Jareen drifted on the hilltop. No air stirred. Where the border between thoughts and dreams lay, she did not know. She breathed with her mouth open, wishing for a breeze or the touch of rain. Her hands rested on her belly to feel any movement of the babe, just to know that life still nestled within her. She had never thought she would have a child. Even if they both died on this hilltop, she was glad she had carried this gift for a short while. She only hoped that the babe did not suffer as she did.

"They're here," Coir said. Jareen did not sit up, nor did she open her eyes. Once again, what would happen would happen without her choice. It was unlikely the Canaen or quth would care for her desires anymore than her own people. The sound of vaela hooves approached. There were quite a few of the creatures; she felt them through the cracked earth. It sounded as if the riders would trample them, but they stopped just shy. Vaela snorted, but Jareen kept her eyes closed.

"She is clear," someone said. The voice was strange, the words intoned on unusual notes, the rhythm a counterpoint.

"What is this one?" another voice asked.

"Greetings," Coir sang in his stilted Vienwé, barely hitting the notes. "I am Coir, a human from across the sea, come to seek Vah'tane."

There was a rustle of movement.

"It croaks like a frog."

There was laughter.

"What manner of speech is this?" the second voice asked.

"It said it was a human."

"Come from across the sea to seek Vah'tane," Coir reiterated.

"Vah'tane?"

"What are you doing with a Clear One?"

"Clear One?" Coir asked, struggling to pronounce the unusual phrase.

"The Daughter of Vah."

"She is fleeing from the Synod of Findeluvié, who seek her life for her disobedience."

There was a murmur and a stamping of hoofs, as if even the vaela were unsettled.

"The Synod cannot command one with the Gift of Vah," someone said.

"And so she fled in defiance," Coir answered.

There was a pause in the speaking. "Please," Coir said. "She is not well. The journey to reach you has nearly killed her."

"To reach us?" someone asked.

There was the sound of feet landing on the ground. Whoever it was came and knelt beside Jareen. Her eyes flickered open as a hand reached under her head and lifted her. The world appeared bright, and the vien who knelt next to her was a silhouette against the yellow sky.

"Drink," he said, holding a gourd to her mouth. She knew what he meant, even though his actual words were the strange phrase "quench yourself," rather than simply saying drink as the Findelvien did. He tilted the gourd gently and liquid ran into her mouth, a wine of strange flavor, almost spoiled. But it was wet, and so she drank and coughed and drank more. It stung her mouth and cracked lips.

"Thank you," she murmured at last.

"What human land are you from?" someone asked.

"Many years ago," Coir answered, "I received a letter from one Olor of Theniel." Jareen could hear Coir rummaging in his bag. "Here it is, see for yourself."

The vien gave Jareen more to drink, his hand gentle behind her head. She heard the unrolling of paper.

"This is written to Drennos. If you are of Drennos, you are an ally to the wicked."

"No," Coir said. "If you please, I am a servant of this Olor of Theniel."

"The letter says no such thing. It is addressed to your name, as the . . . some kind of scribe of Drennos."

"Yes. And for years I sought to warn Drennos of your wrath, until my own people sought my life. And when it was too late to save them, I left my country before your wrath descended. With my country lost, I have come to seek Vah'tane."

"But you went to the cursed of Findel and not to Theniel."

"The only ship I could take was to Talanael, but they turned us away in their treachery. I threw myself into the sea and came ashore against their will. Once there I offered my life to help save this vienu of the Gift of Vah."

"You would have us believe lies."

"But they are noble lies," said the one kneeling beside Jareen.

"I have spoken the truth," Coir insisted.

"What cares a human for Vah'tane?"

"Ever since I first read of the teachings of Vah, I could not shake them from my mind. I wish only to prove it out. I come in peace. When your scout saw us, we did not seek to flee. We waited for you, instead. Here, take my weapons." Coir started to unbuckle his belt.

Someone chuckled.

"Keep your blades, human, they worry us not in your hands. I will bring you back, but I do not know what will become of you. Humans have not endeared themselves to us of late."

"Only tell me that you will show her mercy, and if it please you, I will remain in the Mingling and seek Vah'tane."

"Your sentiment does you honor. But you will die in the Mingling if you seek Vah'tane, human. You will come with us until we decide what to do with you."

Slowly all the while, the Canaen who held Jareen had been giving her sips of the wine. As sensation returned to her tongue, the taste of it puckered her mouth, and she drew away from the lip of the gourd.

"Do not fear it," he whispered. "The Mingling has a strange effect on wine, but it is safe."

