Hector tightened his lips, then let them loose and released the breath he had been holding. He was beginning to dislike himself, spending more time angry with Serenity, then not. She was infuriating, always putting off her duty for one thing or another. There was time left to be sure, but a babe does better when expelled from a young belly. And then there was the hiding. A girl child would have to be hidden from the Choosing, and that took the energy of the young as well.

He took a sip from his mug and thought of the argument he had just left. A tiff about nothing yet contained everything. Serenity had learned to raise her anger quickly and ignite his. She knew the action would hold back the deeper grievances, allowing only the current disagreement to fester. Yet, it was the deeper problems that needed resolution. Hector promised her mother that the last-of-the-line would find the Answer, or birth the next in line. A sigh, then another sip that became a gulp. The ale didn't taste as good as it should.

"Your wall be marked outside, Manard." a man said as he entered the tavern. Hector turned his head and saw the tall stranger pointing to the north wall.

"Aye," Manard the keeper said. "It was done with tar and hard to scrape. Soaked in and became part of the wood. Mayhap, the next rain will wash it clean."

"Odd it is," the man said. He sat near Hector, not that the small place allowed many choices. He chuckled. "Mayhap cover it all with tar, then nothing will show."

"Sticky stuff," Manard said, shaking his head. "Ale, Dervina?"

"Aye," Dervina replied. He looked at Hector and smiled. Hector smiled back, which gave Dervian permission to talk. "You traveling?"

"Aye," Hector replied. He lifted his mug. "Resting my feet and warming my gut."

"Manard's place is a good one to rest in," Dervina said. "Split a plate of bread and cheese?"

Trading words with someone who didn't want a fight was inviting. Dervina seemed the pleasant sort, a local who desired a moment of change, if only in conversation.

"A fine idea," Hector said, again raising his mug in salute.

"A plate of bread and cheese as well, Manard," Dervina called out. Mandard shouted his acknowledgment.

"I fell trees," Devina said. "Cut them to planks." His hand rounded the tavern. "It is my work you sit in."

Hector looked around and gave the man a crisp nod. "Fine work by my knowledge. I have seen such a thing done before - it is a strenuous duty and requires a good eye ." It was the right thing to say. Devina entered into a deep tale of how to choose a tree and gory details of splitting its insides. He was proud of his work, and Hector picked up some pointers if ever he desired to enter the trade.

"Your father teach you?" Hector asked.

"Aye, and his father, and many in a long line." Devina tossed another piece of cheese in his mouth, unconcerned it would alter his words and make for an unpleasant sight. "My boy has started as well. A strong lad of twelve winters he is. Felled his first before last winter."

"It is hard to interest young ones in duty," Hector said, working on his second mug.

"Aye," Devina agreed. "He dallies time and again, preferring to run off to a water hole or such." He chuckled, showing a half-chewed mixture of bread and cheese. "My sire said the same of me, so it bodes well for what's to come."

"A good omen, then," Hector said with a shared smile. There were only bad omens with Serenity.

"Best clean that wall, Manard," a woman said. Hector turned, following Devina's eyes. The woman entered with a basket of fresh bread and placed it on the counter and waited.

"Tried," Manard said with a shrug. He pulled a small bag from his belt and began counting coins. "It was done with tar - stained the wood." He handed the woman a few coins for the bread.

"Perio, says it is the mark of the Answer," the woman said. "Says he has seen it other places. Spreading, he says."

"Goddess," Mandard said, rolling his eyes as if it were a problem too many. "I did not put it there, but you watch - the King's men will see it as my doing."

"Who is this Perio?" Hector asked Devina.

"A wagoneer. Travels the road north-south to trade," Devina replied. "A good man to know. He moves my wood from time to time. Always has things of interest too. I will introduce..."

"Nay," Hector said. "It is the odd marks that pique my mind. Which wall are they on?" Devina indicated the wall he had initially. Hector placed a couple of coppers on the table and drained his mug. Then thought better of it, and added another copper. "A mug on me, friend."

"You are a good man to know as well," Devina said, lifting his mug. "Good travels to you."

