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***This chapter was one of those chapters that flowed quickly as I wrote it but may not be fleshed out as well as I'd like. I'm posting because I need to move forward and don't quite know what to change in this chapter yet. Anyway, please comment and give me feedback! I appreciate it.

<3libby

Chapter 6: Prejudice

Fog amassed and looped through openings between low brush, condensing where it collided until it was forced to swirl up and blur into the trees and sky. The morning was clear and cool, but the mist diffused the light of the sun so that only a grey void could be seen ahead, moving ever so slowly through the air it dispossessed. The moist particles were hitting her face and condensing into droplets that grew until their weight forced their decline down her cheeks.

Ilara turned her face and found the fog was covering all, both brush and tree, near and far. All was encompassed in the grey wafts of liquid light. All that is, but the throbbing she felt in her head. The cool water on her face was relieving that, but not erasing it. She reached up and felt the back of her head where the pain was emanating, feeling the halo of ringlets that were forming on the top of her hair as it was drenched in the humid air. Then something warm and rough brushed her fingertips and she turned abruptly to find her hand being held by a man… a familiar man. His dark eyes were clear and sharp but the rest of him was faded like her surroundings, hidden in fog.

“…Ilara,” he whispered. “Ilara.”

“Father?” she replied soundlessly. “Father!” she tried again and again, but her throat could produce no more than painful rasping.

He looked at her for a moment and then slipped his hand away. His eyes looked down and were hid behind their lids and blended with the faintness of the rest of his face… and he was gone.

“Father! Father!” she kept calling with no effect, running through the mists in desperation. She slipped and fell on a rock obscured in the veil of cursed mist and she succumbed to it without a fight, falling on her side and curling up like a child. Her head felt like bursting now for all the blood that seemed to be coursing through it.

And another voice came through the mists; a soft, matronly voice saying, “Child? Child, awaken. You are safe.”

~~*~~

Xavier sat feeling helpless and frustrated on the cot in his chamber as he awaited Ferran and Gojzia. The latter was the self-imposed healer of the three villages, and she did her job well. She had walked in first, her previously clean apron soaked in the crimson stain of blood. She was smiling in her usual irritating way, as if she knew something no one else could understand and it was a little joke for her enjoyment alone. Xavier gave her a sardonic look but it softened as she approached to check his bandage. He couldn’t get mad at the woman, no matter how condescending she tended to be. She had saved his life too many times to count, and besides, he was fond of her despite her rough spots.

“Well, the stitches are holding and you haven’t got a fever, so get some rest, don’t walk when you can help it and don’t run at all, and you’ll be right as rain in a few weeks.”

“A few weeks of being an invalid will kill me faster than a fever would have,” he grumbled, earning a light smack across the back of his head from Gojzia. Ferran muffled a laugh as best he could at the sight of a middle-aged woman putting Xavier in his place. He needed that from time to time, though few would say so openly.

“You’ll be an invalid and worse if you don’t do as I say and rest; lay off climbing and such until your wound closes up. Don’t make things worse for yourself. Now what’s the story—the whole story?” Gojzia sent her questioning look between Ferran and Xavier as she waited for somebody to speak up. Neither did. “What? Can’t admit a woman had the better of you?” She laughed in that mocking way she only used with those close to her.

Xavier kept silent and just looked at Ferran until the man was forced into a corner by the glares of his two companions. “What? Could you expect me to sit around and wait for you? I knew you were tired, and I knew you’d need me.” Ferran pulled his shoulders back and smiled with pride. “I followed you. And if I hadn’t done it, that little fireball would have killed you.”

“The little ‘fireball’ has been tormented in her sleep,” Gojzia cut in, true concern etched across her wise face. “Show her mercy, Ferran. You know nothing of her.”

“I know she tried to kill Xavier, and she would have if I hadn’t butted her good with my Shreika!”

“No grace, all force, you brute,” Xavier shook his head not disapprovingly. “Still, I could have defended myself.”

“I beg your pardon sir, but you would not have defended yourself.” Ferran looked at Gojzia for support and she smiled and looked at Xavier, waiting to hear him admit it or lie.

“I could never kill a woman, but to stop her from killing me I’ll do what I must,” Xavier replied.

“Only if that means asking nicely and offering her your cloak,” said Gojzia, smiling and putting her equipment in a leather pouch.

“Gojz, are we finished?” he replied, slightly annoyed once more. “Why don’t you go see about the girl and make sure she hasn’t run off with murderous intent toward yet another hapless male.”

