They buried the men and women. For all their magic, they could not escape nor master death. The largest Umbran in the group, a man that was a head taller than Davu yet nearly twice as broad dug with a seemingly practiced ease. A soft pink twilight suffused the sky.

Ambrose stepped beside Davu. “You do not mourn your dead?”

The man shook his head. “We do not mourn that which will be renewed.”

“I thought your people had no religion. So you believe they will return?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. They will. We celebrate what they have sacrificed, what they have given. Each of us knew the risks of crossing the barrier. They were brave souls, each of them, and they would not have wanted us to falter in the Great Enlightening.”

“How do you know there aren’t more of them?” Ambrose asked, looking over the scattered grey cloaked corpses.

There were at least more than three scores of them, the darkness vanishing with their deaths. He had heard of those assassins trained in an order that followed the Faith’s, and thus the arch queen’s decree. The hearsay was that they rode upon giant birds tamed from the Elder Forest. There were few if any witnesses of their deeds, just accounts of the great beasts fleeting in the sky, and the shadows they brought with them.

“We have fought such foes before,” the Umbran said. “We were prepared this time.”

“They are Arcadian,” Ambrose stated. “They know we journey through the Crossroads.”

“That is why we must move on. We should reach the village by dusk. We will shelter there for the night.”

As they continued their journey, Arrin felt something within himself, within Ambrose. Something had… changed ever since he had swallowed the black seed gifted by Imani. He tumbled within folds of his mind, opening passageways to his life before.

A woman, blushing in her naked paleness as he too sat naked beside her upon the bedside. She was beautiful, and pure. He confessed to her the same, and she was first to touch his face, and brush her lips with his. She tasted of sweetberries, citrus and honeyed.

The news reaching him that he was now father to a daughter. Her first steps he had witnessed. Bringing Gilda to the city market for the first time, smiling alongside her mother. His wife, Loralei, screaming of his absence, his position taking precedence over his own family. He would find the cure for Gilda no matter the cost. Eventually discovering Loralei’s faithlessness in their marriage. Uncovering the man she visited to forget her troubles, a childhood friend, so one of his followers claimed. He knocked upon his door, flanked by his monks. The door was opened by a bearded man. He looked like a just man, honest features with kind eyes. They had widened with fear as Ambrose declared him a heretic.

One night, when Ambrose had sifted through the texts and spoken to Medicus after Medicus in search of their daughter’s cure, he returned to his home, finding his bedside empty, all remnants of Loralei gone. He had asked their keeper where she had gone, the old greyed man saying simply, “Master Quilling, the Matron has left for her parents’ estate. She told me to tell you this.” He shifted, averting his gaze. “‘There are some things you cannot turn back from. Perhaps it is too late, but do not destroy the man I once loved.’” The Keeper looked down. “I am sorry, Lord Quilling. I pleaded for her to stay—”

“It’s fine, Carius. Thank you. I’m sorry for waking you.”

Ambrose now sat on his bedside, staring at the open window.

“You foolish woman,” he whispered, staring up to the heavens that shone despite everything below. “You cannot just love a man for who he is, but who he will be.”

Ambrose’s memories cleared with Imani’s voice.

“Are you alright?”

They had walked through the rain, the surrounding landscape offering no shelter.

Ambrose shivered. “I will live.”

Imani took off her hooded cloak, wrapping it over Ambrose. She wore black armor underneath.

“Pride is its own punishment,” she warned.

Ambrose pulled up his tattered hood. “If we have no pride, then where does dignity come from?”

“Dignity comes from meaning past one’s self.”

“Something I’ll learn in the Enlightening?”

Imani smiled, water beading on her soft face. “If you would return with us to Umbra, we each become Enlightened in our own ways. You are free to choose how.”

She returned back to their line. Arrin felt Ambrose’s twisting gut, his anxiety as he pondered on the previous night’s events. Those assassins had been sent to kill them all, no doubt at the Faith’s bidding. Any Umbran openly preaching at a town or City would be taken within the Circle. Ambrose had never seen them leave from within. He had never bothered to care for such things, such people… now, he thought of Gilda, and it was enough to make him certain of his decision. That he would do what he must, what was needed.

The sky grew dark, clouds smothering the moon. A village came into view beside a river, the lights of the surrounding homes reflected on the rippling water. A light scattering of trees and fields surrounded the settlement. There were no guardsmen, no folk seen wandering out at such a time. They crossed a bridge seemingly constructed from a single piece of a strangely metallic, pitch black material.

They halted at what appeared to be the only inn.

Davu knocked on the door five times, and five times again until it was answered.

A woman peeked out.

“It’s you lot,” she breathed, mouth agape. “Please, come inside.”

A man was busy tending the hearth at the center of the room. He turned as they entered.

“Lollis always said you’d come back. You’re all welcome to food and lodgings. Free of charge, what with everything you’ve done.”