Hector left the tavern and turned the corner. A woman with scarf wrapped hair had the same idea and was eyeing the marks. They were stained lines, joined in places, separate in others. Somewhat like merchant marks, but not. He thought the mark would be simplistic, not many strange slashes that were hard to repeat—more nonsense.

The woman turned wearing a smile that was marred by her tearing eyes. She raised her hand to cover her heart, the wilted-rose, faded yet still prominent, marked her wrist.

"Are you hurt?" Hector asked, hoping for a negative response. His duty demanded he shy from involvement with others' problems.

"He has returned," the woman said, then covered her mouth, her mouth battling with her eyes.

"They are only marks," Hector said, shaking his head. He began walking away. Fools see what they wish.

"Nay," the cursed said. "Word has come."

Hector slowed, then turned. "What word?"

"Three have fallen, and a witness declared," the woman said. "It is the red-head from many winters ago. They say he swings two swords with the might of the Goddess."

"Three?" Hector asked.

The woman nodded. "It is said he faced four white robes. Three fell to his blades, the fourth ran." Tears were running down her cheeks. "The Answer has come, and the Brethren run in fear."

"Where?" Hector wondered if the woman was all there. Addled minds dreamed many lies.

"Fikin Crossing," the woman replied. "All have fled the village, and the nighthouse closed."

"These words, who brought them?" Hector asked, moving toward the woman.

"Those I trust," the woman said. "It matters not if you see them false, for I know them true in my bones." She smiled, her lips winning against her eyes. "I have lived to see him come, and that for me is worth more than all the coin in the land."

"The same boy, you say?" Hector said, remembering the fumbling Kelton and doubting the boy's fighting competence.

"Aye, scar from ear to lip," the woman replied. "And marked by beast as well. Though he is a man now, a fearsome man." Her smile grew. She pointed at the marks on the wall. "It heralds his coming, does it not?"

"There were many tales of him," Hector said, still not convinced the woman wasn't raving. "Sightings here and there. It is said his witness was killed, and many claimed him dead as well."

The woman reached up and patted Hector's cheek as if he were a child. "Believe as you will. In time, the truth will shine with the Goddess' light. You need but wait and see. Soon, the last-of-the-line will be found, and the Brethren will know their final day." She turned and walked away, her step giddy as if she were a mere girl.

"I wish your time," Hector said, fishing for coins in his cloak. He needed to know if she was addled or not.

The woman turned. "I think not."

"You cannot say no," Hector said.

The woman laughed. "That was the day past. This day, I say no."

"I must know if you speak the truth," Hector pleaded.

"She does," another female voice said. Hector turned and found two women, also cursed, upon mules. His attention was lost in the tale, and he had missed their approach. It was the elder of the two who had spoken.

"And you know this how?" Hector asked.

"My eyes," the elder said. "My hands stitched the wound the Answer suffered. Three have fallen, and the witness declared. If you wish, you may run to the King or beg favor from the white robes. I care not, for I have lived to see him and need nothing else."

"Where is he?"

"I only know where he was, Fikin Crossing," the woman replied. "All are to wait for his word, and until then, he moves in the shadows." She smiled. "I would not say if I did know."

"I thank you," Hector said with a slight bow of his head, then moved away with a purpose. He believed the elder, her way with words was direct with no deviation or need for thought. His worry of Serenity birthing was for naught. In some ways it was a blessing she had not filled her belly, a babe would have clouded the task ahead.

Hector stopped. The task meant sacrifice. The reality of that was more potent than he envisioned, now that it was real. He wondered if he could do his duty and allow her such an end. His only child, though she knew it not. His vow to his love, her mother, was an old one, and surely she did not see the Answer in her daughter's life.

He began walking again at a slower pace, past the stable and into the woods, following the trail that feet had beaten down over many winters. For a moment, Hector convinced himself that what he heard should remain secret. Leave it be and let Serenity live unhindered by duty, in ignorance. The next moment, he knew it was a fool's thought. A tale such as he heard will travel loudly and find its way to her ears.

