The wagon rumbled beneath Eli. He drowsed, with his eyes closed and his head on a coarse, folded blanket.

His sparks kept watch, though. Five of them now, a whole constellation. Stronger than 'thumbs,' as he'd thought of them earlier. As strong as hands bracing him ... and in motion, almost as strong as sling bullets.

Not that they were in motion at the moment. He was keeping them close, because he still felt frail. Tapping into Heaven's Reach might've made him drunk with magic, but now he was suffering with the hangover. He'd recovered from stabs to his stomach faster he than was recovering from this.

Through his exhaustion, he watched the mercenary company break camp. Swan insisted on travelling through the night, to get as far from the Weep as possible. The moons didn't look that ominous, but she still expected angelbrood to fall on them at any moment. Because, she'd said, that's exactly how this hellblessed job had been going so far.

They left behind too many graves, dug into the rich earth outside an olive grove.

They left behind too many friends, too, unburied in the Weep. Including the Shepherds, whose loss had shaken Fishhook deeply.

But they also brought twelve children with them, packed onto the wagon near Eli. Two of the older boys wiped the younger ones' faces with wet cloths while Lara handed out travel rations and blankets. An hour after setting breaking camp, the last of the whimpering and blank-eyed rocking quieted into sleep.

Not long after that, Eli quieted into sleep as well.

The sight of West Town, glimpsed through a hovering spark, roused him. In the pre-dawn light, the palisade looked threatening. Yet when the guards on the wall realized that the approaching force was Lady Brazinka's mercenaries instead of the Bloodwitch's bandits, they threw open the gates.

Parents ran out and clung to their children, sobbing in relief. Touching their kids' faces, smoothing their hair, crying together. Saying their names, over and over, in trembling voices. Like they were still trying to convince themselves that this was real, that their children were safe, that their children were alive.

"This is what you're for," Lara said, sitting beside Eli.

He didn't answer.

Fourteen kids had been stolen. Twelve had returned. Riadn hadn't returned. Neither had Payde. A dozen mercenaries--more than dozen--hadn't. Yeah, this was what he was for. This was exactly what he was for ... and he needed to get better at it.

He needed to make the rest of the Killweeds pay.

When he woke in the room in Acuro's inn, morning light shone through the window. He was clean, all the filth and blood wiped from his skin. He dimply remembered Lara bathing him before he'd crawled into bed.

She was gone now, though.

Instead, Gertrud was sitting in the chair near the window, whittling a block of wood. Judging from the shavings on the ground, she'd been there for a while. His sparks watched her for a time. Absently, as the events of the previous day washed over him.

The losses, the victory.

The feel of the Reach pounding inside him.

The emergence of three more sparks, the increased power in all five of them.

And the ... transformation of the Bloodwitch.

The Shepherds had still called her that, even after she'd emptied herself into a massive ooze of blood, but Eli figured that the witch was gone. At least, she couldn't change back. She was the slug now, a near-mindless thing, leashed to the Reach, to endlessly slosh along the melted streets of the ruined city.

A living death. Which was an apt fate.

Still, he wished he'd killed her.

He opened his eyes and pushed himself higher on the pillows.

"Meek," Gertrud said.

"Morning," he said, his voice rough from sleep.

"They told me what you did."

"We all did it."

"That's not what I heard."

"Brazinka and the mage spent three days keeping them safe."

"Lady Brazinka," Gertrud corrected.

"We spent three days delaying the inevitable," Brazinka said, stepping inside, leaning on a walking stick. "Until you, Lara, and the Order arrived."

Eli frowned at her, surprised that she was on her feet, even if she needed help walking. She was a tall woman with her hair in an unflattering bun, emphasizing the paleness of her skin and the haggardness of her expression. She had a strong voice, though, and a strong face. Sharp cheekbones, sharp jaw, sharp eyes. Everything was sharp except her mouth, which was a gentle, feminine rosebud.

"Should you be out of bed?" he asked, too familiarly. "You could hardly move yesterday."

"You slept for a full day, Mir Meek." She smiled at Eli's surprise, her rosebud lips quirking. "We got here the night before last."

He looked to Gertrud for confirmation, which he realized a moment later was rude. Like he thought the lady was a liar. He didn't know how he felt about her. He'd spent so long resenting her that he was having trouble adjusting his opinion.

Still, Gertrud nodded. "Plus, her ladyship's feeling better because her, uh, companion is on the path of the Palm."

"Ah," he said.

"I already spoke to your wife," Gertrud told him. "And her ladyship and the Cygnets. But I wanted to tell you when you woke, face to face. We've got our troubles, we Ehratians. Angel knows we've got more than our share. But we never forget a debt."

"Oh," he said.

"Now give me your word that you won't forget, either."

"Huh?"

"That we owe you a debt. If you're ever in need, you give us the respect of demanding repayment, do you hear me?"

"Yes, mir," he said.

She rose and knelt beside the bed and took his hand in hers. "Everyone knows what you did. Fighting the Bloodwitch, holding her off, that's a mighty thing. But only you and I know what you, praise the Angel, never did." Her steady gaze held his. "What you never had to do. And for that, Meek? For that ... " She swallowed. "Thank you."

