The smell of fresh bread woke Kelton, breaking him from Serenity's dream. He rose to his elbows in the furs of the front room, Denera busy by candlelight near the hearth. He watched her for a moment in silence, letting the relentless dream fade. She set water to boil above the flames, then pulled one log away from the others to better control the heat.

"You are awake," Denera whispered, her eyes never turning toward him. It was the knowledge of a woman well-practiced in the rhythms of her home.

"Aye," Kelton whispered back. "The smell of your bread would wake me from death."

"You dream hard," Denera said, turning toward him. "I thought your mind lost in a terror. Almost woke you from it."

"Nay, more of a nuisance," Kelton said. "A dream I dreamed long ago has returned. It invades each morning as of late."

"My mother once said dreams were earned, and those who angered the Goddess punished with night terrors." Denera moved closer and sat cross-legged an arm's length away. "I do not hold to that; thinking dreams are nothing but thoughts gone wild without a waking mind to corral them."

"It seems more punishment as the days go by," Kelton said, then smiled. "Though I think you have the right of it. Thoughts can be strange things."

"Mayhap, you talk of it, and it will fade," Denera said. She sat calmly, folding her hands on top of her skirts. There was patience in her eyes as if she possessed ancient and wise counsel.

Kelton told Denera of the dream, leaving out the flash of physical desire that always accompanied the waking. Denera asked questions that brought out a description of Kelton's first and only meeting with the real Serenity.

"The Goddess desires you to find her again," Denera surmised. She stated it as a fact that couldn't be disputed.

"Did you not say the Goddess had no say in dreams?"

Denera stood and straightened her skirts. "I said she had no say in terrors. In this, I think she speaks to you. Do you not find this Serenity appealing?"

"Not as appealing as another," Kelton said with more force than he meant to use. Denera's eyebrows rose. "My sorrows, my lady. I meant no anger in my words."

"None was taken," Denera said. "This other, it is she you seek?"

"Aye."

"Two women; one waking and one dreaming," Denera said. "A fight with the Goddess, I think." She smiled as if it were all in fun, then returned to her morning preparations. Kelton had to laugh inside. It was true, yet he had no doubt the waking girl was his real dream.

"I need to move about some," Kelton informed Denera as he dressed and took his pack outside into a sky that had begun to glow with the new day. After dealing with bodily needs, he found an open space and let spiders-bite find air. Shared-wind centered his mind, his blades whipping through the air as his body danced. He could almost feel the Nagada warriors at his side as he followed each construct through its perfection. Closing his eyes, he increased the pace as if he were in a warrior line, his blades beginning to sing as they cut through the air. He flowed into its beauty, letting his muscles stretch and contract, fighting off the night's sleep and the insistant dream. When it ended, he knew he wasn't alone. The Knowing had grown and had returned as strong as sight or touch.

"Goddess," Cavid exclaimed. "There is no one who could take those from you, much less your arms."

"It is best if it doesn't come to that," Kelton said. He would prefer gathering those he cared for and leave before anyone of note knew he had returned. Speed, he decided, was his friend. Best if he were on a moving ship before King or Brotherhood sensed his return. Better still, if they never knew.

"A Brother - could you trade swords with one of them?" Cavid asked.

"It would not be a fair thing," Kelton said as he sheathed spiders-bite. The tone of his response left little doubt of how he thought a Brother would fair against a Nadaga. "But a thing to be avoided nonetheless."

"It is true then," Cavid said.

"What?"

"You are Unseen."

It had been a long time since Kelton had heard the term voiced. He shouldn't have been surprised that it followed his story. Truth always infiltrated untruths, making it hard to discern which was which. A boy, storied to a hero, ended a Brother, and to do so, he would have to be Unseen.

"Aye, I am cursed with it," Kelton said as he repacked.

"You are the Answer," Cavid said.

Kelton stopped repacking and turned. "Nay, friend. That is not who I am. And I would warn you not to seek such a thing. He would bring war and death in numbers unthinkable." A war of sheep against the Knowing would be a bloodbath. Kelton paused a moment as he considered his next words. "Change must be slow and steady. All must see it as unstoppable, or not see it coming before it lays its thick roots."

