"Close the curtains, boy," Ossagar's gruff voice came from his seat upon the coach box. Arn obeyed immediately and wondered how the man knew.

"You can have them open after we get a ways out of town," the man added.

Soft yellow light lit the carriage's interior. Arn spotted the source - a warm light emitter.

Better than a candle, he thought.

Arn fished in his backpack for the food his mother had packed for him. The dried mushrooms were particularly delectable - spiced just right.

As always, he thought, taking a sip from his water flask.

The sounds of Nysaros diminished as he ate, and only the clip-clop of the hooves and the creaking of the carriage remained. He judged that it must be all right to open the window curtains now and pulled at the heavy fabric.

Cool daylight burst into the carriage, and Arn had to squit against its intensity. He craned his neck in hopes of seeing the town in the distance, but the trees and hills hid it from sight.

The road southwest wove and twisted around the forested foothills of the great Zekasar Ridge. He hoped for a glimpse of distant Nysaros each time they crested a hill but saw only the forest and the mountains.

Arn had finally given up and sat back in the carriage. He watched the scenery swim by and daydreamed about his return party. More than the party itself, he was excited about finally climbing the rockface. He never got to see what was up there, being too young when Kenon took him and later not being allowed to go there on his own.

I don't care what Sarhaa said or what Kenon did, he thought upon recalling his sister's words.

The ride was mostly smooth, but the carriage occasionally jostled and bumped. A particularly nasty jostle caught Arn by surprise, and he dropped his flask. Arn had instinctively reached for it with his Esarel and just managed to catch it before it landed. He grabbed the floating flask and watched the bluish light around it fade.

I don't even remember channelling, he thought, slowly turning the flask in his hand. His Tjoreal bracelet wasn't glowing either. He looked from one to the other in confusion, then finally shrugged and put the flask away, having decided that it must be second nature to him by this point.

The Tjoreal must have faded before I looked, he thought.

A raven croaked in the distance and drew Arn's attention. The sun had nearly set by now, and the shadows of trees flickered on the carriage's wall. Arn noticed that the road became more even. It wasn't long before he heard the sounds of a town once again - a smaller one than Nysaros, he guessed.

The carriage had finally stopped, and Arn heard the man come down from the coach box. He opened the door only to see Ossagar, about twenty paces away, arms folded.

"Hurry up," he growled.

Arn picked up the pace but quickly glanced around as he ran. They stopped at the stable of a tavern in what looked like a small town. Arn didn't know for sure since he'd never been anywhere outside of Nysaros. It could be a large town, for all he knew.

'The Wayward Welp' he read upon an old wooden sign above the entrance into which the man had presently disappeared. Arn sighed and rushed after him.

The low hum of voices reached Arn's ears even before he touched the door. Once inside, a thick aroma of frying meat and spices filled his nose. He saw Ossagar move toward the back of the tavern and hurried to catch up to him. They sat down in a small booth which provided a measure of privacy. When the serving girl approached them, Ossagar presented his token - this one was of the Caravaneer's Union. Arn couldn't read the ranks of tokens, but the girl briefly touched it, her hand glowed, just like his cousin Kenon's did back in the forest. The serving girl nodded and recited several dishes from which they could choose.

Arn watched the girl leave, then glanced at Ossagar - who was observing the tavern or at least appeared to be. The man cleared his throat and coughed a couple of times. Arn was getting anxious and resorted to his habit of folding the sleeve of his sweater.

"What are you doing?" Ossagar startled him.

"Me? Nothing," Arn said and put his hands on the table.

Ossagar grasped his own chin between a thumb and forefinger. His grey-violet eyes held Arn's for a time.

"I am going to ask you a very serious question, and I need you to answer truthfully," he said in a grave tone.

Arn's mind raced; thoughts popped up one after the other, none staying long enough to make any sense. He nodded gingerly. Ossagar responded with a nod of his own.

"Are you a revolutionary, Arn?" Ossagar spoke in a cold, even tone, not breaking eye contact the entire time.

The r in revolutionary reverberated in Arn's mind. He felt the world around him recede, and Ossagar's face came into sharp focus.

A revolutionary? he was too afraid to speak the word aloud. Me? Revolutionary? he thought, the dull thump-thump of his pulse filled his ears.

"No," he whispered in response, surprised that any sound came at all.

Ossagar raised his brows, and a hint of curiosity flashed in his eyes. It was gone so fast Arn wasn't sure he saw anything more than his imagination. A tight, one-sided smile appeared upon his rugged face. Ossagar leaned back and let out a loud bark of a laugh.

"Be at ease," he said, "I'd not have asked were I to suspect you truly, would I?"

"I, I don't know," Arn mumbled, still in shock from the exchange.

