asked in that same raspy voice. A voice full of quiet rage. A voice full of despair. ¡°You would have been his project. His experiment. His plaything. There would be no end to your suffering.¡±


    Crowe tracked the needlework of stitches that trailed from his collarbone down to the place where his genitals should be. The Inquisitor had removed his genitals and sewn up the hole. Countless other atrocities had been done to his body with the same clinical precision of a surgeon. The practitioner swallowed. ¡°Why does he hate me so much? What have I done to deserve this?¡±


    ¡°What have any of us done to deserve being stuck in this eternal cycle of suffering? In the case of this creature, it¡¯s not that he hates you. He hates himself. He hates what he is. He fears having a lack of control. And like the worst of immortals he is incapable of admitting it to himself. So he takes his fury on those he convinces himself is responsible. Those he thinks are small and weak and less than him.¡±


    Crowe blinked. When he opened his eyes his own mangled body had been replaced by the Inquisitor¡¯s. The angel¡¯s eyes cut into him as he strained against the chains that bound him to the table. Not even Petras looked at me with such hate. ¡°Surely there¡¯s another.¡± He took a few steps towards the thrashing angel. ¡°We don¡¯t have to do this. We can stop this war. This can be the last Iteration. There doesn¡¯t have to be another¡­¡±


    He¡¯d hoped his pleas would calm Charoum. They had the opposite effect. They only seemed to bolster the Seraphim¡¯s efforts to break free. The table groaned, buckling in the center. One of the chains snapped. Charoum¡¯s arm shot out, a blur of motion. His long fingers seized a handful of the practitioner¡¯s raven hair in a steely grip.  The sorcerer yelped. He tried to pull away only for the Inquisitor to yank him forward with such force, his forehead slamming into the table, his knee digging furrows into the dirt.


    ¡°Help me!¡± he begged the Mother.


    ¡°Do you now see?¡± The Architect knelt at his side, indifferent to his pain. Her eyes reflected his desperation to be free of terror. ¡°Do you now see there¡¯s no other way?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s always another way!¡± Gritting his teeth in defiance, he dug his dirt-caked nails into the sadistic angel¡¯s flesh. He yanked back. Never mind that it felt as if his flesh was on fire. Never mind that he feared Charoum might rip his scalp clean off. All he cared about was freeing himself again. You¡¯ll never have me again, this much I can promise you. I¡¯ll eat a bullet before I let that happen. At last he heard a ripping sound. He came free, falling back onto the ground with a grunt. Tears ran down his cheek. Through the blur of pain he could see Charoum held a handful of his hair. The angel¡¯s eyes flashed with smug triumph.


    Crowe thought, That¡¯s the last bit he¡¯s going to take from me.


    It was all he had time to think. There was another shriek of metal and the Inquisitor rose to his full height, an angel of vengeance and sadism. His powerful wings spanned out to their full width. Crowe watched him tear out the stitches that steeled his mouth shut with his fingers. Trails of blood ran from the torn sutures, turning the milky canvas of Charoum¡¯s flesh red.


    The practitioner closed his eyes and laughed. The situation could not be more ridiculous¡­or more expected. Of course this would happen to me. I never did have the best luck. I always knew I was born to die young¡­


    Before he could finish the thought, he felt the angel¡¯s knees press into his belly. Felt them press all the way down until he couldn¡¯t laugh. Couldn¡¯t breathe. A second later, maybe less he felt Charoum¡¯s cold fingers close around his throat. A throat parched from thirst and screaming. Through the jerky rush of his heart he heard the angel say, ¡°Through your death the Third Iteration is saved¡­the nightmare will end and at last I will be free of my creator¡­¡±


    The practitioner didn¡¯t know what the words meant and he didn¡¯t care. He looked up unafraid into the sovereign face of his death and grinned even as the Inquisitor¡¯s blood seeped through the cracks between his teeth. Who says death can¡¯t be merciful? he thought. The corners of his vision darkened; stars exploded before his eyes. Now I can be done with this whole herald business. Maybe in the next Iteration I¡¯ll actually be able to get the job done.


    ¡°Would you give up in defeat so easily? Compared to your predecessor you truly are a disgrace.¡±


    The hands around his throat vanished like smoke. There one second and gone the next. He gasped.A burst of air rushed into his lungs. He opened his eyes. The Architect towered over him. She shook her head in disappointment. ¡°This is why you don¡¯t send a boy to do a man¡¯s job.¡±


    He jumped to his feet. It was a trick - it had to be. At any second the Inquisitor¡¯s hands would close around his throat again. He whirled around to face the gurney. He expected to find it overturned, the frame bent into something unrecognizable. Instead it was intact. And there was the angel still strapped to the table, his mouth stitched shut, bound by chains.


    Crowe looked at the Architect. His inside turned to ice. Not the chill of fear but the chill of indifference. ¡°You play a cruel game, Mother.¡± He spoke with the voice of a man who has lived a thousand years too long.


    ¡°Sometimes we must do cruel things in order to achieve victory over our enemies. I believe Gyrell has told you something of the like. Cruelty begets cruelty, cruelty begets discontentment and discontentment begets change. Change loops back into cruelty and the cycle continues¡­Loras knows this. Petras knew it. Even your lumbering lycan knows this. One day you will come to know this as well - if you live long enough. But this is no game.¡±


    The Mother approached the gurney. The bones she wore around hernwists jangled musically in the silence of the grove. This time Charoum did not fight against his restraints. This time he flinched back with a muffled whimper. This time he only had eyes for the Architect. The practitioner felt something stir in him that might have been triumph. He¡¯s afraid of her. He should be. Now he¡¯s the weak one.


    ¡°You don¡¯t remember me, do you?¡± the Mother asked the angel.


    The Seraphim blinked in confusion. If he could speak Crowe knew he would have demanded answers and try to gain control of the situation, but with his lips sewn shut again it was futile. Did Charoum sense the futility of his fate as well?


    ¡°You are not who you once were, Inquisitor. Neither of us are. We¡¯ve both fallen from grace, haven¡¯t we, Inias?¡±


    Charoum recoiled as if the Mother had slapped him.


    It must be one of his names from a previous Iteration. And he doesn¡¯t like it when anyone uses it. Not when he¡¯s spent all this time reinventing himself. Crowe filed this information away for later consideration.


    ¡°I, too, have reinvented myself over the many passing aeons. When I last saw you we both walked in different skins and talked with different voices. But in some ways we are not so different. Like so many of the mortals we resent, everlasting change is rare in our lot. You are the perfect example. In your past life you were always so eager to please our beloved creator. How your face would brighten up any time you were given the opportunity to gain his approval¡­and how you would wither with resentment when you didn¡¯t get it.¡±


    Charoum clamped his eyes shut. A tear rolled down his cheek.


    ¡°The need for approval is a feeling I know well. What child doesn¡¯t seek the approval of their parents or feel resentment when they are negligent. But unlike you I never forgot my place. I never forgot that even for an Architect our role in the cycle of life is a repeating loop of self-perpetuating errors. Your error is that like an untrustworthy dog you always want to climb higher than you can reach. So when war broke out in the heavens and Elysia ripped our father from his throne and cast him out into the Void, you did the only thing that was natural to you. You latched onto the closest living source that could grant you a position of power: the Theocracy.¡±


    Charoum sagged in his restraints. It seemed all the fight had drained out of him.


    ¡°But I know you, my arrogant brother. You delude yourself into thinking your Crusade against Monad¡¯s people when it is really about vengeance. Your hurt pride. Rather than admit this to yourself you have spent the last Iteration slaughtering every practitioner you cross paths with in search of the herald. You¡¯ve deluded yourself into thinking that by killing him you will be the savior. All so you can lick the shit off Drajen¡¯s bootheel.¡±


    The Architect turned to Crowe. ¡°Do you see now? There is no hope of getting through to him. Even now he only thinks of his own suffering. Never the suffering he has forced upon others. Like you he is trapped in a cycle of suffering only his is of his own making. There is one last thing I want you to see¡­¡±


    She waved her hand at something behind Crowe.


    ¡°This is what happens when you grant mercy of those who do not deserve it.¡±


    We¡¯ve had this conversation before¡­


    Crowe looked down at another blank-eyed corpse of himself. The finger-shaped bruises indicated where Charoum had strangled him to death. And there was another corpse. And another. And another.


    This time he didn''t feel fear or shock or anger. He only felt a glacial numbness. ¡°How many times has this happened before? How many times have we had this conversation?¡±


    ¡°Too many. Now do you see what has to be done? And why?¡±


    The practitioner nodded. ¡°I do.¡±


    He jerked up with a gasp, gulping for air like a fish pulled from the sea. He shook his head violently to clear it from the fog of the Architect¡¯s vision. A vision that until now had felt indistinguishably real. So much so that he could still feel the sting from where Charoum had ripped out a handful of his hair. He ran his fingers through it. He¡¯d no sooner made the realization that the vision had been nothing more than an illusion when he felt Barghast¡¯s paws close around his arms and haul him effortlessly to his feet.


    During the duration of the vision little had changed in reality. Rocks and rotting fruit soared through the air, pelting Charoum¡¯s red-spattered body; he was still bound to the gurney. It took Crowe a moment most of the red was from tomato juice. What blood was visible came from where his flesh had been torn open by rocks.


    ¡°Crowe?¡± Barghast¡¯s snout felt cool with his burning flesh.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, I¡¯m fine.¡± The practitioner wriggled out of the lycan¡¯s embrace. Too much was happening at once. It¡¯s hard to keep things straight when you¡¯re bouncing from reality to reality. It felt as if his blood on fire. He searched frantically for Loras. To his relief he discovered she had not moved from her position by the gurney. Their eyes met. She nodded with a knowing smile. Now you are where you need to be that smile said.


    Crowe¡¯s fingers slid into the pocket of his robes with a will of their own. He pulled out the dagger. The blade, which had become a replacement for his missing fingers, gleamed wickedly in the firelight.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡± Barghast whined again.


    He might as well have been trying to reach through to a deaf man. Crowe felt the last resolve slip away. I know what must be done now and I surrender myself to it. He drew up to the other side of the gurney. He gripped the dagger with white knuckles. Charoum watched him, wide-eyed and pathetic. His lips quivered, peeling back from shattered teeth. His breath came out in harsh whistling gasps. Had damage been done to his lungs? Crowe felt his lips curl into a smile at the thought.


    Someone offered him a goblet of aether wine. He drank from it deeply until it was empty. Someone took it away. He looked at the Inquisitor. ¡°Are you afraid?¡± He wiped his mouth with a grin. ¡°You should be. I gave you a chance to do things differently. You should have taken it.¡±


    Before he could give himself time to think about what he was doing, the herald drove the dagger to the hilt between the angel¡¯s ribs. The Seraphim made a strangled gasping sound. Crowe yanked the dagger out and drove it in a second time. His arm was a piston, the dagger a serpent that struck quick and hard. Beware the bite of the Lion-Headed Serpent, he thought. Its teeth rends flesh and draws blood.


    Only when he was on the verge of collapsing, his robes soaked and clinging to him. Another goblet - or maybe it was the same one - was offered to him. He drank from it until aether wine sloshed down the front of his robes.


    Through his drunken haze Gyrell grinned at him, her teeth whiter than bone. Sometimes when he blinked it was the Mother¡¯s face he saw, but most of the time it was Gyrell''s. ¡°You are where you need to be. Now you''re ready to do what needs to be done.¡±


    Someone handed him a silver pitcher. Its contents reeked of oil. He almost barfed a second time, but clamped his mouth shut to keep it contained. I¡¯ve embarrassed myself enough in front of these people. Rake drew up beside the herald, his face hard as stone. He looked more like the man Crowe and Barghast had met in Timberford. He held a burning torch in his hand; the tendons in his wrist stood out like cords. The undulating flames cast shadows over the grass.


