Juno gritted her teeth, well aware of the pain that would follow if she twisted her wrist within the tight binding. Farni warned of the skin it would cost and did so gleefully. Juno reminded Farni of withstanding the lash and turned her wrist sharply around in the binding to expose her fingers, however awkwardly, to the knots. There was much to dislike about the warrior who filled her mind, but Farni's skill with bindings was not one of them. The leather dug deep, shearing away a circle of skin around Juno's wrist. She could feel the wetness of blood caused by the maneuver but stifled any outward reaction. Weakness would not be displayed, not with Farni ready to latch onto it as a weapon.

"Am I addled," Serenity said, the words decreasing in volume as she realized they were spoken too loud. "Are those not women forming in our army's line?" The last statement was a whisper.

"Aye, the cursed are joining," Audria said after squinting a moment. "Is our plight that desperate?"

"The Nagada have come," Juno replied, her eyes steady upon the ground as she concentrated on the slow process of undoing the knot. Her elbow complained from the strain put on it by her hand's odd position. Still, she dug her fingernail into the leather, pulling at one of the loops over and over - moving it a hair's-width at a time. "You see warriors, be they women or men."

Silence from Serenity and Audria caused Juno to look up. They were staring at her with mouths agape. It was then she realized she had spoken in the Nagada language. Farni found it humorous. Juno repeated her reply, this time so the two could understand. The shock did not leave their expressions.

"Your face," Serenity said with an abundance of worry.

"It is lined like Kelton's chest and arm," Audria added. She looked as if she wanted to point it out, yet her bound hands disallowed it, forcing an odd attempt with her shoulder.

'You have not earned warrior marks,' Farni thought. Juno could feel the anger grow. To Farni, the marks were status and beauty, something earned and gifted by the tribe.

"Kelton has put a warrior in me," Juno said, ignoring Farni's complaint. She continued struggling with the knot. The cord was being pulled through its loop ever so slowly, progressing only through persistence. It would have been so much easier with the proper leverage and the use of more than one finger at a time.

"How does he do such a thing?" Audria asked.

"The Goddess has come to him," Serenity replied with wide eyes.

'The All-Father,' Farni corrected with certainty in Juno's mind. It was disturbing that Juno had to share her eyes and ears with the woman as well.

"I know not how," Juno said, not wanting to explain the semantics she could not fully understand.

'The All-Father,' Farni repeated as if Juno had a weak mind. Juno shook her head, trying to keep herself at the forefront.

"Does it hurt?" Serenity asked with compassion.

"Nay," Juno said.

'Yes,' Farni argued. Juno rolled her eyes and continued working on the binding. Farni was able to envision the structure of the knot by feeling it with only fingertips. The way her mind, and thus Juno's, worked on the problem was a thing of beauty. Farni brought forward memories of a footwork game she had played with Kelton. Juno struggled not to find humor in Kelton's failures each time Farni freed herself. She would not add to Farni's pride.

"To what purpose?" Audria asked. "You are as bound as we are and have no weapons."

"She is well skilled," Juno said. She sensed a smile in Farni, but it only lasted an instant. "My bindings are her plaything and will soon be undone."

"She?" Audria asked.

"Aye, and knows my love too well," Juno snarled. She could feel Farni's pride flare, complete with waves of unworded arguments about Juno's right to name Kelton as her love. Juno's jaw clenched. "She does not take losing him well." Another silent yet loud argument grew out of that.

"He sent her to you?" Serenity asked as if Kelton had not thought it through. She had heard the stories and surmised who Kelton had sent.

"I suspect the coming battle has forced him to act in haste," Juno said. She felt a tinge of victory as one loop of the knot finally surrendered. The rest should fall more quickly. "He sent the best warrior he knew." The internal arguments slowed. Farni was not immune to compliments.

"She is good with a blade?" Audria asked.

"Better with two," Juno replied with confidence. Farni's talents were now second nature to Juno's muscles. "I would not fear facing a Brother with her inside of me." A proud warmth was shared with Juno. Farni's opinion of Juno had not changed, but there was room for some deviation - a sense of an admission that perhaps Kelton had not chosen frivolously, just incorrectly.

