Days passed quickly after the arrival of the newcomers. There was so much to do, Alec had little time to ponder the events at the Mistress’ place. All his thoughts were consumed with considerations on how to make the stay better for the newcomers.

Most of the houses nearby had already been cleaned up so he led them to further districts in search of furniture, blankets, clothes and other necessities. At first they followed him with doubtful gazes but soon learnt to accept it. Their leader, Mark, was instrumental. For some reason the old soldier did not think everyone in the camp wanted his death, unlike the rest of his people.

It quickened the accommodation period and in close to three weeks the life settled back into its familiar, calm rhythm. The newcomers hadn’t fully integrated, but they stopped being a threat. The two groups started talking, going to the temple together to listen to Shea’s readings and helping each other from time to time.

A small miracle in Alec’s eyes. He’d had little hope this could be achieved so soon.

Grey popped into the room where Alec was resting, their new base. After the coming of so many new faces he decided to move his team closer to both groups.

“Hey, I wanted to let you know I’ll be returning to train with Iago from today!”

“You’re feeling better?”

“Yeah!” the boy beamed at him. “I wouldn’t have waited this long but Iago would not let me start until he was certain I wouldn’t injure myself while training!”

So that was why. Alec had wondered why Grey was being so patient. In his mind the boy should have begun a week or more ago. “What about others?” he asked.

“They were waiting for me! Since Iago said I’d need to start from the beginning anyway…” He grimaced at that. “Iago does not want me learning the duelling way.”

There probably was a reason for that. Alec pushed himself off the chair and stretched his muscles. Most of his wounds had healed too but not all. A number remained, reminding of themselves if he tried anything strenuous. At least it no longer pained him to walk.

As they left the house the rest of the soldiers welcomed them outside. They greeted him with eager expressions. “Let’s go, let’s go!” Denni urged him.

“Right, right,” he answered, leading the crowd.

The last couple weeks Iago reached a new level of reclusiveness. He stayed whole days hidden within his room, leaving only to shape food in the morning and check up on the soldiers. Scorpius and Alec alone were allowed to enter the tower. First one as a friend, the other as an accomplice in keeping Mistress away. There was another dinner during the past weeks but nothing of importance was discussed.

Because of the seclusion, Iago grew into his reputation as a mysterious, and possibly dangerous shaper. Something natural, but not really what he had sought upon coming here. Though, it increased his power within the camp to unbelievable levels. Single word was enough to send everyone scurrying to fulfil the order.

It would have made him no better than the Mistress, but people were clear on how important he was. Food was gone. Not a bite remained. Iago alone kept them alive with his shaping.

But because of his new found reputation, few dared to bother him. Even his soldiers, who were promised to be taught, were reluctant in disturbing the shaper. They wanted Alec to come and smooth the way, make sure they don’t do anything to anger Iago.

As they approached the tower, Mark went by. He watched their group with a slight surprise. “What’s the occasion?”

“Starting a new training regime,” Alec answered. Then a thought struck him. “You’ve been in the army, haven’t you?” The man inclined his head slowly, his eyes growing careful. “Then you know some fighting tactics?”

“What about it?”

Lyra was quick to grasp what Alec had in mind. “Could you tell us if what we’re about to learn is any good?”

“Oh, sure,” the old soldier answered with a relieved expression. “Show it to me.”

Everyone’s gazes landed on Grey. The boy squirmed at the attention but then took a couple steps away, drawing his blade. He stood with his eyes closed for a second. Memories must not be coming easily. It was close to a month since the last time he practised those moves. Unless he did it in secret.

After another heartbeat he dashed into Iago’s tower and returned with a small shield. Then he fell into a defensive stance. Slash, rise the shield, stab from the side, push with the shield, another stab, slash and fall back a step. He repeated the motions with more fluency each time, though without increasing speed.

The old soldier Mark followed each move with a hawk like intensity. At the second go-through he started murmuring under his breath. Alec took a careful step closer to hear the man counting. One, two, three. One, two, three four. One, two. One, two. One, two, three.

When Grey finished with a disgruntled expression, Mark strode to him with a heavy step. “Who taught you that?”