    Crowe approached the gurney from the front. Not for the first time he had the sensation he was being driven by an alien force. A force that was both an integral part of him and separate. He tipped the pitcher over Charoum¡¯s head. The black liquid cascaded down the front of the Inquisitor¡¯s front, tainting the white of his feathers. ¡°Can you feel the irony of the situation you find yourself in?¡± he heard himself say in a mocking voice. ¡°How does it feel to know you will suffer the same fate you have put so many of my people through?¡±


    Rake handed him the torch. He spat on the Inquisitor. ¡°Damn him to the Void. Make him pay for all the blood he has spilled.¡±


    Crowe turned to the crowd. They fell into an expectant silence. Behind him Charoum made sputtering sounds. ¡°Look upon the Inquisitor!¡± he shouted, his voice hoarse but powerful. ¡°See how the self righteous fall!¡± He pumped his fist into the air. He took another healthy swallow of aether wine. Once more his skin buzzed. It felt as if an electric charge was building pleasurably behind his eyes. Voices screamed around him - not with hate or despair but with joy. With love. Their love fueled him. ¡°Commander Gyrell is right about one thing!¡± He flashed her an appraising grin. ¡°Today the era of the herald begins! The era in which we begin fighting back; the era in which we take back what is ours; the era in which we say enough is enough!¡±


    More thunderous applause. More cheers. The sound rose up above him like a wall, crashed over him like a wave. Who knew being the herald could feel so good?


    In his hand he held a match. It hadn¡¯t been there a second before, but he didn¡¯t care. In this place we can have everything we need¡­Everything we want. This is a safe place and here we are not slaves but gods.


    He looked back at the Inquisitor. ¡°You reap what you sow.¡±


    He threw the match.

 Ghost Town

    Crowe opened his eyes.


    Golden rays of morning light spilled through the window, turning the rafters gold. He blinked, overwhelmed by a feeling of deja vu. The culprit for this sense of familiarity moved its tiny legs with practice skill, weaving a web meticulously into shape. He strained his ears, listening for the bells of Inferno. Petras would be in the bedroom in the hallway. Waiting for him. Needing him. Always needing him but never giving anything in return.


    It was not the call of a bell he heard, but the loud rumbling snores of a beast. Petras was gone - buried beneath the dirt - and so was the house Crowe had called home for most of his life. But now he was in a new house - his house - and it was a new day. He was with someone who loved him. Someone who he knew would follow him into the depths of Inferno. The beast held him to his chest, a broad arm wrapped around his torso. He didn¡¯t need a blanket because the arm was covered in fur and the arm almost covered his entire torso.


    He smiled to himself, running his fingers through a thicket of dark gray fur. I am home. I am safe. I am happy.


    It was not his forever home. Happiness, he knew, was not a thing that lasted forever no matter how much one might wish it so. He suspected one day, perhaps even soon, this house and all the houses around it would burn down. At the moment he didn¡¯t care. What mattered was¡­I¡¯m not fighting this war on my own anymore. There is food. There is a place to rest. It is good not to be alone anymore.


    He didn¡¯t want to get up. He knew getting up would wake Barghast. He wanted to enjoy the silence a little longer, wanted to feel the rise and fall of the belly beneath him. But he couldn¡¯t ignore the truth. Just because we¡¯re safe in our gilded box, doesn¡¯t mean the rest of the world isn¡¯t going through a war. Monad¡¯s people are still being subjugated by a petty tyrant who follows a baseless religion. A religion he uses as an excuse to enslave and exterminate anyone who has mana in their blood. I¡¯ve rested enough. There is work to be done.


    He inhaled, clamping his lips shut against a yawn. He stretched his arms until he heard something give a satisfying pop.


    ¡°Rrrrrrrrr¡­¡±


    He tried to wriggle out from the arm that held him. He pushed. He strained with all his might until he felt the blood rise to his face, only to feel the arm tighten slightly around him.


    The beast continued to snore: ¡°Rrrrrrr¡­.¡±


    ¡°Barghast,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Rrrr¡­¡±


    ¡°Barghast?¡±


    ¡°Rrrrr¡­¡±


    ¡°BARGHAST!¡± he screamed as loud as he could. His voice sounded like the hoarse crack of a gun.


    Before he could prepare himself he was launched off the bed, into the air. The spider in the rafters spinning her web, making a new home in his new home, raced past him a blur. The wooden floorboards raced up to meet him just as he heard a startled, ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡±


    He braced himself for impact. An impact that never came. Instead of hitting the ground he felt large paws grab a hold of him and pull him back onto the feather mattress. He breathed a sigh of relief. He felt a large cool snout nuzzle up against the side of his face.


    ¡°My beloved!¡± a deep voice whined. ¡°I am so sorry¡­Are you okay?¡±


    The practitioner turned to face his companion. ¡°I¡¯m alright.¡± He sifted his fingers through the lycan¡¯s fur, staring into those golden eyes that were so much like the sun itself. Eyes that always looked at him with wonder and love. He felt his own heart swell. I didn¡¯t know it was possible to feel this way. To feel so happy it almost hurts. For my heart to be so full of love it feels as if it might burst from my chest and fall to the floor, still beating.


    Barghast looked out the window, sniffing the air. He looked back at the practitioner a bit guiltily. ¡°How long have you been awake?¡±


    ¡°Only a minute or two. Not long.¡± Resting  his hand on the Okanavian¡¯s muzzle, Crowe pressed a gentle kiss to the cool snout only to feel a wide, spade-shape tongue lap over his face. This time he was prepared for the onslaught of heat and drool that made his skin glimmer and knew to close his eyes.


    ¡°You must think I¡¯ve become a lazy, fat lycan the way I lay about.¡± Again that look of weariness and hope reminded Crowe that even though Barghast was a century older than he, he was still only a pup. Even in age we are virtually the same.


    ¡°Why? Because your belly¡¯s gotten rounder since we got here?¡± To prove this he patted Barghast¡¯s muscular but now visibly rounder belly affectionately.


    The barbarian¡¯s ears twitched. Something mischievous and playful entered his amber eyes. ¡°Are you saying I¡¯m fat?¡±


    Crowe tried to hold back a laugh and failed. ¡°Not at all. It just means you¡¯re eating well. That¡¯s a good thing. We¡¯re in a place where we have everything we need. Food and water. Clothes. We haven¡¯t always had those things.¡± His heart twinged with a different kind of ache. The ache of fear. The ache of the challenges they would face again once they left the safety of Caldreath.


    Enjoy while it lasts.


    He shoved the thought away. Today we are undaunted.


    Again he ran his fingers along the length of the lycan¡¯s muzzle. Barghast closed his eyes, encouraging the herald to continue with a pleasurable rumble without words.


    When Crowe stopped, Barghast looked at him the way a child looks at a parent when they¡¯re about to ask for something. ¡°Can we stay home today? In bed? I could lay here forever¡­with you and my arms¡­and never want for anything again.¡±


    The practitioner smiled. He could feel the sadness collecting in the brackets around his mouth like black mold. Despite the pull of reality - the knowledge in the back of his mind that the sense of comfort they felt was false always tucked away somewhere in the back of his mind, hidden, but never entirely forgotten - he continued to stroke the lycan¡¯s fur. ¡°I wish we could. You know nothing would make me happier¡­I could curl up against your chest in your arms all day and never move¡­But even things there are things we must do. Things we don¡¯t want to do.¡±


    Barghast pressed his ears back with an unhappy grunt. ¡°I understand,¡± he conceded reluctantly after a moment. ¡°What must we do today?¡±


    ¡°Well later today I have to meet with Loras¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah, the bitch¡­¡±


    ¡°Barghast, that''s not nice. You shouldn''t call her that.¡±


    ¡°But that''s what they call her. The Bitch of Caldreath. You said so herself.¡±


    ¡°But that''s not what I call her and that''s not how you mean it. You call her that because you don''t like her. Because you don''t trust her. And you''re right not to. It also doesn''t change the facts.¡±


    Barghast frowned. ¡°What are the facts?¡±


    Crowe took a deep breath. Why was his heart racing all the sudden? ¡°We need her.¡±


    The Okanavian gnashed his teeth together, his jaw giving a bony clack. ¡°We do not need her¡­¡±


    The practitioner closed his eyes, willing himself to remain calm. Things are going good between us. I don''t want to argue like we did when we first came here, he reminded himself. ¡°I can''t have this conversation again. I can''t do this on my own anymore. We can''t. Sure, you and I survived on the road together, but that''s all we did. Survive. I want to have a life. I''ve never been able to have one before. Look around you. Look at what we have. It''s more than I¡¯ve ever had before. And I have it with you. So can''t we just enjoy it for a little bit? Because it will all be gone in the blink of an eye.¡±


    ¡°You say you need her as if you''re weak I''m¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not weak, I¡¯m tired. And I may be the herald of Monad,¡± Crowe spat derisively, ¡°but I am not infallible. No matter how much you might think so.¡± He rose to his feet with a scowl, pulling his robe from the back of the bedroom door. ¡°Now, enough of this conversation. I want to bathe in the river and have some breakfast before I meet with the commander. Doesn''t that sound nice to you?¡±


    ¡°It does,¡± Barghast agreed. His belly concurred with an audible growl.


    ¡°Shall we go?¡±


    ¡­


    Barghast followed Crowe towards the edge of town, towards the woods. Not the evil woods they had passed through before - this wood was a nice normal wood that had no desire to kill you. Already the town was awake and alive. Men and women bustled up the street; tendrils of gray smoke rose out of chimneys, making the air smell pleasantly of burnt wood.


    New houses were sprouting out of the ground like weeds, in various stages of construction. Some were little more than frames while others simply needed inhabitants to fill them. Over the month they¡¯d been here - Crowe said it had been four weeks when the lycan asked - more people had trickled into Caldreath, a village that had grown into a town. Those who were welcomed, were welcomed with open arms, open smiles, and happy cheers; those were not¡­Barghast chose not to think of their journey towards the aether grove on their first night. It was to macbre of a sight for him. Still, when he looked at the new homes, the Okanavian felt a cold chill crawl up his spine. A chill that made his hackles rise and a whine escape him. Fortunately Crowe was lost in his own thoughts and had not heard him.


    More and more people keep coming to this town. It keeps growing. Growing into what?


    His belly growled again. Crowe grinned at him over his shoulder. A sweet grin that revealed itself more and more each day, it seemed. Barghast swatted him playfully on his rump with his tail. That smile took him back to their conversation only moments ago: I''m not weak, his beloved had said, I¡¯m tired.


    Barghast listened to the peals of laughter and chatter dropping behind them as they drew closer to the woods. People were happy here. They had what they needed. They were safe. If the barbarian were honest with himself - stubborn, foolish pup! - he could not say he was unhappy. The food alone, the unending amount of it, was worth staying.


    They passed the sign that said WELCOME TO CALDREATH. POPULATION: 600.


    Another stir of uneasiness quickly ignored.


    Sometimes later he swam along the bottom of a river, cutting through the water. He no longer feared the water for his beloved had taught him how to swim. Now he could collect and feast on fish - tiny little creatures with silver-green scales. A small school of them shot away from him in a feeble attempt at escape, but Barghast was a far better swimmer than they. He clamped his jaw over a large one (his twin o¡¯rre had called it a ¡°bass¡±) sinking his teeth into its scaly flesh. The taste of blood washed over his tongue. Clouds of red bloomed in the water.