Gojzia bowed and left the wooden hut with a smirk remaining on her face. “I can’t see why she finds this amusing,” Xavier mumbled, leaning back against the wall behind his cot. “Well, now this girl is here and there’s no keeping her from knowing our every secret. She could be anyone. Corillion could have sent her, or worse.” He motioned with his arm as he emphasized his words and clapped his hand against his bandaged thigh without thinking, cringing in regret upon impact. He breathed through clenched teeth until the pain subsided.

“I doubt there’s worse than Corillion,” said Ferran. “But really, you don’t think he would hire a girl like her, do you?”

“No. You’re right. Any woman in his employ would not be so by choice, or for compensation. I can’t imagine a woman willing to serve him without her life being threatened.”

“Then there’s no need to fear.”

“Maybe not, but we don’t know anything yet. Where is she, anyway?”

“She’s in Gojzia’s hut on my bedroll. Gojz said I had to bring it in for the fireball to make up for knocking her out. I can’t see why I have to be punished for helping.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t kill the girl. None of us quite trust you with that she-sword of yours; Gojz is trying to carve some chivalry into you, if not restraint. So… does the girl still sleep? Is she all right? Gojzia!” he called, wishing he hadn’t sent her away so fast.

Gojzia was back inside the hut in a moment, having not gone far after she had been dismissed. She answered his thoughts immediately, since she had been waiting outside for his inevitable summoning and heard everything. “She awoke for a moment, but no more, and faded back to sleep. Like I said, she sleeps fitfully. Her dreams are not peaceful.”

Xavier nodded in thought. “And what has been done with the leoptera bull?”

Ferran answered this time. “Oh, I took care of that beautiful beasty.” Xavier closed his eyes in anticipation of a boastful telling of how the beast was subdued after he had returned to the village to have the arrow in his leg removed—otherwise he would have seen to the matter himself. “He was unconscious for a good while and Gojzia made sure he stayed that way so I… well, a few of us… could hoist him on a cart and drag him back here. He’s in the pit I’ve been digging between the Weeping Rock and Renscha Face. His wing’s busted so he’s not coming out of there anytime soon.” Xavier was slightly surprised by the lack of adornment to the account.

“Has his wing been seen to?”

“Both wings, sir; a rope net has been fastened. He won’t be able to do any flapping, so that should set and heal in the next… well, I don’t know how long for sure, ‘cause I’ve never done this on a creature so big before.”

“And that pit will hold him?”

“Beasty’s never been stuck in a pit he couldn’t get out of, I’m sure, but he can’t fly now can he? Still, I posted Heath on guard of him to be safe. Better to take precautions.”

Xavier nodded approval of the report and gestured for Ferran to take his leave. He lay back down and closed his eyes at an encroaching headache. He could hear Gojzia falling in step behind Ferran and sat up quickly. “Gojz, wait. Would you wake me when the girl is conscious?”

“Of course. I’ll be wanting to witness the reunion,” she replied as she stepped backwards out the door and shut it softly.

~~*~~

Ilara felt the weight of her eyelids as they struggled open. She strained to blink until her vision cleared and she took in her surroundings—a small room lit by the light of the afternoon filtered through threadbare curtains over the window and covering the otherwise naked doorframe. She was on something soft and low to the packed-dirt floor. The cool damp of her dreams seemed to remain, which she soon realized was due to a moist cloth resting on her brow. The weathered face of a woman, black-haired, with dark eyes intense but softened around the edges stared down at her with questioning kindness.

“I am Gojzia,” she said, and her voice was rough yet gentle, as if worn from years of yelling but tempered by equal years of whispering to sleeping babes. It was the voice of a warrior; mother; angel. Whether she knew it yet or not, Ilara liked this voice. “How do you feel?”

Ilara closed her eyes briefly, trying to find the vision of mist and phantom but failing to grasp even a remnant. She opened her eyes again and tried to adjust to this reality, finding it almost as far from grasp as her dream.

“Child, can you speak?” the woman asked, removing the wet cloth to soak it again in fresh water and replace it on Ilara’s brow.

“Where am I?” she asked, comforted to hear Gojzia’s voice just speaking, lulling her out of the world of fog.

Gojzia smiled. “You are in my home. You are safe. Tell me how your head feels and I’ll try to answer any other questions you may have.”

Ilara just wanted to listen. She paused until she realized she had to find an answer. “It hurts… but the cloth is nice. Thank you.”

“Can you sit up for me?” Gojzia asked, as her hands gently supported Ilara’s back. Ilara acquiesced. “How does your head feel now?”

Ilara closed her eyes and put a hand on her temple as it throbbed anew. The pain slowly subsided and she opened her eyes again to answer. “I am fine. A little dizzy. It’s nothing.”

“You took a heavy blow. You were knocked unconscious for several hours. Can you remember what happened right before you passed out?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me?”

