Rebel Fay

Chapter Eighteen

Leesil spoke little with Sgaile as they jogged through the forest. They headed northwest for the morning, but by early afternoon, Leesil grew less certain of their course. The sky clouded over. With only hazy light and no sun, the forest changed in small degrees.

There were fewer flowers and more wet moss. Patches of it clung to tree trunks and branches overhead. The trees were older and gnarled, with bark darkened by moisture thickening in the air. For a while, a drizzle pattered against the leaves.

Sgaile cast off whatever weight crushed him upon volunteering for this task. He returned to his earlier self from their first journey to Crijheaiche. Perhaps, like Leesil, Sgaile was relieved to have anything to do besides wait in frustration for others to do something.

The forest grew ancient as theytraveled, its trees taller and thicker and wider, blocking out most of the sky. In the lingering false dusk beneath their leaves and needles, the forest seemed aware it had a pair of trespassers.

Leesil grew less aware of where he was-as if here the forest's manipulations pressed harder upon his wits. He often turned his head to look behind and couldn't recognize anything that he must have just passed.

Sgaile's shoulder brushed through a spider's web, glistening with dew. An eight-legged shadow scurried down the back of his cloak.

Leesil slapped it off, but when he looked down, there was nothing scurrying across the mulch into hiding. He wondered about their final destination as daylight faded even more.

Sgaile slowed and looked about. "If we keep on, we will reach the grounds well past midnight. Or we can camp and continue at dawn."

Sleeping in this dank and dark forest was less than enticing.

"Let's take rest and food," Leesil said. "Then move on."

Sgaile nodded and swung the small pack off his shoulder. "I have water, flatbread, and a little walnut oil."

"I have grapes."

They sat on a rotting log, sharing out what they'd brought. Leesil fidgeted as the damp soaked through his breeches. Sgaile removed a leather lid from a small clay pot, tore off a bit of flatbread, and dipped it in. He set the vessel between them, and Leesil did the same.

"This is good," he said, and held out the grapes. "I wanted to… to thank you for doing this, for trying to help Magiere."

"I care nothing for helping Magiere." Sgaile paused, shaking his head. "Pardon, I did not mean to sound… I do this for my caste. Brot'an'duive on one side and Frethfare on the other-this is not good. I serve my duty as adjudicator in the hope of bringing this gathering to a close, so my caste will be as one again."

Leesil kept quiet. If Sgaile really believed that ending Magiere's hearing-regardless of the outcome-would seal the rifts in his caste, he was blinder in his devotion than Leesil had first thought.

"We should focus on our task," Sgaile said, and once again his expression grew uneasy.

"Why the worry?" Leesil asked. "What's at this place with the special tree?"

Sgaile scowled at the casual reference. "The first of our people were buried there long ago. Allan'Croan are descended from them. We go there alone to seek guidance in choosing our name for life, when we come of age."

"How old is that?"

"When parents and child agree it is time."

"You did this? So you had some other name before Sgaile?"

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

"And that's what your ancestors said you should call yourself?"

"We do not see or hear the ancestors," Sgaile answered. "It is something I saw… in the presence of Roise Charmune."

"So there was a willow somewhere nearby?"

"No. It was… something far off, far from this land… in the shade of a willow."

"Then what-some kind of vision? And that's all you saw… just a willow tree?"

Sgaile let out a sharp sigh.

Leesil knew he was somewhere close to the mark. Superstitious nonsense-and here these elves thought themselves so much better than humans.

"So, you call yourself by whatever you see. You're stuck with whatever comes up."

It was Sgaile's turn to be disdainful. "We are free to choose any name we wish, from whatever comes-in part, in whole, or not. Though what is experienced at Roise Charmune remains, just the same."

"Then what's got you so worried about all this with the branch?"

"As I said… we go alone. It is not proper for anyone else to be present. We do not even care to speak of our experience to others… but for the name we choose."

"I'm not going for any name, so stop dodging the question."

