“But the people freely sacrifice themselves.”

“They offer themselves up. But that is not a free gift. You must know what you’re giving. And to do that you have to be able to give it yourself. Why do you think they drug sacrifices with wizardsmeet or opium? No, they do not gift their Fire. What they do in reality, Talen, is promise to struggle less. And if they only take part of a man, they’re still killing him, only it’s by degrees.”

“So you are not Sleth?”

“Do you know where that word comes from?”

Talen did not.

“It comes from Urz. In that country it is the name given to the dry killing wind that comes from the east. The wind that steals all moisture from the crops.” River paused. “Brother, I do not steal life.”

Talen searched his sister’s eyes, those kind, lovely eyes, and he believed her. “But what are you then?”

“In the beginning, the Creators taught all how to use their powers. Some excelled in the lore, but instead of sharing their knowledge, they hoarded it, and in some instances killed to keep their advantage. Over the ages, those people have gained the upper hand. Look at the Divines: they kill any who try to use what was given freely in the beginning.”

“There are others then?”

River nodded. “A few. We cannot do the mighty deeds that were done of old. But still we work what we may. We are banded together in an order whose purpose is to break the yoke of the Divines and let every man, woman, and child control their own Fire just as they control their own breath.”

Her words astonished him. “How do you know you’re not under some spell? How do you know your master, or whatever you call it, hasn’t subverted your will?”

“Talen, there are those that practice wickedly. There are indeed nightmares in this world. But I’m not one of them. This is the truth of the matter.”

“But why was all this kept from me?”

“Because telling you would endanger many lives.”

“Despite what Da thinks, I do not have a butter jaw. I can hold my tongue.”

“No, that isn’t what I mean. It doesn’t matter how much you want something, you need the skill to perform the act. You have a pure and loyal heart, but you don’t have the skill to close your mind to a Seeker. And that can’t be taught to a child. And so it is better to tell you nothing so that if something happens, and you are taken, you have nothing to share. The Order is not yet powerful enough to reveal itself. One day we will walk in the sun, but for now we must keep to shadows. We are bound by oath to do so.”

Nettle, the girl, and the boy stood in the doorway. He was ashamed to look at them.

“Purity, Sugar’s mother, and Uncle Argoth are both part of the Order as well.”

Talen’s world was spinning. “And the creature?” he asked. “That thing that fetched the Sleth woman?” Talen did not want to hear the answer to that question, but he steeled himself.

“Her name is Purity,” River corrected. “And we have no idea what the creature is, much less who it belongs to.”

Talen heaved a sigh. At least there was that. Then something struck him. “If I couldn’t keep a secret yesterday, what has changed so I can keep it today?”

“Nothing,” said River. “A Seeker would ransack your mind as easily as you would that cupboard. But, as I said, we are leaving. And in time you will learn the skill.”

“Leaving? But what about Da?”

River looked down. “We are bound by an oath,” she said. “Da.” Her voice faltered. She closed her eyes and regained control of her emotions. When she opened them they were wet with tears. “Ke has been set to watch him. Once he’s assessed the situation, he will meet us at the refuge where I’m taking you. We’ll see what we can do at that time. But you need to prepare yourself because Da might not ever be coming back.”

Prunes was roused by a sharp dig into his ribs.

“It seems we have ourselves a situation,” said Gid.

Gid had already wakened him twice. Once to tell him that he’d had to tell a pack of Fir-Noy they already had the place under observation. Another time to watch the spectacle of two boys in a wagon pull into the yard. If this was another false alarm, Prunes was going to throw the man off the side of the mountain. And he didn’t care about blowing their cover.

Prunes sat up. He was wrapped in his soldier’s sleeping sash. “This had better be good.”

“Oh, it’s the tart’s delight. They’ve been busy as bees down there all night. In and out, lamps burning. And something interesting just went into the barn but she’ll be back out.”

“Who?”

“The girl who told the bailiff she was from Koramtown. But what do you know? It appears there’s also a boy with her that can’t find his way unless she leads him about by the arm.”

Prunes blinked the sleep out of his eyes. The moon was not large, but it was big enough to see shapes. The door to the house stood wide open, light spilling out into the yard. Someone exited the old sod house and walked toward the wagon in the yard, holding a lamp in front. That had to be the older sister. She made her way around the buildings and entered the house. That’s when two figures stepped from behind the barn, walking as boldly as you please.

One was a girl. And the other, the smaller one, she led him by the hand. Even from here he could see the boy was blind.

Prunes was wide awake now.

“Busy as bees,” said Gid. “And preparing, in haste it seems, to depart.”

Their duty was to watch, but if they left now, it was likely they’d lead a hunt back to a deserted farmstead.

“I say we don’t take any chances,” said Gid. He held up his knife. “We take them one by one.”

“This isn’t an extermination. The lords will want someone to question.”

“We’ll do our best,” said Gid. “But if things begin to sour, I’m not going to hesitate. Besides, all we need to do is kill one of them as an example and the rest will comply.”

“And who will that be?”

“Who else? The blind one.”

Gid was perhaps too eager, but he made sense. These youth might look like babes; however, a callow youth, given the right opportunity, could kill a man just as easily as a veteran of many battles. They might need to kill more than the little one. But that didn’t matter. They only needed to keep one alive for the questioners.

Prunes nodded agreement.

“You and I, friend,” said Gid, “are going to be rich.”

“Not if we don’t get you downwind,” said Prunes. He motioned for Gid to lead, and the two began to pick their way quietly downhill.

Hunger stood at the edge of the wood. The scent of the burning boy lay in the hollows and ravines here as thick as fog. He looked over a bend in a river. Beyond it lay a farmstead. That’s where the boy would be, waiting like a fat chicken in his coop.

He began to descend the bank to the water when a woman came out of the house carrying a lamp. He only saw her face for a moment in the light, but that and the gait of her walk, the angle of her shoulders, it all pulled a memory into his mind.

He knew her. He was sure of it…

Moments passed.

She went to the well, drew water, then returned to the house. Hunger stood in the shadows as still as a heron stalking frogs.

Then the name came as softly as dew: River.

Yes, that was her name. And with that name a number of strong memories rose in his mind. He followed them, and every one of them ended with this: she’d held his hand once and he had been unable to speak. Not because she was his lover, although she was lovely. No, it was not his desire for her that had stolen his words; it was gratitude. He remembered: one spring evening in a bower, blindfolded, waiting for River who had worked so hard to make the match, waiting in the moonlight with the lilacs in bloom, their fine scent perfuming the night. Waiting to hear the feet on the path, the rustling of skirts, and then River taking his hand and putting Rosemary’s warm, strong hand in it. River removing the blindfold so he could see Rosemary standing there before him, holding the flowered crown that meant she’d accepted his offer of marriage, looking at him with those laughing, moon-sparkled eyes.