"Ohh," Audria said with blatant envy. "I want one too."

Juno again sensed Farni's smile. Farni found Audria many times more interesting than she did Juno.

Magna'est pursed his lips to end the twitch that had developed in the corner of his mouth. He watched the opposing army grow, its numbers filled with a confidence that did not exist earlier. No heads were turning around in apprehension, hoping for the sounds of retreat. He heard no shouted commands, yet they formed two neat lines, one behind the other and offset as if they were born to their place. The demon's response to Magna'est's request for barter was evident, yet that fool Ungeri had yet to return. He wondered if the man was dead.

"There are women forming," Wilur said with a dismissive chuckle. "It seems they have run out of men."

Magna'est felt an uneasiness crawl along his spine. Ti'gorin and Vol'abor were approaching from the front line; their quick gait spoke of worry. Magna'est ignored Wilur and moved toward the two ancient Nagada warriors. They were the only men he truly trusted, especially when it came to battle. Their eyes would know the truth of it.

"They are forming tribe lines," Ti'gorin said.

"It can not be," Magna'est said. "It takes winters to learn such skill, and winters more if they possess no talent. There are too many." He shook his head. "They could not keep such training secret." He looked out at the opposing line and its spacing. It brought back old memories and a bit of fear.

"Aye," Vol'abor agreed. "Yet they each stand like stone with twin-tails."

"Two blades?" Magna'est asked. It was a stalling question, one to give him time to think. Perhaps it was a ruse, a way to present false strength before negotiation. Ungeri may still be in play.

Ti'gorin nodded his head and looked back at the enemy line. "It has been many winters, but that spacing still sits hard in my mind. We will know soon enough if they possess the skill."

"We have the Knowing," Magna'est said. He waved his hand in dismissal. "Even if they were true Nagada, which they are not, their numbers are too low." A sneer formed on his lips as the intent of Ti'gorin's words sank in. "You think they will attempt the shared wind?"

"It is the spacing, is it not?" Ti'gorin replied. Vol'abor shrugged his shoulders with indecision, not wanting to commit either way.

Magna'est shook his head. "They know my lineage from that traitor Rolic - that is all. The demon may possess the skill, and perhaps he has one or two others as I have - but no more." He smiled confidently at the two Nagada, sharing his pride in them. "A ruse at best, that is all this is. He is seeking better terms."

It was what Magna'est wanted to believe. The confusing thing was that the ruse must have been in planning for a long while. They certainly could not have gathered so many blades in a short time. Perhaps the Sorinnians brought more weapons than he was led to believe.

Magna'est took a deep breath and began to pace in thought as he examined the armies facing each other. Long ago, the adrenaline pumping hard in his veins would have had him swimming in a fearful excitement of the coming battle. Now, it was more bewildering than exhilarating. So much control had been lost, and the information he needed to assess the situation left with it. Battle or not, many would have to die to regain the power necessary to assure a peaceful future. He wondered if the fools who lined up against him understood what they had wrought. The demon surely knew and probably thought those lives beneath his concern. Power did breed wisdom; Magna'est knew that well enough.

Kelton admired the lines that had assembled. Fond memories of the warriors forming in the Waitland returned, those wonderful feelings of camaraderie that materialized when all present desired to be where they were. He looked back and nodded to Queen Serinda, the signal for her to advance her bows into position. Kelton waved to another group at the edge of the field, well behind the lines. They had gathered wood in abundance on his orders, pilfering the stacks created for the many separate fires in the camp. A returning wave acknowledged the command.

Kelton turned and began crossing through the center of the two ranks and toward the Brethren. The lines parted like the wake of a ship, allowing their Treewalker-Prince through without him having to deviate. An impressive display coordinated without a word, for the tribe knew his mind and shared its determination. He moved to the front, a commander no longer reluctant for what was to come. The futures he saw of Juno lying dead were forgotten out of necessity, as were the ones of the demise of future daughters. Doing nothing guaranteed the worst outcomes, whereas attacking gave preferable futures hope. Hope had power, and he projected it to all who had joined the tribe - they sent it back a thousandfold.

