For three days, Kelton stayed in the cave absorbing the new that lay around. It was apparent that lands outside of Aragonia knew metal working well and art thrived. Kelton had seen some talented wood carvings in the past, but most things beautiful were left to nature in Aragonia. Colors, once thought the prevue of flowers and birds, were reproduced in cloth and on wooden tablets with a skill Kelton would have never thought possible. Ignorance was an ugly weakness, and the Brethren kept it so.

Kelton talked Rolic into another round with swords. He was sure he had been easily beaten due to the after-effects of the mead. He was somewhat correct. This time he was able to hold on to his sword for a few more heartbeats before it went flying from his grasp. Rolic was less cruel and only tapped his shoulder once with the flat of his blade.

"You must stop watching my sword," Rolic said. "I steer your eyes with it, and thus your own blade. I know your intent because I control it." Kelton, shame overshadowing the desire to learn, retrieved his sword from the bush it flew under and returned ready for more.

"I should not watch the sharp thing before me?"

"Not with your main eye," Rolic replied.

"My eyes move as one. I have no favorite, nor the ability to allow one to look away from the other."

"That's not what I meant." Rolic chuckled. "Though I did meet a woman once who could do just that. It was very disconcerting to speak with her when one eye would travel opposite of the other."

Kelton smiled at Rolic's story, trying to imagine a woman moving her eyes about independently. Losing one's sword was less oppressive when blanketed with humor. "Then what do you mean?"

"Look at my chest," Rolic said, slapping his blade across it. "All movement is centered here. Your main eye should focus on it, and your secondary will see the rest."

"Secondary?"

"Are you looking at my chest?" Rolic asked. Kelton nodded. "Don't look away and tell me where my sword is." Rolic moved his sword out to his right. Kelton pointed to it without moving his eyes. It seemed a silly game.

"What you see that surrounds where your eyes are looking is your secondary sight. You must learn to use it, to trust it. My chest, my shoulders, and most importantly, my head will dictate most actions. You secondary eye will identify the rest." Rolic swung his sword across his body. Kelton smiled. He saw Rolic's shoulder shifting before the blade began to move. Ignorance was a weakness that can be overcome with knowledge.

The sparring continued. Kelton was elated that he no longer lost his grip on his sword. Not losing would take many more lessons. Years of it if he considered how easily Rolic's blade found unprotected portions of his body. Kelton made it a mission to lengthen the time it took Rolic to find those exposed parts.

"You are a fast study," Rolic complimented. Kelton noticed a drop of sweat forming on Rolic's temple. It didn't matter that Kelton was drenched in his own. He was thrilled to see a sign of Rolic's effort.

"You teach well," Kelton returned. "I fear it will take years of practice to be your equal."

"And many more to equal one of the Brethren," Rolic said as he sheathed his sword. "They are not idle in their temples. They have been masters of the art for more years than you know."

"How do you know this?" Kelton asked. He said it casually as if the answer meant nothing. Rolic started laughing.

"No, my boy, you are no fool," Rolic said. He placed his arm around Kelton's shoulders, and they began walking back to the cave. "You pick up on tidbits and throw them back at me quickly. If I were full of mead, you'd know everything."

"My intent is to press upon you the seriousness of facing the Brethren. I sensed you were feeling impervious after your victories with the soldiers, though you were full of drink when you spoke of it." Rolic stopped walking and turned Kelton toward him. "I find you interesting, and that is something I cherish these days. Facing a Brother, sword to sword, is death to you. Do not lessen the world by leaving it uselessly."

"I will not," Kelton returned. That tiny sliver of hope shrunk again. Kelton knew death was inevitable since the killing of the Brother, but his youth claimed nothing was truly impossible. Rolic's skill had closed off another heroic dream. If he saw the Brethren, running would now be his response.

