Heralic Tarvakian was pleasantly surprised at the King's disposition. In the past, Vitalica arrived at the council meetings with a frown and would not lose it until the close. Today, he grinned and greeted them all individually - a process that took some time since there were twelve members. He added a question about some family member or new business venture that related directly to that owner to each attendee. It gave all who attended the sense that the King cared and was aware of each member's contribution to the land. It weakened the formality but strengthened the comradery.

"And how is my grandson?" Victalica asked when Tarvakian's turn arrived.

"As inquisitive as ever, your Majesty," Tarvakian replied. "Two days past, he decided he was skilled enough to dye cloth and snuck away with her highness' nightclothes." That brought out raucous laughter, shared well by the King.

"Alliette must have been riled," the King said.

"Aye," Tarvakian replied, holding up his hands and turning them to and fro. "He tried to deny it though he dyed his hands as well - a dark blue." The laughter in the council hall was a nice change. It lightened the burden of the issues that needed resolutions. It seemed all had a good night's sleep. Perhaps it was a remarkable plague spreading across the land.

They were deep into talk of trade when the world shifted. A cold chill ran down Tarvakian's neck as he pushed his chair back from the table. A dream-like howl, one he almost recognized, emanated from nowhere and echoed in his mind. The King stood with narrowed eyes as others were looking around with paranoid movements. The hand of owner Gagorny went to his empty sheath in a wasted maneuver; like all other ceremonial daggers, it was not worn in the presence of the King.

"A draft?" one of the members asked.

The King ignored the statement as if it were a foolish query. "This meeting has ended," he declared with a wave of his hand to dismiss all. None felt the need to argue the point and bowed in turn, then fled. "Stay, Heralic," the King ordered. Tarvakian sat where King's finger directed. They waited for the door to close.

"You felt it?" the King asked.

"Aye, your Majesty," Tarvakian replied. "It is an old structure, this palace. Mayhap the wind caught it oddly."

"It was not the wind," the King interrupted. "Winds do not evoke such emotion." He looked at Tarvakian in a leading way, as if he had defined its nature and desired corroboration. Tarvakian thought a moment, then stated the feeling that had first hit him.

"It was Hate, your Majesty," Heralic said. "It felt like hate."

"Aye," the King said with a nod. "And whose?"

"Mine, I would guess, your Majesty," Heralic replied. He did not know where the conversation was going.

"Yours?" the King questioned, shaking his head. "This had another's quality to it. There was a sharpness of purpose in it as well as if a singular wrong was beyond all wrongs."

"Kelton," Heralic blurted out. He felt silly once it left his lips, but the sound of yell and the way it flowed with purpose evoked memories of Kelton. The way the King smiled told him it was the correct answer or at least one in which the King agreed. It was more of an impression than fact in Heralic's mind.

"He has awoken the gods," the King whispered to the table. Tarvakian wondered if those words were for him or meant to be a private thought.

"My son and I will leave on a voyage, Heralic," The King said. "The Queen will hold the crown in our stead, and it is you who will hold the council to her whims." He smirked. "And whisper in her ear if she drifts toward danger."

"A voyage, your Majesty?" Tarvakian could not imagine why there was a sudden need for that. If it were Kelton on the wind, whatever was occurring would be over before the tide rose to cast off any ship.

"Aye," the King said with a nod. "I leave my daughter and grandson in your house's care. Know that they are a large part of my heart."

"Mine as well," Tarvakian said. "Where will you travel to?"

"I am an old man, Heralic," the King replied. "There is one more voyage in me, and I intend to make it." He patted Tarvakian on the shoulder. "I desire to see the sun rise on the water and feel the wind on my face." He rose and apologetically shrugged. "I must speak with my Queen."

Tarvakain attempted to rise and bow, but the King had already turned and begun walking away. An odd conversation, though he has had a few of those with Vitalica of late. Kelton had stirred up something - that he knew well from the chest of coins. Heralic could only hope Kelton had found Juno and was working his way back. Heralic and the house missed him.