The few Aragonian's who chose the Brethren were lined between Kelton's army and the shield wall, fodder as Kelton had expected. They no longer looked as if they thought their decision was a wise one. Apprehension was in their stance, with only a few looking staunch in their resolve. Most appeared to be begging for any sign that would indicate an end to their participation in the coming battle. Bravery had limits, and they were near the end of theirs. The Nagada would go through them if necessary, but its heartache would weaken any envisioned victory. Aragonians should not be killing each other.

Kelton turned around when he was about twenty paces in front of his army. Looking left and right, he saw beauty in the single purpose that stood before him. Men and women gathered to claim their right of self and to avenge their daughters. No longer would they bend to the Brethren's desires. They were a tribe of one. He bowed to them with respect, then turned. Spider's-bite found air - some eight thousand blades followed in perfect unison.

Juno's eyes welled involuntarily with Farni's pain. Juno watched a dance she now knew well but had never seen done by so many. Farni had, her memories filling Juno, along with the joy Farni found in it - and the misery she now experienced being separated from it. Farni felt apart from the tribe, a curse of epic proportions.

"It is both fierce and beautiful," Serenity said. "How did they hide such training from us?"

"It is the warriors," Audria replied. She had an odd way of accepting the impossible and extrapolating from it to justify what she saw.

"It is the shared wind," Juno said, swallowing to open her thick throat. She had to repeat it, for it was first spoken in Nagadan. "I should be down there," she added as Farni's desires became hers.

'Knot,' Farni agreed, her fingers - Juno's fingers - returned to their task with new haste.

Magna'est watched as the demon initiated the shared wind. It sparked a longing, followed by a hatred beyond any he had felt before. Those in the lines were not newly trained. Their skill was pure and seemed to have been aged since birth. It was as if the world conspired against him.

"That is the tribe," Ti'gorin said, pointing at the army as it flowed effortlessly. "It is no ruse, you fool." There was fear wound around the blatant lack of respect. The same fear Magna'est felt appeared in the shield line with heads looking about and most no longer standing steadfast. The shared wind was doing as it was designed to do - even to those like Ti'gorin who knew its purpose.

"It is not the tribe," Magna'est snarled. "They are across the sea, squirreled away in their Waitland. This...this is a mockery of the tribe."

"Do not turn blind to this - that is the tribe," Vol'abor said, his tone level. "Many will fall this day, Knowing or not. Our count of daughters will dwindle well below our ability to replenish. When this is over, by necessity, the Brethren must shrink, or we will war amongst ourselves."

"Aye," Magna'est agreed. Vol'abor was still thinking clearly. Perhaps the weakest of those Brethren who fall in battle could be left in the field to rot. The lesser families could be told a story of valor, one where the damage sustained made rebirth impossible. They would listen and nod. The desire for the promise tended to quelch in-depth investigations. "Vol'abor, I need your voice to strengthen our line. Remind them of their duty and the advantages of the Knowing. They must keep the enemy on the far side of their shields if they do not wish to taste those blades."

Vol'abor nodded. "Mayhap we should move forward, force their hand before they are ready."

Magna'est shook his head. "Best if they fall to our bows while we stay safe from theirs." Vol'abor was still for a moment as if he might argue the point, then he turned in silence and went to straighten the line of shields.

"The tribe will want us stationary," Ti'gorin argued.

"It is not the tribe," Magna'est snapped back. "Go and see to the bows, Tigorin. I will have the demon's numbers halved before they reach our lines."

Mannily moved through the next sequence of the shared wind, his blade sweeping downward and through where the leg of the warrior to his right had just been. He could feel the wind of the sword of the warrior to his left sweeping through where his leg had just vacated. It was beautiful how they all moved as one - a synchronicity of power and trust.