Sgaile covered the walnut oil and got up to tuck the jar into his pack. He stared a long while through the darkening forest before looking down at Leesil.

"You are half-blooded. None but my people go to Roise Charmune… and the ancestors."

Was that it? Leesil sighed. "So they reject me, and I go back. I'll find some other way to get Magiere and my mother away from your people."

"You must first gain hallowed ground before the ancestors accept or reject your plea."

As much as Leesil preferred Sgaile over the rest, there were moments when he'd had enough.

"Oh, dead deities!" Leesil got up, weary of cryptic answers. "Just say what you mean for once."

Sgaile's jaw twitched. "I would tell you more if I knew.But unless you reach hallowed ground… I do not believe you will come back."

Wynn sat on the floor trying to jot down the day's events. From the customs and proceedings to what she remembered of clan distinctions, she scribbled out everything that came to her. Later, when more time permitted, she would rework it into something comprehensible.

Magiere halfheartedly groomed Chap's long fur but kept glancing toward the curtained doorway. Chap lay with his head on his paws. Wynn could think of no words of comfort for either of them.

She was thankful for the strange quill gifted her by Gleann. The bulbed grip above its silver-white head was awkward in her small hand, but in her rush, she did not have to stop as often to replenish its ink.

The doorway drape swung aside, and Leanalham peeked in. "May we enter?"

"Yes, please," Magiere answered, and paused in grooming as Chap lifted his head. "Who's with you?"

" Osha," Leanalham said. "No one but your advocate may see you without a guard."

Leanalham carried in a tray of grilled trout with wild onions and two steaming mugs. She held a canvas bag tucked under one arm. Wynn smelled tea mingling with the scent of food. Osha stepped in behind the girl and set down a bowl of water for Chap.

Osha eyed both Wynn and Magiere, as if uncomfortable with his formal role here. Or perhaps like others who had been in Nein'a's clearing, he believed Magiere some monster of the dead and did not care for close proximity. Either way, Wynn had no patience for it.

Leanalham set down the tray and dropped to the floor before Magiere and Chap. The girl reached slowly for Chap's head. Before her touch landed, he flicked his tongue through her fingertips. She let out a startled, giggling gasp and then looked back at Osha, who fidgeted nervously.

"Oh, please," Leanalham said in Elvish. "They have been alone all day. It is impolite to deliver their supper and just leave."

Osha’smouth fell open and then closed again with the barest grunt. His gray-green cloak was slightly askew on his shoulders. He crouched by the doorway and looked at Wynn.

"How do you fare?" he asked.

"I am all right," she answered and set down her quill."Though it would be more polite to speak Belaskian among those who do not understand your language. And you need the practice."

Osha was caught somewhere between embarrassment and confusion at her tone. Or perhaps he had had enough of being chided. Wynn sighed, rolled her eyes, and forced a smile.

He relaxed sheepishly, realizing she jested. When his gaze flicked to Magiere, that hint of a smile vanished. Leanalham showed no such concern.

"Sgailsheilleache will keep Leshil safe," she said.

Magiere nodded. "Thanks… it's good of you to come."

"Do not worry," Leanalham continued. "No matter what they face, Sgailsheilleache never fails. Brot'an'duive and Grandfather will do the rest, and you will soon be free."

Osha grew uncomfortable. He understood enough of what was said, and shared another doubtful glance with Wynn.

Leanalham's words rolled in Wynn's head. This was the second time she had noted some casual connection between Gleann and Brot'an. Poor Leanalham was as blind as Leesil, if she thought these proceedings would end any time soon-no matter this quest's outcome. Whatever Freth and Most Aged Father would throw at Magiere, it would be unexpected and ugly.

Wynn took the mug of tea the girl offered her. "How did Gleann arrive so quickly? It took us nearly eight days to reach Crijheaiche."

"Grandfather said that he left shortly after we did, but he did not tell me why." For the first time, Leanalham hesitated and then leaned forward. "But he has the faith of our clan and our other elders. His vote will be counted, and his voice will be heard."

