I set my pen to parchment to write about our arrival in Alka’ales, but Rosédan insists that I first write about my arrival in this part of the world, and I, of course, obey. She was confused when she discovered these writings of mine, particularly because they were not written in the Parakō symbols with which she was familiar (her own people do not write at all, she says, which I find hard to imagine), but now that I’ve explained my endeavor she has encouraged me immensely. Nothing and no one, I’ve found, can be more encouraging than the woman one loves.

When I left the fair folk I still had only the vaguest idea of what the Bird they gave me could do, and I resented and in fact feared it. I tried to avoid towns as much as possible, alarmed by the way the Bird interceded between the words I spoke and the words I heard, or the other way around maybe. But these were wild lands, and it only took one encounter with a gang of bandits before I decided that the discomfort of the Bird was preferable. And, of course, I didn’t much like the idea of starving to death either. The cakes the fair folk had given me were now in the hands of the bandits, and I didn’t and don’t have the faintest idea of how to go about gathering food for myself in the wilderness. I admire those who can pick out the poisonous from the salubrious berries, who can catch fish out of the river, who can snare rabbits, but I was born in the city and all these things are mysteries to me.

These were the lands of the Uste people, and the first town I came to was called Rashāme. I must have been a wonder when I appeared there: in terms of physical appearance I could pass for Uste, and with my Bird’s help I spoke their language perfectly, but I wore the shining robes of the Fair Folk, not to mention my voluminous hat that concealed the Bird. And certainly I acted like someone who had been plucked out of his own home and dropped in a totally foreign land and century.

I believe the first thing I asked was if there were any priests in the town. There were not (as I have since learned, the priests of Uste are a secretive order that won’t risk spilling their secrets), so for a time I was spared the shock of discovering there were no pure shrines of the Flame in this part of the world, only ten thousand gods with human and animal faces. I then asked if anyone in Rashāme had any use for a clerk. Here, for the first time in my experience, my Bird gave a squawk of protest.

The man whom I was addressing gave me a curious look. “A what?”

“A clerk,” I said, making sure to speak slowly and loudly enough for him to understand, gesturing with my hands in a way that at the time I thought was sure to convey a general notion of clerkishness. But my addressee looked as baffled as ever, so I added, “In the city where I used to live, I was a clerk for His Grace’s army. That is to say: I kept records for the Fifth Division; I sent letters; I arranged for the transfers of men and material. Naturally I wouldn’t expect you to offer me an equivalent position in the army of your nation, as I am a stranger, but surely there is a man of wealth among you who has need of a clerk?”

The man’s curious look remained, and indeed hardened into bafflement. “I’ll take you to Sellemos Erkure Shāme,” he said, rubbing his chin. “He might have a better idea what by the gods you’re talking about!”

This, I thought, was not an encouraging beginning, but I supposed every town has a healthy proportion of fools. I followed him to one of the buildings that seemed somewhat larger than the others, with an elevated porch where a man sat carving a piece of wood. He looked at me with a wide-eyed expression that I assumed to be one of awe; no doubt he marveled at the shining fabric of my robes. I don’t think they had any magical properties, though the fair folk had woven them: they were just shiny.

“Hello,” I said, covering my mouth courteously. “My name is Kësil, and I wondered if you might have need for a clerk.”

“A what?” asked Sellemos.

At the time I merely took him for another fool. Given my disorientation, I don’t know I can be properly blamed for being so slow to realize that my talents, useful as they were in my home, were of little use to me among the Uste. But alas, slow I was. I did my best to explain to Sellemos the various tasks and responsibilities of a clerk, and when I was done he frowned at me.

“You don’t sound like one of the Parako,” he said.

“The who?” I asked. It was a very productive conversation.

“I guess not. But that’s where you’ll want to go, if you have an interest in that sort of thing.” It was clear from his tone that he didn’t have such an interest. “You’ll want to go south then, to Tīuame. I have cousins there, and they can help you join up with one of the caravans headed to Edazzo.”

I thanked him profusely, then added, “About how far is Tīuame?”

“About seven rugwes,” he said, which meant nothing to me. “Just on the other side of the river. If you spend the night here and leave in the morning, you’ll be there by nightfall. But you don’t want to be out when the wolves go prowling.”

“I certainly don’t,” I agreed. “Are there many wolves around here?”

“It really is strange. You speak exactly like one of us, but you don’t know anything, do you?”

“I thought he was a fool, myself,” said the first man, rather offensively.