    When he surfaced, the fish was still squirming in his mouth, its tail flapping in desperation, splashing him with beads of water. He seized it in his paw and tore it in two. He swallowed the bottom half in a single gulp.


    Once he¡¯d satiated his hunger for the time being, he returned to the banks. There he found the most pleasing, most beautiful sight: Crowe was stretched out on a towel, completely naked. When the lycan¡¯s shadow washed over him, his beloved smiled at him.


    ¡°You are a sight to behold, twin o¡¯rre.¡±


    ¡°So are you.¡± Crowe scooted over. He patted the ground beside him.


    Barghast sat down.


    Crowe leaned forward, his lips puckered for a kiss. He stopped. He winced.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre?¡± the barbarian whined. His heart gave a nervous jerk. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The practitioner giggled. ¡°Have you been eating fish?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I can tell.¡±


    ¡°Does my breath stink?¡±


    His beloved nodded with another giggle. He dropped a kiss on the Okanavian¡¯s snout. ¡°But that''s alright¡­I love you, stinky breath and all.¡±


    ¡­


    Crowe left the house at noon, feeling guilty. Barghast had insisted on going with him to the meeting, but Crowe had made his own insistence that the lycan stay.


    ¡°I won''t be gone long. It will only be a few hours.¡±


    ¡°A few hours is a few hours too long.¡±


    ¡°You hate the meetings! You stand in the corner and skulk the whole time. Nothing is going to happen between now and then. I''ll come back and we can come here. But for now I need to stay.¡±


    Now as he stopped at the bottom of the flagstone steps, the guilt made his stomach flutter with black butterflies. He imagined Barghast standing at the window. Watching for him. Waiting for him like a dog waiting for him to come home.


    Before the thought could haunt him further, he thought, This is how things have to be done. It''s not just the two of us anymore. It can''t just be the two of us¡­Because this war is bigger than the both of us. It''s certainly bigger than me. The herald, indeed. More like a foolish farm boy who''s in over his head. And to think Bennett and I used to trample and stomp through the woods, pretending we were chasing down torchcoats, rebels for the cause. If we¡¯d known the truth of how things would be, we never would have gotten out of bed.


    The butterflies stopped fluttering but the guilt was still there.


    ¡°Are you going to go in or are you just going to just stand there?¡± a voice said behind him.


    Crowe felt his heels leave the ground. Reaching for his rod, he whirled around only to come face to face with Rake.


    The man smiled at him. ¡°You''re still so jumpy, herald. Just like a cat.¡±


    ¡°You''re the cat. You have a way of sneaking up on people and starting them when you shouldn''t.¡±


    ¡°And you have no sense of humor.¡±


    You didn''t either, Crowe thought with a frown he kept tucked in the inside. Not until you came here. What changed? What did this place give you that you didn''t have before?


    ¡°You nervous about the meeting with the lady?¡± Just when the practitioner had thought the cynical man he¡¯d met in Timberford had gone, the old Rake returned with a shrewd but knowing look.


    ¡°Not at all.¡±


    Rake gave him a look that said he wasn''t convinced.


    Crowe was not prepared to be cross-examined. He already had the feeling Gyrell had a way of seeing right through him to his core. It¡¯s like she knows what I¡¯m feeling before I do. He chose to turn the tables on Rake for a change. ¡°Doesn''t she you?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Rake leaned forward, casting a cautious gaze in the direction of the crystal glass windows. ¡°She''s an intense lass. They don''t call her the bitch of Caldreath for nothing.¡±


    Crowe had to press the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh. They mounted the steps. As they drew closer to the dark oak double doors, Crowe could feel the threat of a familiar dark shadow approaching him. The dark shadow of memory. His steps slowed. He looked at the window closest to his line of sight. The window showed Monad soaring above the monolithic towers of Metropolis. He held a staff in his hand that slowly uncoiled into a snake with a lion¡¯s head; the snake wrapped around his shoulders like a hank of rope, lion¡¯s maw open in a snarl of warning. Below him his people stood in the labyrinthine streets, reaching up for him with hopeful hands, their faces sheened with tears of desperation.


    Rake kept walking, now oblivious that the sorcerer had come to a complete stop, his face pale. Crowe was grateful the man didn¡¯t see him in shudder.


    You¡¯re not in your hometown anymore, he thought. You¡¯re no longer the black sheep who didn¡¯t belong. The tables have turned.


    The doors to the church creaked open. The perfume of incense and susurated prayers wafted out. The candlelight within the chapel beckoned them inside. The church pews were full with people who sat with their heads bowed in prayer. Some of them wept; others chuckled with a hint of hysteria; many simply offered their prayers to Monad in silence, their faces hollowed out by candlelight, shadow, and malnutrition. New refugees who had made the trek past the Wraith - the Mother¡¯s second form - and the purgatorial forest that protected Caldreath from unwanted intruders. Soon they would be inducted into their new homes.


    Another quiver raced up Crowe¡¯s spine. His eyes remained focused on the statue in front of the altar. There was Monad again, with the Lion-Headed snake wrapped around his cloaked shoulders. His eyes were cast downward in a look of benevolence, his palms outstretched, long fingers bent towards the ceiling where daylight streamed through the oculus. But it was not a statue Crowe saw. It was Petras. Petras¡¯ face. The face he would one day grow into many, many years from now - if I survive that long, he thought. It was himself he saw standing before the altar. And he had many times.


    He expected the refugees to lift their heads. To stare at him accusingly. To point at him and declare him for the liar he was. You don¡¯t belong here, they would say. You belong in the house on top of the hill with your master. With the madman. It was what the people of Annesville had told him. It was what the preacher had told him all those years ago when he¡¯d tried to go to the service with Bennett. They¡¯d only gone once and never tried to go back.


    We ran from the church, giggling like the little fools we were. But I was giggling on the outside, not the inside. Inside there was this plummeting sensation. I couldn¡¯t understand why they hated me so. But I¡¯m not in that wicked little town anymore. I¡¯m hundreds of a miles away. Bennett is gone or dead. I will never see him again. For all I know that town has been burned down to the ground¡­


    A wicked voice in the back of his mind told him towns could come back; they could sprout out of the ground, resurrected by the will of Architects. He shoved the thought away. I hope it¡¯s gone. I hope it¡¯s nothing more than a pile of ash. Annesville was never my home.


    Someone cleared their throat, yanking him from his thoughts. He felt something within him twitch, already preparing himself for conflict.


    Dark brown eyes glared at Rake and he from a broad face. The man who stood before them was tall. Taller than the both of him. Once he would have been broad, more imposing, but the journey here had whittled him down to someone desperate and hungry. Crowe felt himself relax. This man was little different from the men and women who had first come here. He¡¯s harmless.


    ¡°We have been sitting here for hours, waiting!¡± the man huffed. His voice was deep and hoarse with thirst, his eyes red and puffy from fatigue.


    It was not Crowe he spoke to, but Rake. He thinks Rake¡¯s in charge. Crowe wished fervently this was the case.


    ¡°We are starving¡­hungry. We have children with us. Who¡¯s in charge around here? How can you just leave us to sit around here like this? How¡­?¡± Before he could finish, he sighed. His shoulders slouched in defeat. Crowe felt all the fight drain out of him


    Rake leaned back on his heels. He looked at the herald with an arched eyebrow as if to say, You''re the man not I.


    Monad, help me¡­I hate being the herald, the sorcerer thought with a grimace. A grimace that he hid before the glaring man took notice. He tried to affect a look of benignity that reflected the marble countenance of his Prime predecessor. ¡°I apologize that you have waited so long after such a disastrous journey.¡± When the man swung his gaze on him with renewed fury, Crowe rooted himself against the urge to step back.


    Before he could finish the slapdash speech he¡¯d prepared on the spot, the man cut him off by holding up a broad but shaky hand. ¡°I don''t want to hear it from the mouth of a child, I want to talk to the herald of Monad¡­¡±


    ¡°I am the herald of Monad!¡± Crowe snarled through gritted teeth.


    His words thundered through the chapel like a gunshot, extinguishing whispered prayers and the muffled sobs of hungry children.


    The man gawked at him, his jaw clenched. After several seconds he made an indignant sputtering sound. ¡°You can''t¡­You can''t be the herald. You''re just a boy.¡±


    ¡°Don''t worry mate,¡± Rake sniffed, his jaw slack as if he were bored - the light dancing mischievously  in his eyes said otherwise. ¡°I felt pretty much the same way you do the first time I met this little shit.¡± He locked his head in Crowe¡¯s direction with a lazy roll of his eyes. ¡°I said to myself, ¡®How is this squirt supposed to stand up to the likes of Drajen?¡¯ But I¡¯ve seen him in action¡­¡± When he looked at the practitioner, Crowe could see the respect he heard in his voice was not just for show. ¡°...and if it wasn''t for him I wouldn''t be here.¡±


    Crowe and the man gawked at him. Gaining his composure, the practitioner said, ¡°We are preparing a feast for you tonight. There will be food and drink and aether wine and you will have quarters to sleep in tonight. But know that this is a place of order, not a place of chaos, and we have a way of doing things. Do you understand?¡±


    The man nodded slowly. His dirt-streaked cheeks darkened even further with embarrassment. The herald offered his hand and told him his name. The man shook it and told him his name was Cador.


    A few awkward moments later, the church at the top of the tower clanged, signifying the top of the hour. Crowe and Barghast made their way up the spiral steps - a spiral that had become very familiar to Crowe over the passing of days, weeks.


    Crowe and Rake stopped outside a door made of dark wood. Crowe always felt a strange sense of discomfort when he saw the door. A discomfort with no name. Perhaps it''s the fact there are literal ghosts inside. They talk and walk and feel like people, but they don''t know the truth. They don''t know they''re dead. They don''t know they''re not real people.


    Thank Monad he wasn''t the only one. Rake shivered visibly as he raised a fist towards the door.


    Before he could knock, the door swung open with an audible creak that made Crowe think of dying cats. Jalif appeared, both happy and healthy looking. His face broke open in delight, his dark eyes brightening. ¡°Crowe, Rake, right on time as usual¡­!¡±


    As he was clapped heartily on the back, the practitioner realized that the ghost had called them both by their names. This is new. He couldn''t remember who I was before. Neither of us. Now he can remember. As if he''s becoming more¡­alive. The practitioner wondered if this had something to do with Caldreath¡¯s growing population. With every new lost soul inducted into the fold, another house was built; with each new house, with each new street the town slowly grew larger.


    Another thought he didn''t want to think about.


    Jalif led them into the apartment; his pointless chattering had ceased for the time being. He led them down a hallway where the voice of a young child could be heard singing: ¡°I¡¯m goin¡¯, goin¡¯ up to the white streets of the Eternal City where I belonggg¡­¡± They passed a doorway where the source of the voice could be seen playing with dolls, throwing distorted puppet shadows on the wall by candlelight; the drapes had been drawn over the windows. As they passed a pair of bright blue eyes shot up to glance at Crowe and Rake before the owner returned back to her play.


    Crowe was glad to be past the doorway; it was strange to see a ghost playing with dolls.


    Jalif let them into the study. Loras sat at a large oak table, a quill in hand, bent absorbedly over a scroll of parchment. Jalif laid something down next to her: a steaming mug of tea. She looked up long enough to smile at her ghost of a husband. Long enough to brush her fingers across the palm of his hand. Long enough for Crowe to catch a glimpse of the woman she had been before Caldreath became a ghost town.