She squeezed his hand, then stood and strode from the room.

Leaving him alone with Brazinka, which made him a little nervous. Not because she was noblewoman. Well, partly because of that. She made him feel coarse and common. But also because he'd planned to ... to treat her roughly for what she'd done to him. And despite what Gertrud said, she deserved a lot more praise than he did; spending 'three days delaying the inevitable' took a lot more courage than leaping into the fray at the end.

She was a noblewoman, but she'd been willing to die for a dozen grubby children in a forgotten corner of the valley. That made him nervous, too. He'd misjudged her--by a long way.

"That was a lot of buildup for her just to say thanks," he said, to cover his nervousness.

"May I join you?" Brazinka asked, gesturing to the chair.

He nodded. "You're a mage."

"Merely one-fold." Her walking stick tapped four times, then she lowered herself into the chair. She sat facing him, back straight, knees together, like this was a visiting parlor. "And in the least of the Paths, as commonly understood."

"Stillness."

"But you and I know, Mir Meek, that there are more to the Paths than is commonly understood."

"I, uh ... in the Glade we may learn different lessons."

"Mir Elsavet, my companion, is a three-fold mage. Shield, Arrow, and Palm. She's weak with Arrow. Very precise, but extremely short-range. With Shield, well, you saw. There aren't many better. With Palm, though ... " She considered him. "Are you aware that the Academy divides the Path of the Palm into three parts, like the strands of a braid?"

He wanted to say, I don't even know why we're talk about this. But he just said, "No."

"There is your own talent. Healing. Then there is enhancement."

"What's that?"

"Increasing one's abilities. Mental or physical stamina." She gazed at him politely. "You have, I think, no little amount of that."

"I don't know about 'mental,'" he said.

Her rounded lips quirked again. "And finally there is guidance."

"Helping new mages find a Path."

"You have the same?"

"We have the Mother," he said, because he couldn't bluff his way through an entire conversation about finding his Path.

"And your wife already mentioned that you are reluctant to speak of Her."

Thank the vale for Lara and her lies. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"No matter. I want to speak with you about the future, not the past. You see, there's also more to the Path of Stillness than most know. When I lent my strength to Elsavet, I found the quiet, calm place inside of me. And from that pool of stillness, I let my magic flow into her."

That 'pool' sounded like a 'core' to Eli, which made him wonder if his sparks had elements of all the paths. They acted as Arrows and Shields, they fed him information like Rose, healed him like the Palm, and now this. Though he didn't think he could lend his power to someone else.

"But there's more?" he asked.

"Yes. If I still myself enough ... " She paused. "Here, may I show you?"

"I don't know. You make me nervous."

Her smile returned. "Not nearly as nervous as you make me."

"Me?"

"You have a gift, I think, for violence."

"Oh. Well. I don't know about 'gift.'"

"And that uncertainty, Mir Meek, is perhaps the single most admirable thing about you. May I show you?"

"Sure. Yeah. Yes."

She took a deep breath, then exhaled.

Then she simply sat there, one hand on her walking stick, her gaze unfocused, looking behind him.

Nothing happened.

He sent a spark under the door to watch the hallway, and another through the shutter to look outside. Nothing still happened, and he send a third spark to inspect Lady Brazinka. Faint crow's feet around her eyes. Which were brown, with green flecks. She breathed deeply, steadily. Her dress smelled of rose petals. It was a sturdy riding-dress that she'd clearly chosen for functionality, yet the cut looked expensive even to his untutored eyes, and--

A tide of peace washed over him.

Unnamed tensions drained from his body.

A knot loosened in his heart.

His grief at the loss of the Shepherds--his regret at the things he'd done--softened from a granite hardness and, like the buildings of the Weep, melted away.

Leaving behind ... stillness.

And grief.

And regret.

Huh. His feelings remained, but they felt less solid that before, less calcified. He could move them in his mind, he could look at them from the outside. And the tide of peace continued to swell around him. The world slowed into a single unmoving pivot point.

A single stillness.

"Oh," he said, like a sigh.

"Yes," Lady Brazinka said.

He reveled in the feeling for a long moment. And then, under the covers, he clenched his fist. Just to see if he could. If her power hadn't turned him helpless. And yeah, he could. The sense of peace didn't control him, it merely ... eased him.

Eventually the tide ebbed and he said, "How long can you hold that?"

"Not long, at the best of times, and I'm quite tired."

"I won't keep you," he told her.

She gazed at him, probably wondering at his groundless--she'd think--hostility. "I shared that so you'd understand that the Path of Stillness is more than you've perhaps heard. And it's more than I just showed you. If I go deep enough into the stillness, I become aware of certain assurances."

"I don't know what that means."

"I am granted ... not knowledge, precisely. But moments of intuition. Leaps of faith. They're not always right, but they're not often wrong."

"You just know things?"

She smiled faintly. "As I said, I feel certain assurances."

"Huh. Now I'm even more nervous."

"And one thing I know, Mir Meek, is that you must join us in Leotide City."