Rylen stirred and stretched. The hardness of stone rubbed up against his hand, and his eyes flew open. He sat up quickly.

How long have I been sleeping? And where are the villagers?

Then he stilled himself and listened and waited. But no, there was no sound of pursuit. He reached over and inspected his lantern. Too much oil had been used up.

The gurgling of the stream caught his attention, and he frowned as his drowsy mind dug up fuzzy memories to the surface. He’d been frightfully cold, then warm, then nothing.

He rolled his shoulders and stood. He paused. What was this feeling? He mentally checked over his body. It was feeling…well, great!

His soreness was gone. Had he really been asleep that long? He sat back down and listened again for any movements beyond in the darkness. His stomach rumbled.

Wouldn’t it be better for him to just let himself be caught? Perhaps they’d put him in jail and feed him. That would be better than starving in a cave, wouldn’t it? His optimism was soon crushed by the memory of the nobles beating him. If he was beaten like that in Edge, he knew it would only be worse elsewhere. He saw Hyrestl’s disapproving face. Perhaps he should fight them. The mighty image of Toamla and Kegol came to mind. If he could figure a way out of here, he would be much closer to his own people. Then he wouldn’t have to fight anybody.

He rose and picked up his lantern. He turned to go back the way he’d come, then stopped and looked back at the stream. There was another light, a dim, silvery one that was reflecting off the surface. He held his lantern behind his back, and sure enough, a faint beam of light was shining on the stream’s waters.

He set the light down and approached the stream. The silvery reflection was still there. He waved his hand around, and a light struck it from above. He raised his head and leaned out over the stream. The faint outlines of a hole were lit from far above by an indistinct point of light. It was even wide enough for his shoulders. He fetched his lantern and held it up into the hole, trying to identify a good handhold.

As he was examining it, he found himself squinting harder and harder and suddenly realized his light was dimming. He checked the lantern. There was still oil, and the flame hadn’t diminished. Why did he think it was darker, then? He blinked a few times, but his vision didn’t need clearing.

He glanced around the cavern and noticed something peculiar. The wash of light that shone on the floor and ceiling from the lantern faded more in one direction than the others. It was in the direction of where the stream entered the cavern.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. At the same time, the deeper shadows started moving, and his heart jumped in his throat. The light from the hole suddenly brightened into a full sunbeam, and the shadow shrank to the size of a wagon wheel. The shadow was faint at its edges but grew to a deep black at its center. It was like a black fog.

It tumbled along with the stream; some parts were darker than others. Rylen felt something, something like memories flashing before him or a near-graspable understanding of hidden things.

The shadow tumbled along, it neared him, coming directly beneath the sunbeam. The shadow diminished to the size of a fist of impenetrable darkness even as the sunbeam was greatly dimmed.

Rylen snatched out at it, and the cavern grew immediately brighter. He blinked, then slowly opened his hand. It felt like a stone. Immediately, the shadow spewed forth, and it startled him as if a snake had jumped at him.

He closed his fist and the darkness abated.

He cracked open his hand again, and shadow spilled through. The skin of his own hand was somehow darker as well.

He let his hand open fully and looked into the shadow, trying to pierce what lay beneath it.

The sound of the stream grew soft, then fell silent. The light darkened around him, and he lost his sense of touch and smell.

There was nothing except the feeling of his soul. In the darkness, something touched him as if asking a question. A part of him responded, something deep in his chest where his heart was.

Whatever touched him withdrew, as if thinking. Then, the darkness washed away, and his vision was restored.

He saw the world spread out beneath and above him. Every person moving upon it was as clear to him as ants moving upon a white stone. Wherever he looked, he became aware of the people living among the plants, animals, hills, plains, and mountains.

The world turned, or he flew between it, and he left his position above the mountains of Gwyan and followed the curving blue of the Arnaw to the imposing cliff of the Ara-Era kingdom.

He descended then, or the world came up to him, and he came closer to one of the high mountain valleys of the Great Mountain range near the Ara-Era capital.

A town came into view, and he neared a specific house. Like a spirit, he slipped through the ceiling and came upon a scene of a woman holding a baby, a man standing nearby, and another man dressed curiously and wearing many beads and other ornaments.

Somehow, Rylen knew the woman was the mother of the baby, the man was the father. And the curiously dressed man was a shaman, a kind of priest or prophet like in Gwyan. Something drew Rylen to the baby; he looked intently into its face and the knowledge that it was himself came to him. This didn’t surprise him. It was simply the fact of the matter, and everything was as it was because that was the way it was supposed to be.