“Iago…” the boy answered, his annoyance quickly turning into puzzlement.

“Isn’t he a shaper?”

Alec took up Grey’s examination. “Is there something wrong with it? Iago said he recalled the moves after watching them being taught in the Royal Academy.”

“Royal Academy my ass. Bullshit. That place would never demean itself to teach such crude techniques,” the man growled, his eyes lifting to the top of the broken tower.

“You must be mistaken!” Grey shouted out. He breathed hard after the exercise with anger adding an extra layer of redness to his cheeks. “There’s nothing wrong with what I was taught!” he defended his hero.

The old soldier turned back. “I did not say there was anything wrong with it. The moves are perfect for your situation. It’s just they weren’t taught where he said they were.”

Another lie? What for? If he knew a good technique, why lie about where he received it? Strangest of all, the lie wasn’t even a good one. It had made them distrust him even more at the time. Only seeing Grey fight on par with him after being taught for barely a week did they give it some credit.

“It’s the basic moves used by soldiers after earning the right to use a sword. What put me off at first was that they were changed.”

“Changed?”

“Improved,” Mark said with certainty. He slid his longsword out and made a number of moves for them to see.

Alec guessed they were shown the differences but he did not see them. The changes were either very minor or were Grey’s misses because of lack of practice.Yet Mark shouldn’t call them improvements then. He did seem like he knew what he was talking about; fitting leather armour, axe strapped to his back and a longsword at his hip matched with his broad, weathered frame.

Five more moves later Mark finished. “It’s subtle, but the differences were made by a master swordsman. I wonder which one of them found the time…”

The tower’s doors opened and Scorpius peeked out. “What are you all standing there for? Come in.” Mark was indecisive, looking back and forth between the entrance and the street. “Do you want a special invitation?”

Another change since Iago’s seclusion was that Scorpius became his voice. If anyone had questions, or suggestions, they had to pass through this stranger. It was unknown whether he actually told anything to Iago but the shaper was adamant in his trust. He did not bother to come out and repeatedly said for others to find Scorpius if they wanted to get in contact with him.

Often Alec too found himself going through Scorpius to reach Iago. The thick robed stranger clearly was not a shaper himself but had the absolute trust of one. Both newcomers and survivors speculated how that came to be but no one found a suitable answer.

It probably was due to Iago’s strangeness. He wasn’t like a normal shaper and Alec guessed it had something to do with it. A past mistake or unexpected sacrifice from Scorpius.

When inside the training room, Iago walked down the stairs. He wore a long cloak that dragged on the ground, hiding his form. The sleeves were too long, loose, a large cowl hung over his face and left it in deep shadow.

“All of you decided to learn?” he asked in a voice that made it certain it was him. As much as he had changed, his voice remained the same. Calm and confident.

“Yes!” Grey exclaimed, though, not as loud as he would have three weeks ago. The shaper’s transformation brought disquiet even to his trusting heart.

The shaper pulled his cowl down and Alec was shocked by the sight. It was like seeing a ghost. Previously bronzed skin had paled, eyes sunk in with grey shadows underlining them. Wrinkles lined the once smooth face. The shaper had aged twenty years since he last saw him two weeks ago.

Alec couldn’t see how this stranger could be the same person he knew before. He wasn’t best friends with Iago, but he saw him often enough. The man was friendly, careful but often with a smile and a helping hand outstretched.

This was a man bent by burdens of time. His eyes held no spark as he scanned the youths present - they weren’t that much younger than him! - and landed on Mark. “You have something to say?”

The old soldier hesitated, glancing to Scorpius for support but he was focused on Iago. As if sensing that, the shaper turned to him with a frown. Scorpius did not seem deterred but after a moment longer he turned and scaled the steps up to the second floor.

Now they were alone with the shaper turned stranger.

“He said you li-” Alec started, but quickly decided to adjust his statement. His relationship might be deeper than others’ but not by much. “You did not tell the whole truth about where you learnt those fighting moves.”

“Is that so?” Iago asked, eyeing Mark anew. He walked closer, stopping right before the soldier that shared his height. “You’re from the Fifth Army, aren’t you?” Before the man could answer he added. “Seventh division, Commander Pleanfist?”

