Unable to sleep, Pyre had crept out of his bedroom window and dropped noiselessly to the ground. He was worried. All day he had tried to get over to the Gewordens but one interruption after another had kept him from going. Well, come hell or destruction, he was going now.

Quickly, he made his way toward the path that lead from the Holz farm to the Geworden farm. This was the last time for a long time, that he would be able to walk here. The night wind was cool and sweet with the smell of pipe smoke. Whose pipe smoke? He swung around afraid he was going to see Jerue. It wasn’t him. It was his father. He pulled his pipe out of his mouth and asked, “Going some where son?”

“Yes. I want to check on Zog.”

His father let out a puff of smoke and then said, “Be quick about it. I fear a certain Councilman might materialize at any moment.” He took in a long draw of his pipe and blew out a cloud of smoke. “Don’t tell your mother I’ve been smoking. She thinks its a nasty habit. In truth it is the one thing that keeps me sane.” He gave Pyre a crooked grin, tamped out his pipe and headed for the house.

Warily, Pyre continued on his way. There would be trouble if Jerue found out where he was headed, but at this moment he did not care. He needed to be sure that Fand was all right. Blast Zog! The fact he had hit Fand sent a fresh surge of rage through him. His father had taught him to never strike a woman. Through out all their years of friendship, Pyre had never witnessed Zog commit a single act of violence.

Ahead the lopsided Geworden cottage appeared. If Zog spent more time on his chores and less time with his nose in a book, the house might not be in such bad shape. If Zog had been accepted, Pyre was going to fix every loose board and every leaking patch of roof. But, Zog had not been accepted.

There was not any light coming from Fand’s window. He strained to see in the dark if she was on the roof outside her window. She was not. Pyre circled the house. It was entirely dark. No light came from Zog’s window either. Impulsively, he climbed through Zog’s window. No, he was not there on noiseless feet, he crept through the house. Uncle Wert was snoring like a pig.

Tomorrow there would be no good bye. He climbed the ladder. Fand was not in her bed. Where was she? He thought of her nightmare. Had Sonpur gotten her? Panic rushed through him. Frantically, he went from room to room. She was not in any of them. He should wake Uncle Wert, if he could. The old man reeked. He glanced through the kitchen window and saw the ropes of the hammock. He went outside, and found Fand in the hammock, curled in a tight ball. She was asleep. He gazed down at her. Her skin had been silvered by moonlight. How was he ever going to leave her? How?

She needed to get inside. It was too cold tonight to be sleeping in the open air. His first impulse was to pick her up and carry her inside, but if he did that he risked waking the lioness in Fand. The last thing he needed was her anger. Gently, he nudged her and said, "Wake up Fand, you need to go inside.

She opened one eye and looked up at him. She yawned and asked, "Where am I?"

"On the front porch."

She opened both eyes. "Is Zog with you?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I just came round to check on him and you."

Fand leaned up on her elbows and said, "You are too good to us." She levered herself off the hammock and stood eye to eye with him. Everything in Pyre wanted to take her into his arms, but again he resisted. He was now betrothed to the Council.

To his delight and dismay, Fand gave him a quick hug and said, "Take care Pyre."

"I will." He watched her enter the cottage. He turned from the door and sprinted down the steps. He must get home before Jerue uncovered his transgression.

*

Home was behind him. Pyre's shoulder was still damp from his mother's tears and his hand ached from his father's firm handshake. His sister's kisses had dried. Only Wendon, his younger brother, seemed pleased to see him go. Wendon now, not only got his own room, but one day he would get the entire farm as well. Pyre would miss the farm. His horse, Bruen, nickered beneath him. She started to turn onto the path leading to the Geworden's. Pyre jerked her reins. She would not be going there again for a very long time. Through the oak trees he saw Fand scattering seed for the chickens. He willed her to turn toward the path to see him, but she didn’t.

Wilm Koft and Rube Johan joined Pyre on the road, neither had much to say to him. They both seemed a little miffed and confused by the fact Zog was not with them. Zog would have made the trip entertaining and fun. Pyre lacked the skill to do either.

*

Three days later Pyre caught his first glimpse of the Council Wall. It stretched before him in the distance, a ribbon of black stone that bound up the landscape. Rube said, "Look at the size of it."

