A moment ago, Kelton faced a horde of white robes with little space between them. Then, like leaves scattering in a breeze, voids began to form. The Brethren had lost much of their will and the desire to assume deadly risk. Their attacks lacked confidence, for total commitment required dangerous exposure. Perhaps it was the number falling that added to their fear - for who would carry them back to their daughters. Perhaps, tomorrows were no longer the guarantee they had envisioned.

The battle took on a morbid hue. None of the Brethren could be allowed to live, yet ending those who had lost the will to fight was unpleasant. Kelton found himself thankful for the Brothers who still attacked with vigor. If these resilient white-robed warriors did feel the futility, it did not show in their eyes.

Kelton pushed forward, striking down a Brother attempting to flee past him from the left. The man had been blind to all but the Aragonias shouting Jutney's name and foolishly trusted the Knowing in his retreat. Kelton's sense was useless in all but locating Juno, who was moving about erratically like a Nagada in full battle. Each movement sent bolts through Kelton's heart; they were a sign of both her breathing and the risks she was taking.

Jutney was ecstatic - they were winning. He fought alongside King's Men, the same force he once worked to evade. Now they were one, most wielding two swords like him. The Nagada who had joined with Jutney was a simple man in all things except combat. Jutney was in constant motion, and in the beginning, it was only the warrior. The effort shifted not long ago, the patterns of the dance became known to Jutney, and he grew into sharing the duties of steering muscles. There was a deadly beauty to it.

The Brethren were collapsing, their numbers greatly lessened by the initial assault when the Knowing had been smothered. Now, Jutney's name was being yelled all over the battlefield, Aragonian's thrusting as skirmish teams. Never had he seen so many working together, and that was as enticing as the coming victory. Kelton was the Answer, and Jutney had known it from the start.

Jutney engaged another Brother, a bearded man with bloodied robes. Two King's Men and another Aragonian moved alongside, each keeping the Brother's Knowing engaged. Jutney could see the terror grow in the man's eyes, for he had seen his comrades fall. The Brother retreated step by step, doing all he could to keep his distance and fend off the numerous attacks. It was a miraculous display of impossible defense; even the Nagada in Jutney was impressed.

"Jutney!" The shout came from the far King's Man. As one, they drove their blades forward, Jutney dropping low, sending one blade upward, the other ankle low. The inside King's Man fell to the Brother's sword. The Brother took four blades himself, two of which were fatal. Jutney dropped to the fallen soldier and pulled him by the shoulders, away from the bulk of the melee.

"Go, go," the King's Man ordered with a strained voice. His side, high on the chest, was leaking profusely. He pushed Jutney away with weakness.

"I will know your name," Jutney said.

"Terika," the man replied, some blood leaking from his lips, diluting away in the rain. Death was inevitable, for the wound had fouled his breathing.

"They will all burn, Terika," Jutney promised as he rose. Terika smiled, then his eyes closed.

Jutney returned to the battle, his eyes now seeing the great cost strewn across the field. Bodies, many of them not wearing white robes, littered the grasses. The rain was both Goddess sent and an insulting curse to those who fell. 'Grieving is for later,' the Nagada in Jutney thought. Then the warrior reminded Jutney of Urlia weaving his hair. He was sure she was in the thick of it - best to lessen the count as quickly as possible.

As Jutney reentered the fray, he wondered if he could learn to speak Sorinnian. The weaving had been far more enjoyable than he would have imagined. That, and it kept the hair out of his eyes even in the rain.

Urlia fired her bow, her arrow going wide as the white-robed monster shifted with his unnatural sense. They had been instructed to fire in teams of five; two left, two right, and one dead center. The man shifted from her shaft, straight into another. Two more arrows were fired, finding a fleshy home. Like the other fleeing wretches, the demon dropped and crawled for a moment before the truth of death claimed him.