Ilara just stared at the woman. She knew what had happened. She had shot the man called Sa’Celim. She had seen that look on his face… that uncanny look she wished she didn’t remember. And then there had been a span of darkness before the dream. She looked past Gojzia at the curtain blowing softly with the breeze in the doorframe, wafts of dust moving in swells beneath it over the floor like dry waves over a dirt sea. It was calming, like Gojzia’s voice. But it was not enough. “I need not tell you,” she finally replied. “I know I remember, and that is enough.” She surprised even herself with her curt answer.

“I only ask so I can treat you. I am a healer.”

Ilara did not respond but looked up at the woman with unfathomable eyes. They shifted and glimmered with unknown depths.

“Alright. I’ll go get Xavier and we can figure all of this out together.”

“Who is Xavier?” Ilara was unnerved by the name without knowing why.

“Perhaps you have forgotten more than you realize. Do not worry, we wish you no harm. Xavier will explain much and put you at ease.” Gojzia stood and passed under the thin curtain at the door.

She was gone only long enough for Ilara to realize her head throbbed too fiercely for her to stand up, and she lay back down resignedly. She had only closed her eyes for a moment when she heard the rustling of cloth and the sliding of feet over the dirt floor. When she opened her eyes and took in the tall, dark form of the man she had recently made her adversary, her heart leapt and she went with it, rising from the bed with no regard for the pain it renewed in her skull. Her knife had been removed, which she realized too late as she reached for the vacant space for it at the back of her boot.

“Lie down! What are you doing? Lie down!” Gojzia was saying, getting between her and Sa’Celim and helping her unstable self back into the bed.

“What have you done with Anthem?” Ilara asked, looking through fiery eyes up at Sa’Celim, who stood rigid at the foot of her bed. She no longer noticed Gojzia’s presence, nor what the woman was doing.

“My men have tended to your beast. He will heal. And the wound you inflicted on my leg will heal as well, which should come as a relief to you, I am sure,” said Xavier resentfully.

“I hope it festers,” she replied, keeping her gaze firmly on him.

“Who are you?” he asked, ignoring her insult.

“Maybe I don’t remember,” she replied, the sarcasm in her voice increasing with each slowly spoken word.

“Fine. You can have your anonymity—for now. I am Xavier Sa’Celim, guardian of this village. What were you doing so near this place, and with such a creature?”

Xavier; it was his first name and she had not been quick enough to realize it. The thunderstorm taking place under her skull should have been excuse enough to lag in mental acuity, but she was silently chiding herself all the same. It just bolstered her attitude of contrary stubbornness. “I don’t have to give my reasons to anyone,” she said.

Gojzia stared between the two of them, waiting. Silence had descended and it did not appear that anyone would break it. “Xavier, what are you going to do?” Gojzia finally asked, seeing the wall the two had been erecting with their eyes to keep the other at a distance.

It took Xavier a few moments to respond. Ilara refused to release his eyes while he stood silent watching her. He was like a dark statue looming over her, oppressive in quiet judgment, and she would stare through him until she felt no more of his power.

“She can stay here until she is well, but she is to stay in this room,” he instructed Gojzia without giving her his glance. “I’ll post a guard. When she wants to leave, summon me. Without my permission she is not to go anywhere.”

“So I am a prisoner?” Ilara asked.

“Until you choose to be otherwise,” Xavier responded.

A slow and faint constriction in her chest had begun when Xavier had entered the room. Now it had increased and her breathing was regulated by mere will. She was a prisoner, and no matter what this man said or would say, she could not remain here free. He was not to be trusted. To stay here would be to subject herself under another Duard. The only choice she could foresee making was further confirmed for her; with or without his permission, she would leave. The only thing keeping her there was that she could not abandon her beast, but when he could travel, she would do whatever it took to take him with her and never return.

“Where is Anthem? Will he be freed when he has recovered?” she asked. She found it more difficult now to hold his eyes and await a response. They were unwavering as he replied, “I will do what is best for my village and the other two I protect. You may have some sway over the matter; that is up to you. I will not set loose a threat to these villages. So then, rest. And choose well your place here.” With that he turned to say something to Gojzia too quietly for Ilara to hear, and left the small dwelling.

Ilara watched the curtain over the door flutter in his wake and settle again as quiet settled within the hut. Gojzia’s gentle face sent sympathy to Ilara. “Do yourself a favor, child, and trust him,” she said, her tone and expression belying calm assurance. But the advice was not received. It was well meant—Ilara could perceive as much in the older woman’s face—but she could not heed it.