The shaman closed his eyes and put his hand upon Baby Rylen’s head. He spoke a few words, then his lips quivered as if he were muttering something.

A few more moments passed, and he opened his eyes. He spoke to mother and father, and their eyes opened wide in astonishment and delighted surprise.

Rylen was drawn to outside the front door. Somehow he knew it was a different day, a couple years from the first scene.

A man walked toward the house, followed by a squad of soldiers. The man was Hyrestl. He knocked on the door, tried the handle, then burst in. The soldiers followed.

Rylen felt unease, surprise, and panic come from the home, then there was anger and fear.

Hyrestl came out of the house with Baby Rylen in his arms. His mother pushed past the soldiers, reaching her hands out to him, but the soldiers held her back. Several soldiers escorted Hyrestl as he made his way to the edge of town where a green dragon and green-armored Deagon waited.

Something tickled at Rylen’s ear, and he swatted at it. It came again, and he tried to wave it away.

His consciousness came back to him in bits and pieces, and he realized the tickling was actually the sound of echoing voices and the scraping of footsteps on stone.

His hand closed around the stone. The scene disappeared and he was in the quickly waning light of the cavern.

The memories of what he’d seen faded like sand through open hands, only dust and tiny bits remaining and prickling the back of his brain.

There were voices coming closer.

He shoved the shadowy stone into the money purse hung around his neck. In a panic, he leaped up into the dimly lit hole and scrambled hand over hand until he could put his feet on sturdy footing.

He kept climbing until he was panting and out of breath. He looked up: he still had a ways to go, and it was getting dimmer. He tried looking down, but it was almost impossible to do, since the hole was so narrow, and his body threw deep shadows beneath him.

Voices echoed from below. He couldn’t make out what was being said. Seeing that his light was fading, he continued on. This might be his only chance. There was no telling if he’d be able to outrun the villagers if they knew where he was going next.

There were shouts below him, and he doubled his pace, only stopping when he had to give his hands a rest.

He finally climbed over the lip of the hole and let himself flop amid underbrush and leaves. He blinked in the light and smiled at the breeze on his cheek and the sound of it through the trees.

His stomach knotted painfully, and he was reminded of his imminent peril. He sat up and forced himself to start picking his way around the mountain to find the road again.

***

Adilah and Kassim sat on a log and sipped hot tea. Two of the elite Kamwa always lingered close to them. They couldn’t say two words without being noticed.

The sky held only a few specks of clouds. Despite the sun being out, it was still a little chilly.

The convoy was slow-moving. It was only natural. They had confirmed the carriages held not only supplies but also heavy infantry. Frequent stops were required traveling uphill with all that weight.

One of the carriages also held a small group of men in light armor with only swords and bows. Harbiya had rightly appointed them as a special squad. They not only served to provide ranged attacks but could be used for mobility where horses failed.

Kassim gave his wife a look that conveyed This is going to get bad eventually. She acknowledged his worried look but didn’t dare add anything.

The convoy had headed to the northern valleys, in the direction of Edge. For all intents and purposes, that had narrowed Harbiya’s search to only a fourth of Gwyan. In a matter of days, his search had narrowed to a select few valleys and towns. Edge was one of them. He would have to be a fool not to put two and two together, and he was no fool.

Their camp was set up at one of the last valley forks. The stretch of valley in front of it was especially steep in places, and the convoy wouldn’t have an easy going of it.

Harbiya had scouted the towns along that stretch with Kassim and Adilah in tow. They hadn’t been able to tell him anything apart from the truth. The riches in these towns would largely be with the tax collector, the mayor, a merchant if there was one, and a select few craftsmen.

The Kamwa had made it their pleasure to snitch here and there with the knowledge Harbiya had forced from the couple. He was all too happy to see their displeasure when his men showed off the spoils of what they had pilfered. He’d even forced them to disclose a secret stash of coins hidden by a lone family of farmers. Yet, this didn’t quench the man’s thirst. Every time they insisted the King’s Desire wasn’t to be found in the area, Harbiya grew a little tenser. Even now, he would be coming back from scouting the valley to the north. He hadn’t brought Kassim or Adilah with him.

True, he’d leveled threats of every kind at them, but they knew the futility of it as much as he did. They had something he didn’t: the Third Eye.

Kassim clasped Adilah’s hand in his. Harbiya had threatened to kill one of them to make the other cooperate but had seen in their eyes the truth of what would happen if he did. Killing one would only ignite fury in the other. A fury that would rather see death than the success of his plans. Their will wouldn’t be broken so easily. Kassim could see in Harbiya’s eyes that he was frustrated.

