Betty, their brown goat, watched attentively from her pen, occasionally voicing her displeasure at sharing her home, as Jennsen quickly collected straw to the side for the stranger in Betty's sanctuary. Bleating her distress, Betty finally quieted when Jennsen affectionately scratched the nervous goat's ears, patted the wiry hair covering her round middle, and then gave her half a carrot from the stash up on a high ledge. Betty's short upright tail wagged furiously.

Sebastian shed his cloak and pack, but kept on the belt with his new weapons. He unstrapped his bedroll from under his pack and spread it out over the mat of straw. Despite Jennsen's urging, he wouldn't lie down and rest while she knelt near the cave's entrance and prepared the fire pit.

As he helped her stack dry kindling, she could see by the dim light coming from the window of the house on the other side of the clearing that sweat beaded his face. He repeatedly scraped his knife down the length of a branch, swiftly building a clump of fluffy fibers. He struck a steel to flint several times, sending sparks through the darkness into the tinder he'd made. He cupped the fluff in his hands and with gentle puffs of breath nursed the slow flames until they strengthened, then placed the burning tinder beneath the kindling, where the flames quickly grew and popped to life among the dry twigs. The branches released a pleasing fragrance of balsam as they caught flame.

Jennsen had been planning on running to the house, not far off, to get some hot coals to start the fire, but he had it going before she could even suggest it. By the way he trembled, she imagined he was impatient for heat, even though he was burning with fever. She could smell the aroma of the frying fish coming from the house, and when the wind among the pine boughs died from time to time, she could hear the sizzle.

The chickens retreated from the growing light into the deep shadows at the back of the cave. Betty's ears stood at attention as she watched Jennsen for any signs that another carrot might be forthcoming. Her tail wagged in hopeful fits.

The opening in the mountain was simply a place where, in some distant age past, a slab of rock had tumbled out, like some giant granite tooth come loose, to plunge down the slope and leave a dry socket behind. Now, trees below grew among a collection of such fallen boulders. The cave only ran back about twenty feet, but the overhang of rock at the entrance further sheltered it and helped keep it dry. Jennsen was tall, but the ceiling of the cave was high enough that she could stand in most of it, and since Sebastian was only a little taller than she, his spikes of snow white hair, now a mellow orange in the firelight, didn't brush the top as he went to the back to collect some of the dry wood stacked there. The chickens squawked at being bothered, but then quickly settled back down.

Jennsen squatted on the opposite side of the fire from Sebastian, with her back to the rain that had started, so she could see his face in the firelight as they both warmed their hands in the heat of the crackling flames. After a day in the frigid damp weather, the fire's warmth felt luxurious. She knew that sooner or later winter would return with a vengeance. As cold and uncomfortable as it was now, it would get worse.

She tried not to think about having to leave their snug home, especially at this time of year. She had known from the first instant she saw the piece of paper, though, that they might.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Starving," he said, looking as eager for the fish as Betty was for a carrot. The wonderful smells were making her stomach grumble, too.

"That's good. My mother always says that if you're ill, and you have an appetite, then it can't be too serious."

"I'll be fine in a day or two."

"A rest will do you good."

Jennsen drew her knife from its sheath at her belt. "We've never allowed anyone to stay here before. You will understand that we will be taking precautions."

She could see in his eyes that he didn't know what she was talking about, but he shrugged his understanding of her prudence.

Jennsen's knife wasn't anything like the fine weapon the soldier had been carrying. They could afford nothing like that knife. Hers had a simple handle made of antler and the blade wasn't thick, but she kept its edge razor sharp.

Jennsen used the blade to slice a shallow cut across the inside of her forearm. With a frown, Sebastian started to rise, to voice a protest. Her challenging glare stopped him cold before he was halfway up. He sank back down and watched with growing concern as she wiped the sides of the blade through the crimson beads of blood welling up from the cut. She very deliberately looked him in the eye again before turning her back on him and moving out closer to the edge of the cave where the rain dampened the ground.

With the knife wetted in blood, Jennsen first drew a large circle. Feeling Sebastian's eyes on her, she next pulled the tip of the bloody blade through the damp earth in straight lines to make a square, its comers just touching the inside of the circle. With hardly a pause, she drew a smaller circle that touched the insides of the square.