~~*~~

Xavier walked out of Gojzia’s dwelling as mystified by the pale creature within as when she had first attacked him. He wondered how he could keep her here without endangering the village. She was uncontrollable, uncooperative, and as volatile as a mother bear whose cub has been killed before her eyes. It was as if she was without reason. And those eyes… But he pushed that thought away. She was an anomaly of humankind. He’d never encountered such a woman.

A subtle pang of conscience edged at his mind as he thought about her. He was walking quickly—more quickly than his wounded leg could stand without protest, each painful, limping step lending to the memory of the incident. She had attacked him. She deserved to be a captive. Yet that was somehow rankling to Xavier’s sensibilities. She was alone, his heart whispered. She was afraid for her life and the life of the creature she loves. Why should her act of protection be taken against her? If one of his fellow villagers had been attacked in the woods, he would have done as much to protect them. Still, this was different, he told himself. She was a stranger and her intentions or reasons for being in the woods in the first place could not be assumed. He would be naive to bestow trust to such as she so easily, especially under the current circumstances of his people. They were in refuge, struggling to form into a body strong and united.

They had to survive.

Xavier stopped where he stood and looked over the town square. People he knew and cared for were busy with their daily lives; daily toil; rest; love. Fellowship was deep here. It was core and it was prized. Every soul was well acquainted with the next. For Xavier perhaps more than anyone, these people were his family in every reality but the flow of blood. The elders were his parents. The soldiers were his brothers and the women his sisters. The few children kept within the gates of this village were as precious to him as his own life, and he felt that every time one caught his eye. He knew them each well: Yara, Dan’yal, Jeym, and little Hajz. These were the only children in Caelta, the least fortified of the triune villages—the one that was open to the plains that led east to Luria, and to the forces there that every villager feared.

Yara passed as Xavier stood in thought, the young girl shooting him the smile that melted his heart every time. And there it was again: his conscience. Yara disappeared and the stranger invaded her place in his mind. Who was this girl whom he kept prisoner, with eyes like the moors and skin like the snow? Who was this wild beast contained in the frame of a girl? She was someone’s daughter, perhaps someone’s sister, like Yara. He wondered what a smile from her might look like. He couldn’t keep her here as a prisoner. If he treated her as an enemy, that is what she would surely become.

A sigh of resignation escaped his lungs as he realized he would have to show the girl more grace than he had before. Give me your perspective, Deus, he prayed silently as he began to turn back to Gojzia’s dwelling to speak to the girl.

He had not made it ten paces when Gyan Ramoth, elder of Caelta, appeared to his right from inside his dwelling. Approaching slowly, the elder’s face made clear his wish to address Xavier. It was a heavy look the older man wore on his face, which was not typical for the leader of the village. He was obviously not coming for a casual chat.

Stopping mid-stride, Xavier turned and bowed in respect to the elder’s authority and watched him make the last few steps between them. “Master Ramoth, what can I do for you?” he asked and could not help taking a quick glance in the direction of Gojzia’s hut.

“I was told about your injury. You seem to be managing,” said Ramoth.

“It is merely an annoyance, sir,” Xavier replied, shifting his injured leg as he said it.

“And your other annoyance, commander—you’ve taken your attacker captive?”

“I felt it necessary to spare her. She and the leoptera I was hunting seem to have a bond of some kind. The beast has been tended to and secured for safety, and the girl has been seen to by Gojzia.”

“So the rumor is true,” replied Ramoth. “A woman attacked you… very strange. Corillion does not employ women, as far as we know.”

“No sir. She can’t be one of his.” He was surprised by his words, even as he said them. They were aligned in every respect with what he now knew he truly believed. “At this point I suspect she is more likely a vagabond or escaped slave than a mercenary. I believe her attack was an act of protection for the leoptera, but no other motives are clear. Still, that does not answer for why she was on Mt. Renscha in the first place. She is no Lurian refugee.” The elder nodded deferentially as he listened, appearing to think over the matter. “I was on my way to speak with her,” Xavier continued. “I believe her hostility will not be renewed if I can show her that the beast will not be harmed and that she is safe here.”

“What are you going to do with the beast?” asked Ramoth in a rote, protocol manner and tone. He was not addressing what was behind his eyes.

“For now, we will contain him and feed him. Until he can fly again, there is no danger in keeping him captive. Perhaps the girl will show me how to tame him. I did not think it possible, but as I said, I have much to discuss with her.” Xavier respectfully finished his account, impatient beneath his calm for the real matter at hand.

“A mysterious personage, I am sure. I wish to speak with her myself, but that is for another time,” said Ramoth. “An emergency council has been called. You are summoned. We assemble as soon as possible.”

“With Reirq and Sheia?” Xavier had been waiting for this summons.