"The treewalker comes," Farni told the elders. Lin'cy nodded his agreement with the assessment. "This day or the next," she added. There was no doubt in her mind, though she wondered why Kelton's happiness was the key to such knowledge. It was as if she could smell the coming rain on a cloudless day. Then she felt it and knew she had been correct.

Farni watched as all the elders in the circle swayed as one, hit by a wave of Kelton's anger. Her eyes widened as she realized it was not anger - it was hate. It was not an emotion she had ever expected to feel from him. She steadied herself, for she knew it would warp him if left to fester. Most likely, his chosen one had abandoned him when he needed her most.

"I am here, bonded one," Farni said. Her strength would undo his choice, for only a warrior could love another warrior. She would never leave his side.

"They have her." Kelton's words echoed in her mind. There was so much hostility wrapping the thoughts as if death no longer held meaning to him. Then, unlike the last times, her connection did not fade with the joining of the tribe. It held firm and singular, though she felt the tribe intertwined along with it. The All-Father was entirely in Kelton, filling him with the power of a storm.

Kelton opened his mind, letting the tribes see the horror he intended to confront. As one, the tribes' hatred screamed with his. Farni cried, for his mind leaked the past night as well.

Juno pulled at the bindings and even attempted to pull the pole from the ground. It was too heavy, cut from a thick tree, and buried deep. The leather ties were tight, cutting into her wrists as she struggled to free her hands. She could feel the blood pulsating at her at the base of her palms, a sure sign her hands would soon become useless dead flesh.

"Slow," Audria said. Juno looked at her in a panic. Somehow Audria had freed her mouth from the cloth gag. "Move slow," she repeated. "It cuts deep if you twist and struggle." Audria was the expert in such things, so Juno obeyed and stopped shifting her hands.

"My mouth," Juno said, though the gag was pulling her lips back and distorting the words. She closed her eyes and concentrated, repeating the words slowly - exaggerating the enunciation.

"Roll the knot down," Audria said, demonstrating with her head moving along the pole. "It is tied too high and in the back. These Brethren were not as practiced in such things as those I have met before." Both Juno and Serenity began manipulating the knot by moving their head against the pole.

"Better," Serenity said when she was able to spit out the gag. It fell uselessly around her neck. She was trembling, showing the fear that Juno felt. Their sacrifice did not feel as noble as intended.

"Our binds?" Juno asked when her mouth became free.

"Too thin," Audria said, shaking her head. "And speak low, or they will learn to muzzle us properly."

The Brethren had given them distance, finding more interest in the army that gathered before them. They trusted their knots, which seemed a wise decision. The three were visible bait or trading chips for capitulation. Either way, Juno was under no illusion they would survive what was to come.

"At least, for now, they fear us dying," Audria whispered. "It would seem the tale holds power on this side as well."

"I do not think we will ever step from these poles," Juno said.

"Better to die here than see the inside of a temple," Audria sighed.

"Mayhap a trade," Serenity added.

Audria smiled at her in a way Juno knew well. "Nay, my love. These Brethren do not trade things. They may allow us to breathe for a time to give credence to their lies, but they will never barter true."

"Then the Answer must come," Serenity said. There was some desperation in her voice. "Does he even know?" She looked at Juno with distressed eyes. Perhaps she thought it would have been a quick death. Time and hopelessness were wearing on her and weakening her once strong display.

"Floren should have told someone by now," Juno said. Perhaps that is why the army was assembling. They could see them, ants across the field forming lines. It did not seem as organized as the Brethren's deployment, but it was developing. It was painful that the numbers were not yet equivalent.

A wave of emotion pushed Juno against the pole, and a primal yell echoed in her mind. Hatred swarmed around her, forcing the wind from her chest. She was certain it was Kelton, and her eyes filled, for it was her doing.

"Goddess," Serenity gasped.

Juno's eyes began to bleed. "He knows."