"Mayhap, the Answer will make such changes," Cavid said. "Mayhap, someone who knows the truth of it all."

"It is not me," Kelton insisted. "And truth is a foggy thing at best." He smiled and decided a change of subject was a better tact than logic. "My mouth waters thinking of the bread your mother made. I wonder if it has cooled by now."

Kelton learned of the King's two armies while they broke into the bread. There was no butter, but the abundance of excellent tea made up for the lack of other comforts.

"North and south?" Kelton asked.

"Aye," Willianton replied. "It was done to settle things. Some say another Brother fell in the heat of it. Taken down by town folk, though many died." A false story most like, Kelton thought.

"Many things are said of that time," Denera added. "You were sighted here and there, more than one place at a time. Some say the Goddess was granting you doors that crossed the world."

"It is a costly thing, two armies," Kelton said, wondering why they did not disband when they thought him dead. "And it will make travel troublesome."

"Stay off the King's road, and you should miss most of them," Willianton said. "Over the hill," he pointed north, "there is a road used for harvest. Follow it, and it will carry you to Fikin Crossing in two day's time. A small village with like-minded folk. They will tell you the less traveled ways from there."

"I will bag a gift for Lagneer," Denera said. "He will know the source of the leaf and grant you a safe bed for the night, and something warm for your belly."

"Aye," Willianton agreed. "A good thought. The tavern there is his - a big fellow with a beard parsed in two." He used his hands to show Kelton a beard parted into two tails and running low as the belly. "No need for many words, the gift will easily earn you a night."

"I thank you," Kelton said. When plans are murky, it is always a good sign when the first steps work themselves out.

Kelton left the Allyander home after the sun fully broke above the horizon. Later then he hoped, yet being given the next goal was worth the wait. And he had learned much of the changes to the world he meant to walk through. Cavid had been solemn about Kelton's parting. Kelton disliked disappointing him and not claiming to be the Answer. A foolish dream built precariously on an ancient story. He had no desire to be part of a rebellion, much less be responsible for the deaths it would bring. Aragonia housed sheep, not Nagada. Protecting those he cared for would be challenge enough.

At least he could smile on his travels. His pack possessed two large bags of the best leaf in the world. Warmth and the lovely tang on his tongue would make the days less ominous.

Cavid began packing as soon as Kelton left. His mind was racing with all he had learned. The world was so much larger than it was when he woke the day prior. The descriptions of trade captivated him. If Kelton's words were true, and he believed they were, then his family sat on a hill of gold coins disguised as tea. It was the King and Brotherhood who held them back. That mixed with his lingering anger at the loss of his sister. He could barely remember her face, a weakness of mind that infuriated him. He knew his enemy, and he was sure he had spoken with the one weapon that could destroy them. Now the world would know as well.

"A trip?" his mother asked. It was not said with her usual kindness—an admonishment for what she guessed.

"Aye, mother," Cavid replied. "He has returned, and all shall know of it. It is time for us to grow fangs."

"It is not for us to drive such things," his mother said. "And we promised to hold our words."

Cavid lifted the plank of wood he had studied, and the other he had practiced on. "I will say nothing." He watched his mother's expression warp oddly as she looked at the duplicated symbols, the ones Kelton had said represented his name.

"No one will know the meaning."

"Those are words I will say," Cavid said with determination. "If it is meant to be, it will grow. The Answer will not deny all who dream of him, nor hide from the symbols of his name across the land."

"Willianton!" his mother called. It was unnecessary since Cavid's father had joined the conversation at the beginning. "You talk sense to him," she added when she saw him behind her.

To Cavid's surprise, his father flipped a coin at him. He caught it - one of the golds that Kelton had paid. "Dodge well, those King's men," his father said.

"Aye," Cavid said, pride swelling inside of him. His father saw the wisdom of it.

"We have lost one," Cavid's father said softly to his wife, taking her into his arms. "If Kelton be the Answer, then our boy has the right of it. I'll not be a sheep and watch a grandbaby be taken as well."

