"No," he whispered and looked into the tree's branches. "Find other… not this one."

Magiere nodded, though she frowned in puzzlement and glanced to Leesil.

He had no idea what had spurred Osha's strange request.

"I will find some lamp oil," Wynn said, startling Leesil.

He hadn't even heard her approach, and turned as she headed away around the shack. Leesil pulled one winged blade, trying to find the driest reeds and brush.

When they'd made the best pyre they could, Wynn returned and poured oil from an old jar. She held out a burning brand taken from the stone hearth.

Osha shook his head. "Not yet."

Without knowing what to do, Leesil just stood with Magiere and Wynn as Chap settled beside them. Osha closed his eyes, speaking softly in Elvish.

"Hkuan'duv gan'Trai'earnneach, Greimasg'ah, d'me ag aharean eolhasas'na…"

Wynn began whispering in translation.

"Blackened Sea of the Iron Shore clan, Shadow-Gripper, whose parents I do not know…"

"…ag'us Sgailsheilleache a Oshagairea gan'Coilehkrotall… "

"…and Willow's Shade born out of Sudden-Breeze's Laugh of the Lichen Woods clan…"

Leesil lifted his eyes and looked to the sagging willow tree as Wynn continued.

"Mothers and Fathers of our people, seek them, siblings of the Anmaglahk and protectors of your descendants, the an'Croan-Those of the Blood…"

Leesil's mind filled with memories as Wynn went on.

"…Find their spirits and honor them, as they have honored you in a life of a service."

It seemed so long ago. Leesil had stood with Sgaile in the dark woods as they headed for the burial ground of the ancestors. He'd asked about the strange an'Croan obsession with seeking a second name in that place. He was only passing time in their brief pause to eat. And when he'd questioned Sgaile, concerning his name supposedly given by these ghosts, Sgaile had never answered completely. But the conversation now stuck in Leesil's mind.

"So you had some other name before Sgaile?" Leesil had asked.

"Sgailsheilleache," he'd corrected. "It means 'In Willow Shade or Shadow."

When Leesil had pressed for more information concerning Sgaile's vision before his ancestors, all the man had said was…

"Something far off, far from this land… in the shade of a willow."

At the crackle of fire, Leesil lowered his eyes from the willow tree.

Smoke billowed as oil-sparked flames fought to catch on wet wood. Osha tossed the brand he'd used to light them atop the pyre and continued whispering the same words over and over.

"I call, my voice for theirs," Wynn softly translated. "Ancestors… take them home."

Leesil tried not to think of…

Sgaile's own name-taking vision, hinting of when and where he would die…

Or a ghostly image of some other Leesil, standing in the ancestors' clearing, cowled in the gray-green of the Anmaglahk.

Leesil… Leshil… whose taken name was Leshiarelaohk-Sorrow-Tear's Champion.

Visions were lies, nothing more. Not fate. Not ever.

Magiere watched the flames fighting to consume their fuel. They needed to move on, and soon. She didn't trust that the one fleeing anmaglahk would simply give up. As much as she hated to ask, she did.

"How long?"

Osha breathed deeply and exhaled with an effort. "Until ashes."

Magiere nodded and kept quiet. When Wynn looked at her sadly, she regretted saying anything at all.

Leesil gazed into the flames.

His brow wrinkled. His eyes narrowed and turned hard, like stones baked in the fire's heat. The muscles at the back of his jaw bulged, and she heard the creak of leather. His gloved hand closed in a tight fist and wouldn't release.

Magiere stepped behind him. She slipped her hands under his arms and around his chest, and rested her chin upon his shoulder.

"In Willow's Shade," Leesil murmured. "That's what Sgaile's name meant."

One of his hands closed down hard on Magiere's against his chest- until her fingers ached-but she didn't pull away.

"We won't forget him," she whispered.

Days of rowing carried them north through the worst of the Everfen. Although Magiere wasn't sure, she believed they were inside Droevinka's southern edge. Chemestuk, her home village, was many leagues away. But for much of the trip, her thoughts drifted to Apudalsat as well.

Her mother's bones lay unattended in Ubad's cave near that abandoned village. Coming so close, and not returning to retrieve Magelia's remains, weighed on Magiere. Even more so when she looked at the two small jars Wynn had cleaned for Osha to bring home the ashes of Sgaile and the Greimasg'ah.

But Magiere kept all this to herself.

They couldn't linger in her homeland. Not when they carried the artifact from ancient times hidden away beneath canvas.

They spoke little along the way, especially Osha. His thoughts were on Sgaile, his lost teacher, or jeoin. Or was there more behind the new coldness in his eyes?

The marshes grew shallow and small islands denser, and it was time to travel on foot once more.

"Everyone keep your wits," Leesil cautioned, dragging the emptied boat up a bank. "We don't want to run into conscription squads, let alone a military detachment."

Osha looked warily about. "I know some… of political here."

Magiere glanced at him. His grammar hadn't improved, but his vocabulary must have expanded, if he grasped the word "political." Living day in and day out among humans had rubbed off on him, that and Wynn's badgering that he keep practicing his Belaskian.

Osha turned to the sage. "Which house… is rule now?"

Over the past days, Wynn had interacted the most with Osha, and this began to concern Magiere.

"What?" Wynn said, rising from her own thoughts. "Umm… probably the antes, headed by Prince Rodek, but there is no telling who has power now-if anyone. News was scarce, and we have heard nothing since leaving Soladran to cross into the Elven Territories."

Magiere took the lead, watching all around as they moved on. If open fighting was still taking place, most would be farther north between Enemusk and Keonsk-the home of the antes house and the capital city.

Growing up as a peasant, she knew little of her homeland's history of internal struggles.

Divided among noble houses, each was headed by its own prince in a bloodline claimed to be noble. Most descended from peoples who'd migrated here or invaded this territory in the distant past. But all acknowledged the rule of the Grand Prince-or claimed to.

Every nine years the conclave of the noble houses chose a new leader. Seemingly more democratic than a monarchy, this practice had also led to civil war more than once. During Magiere's time in Venjetz, and then the elven forests, she'd learned how Most Aged Father had used the Anmaglahk to seed discord within human nations. Whether the Anmaglahk had had a hand in this recent war was beyond her guess. She wasn't even certain which houses were now vying for the throne.

"Keep your hood up," she told Osha.

He drew his brows together. His hood was up.

"Most people here have never seen an elf," Wynn explained.

Magiere still regretted letting that female anmaglahk run off. Osha had assured them that she would go directly to Most Aged Father over the failure of her "purpose." Magiere didn't understand what made him so certain. At this point, she had little choice but to hope he was right.

Dangling moss beards hung from the old trees thickening overhead, blotting out most of the sky. Even in spring, the air was chill and damp. Beneath the scents of wet loam and wild foliage lingered a thin odor of decay and rot. They traveled through this for most of the afternoon.

"Is that a dwelling?" Leesil said, and quickstepped up beside Magiere.