“Indeed.” They started walking together toward the gathering hall in Caelta’s circle of buildings. Xavier glanced briefly behind him toward Gojzia’s dwelling, wondering how long he would have to wait to speak with the girl. “The three villages must be united now more than ever,” the elder continued. “I hope you’re ready for the position you may be required to take.” Ramoth held open the heavy wood door of the gathering hall as Xavier stepped under its shadow.

“My readiness will be supplied according to need,” Xavier replied. “Deus will ready me as He sees fit.”

Ramoth’s heavy glance eased momentarily and he smiled at the younger man in quiet acknowledgement. But the worry crept back into his eyes to reveal the doubt he was not giving a voice.

Xavier turned to survey the room and suddenly felt the weight of more than Ramoth’s tension alone. All the elders from the three villages were present, and each wore a face as grim as a plague.

Chapter 5: Confrontation

As the hours before dawn passed in wait of Anthem’s return, Ilara's pulse progressed ever faster. The rushing beat of her heart seemed a reflection of the passing time there in the stillness beneath the summer moon. She felt utterly alone. The void was closing in around her until new fears of the darkness began to play against her normal fondness for the night. Had Anthem left her? Would he return? Had he gone so far away as to not hear her call?

She could wait no longer; Ilara started a fire and by its light searched the clearing for tracks or any signs of where Anthem could have gone. Near Anthem's resting place, claw marks had dug into the earth around two hind-foot prints, suggesting a take off, but this did not tell her much, other than the fact that he had flown, which was to be expected from the winged beast. He was created for the sky. She climbed a tree and near the top scoped the horizon in every direction. Nothing met her vision but the darkened frames of the treetops.

Climbing down again, her mind cleared of fear as she readied herself for action. She grabbed her bow and made sure her boot securely held her sharpest knife, sheathed in its familiar, easily accessed place behind her calf. She threw sand on her fire and checked her back to ensure the quiver was still in place before she bolted in a random direction into the woods.

Failing to detect a sound set apart from the subtle noises of the pre-dawn forest, she retraced her steps, planning to choose another course as soon as she reached the clearing. Like the spokes of a wheel extending from the center, she would comb the forest around the clearing, hoping Anthem would be found while the clearing remained the point of reference.

The darkness soon dissolved in the immerging dawn and the faintness of morning began to expose the secrets of night as Ilara neared her campsite for the third time. Before she had reentered the clearing, she saw faint movement ahead, behind the trees. She crouched out of instinct and peered through her hiding place toward the source of movement, straining to make out the living shadow.

A pain-seared roar pierced the air just before she saw her Anthem crash through the trees on the opposite side of the clearing, his right wing hanging limp at his side. With his left wing he steadied himself as he backed away from a spearhead and a shadow.

“Anthem!” Ilara whispered, barely stilling herself as her first reaction had been to leap into the clearing and take on the form that was immerging against her beast. Instead she crept slowly forward among the low brush, trying to make out the shape of Anthem’s adversary.

As she approached the plants that edged along the clearing, she saw that Anthem’s opponent was a tall man with dark features. If some fool thinks to end my beast, I’ll have to end him myself, she had almost spoken aloud.

Before she attacked, she quickly weighed the situation. What little her brothers had taught her of hunting and fighting had been rudimentary, but after years of solitary practice with wild and hostile creatures she was now a master at assessing an opponent’s threat to herself and how much force was needed to defeat them. Yet she had never seriously fought against another human being—never with the intent to harm. Could she bring herself to do so now… to perhaps kill a man? It was slightly unnerving that she could find no immediate reasons not to. But she hadn’t time to philosophize or moralize; she would use as much force as necessary to preserve her only friend. Passing time and the dark hunter were equally against her purpose. She had to act. She reached for her knife and leapt into the lower branches of a tree.

Anthem and the hunter were each rapt in the moment, intent on taking down the other. Neither noticed Ilara as she positioned herself to descend into their midst. When the man was directly beneath Ilara’s perch, his arm held up, spear poised and ready to pierce Anthem’s heart, she leapt. Gracefully accurate, her feet struck the man in the back so that he was knocked off balance and his spear fell from his grasp. He was pinned; Ilara kept one foot on his back and the other against his cheek, pressing his face down into the dirt.

Keeping him down, Ilara turned away to see Anthem collapse to her right. He had either lost a lot of blood or he was too wounded to hold himself up. This evoked a silent, blazing fury within her and Ilara breathed not a word but pressed her foot firmly into the man’s cheek, holding the keen edge of her blade against his throat.

Shafts of light cut through the trees in front of her to the east—dawn’s blinding brilliance in her eyes. It was enough so that she was not able to see as the man beneath her grasped the spear he had dropped and with it struck her ankle, stealing her balance and knocking her off his back.