"That was a rhetorical question, boy," Ossagar grumbled. He straightened his coarse moustache with a thumb and forefinger and gave Arn a measuring glance. "You don't have the makings of a revolutionary," he said.

His own reaction surprised Arn. He felt indignation at that statement. Why would I want to be one, he thought, why does it matter? Isn't it a good thing? But he couldn't shake off the feeling of diminishment.

"I see you don't like that, do you?" Ossagar chuckled.

"It's fine," Arn said, then quickly added, "it's a good thing."

"A good thing, is it?" Ossagar said, "I've seen less disappointment during sentencing."

Arn remained quiet. What could he say that wouldn't make things worse? Instead, he focused his attention on the sweater sleeve.

"You lack the makings of a revolutionary not because you are lesser, but because of your upbringings," Ossagar said. Arn continued to fold his sleeve.

"Careful," Ossagar whispered.

Arn looked up; the man was looking at his arm with the Tjoreal bracelet. Arn glanced in that direction and saw that it began to glow softly. He quickly covered it with his hand and turned back up to Ossagar.

"Quite the will you have," Ossagar said in an uncharacteristically subdued tone. Arn wasn't sure how to respond to that, but the man didn't wait before changing topics. "You overcame the weakness as a child, haven't you?" he asked.

Arn frowned and nodded. How did he know? He wondered but then remembered that this was a man from the Inspectorate.

"You know what they say about the weakness?" Ossagar asked.

"What?" Arn replied.

"It is a trial given to the Ossar by the spirits, an opportunity to prove our mettle."

"Why would..." Arn trailed off, reconsidering his line of questioning.

"Do not presume to question the spirits, boy," Ossagar said, the gruffness and scorn returned to his voice. He glared at Arn before continuing, "for better or worse, you passed the trial. You will have to live with that."

Since he found out that he no longer had the weakness, Arn counted it as a blessing. But now, after hearing Ossagar, he felt it as a weight that he will have to bear someday.

How did he spoil it, Arn wondered, how did he make it into this heavy foreboding with just a few words.

Ossagar turned to the approaching serving girl, "I would not voice what we have spoken of too freely," he said to Arn in a low voice, eyes still on the girl.

Arn nodded; he was getting used to the secrecy.

"I saw you looking at the token earlier with some curiosity," Ossagar said after they began eating.

Though the event of which he spoke took place mere minutes earlier, it felt a lifetime ago to Arn. He recalled it as though through another's eyes, and in truth, it didn't interest him so much anymore.

"I was just curious. I haven't seen one like that before," Arn said.

Ossagar fished it from his pocket, "you haven't seen a travel token before?" He said and put it on the table.

"I've seen one before, just not exactly like this token, " Arn said and leaned closer to examine it.

"Caravaneer's Union, third rank," Ossagar grumbled.

"Caravaneer's Union," Arn repeated softly.

Ossagar hum'd and straightened his moustache once again, "I suppose you wouldn't see many if you don't travel," he said. "This token is of the third rank, enough to ensure smooth passage, yet not enough to draw too much attention."

"I never knew how to tell the ranks of the tokens," Arn said.

"Really now?" Ossagar seemed genuinely surprised, "I'd expect that sort of thing to be taught to you by now," he scrunched his eyebrows and picked up the token.

Arn flinched - he wondered whether he could get his entire school in trouble for this. "It's probably just me," he said, "I just don't remember; they must have taught it."

Ossagar chuckled and held the token up for Arn. It was a round metal disk about an inch in diameter with the emblem of the Caravaneer's Union at the center.

He pointed at a thin dark band on its outer edge, "this is the rank ring, you see these dots, that's the rank - dots represent the ordinary ranks."

"Three dots for the third rank?" Arn asked.

"Indeed."

"What did the serving girl do? She touched it - to inspect it?" Arn continued, his curiosity piqued and the gloom of the earlier conversation dispelled somewhat.

"She just made sure it wasn't fake," Ossagar replied. "They don't always check the ordinary ranks. But if you have one of the special ones, like Captain or Division Head, Council Representative, and so on, those will be verified at every step - and not by a serving girl."

"Why don't you have one of those?"

Ossagar harrumphed, "as I said, the third rank doesn't draw attention." He put the token back into his pocket once again.

"What did she do to make sure it wasn't fake?" Arn asked.

"Well, it isn't too complicated if even the serving staff can do it," Ossagar smiled, "just a bit of channelling your energy through the Tjoreal and into the token - if it is a fake, it will crack and shatter."

Arn's curiosity took over his better sense, "can I try?" he asked.

"I think we've had enough of that for now. Finish your food; it is time we retire for the night," Ossagar grumbled.

Arn lowered his eyes to his plate and remained silent. Ossagar didn't seem to mind as the two finished their meal and retired to separate rooms without another word.