The Synod stood around the bubbling pool in the shadows of the ancient trees. Though he could hardly feel his own body, the weight of the presence was nearly unbearable to Tirlav. He had lost sense of time. The Synod had separated little over the past few days. The new Liel of Talanael had woken, his thoughts still a jumble.

"The Malady rages among our companies in the east."

"I burned two afflicted in Miret," said Lielu Lira.

"Then the great burning was for naught."

"Not for naught. It has been thirty-four years."

"There are still no cases in the other heartwoods, and it might remain so if we continue to forbid the supply caravans to return from Miret."

"We cannot sustain it. We need the vaela back, at least."

"We could send supplies by foot."

"Then we must increase the frequency by two or three times, or the number of vien."

Tirlav had kept his will calm since arriving at the Wellspring. He could feel the malice of the other Liele, their displeasure at how he had opposed them. But why should he care? He hadn't resisted the will of the Synod in decades, but when he had tried to save his son, he felt like he had lived for a few moments, despite his defeat.

"We must burn it again. It may grant us decades more."

"Aelor and Yene are not likely to survive the Change. We cannot lose Liele every few decades. Our power is precarious."

"The cursed scion is no more. Talanael is restored to the Synod. There are three new scions for Aelor. Let Liel Aelor take the brunt. He is better replaced."

So there it was, the opportunity they awaited.

"The scion of Aelor is a mere child, barely twenty years old."

Tirlav tried to remember. Twenty-seven, was it? The lad would be the youngest High Liel in the history of the Embrace.

"A child can be shaped. This one has always resisted."

"It was his time in the Mingling."

Tirlav willed nothing in opposition. His life was a misery. Let it be so.

"Even with Talanael, we are not so strong that we can throw away Liele. Yene, at least, should not grasp the Current."

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"The Malady could break the Synod if nothing is done."

"Already, we must send another company of Transgressors."

"The restoration of Talanael has slowed the lawbreaking and strengthened our borders."

"It means nothing if the Malady takes us."

"There is an alternative to the burning, and it may help the transgressions," Shelte of Shéna willed.

Images and intentions flooded Tirlav's mind from the Lielu of Yene. He saw the embrace, drawn back like a curtain, desolation in the east emerging like the shore at falling tide.

"Abandon Miret entire?"

"There are trees still living there. We must have them brought out."

"To bring them out would risk spreading the Malady."

"Leave them? What if they flee of their own? They will be outside the embrace."

"We stop them."

"How can we tolerate such defeat, to reduce the embrace of Findel?"

"Is it not better to abandon the east than to lose ourselves entirely? Our hold on the rest of the heartwoods would strengthen."

Tirlav still reeled from the idea, yet it had merit. If they did not have to extend the embrace so far, they could strengthen it where it remained. Fewer lived in Miret than any other heartwood. It might prevent the spread of the Malady.

"What will it take to pull back the embrace?"

"It has never been done."

Tirlav let it all wash over him. A battle of wills ensued, but he did not exert himself. What the Synod would do, the Synod would do. His mind wandered north and east. Did Jareen yet live? If so, how much longer would an Insensitive survive? What did she look like now?

How long the Synod struggled, Tirlav didn't know. His attention drifted elsewhere. Some of the Liele were not sure it was even possible to lift the embrace. Others feared the cost. They vied and struggled, but as always their wills fused, and a decision was made. They would abandon Miret. Without the embrace, frozen desolation would fall upon the forest. To prevent the spread of Malady, the remaining trees of Miret would not be suffered to flee. Thousands would perish. Even the Mingling would be affected, though it was difficult to say how. Since the days of Findel, the Synod had sustained the embrace as far as their power could reach—to the dissipation of the Current in the Mingling.

"When?"

"Why should there be delay?"

None resisted the thought. As one the Synod reached eastward. Tirlav joined them, unable to oppose the decision of the Synod. The weight within the grove was nearly unbearable. He wondered if his body hunched beneath it, or if it was merely his mind and spirit that suffered its crushing oppression. Their awareness diminished near the eastern borders of Miret. At first, they attempted to simply withdraw their will from the flow of the Current eastward, but they could sense the Current flowing through them as it always did, sustaining the embrace. It was as if they only fed the embrace, but another will set its boundaries.

"It is not as simple as letting go."

"It opposes us."

"We must break it there."

"What is this will?"

Tirlav reached out with them, pushing back against the will that held the embrace in place. The weight of it was immense. He felt the Current flow through him and the others, and he grimaced, whether in body or soul. It would take exertion to prevail.

"Let Aelor grasp it. Let his will wrestle at the fore."

"Let it be." The wills of the High Liele rang in unison, except for Talanael, who remained in a kind of stupor. There was an eagerness in the others.

Tirlav had no choice, and he was not even sure he desired to remain. Opening himself, he grasped the Current, drawing it through himself. Almost he could see it, the far Meadow where once he had fought alongside his comrades, where they had charged without him in the morning. The embrace was there, resisting his pull. With the Synod at his back, he lashed out. The Current poured through him like rushing water, cold and hot and fierce.

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