As if they were both trained in the arts of the predatory beasts, each was back on their feet in an instant. Now his spear was aimed at her, the two of them circling each other. Ilara finally caught sight of her opponent’s face. Startling recognition came with the morning and her anger blended with an unbidden fear. The result was only to make her wrath fiercer, though frozen beneath the surface. The man stared back, making no move but holding his stance of readiness.

~~*~~

Xavier stood still for a moment, surprised by the soft features he had not expected to find on his attacker. Despite all his combat experience, he had never had to face a woman in a fight. The proper response to this attack was hard to assess—his surprise kept him from being able to draw any conclusions to act on. One moment he had been just about to complete the kill of a bigger leoptera than any the records of renown had yet to boast, the next he was assured that kill was lost, and the cause was the unprecedented appearance of some unearthly woman-creature.

For a moment he just stood there with his spear and watched the girl’s murky grey-green eyes burn into his own. The sun cast low beams of light to illuminate her from the back as the wind tossed loose strands of raven hair that seemed to burn crimson as it caught the light. She was slender and taller than most of the women in Caelta, Reirq, or Sheia, and whiter than anyone he’d ever seen. Her tunic, jerkin, leggings, and boots were such as he’d never seen on a woman, but they seemed to suit her hostility. All that adorned her was masculine, but it was only a thin veil over an uncontainable beauty, and he was taken aback despite himself.

If he had realized immediately that his attacker was female, he wouldn’t have knocked her off his back. Now his chivalry would be a barrier to any violent means of defending himself. But even if it weren’t for this barrier, he would have been stalled merely by the intensity in the girl’s wild eyes.

He was slightly encouraged that the girl was as inhibited to follow through with the fight as he was. “Who are you?” He asked, finding his voice awkward and small to his hearing. Her eyes slightly flickered but she made no reply. Her left brow, delicate beneath an old scar, crinkled just barely. Like a deer caught unaware, she seemed mesmerized; her energy seemed pent-up below the surface, like she would bolt at the slightest provocation.

“Just put down your knife and…” he was cut-off as she jerked out of her trance, rushed at him, and pinned him between a tree and her knife.

Her eyes made clear her refusal to cooperate even before her lips parted. “You’ve no right to attack my beast,” she spat through the loose strands of hair that had fallen from her dark braid

Xavier glanced over at the fallen leoptera with curious eyes. “How is it that you call him your beast? Leoptera take no masters, nor can they be tamed.” He waited for a retort, but receiving none continued. “They are vicious killers. Can you take offense that I seek to rid my people of such a threat?”

She answered him not a word but pressed the flat of the blade more firmly into his neck.

“I answered your question; I was doing my duty. I couldn’t have known anyone cared for a bloodthirsty animal,” he said.

Clear offense was taken at the derogatory remark directed at the leoptera. The girl did not move, or even blink, but that conveyed enough. Xavier saw that she truly valued the life of the dark beast, so she would eventually have to tend to its wounds, leaving Xavier under her power to show mercy or malice. He didn’t put much faith in the former.

He could maneuver himself fairly easily and get hold of her wrist, but a stalemate was the only foreseeable result; the girl was not strong but she seemed to make up for it with skill. Besides, he could not bring himself to use force against a woman. “Look, if you release me and promise not to kill me, I’ll see to your leoptera’s wounds and let you both go,” he offered, the only alternative he could see to submission or brutality.

~~*~~

Studying the face of Sa’Celim, Ilara felt weighted on all ends. She was in control and she was not about to let him take that away under the pretense of a bargain. Half of her wanted to simply slit his throat—the part that frightened her, which she pushed back down even as it immerged. The other part was wary of his offer; it would probably mean going to his village. Why was that so hard for her to accept? She did not know, but she still clung to her aversion. Even so, she was distraught by the fear of what the consequences might be for Anthem if she did not accept help.

Sa’Celim’s brown eyes were meeting hers in the growing light, as if daring her to look away and submit. “What skill do you have to heal?” she finally asked, keeping her blade as firmly pressed against his neck as before and cloaking her misgivings beneath a harsh tone. She was unsure why she was pursuing this option at all, other than her fear that she could not minister to her beast alone and save him.

“I have dealt with wounds for the past ten years. I have seen pain like you’ve never known. I’ve dealt it, and I’ve mended it; if you care at all for the creature, you’ll let me go,” he finished.

Ilara hesitated. He knows nothing of my pain.

Having once more made no reply, the man must have assumed she was bent on violence, for he twisted out of her grasp and pinned her knife-wielding wrist into the tree and her other arm over her head. He met her eyes again, this time from above, looming with a new light behind his eyes.