A simplistic view, judging by what Wynn fathomed so far.

"You should eat," Osha said, "and we should not talk of the gathering."

"Yes, Osha," Leanalham answered, and did nothing to hide her exasperation.

She served trout and onions onto polished wood plates, and the savory aroma grew each time she portioned the fish.

"Here," she said, placing one plate before Chap. "A whole boned fish just for you."

Chap's tail switched the floor twice as he sniffed.

Wynn was glad to see his interest. Since facing down his kin, for her life, he had been so withdrawn.

Leanalham pulled an oblong tawny box from the canvas bag, its top stained in light and dark squares.

"I brought a game we call Dreug'an. It will help pass the time."

"Dreug'an?" Osha coughed out, well past uncomfortable, and stumbled in his Belaskian. "Sgailsheilieache question where come from. Hethink me lax in duty."

Leanalham ignored him and removed small white and black river stones from a drawer in the box's side. "He will know exactly where it came from. It belongs to him. Grandfather brought it for me."

Osha’sdark skin seemed to pale as he sagged. Then Brot'an ducked through the doorway curtain, startling everyone.

Magiere's expression hardened. She dropped her plate, and the two-tined fork clattered on it. Before she snapped a word at him, Brot'an pulled the curtain aside again. His silver hair glowed with the darkness behind him.

"I will speak with Magiere alone. Osha, you will attend Wynn outside. Leanalham, return to your quarters."

Osha immediately got to his feet.

Wynn did not like having only Osha as a familiar face to look upon among the guards outside. As much as this tree was little more than a prison, it did provide limited safety. Brot'an merely stood by the doorway.

Leanalham lightly touched Magiere's leg as she got up and quickly headed out. Osha stood waiting upon Wynn.

"Please," Brot'an said pointedly and looked down at Chap. "And you."

Chap rose slowly to all fours. For a moment, Wynn readied to pounce on the dog should he lunge at Brot'an. Chap turned his eyes upon Magiere.

"Go on," she said. "You stay with Wynn."

Chap trotted out. Wynn followed and found herself amid Osha and two other anmagiahk. She wondered what Brot'an had to say to Magiere that no one else should hear. Leanalham already headed off under the escort of another anmagiahk. The girl looked back long enough to wave in parting before fading among the night trees of Crijheaiche.

Something more occurred to Wynn. When Leanalham had said, "No matter what they face," she referred to Roise Charmune.

The nametaking rite ofthe an'Croan was unfamiliar to Wynn. She had never heard of such among the elves of her land. All here went to hallowed ground when they came of age to be given-or was it "to take"? — a name other than what their parents chose at birth. Leanalham was about sixteen, if Wynn remembered right.Old enough to have gone herself.

But by the way the girl spoke of this sacred place, Leanalham had never been there.

Leesil stopped behind Sgaile near a dank oak. The silence was wrong.

He should hear something-bugs, maybe a cricket, or even leaves shifting in a breeze. But he heard nothing, now thattheir own footfalls had ceased.

The forest thinned ahead, and he saw an open space screened by branches. It was so dark, the masses of leaves and trailing moss were little more than black silhouettes. Yet beyond them was soft light, like what a full moon might provide.

Leesil glanced up. He wasn't certain, with the forest canopy thick overhead, but the rest of the forest was too dark for a moon, full or not. He tried to make out what was hidden beyond in the clearing. He only caught a hint of glistening ocher limbs behind surrounding gnarled oaks draped in moss.

"Do not move," Sgaile whispered. "Do not look for it."

He glanced at Sgaile, uncertain what this meant.

Something slid wetly across the forest mulch. Faint and soft, it carried from directly ahead.

Leesil did look. He saw nothing but the glow of the clearing beyond the black shapes of the oaks. Sgaile's final words after their meal echoed in Leesil's head.

Unless you reach hallowed ground…I do not believe you will come back.