    ¡°Can I get you anything else, my dear? Have you eaten?¡±


    ¡°No, Jalif, I¡¯m alright. Don''t give me that look. You know I¡¯ll get up and eat in a moment. A piece of buttered bread, perhaps. I have to finish writing this speech for tonight''s dinner.¡± With this Loras bent back over the parchment as if Crowe and Rake were simply a part of the room, inconsequential to her.


    Jalif left the room. Crowe felt his muscles relax but not all the way. He resisted the urge to clear his throat. Gyrell would take as long as she pleased and not a damned second less.


    When she did look up it felt as if several minutes had passed by. It was not at Rake she looked at, it was Crowe. He felt that strange minute flutter of eagerness he hated so much. Eagerness for what? Gaining her approval? How could he gain her approval when it was impossible to truly achieve? She was far more experienced than he - and for the time being maybe even more powerful. This is her world, not mine, and we are all subject to it.


    ¡°We have much to do today,¡± she told him.


    ¡­


    Much to do today, indeed. Each minute passed by with deliberate slowness. The refugees needed to be blessed by drinking aether wine from a chalice. As herald it was his job to do the blessing. After they drank from the chalice, he said the right words and made the right gestures: ¡°May you find splendor in the Eternal City¡­¡±


    He hated everything about this ritual. He hated the words. He hated the gestures. I¡¯m not a priest¡­I¡¯m not your savior¡­But more than anything he hated the way the refugees looked at him as if he were salvation itself.


    After the ceremony was over, the new villagers had feasted and been shown to their new homes, Crowe and Rake returned to Gyrell¡¯s study. The commander did not look happy.


    ¡°I hear news from the refugees that Drajen is on the march.¡± She glanced sharply at Crowe as if to say This is all your fault. She paced back and forth, wearing her battle greaves. Preparing for a battle perhaps. And yet she had flung this statement out casually - not with the fright or anger or even the distress such a statement deserved; so casually the sorcerer was not sure if he''d heard her correctly.


    ¡°Pope Drajen¡­?¡± Rake began.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Gyrell''s head snapped up, bird-like and boneless. The words Yes, you fool, that''s exactly what I said would be carved into bleeding red letters if words could be shaped by looks alone. ¡°He marches to Caldreath with an army following behind him¡­an army that could flatten this town in moments!¡± She laughed, a raucous sharp sound that made her seem more birdlike than ever. ¡°It will be weeks before he gets here, but it is a sure thing!¡±


    ¡°Damn us all to the Void!¡± Rake gasped. He sounded like a man who¡¯d had all the breath crushed from his lungs by a blow to the stomach. ¡°We¡¯re all fucked!¡± All the blood drained from his face. He looked more frightened than the practitioner had ever seen him before. Even after their encounter with the possessed Lagerof in the temple in Timberford. The practitioner couldn''t blame him. Knots of dread coiled inside the sorcerer''s stomach.


    Gyrell did not look frightened at all. She smiled at him - the smile of a woman who not only knows what will happen, but of someone who already knows victory is at hand. ¡°Where is your cantankerous spirit, Mr. Rake? Homesteading has made you complacent. May I remind you we have the high ground. Look at where we are.¡± She marched around the desk, stopping at a set of double doors. She threw back the drapes before throwing them open. Light exploded into the room, chasing away the shadows. She stepped out onto a balcony that overlooked the town. Crowe stepped out with her. Rake did not. He still had the cowardly look of a beaten dog.


    ¡°You¡¯re not worried?¡± Crowe asked Loras.


    She grinned at him. Something knowing gleamed in her green eyes. ¡°Do you think I¡¯d tell you if I was?¡±


    ¡°If you can¡¯t tell me then who can you tell? You need someone to talk to.¡±


    ¡°While his time here has made Rake fat and complacent, your time here has made you bold. I had your doubts.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen what will happen if I fail.¡±


    She continued to smile, but Crowe did not miss the twitch of a muscle above one eyebrow. ¡°Have you? What have you seen?¡±


    ¡°I saw something in a vision. While I tend to take visions with a grain of salt this one was all too real to be taken lightly. So I¡¯m taking this seriously.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re not going to tell me what you saw in this vision?¡±


    Now it was Crowe¡¯s turn to smirk. ¡°Once you show me all your cards, I¡¯ll show you all mine. But I know you won¡¯t, so I won¡¯t get on my knees and beg. We all have secrets. And secrets are power. If I tell you my secrets, I give you power over me. Same if you tell me yours. So you and I will just continue this dance. Right?¡±


    Her grin widened into something more genuine. ¡°Your time here has made you bold, indeed. You¡¯ll make a fine leader. When Drajen comes you must be prepared to lead these people into battle. It is your destiny. They will follow you into battle. Before they were lost cattle without a shepherd to guide them. Now they have had a taste of what hope is like. They will fight for it like savage animals. You must be the hand that drives the blade into Drajen¡¯s heart.¡±


    Crowe swallowed, his mouth tasting of steel. ¡°I will do what it takes to end this war once and for all.¡±

 Battle Greaves

    A half crescent moon was high in the sky by the time Crowe¡¯s house appeared in sight - he still had difficulty believing it was his even after a month of living there; it''s the first thing I¡¯ve ever truly owned. But even my life in Caldreath is not truly mine.


    A terrible mixture of guilt and fear twisted in his belly. Guilt that he had left Barghast on his own for the whole day. Even as a voice told him that such was the price of war, he reminded himself they had never spent more than a few hours apart. Not by choice. Fear that there was not a light on in the house. Not even a single flame.


    His mind spread into chaos before he could stop its unraveling. What if Barghast had finally done what Crowe had always feared he would do? What if he''s finally left me? What will I do then? What reason will I have to fight?


    The thought jump started a blinding clawing panic that threatened to claw its way out of his throat. He called the lycan''s name, shoving the door open enough to slam it into the wall with a deafening thud. He might have put a hole in the wall of their new house, but he didn''t care. What''s the point in having anything if I don''t have Barghast?


    He banged his thigh on something hard - the table. He heard something crash with the sound of shattering glass - the base full of wildflowers he¡¯d picked the morning before. He cursed. Just as he reached for his rod, he felt the presence of something watching him. He wasn''t alone after all. He felt a hot breath brush against the back of his neck, ruffling his hair.


    ¡°Barghast¡­¡±


    Before he could turn around, he felt the air shift. It was the only warning he had before he was seized and hauled into the air as if he weighed nothing. It was a true reminder that if he wanted to, the lycan could easily hurt him. Could kill him. Some would say killing was what lycans had been put in this world to do¡­the same could be said of practitioners; the Theocracy certainly thought so. But lycan''s were quicker. They could see further, hear better. They were larger; they had teeth; they had claws¡­


    All this vanished when he heard the sound of something tearing. It was his robes, and Barghast ripped Crowe free of them with a single yank of his paw. Cool night air against his bare skin. Naked. Vulnerable. A growling beast above him. Warm drool dripping down the back of his neck and spine like oil. He hung suspended, held only in place by the barbarian, who seemed intent on doing whatever he wanted to the practitioner whether he wanted it to happen or not.


    Crowe should have been afraid and perhaps he was a little. But there''s also a thrill in being claimed in such a way, he thought as they passed from the kitchen into the sitting area. For someone to want you so badly they just might eat you. And this is how I must pay for keeping the beast hungry and waiting: with my body.


    At the same time Barghast sat on the couch, making it creak in protest, he buried his snout in the cleft between Crowe''s rump, expelling a yelp from the practitioner that was both surprise and pleasure. But not fear. Not true fear. He knew he was safe in the paws of the lycan who would never do anything to hurt him.


    Barghast growled hungrily, pushing his tongue into his prey, the needle tips of his teeth grazing against Crowe''s milky flesh not hard enough to hurt, only to elicit groans of the utmost pleasure.


    ¡°Barghast,¡± Crowe moaned. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­I¡¯m sorry I made you wait¡­¡±


    Barghast lifted his head with a whine before pulling the sorcerer up into a sitting position, skinny thighs shelved over his much broader, more muscular thighs. Once the Okanavian was able to speak, his voice came out between a whimper and a growl. ¡°You were gone so long¡­hours and hours and hours¡­¡±


    ¡°Barghast, I know I was gone longer than I meant to be, but it hasn''t been a whole day¡­¡±


    ¡°It feels like it''s been a whole day,¡± the lycan growled. His teeth flashed in the dark. His hackles stood on end. His grip on the practitioner wasn''t crushing but it was a close thing; it was absolute and there would be no getting away from it until the Okanavian was done with him. It would be a long night.


    ¡°...a whole day of wondering when you''re going to come home. A whole day of wanting you and not being able to have you. I know what you said earlier this morning, that others need you, and perhaps it is selfish of me to say but I need more. I need you all the time. I¡¯ll never stop needing you¡­¡±


    ¡°I need you.¡± Crowe reached through the darkness with both hands until his fingers sunk into the lycan''s fur. ¡°I always have.¡±


    Barghast leaned forward until his cool snout pressed against the sorcerer''s nose. Something hard and warm and sopping and pulsing pressed against the soft skin of the herald¡¯s rump. ¡°Kiss me. I need to taste you. All of you. My beloved, you are so delicious. I wish you could feel the way you make me feel.¡±


    Their lips brushed, gently almost cautiously at first. Strange that this should feel like an re-exploration of one another. That a few hours away from one another can feel like miles apart. What am I becoming? What is this town turning me into? The thought vanished from Crowe''s mind when Barghast pressed his paw against the back of the practitioner¡¯s head; pressed him deeper into the kiss. Barghast shifted him up a bit more so that his legs were wrapped snugly around the lycan¡¯s hips. Crowe gave into the Okanavian''s desires. Only in these moments when they were alone was he ever truly free.


    He reached back, guiding the sharp tip of Barghast¡¯s cock to the entrance of his hole. It pulsed with life. With need. He gave it a squeeze, making Barghast snarl. He continues to drop kisses along the length of Barghast''s muzzle, gnawing gently on his chin. Each response he worked out fueled him. There was one thing the lycan was wrong about: It''s not only his job to give me pleasure; it''s my job to pleasure him as well. And pleasure him I will.


    It always took time and care to take the lycan inside. Everything about him was large. In the throes of passion he could just as easily hurt Crowe as he could in rage. So the barbarian helped him, gently gyrating his hips as inch by inch Crowe took him inside. After a time Barghast would pull his cock out and lay Crowe across his lap to feast hungrily on his hole; then they would resume. Minutes turned into an hour but the sorcerer no longer felt tired. He¡¯d found his second wind. His skin buzzed, nerves sparking like fireworks. His head fell back, dark blue eyes catching the candlelight.


    ¡°Gaia, help me,¡± Barghast groaned once Crowe could feel the swell of his knot pressing against the practitioner''s hole. ¡°You are so beautiful. You will never stop being beautiful to me, my beloved. It is impossible. If anything you only grow more beautiful to me with every passing day¡­every passing moment. You''re delicate but strong. Gentle but fierce. Your eyes contain both ice and fire. How could I not love you? How could my heart and my cock not ache for you with need? With absolute longing?¡±


    ¡°I want you inside me,¡± Crowe crooned. ¡°I need you inside me. All of you¡­¡±


    Crowe bounced faster, pushing his rump against Barghast''s pulsing knot. The Okanavian took him into the kitchen where he stepped carefully around the broken glass. ¡°Your rump, even after all the times we¡¯ve made love, is so very small and right¡­¡±


    ¡°I trust you. You can''t hurt me. You can''t.¡± Crowe trembled with desperation. He twisted his fingers through the fur along Barghast''s fur. ¡°There is nothing you could do to hurt me. Please. Please.¡±


    ¡°Okay,¡± the lycan huffed. The air inside the house smelled thick with the smell of his musk. It made Crowe feel pleasantly dizzy. ¡°But I will be very gentle. Very careful.¡± He set Crowe on the edge of the table. The wood felt cool against his clammy flesh. He shifted his legs slightly, rewrapping them with renewed strength. Slowly Barghast pushed against him until there was an audible pop.