“You really should spend the night here within our walls,” said Sellemos. “One thing I’ll teach you is that among us, the host’s responsibility to his guest is a sacred one.”

I feasted that night at Sellemos’s home, where he introduced me to his wife, his little son, and his daughter, a young woman who gave me a formal bow before retiring to an inner room. “My older son is out running,” he told me.

“A shame. I’d have liked to meet him,” I said politely. “But what about the wolves?”

His wife jumped and gave Sellemos a meaningful look. At least, I assume it was meaningful, but what it meant I didn’t know. “Kësil is a stranger,” said Sellemos. “You’ll forgive his ignorance.”

I have always been, as I may have mentioned before, the model of tact, and so I let this comment regarding me pass without a word, changing the subject to less personal matters. I asked my hosts what they knew about the fair folk.

Sellemos and his wife exchanged frowns. His wife made a gesture with her hands that I could only assume was meant to ward off evil, or possibly to get oil off her fingers. The customs of a foreign people are always difficult to interpret. Finally Sellemos leaned in close to me and said, “It’s not wise to speak of them too openly, even indoors.” I deduced that it might be wise not to say anything about who my previous hosts had been.

It would, of course, be very wise not to let them or anyone catch a glimpse of what crouched beneath my hat, but fortunately the flaps were designed in a way that made it very difficult to remove. I’ve wondered at times how many other people like me are wandering around the world accompanied by Birds of their own. Maybe I’ve even met one without knowing it, though if I have, they certainly weren’t wearing a hat like mine.

I still remember my terrible dream that night. It seemed to me that I was standing by a window in the dark and that outside was a vast forest. I pressed myself against the edge of the window, drawn by a sort of dreadful curiosity to see what was out there in the shadows, sensing that there was something I didn’t want to see, and yet I found myself forced to look. It is like that with dreams, and especially with nightmares. And sad to say, there are places in the waking world where life is like a nightmare. But I will tell that story later, perhaps.

In my dream in Sellemos’s house, I was suddenly aware of the thing that was just outside the window. It was a wolf, a black wolf of vast size that crouched by the window and now turned its face towards the window, showing its teeth, still barely visible in the darkness. I kept myself perfectly still, terrified that if I moved it would be aware of me and swallow me whole: it was every wolf from every story about lost children and fearsome monsters that I had ever heard. Then, blessedly, I was awake again, and aware enough to dismiss the entire thing as the combination of the conversation the previous evening and the thick bean stew that had unsettled my stomach after all those days on the light cakes of the fair folk.

The next morning Sellemos took me outside the town walls and showed me the path to Tīuame. “Be careful,” he told me. “These lands from here to there is safe enough, in its own way, but I wouldn’t stray from the path, if I were you.”

Happily, my journey that day was an uneventful one, marred by neither bandits nor wolves. Tīuame was a city built atop a hill, and even if it was far far smaller than Tarinzar, it was sufficiently larger than Rashāme that I judged it worthy to be called a city rather than a town. When the guards at the gate questioned me, I informed them that I came from Sellemos Erkure Shāme in Rashāme.

“Ah, if you have business with the Shāmes, you should go to their hall,” one of them said.

“And where can I find that?” I asked.

“Up near the top of the hill, on the south side of the temple itself.”

“A temple! Is there a fire there?”

“How would I know? Do I look like a priest to you?” I didn’t know at the time what an Uste priest looked like, and I said so. He gave me a puzzled look, but I was used to that by now. I thanked him and entered the streets of the city.

The temple, or at least the building that I assumed was the temple, was visible from even down here, but navigating the roads and avenues proved to be impossible. Repeatedly I took the wrong turn and found myself descending instead of ascending, until at last I was heading down a path that seemed to run straight to the walls without any opportunities to turn left or right.

I stopped here and reconsidered. All the people walking past me seemed to know exactly where they were going, so perhaps there was some kind of spell on the city that prevented outsiders from reaching the temple. (At this time, my readers will recall, I knew very little, almost nothing, about magic.)

If there was such a spell, then the best way I could think of to thwart it was to attach myself to a native of the city and follow him to the temple and to the Shāme’s hall. I looked around for a likely prospect, and with my keen eye for character I spotted one immediately: a tall stern-faced man who was striding quickly up the hill, looking totally intent on whatever he was doing with no patience for distractions. I approached him and made a low bow. He walked right past me.