For the first time since starting this task, fear tickled the back of Leesil's neck-not of death but of failure. What if he didn't return to Magiere? What would happen to her? He clenched one hand, ready to face whatever this place threw at him.

The sound grew subtly louder, closing off to his left, as if something circled around the clearing instead of passing through it. A wet dragging sound came between pauses in slow rhythm.

"Repeat my words," Sgaile whispered quickly, "exactly as I say them."

Leesil barely heard him, still searching for whatever came. He was prepared for a fight, not a speech. Then he glanced at Sgaile.

The elf stood frozen in place, staring straight at the silhouette trees. His eyes twitched once to the left toward the sound and then quickly turned back ahead.

"Ahdrneiv!" Sgaile began. "En pajij navajean'am le jhaiv…"

The dark base of one oak bulged near the ground.

The swelling rolled and flowed across the forest floor toward Leesil. It turned into the path toward the half-hidden clearing.

The soft glow beyond the silhouette oaks caught on the piece of slithering darkness, and its surface glinted to iridescent green.

A long body, as thick as Leesil's own torso, was covered in fist-sized scales. Their deep green shimmered to opalescence as it came closer. Leesil caught the yellow glint of two eyes that marked its approaching head, like massive spiral-cracked crystals in an oblong boulder pushed along at a hand's-breadth above the ground.

A snake… no, a serpent, too large to be real.

Leesil reached slowly down his thighs, but his blades weren't there. He slid one foot back to retreat.

"No!" Sgaile whispered. "Do not move! Repeat my words… quickly!"

The serpent's body knotted and coiled, gathering into a mass. Its scaled and plated head rose to hover before Leesil, swaying gently. A long forked tongue whipped at his face with a hiss.

Slit irises in its yellow eyes watched him steadily.

The serpent's jaw dropped open. Fangs as long as Leesil's forearm glistened in the dark maw of its mouth. It could swallow half of him at once.

"Leshil!" Sgaile whispered. "If you would save Magiere, you must speak my words."

The serpent undulated as its head swung toward Sgaile's voice.

Leesil heard the man's shuddering breath as he felt some part of the serpent's scaled body scrape across his leg. He was still prepared to fight his way past this thing if he had to. He glanced quickly at Sgaile, and the sight was like ice pressed into his eyes, feeding its chill into his body.

Sgaile averted his gaze, anywhere but at the serpent's massive head. He closed his eyes tightly. He was shaking, his muscles rigid.

An anmaglahk was frozen in terror, and Sgaile's fear bled rapidly into Leesil.

"I… I can't," Leesil whispered.

But if he died here, Magiere would die too. The serpent swung back, yellow eyes centered on him.

"I can't speak your language," he said, despair mounting. "I won't get it right."

Magiere wanted to beat answers out of Brot'an's scarred face. She had trusted him, and Leesil might pay for her mistake. Brot'an spoke before she uttered her first demand.

"There is more at stake than just your freedom. Even if Most Aged Father's claim is dismissed, neither you nor Leesil will leave this land alive. You are interlopers, humans, so do not be naive. Am I clear so far?"

Magiere's ire held beneath her uncertainty.

"Very well," Brot'an added quietly, and settled upon the chamber floor before her. "All balances on whether Leshil steps onto hallowed ground… as much as whether or not he gains the branch of Roise Charmune."

Magiere wasn't certain what this meant.

"To be elven, as you call it," Brot'an said, his voice tainted with distaste, "is notan'Croan. We are our heritage, our blood, more than whatever race you see us as. Only asan'Croan can Leshil plead for Cuirin'nen'a before the elders."

"If he's elven," she snapped back, "then he's got as much right as anyone, under your laws."

"No, he does not," Brot'an countered, quiet and sharp. "Do you think an outsider could demand Cuirin'nen'a's freedom? To bean'Croan — to be of the blood-is all that matters to my people."