    He was in all the way. The practitioner loved the feeling of being so completely full. So completely taken. No one had ever made him feel the way Barghast made him feel. The love he¡¯d felt for Bennett had been a boyish love built on foolish dreams and fancy; such a love was surely bound to be false. Not the love Barghast and I have for each other. Our love is strong. Our love is enduring.


    Barghast pointed his head up at the ceiling and howled, cupping Crowe¡äs ears in his paws at the last second. His paws shielded the practitioner from the sound, but the rest of Caldreath might not be so lucky. The lycan bucked against him now, hips slamming into his, matted fur tickling his flesh. Crowe moaned in time with his growls. The sorcerer could feel his knot swelling within him, could see the slight bulge protruding from the center of his abdomen. He could feel the knot heating up like a boiling cauldron. Soon it would overflow and what came forth would fill him as only his lover could.


    ¡§I¡äm close, twin o¡ärre, so close,¡§ the Okanavian whined. ¡§I don''t want it to stop. I don''t want the pleasure to ever stop. I want to remain like this forever. Until the end of this Iteration¡­so that we are joined as we enter into the next.¡§


    ¡§Me too,¡§ Crowe gasped- The table shifted beneath him, protesting at its being bounced around so rudely, its owners oblivious to its pain in the throes of their passion. ¡§I never want to be apart ever again. Release yourself. Release yourself into me!¡§ He was mad with passion, his eyes white and blazing with mana, with emotion. The air began to shift and crackle around them, a soft wind stirring through the house, blowing back the curtains from the windows. ¡§Fill me¡­I''m hungry for you. Hungry as I''ve never been for anyone. There is no one for me but you¡­Cum into me!¡§


    With this Barghast came. He howled again and this time he did not shield Crowe¡äs ears from the sound. Could not. Warm wetness flooded Crowe¡äs belly, shooting up into him. Barghast wasn''t sure how much time passed before the flow of his seed tapered off, but by the time he was finished, the practitioner collapsed onto the table. Exhausted. Spent. He knew the Okanavian could go again, but it was another way in which they were different. The sorcerer simply didn''t have the sexual stamina he did.


    Once they were both able to catch their breath, the barbarian scooped the herald into his arms as if he were little more than a babe. His knot was still inside Crowe, stuck like a cork in a bottle. It would be hours before the knot¡¯s swelling went down enough for it to pop out. The practitioner didn¡¯t mind. It made the pleasure of their lovemaking last longer.


    He didn¡¯t remember falling asleep. He remembered sitting back on the sofa, stretched across Barghast¡¯s lap. He didn¡¯t need a blanket because the lycan kept him plenty warm. This is bliss, he remembered thinking. This is what life was truly meant to be. In being together we find our splendor.


    And then he was being jostled awake, Barghast whining his name.


    ¡°Crowe - wake up!¡±


    The practitioner¡¯s eyes snapped open. Instantly he felt an immediate dread he¡¯d foolishly hoped he would never feel again. ¡°What is it?¡±


    He climbed to his feet, peeling himself from Barghast¡¯s sodden lap. The knot had popped out. His rump was sore, but in his alarm the pain was forgotten for the time being. He would pay for their passion later.


    Before the Okanavian could answer, the door shook under the blows of a hammering fist. ¡°Practitioner!¡± Rake screamed through the door, his voice raspy and afraid and slurred from drink. ¡°Get your ass out here!¡±


    Crowe cursed, yanking his robes on; with a wave of his hand his blasting rod soared into his outstretched fingers. No rest for the aggrieved, he thought. Barghast joined him, dressed in his tunic made of buffalo skin, his rifle swinging at his side.


    Crowe undid the latch and pulled the door open so hard, he felt the brass knob bang into his hip. The pain was a small thing when he saw the look of wild-eyed fear in Rake¡¯s narrow face. The man smelled of sweat and spirits, his breath rank. ¡°They''re here!¡± he shouted. ¡°They''re coming?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Crowe heard himself gasp, though he already suspected the answer. ¡°Who is coming?¡±


    ¡°Torchcoats!¡± Rake was already walking away, gesturing impatiently for the practitioner and lycan to follow.


    Crowe did follow on legs not made of wood. I¡¯m not ready for this! a far younger, far more vulnerable part of his mind cried. But it was happening. There was no denying the summer heat in the turgid night air or the insects that buzzed past his face or the stars that burned overhead like faraway diamonds. ¡°Are you sure? Surely Drajen cannot be here already! Gyrell said he was weeks away¡­¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°It is not Drajen, merely a small army winding their way through the trees. The guards on patrol on the tower of the church spotted them and sounded the alarms. You will soon see.¡±


    Winding their way through Caldreath''s streets, the air was charged with the clamor of its frightened villagers. They conglomerated before the church, dressed in black, with torches in hand, their eyes wide and teary eyed. Crowe was not the only one not ready to face the reality of war again. The black stink of their fear colored the air as Rake, Barghast, and he shouldered their way through the crowd. Patrolmen in charge of safeguarding the town attempted to gain control of the chaos, divvying out commands and threats to throw those who did not listen into cells at the center of the town. Those braves souls who were not caught up in the panic - souls more brave than myself - wielded hammers and planks of wood to barricade their homes against the inevitable onslaught.


    Loras stood at the top of the flagstone steps, dressed in her battle garb. She scowled when she saw the trio mounting the steps. ¡°It''s about time!¡± she growled at Crowe through gritted teeth.  ¡°Time is of the essence. We have but a short time to prepare for battle. Come to the top of the tower with me so that you may see the threat we face¡­¡±


    Before Crowe could reply, she turned around, her heels clicking on the stone. Her armor reflected the light of tonight''s full moon. The journey to the top of the tower seemed longer than ever. A thought nagged at Crowe during the long ascent: He remembered how he made a similar journey in Vaylin, winding up the steps of a tower in the ancient necropolis. Deja vu clouded his mind. All that''s happened before is happening again. We are but slaves to the cycle.


    Several guards stood at the top of the tower. Burning flames cast flickering light on their grizzled faces.


    ¡°They''re getting closer, Commander!¡± a tall guard growled in a deep voice. He pointed at something in the night, narrowing his eyes down to slits. ¡°Do you see them?¡±


    It was Crowe¡¯s turn to squint. It didn''t take him long to spot the motion the guard spoke of. The tower stood high above the trees. High enough that he could see the snake of torchcoats winding through the trees, marked by the silver torches on the back of their armor.


    ¡°Monad, help us, they have cannons! There are twice as many people as we have¡­over a thousand! Damn us to the Void!¡± Rake hissed. Beads of sweat dripped from his furrowed brow. ¡°How could the Mother let so many pass through the trees?¡± He rounded on the commander, his eyes wide and petulant, like that of a frightened child.


    ¡°Because just as our belief and growing numbers feeds the power that makes this town possible, so does spilling the blood of those who would thwart us,¡± Gyrell said. Her voice rang not with fear but determination. And the hunger to spill torchcoats blood. Crowe recognized it because he could feel the eagerness to do the same beating in tune with his heart. Like thunder in the blood.


    Gyrell turned to him, her eyes flashing in the firelight. ¡°It is your time to rise, practitioner. It is your time to lead them. They need to hear your voice. They need to be bolstered by your courage. Think of all I taught you.¡±


    Her words made everything inside of Crowe freeze. Everyone on top of the tower had turned their gazes to look at him now: the guards; Rake and Barghast who now stood at his back, resting a paw on his shoulder.


    It''s too soon. I¡¯m not ready.


    But what choice did he have? The job of being herald had always belonged to him¡­whether he wanted it or not.


    ¡­


    When he reached the top of the flagstone steps, he looked up at the sky to find Metropolis sitting atop the horizon. The mob of frightened villagers had stopped their begging and clamoring, pointing at it with whispers of awe. The city shined, a beacon of white in the midst of a black sea.


    ¡°Yes!¡± he shouted, both comforted and elated by the sight of the Eternal City. ¡°Look upon the great city and know that one day you will walk through its halls¡­¡±


    Many faces turned around to face him with the word, ¡°herald!¡±, exiting their lips in a breathless whisper. He was reminded of the exaltation he''d felt as he watched the Inquisitor burn, salivating at the aroma of burning flesh and hair.


    ¡°Look upon the city and know what it is you are fighting for. To reclaim the home that has been stolen from our people time and time again!¡± His voice rang through the night like a gunshot, full of power and confidence.


    ¡°For many an Iteration we have been denied our birthright - the right to walk the glittering streets of our true home. The Theocracy will do everything in their power to keep us from achieving our goal. They have thwarted us one night too many. Let''s not let them thwart us another, shall we?¡±


    Heads nodded in his direction and cheered in approval. More villagers appeared, armed with rifles and staves that glowed with Monad¡¯s fire, their eyes burning with the same white fire Crowe felt burning inside his own eyes; others carried pitchforks, kitchen knives, and hatchets. The people of Caldreath would fight even if the only weapons they owned were their own hands. He could feel the tension in the air continue to unravel as he bolstered their courage with his words. Words that came to him naturally as they¡¯d never come to him before. Barghast handed him a water canteen. He drank from it  greedily until water sloshed down the front of his robes. With nothing more to say he began to thread his way through the crowd.


    They followed him, silent but ever present, their footfalls grinding soundlessly into the summer soil and the reedy song of crickets. Gyrell remained on his right, Barghast on his left. Rake and the guards adorned in freshly boiled armor followed at his back; anyone capable of wielding Monad¡¯s fire took up the middle, with those more vulnerable taking up the rear. In the space of an hour the town of Caldreath had changed into something unrecognizable. Barricades had been erected in the middle of the street; trenches that had not been there moments ago had been dug into the ground. Orders were given out in sharp barks and hoarse whispers.


    Barghast''s eyes burned with excitement; it had been weeks since he''d last spilled torchcoat blood.


    Crowe could already hear the thunder of hooves. At any second the first torchcoats would come into view and the battle would begin. It would be Crowe and Barghast¡¯s first battle with a real number of allies. We¡¯re not alone anymore. This time I have a small army at my back.


    Already the thunder of horse hooves galvanized the thick night air. Voices shouted. The torchcoats were not trying to hide their passage from their opponents. Because they don''t feel the need to. They think this is a battle they¡¯ve already won because we¡¯re nothing but savages to them. They don''t know we have the backing of an Architect. This mistake - their hubris - will be their undoing.


    He held a clenched fist up in the air the way Gyrell had shown him - the signal for those armed with rifles to hold their fire. Only when he made the chopping motion were they to attack. This will be my first time leading a battle. I hope I have what it takes.


    The first of the torchcoat riders bounded into view, the mounts rendered in black. The riders did not appear to be separate entities, but made the illusion they were one with their mounts, a new species of creation that had not been seen before. Banners flapped in the wind like leathery bat wings.


    ¡°Now!¡± Rake hissed as the first volleys of fire were unleashed from the enemy; somehow he had moved up to the front of the line. Fist still clenched in the air, Crowe grabbed Rake¡¯s arm before he could stand and seal his own fate. The first rounds pierced the barricade, throwing splinters and the burning spice of gunpowder into his face. It must have been Monad''s own watchful eye that saved him from meeting his own death, for he¡¯d been too busy yanking the man back down into a crouched position.