Magna'est Yelled for the lines to be formed faster. Some power had passed through him, and there was no mercy in it. He glanced over at the poles to see that the three were still living - his eyes verifying what the Knowing already knew. The three women were still standing, not a one sacrificed or even wounded.

The Goddess could emit such powerful feelings, though never the hatred Magna'est had felt. This was something else, something malevolent and able to warp the land. He wondered whose side it was on and how it could be steered - one only had to find what it desired. There was much he could do with such power.

"Where is Juno?" Kelton asked Striker again, this time with a less threatening tone. He hoped there would be a shrug of ignorance as if there was no known change in the world. There was no reason Striker should know where she was, or perhaps he passed her on the way and could point to a fire brewing morning tea. Maybe the look in Striker's eyes was not apprehension, only confusion at the strength of an odd demand.

Striker pointed to the field where the army camped. For an instant, Kelton hoped he would hear she was in the command tent. New definitions of the tale ran through his mind, and he dared not listen to them.

"No one saw until too late, my Prince," Striker said. "They crossed the field - she, the last-of-the-line, and the scared one. I do not know the purpose of it."

Kelton closed his eyes as his hands formed into fists. All of his muscles tightened as his mind traveled through imagined outcomes, the unpleasant far outbalancing the pleasant. Unbidden, Juno's face replaced those of the Brethren's daughters, their pain, scars, and deaths becoming hers. The tomorrows with Juno, the ones he envisioned when he had awoken that morning, faded to none. His arms shook as the nails of his fingers dug into his palms.

Hope broke in Kelton, replaced by an uncharacteristic need to exact a horrible vengeance on the Brethren. They had stolen forever from so many, and now they wished to add Kelton's to the list. He looked toward the sky, opened his eyes, and let a boiling rage fill him. This is what the world wanted, so this is what it would get. If there were no hope, then he would let hate rule. Kelton screamed to let the land know he was coming. Fear was his tool now, and for Juno, it would only end when the last white robe was burned to ash.

Kelton felt the power of the All-father fill him, with all its weaknesses as well. The Goddess struggled as Kelton's ire overwhelmed her web that layered the land. He felt the one he thought of as the Goddess' Mother, her essence seeming to blanch at the strength filling Kelton. It was not just hatred driving him forward, he was being pushed as well, and he rode that wave of power, drawing it in and saturating his relentless need for retribution. The new power seemed to smile.

The world changed - what was once thought clear burned with new resolution. Each blade of grass, each tree, and each beast became known to Kelton. The web of the Goddess became his to travel, a shimmering path of life - each connected to the other. He need but choose one bit, to know the next - an ant crawling upon a stem of a weed, whose roots intertwined with those of a tree, whose branches housed a bird. Strands of their essences connected them, not unlike how a thread is attracted to wool on a dry day. It was the Knowing on fire, each life reaching for the next.

Kelton's mind danced along the web of life, bounding from tree to tree. Such sturdy old things long merged with land and all the life that moved around and upon them. The speed was incredible as he drove his thoughts outward, searching and finding. He found Juno bound to a pole, her heart beating. Her determination was not weakened by the fear that filled her. Kelton's hatred grew, fueled further by the terror he never wanted her to feel. She was alive, and he meant to keep her that way.

Leaping from tree to tree, Kelton found the shore, and his mind dove into the sea. Creatures he never imagined, many tiny and in numbers beyond count, filled the waters. Kelton sensed a trail among the beings, a shifting one used by the All-Father. No longer did he need a guide to find the Nagada, for he was a pathfinder. From sea to shore again, his mind returned to the trees, leaping until he found the tribe. They had changed - grown. His need smiled, for it was all the tribes. There were thousands of warriors waiting for him, anticipating his arrival. The Treewalker had come.

"I am here, bonded one," Farni said. Perhaps it was more thought - words and thoughts were the same now.

"They have her," Kelton said, pushing the thought forward with all the pain it encompassed. Farni did not fade into the tribe as she had done in the past, nor did the others. They remained unfogged and singular, each mind a distinct connection. The communication was pure and without the ambiguity of words and expressions. Kelton opened his mind so the tribe could see who he faced, the horrors he experienced, and the terrors shown to him by the All-Father. They screamed as one - his rage was now theirs.