"Good," Rolic said and led Kelton back to the cave.

~~~~~

"I am not looking forward to leaving in the morning," Kelton admitted as he dumped another bucket of water into Rolic's cistern. Since Kelton helped empty it, it was only right he would help refill it. Without rain, it took a few trips to the stream to gather the water.

"But you must be seen," Rolic said.

"And you wish me to not be seen here."

"True. A self-serving request," Rolic said with a smile. "Angering the Brethren shortens one's life, and I don't have many winters left."

"And I even less," Kelton said, dropping an empty bucket. "Another trip?"

"Nay. It should last until the next rain," Rolic replied and returned to the central portion of his cave home. He sat and stirred an iron pot, the stew's aroma was filling the room. Kelton's found it hard to be patient when his mouth begged to be as pleased as his nose.

"How much do you know about the tale of Kushiel's Answer?" Rolic asked, his eyes never leaving the pot.

"I know some of the words," Kelton replied. "Up to the point where hope will bring war. Not a thing I would do...start a war that is."

"Sometimes wars start themselves. Mayhap, others will start it for you."

"I am not this Answer. You have shown me that matching swords with a single Brother is useless. How would I face three?" Kelton sat on a cushioned chair. "Not that a beast has marked me, anyway."

"Nothing but words," Rolic said, waving away Kelton's thoughts. "People will interrupt them as they see fit. A beast can be anything if you stretch your mind. Have the Brethren not marked you for death? Are they not beasts?"

"Then the words have no meaning," Kelton surmised.

"Old words always have meaning. They have survived when other texts have not. In a land without books, no less."

"Nothing but an old story," Kelton said, repeating Gossamers words.

"Then you aren't interested in the rest of the tale?" Rolic asked. He was smiling, knowing full well that old or not, Kelton was interested.

"I will hear it for curiosity's sake," Kelton said pretending it held little interest.

"There is a mention of the last of Kushiel's line, a woman who will know the Answer." Rolic shrugged his shoulders. "It is said she will love him."

"That makes little sense. Why would the Brethren allow such a thing? Wasn't his wife the first of the cursed? It only proves the tale false."

"Does it?" Rolic smiled.

"Do you say she had a child and hid it?"

"Nay. That would have been near impossible. It was known she was barren, even before the enlightenment. After, the Brethren made sure she stayed that way." Rolic's smile grew. It irritated Kelton. He wished Rolic would just come out and say what he wished Kelton to deduce. It reminded him of Gossamer's annoying tricks.

"If she is barren, then his line died with him," Kelton said with conviction.

"Did it?"

"You wish me to guess at things. There can be no child from a barren woman."

"Aye," Rolic agreed. His persistent superior smile irritated Kelton even more.

"You give me no clues, and yet you desire I pull facts from the air. Barren women have no children. Therefore, there is no..." Kelton stuttered to a stop as a possibility became apparent.

"I say again, you are no fool," Rolic's smile held pride, not the disdain Kelton had first thought.

"He may have lain with others," Kelton realized.

"Most likely, if the tale is true," Rolic agreed. "This last of the line will know the Answer and love him. Her sacrifice is said to trigger the end."

"And she would know her lineage for 2000 winters? Mayhap, if it were scribed in one of your books." Kelton shook his head. "It is a silly tale to think something could be remembered for so long by so many."

"Mayhap, she doesn't know," Rolic said.

"Mayhap, it is only a story."

"Mayhap, you dream of her every morning," Rolic added, his smile returning.

"It would only prove it false again," Kelton said. "I am certain Serenity hated me. Though she invades my dreams, I am surely not in hers."

"And you know this?"

"I don't know and never will know," Kelton replied, his eyes finding the ground. "If I would have stayed a moment longer in her presence, she would have likely stuck a blade in me. Or I would have fallen on my own sword in shame. I am not fond of the memory."

"But this Juno, you are less opposed?" Rolic asked. Kelton's lips curled at the thought of her. He could still feel her lips.

"She is a fond memory," Kelton admitted. "Though Juno did not claim to be part of any story."

"Mayhap, she does not know."

"It is nothing but an old tale," Kelton insisted, waving away the idea. "I will likely not live long enough even if there is one who claims Kushiel's heritage."

"If you dwell on failure, then you will surely die," Rolic said. There was anger creeping into his voice. "Survival takes will, and that is something even the Brethren can't take from you." He shook his finger at Kelton. "You have drawn will from those around you, and you ran from them. Now you must pull it from inside, ball it up in a fist, strike out at anyone that wishes to deprive you of what the Goddess has given." Rolic's fist was before his breast, shaking and white-knuckled. "You wish to strike a blow to the Brethren, then live. That is what they fear most."

"You say much for someone hiding in a cave," Kelton said, defending his defeatism. Rolic's fist relaxed and dropped uselessly to his side.

"Aye, you are correct." Rolic sank deep into his chair, his shoulders losing the strength they held a moment ago. "My life, or death, matters little this day and age. Yours has power, though I have no rights to it." Rolic chuckled in an odd way. "I remember my youth and the drive that surged through me when I thought the future was gold and I intended to own all of it. Is it a bad thing to wish that on you?"

"There is no future here," Kelton said, collapsing into a seat as well. "The Brethren won't allow it."

"Exactly."

"You think I should play at being this Answer."

"I think you should survive. Let time work for you, and against them." Rolic sat straighter. "You are young, barely a man. In time, the weight of what I suggest may not be so daunting. It is that time I wish you to seek. Don't run toward your doom, run toward your life."

"Run where? A ship? Then what?"

"A ship to anywhere is preferable to death. The future will supply new desires if you're not ready to supply your own."

"I did not think I would get that far," Kelton admitted.

"Then you must think again," Rolic said, excitement filling his face. "These things you admire," Rolic waved his hand about his home, "are a small sample of what you can see and experience. I would love to be in your place and experience the world for the first time."

"Go blindly into places I don't know?'

"Better than a grave with your eyes open."

"You spin words better than I," Kelton said, shaking his head. "It's true that I don't intend to shy from dying, not that I'd run toward it either. My thinking either way won't change the outcome. The King's Own will still hunt me, and you've made it clear what will happen when the Brethren catch me."

"If they catch you," Rolic said. "Don't let them. The world is a big place, and they only control a small piece of it." Rolic shifted back to the stew simmering over the fire. "But let us forget about Brethren for the rest of the night and share some warm food, the last you may have for a while."

Kelton agreed. Rolic had given him little of value beyond a new way to think of his plight. If thoughts were facts, the Brethren would be long gone, and the King's Own would serve the people. Still, thoughts of escaping the Brethren was lighter than the heavy thoughts of demise. Maybe an early death wasn't as forgone as he envisioned. If the world was as big as Rolic said, there were places where the red demon and Kushiel's Answer were unknown. It was a slim chance. Kelton smiled to himself. Slim was better than none.