    ¡°Just another second! We still have the element of surprise.¡±


    He didn''t know if there was any point in trying to speak, only lead with action when he didn''t quite know what action to take. The torchcoats¡¯ mounts were closing the distance quickly, the crash of their hooves growing ever more deafening and the sound of breaking glass everywhere. Somehow there was enough time to trade a glance with Gyrell between one round of fire and the next. She rewarded him with a nod of approval, so he must have made the right call.


    Everything told him he hadn''t made the right call. His blood had turned to ice in his veins. His mind howled for him to act now, act now, act now before it was too late! He was drowning in the reek of human and horse sweat, horse shit, and the reek of his own fear.


    Barghast tipped. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre! They¡¯re almost on top of us!¡±


    He shoved the fear - all of it - into his rod. White fire crackled from the runes, eclipsing the front of the street. At the same time he unleashed his fury on the rider but moments from colliding with the barricade, Crowe bellowed, ¡°NOW!¡±


    The villagers of Caldreath unleashed their own fury at the herald''s cry. Their fury combined made the town look as if it burned from within - as if it might disappear in the blink of an eye. The first column of torchcoats were obliterated from view. Mama ripped furrows in the ground, ripped the ground from beneath the torchcoats¡¯ mounts. Burning embers pelted those who were helpless below. Crowe threw himself in top of Barghast to shield him from the blast as much as his feeble body would allow. With a grunt of effort, he formed a dome of mana around them before the resounding shockwave could rip them apart.


    Crowe felt the ground rock beneath them. He heard shouts and curses of fury. The barricade was completely gone, little more than a pile of sticks. Through the haze of smoke that thickened the air he could see the buildings which had been damaged in the blast were repairing themselves. Windows sheened with freshly formed panes; walls that had collapsed raised themselves. The town healed itself even as it came apart. Like Monad¡¯s people, Caldreath would not crumble in defeat.


    Bullets sliced through the air. They sparked against Crowe¡¯s shield, against the ground. Barghast Rose up from his crouched position with a snarl. His rifle bucked in his hands.


    ¡°Stay with me!¡± Crowe barked through gritted teeth. The blue of his eyes were hidden behind Monad¡¯s white fury. His sweat-sheened face was so pale it almost appeared gray. A hatred he didn''t know he harbored for the torchcoats boiled in his blood. A hatred that went to such depths it frightened him.


    ¡°I¡¯m right behind you, twin o¡¯rre!¡±


    With the lycan¡¯s promise made, the practitioner charged into the fray.


    The stampede horses racing towards them filled the narrow streets of Caldreath. A big mistake Crowe thought as his side pummeled them with returning shots of mana and gunfire. He ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed by a massive horse. He unsheathed his blade, slicing into the rider¡¯s leg in a single fluid motion. Hot blood splattered his face; some of it soaked his tongue with the taste of copper.


    The rider fell from the steed. With a bellow, it careened towards its own peril in the colliding maelstrom. Hatchets and pitchforks  and knives stabbed the air with blind fury; into the horse who¡¯s only sin had been to carry its rider into battle.  Its agonized shrieks were silenced by the mindless cries of Monad¡¯s people as they struck out at whatever unfortunate soul got in the way.


    Crowe and Barghast pushed towards the front of Caldreath, opening a path through the torchcoats. For the practitioner things were happening far quicker than he could have ever anticipated. And yet his body seemed to steer itself over fallen debris and lifeless corpses. Monad, help me, there are so many bodies! What war he had seen had been nothing compared to this. Already the cobblestones beneath his feat were slippery with spilt blood.


    A horn wailed in the night, but from which direction or which side, he could not say. It took all his concentration to shield Barghast and he from harm as they fought.


    ¡°Twin o¡¯rre!¡± Barghast barked.


    He fired at something in the sky.


    The practitioner looked up just in time to see a lit stick of dynamite soar towards their face.


    No! he thought.


    In his fear his magical sphere of protection fell around him like the crystalline strands of a spiderweb. With a growl of determination, he reformed its shape at the exact same second the dynamite exploded. Flames licked along the outer layer of the dome. Light crackled. The air sizzled and smoked. The impact of the explosion breached the wall, flattening Crowe and Barghast to the rubble-strewn ground.


    For a moment disorienting darkness prevailed. Only the war would not let him rest. Chipped stone pelted his face, sliced his lower open so that this time the blood he tasted was his own. But who can tell the difference? All blood tastes the same whether it was your blood or the blood of another. Someone tripped over his leg. He watched the unfortunate soul try to get to their feet only to fall back down following the flash of a bayonet.  It occurred to him that he should do the same lest he suffer the same fate. He managed to raise himself on his hands and feet when Barghast appeared. Together they ducked behind the bulk of an overturned wagon.


    The lycan brushed his hair back from his face. His muzzle moved but his words were lost on Crowe. Lost in the maddening roar of battle and death.


    A streak of mana cut through the smoke, drawing their attention to the end of the street. Loras stride out of the gloom. Her hair had come unbound so that it curled around her head like a veil. Her face was streaked with soot and blood; whether it was her own or someone else''s Crowe could not say. She did not move as one who was injured, though a large dent had been punched into her breastplate. Her eyes, no longer green, blazed with white fire.


    She lashed out at the torchcoat foolish enough to advance towards her with a bayonet. Their blades clashed, sparking in the dark. The runes carved into the pommel of Gyrell¡¯s sword burned with Monad¡¯s holy fire. Gyrell lashed out with another kick that sent her adversary stumbling back, opening him up to a fatal blow. Her blade pierced his chest plate, pushing out through his back, soaking it in crimson. Two more torchcoats charged into the breach to avenge their fallen comrade. Gyrell¡¯s sword flashed twice with a mighty shriek. ¡°Where is your whore Elysian when you need her?¡± she spat as she kicked aside her crumbling ashes.


    She dropped into a crouch beside Crowe. ¡°Shake it off, herald,¡± she sniffed. ¡°You don''t have time to lick your wounds.¡±


    Crowe hated the tone of disapproval audible in her voice, but most of all he hated his reaction to it: He nodded, climbing once more to his feet. Who are you to think you¡¯ve changed? a voice taunted him in the back of his mind. You''re still the foolish farm boy who aches for the approval of others?


    ¡°What did I tell you about winning battles?¡± Gyrell asked him before taking a long swig from her flask.


    Crowe struck another torchcoat down with his rod. He fucked. The wagon shook under the onslaught of bullets that pelted the wood; a few more rounds and it would turn to dust like everything else. ¡°Cut the head off the snake and you win the battle; everyone else will lose their courage and fall.¡±


    The commander grinned at him. She passed him her flask. ¡°So you do listen. You heard the horn, right?¡±


    Crowe nodded, pulling a healthy swig of aether wine from the flask. ¡°Yes. I wasn¡¯t sure if it was ours¡­¡±


    ¡°It isn''t. The horn belongs to the fool who gives out the orders to these zealots.¡±


    As if to prove her point, the wailing of a horn cut through the night followed by the deep bellow of a man''s voice.


    The snake, Crowe thought.


    ¡°Let''s go find the snake and cut off it''s head,¡± he grunted.

 The Head of the Snake

    The wail of the horn seemed to sound from within Crowe¡¯s own bloodstream. He fought through his body''s aching protests, leaping over fallen debris. Barghast and Loras ran on either side, protecting his blind spots.


    A torchcoat came into view. ¡°Take this you practitioner bastards!¡± she screamed.


    She was granted enough time to chuck something at them before Barghast took her life with a single shot from his rifle. The grenade rolled to a stop at Crowe¡¯s feet.


    ¡°Back away!¡± Gyrell barked. ¡°These grenades release fumes you don''t want to breathe in¡­They contain the drug Drajen created to keep us from using our mana¡­¡±


    The practitioner didn''t need to be told twice to heed her warning. A near death experience at Fort Erikson was all the warning he needed. He and Loras fell back. The grenade spun around in the ground, releasing green fumes. It wasn''t the only one: a smokescreen of green chemical smelling gas filled the street.


    A practitioner came stumbling out of the fog, hacking. She held her staff in a feeble hand. ¡°Help me,¡± she begged Crowe. Her eyes were wide and pleading. ¡°Help me - I can''t use my mana - I can''t - ¡°


    She didn''t get to finish her plea. Not before a bullet hole appeared between her eyes, killing her instantly. Gyrell''s sword flashed once, twice, three times. She handed Crowe a a handkerchief. ¡°Wrap this around your face,¡± she commanded. ¡°Do it quickly.¡±


    The rag smelled of dust and human perspiration, but Crowe didn''t care. He tied the rag around his face so that it covered his nose and mouth.


    The horn sounded again. Crowe whirled around, searching frantically for its bearer. Heading West on the next street, he spotted five riders still atop their horses. They were heavily armored and pulled a caravan behind them loaded with wooden chests strapped down by rope. Was this it? Was this what Gyrell had meant about finding the head of the snake? On the side of the caravan, the sigil of Elysia''s torch was visible. A flag blew limply in the gusts of smoke-wind blowing through the streets of Caldreath.


    He called Gyrell''s name. ¡°I think I found the head of the snake.¡± He pointed with his crippled hand.


    She squinted through the smog. After a moment a slow grin spread across her face. ¡°Aye. That''s it. Very good, herald.¡±


    Crowe started in the direction of caravan. ¡°Let''s cut off the snake¡¯s head.¡±


    The commander seized the back of his robes in a gauntleted fist, stopping him in his tracks. ¡°I know you want to be the hero and end the battle, but first you must think.¡±


    She yanked him behind a wall with Barghast scrambling behind them. ¡°Get back, get back!¡± Something whistled overhead like a banshee. An instant later the wall shook as if succumbing under the blow of a mighty giant. It collapsed in a shower of brick that spilled out into the street.


    Crowe shoved Gyrell''s hand off her. Who was she to tell him what to do? ¡°How can you tell me to wait? Our people are dying. With the drug, they have the upper advantage - not us. I''m not waiting¡­¡±


    She shoved him back. Shoved him back hard enough he fell back on the ground. Barghast stomped towards her, baring his teeth. Gyrell silenced him with a glare. ¡°Back off, beast! I¡¯m not doing anything to hurt your precious twin o¡¯rre - though there are times when I must admit I¡¯d like to.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± Crowe pulled himself to his feet. ¡°What is it you are suggesting?¡±


    ¡°Whoever is giving out the orders - the commander - will be inside the carriage. Where they are safe, sequestered away from harm. I doubt they have the courage to join their men in battle. As you can see they are heavily guarded. Not only will they be heavily armored, they will be well armed and well trained and they will certainly have more of those grenades. I know you have fought greater foes, but you do not want to go into this fight overly cocky. Am I clear?¡±


    Crowe was too tired to argue with someone who had more experience in battle than he did, so he nodded. ¡°We¡¯re clear.¡±


    ¡­


    The trio snuck through the shadowy corridor of an alleyway. Figures ran past, cursing and screaming and dying. Each second that passed by was a second stretched out by terror. The street they stepped on had yet to be touched by the battle between Monad¡¯s people and the Theocracy. The ship windows were still intact and dark with the illusion that they were merely closed up for the night.


    The trio tiptoed through the shadows at a crouch. Crowe''s heart ticked in his throat at a thousand beats per a second. At any second one of the armed sentries standing guard over the caravan could take notice of them and open fire. He cursed himself for almost charging into conflict without coming up with a plan. It''s a wonder you¡¯ve come as far as you have without getting yourself and Barghast killed - stay steady. Do as Gyrell told you. She has more experience than you do. Cut off the head of the snake and you win the battle.