The elders were the loudest, their pain vivid and honest. Dar'quid had broken from the tribe long ago, a stain they thought was long set and unremovable. Now they knew the tribe's failure had cost the lives of many, the visions of the lost young ones, the most valuable of lives, feeding a burning hatred.

"You have chosen wisely, treewalker," Unyvon'ar thought loudly. His mind opened fully, and Kelton learned. "It is now time for a new story."

The hatred in Kelton found joy, for he was bringing spider's-bite home to its old master. The new story of the blades would be written in blood.

"What is happening?" Striker asked, almost tripping over the tree as he backed away. Kelton was glowing; the swirling marks upon his skin were pulsing in anger as if they intended to leave his body and strangle the world.

"The tribe is in him," Rolic replied and stepped back with Striker. "Nay - he is in the tribe."

"Goddess," Striker gasped when Kelton's eyes opened. They were glowing blue, flickering like tiny torches. They were seeing something that Striker could not fathom, looking forward yet noticing nothing. It was Kelton's growing smile that was most unnerving - it possessed the embodiment of evil.

Striker stepped back further, questioning if Kelton could discern friend from foe. It was odd how quickly Rolic moved from demon to welcome companion now that a need arose.

Kelton absorbed the war tactics from the elders, stored in the tales of the battles of old. There were shield walls before, but they fell easily to agile warriors. Shields hindered movement, protecting against threats coming from known directions. They were nothing but coffins to the Nagada - warriors with imprisoned arms and the movement of slugs were useless against the twin-tails which flowed without known course. He fed on the knowledge, the stories of arrow flights and charges of horse, adding to what he had learned from the Unglang library.

The pages Kelton had read in the past returned as if they were in his hands and before his eyes. He could feel his sister, her thoughts feeding the knowledge back to him. She was the one who held the pictures of past readings - a library she had built with his eyes - and no longer hidden in the recesses of his mind. It was a partnership unknowingly born and now fully awake. His determination was hers, as was the rage that boiled in his bones. To her, family was everything, and Juno was now her sister as if by birth.

Strategies ran through Kelton's mind, the coming battle playing out in one scenario after another. Success was measured by the envisioned end of the Brethren. The lives lost accomplishing that goal had become secondary, a necessity born of hate. Each version was a series of guesses compiled through Nagada stories and the written histories from the library. His thoughts congealed around that single necessity to the point he barely noticed when a change took place.

Wars, past ones, began to play out in front of Kelton. He was flying above them, knowing the plans and seeing the chaos that ensued. Civilizations he had never envisioned meeting steel to steel and horse to horse, some with weapons so large that oxen pulled them. A power beyond that of the Goddess' family had filled him, sending his mind to the past with unstrained ease. Kelton knew the owner of the tale flowed with the knowledge. A new anger flared as the obvious question began to form - why did this being not wave its hand and wash the world of...

The question was answered before it was fully asked. In an instant, the past - straight as an arrow - shot through Kelton's mind. It contained all of what was - an incomprehensible sea of things that were - set in stone and unmarred by the tellings of man. It sped as the days neared to what Kelton knew, though most were far removed from his tiny knowledge of existence. So much information, tightening to the point of a knife and then exploding as it arrived and then passed his now.

Tomorrows came in abundance, versions upon versions of the possible. Too many to see, each branching to an uncountable sum of more. They weaved among each other, many collapsing and rejoining others at critical points, events that seemed more possible than others. An infinite number of futures opened to Kelton. He knew each intimately, then the next would arrive, and the latter bled away, and with it the bulk of his understanding. They were more vivid than dreams but as informationally ephemeral. His mind was too feeble to hold it all. The entity, the power that was surging through Kelton, did not exist in a point of time - it lived in all of it at once. It was waving its hand to correct the ill. Though it took lifetimes from Kelton's perspective, it was but an instance to the entity.