The stone house appeared through the trees. It was nearer than Hector remembered. An old couple who had housed them many times resided inside. Serenity was in there, sharing words and chores, laughing, as was her wont when Hector wasn't near. His past doggedness strained him now. Every argument was a waste, his insistant pushing for naught.

He stood outside the door, squeezing his fists tight to settle the tremor that the news had brought. A mixture of excitement and horror at levels Hector never experienced before. The land granted its dream and a night terror for him. He opened the door and stepped inside, hearing Serenity's chuckle fade.

"All is well?" Serenity asked. The words contained an air of superiority and referenced their earlier verbal battles. She was asking for his surrender, yet unafraid of returning to the fray.

Hector opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He examined his daughter with new eyes. All the words they had shared, the ones that weakened the opinion of each other, disappeared. The battles faded, and Hector saw only the woman. Her beauty was undeniable. Her mind, a treasure. The memories of her as a babe when first held, large inquisitive eyes struggling to focus on his face, made him smile.

"Hector?" Serenity asked. This time only concern entered her words. Even in anger, she cared.

"He has returned," Hector said. His left eye acted on its own, a tear rolling down the gully between nose and cheek.

"Who?" Gillian, the woman who owned the house, asked. She took a sip from a mug, looking between Serenity and Hector.

"The boy has returned a man," Hector said to Serenity. "Three have fallen, and a witness declared. It is him, the red-haired one with the scar." Serenity's mug fell from her hands, spilling tea upon the table. With her eyes wide and mouth agape, she struggled to speak. Never had Hector seen her at a loss for words. It pained him.

"A story to be sure," Gillian said, though the words lacked conviction. "Words of him died winters ago." Concern filled her face when Serenity still failed to respond. "If true, it is a good thing, is it not?" She rose from the table to gather cloth for the spill, which began to drip off the edge.

"For most," Hector said, answering in Serenity's silence.

Serenity found herself and stood to help Gillian clean the mess. "It is not just another tale?" she asked. There was hope in the words as if the response might bring a reprieve.

"Nay. I have traded words with one who has seen it," Hector said. He spoke with weakness, each word filled with a wagon load of apologies.

"The Answer has come?" Gillian asked, her words filled with happiness. Serenity took the cloth from Gillian's hands and blotted the spilled tea. Hector could see his daughter's hands shaking.

"Aye," Hector replied. "The Answer has come." The cloth fell from Serenity's hand, and she ran to Hector. She embraced him as she once did as a child, when concern and duty were his alone to bear. He hated that he enjoyed it, that in her panic, she found solace in her protector's arms. Hector held her, feeling the warmth and love no longer buried behind anger. He found her again, only to lose her to the Answer.

"It is a good thing, is it not?" Gillian asked again.

Serenity broke from Hector and wiped her eyes. She smiled up at him, her lips weak and forced. He felt pride when her back straightened, and she turned to Gillian. "For most," she repeated Hector's words. "For me, it means duty, for I am the last-of-the-line."

Kelton crawled forward behind a bush that kept him well hidden. One without thorns, which tickled his mind with memories of his thieving days. There were eight of them, all King's men gathered about a fire as the sun waned toward the horizon. Scouts, most like. Far from any others, since none were seen or had been detected by the Knowing.

The eight had made an error, bringing their swords within reach of Kelton's men. He had already lamented leaving the Brother's swords at Filkin Crossing, an oversight that would not be repeated. If weapons could not be made or bought, they must be taken. Kelton waited for his men to encircle the camp, their spears ready for the first test. They would remain back until signaled. Kelton was confident spiders-bite, armed with the Knowing, could easily create the time needed for them to move forward. Or end any attempts at none compliance. It would be best if bloodshed was kept at a minimum. The lack of warning and superior position would help with that.

Kelton stepped from the bush, the King's men caught by surprise. He had purposely removed his tunic to expose his scars and Nagada marks. Fear was a potent weapon.

"I require your weapons," Kelton announced. He stood a few body lengths away, plenty of time for spiders-bite to seek air.