She would have preferred to be next to the Queen with a sword. Alas, the Queen thought it better that Urlia stay on the edge of the battle. She was told that each team would hold at least one skilled at swordplay in case it came to melee. She knew it was for a different purpose. If the red-haired friend of the princess achieved victory, then alliances would be drawn. Urlia had attached herself to the cute one, that odd-thinking man with the difficult name. She cringed at how her lips struggled with the word 'Jutney.' Not upsetting the friend of a future king was a shrewd political maneuver. Jutney did not hide his desires well, not even from the Queen.

Urlia smiled at how Jutney reacted to her weaving. She touched him more than necessary, more than a sister or mother would do, though the weaving was supposed to be one of prideful duty. It was not pride or duty that moved her fingers; it was flirtation. He was unskilled in so many ways of war, but his mind was so determined and could see beyond the obvious. So very different from the other men she had known, who all seemed to think tomorrow would be the same as today. She had allowed her little finger to trail down behind his ear as she wove. He leaned into it, not forcibly, but with a subtle action as if he wanted more if she was willing to continue. Both actions could have been construed as an accident. Hers was not, and the disappointment in his eyes when she stopped the caress was delicious, proving his desires as well.

Urlia notched another arrow. She wondered if the princess would teach her the language of this land.

Gossamer noticed he was breathing hard and probably had been since the battle had begun. It was not until there was a dearth of enemies that it became apparent. He would be sore for months after Yen'ar left his mind. Her youth had filled him, and his myriad of stories had entranced her. She dug deep through his memories, intrusively so, to gather the tales' meanings since her experience was so different from his. Once, in the middle of a particularly difficult sword exchange, she almost faltered when the humor of a tale became apparent - long after she had first garnered the knowledge.

"We are winning," Fingers said, sounding somewhat surprised. He was gulping air as well.

Gossamer looked around. Bodies were lying about the grasses, some moving and attempting to rise, though the ones clothed in white robes were still - no mercy given. There were still shouts overwhelming the local moans at the center of the fray.

"Yes," Gossamer said, Yen'ar responding through him without surprise. She was young and could not accept the idea of defeat, for she had never experienced any significant loss. "They face the treewalker..." Gossamer rolled his eyes and switched languages. Better if she controlled the blades, and he the talking. "It has gone better than expected," he agreed.

Fingers smiled, his Nagada swirls looking out of place on his face. "We are winning," he repeated with more certainty. His left blade rose and pointed across the field. A Brother was hobbling away in the distance, attempting to find the safety of the forest. Sorinnian arrows proved the tactic a poor choice. "Treewalker, Answer - the name matters not. Kelton has done it."

"He is still in the thick of it," Gossamer said, indicating the last of the fighting.

Fingers nodded. "Better if we rest later," he said and began a Nagada rain-run toward the last of the melee.

'I am too old for this,' Gossamer informed Yen'ar as they moved to catch up to Fingers.

'You are a favorite of the All-Father,' Yen'ar thought. 'You cared for the young Treewalker, and now I care for you. I will not let you fall.'

'For the tribe,' Gossamer conceded. He felt Yen'ar smile - it was a young happy life-ignorant smile that reminded him of happier times when Kelton knew nothing of his place in the world. Yen'ar became giddy when he let the joy of those memories loose. She gave more of herself, and Gossamer again forgot how hard he was breathing.

Kelton was assailed by three Brothers, one skilled and the others flanking to either side. Spider's-bite was in motion, two blades against three, striking metal against metal as they tried to carve their way forward.

The rain had begun to slow, and he could feel allies nearing. The Brethren's numbers had begun an accelerated decline. The weather and time had taken a toll - a wet and tired Brother was ineffectual when outnumbered by Nagada or angry Sorinnians. The Knowing only delayed the inevitable.

Kelton blocked a weak strike on his left, then parried another from his right. They appeared tied together to distract from the real thrust delivered from the skilled Brother. It came with a forward step, and a committed sweep meant to open a belly. Kelton stepped back, allowing the blade to find only air, then returned with a counter. The Brother was well skilled and kept his balance as he retreated to avoid the vicious thrust.

The Knowing announced the coming of the end. The skilled Brother was forced to back away and turn toward a new threat. The other two began to run, for the Seen closed in on all sides. The battle turned to execution. Sorrinians chased the Brother on the right only to lose him to Gossamer's approaching blades. The one on the left fared no better - dying swordless in some misguided half-attempt at surrender.