Wilm whistled. In a low voice he said, "Well it looks sturdy enough to keep out them stinking Sonpur."

Pyre was immediately reminded of Fand's nightmare and the way she had felt in his arms.

"Do you believe in Sonpur?" Wilm asked.

Rube said, "Zog did."

Wilm shook his head and voiced the words that no one had said out loud until now. "I still don't understand why Zog was denied." He glanced at Pyre. Though Wilm didn't say anything more, Pyre felt his meaning. He wondered why Pyre had been chosen instead.

Rube clucked to his black horse. "Come on, if we hurry we should reach the City by night fall."

*

It was well past sunset when the three Apprentices reached the Council City. It was massive. A white granite wall ran out east and west. At the large metal spiked gate, two tall guards dressed in dark blue stood. One called out, "State your name and purpose."

Wilm said, "We are Apprentices from the village of Tashe."

One guard pulled a small book from his pocket. He told them, "Dismount and call your names." The three slid off their horses.

"Wilm Koft."

The guard nodded.

"Rube Johan."

"You are here," said the guard.

Pyre gulped before he said, "Pyre Holz."

The guard squinted at the book, then turned the page. "Aye, you're here, but some poor sot's name has been scratched off."

Wilm asked, "Whose?"

The guard gave Wilm a hard look. "None of your business. Now hand over your packs."

Pyre had not anticipated his belongings being searched. As the silent guard went through Pyre's clothes, he found Pyre's keepsake box and Fand's lock of hair. He smirked and asked, "Your mother's hair?"

"Yes."

Rube stifled a giggle. Under his breath he said, "Since when? Taking to dying it black-has she?"

Pyre didn't respond. He watched the guard shove his things back into his pack. The heavy gate opened. Pyre stepped into the Council City holding Bruen's reigns. The lay out of the city was perfectly symmetrical. It was like a wagon wheel. Each street was a spoke. At the center was the Common where services were held. The entire city was made of white granite. Atop each building was a crown of golden thatch. The streets were cobbled with red brick. Rube and Wilm punctuated the night air with their ohs and ahs. Pyre remained silent. When the gates closed behind them, he felt trapped.

In the Common, Elder Councilman Appocca, greeted them. He was just below Jerue in rank. He extended his hand to Wilm and Rube. When he grasped Pyre's hand, a puzzled expression crossed his face. He said, or did he ask, "And you are Pyre Holz."

Pyre nodded.

Appocca let go of his hand. "So, you are." He gazed up at the night sky. Bruen nickered. His eyes returned to Pyre's face. "Ah, yes the horses." He called out, "Syra!" A small boy came running from the stables. Appocca said, "His father will attend to your horses. Now, follow me." They gave their reigns to Syra.

Quickly Appocca led them to the Dining Hall. It was a squat rectangular building. The double doors swung open on their own. Appocca stopped and said, "Cook Grayson has some warmed over stew for you. Now, if you will pardon me I have a matter I must attend to." He motioned for them to go inside. The Dining Hall smelled of grease and rotten cabbages. Long tables were arranged in rows going from north to south. The head table ran from east to west. Near the back, a table was laid out for them with spoons and napkins. An old man with crazy gray hair came from what must be the kitchen and plopped bowls of foul looking stew in front of them. He glared at them and said, "Tastes better than it looks."

Pyre was not hungry. His eyes traveled from the clotted stew to a portrait over the head table. It was of the Head Councilman. Jerue stood poised on the edge of a cliff. Blue black storm clouds raged behind him. His white hair and beard swirled around him and his eyes were cold blue fire. It was a depiction of such power. Pyre shuddered. In that instant he realized, the only way he could ever return home was if he disgraced himself, which would disgrace his family. He turned his eyes back to his food. Could he do that? What if he did that and Fand still refused to marry him?

After their meal Syra led the Apprentices to their cubicles. The rooms were so narrow. Pyre felt panic set in the instant his door closed. He could not do this thing. Tears, unbidden, began to slip down his cheeks. He reached for his pack and searched for his keepsake box. He opened the box and extracted Fand's hair. He crushed the tress in his fist. All he wanted to do right now was hold her.