"It is true," A soldier with gold locks tied severely behind his head spoke. He stood from the rock he had been sitting on, his hand moving to rest upon the pommel of his sword. The others did not move, fear, or something akin to it, was evident on their faces. What was odd was the lack of the intent Kelton expected. "Word of you is passing through the land." He stepped forward, hand still upon his sword though it remained sheathed.

"Aye, it is true," Kelton said. He whistled, and spears emerged in unison, encircling the group. He was proud there was no hesitation, though his men had yet to see blood. "I say again; I require your weapons. It is your choice to breathe or not without them." He took a step forward and was surprised there was no retreat. They were staring at him and ignoring the spears about them. None reached for their swords: fearful glares, but no intent.

"You may have them," the blonde man said. "And our arms to wield them."

"Aye," another said as he stood. The agreement was matched by the six others, their apprehension fading as they became one.

"You are King's men," Kelton said, surprised at the quick surrender.

"Aye," the blonde said. "And you be our king." As one, they kneeled. Kelton rolled his eyes, and his men lowered their spears. Taggert started to chuckle, and the humor spread.

"Do not dirty your knee for me," Kelton insisted, signaling for them to rise. "I am but a weapon, nothing more important than the blades at your sides." He pointed at the blonde man as he stood. "Your name, sir?"

"Bynard, Answer."

"I prefer Kelton, Bynard." Kelton looked toward Lagneer. "We will share this camp tonight." Lagneer nodded, and some of the men moved off at Lagneer's urging to execute the order. The efficiency still surprised Kelton. There was no questioning, and yet they were not owned and had free choice. Trust was a powerful ally. He hoped he could hold it.

"Let us sit and trade tales," Kelton said to Bynard.

"Aye," Bynard said, as all sat back down, leaving space for Kelton. "We all were given a few days to spend our coin and did so in a village a day back. Word of your return came when we were full of ale. There was boasting by some, those that think themselves better than most. Others were angry, their purses full of the King's gold, and wished nothing of battle. Better to earn with easy duty."

"You and yours?" Kelton asked.

"We have yet to claim wives, and thus the coin and duty that come with babes." Bynard looked around, and heads nodded in agreement. "When none depend upon you, it is easy to choose a better road. If war is coming, we would rather die at your side than die at the King's."

"I would ask you to live, and die old in your beds," Kelton said, the levity of the words were infectious.

"Your markings are covering the land. We won't be the last, Answer." One of the other soldiers said.

"Markings?" Kelton asked. "You mean these?" He displayed the Nagada etchings that flowed down from his shoulder.

"Nay," Bynard said. "They are strange lines, found on the side of homes and such."

"And on that boulder we passed," another added. "Blood, I think. Mayhap, from boar or deer."

"Young ones running about, no doubt. With many days to come, they will benefit most from you." Bynard said.

"I have made no markings," Kelton said. Hope was becoming powerful, and he wished it to simmer a bit until he was ready. It seemed others preferred not to wait. "Mayhap, it means something else. What do they look like?"

There was a brief attempt at description with many bending hands that Kelton had to end. He cleared a space in the dirt with his foot and handed Bynard a stick. It was a humorous team effort as all began commenting and correcting what slowly became apparent to Kelton. He laughed and took the stick, properly sketching his name below their attempt. They had one of the symbols backward and another missing.

"That is it," Bynard said, the others confirmed. "Did you not say you hadn't seen it?"

"Aye, not in this land," Kelton said. He smiled, guessing where it had begun. The Allyandar's had been busy not saying a word. "It is my name in symbols." He sketched another below his. "And this is yours, Bynard."

"What is this?" Bynard asked, his eyes wide as he used his finger to trace his name.

"What is the look of mine?" another asked.

"There are lands beyond this one, across the sea," Kelton said. "There, knowledge is passed through the symbols you see. All the words you know, share symbols in different orders. Many are placed together in what are called books. It is like a teller, yet none is necessary, and the words live long past the life of a man."

Kelton remembered his amazement when he first learned of such things. It was revived in the eyes before him. A state of wonder that, for a time, removed all the ills of the world and gave thoughts of the next day a better glow.

"There are other lands?" Another of the soldiers asked.