Tears made leaving difficult, but leave Cavid did. He knew Kelton's path, so he took another.

Kelton was happy to sense the inhabitants of Fikin Crossing ahead. He had become used to shelter. Even in the Waitland, there was a mat shielded from wind and rain. The previous night brought with it a miserable drizzle that soaked him through. The fond memories of his younger days with Gossamer were altered during the rain, reminding him of the truth of life in the woods. Still, he missed the man but not sharing the lousy weather.

The heat of the day brought a stickiness that forced Kelton to remove his tunic and walk with an open cloak. He would have preferred it off as well, but spiders-bite needed the camouflage it provided. At least the bulk of his skin could breathe, lessening the sweat.

Fikin Crossing was a small village, maybe twenty wood and stone buildings with thick thatched roofs. The Knowing told him small groups were hidden deeper in the woods, homes most like. There was a central square surrounding a large pit whose stack of fuel was being fed by a small boy. The night was still a good way off, but gathering wood and preserving the blaze was best handled in the light.

There was a small empty stable capable of housing a team or two, most likely a station used during harvest, or perhaps a merchant wagon. Beyond that, a long building with a heavy door stood out from the others. There was no overt sign, yet it was evident by the sound of patrons leaking out of the propped open door that it was the tavern. The day's heat forced such things. The other buildings were of little note, homes that may double as places of labor: some most likely seamstresses, traders, and such. A substantial stone structure that sat next to the tavern looked like it was used for storage, the lack of redundant openings usually marked such things. There was only one double door in view, and it was large and situated on the small end of the building, a wooden bar held it closed.

Kelton sat in the trees and watched, and felt, the movement of the village. A group arrived from the road that continued north, confident in their talk and destination. They hobbled their horses on a rail for that purpose and headed without deviation into the tavern. Others left the same, moving as if they knew all. It was a close-knit village. Not what Kelton desired, a newcomer would be easily identified and studied. Yet, a dry bed and a warm meal sounded good, and Willianton promised a friend inside. A worthy risk, for he knew not when the next bed would be offered, or when he could resupply. He pulled his cloak closed and covered his hair in the hood. It is land, he reminded himself. Best if he acted as if he belonged.

The tavern was a functional place—six long tables with benches on either side of them. The short end of each was butted against the far wall, leaving a large walkway at the front of the building. A set of shutters were propped open high in the far wall, allowing air to flow from door to window. The idle stone hearth filled the left far corner, next to which was a small platform that held a young man who was organizing a stool, small table, and sorting his things behind.

The right side was taken up by a thick counter, a large man with a split beard moved beyond it, sharing the area with a pock-marked woman whose skirts flowed as she busily stacked mugs on a tray. The woman's hair was wrapped in a scarf, sparse strands leaking out in odd directions as if she had little time to relax and straighten herself.

To Kelton's surprise, eyes did not follow him to the counter. The tavern must have frequent visitors, or others' business held no interest here.

"I wish to speak to him," Kelton told the woman, pointing at Lagneer whose back was turned as he worked hard chopping greens at a table.

"Lagneer be busy," the woman said, never glancing up from her work of dipping mugs in a cask. The smell of the ale was strong.

"I am to present a gift," Kelton said. The woman stalled and looked up at Kelton. He looked back, trying to pretend like he belonged and had no secret knowledge of the world outside of Anagoria.

"A gift?"

"Aye, a bag of leaf that I am told I can trade for a night."

"You can not trade a gift," the woman said, her hand out expecting Kelton to place the gift in it. Kelton lowered his pack and fished for the small bag of leaf that had dug itself under the larger two. He put it in her hands. She opened it and took a deep sniff of the contents and smiled. An instant later, she was conversing with Lagneer.

"And how is Willianton?" Lagneer bellowed. He walked toward Kelton with a giant smile on his face. "I always knew he kept more of last year's leaf than he claimed."

"He and his are well, sir," Kelton said, attempting to match the smile. The parted beard was an odd thing not to look at. Both sides were secured like tails, with three bands of leather.

Lagneer leaned close and whispered. "Have you a name, or shall I call you Leafman?"