Davu held a silver coin between his fingers. “That won’t be necessary, Edmer. You are a friend, and I do not do this out of charity.”

Edmer sighed, pocketing the coin. “Ah, well. Another silver should get us some more furnishings.”

His wife nodded, smiling. “That it will. Sit down now. You’ll have some hot stew and bread to fill your bellies.”

“The inn is bigger than when we last met,” Davu noted. “You’ve added a second floor.”

“We decided to add some more rooms,” the woman said with a toothy grin. “I don’t care what the Faith have said about you folk, you’ve done more than the entire order’s ever done.”

“Lollis, please,” Edmer said gently. “No politicking.”

She huffed and turned to the flapping doors. Edmer gave a short bow and an apologetic smile before following her.

“It seems you conjure up silver at your command,” Ambrose said. “Can you produce gold coin as well?”

Davu smiled. “Even between friends, there must be some secrets.”

“You speak of this Great Enlightening, yet never did explain its nature.”

“It is merely an event. You have taken a seed of ken, yes? It reveals what has been within us all this time. What have you seen?”

Ambrose paused. “You’re right. Even between friends, there must be some secrets.”

The Umbrans chuckled.

The innkeepers bustled out from the kitchens, holding wooden platters in each hand with bowls of steaming stew and golden bread.

“Here we are,” Lollis announced proudly. “Your beds are all ready. Perhaps a drink? We have vinter wine half my age, or fire-spiced rum from your homelands?”

Davu shook his head. “Thank you, Lollis, but we must keep our heads clear.”

The woman smiled. “Of course. No rest for the weary, though we can try at least.”

After they had their fill Davu said, “Rest now. We honor those lost with our continued mission.”

The others nodded, filing up the stairs, Ambrose following to his own room.

It was modest in size, a little over three beds large, more than a luxury in such a village. He washed in the washbasin, wiping his face clean with its water. He still wore the cloak Imani had gifted him, and he rested it upon the chair beside a corner table with its veiled lantern.

He sat on the bedside, lost in thought. Arrin could feel his racing blood, his doubt and fear. The scryer was still its leather pouch. It had been over a month since he had left the capital. Perhaps a month and a half. Gilda was safe, at least for now, but whatever the Arch Council had planned, he was just a tool they could abandon on the roadside. Ambrose wondered what would happen should he die. Gilda needed a cure. Perhaps the Umbrans possessed such magic, but Gilda still remained in the Circle, watched by the man who had recruited him. It seemed there was a shadowy war between the monarchy and Umbra, and Ambrose was caught in its events. No. All he cared about was Gilda, and her safe return. He would do what he must.

“I will do what I must,” he muttered under his breath.

There was a light knocking upon his door. Imani stepped inside without a word and closed the door. She wore dark clothing, grey and form fitting. Her clothing disappeared before him. Underneath it all, her bared supple body was revealed.

Ambrose took in her curved figure, slender contours, unmarked bronze skin, soft as she pressed his hands to her breasts, nipples puckering against his coarse palms.

“Do you feel like a prisoner?” Imani whispered, leaning back to gaze back at him; dark eyes warm and shining with desire.

“Yes,” Ambrose said.

“Let me free you then.”

She kissed him, long and deep. She tasted of fresh mintjog. He tumbled down with her onto the bed.

Ambrose rose when she was fast asleep, donning his robe – once a startling scarlet now dull red, browning in spots where the assassin’s blood had sprayed over him.

He took his walking stick and paused at the gifted cloak draped over the chair.

“Take it,” Imani spoke. She was sitting, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. “You’ll need it, wherever you’re going.”

Ambrose nodded, sweeping the cloak over his shoulders.

“So... you will just leave?”

He halted before the door, turning back to her. “Why did you come here?”

Her dark eyes glimmered in the soft glow of the lantern. “I wasn’t sure if I would live to see the next day, or the next. It’s better we act on our own desires, before we die with a lifetime of regrets.”

She stood, her clothing forming over her skin. She held out something. It was a metallic ball, smooth with a seam around the middle. Her other hand to show a silver coin.

“Twist the light orb in both hands and throw it. Count to five, no more and no less. It will produce a bright flash, you must avert your gaze or be momentarily blinded.” She put her hand on the back of his beck and kissed him. “Until we meet in this life or the next, Ambrose Quilling,”

He nodded, leaving the room, leaving the inn, leaving them all behind.

***

Arrin screamed as the pain returned.

“Im…” Arrin whispered, voice ragged.

Ambrose leaned forward. “What did you say?”

“Imani… why betray her?”

The man’s face twisted; he pressed his hands together as if to crush Arrin’s skull, seething, “So you have awakened your sixth sense. No matter. You think you understand me, boy? How can one know the truth, when we all live hiding from it?”

Agony branded into his mind once more, and Arrin succumbed to it.