"Thank you," she said again, her voice a little clearer. She opened her eyes fully, now, letting them focus. Kneeling above her and holding her head to his bosom was a vien with long wild hair streaked with violet.

The Change marred the left side of his face with streaks of deep green. A sorcerer. She knew what he was—knew that the Canaen grasped their defiled Current with profligacy. But then, these were things she had been taught. She could not trust the Synod, nor the teachings of her people.

"Come," the vien said, drawing the gourd away. He slipped his other arm beneath her and lifted her with ease. Carrying her a few steps, he handed her up to a mounted vien who seated her sideways before as if she weighed little, bracing her with two arms. She felt dizzy and closed her eyes again.

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"I thirst as well," Coir said, and it was clear his voice was raw. There came a time of quiet when Jareen supposed he was given something to drink, and after a time he offered his thanks.

"None of our riders will bear you with them," said the voice that had done most of the speaking. Jareen assumed it was a leader among them. "But we have a spare mount, and it will follow after us. Can you cling to the mane and not fall?"

"I will try."

A few commands were called, and Jareen squinted to see Coir reaching to grasp the mane of a vaela. He tried to heave himself up, but his legs slipped beneath the vaela's body and the animal shied away, almost stepping on him. Laughter rang from the riders around, and one of them rode up beside Coir, grabbed his shirt, and lifted him bodily with one arm, laying him across the vaela's back. The animal snorted in displeasure as Coir scrambled to right himself and cling to the mane.

"We do not wish to tarry," the leader said. "There are yet beasts and servants of Findel. Hold on."

If only she had been well enough to enjoy that careening race across the charred ground, but she kept her eyes shut and trusted to the strength of the rider to hold her steady. She had only ridden upon a vaela once before on the ride from Talanael to Shéna, but the Canaen rode the open ground as if pursued.

One thing she did enjoy despite her weakness: the rush of air that gave the dry heat the barest touch of coolness. The hooves of the vaela thundered over the rolling fields, sending a spray of ash and sand out behind them. A few times, they passed through low banks of smoke that made Jareen choke. She was not the only one coughing and wheezing.

The ride stretched on, until the vaela slowed and she realized they were in a dim place. She opened her eyes upon green trees unburned. Slowly, the air cleared, and the weight of smoke lessened. She tasted moisture in the air again. Night fell, and she heard a sound that brought a shiver of freshness to her soul—thunder. When the rain broke down upon them, her hot tears of relief mixed with it.

They rested for a time in the rain, and the rider who bore her gave her more of the wine to drink, and she raised her face to the sky and let the rain caress her. It was life. She felt her babe roll within her, and relief deepened her breaths as the rain cleansed her skin of the ash-grime of the Mingling.

***

Morning dawned as an actual morning. The treetops swayed in an easterly breeze, and the sky was clear. When Jareen opened her eyes, it was like looking upon a world re-made. She lay on a bed of ferns. Sitting up, she found that she was in a spacious grove of unfamiliar trees with pale bark and high crowns of leaves. There was no underbrush, but massive stones stood on end in a pattern that must have been the result of deliberate engineering. Vaela grazed freely across the grove, and Canaen were scattered here and there among them. Nearest to her was a group of five vien, each bearing marks of the Change to varying degrees, and Coir sat among them. They spoke in low voices, and one of the vien looked over at her—it was the sorceror who had given her drink on the hilltop.

When Jareen stood, he stood as well. The others did the same when they looked over and saw her approach. Her silks were still damp from the night's rain and stained from the long journey. She felt self conscious with their eyes upon her.

"Bright eyes to you," said the vien. It was a strange greeting, and one Jareen had never heard before. The Canaen speech was full of unusual intonations and rhythms, though she could discern the words most of the time.

"F—" she began, and stopped herself before she offered Findel's blessing. "Fine morning to you." It was an awkward redirection. She had no idea what to expect. From her earliest memories, she'd heard that the Canaen were wicked sorcerers, friends of monsters, and the eternal enemy of her people. Now she was among them.

Coir had risen to his feet as well.

"How are you? Is all well?" he asked. She could tell his question was pointed, and she resisted the urge to put a hand on her belly. Coir had not divulged her condition to the Canaen in her hearing, and she gauged he still hadn't told them, but surely it must be obvious, unless they thought this was her normal look.

"I am well," she said. "Though I am hungry and thirsty." It was the truth.

"Yelti will prepare you a repast," said one of the vien. She recognized his voice from the previous day. It was the leader of the riders. His hair had once been blond, but it was heavily streaked by violet, and his face was a mass of pigmented plaques from the Change. He looked far more marred than the others. Yelti must have been the name of the rider who had given her wine on the hill, for he strode away from the group. The Canaen riders all wore long shirts of mail and other armaments, almost identical to those of the Findelvien. She saw roughly a score of the Canaen spread out in the grove.