"Leafman is a fine name," Kelton said and held out his hand. They clasped wrists. Willianton was indeed a good man to know. Secrets would remain secret here.

"This," Lagneer said, holding up the bag. "Will get you a mat for the night, and two full plates." His smile grew. "Ale will cost you coin."

Kelton reached into his cloak and retrieved two coppers. "A mug will be a fine thing, sir."

"A mug, and a refill," Lagneer said, taking the coppers from Kelton. "Find a seat, and it will join you soon. You picked a good night; it's been a moon since the teller was here." His eyes indicated the platform where the young man now sat waiting.

"A very good night," Kelton agreed, "I thank you." He found a seat at the end of a table, facing toward the young teller, but keeping both the door he entered and the door opposite in view. He may be among friends, but he knew none of them. There were others cloaked like him, kindred spirits or mayhap, trouble. It was best he stayed near open space, where spiders-bite could sing if need be.

The teller seemed too young. The man sat confidently on the platform, pulling chunks off a hunk of bread and popping it in his mouth as he looked over the growing crowd. A mug was brought to Kelton, the brew thick with a bitter flavor. Kelton sipped, not really desiring the drink. He agreed to the purchase to ease the relationship with Lagneer, a man who held his night in check. Draining the mug would be a long process. It was best to keep his head clear.

More patrons entered, which seemed to please Lagneer. Teller and tavern was a good partnership. One needed ears and the other needed mouths, both sharing the purses. News of the young teller must have traveled far, for soon, there was barely room to seat more. Kelton sipped his brew and tried to filter the cacophony of conversations that echoed off the walls.

Another group entered, and Lagneer scrambled to roll barrels to the counter as makeshift seats. The woman, be it wife or paid labor, was moving frantically about filling mugs and delivering plates. It was evident that a storyteller was not a common thing, for Lagneer was well short the labor necessary to please all. The slowness of service was a good thing since Kelton already felt the headiness of his first half-drunk mug and had no desire to lose his edge.

There was something odd about the newest arrivals. It wasn't until they separated, some choosing a barrel at the counter while others squeezed onto a bench when Kelton defined the strangeness. A chill went through him as he realized one of them, cloaked like him, was also Unseen. Not tall enough to be Rolic, Kelton turned his back to the man who had chosen a barrel at the counter. Kelton tried to become one with the others at the table. Crowds were his only camouflage, as it was for the Unseen when he first arrived. Another like him, or a Brother. Both ideas were unwelcome, though one would be more trouble than the other. The existence of Rolic was a sure sign there could be other non-Brother Unseen around, and this village would be a good one to hide in.

"You have heard this teller?" the man sitting next to Kelton asked. He was a stocky fellow with narrow eyes that seemed friendly enough. It was apparent it wasn't his first mug of the day.

"Nay," Kelton said, welcoming a conversation that may help him blend in. "Is he well known?"

"Aye," the man said, nodding more than necessary. "He possesses good stories. Had my brew climbing up my nose two moons back. It is good to laugh in these times."

"It is good to laugh at all times," Kelton said, lifting his mug in a salute.

"Aye," the man said, lifting his as well. They shared a sip, though the short man took more of a deep swig. Kelton glanced at the Unseen from the corner of his eyes. Thankfully, the man had turned his back to the crowd and teller, content with the mug in front of him. "I am called O'fan, friend." He held out his hand.

"Leafman," Kelton responded. O'fan didn't hesitate to clasp wrists with Kelton, ignoring the false name.

"If you are traveling through, my wife smokes a good meat," O'fan said. His head jerked toward where Lagneer was working hard behind the counter. "Lagneer has little long food, bread at most."

Kelton smiled at his new friend. It was a bargain O'fan sought, not the kindness Kelton first thought. It made the conversation easier since the purpose was well defined.

"Aye," Kelton said with enthusiasm. "I have some need for travel food. Well met, sir." One can't live on tea alone. Maybe the All-Father or Goddess was blessing his travels. It seemed the right people were precisely where he needed them. It would save a lot of time if he could avoid hunting or gathering.

"You have coin to trade?"