Ilara was kicking herself for her weakness. She could have killed him while he was under her power, but she had not had the will. Later she would reflect that it was better her hands were not stained with unnecessary blood, but the value of a life was as yet unclear to her.

His look softened as he twisted the knife out of her hand. Stepping away, he turned his back on her and went to Anthem’s fallen form. It was not more than a moment before Ilara had notched an arrow at her bow and set her aim at Sa’Celim’s back.

“Are we still at that? Have you not yet accepted a truce?” the man called from his crouched position at the side of the beast, only briefly looking back at her.

The sight of Anthem lying in a pool of his own blood was enough to sharpen the edge of disdain Ilara clung to. “You took my knife, but you’ll regret leaving me my bow,” she replied simply, though the notion of actually killing him seemed unnecessary now. Still, she had to prevent him from any kind of double-cross, even if it required injuring him.

At this the hunter stood and turned to her once more, his full height and breadth lending to his response. “Are you really going to put an arrow in me? Do you really want to carry this to an ordeal where nobody wins? I see a leoptera with serious wounds and a girl who seems to care if he lives or dies. If you really want him to live, you’ll have to trust me. Afterwards, by all means, you can go on your way.”

Ilara held her arrow steady at her bow for a few moments more, not putting it down until Sa’Celim had turned back to attending Anthem. For some reason he was helping Anthem even without her cooperation. She had not promised him anything and indeed no bargain was struck, therefore she assumed there was something more he wanted. Of course he would never say so—that would be foolish—but this was almost certainly regarded by Ilara as mere leverage for Sa’Celim’s own unnamed benefit.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Examining his wounds,” he replied.

“What have you done to his wing?”

“I…” he began but altered his response, “It’s broken. I’ll have to sew it down and bind it. And I’ll need water and a lot of cloth to tend his wounds. But I don’t think any of that can be done here without my equipment and some of my men. I must get help in the village, or this beast will die.”

“I can get water from the stream and you can use my other tunic for binding,” she offered, a dread creeping up under her skin at the idea of more men being added to the scenario.

“No, it won’t be enough. The leoptera will die if we don’t stop his bleeding, and your tunic will not do much. Can you stay here and cover this wound while I retrieve my men?”

Ilara stared back at him, her raw repulsion as clear as the morning air. Something was unconcealed behind her eyes, which might have been fear, but as she responded her voice resonated with only anger. “You’ll leave him here to die… you’ll leave me alone to watch it happen… or you’ll bring others and get what you want by force.” She shifted her eyes for a moment and then lifted her bow once more, fitting the arrow with smooth resolve. Her choices were spent.

Even as her arrow was steadied, Sa’Celim had risen and was backing away with a perception of the new malice in Ilara’s intentions. “Wait, I’m not…” he began but could not finish. The feathers at the back of the shaft slipped between Ilara’s fingers as the arrow took flight and hit its mark in Sa’Celim’s thigh, silencing him in shock. He staggered backward, his hands around the bloodied arrow and his eyes wide in some emotion she could not recognize. She knew even as she looked at him that she had seen the look before; on the face of Taerith, and Aiden, and long ago, her father; disappointment. That was the cause for the look in their cases; disappointment tinged in their love for her. This look could be nothing of the sort, yet it was unmistakably like the other looks… those looks she’d now give her very freedom to witness again.

Such were the thoughts that coursed through her in the mere seconds after the impact of her arrow, and such were the thoughts that were blackened just as quickly as a hard object struck the back of her head and she slipped into unconscious oblivion.

***This chapter has been revised. I am reposting it because the end of the chapter was not as I needed it to be in order to progress in the story. The changes aren't huge; I merely re-wrote a few paragraphs near the end. Doing so has freed my brain to work on the next chapter! So, expect Chapter 5 sometime in the near-future. In the mean-time, if you want to re-read just the last 1/3 of this chapter, I'd appreciate any comments.

<3libby

Chapter 4: Strangers

Having slept from dawn through the heat of day, Ilara awoke several hours before sunset, fully rested and awake. The brief thought of Sam's medicine and its effectiveness entered her thoughts as she stretched and felt no pain, even on her left side. She smiled and pushed away from Anthem, who yawned and rolled over, not willing to arise for his usual nocturnal activity before the fall of dusk.

After a quick breakfast of cooked millet and Drakoberries—sweet and spicy red berries common to mountainsides—Ilara followed her ears to a brook, where she washed herself and her dirty set of clothes and put on her clean set. The water was cold and clear and tasted sweet. It made her dark hair shine and her white fingers whiter. When she had finished hanging her wet clothes, but before donning her dry leggings, she sat on the edge of the brook and let her feet soak in the frigid stream. All the while she stretched her toes between the flowing water she went deeper and deeper into introspection.