Magiere looked awayThe last thing Leesil-or she-wanted was to be snared even deeper among these people and their ways. What arrogance, what nonsense and superstition!

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean you no malice," Brot'an said. "And only wish you to understand what is truly at stake. There was no time to waste in arguing this, so I chose not to give you that chance. The only way Leshil will be seen as one of us is if he can step onto hallowed ground. That is as important as the reason he goes there."

"If?" Magiere snapped.

"Sgailsheilleache will guide him… teach him the words to ask entrance. There is no other way."

"Ask who?The ancestors?"

Brot'an shook his head. "None of us have seen what guards Roise Charmune, as no one has gone there before but a full-blooded an'Croan. And none have been rejected, to my knowledge. Leesil must gain entrance before he reaches it or the ancestors."

Gain entrance? What did that mean?

"What did you see at this Roi-say… this Seed of Sanctuary?" she demanded. "What's guarding it? Just tell me what you know."

"A sound," he answered, "something moving in the forest surrounding hallowed ground. I know no more than that. When I spoke the words my father taught me, all was silent again. I stood a long while before I tried to walk in. Even when I left, I neither saw nor heard anything more."

"What did you say?"

Brot'an hesitated."A formal plea in my language.Nothing that would tell you more or ease your mind."

But it implied that if Leesil did not make it into the burial ground…

"For what it is worth," Brot'an added, "I believe Leshil will return."

"What did you… experience when you went for your name?" Magiere asked. She tried to remember what Wynn had said Brot'an's name meant.Something about a dog.

"That is an impudent question."

"Does it look like I care?" she hissed. "You think you'll walk out of here without answering?"

"I see that you love him," Brot'an said, "in some fashion, though I do not know if that is better or worse for him. I ask you again. Have you mated with Leshil?"

"That's still none of your business."

"No more than my naming is yours. I know the answer, but I would hear it from your own lips… now!"

Magiere saw Brot'an was as determined as she was to get answers.

"Yes," she said bluntly.

Brot'an slumped ever so slightly. "What do you know of Leanalham's mother?"

"She was never happy or at home here. She ran off when her husband abandoned her and Leanalham."

Magiere didn't care for the way Brot'an studied her.

"We have more than one word," he said, "for the degrees of what humans so casually call love. Only at its deepest do we bond… mate… for life. It is why we observe a period of boijt'ana before bonding, as En’nish did for Groyt'ashia."

"Groyt brought on his own death!" Magiere countered.

"I agree, though you are not following my meaning. En’nish may look upon Leshil as the murderer of her 'betrothed', you would say. But her obsession has taken her reason. Even Leshil's death may not end her suffering. My people bond for life."

Magiere knew of others who'd lost a loved one because of Leesil. "Grief never ends. It's just something you learn to live with."

Brot'an slowly shook his head. "Not for some… not foran'Croan. Mating is life-and death-and overwhelms all else. It is rare that we ever mate outside of bonding for that very reason. Do you not remember Leshil's words to me in Darmouth's crypt… when I stepped too close to you at the end?"

Magiere could never forget. Touch her, and I'll kill you and everything you love.

Brot'an went on. "It was then I first suspected what lay between the two of you."

He had purposefully chosen not to kill her that night in the crypt. Magiere now suspected the reasons were more complex than some slip of compassion.

"Leanalham's mother did not flee this land," Brot'an said. "That is what the girl chose to believe. Gleanneohkan'thva and Sgailsheilleache chose not to correct her… to let time bring her more slowly to the truth with the maturity to face it. Her mother ran mad into the forest. Though her body was never found, I do not believe she survived."

Magiere tried to shut out mounting fear. "What of Leanalham's father?"

"He lives," Brot'an added coldly. "Life is not always lost in such matters. The young are the most vulnerable. He did not love the girl's mother, by your definition of the word, though he will still suffer. Gleanneohkan'thva was rash in bargaining to take Leanalham's father under tutelage… in exchange for a bonding he thought might ease the suffering of Leanalham's mother."