It was as if the man was hit over the head. He staggered a couple steps back. His eyes went wide as he stammered out, “How? How do you know that?”

There was no faint smile that should have been on that face as Iago replied. “I recognise the uniform. You were also once rewarded for routing out an army of rebellious nationalists hiding in Blue Forest.” Mark nodded soundlessly. “I remember you now. Mark Heshantov. You would have had a shining career if you were born a noble. Now, you called yourself lucky having becoming a Captain before retirement.”

All of this Iago said in an emotionless voice. Alec wondered whether he felt anything meeting such a person. Himself he was flabbergast. There was a real soldier in their camp! And it wasn’t Commander! He wanted to laugh and hit himself over the head. He’d guessed this armoured old man might be someone from the military but he did not want to be disappointed again. He did not believe his luck could be that good.

Now he had wasted all those weeks while he could’ve been learning. Mark must have hundreds of tales about the war, and people who fought those wars. He wanted to rush to him right away, ask him about it all. But he kept himself in-check. This was not the time. Not this moment at the least. Maybe once the others started training.

He shifted his gaze to Iago. The shaper was becoming more of a mystery with every moment spent in his presence. How did he know someone like Mark? In his recollections, nobles did not pay much attention to the low born soldiers, even if they won some renown. They watched them go pick up their rewards and forgot them the next instant.

He knew that. He’d asked before.

This begged the question how Iago knew then. Alec could not comprehend how his knowledge could be so vast. When did he have the time to learn everything. He knew the lives of normal people, how they survived, what they did and what they ate. Might even have a family he refused to acknowledge.

But he also knew how to heal. Was a healer’s apprentice or so he said. More than that, he also knew how to kill. He claimed he barely followed the sword practises for exercises but Alec did not believe that. He was certain it made him an accomplished fighter, especially if his techniques were refined by a sword master.

On top of that he knew how to read, fit in with the nobles and could recount all their names and titles. Wherever he went, the shaper found himself at home. There was no knowledge he lacked. A lifetime of understanding was crammed into his twenty-something years of life.

Unbelievable. What kind of life one had to live to accomplish that?

His eyes landed on the dark eyes, the creases on the forehead. Old before his age. Maybe that was the answer.

Since nobody dared to speak, Iago continued. “The moves I showed them were tampered with by Elecar.” Venom dripped from the last word. The name was said like the most terrible of curses.

Alec straightened, ready to defend his hero but one look was enough to deflate him. The hatred and fury held in that gaze, the mocking smile taunting him to speak. He knew he lost without saying a word.

He shuddered once the eyes were off of him. What was this? Iago’s dislike for Elecar, blaming him for destruction was well-known in the camp but this could no longer be called dislike. If he was to find a word for it… loathing.

Iago loathed Elecar.

Why? What had the hero done to him? He was dead for Lady’s sake! Wasn’t that enough? Resentment surged in Alec but he held back from voicing it. He knew his place. Compared to the survival of everyone, it was irrelevant. Anger could burn him to a crisp and he’d keep it caged within. His emotions were insignificant.

Or so he told himself as he glowered at Iago’s side. For all the shaper had done, and Alec was overwhelmed with gratitude for it all, he could not forgive him for belittling Elecar. Calling him the destroyer.

It was a lie.

It had to be. Elecar was the saviour. He fought the wars, saving the Empire from all its enemies until there was no one daring to attack it. Unable to stay still, Elecar then returned to the capital and defended the weak and powerless. His renown echoed through the whole city. Even the nobles could not dismiss him.

That was not nothing. Those were the acts of a truly righteous person. A person that could not stand seeing bad things happen to good people. Unlike so many others, he used the power he had to help those in need. A man worthy to be admired. A true legend.

To say he would destroy the world! Preposterous! And this anger, hatred. The disgust in the shaper’s voice. He knew nothing!

“You all right?” Lyra asked him in a whisper with a soft nudge. “I don’t think you’ve heard a word he said.”

Alec refocused on Iago’s voice and heard him discussing one of the moves Mark showed him. Soldiers were spread out among the training dummies, hitting them with wooden swords. Iago did not watch them, but from time to time used a stick to poke one in the back or side, telling them not to slouch, or hit more from the body, not just the wrist.