As she worked, she mummured prayers under her breath, asking the good spirits to guide her hand. It seemed the right thing to do. She knew that Sebastian could hear her soft singsong, but not make out the words. It occurred unexpectedly to her that it must be something like the voices she heard in her own head. Sometimes, when she drew the outer circle, she heard the whisper of that dead voice call her name.

Opening her eyes from the prayer, she drew an eight-pointed star, its rays piercing all the way through the inner circle, the square, and then the outer circle. Every other ray bisected a comer of the square.

The rays were said to represent the gift of the Creator, so as she drew the eight-pointed star, Jennsen always whispered a prayer of thanks for the gift of her mother.

When she finished and looked up, her mother was standing before her, as if she had risen from the shadows, or materialized from the edge of the drawing itself, to be lit by the leaping flames of the fire behind Jennsen. In the light of those flames, her mother was like a vision of some impossibly beautiful spirit.

"Do you know what this drawing represents, young man?" Jennsen's mother asked in a voice hardly more than a whisper.

Sebastian stared up at her, the way people often stared when they first saw her, and shook his head.

"It's called a Grace. They have been drawn by those with the gift of magic for thousands of years-some say since the dawn of Creation itself. The outer circle represents the beginning of the eternity of the underworld, the Keeper's world of the dead. The inner circle is the extent of the world of life. The square represents the veil that separates both worlds life from death. It touches both at times. The star is the light of the gift from the Creator Himself-magic-extending through life and crossing over into the world of the dead."

The fire crackled and hissed as Jennsen's mother, like some spectral figure, towered over the two of them. Sebastian said nothing. Her mother had spoken the truth, but it was truth used to convey a specific impression that was not true.

"My daughter has drawn this Grace as protection for you as you rest this night, and as protection for us. There is another before the door to the house." She let the silence drag before adding, "It would be unwise to cross either without our consent."

"I understand, Mrs. Daggett." In the firelight, his face showed no emotion.

His blue eyes turned to Jennsen. A hint of a smile came to his lips, even though his expression remained serious. "You are a surprising woman, Jennsen Daggett. A woman of many mysteries. I will sleep safely, tonight."

"And well," Jennsen's mother said. "Besides the dinner, I brought some herbs to help you sleep."

Her mother, holding the bowl full of fried fish in one hand, collected Jennsen with a hand on her shoulder and guided her around to the back of the fire to sit beside her, on the opposite side of her from Sebastian. By the sober look on his face, their demonstration had had the desired effect.

Her mother glanced at Jennsen and gave her a smile Sebastian couldn't see. Jennsen had done well.

Holding the bowl out, her mother offered Sebastian some fish, saying, "I would like to thank you, young man, for the help you gave Jennsen, today.»

"Sebastian, please."

"So Jennsen has told me."

"I was glad to help. It was helping myself, too, really. I'd not like to have D'Haran soldiers chasing me."

She pointed. "If you would accept it, this one on top is coated with the herbs that will help you sleep."

He used his knife to stab the darker piece of fish coated in the herbs. Jennsen took another on her own knife after first wiping the blade clean on her skirts.

"Jennsen tells me that you are from outside D'Hara."

He glanced up as he chewed. "That's right."

"I find that hard to believe. D'Hara is bordered by impassable boundaries. In my lifetime no one has been able to come into, or leave, D'Hara. How is it possible, then, that you have?"

With his teeth, Sebastian pulled the chunk of herb-coated fish off his knife. He inhaled between his teeth to cool the bite. He gestured around with the blade as he chewed. "How long have you been out here alone in this great wood? Without seeing people? Without news?"

"Several years."

"Oh. Well, then, I guess it makes sense that you wouldn't know, but since you've been out here, the barriers have come down."

Jennsen and her mother both took in this staggering, nearly incomprehensible news in silence. In that silence, they both dared to begin to imagine the heady possibilities. For the first time in Jennsen's life, escape seemed conceivable. The impossible dream of a life of their own suddenly seemed only a journey away. They had been traveling and hiding their whole life. Now it seemed the journey might at last be near the end.

"Sebastian," Jennsen's mother said, "why did you help Jennsen today?"

"I like to help people. She needed help. I could tell how much that man scared her, even though he was dead." He smiled at Jennsen. "She looked nice. I wanted to help her. Besides," he finally admitted, "I don't much care for D'Haran soldiers."

When she gestured by lifting the bowl toward him, he stabbed another piece of fish. "Mrs. Daggett, I'm liable to fall asleep before long. Why don't you just tell me what's on your mind?"