Well, I thought to myself, persistence is divine. (I think that’s what my father used to tell me. It might have been some other attribute that he apotheosized, but that doesn’t matter. What I needed at the moment was persistence.) I ran to catch up with him and said, “I beg your pardon, but I am a stranger here, and I wondered if you would be able to guide me to the temple.”

He made a noise that I took to be a positive one, though it was admittedly an ambiguous sort of noise.

“The temple or the hall of the Shāme family,” I added. At this he halted and turned on me with a speed that made me wonder for a moment if my Bird had betrayed me and translated my innocent remark as an obscene insult.

“You’re looking for the Shāme, are you?” he asked. I stammered something, I don’t remember what, and he said, “The Shāme or the temple, which is it?”

“The Shāme, the Shāme,” I replied, then repeated myself to make my meaning clear.

“And what business do you have with that august family?”

“Sellemos sent me. He said I could find hospitality and assistance in their hall.” At this juncture my stomach growled embarrassingly, but the man ignored it, his face unchanging as he looked down his nose at me.

“Oh, if Sellemos sent you, then I really should hear what all this is about. Come with me, please.”

As I followed him back up the road again, I asked him if the spell would be broken when he accompanied me. He gave me a look sufficient to wither an entire garden and asked me what I was talking about. I explained about the spell that had kept me from reaching the top of the hill; he sighed and kept his silence. I understood, of course. Such things must be kept secret.

We reached the top of the hill without interference, and without a word he pointed out one of the four or so buildings that stood there. It resembled Sellemos’s house in Rashāme, but on a grander scale. Among the other buildings, I didn’t see anything that reminded me of the temples of Tarinzar, or any alcove where a fire could be kept. It was all very disheartening.

“Ah, hello,” I said to the porter who was standing by the porch of the hall. I did my best to explain my purpose in coming to Tīuame, but was cut short when the porter burst into a loud laugh, which I considered anomalous behavior for a porter.

“So old Sellemos is troubling us again, is he? I’ll have to send him a stinging reply. But you must be tired from your journey. Come inside, wash yourself, share our meal. I don’t know what Sellemos’s game is, but it would shame me if you failed to receive all the hospitality our family can give.”

The porter, whom I was beginning to suspect I had misidentified, led me into the hall. We were followed by the stern man, who was uncomfortably close behind me. We entered a foyer that was empty apart from a couch facing a long window from which one could see the slope of the hill and half the city. The porter gestured for me to sit, so I did, but neither of my two companions made any move to do the same. Rather, they both loomed over me in an unsettling fashion.

“Introductions are in order!” said the porter. “I am Thikos, son of Hābulos Suale Shāme. My father is the head of the family, but he is not well at the moment. And our friend here is—”

“I am Iargwomos Urne Shāme, and that is all you need to know about me,” said the stern man, looking sterner than ever.

“And I am Kësil,” I said. It has been my practice to drop my family name, which would mean nothing here. “I am looking for employment as a clerk, and Sellemos recommended that I seek you out for advice. He suggested, furthermore, that I might be able to find what I’m looking for in a city called Edazzo, south of here.”

“Employment as a what?” asked Iargwomos, and I foresaw a repetition of my earlier difficulty.

To forestall his confusion, I quickly added, “That is, I’m looking to be of use in dealing with numbers and accounts and writing and that sort of thing.” I didn’t know if this actually would clear up any confusion, but it was worth a try.

“Well, if you want to go to Edazzo, I’m sure I can arrange something,” said Thikos. He rubbed his chin, gave Iargwomos a sideways glance, gave me a sideways glance, then said, “But it would be better, I think, if you stayed here in Tīuame for a time. I, or rather, my family, may have need of you. I’m afraid that we have only a passing acquaintance with the art of letters here, but we do have records. Indeed, they’re essential for the business of my house. Recently we’ve come to learn—”

Iargwomos put a finger to his lips and shook his head slightly.

“Well,” said Thikos, “we’ve come to learn many things, but it might be useful in the coming days for us to have a man who has a skill for keeping and organizing records. If you accept, you’ll be a client of the Shāme family; you’ll be a guest in this house and share our meals. But work will be expected of you.”

I made a courteous nod of my head. “I have never shied away from hard work.” This was not perfectly accurate: I had, after all, become a clerk in the first place because it seemed to me an excellent way of avoiding hard work. But it would be true to say that I had never shirked my duties.

“Excellent! Kūrumos can teach you the system we use here in Tīuame. One more thing: you speak our language very well, but you’re obviously from another country. Does everyone there wear hats like that?”

“Not everyone,” I said. “But I’ve found that it comes in handy.”