    When they were but meters from the caravan one of the guards turned their head and spotted them. They let out a shout and immediately reached for their belt. No doubt reaching for a grenade. Already the four other guards, leaping from the caravan into the street. Bullets whizzed through the air, sparking against the side of the caravan.


    Within seconds the wagon was obscured by green gas. Crowe felt his world shrunk down to moving shadows. His breath came out in harsh gasps that were muffled by the rag tied around the lower half of his face. He¡¯d lost track of Barghast and Gyrell. His only objective was to survive long enough to thwart his enemies and hope to reunite with his lycan afterwards.


    A tall figure adorned in full armor charged out of the smoke at him. ¡°In the name of Elysia, I set your corrupt soul from your rotting flesh!¡± his adversary roared. He swiped at Crowe with the blade of his sabre.


    The practitioner leapt back, narrowly dodging the torchcoat¡¯s advances. He tried to swing his rod and end mainly before it could end in his opponent''s favor, but the torchcoat had longer legs and longer arms and was every bit the more experienced fighter than Crowe. Gauntleted fingers tore the rod from his hand and sent it skittering over the cobblestones. Before the practitioner could counter the attack with his dagger, a fist crashed into his face. His back hit the side of the wagon hard enough to knock the wind from his chest.


    The torchcoat drew his arm back. The tip of the blade caught the moonlight.


    Crowe reached desperately into the pocket of his robes. He pulled out the revolver he started carrying with him for just in case purposes. He drew back the hammer and cocked it. The gun bucked in his hand with a white flash of light. The weapon¡¯s kickback winded him for the third time in one evening, but he kept his balance and fired the gun twice more. It took all of his will not to empty the rest of the chamber into the torch coat.


    No sooner had the torchcoat fallen to his knees, another one swung around the caravan, bearing a rifle on him. There was no way to turn except to go down. He dropped to the ground. He wiggled his body between the Wheels of the wagon. Two pairs of feet chased one another within his field of vision but he could not tell who they belonged to. He searched for the Okanavian''s paws. Pause that were bigger than most men''s head. He swallowed down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, kicked at the hand that tried to clamp around his ankle.


    He pulled himself out from underneath the caravan. He came up behind Gyrell who clashed with a torchcoat. She swung her sword once more and Crowe heard the sound of a blade slicing through flesh and a severed head rolling across the ground. Crowe heard the running steps of the torch coat to have tried to grab his ankle coming around the wagon. Dropping his dagger, the practitioner snatched up a fallen saber. The moment the torchcoat appeared, the sorcerer drove forward with all his might.


    The blade punched through the torchcoat''s armor, into her abdomen. The impact traveled up his arm down to his belly. Blood spurted down his chin. He staggered away from her sagging body, wishing he could vomit.


    The door doors of the wagon flew open. ¡°I am shielded by the light from Elysia''s torch!¡± a voice shouted. Crowe glimpsed the bearded man within, saw yet another rifle bear on him. There wasn''t enough time, enough energy to get his own weapon in front of him for the killing shot.


    I¡¯ve been lucky so far, he thought. Even the herald only has so much luck before it runs out.


    He should have felt fear - much like the fear he¡¯d felt when they put the noise around his neck at Fort Erikson - but he only felt relief. Relief that the war would be over. Relief that the task of bringing Monad''s people back to Metropolis would fall to the herald of the Fourth Iteration. Shame at the thought of the devastation his death would cause Barghast. But the shame pales in comparison to the relief.


    He closed his eyes. I¡¯m ready.


    Only death was denied him yet again.


    Someone cocked a rifle. He heard a deep, familiar growl. He did not feel a bullet pierce his heart or the sudden blackness of death.


    Slowly he opened his eyes. He sucked in a breath. I¡¯ve been ready to die for a long time. Even before the Seraphim fell from the heavens to deliver my mission, I was ready to die. Perhaps I sensed, much like Petras, my life will not have a happy ending. That someone else plotted the course of my life. Which is why he''s here. Which is why he''s my anchor. To make sure I serve the purpose I was created for.


    He looked up at the dark figure that towered over the torchcoat commander. Barghast pressed the muzzle of his rifle to the man¡¯s temple. ¡°Twin o¡¯rre,¡± he rumbled. ¡°Let me kill this fool and be done with it.¡±


    He tried to answer through a throat that was raw and parched with thirst and heavy with the taste of his own blood. He was bruised all over. Always bruised. These bruises would fade but soon new bruises would appear to replace the old ones. Luckily someone answered for him.


    ¡°Do not shoot him!¡± Gyrell barked. The silver nimbus of her hair reflected the moonlight. ¡°He will die! Justice will be had, but not yet! I have plans for him!¡±


    ¡­


    Crowe and Barghast had seen the consequences war could have on those who fell victim to it many times on their travels. Homes abandoned for sanctuary hundreds of miles away, treasured objects left to gather dust on empty fire hearths. Overturned wagons tipped over like tombstones, their contents picked clean, bodies left to rot under the open sun. Once he''d glimpsed a battle in a vision, but that had been an illusion cast on him by the enemy. None of it could have prepared him for what the morning light revealed to him after his first real battle.


    Hundreds of bodies had been tossed in the back of wagons that had been pushed back to the Southern edge of the village. At first glance it was impossible to tell who was torchcoat and who was not; one limb looked much like another and could have been attached to anything or nothing at all. Clothes and flesh torn to shreds. Faces darkened to unrecognizability by dirt, and torn shrapnel. In death we are all the same. At the end of the day it doesn''t matter who we follow or what we believe in: When we go under we are all as quiet as the grave.


    Barghast,  Gyrell, Rake, and he stood in a semi circle watching the survivors of those who had survived the battle drag out those who hadn''t from underneath the rubble. Others busied themselves with digging through the debris and carrying it away. Few spoke. Everyone moved with the same dazed look Crowe knew he himself wore. And always the promise of fresh horrors ahead.


    ¡°Are you going to throw them all in one grave, Commander?¡± Rake raised a large glass bottle to his lips. He reeked of spirits and male perspiration.


    ¡°Of course not. The fallen will be sorted through. Monad''s people will be given a proper burial beneath the earth. Those who follow the Whore¡­their fates will be deemed by the forests around us.¡±


    The practitioner failed to suppress a shiver; he knew all too well what that fate entailed.


    ¡°And the prisoners?¡±


    ¡°They will befall the same fate. Speaking of the prisoners¡­¡± Gyrell glanced at Crowe. ¡°We must begin the process of dealing with them. We will hold them in the pens until we are ready to dispense with them. But for now we must not be too nasty in delivering justice. They could prove to be of great use to us while alive.¡±


    Crowe and Barghast exchanged uneasy glances. The sorcerer sensed the Okanavian was thinking of the night they''d trekked through the forest to the grove where hundreds had been nailed to the trees for the beasts of the wild to feast on.


    You¡¯ve done terrible things before¡­


    He saw Charoum, thrashing about, in flames, his hair burning.


    ¡­you¡¯ll have to do plenty more before your time is up.


    What survived of the torchcoats had been gathered up and locked away in pens. Guards had been stationed around the cells, but the air that surrounded the cells was one of human defeat. Crowe resisted the urge to cover his nose against the reek of piss and shit.  He¡¯d traveled on the road for many weeks without a chance to bathe properly; it was a human condition he should be used to by now. Faces covered with dirt or blood or soot or all three glazed forlornly through the bars. A few prayed to Elysia but their prayers carried no conviction.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Bring me Commander Barrick! Bring him to the shed!¡± Gyrell barked to a guard who appeared as if he were posted anywhere other than where he was. He sprang into action, glad for the opportunity to have something to do, it seemed.


    Other than his garb and his title as Commander, there was nothing to suggest Barrick was different from other men. His medium-length hair had once been brown but was now mostly shot through with streaks of iron. From the pens to the shed he walked with his head held up and his shoulders straight even as his audience threw stones and fruit at him. He had the clear-eyed look of a man who had no moral compunctions for how he¡¯d lived his life, the choices he¡¯d made up until this moment. When a rock smashed into his face, tearing open his lower lip, he fell to his knees and lifted his hand towards the sky. ¡°Elysia, my life for you!¡± he cried. ¡°May not one of these heathens of the False Creator live! May my soul brighten the flame of your torch¡­¡±


    ¡°Do not fret over his show of courage,¡± Gyrell encouraged Crowe. ¡°He may walk as a sure-footed rooster walks, but he was trained to. Remember where you found him during his moment of defeat: Cowering in his carriage, guarded, not out in the fight with his own people. No, what you see before you is just another mask of courage and we will take great joy in ripping it away¡­won''t we?¡±


    She grinned wolfishly at Barrick. Barrick might have shuddered but there was too much going around him to be sure.


    In the shed they bound his arms to the rafters above his head. The head guard dumped a bucket of ice cold water over the man''s head. Crowe tried to feel something as he watched the man sputter and shake it out of his face¡­and only felt numbness. Stop trying to see him as a man. Stop trying to see him as someone worthy of grace and mercy. He would not bestow the same kindness upon you. Be grateful you are not in his position.


    At this thought Crowe was grateful. Grateful to be watching the proceedings as opposed to being the center of them. Gyrell stood two meters to his right. She watched the torchcoat commander, her expression as closed off and unreadable as a mountain wall.


    The sound of a gauntleted fist connecting with solid flesh and bone reverberated throughout the shed. Barrack¡¯s head fell back. A mixture of dirt, sweat, and blood marked a red-black trail down his chin that disappeared beneath the smudged collar of his jacket. Even has he stared death directly in the face, he did not appear afraid. ¡°Go on!¡± he spat. ¡°What are you waiting for? I know my fate is sealed! Go ahead and kill me¡­¡±


    ¡°We will. Of that you can be sure.¡± Gyrell pointed at the wall to Barrack''s left. ¡°Do you see the morning light coming through the window? You better get a good look because it''s the last time you¡¯ll ever see it!¡±


    Barrack threw his head back and laughed. Several of his teeth were missing. ¡°I do not fear the Bitch of Caldreath! Drajen is coming for you. Coming to excise the tumor that is Monad¡¯s people from this world once and for all! He¡¯s going to race through this town like a tidal wave and he¡¯s going to turn it to dust¡­¡±


    Crowe watched the exchange, uncertain of who to side with. It was impossible to say whose cause was just with the way the two commanders glared at each other, battling over separate sides of their morality¡­their ideology. Morality has no stake to claim in this matter. I am watching a battle in which both sides have lost all sense of reason. The Theocracy versus the practitioners. The Lion-Headed Serpent versus the torch-bearing mother of Creation. What does that make me? Am I supposed to break the tie?


    ¡°You Elysians are always so full of yourselves. It''s to your detriment.¡± The commander knelt on her haunches so that her face was level with Barrack''s. ¡°So certain that you''re right and we¡¯re wrong. So certain that you deserve to live while we deserve to be enslaved and die. You might outrank us in technology and numbers but none of those advantages held away over our victory last night. This town is still standing even after your beloved Theocracy burned it to the ground over a century ago!¡± She stomped her foot proudly.


    Barrack turned his attention from Gyrell to Crowe. He grinned through bleeding gums that turned into a mocking eye roll. ¡°You''re the herald? I expected a man, not a boy¡­¡±


    It wasn''t until he felt his hand smart that the practitioner realized he¡¯d crossed the room and struck the man with a clenched fist. A stunned silence filled the stable; he could feel every eye in the room on him. He was glad his back was turned to them. He was glad he couldn''t see Barghast''s face. Though the lycan had yet to turn on him, Crowe feared his role as herald would push him one step too far for the Okanavian. Still he couldn''t stop himself from confronting this man. Not this time. Circumstances had propelled him over a cliff from which there was no coming back.