"Please, sit," the leader said, motioning with his hand.

The others waited until Jareen had settled herself before sitting as well. She noticed that the mail shirt of one of the Canaen was laced together beneath the arm, as if a portion of the rings had split and been repaired with cordage. It occurred to her that their mail might not just resemble Findelvien armament; they might have once belonged to a Findelvien.

"Is this yet the Mingling?" she asked, gazing up at the stately trees.

"No," the leader said. "We are in the Groves of Yellan, though the Mingling is at our western border."

She looked around as if she could somehow read an explanation in the grove itself. She had never heard of the Yellan, nor of any specific places within the Charth of Isecan. "Please sit," the leader said, gesturing to the mossy ground. She nodded and sat with her knees folded beneath her while Coir and the vien sat cross-legged.

"I am Isla. May I have the joy of your name?" the leader said, and as he did so he held up a finger to Coir, as if to ward off the human's speech. Jareen glanced at Coir, sensing danger. He must have already given them a name, but which one? She shouldn't hesitate.

"Lovniele," she said. No doubt Coir would want to limit any association with Drennos, and a vienu with a Noshian name would raise even more questions.

The leader nodded.

"So your friend told us. It is always good to receive a name from the lips of its owner. The human has asked more questions of us this morning than a child asks in a month. If he is a spy, he is an ill-considered one."

"I'm afraid his questions are inexhaustible," Jareen said, "but he is no spy. The Synod promised to kill him if he left Findeluvié."

The leader frowned.

"Findelnethec," he said. "Though we say Nethec alone to keep his name from our lips."

"I do not know this word, nethec."

"It is—" he looked around, then raised his hands and pressed his wrists together. "To be tied. Bound."

"I believe it may correlate to the word 'slave,'" Coir added.

"Are you the liel here?" Jareen asked.

He squinted.

"I. . ."

"Liel, like among vaela?" one of the Canaen asked.

"Do you mean am I the leader here?" Isla asked.

"Yes," Jareen said.

He nodded.

"We use the liel for the strongest male in a herd of vaela, who dominates the others and has choice of the mares."

Jareen blushed.

"No," she said. "Do you command here, I meant."

"As much as any, though I do not lead the enclave. We are taking you there."

Yelti returned carrying a tall wooden vessel and a wrapped cloth. He handed them to Jareen with a bow, then sat near. Jareen removed the lid from the drinking vessel and the smell of sweet fresh wine rose to her nose. She drank straightaway. It was the fresh press of apples—she had not tasted apples since Nosh. Apple trees did not grow in Findeluvié's climate, or so she thought. She noticed then that the air was cool, even though it was daytime. Unwrapping the cloth, she found an ample portion of dried fruits, including apples, apricots, prunes, and other varieties she did not even recognize. It was an effort not to stuff her mouth full; only the unsettling Change-marred visages of the Canaen lent her restraint as she ate.

"We have learned much from your human," Isla said. "But I would hear your own answers. For what crime are you fleeing?"

Jareen struggled to swallow her bite. She saw in an instant that she and Coir had been careless. They should have prepared answers, making sure they spoke in agreement. It had always been inevitable that they would be questioned if they reached the Canaen. Perhaps Jareen had simply not truly believed they would survive the Mingling, or that the perennial enemies of her people would spare her life.

She did not know enough about the Canaen to know what lie would serve, and so she told as much of the truth as she dared.

"I loved where love was not permitted."

A collective grimace passed over the faces of the Canaen, and Coir gave her a nod so nearly imperceptible she wondered if it were real.

"Even in the beginning, Findel stripped the heart of the people," Isla said. "Only our ancestors broke free. One born with the gift of Vah cannot be commanded."

"Do you have—" she motioned to her face "—those like me?"

"One or two a century," Isla answered. "They are a gift to remind us of Vah the Innocent, that we might never fall into the sin of Findel."

Jareen wasn't sure she followed his meaning. Certainly, she knew of Vah and Findel, but she was not sure she shared the same understanding as the Canaen. They did not see Findel as a hero; that much was obvious and no surprise.

"Will you give me sanctuary?" she asked. "That I might live in peace?"

"It is not for me to say. Today we arrive at the Tir of Yellan. There you will be examined. But do not fear. We honor the gift of Vah here. Finish your meal. We leave soon." Isla looked at Yelti and the others. "Let us prepare."

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