They had repeatedly told the truth. The King’s Desire likely wasn’t something that had immense worth. They couldn’t sense it. But that part was a white lie. They knew what it was Harbiya was looking for, and he likely sensed they weren’t telling him everything.

Kassim looked around the camp. It was peaceful. One couldn’t guess the few men who kept watch on them were elite Kamwa. They, like Kassim and Adilah, were adorned in the bright colors of the festival. Even the horses had colorful blankets under their saddles.

The men laughed and joked among themselves. There was meat cooking on the fire, and one had gotten ahold of some apple cider.

The priest picked up a stick next to him and poked the fire with it. He pushed the unburnt ends of the logs and sticks at the edge to the center over the glowing coals.

His hand stopped as an overwhelming feeling came over him. Something he could only compare to what the king’s presence felt like with the Third Eye. Unlike the king, which was like a sun shining behind a veil, this feeling was like the dark night sky that pressed in around the stars and moon, an inky depth and blackness that hid behind the sun during the day.

Kassim’s eyes grew big, but he quickly checked himself. He felt Adilah’s fierce grip in his own, and he looked at her. She met his gaze and swallowed.

It was coming from the direction of Edge.

***

Rylen woke with a start. Bewildered, he squinted in the sunlight of the late afternoon.

He was in a forest. Okay, good. Next. He looked out past the treetops around him. There were mountains. Looked like home. Check. He took inventory of himself. He was hungry and thirsty, his hands were scraped, and he was sore from his sleeping position.

He sat up and brushed off his pants. What direction had he been going?

He searched his memory. At first, it was all fuzzy. He had vague and strange impressions that were alien to him. Something about flying? Ara-Era? Priests?

A memory stood out in clear detail to him: Hyrestl taking him away from his parents by force.

He frowned. Why would he have that kind of memory?

He stretched and felt himself wake up a little. By habit, he started his morning exercises. As he practiced, what had happened yesterday returned to him.

He’d been chased into a cave and had fled from the villagers for…several days? Then, he’d found a stone, perhaps. He reached into his money pouch and pulled out what felt like an oddly shaped stone. Instantly, the light around him darkened considerably, and he fumbled, almost dropping it. He clasped his hand around it, and the darkness dwindled considerably. His hand looked like it was in shadow. He compared it with his other hand. Weird…

He opened his hand slowly, to try and look at it, then stopped. Hadn’t he done this before? He tried to remember how he’d found it, but his memory of the event was cloudy. He’d found it in a stream, and he’d looked at it after that. He had no recollection until the point when he had climbed out of the cave. Climbed out of the cave? He barely remembered that.

He searched his memory further, to no avail, until something tickled him from an unlikely area: his memories from when he was a baby.

Except that he didn’t remember having memories from when he was a baby before now.

There it was again! Hyrestl taking him away from his parents by force.

He cracked his hand open, and a shadow poked out like a ray of light in a dusty barn. His curiosity was burning. He opened his hand the rest of the way and looked into the depths of darkness. He felt his vision disappear, and he folded his hand back over the stone. He tried to will himself to try it again but chickened out each time. Somehow, he knew that the vague memories of Hyrestl taking him away from his parents were linked to this stone.

He didn’t know whether he should be elated or afraid of this magic stone. He carefully put it back in his pouch.

Weren’t the Kamwa masters of shadow? He felt a chill go down his spine. Crazy fantasies danced in his head of a Kamwa’s spirit being trapped in the stone and trying to escape, casting its evil powers of darkness through the cracks of its prison.

Rylen shook his head. No, no, that couldn’t be the case. It wasn’t. Everything would be fine.

He looked around. Where was he?

The villagers looking for him came back to mind, along with a vague memory of him hearing voices in the cave as he clambered out. He looked frantically through the trees for any sign of the villagers. Then, he listened, stock-still. Satisfied he couldn’t hear or see anything where he was, heart beating, he ran to a promising tree and climbed it.

He looked out from its upper branches until he saw the sparkle of water just behind the side of a mountain. If that was the lake he had bathed in, then he knew where he was. Careful not to slip and break his neck, he descended the tree. On his way down, he pondered what he should do.

He could keep traveling down the valley, but he didn’t feel like running into more people who would try hunting him down. He had a weird stone which he’d never heard a single story about. Which meant it was worth something, right?

His stomach complained, and suddenly he had what he thought was a brilliant idea. He needed food, and he knew a certain bread baker he had a score to settle with.