Brot'an got up, heading for the door. "Leshil is only half-blooded, with more years than Leanalham's mother had when she bonded and mated with the girl's father. Leshil knows none of what I have told you. It is important that you comprehend exactly what you have done with him."

He said this with no spite, but Magiere didn't wish to discuss her relationship with Leesil further.

"You still owe me an answer," she said quickly. "Your name… Wynn said something about a dog."

"'Dogin the Dark', in your tongue," Brot'an corrected." Though 'mastiff' would be more precise. Not wild but domesticated, like the ones humans use in war."

"Is that what you saw when you went for your name?"

Brot'an remained halfway to the door, his back still turned to her.

"It came in silence out of the night, straight from the shadow of Roise Charmune. It tore off its iron-spiked collar with its paws and bared its teeth, as if tuning upon its master."

He finally looked back, and Magiere's own spite faltered for an instant at the discomfort in Brot'an's lined face.

"At the time, I thought it a resentful shadow of arguing with my father over what I should do with my life. He did not wish me to take up service. Then later, when I joined Eillean, I thought it an image of the coming war. But I lost my taste for omens and portents over so many years. When Eillean died, it was a name and nothing more… until you appeared in our land."

Brot'an turned away to the door. "And now I stand before my people to pull down Aoishenis-Ahare for the sake of a half-blood and a dark-tainted human woman."

He was gone, leaving Magiere alone with mounting anguish growing upon an old forgotten fear.

Her memory slipped back to a tiny inn outside of Bela. She had waited there for Leesil. It had seemed almost better-safer-to let him go, before he fell prey to her dhampir side. In spite of all her fears, she wanted him too much.

What had she done to him?

Chap laid a ways off and watched the elm where Brot'an spoke privately with Magiere. Osha tried to occupy Wynn in learning to play Dreug'an. The sage relented but showed little interest and watched the curtained doorway.

Try as Chap might, he could not hear what was said.And without line of sight, he could not dip for memories surfacing in either Brot'an or Magiere. He snarled at one Anmaglahk guard just to see the man flinch.

Chap's ears stiffened when Brot'an finally emerged and walked on into the dark, not even stopping to tell Osha to return Wynn to confinement.

Osha quickly packed up the Dreug'an board and pieces and ushered Wynn off with the other two Anmaglahk close behind. Chap stayed a moment longer.

He reached out for Brot'an's memories.

Whatever the man discussed with Magiere had left him unsettled, for his mind was not the blank slate Chap had found upon other occasions. Memories flashed in his mind so quickly that Chap had to focus hard to keep up.

A mastiff stalked out of the shadow of a strange barkless tree amid a wet and barren clearing. It snarled silently at Chap as he watched it through Brot'an's memory.

Brot'an'duive-the Dog in the Dark.

This was the moment when Brot'an had gone to the ancestors for his name.

As the memory faded, Chap saw an image of Leesil traveling in the forest. And then again the image of the dog that appeared when Brot'an stepped onto hallowed ground.

The memory vanished. Brot'an's mind was as hidden as before.

Chap traipsed back to the elm, trying to fathom what he had glimpsed. He turned as Brot'an's tall form slipped away between the trees.

A naming-and Leesil.

Chap stood there… long enough that he grasped the connection.

Leesil was traveling to the place where allan'Croan took their true name, or so they believed. If he gained hallowed ground, it would be to plead for a branch from Roise Charmune. But Brot'an hoped Leesil might gain more.

Why would Brot'an'duive want this to happen? Why did an Anmaglahk master want to know Leesil's true name?

"I can't speak your language. I won't get it right."

Sgaile's throat closed at Leshil's panicked words. He stood shaking, and still could not open his eyes to this thing no one had ever seen, nor did they know where it came from or why it stood vigil over this hallowed ground.

His people only knew it by a name and the oath that spoke of its deadly nature.

"Aharneiv…" he began again, and then faltered as he felt its hissing breath upon his face.