    He grabbed his head by the back of his ponytail and rinsed it around so that the commander had no choice but to look up him. Fresh drops of blood fell from his nose.  ¡°I''m not a boy. I''m not a man. Thanks to the Theocracy and your whore Elysia, I never got to be a boy and I will never get to be a man. I am a ghost trapped between what has never been and what will never be. I don''t have a soul to worry over and I certainly don''t know anything about justice. All I know is that your Drajen will burn everything to the ground until there''s nothing left. No more blood to spill, no more bodies to throw into a grave. So I''m going to keep him from achieving his victory and unfortunately that starts with you¡­¡±


    A shadow fell over him. Someone offered him an arm. He looked into Gyrell¡¯s green eyes. A coil of chain was wrapped around her sleeved arm. The needle tips of the razors embedded in the chain caught the morning light.  This time Crowe did not need a swallow of aether wine to encourage him. He took the handle with the grip that felt strangely steady.


    He rose to his feet as four guards converged around Barrack and he. ¡°What would you have us do, my Lord?¡± the head guard asked him.


    ¡°Strip him naked, remove his restraints,¡± the sorcerer said in a voice that belonged to a stranger.


    A moment later the doors to the stable flew open. Barrack fell to his knees, naked. Crowe uncoiled the chain. He flicked it experimentally against the floor of the shed, kicking up straw. When he flicked his wrists a second time, the needles raked into the top of the man''s shoulders. The torchcoat commander¡¯s head ducked instinctively against the blow. He hissed through quivering lips. The practitioner watched blood rise up from the new wounds he¡¯d made with a single stroke of his hand.


    The chain¡¯s end swung from left to right, then right to left. He resisted the urge to swing a second time if only to reward himself another moment of satisfaction. ¡°On your feet!¡± he barked instead.


    Barrack climbed to his feet with a grunt. Crowe directed him out of the barn. Barghast, Gyrell, Rake, and the guards followed along behind him like historians come to take their account of the proceedings.


    When the torchcoat commander strayed away from the road, Crowe redirected him with another lick. The sound of the steel hissing through the air drew the attention of curious onlookers. By the time Crowe reached the well a parade of villagers had gathered behind them to taunt the man. Children danced joyfully over the trail of spilt blood he left in his wake. Gyrell beamed at the herald as a proud parent might her child. Crowe didn''t know which feeling resided stronger with him: the uplift of her approval or the revulsion at the action it took to achieve it. It''s too late to stop now, he reminded himself. Now that you¡¯ve started down this path there is no going back.


    This time Crowe did not have the influence of aether wine or the Mother or Monad or the ghost of Petras to blame. It was his hand that swung the chain with savage glee. It was he who drove deeper and deeper into the torchcoat''s back until the air was heavy with the reek of blood and sweat.


    By the time they reached the pens, blood flowed freely from Barrack''s back. His face was an unrecognizable mass of scrapes and bruises and torn flesh. Crowe tried not to think about how the man looked like the version of Jalif he¡¯d seen being led to the stake in a vision the practitioner had. One eye swollen completely shut, nose broken, an inch from death already. Crowe only has to let the people of Caldreath have their way to seal the fate of Barrack and the remaining torchcoats.


    The practitioner would not grant him such mercy.


    Barrack staggered ahead of him, feeding Caldreath with his blood. The practitioner ignored another wave of revulsion. He watched the torchcoat commander''s blood seep in between the cobblestones. More souls for the town to feast on.


    Barrack could not stand on his own. Two guards stood on both his sides, an arm looped over their shoulders.


    Crowe''s whipping arm felt so heavy he could no longer lift it.


    The rest of the prisoners were gathered before the pens like a herd of cattle. Their clothes and flesh were torn from where they had been pelted mercilessly with stones and whatever the villagers could chuck through the bars at them. Their ankles and wrists were shackled together so that they were bound as a single entity. Stripped of their armor, Crowe could no longer tell the difference between a frightened practitioner or torchcoat. They huddled together as if forming one body could shield them from the fate to come.


    He didn''t remember anyone handing him Barrack''s horn but it was there in his hand. He raised it to his lips and blew into it hard once. Several members in the crowd drifted towards the front with hatchets and knives and the hunger for bloodshed in their eyes. He commanded the guards to face the prisoners in the direction of the trees. Once they faced the open field, Crowe spoke again. ¡°If we were to give them the chance they would hunt each and every one of us down like animals. They¡¯d ride us down on their horses and cleave our heads from our shoulders with their blades. But today we will see them run, naked and afraid.¡±


    More blades appeared in the crowd. Men and women pushed up to the front of the audience with the thirst for murder in their eyes. Crowe could feel his own blood boiling in his veins. He gave the guards the orders to remove the restraints from the prisoners and shoot down anyone who made a run for it before he gave the okay. Over a dozen rifles were cocked on the prisoners.


    Once the restraints were removed, Crowe said, ¡°Once I blow the horn the prisoners may run for their lives. Run as fast as their legs can carry them. Let it be said that unlike your Elysia, Monad can be merciful¡­if you catch him on the right day. Guards, only when I blow the horn a second time may the villagers give chase.¡±


    This was met with silent nods of affirmation and salutes.


    Crowe sucked in a breath. He scratched at eyes that had gone dry and itchy with fatigue. If the heavens had objections to offer about what he was doing, he did not hear them. He took a swig of aether wine. He licked his lips. He raised the horn and he blew once.


    Hard.


    The prisoners broke for the trees, starting out in a line that quickly disintegrated as those who were the most determined to survive surpassed those who faltered. Those who fell quickly picked themselves back up. Their breaths came out short and gaspy. Beside Crowe, Barghast drooled hungrily. The practitioner knew he would be the first to spill torchcoat blood.


    Crowe waited until the first prisoners had almost reached the trees before he blew into the horn a second time. Just as he suspected, Barghast let out a mighty growl before barrelling after the prisoners, a dozen men and women on his tail bearing hatchets and knives. The bright blue sky and golden spokes of sunlight made a lie that this morning would be as peaceful as the last.


    A dog weaved between the villagers, quickly closing the distance between the hunters and the escapees. It lunged at the closest man within reach, tearing at his ankles from behind. Soon Crowe could see nothing beyond the act of violence he''d ordered into reality. He watched a hatchet swing through the air before the blade buried itself in the back of a skull, releasing a spray of blood. He watched a hatchet slice open the throat of another unfortunate soul. More blood would spill into the grass; more torchcoats would feed Caldreath''s hungry, hungry soil.


    It seemed the melee was over before it began. Barghast returned to Crowe, blood dripping from his snout. In one paw he carried the head of Commander Barrack. ¡°He made a mockery of you and so I made a mockery of him. I pissed on him right before I beheaded him. No one mocks my twin o¡¯rre.¡±


    The herald wrinkled his nose. It took all of his effort not to turn away from the ¡°gift¡± that was being offered to him. ¡°That''s very kind of you, but I don''t want it¡­You can bury it in the backyard tonight.¡±


    Gyrell walked up to the practitioner, smiling. ¡°It seems the air in Caldreath has done you good, herald. It has toughened your resolve considerably. The way you did that was beautiful. I don''t think those torchcoats have ever known such terror in their life.¡±


    ¡°If only the nausea would cease,¡± Crowe admitted weakly before he could stop himself. He lit an aether joint with shaking fingers. How was it possible for someone to feel such triumph and revulsion at the same time?


    The commander''s eyes softened. ¡°The transformation you are making is not one of beauty or of grace. You must let go of the fact that you are the savior. May I see that?¡± Without waiting for the lycan''s permission, she grabbed Barrack¡¯s head by its blood soaked locks and held it up before Crowe like a macabre ornament. She pretended not to notice when the sorcerer looked away. ¡°You are not the savior. You are not the caterpillar who will turn into a butterfly. You''re the caterpillar who will turn into a snake. One slippery scale at a time.¡±


    ¡­


    Later that evening Gyrell came to the door with a bottle of aether wine. She wore the blue silk dress that had become familiar to Crowe; it was a dress that must have had great value to her.


    ¡°Is there a special occasion?¡± he asked her once they were both seated at the table.


    ¡°I think every night here in Caldreath is a special occasion. That it¡¯s here at all is a miracle. Last night¡¯s victory is something to celebrate.¡±


    ¡°Celebrate how?¡±


    Gyrell grinned. ¡°The village has put together something special for you. I know Barghast and yourself have spoken together of your shared love for performance art.¡±


    Crowe and Barghast exchanged surprised glances. How can she know about that? This is a conversation we had long before we reached Caldreath.


    ¡°Every few weeks we like to put on a show.¡± The commander uncorked the wine bottle. She filled two goblets the practitioner could not remember appearing at the table. ¡°We dress up and play music. Not so different from what you saw on your first night here. We¡¯ve put together such a show for you.¡±


    Crowe searched under the beds of his nails for any dirt he might have forgotten to wash away. They were covered in blisters and scratches from where he¡¯d been digging for most of the day. Before he could say, ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯re up for seeing a show tonight,¡± he heard a tap at the door.


    ¡°Ah!¡± Gyrell said as if she¡¯d forgotten something like this was supposed to happen. ¡°Those must be the escorts who have come to take Barghast and yourself to the show!¡±


    The practitioner did not hurry climbing out of his chair. Not for the first time he wondered what surprises had in store for Barghast and he tonight. Gyrell held a goblet out to him. ¡°You¡¯ll want to drink that!¡± she suggested sweetly.


    He didn¡¯t want to take the wine. Not at first.


    Why do you think there¡¯s an endless supply of this stuff kept in Caldreath? Why do you think everyone drinks it? To keep them content. To keep them docile. You keep forgetting this!


    He gulped. Suddenly he felt very thirsty.


    Before the voice could ask him more questions, Crowe silenced it by sipping from the goblet. He went to the door. He opened it. Two angels awaited him on the other side. Or at least they were villagers dressed up like angels. Crowe stepped away from the door with a frown. He decided it was best not to guess what they were.


    He could still remember the messenger who had come to visit him the day he put Petras in the ground. How the Seraphim had dropped through a rent in the sky in which the city of Metropolis had appeared through. Crowe could see that city now filling the night sky, as if it too wanted him to join the show. The angels stood beneath it, their hair so white it appeared almost translucent beneath the dancing stars. They were winged with swords scabbarded at their side. They had silver eyes with long black pupils as long and thin as a blade. A horse-drawn carriage was parked beneath the Eternal City¡¯s underbelly.


    Crowe glanced at the carriage. He looked back at Barghast. He breathed a sigh of relief to find that the Okanavian was no more than a few steps behind him. When the barbarian reached for the rifle, the tallest of the angels spoke. ¡°You won''t be needing that. We can assure you, we mean you know harm.¡±


    ¡°Drink your wine,¡± the second angel encouraged them with a smile that hinted at no hidden intent.


    Gyrell held up a third glass. She emptied it of its contents with a smile and a flourish as if to say, See? No harm here.


    During the last minute or so, Crowe''s thirst had only increased. It''s so sweet. So cold. So refreshing. And there''s always more of it when I want it.


    He emptied the goblet. He passed it to one of the angels who took it silently. ¡°It''s just a show, right?¡± he said to Barghast. ¡°It will be our first one together.¡±


    ¡°I''m right behind you twin o¡¯rre,¡± the lycan reassured him.


    With this the practitioner and the lycan turned away from the house so that the angels could escort them to the carriage.