The skilled Brother had also made a poor choice. Perhaps he thought the other two would keep Kelton busy. It mattered not, for Kelton could feel, and now see, who the man had turned to face. Granted, Juno had brought a small army, but Kelton had tempted fate too much already. He struck, half of spider's-bite digging deep into the Brother's back. The other blade aimed higher and driven with force into the base of the skull, ending life all at once. The Brother fell, removing the last barrier between Kelton and Juno.

Kelton froze. There were no more white robes near, and he had killed so many. Juno's clothes were smeared with blood, proving she had not shied from killing as well. He wondered if it had altered her, hardened her softness with sin. Perhaps her eyes saw the horror of what he had done, and it had somehow lessened them.

Juno almost dropped her swords when she saw Kelton. It was Farni who kept her grip tight and then forced a glance at their surroundings. The dead littered the ground, and no enemy was near. What white robes they could see were attempting retreat and failing poorly at it.

Kelton's blades were at his sides when Juno looked back. His chest was rising and falling as he stalled, probably for the first time since the battle had begun. His clothes were a ruined blood-stained mess, hopefully not his own. There were cuts through fabric though none looked deep.

'We live,' Juno thought to Farni. It was a distraction, for she knew not what to say to Kelton. He stood there as if in shock, staring at her. Perhaps he was angry about her attempted sacrifice.

'He is glorious,' Farni returned. 'The tribe will tell his story until time ends.'

Juno could feel the love in Farni. It was both beautiful and awful. 'He has chosen,' Juno warned. 'And I have chosen.'

There was no retreat in Farni, ceding only that Juno was nearer granting her an advantage. If she were there standing next to Juno, Farni envisioned a different outcome.

Juno knew one thing for sure, if not for Farni, she would have died on a pole. It was not for Juno that Farni had committed herself - it was done for her love of Kelton. Juno sighed and retreated deep inside. A gift to her savior - and one that would be given only once.

Farni smiled. With a flick of her wrists, she drove her blades into the ground like stakes and stepped forward. The tribe had won - a time for warriors and not for a woman who once cowered before the decrees of evil men.

Kelton tilted his head, never having seen Juno look so confident in her movements. She had lost her restrained litheness, that vague sense of random happiness that always thrilled him. There was no hesitation when Juno's arms wrapped his neck and pulled his lips to hers. He dropped his blades and encircled her waist - an odd kiss that felt wrong on a field bloody with the dead.

Juno's lips were attacking, pressing forward as if she meant to take what he freely gave. The kiss lacked the lovely softness, that grace that could not help but pull desire from Kelton's soul. He smiled when he remembered an equivalent kiss from long ago. Juno broke the kiss sensing the lack of cooperation, her eyes wide with wonder.

"My thanks to a great warrior," Kelton whispered. He traced a Nagada swirl across Juno's forehead, one he recognized well. "It is by your skill that my love is whole, Farni. I will tell your tale to all who will hear it, as will the tribe."

Farni sighed in defeat. "You have chosen wrongly," she said, though it was Juno's lips that voiced it. Kelton traced his finger behind her ear, caressing wet hair away from her face. Juno shivered at the touch - too soft a thing to interest Farni. Farni rolled Juno's eyes. "But it seems - not poorly."

The Nagada swirls on Juno's face faded away all at once, and some of the light left her eyes. She let out a loud breath and collapsed, forcing Kelton to catch her. Kelton began to look for a severe wound, but a weak chuckle escaped her lips to release his concern.

"Every bone is sore," Juno said.

Kelton lowered himself to his knee, taking Juno with him. Better to sit her down than let her fall. "You let her kiss me," Kelton whispered. It was not an accusation, only an observation.

"Aye," Juno said. "She thought you hers, and I knew you were not. She earned the right to know the truth of it." A weak smile appeared. "You knew."

"I would know your kiss in the darkest of dark, my love," Kelton said. Then he proved it by testing her lips again. This time, the lips did not take - they shared.