Would it understand in any other tongue? And if it did, would it let him live, coming here with Leshil? All who came to Roise Charmune must come alone!

Sgaile began the litany once again, this time in words Leshil could understand.

"Father of Poison…"

He waited in tense silence for Leshil to repeat it.

"Father of… Poison…" Leshil whispered.

Sgaile took a quick breath. "Who washes away our enemies with Death…"

Leshil echoed him again.

"Let me pass by to my ancestors, first of my blood. Give me leave to touch the Seed of Sanctuary."

As Leshil repeated his words, the serpent's breath faded from Sgaile's face, and he waited long in silence.

He heard coils grating upon the earth… and then the softer wet sound of mulch beneath the trees somewhere ahead. Longer he waited with his eyes shut, until the sound nearly faded altogether.

Something dropped upon Sgaile's shoulder, and he opened his eyes, breathing so quickly he grew dizzy. He kept his eyes on the dark oaks ahead, afraid to catch even one more glimpse of Aharneiv.

It was gone.

Leshil's hand slipped off Sgaile's shoulder and fell limply at his side.

"We… are free… to go on," Sgaile whispered.

He almost did not believe the words as they came from his lips. Sgaile glanced sidelong at the half-blood-who had just changed his whole world, and perhaps that of Leanalham.

For more than two years, he and his grandfather had urged Leanalham to wait, to put off her name taking, though their arguments grew weaker with each passing moon. They feared that she would not return from this place, not with human blood in her.

Still, Leshil did not move.

"You have gained hallowed ground," Sgaile urged. "You are accepted as blood."

Leshil slowly turned his eyes toward Sgaile.

"I'm here for one reason," he snapped."For Magiere, caught among your kind because of me. I don't care how you or your ghosts see me."

Leshil stepped on toward the clearing. Sgaile hung back, stunned back into silence.

Human blood, by any degree, was a baffling thing.

Leesil stood before the tree at the bare clearing's center and stared up at its wild branches filling the air above him.

It wasn't shaped like the tall and straight ash trees he had seen. Stout branches sprouting from its thick trunk curved and wound and divided up into the night. A soft glow emanated from its fine-grained wood to dimly light the clearing.

Leafless and barkless-yet somehow alive.From its wide-reaching rootslumping the earth to its thick and naked pale-yellow body and limbs, its soft rippled surface glistened beneath its own glow.

"You must touch it," Sgaile whispered from behind. "Roise Charmune will know why you have come, and the ancestors will decide.

Leesil shivered. The night was only cool, but it had suddenly grown crisp within the clearing.

This was what he'd come for, but after passing the guardian serpent, he wavered at touching this tree. He quickly slapped his hand against its bare trunk, just to be done with it, and shivered again as the temperature dropped sharply.

"Sgaile…?" he said.

The man looked anxiously about and folded his hands under his arms against the mounting cold. Whether from fear or frigid temperature, he shook where he stood.

"I do not know," Sgaile whispered.

Someone stepped around the naked tree's far side.

The figure wore the gray-green of an Anmaglahk, cloak tied around its waist and cowl pulled forward. But it was short for an elf, no taller than Leesil himself.

Leesil began to pull back.

"Do not move!" Sgaile warned. "Do not take your hand from Roise Char-mune!"

Leesil didn't believe this was a vision. Surely one of Sgaile'scaste must have followed them.

The figure raised a hand and held it up before Leesil's eyes. In that closed fist was an Anmaglahk stiletto, silver-white blade pointed downward from its round, plain guard.

Leesil snatched the figure's wrist with his free hand.

The clearing lit up as if under a burning noon sun.

Where there had been cold, now sweltering heat choked the air in Leesil's lungs. Within the figure's cowl he saw a face… his face.

Leesil stared into his own reflection within that cowl.

There were the faint scars on his own cheek from where Ratboy had clawed him. His own amber eyes stared back at him, somewhat too small for an elf's, above a chin not quite tapered enough for a full-blood's.