Across the field, Mannily saw fear grow. The once invincible shield wall now brandished cracks, the tremblings of distress had begun. He saw Brothers who attempted to turn, perhaps considering retreat. So bold they once were when the might rested solely in their hands. They now saw true strength, the eloquent force born of the tribe and displayed as if with one mind.

The few Aragonian's who sided with the Brethren were now in disarray. Commands were shouted for them to remain in place. Mannily noticed the shouters were well behind the fledgling line, as if they desired a path to run, using the underling fodder to stall any chase.

'She would be proud dancing with you,' Lin'cy thought. Mannily smiled at the thought. Lin'cy found it hard to comprehend the specialness of a sister, for to him, all were brothers and sisters. He did sense the special connection, and that was enough. Be it tribe or sister, she would be proud, though the idea of her, or any woman, swinging blades next to him was a novel one, now made real by the few Aragonian women in the line. The formation felt stronger by it, not weaker as he would have once thought.

Mannily was almost sad when it came to an end, though the ending itself was magnificent. As one, thousands of blades stilled, as did the bodies that wielded them. The tribe remained motionless while the Answer began to speak.

"The last day has come," Kelton announced in a voice that defied distance. The trees surrounding Goddess' Grove vibrated, their leaves shaking as the Answer's words echoed from them. 'He is the Treewalker,' Lin'cy thought, and Mannily could only agree.

"I bring a gift for Dar'quid, twin-tails marked by the spider," Kelton continued. The words were of the tribe, though Mannily understood each. "They seek a new story, and I will give them one."

"For the tribe," the tribe added as one, echoing like thunder in a storm. Mannily was sure he heard his voice above the rest. It was exhilarating, for he belonged, and they shared a single goal.

Kelton shifted from his position in front, melding into the front line as an equal. The backline merged as well, forming a single wave that would present the tightest target for high arched arrows. A tactic the Nagada knew well.

'Survive this, and even your bones will be sore,' Lin'cy thought with an abundance of humor.

Mannily knew it to be true. His muscles were being fooled now - their revolt only waiting for any respite that may come. 'If I do not survive, my body will thank you, and my last breath will blame you,' Mannily returned. It was a joyous jest, one between warriors who now knew no fear.

The tribe stepped forward without verbal command. They needed no words, for the Answer, the Treewalker, was directing through mindful images of what must be. It was a slow advance; each shared step was paired with a loud reverberating grunt of determination that announced the tribe's relentless advance.

'We are the coming death,' Mannily and Lin'cy thought as one.

Vol'abor had lived too long, or perhaps it was Magna'est. Vol'abor moved along behind the line of Brothers, strengthening their resolve as the enemy approached, albeit still distant. There was no doubt in his mind that it was the tribe who approached - an impossibility no more improbable than daughters feeding winters into his soul. Magna'est was blind to it, still wishing it to be a show. The man was too stubborn to see that the shared wind had proved him wrong.

The shields were now a weakness, not a strength. The Knowing was their only advantage. Vol'abor knew they should abandon the defensive and should fly like the wind into the arrayed forces. There was no reason to allow the tribe to control the battle - the where and when should be in the Brethren's hands.

Vol'abor decided to ignore the stupidity that reigned behind him. He doubted he could get the Brethren to abandon their shields, but he could get them to move forward - drive at the enemy and alter whatever plans the tribe envisioned. Time would not be their ally.

"Prepare to move forward," Vol'abor shouted as he ran down the line. Captains echoed the command. Many had been kings and warriors in the past and could smell the need to move. The large shields were lifted from the ground, and men stood taller, their eyes no longer merely peeking from behind their makeshift wall. Attacking was better on the nerves than waiting.

"As one," Vol'abor shouted. "Forward." The command was echoed, having the effect of muting the tribe's grunting approach. The Brethren were sloppy in their advance, none wishing to be the peak of the thrust, yet it did move in a slow undulating wave forward. Hopefully, it would be enough to hinder the tribe's designs. Perhaps it would create an even more significant victory and redemonstrate to the land the Brethren's dominance. Showing weakness of any kind is like a leaky roof - in the end, it could all collapse.