Embarrassed Alec turned back to Lyra. “Sorry. We are to train now?”

She nodded, passing him a wooden sword. “Yeah. Come, I’ll show you the basics.”

Three streets away, in the temple, Shea finished reading. This time the story was about a woman whose sons left to experience the world. She stayed behind, working every day and praying for their safe return.

It was a very short story. Five pages. A bit about the sons leaving, more about the woman working alone, growing more hopeless with each day. The more time passed the more she prayed. Soon it became close to the only thing she did.

The story ended. Shea could not remember her mother ever reading this one and did not understand its meaning. As far as she could see, it showed a woman going crazy because her sons had left her. But that couldn’t be the real meaning. It couldn’t possibly be.

The survivors stayed still for a time, trying to comprehend the meaning. Shea watched their faces. Most had confused looks and were looking at their companions. Somehow they missed their looks, and thinking themselves the only ones lost quickly lowered their gazes.

As always Mala and an elder man stood up first and went to The Lady. They stopped before the sculpture. Fingers extended, they touched the statue’s legs. With heads bowed they whispered under their breaths, so quiet the other could not hear what they were saying.

After the rest of the crowd went by in twos and threes, only one person was left. Shea stood up and was about to leave when she recognised the crying woman. It was Iago’s sister!

“Are you all right?” she asked coming over. Her voice was strangely loud in the empty room.

The woman raised her head. “Yeah,” she answered, brushing her tears away. She gave Shea a shy smile. “Your reading was very beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Shea thought about asking something else but she’d never talked with the woman before. They were about the same age but she could not imagine then being more different. Where she was concerned only about herself, the other took care of five brothers and sisters. At such an age!

A martyr, she thought to herself, wanting to learn more about her but not daring to ask it. The woman looked so hard and stoic, always with iron in her eyes.

“You know Iago?” the woman suddenly asked.

The question caught Shea off guard but she nodded after a moment.

“Can you tell me more about him? How is he doing? Is he well?”

Shea did not want to talk about him, afraid she might show her worries and fears, but the woman’s eyes were begging her. Tear stains glistened in the corners of her eyes. “Please!” she begged again. “No one talks about him to me, and he ignores us like we don’t even exist.” Tears started running down her cheeks once more.

“Don’t cry!” Shea quickly said, sitting down beside her and cleaning her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’ll tell you all I know! There’s no need to cry!”

There was enough sorrow in this place as it was. She did not want to create more by keeping harmless knowledge to herself.

It was awhile before the woman calmed so Shea started talking first. She told about how Iago found her, how he helped her those first weeks and brought to this place. Without hiding anything she recalled all the events since then, especially the killings.

The woman gasped in horror when she heard that. She bit her lip until blood showed up. But when Shea thought to stop, the woman asked her to continue.

So, Shea told about him intimidating Commander, going to meet the Mistress and his solitude the last month. It was unnatural. Unlike everything he did previously, but most of the survivors found it more to their liking. They found it easier. This way Iago acted more like a shaper.

One thing Shea kept to herself was her worries. She did not say anything about the leech they had encountered in the desert and how Iago had let him go. That she feared it was him who brought it to this city.

“He’s changed so much…” the woman murmured when she finished, her head falling forward as if becoming too heavy to hold.

“Is he really your brother?” Shea asked with interest. Like everyone else she found the idea fascinating.

Could the mysterious shaper actually have a family? He repeatedly claimed it was not so. But many had seen his reaction upon seeing the woman and her children. It hadn’t been the look of someone ignorant of who those people were. His eyes glued to them upon first notice, widening with unknown emotion and then he ran away, calling Scorpius after him.

Iago could say whatever he wanted, but he fooled no one. It was clear he knew this family. The question remaining was whether they were truly his blood relatives or just people he knew from the past.

There were many speculations, most resulting in the latter. He ignored and avoided them too much for it to be true family. But Shea had other thoughts. She wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted his family to be dead. He liked the idea of having no one to account to, being free from any responsibility and just doing whatever he wanted.

It fit with his ever changing image. One moment he was helping the survivors and the other killing people like it was nothing.