Serenity dropped to her knees in the wet grass. Every appendage felt as if they had been hammered by sacks of grain. Even her joints ached. Audria sat down hard next to her, breathing as if there were little air left in the world.

"They have left us," Serenity said. An obvious observation, one mirrored across the field, for others were also lowering themselves to the ground. The rain was ceasing, a blessing now that running for cover was out of the question.

"I believe we have won," Audria said, though exhaustion failed to make it the glorious statement it should have been.

Serenity scanned the battlefield. There were no white robes, at least none standing. Many motionless bodies could be seen sticking above the grasses, both white cloth and otherwise. The count was horrible to contemplate.

"Why me?" Serenity asked, primarily to herself. She dropped to her backside to relieve the strain on her knees.

"Why not?" Audria returned. She did not understand the question.

"My mother lied," Serenity said. "I was told I would be key, yet any could have housed a warrior." She ignored the soreness in her neck and turned her head to Audria. "All I did was abandon Daphne. I have ruined her for no purpose. I believed those lies my whole life and thought there was meaning when there was none."

"Daphne was lost long ago. It was not our doing," Audria said. She pointed weakly out into the field. "Those to blame are dead now."

"Still, had my mother not told me lies, Daphne would still breathe," Serenity continued.

"My mother gave me to the Brethren," Audria said.

"What?"

"Bad harvest - too many mouths," Audria said with a painful-looking shrug. "I was a difficult young one, and the Brethren promised I would be a princess for the Goddess." She looked down at the grass. "Not even a Choosing like the others." She shook her head. "Not all mothers are sunshine."

"You are my sunshine," Serenity said.

Audria looked up with a smile leaking from her lips. "Mayhap, we put away talk of mothers until it does not hurt to breathe."

"Aye," Serenity agreed. Still, she felt like her past was a waste. So much happiness was missed for a lie passed down from mother to mother. She would never do that to a young one. Serenity had lost her useless purpose, and now there was only Audria. It would have to be enough - at least she was real.

"The warrior who was in me thought you molded by the All-Father," Audria said. Her lips were curled, which allowed Serenity to forget self-loathing. "He swam in my thoughts of the night past. Men are such depraved beasts."

Serenity could not help but laugh. It hurt, but it would hurt more to try not to.

"The things that filled his mind..." Audria continued, then stopped with a jerk as a loud snap echoed across the field. It was as loud as lightning, yet not broad enough. It was more like having an ear impossibly close to a burning log when it burst open.

Serenity eyes followed the sound. A figure seemed to rise from the ground about twenty paces away, taller than a man with a face that could never be described - for who could look upon such a horror long enough to form the words.

"Goddess," Audria said, shifting away from the visage. For the first time, Serenity saw real fear in Audria's eyes.

Kelton felt the All-Father and Mother leave, both with an intense sense of regret. They were sapped of all they had and could not restrain the Goddess any longer, not in her own land. At first, Kelton felt the Knowing surge with new strength. He could almost reach out to Shunneer city, sensing those at its outskirts. Then, something else filled him - an anger beyond any he had confronted before - pure hatred refined from unbridled wrath and riding atop the Knowing. Deep inside, Kelton felt his sister cry out.

The air split with a crack and nearly blew Kelton backward. Juno tried to pull him down, but he now knew better. Retribution was coming - payment was due, and he was the coin. Infinite decisions led to infinite futures, and he had erred, or someone else had. Kelton had seen this branch, and it was costly. Its only grace was that it fell solely on him.

The Goddess appeared, drawn from the land like a sprouting tree. Her face was no longer born of beauty. She had first chosen Kelton's fears, the old wrinkled grin of Lena, the one who sewed Kelton's cheek so long ago. The memory sent a shiver through him, though the visage did not last as the Goddess morphed again, traveling through hideous faces and corrupted bodies. To Kelton's surprise, those on the field were shifting away in terror. His theory of it being a personal vision in his mind was proven false. Kelton forced Juno entirely to the ground as he stood, stepping between her and the Goddess.