His reflection looked older, somehow. And tears began running down his-its-face.

Leesil stood there, gripping the wrist of his reflection.

Heat made his double, his twin, or whatever it was ripple before his eyes. A shift in the land beyond the surrounding oaks tugged at his attention.

He thought he saw barren mountains beyond rolling tan hills that were too smooth and perfect. High peaks rippled in the distance as those hills radiated heat. Sgaile hissed out one word.

"Ancestors!"

Darkness filled the clearing. The cold bit again at Leesil as his gaze shifted back. His breath caught as one puff of vapor rushed from his lips.

He saw no reflection of himself anymore. His grip was closed on a slender translucent wrist that glowed like the naked ash. And he looked into… through… the transparent face of a tall elven male.

The man's eyes turned stern as he looked back at Leesil. His face was broader at the cheekbones than other elves'. An ugly scar slanted from his forehead to his right temple and another marred the left side of his jaw below his peaked ear. He had seen battle during his life; his hand around the stiletto appeared toughened and calloused.

No, not a stiletto… the elven warrior held a branch of naked pale wood like that of the ash tree. Long and straight overall, the wood showed gentle wavering throughout its length like any natural branch stripped of its bark.

Pale glimmers erupted in the darkness behind the branch's bearer.

Leesil remembered the ghost horde of the Apudalsat forest, all hideously wounded in the moment of their death. These were different.

They appeared as in life, dressed as they must have been long ago, though their transparent forms held no color but that of the ash tree's wood. A thirdwere male, the rest female, and not all appeared old. Leesil counted at least a dozen.

Their attire varied. Some were clothed no differently from the elves Leesil had seen around the council clearing. But others wore hauberks and bracers of hardened leather, either plain or covered in overlapping plates and scales of metal. Two wore helms of triple crests with scrollwork spirals engraved in their sides, as did the one Leesil still gripped.

They carried spears, some as long as pikes, and quivers and bows slung upon their backs. Not the short ones the Anmaglahk disassembled to hide away, but longbows capable of great range. One middle-aged female with scars down her left upper arm had thick triangular war daggers on her wide studded belt. They looked more like a human weapon than those Leesil had seen among elves. The spear in her grip was shorter than her height. Its thick shaft appeared to be metal instead of wood, and its head was wide-bladed and nearly as long as a short sword.

And that one, with wild eyes full of fury, smiled at him beneath narrowing eyes.

But there were none among the spirits dressed as Anmaglahk.

An elder woman in a robe approached behind the tall warrior holding the branch. Her face was slender and lightly lined with age. Long hair waved and floated as if she moved through water.

Take the limb of Roise Charmune… and guard it as it will guard you… as you will guard life, Leshiarelaohk.

Leesil heard her voice, though her lips never moved.

Tell Sorhkafare we wait for him.

A different voice.Male, tired but purposeful, like a sigh of relief after long burden.

Leesil turned his eyes back on the scarred and wide-cheeked warrior in his grip. The man's gaze shifted toward Sgaile then flickered once to Leesil. He seemed puzzled by something between the only two living people in the clearing. Then the spirit looked deep into Leesil's eyes.

Tell Sorhkafare that Snahacroe still waits for his comrade… when he is finally ready to rest. Tell him… Leshiarelaohk.

Leesil knew the first name from Magiere's vision-the long-forgotten name of Most Aged Father. The second might be this one holding out the branch. But that final name he couldn't place, though it was close to what his mother and her people called him.

Leshil…Leshiarelaohk.

He wasn't sure he could repeat it aloud, but its sound vibrated in his head, as if spoken again by both the elder woman and the dour warrior.

The tall spirit opened his fingers, and the ash branch began to fall.

Leesil released his grip and snatched it from the air.

When he looked up again, the clearing was empty but for himself, Sgaile, and the soft radiance of the naked ash.

He saw no spirits. Not a one.

Leesil held up the branch of Roise Charmune.