“Yes…” the woman whispered in a wistful voice. Then her expression hardened. “But you don’t believe me, do you?”

“I do, I do!” Shea quickly contradicted her, her lips forming into a bright smile. “The way he’s been acting lately, it’s pointing to that single conclusion. He wouldn’t be like this if you meant nothing to him!”

Surprise fluttered on the woman’s face. “Really?”

“Yeah!” she said again with certainty in her voice.

“Thank you,” the woman replied with a soft smile. She straightened the creases in her dress with eyes downcast. “It’s so strange,” she murmured then. “He was the most loving brother that ever existed, giving away every morsel of food to the little ones. There wasn’t a day that he did not spend every minute working for their sake. It just never happened. He loved and cared about them too much.”

“That does not sound like the Iago I know,” Shea said softly, afraid to push the woman into a crying fit. She seemed to be on the edge, remembering life that didn’t match reality. Her loving brother was gone and in his place was an ice cold stranger.

Shea was a single child so she tried imaging if her mother had changed like that. She couldn’t. The idea itself was ludicrous. Her mother would never do something like that.

As she looked at the woman, her lost look, she suddenly knew she felt the same way. In her eyes her brother could never do that too. And yet here he was ignoring them. Since the first day saying they were mistaken, and then walking past them as if they didn’t exist. His eyes passed right through them.

“You’re certain he’s not a lookalike?” she asked with little hope, finding the truth too hard to swallow. It was one thing to think he was associated with that family and a whole another to fully comprehend what would that mean to them. She did not like thinking about it.

A wane smile encroached on the woman’s lips and Shea was struck at how familiar it was. It looked exactly like Iago’s when he thought the survivors were doing something stupid but he did not want to argue with them over it.

“I would know him anywhere. He brought me and the others up.” She eyed Shea with sadness overflowing in her eyes. “You know, he cared for me when we were children, protecting from bullies and ‘bad people’. Then, when mother died and father drowned himself in ale, he took over the role of father for everyone. He worked for days at a time, then returning to give everything he earned for us to buy food, clothes. When he had a free moment, he’d play with the young ones as if he wasn’t constant state of exhaustion. Not once have I seen him resting, or complaining about it all, the unfairness of fate. All he ever cared about was the rest of us.”

“It sounds too good to be true,” Shea whispered, trying to imagine such a person. Her mother was perfect in comparison to her, but she wouldn’t say she was as dedicated. Mother often encouraged her to be good, caring but not even she sacrificed her whole life for others in the village. Could such a person even exist? How could he abandon himself so for the sake of others?

Then she remembered her mother’s last moments. She did everything to save Shea. It had to be her who kept her save through the destruction. Her own power was too disorderly, uncontrolled to have saved her in that situation. She didn’t even know what happened besides the fact that ground opened up beneath her and then she woke up in the darkness.

Her own eyes moistened and she looked away to hide them.

“I know,” the woman answered in a soft voice. “I understood it only when he was gone. Pathetic, isn’t it? I didn’t pay it any heed when he was there, thinking sometimes to myself that he wasn’t trying hard enough.” She laughed in self-deprecation. “I’m not even surprised he doesn’t want to see us. I wouldn’t in his place either.”

But even as she said that, Shea could tell she was lying. The woman did not understand it and neither could she accept it in her heart.

“I’m certain he’ll change his mind some time soon! I’ll be sure to talk to him!” Shea swore, her eyes lightening up as she found a solution. Iago would talk to her. She was certain of it! He held a soft spot for her, having saved her and all that, or so she hoped. He had aided her when her power was gone.

Her mind quickly flew through all the possible encounters. It would be best to find him in a place where he could not run away. His tower? Probably. There was no way he wouldn’t let her in. Scorpius and Alec frequented it often enough.

When the woman thought to express her dismissal, saying it was unnecessary, Shea shook her head and took the woman’s hands. “I’ll make sure he understands your pain,” she told her. “He can’t continue like this. You’re family after all.”

The woman’s eyes watered up and she hugged Shea. “Thank you, thank you,” she breathed repeatedly as sobs broke her voice. “Thank you!”