What am I doing out here? She wondered and the wind seemed to answer back by lifting and whipping her face with the long wet tendrils of her hair. If Taerith were here I would seek his council . . . but he's not.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she looked up briefly as if in hopes of seeing Elsu again, but she knew it would be weeks if not months before she received the first reply. What she saw instead was interesting, but not wholly unexpected; lapping streams of smoke rising faintly over the tree tops higher up the mountain. People.

Her feet suddenly realized their state and begged to be warmed, tingling as she pulled them out of the water and pulled on her leggings, losing most pensiveness as she went back to practical activities as she analyzed the smoke sighting.

Her boots were soft and comforting to her shocked feet, and she walked in them in a circle for a few moments, gathering her thoughts. Biting her lip and standing in a position between the way back to the sleeping lion and the wild cliffs of the mountain, Ilara briefly weighed an impulse that had made itself present to her, and which she soon decided she could not deny. Her quiver was full and she had her bow should any danger come upon her.

She would seek the source of the smoke.

An hour's climb led her to a path leading north and east along the upward slope. She took it without hesitation, keen on her surroundings in the early evening light. It was of a brightness she was still unaccustomed to since her months of night-dwelling, now that the days had grown long with the sun's extended presence. The orange glow the trees and rocks took on was fascinating and wonderful. As she passed such luminescent objects, her hands were compelled to brush them to glean some of their magic. Each time she did, the phantom light seemed diffused by her touch, yet she could not stay her hands.

The mountainside smelled sweet with a mixture of crumbling rock and rain and the persistent pines and aspens scattered about. Ilara was immersed in it; so much so, that she nearly followed the trail all the way to the village gate to which it led, forgetting her reasons for taking this path in the first place. If it had not been for the gate attendant's whistling, Ilara would have found herself confusedly in his midst. And if there was one thing she wished always to avoid, it was being caught unaware by another human being.

The human being in question was whistling a strange tune, and very loudly, as if he wished he was a songbird. The sound was so very unlike the gentle song of a bird that it was unmistakably picked out of the other forest sounds by the now sobered and cautious Ilara. Immediately on hearing it, she fell back a few steps and to her left along the wall of the rock face that hugged the path. She was obscured from whatever it was pealing shrill notes into the air with wanton vivacity, and he was equally obscured to her. Slowly, she stepped a little forward, her back tight against the rock face, until she could see through the trees around a curve in the path the pacing, booted feet of a man.

Her hesitance to approach was as well known to her as her own breath, but the reasons why were difficult for her to rationalize as she stood there ambivalently. Stepping back again, Ilara made certain she was not in view of the whistling man and started a smooth, slow descent down the side of the raised trail. The loose earth beneath her feet was difficult not to disturb loudly as she walked, and she quickly improvised her trail by using the trees. It was for her as easy a passage from tree to tree, and silent as the squirrels she learned the maneuver from, as it was to walk below and keep silent. Innately tree-drawn, Ilara moved with ease and her nerves calmed as she came closer to the village while staying hidden in foliage.

When she was at last as close to the man as she could confidently come, she found herself in the uppermost branches of an oak, which provided a view beyond the gate the man guarded to the small village behind it. The gate attendant kept on with his mirth-filled tune and Ilara surveyed what she could while certain he did not sense her.

It was a town made up of about forty small wooden structures presumably for housing, considering the gardens adjacent to most, and the children scurrying in and out of them. Most had rudimentary chimneys with gentle, steady smoke rising through them. A natural spring ran from the cliffs above, through the center of the village, curving near the gate to pour gently down the mantle's edge. There was a simple bridge over its center in relation to the town. It was such a small stream it seemed the bridge was only necessary during the spring months when the waters would presumably swell.

Two larger structures stood at the back of the village, one on each side of the stream. Each was against the ascending mountain slope and facing the other buildings as if addressing a crowd that had formed a sort of circle around its leaders. Ilara saw that one of these buildings was a place of worship; a church or monastery of some sort as evidenced by the carved door depicting an intricate cross. The other building she could not account for.

The whole village was situated in such a way that it was nestled in a place of safety, a place one could equate with the location of an eagle's nest. Its gate connected to a wooden fence that extended to the rock face to its left and the cliff-like slope to its right and around the village, hemming the town into its protective arms. The mantle the buildings were built upon on this side of the mountain was a great height above the lower slopes, yet not so high as to make living here impossible. It was positioned in just such a way as to give the impression of impenetrable security, without the idea that it was impossible to access. And for such a precocious position, it was surprisingly large enough to accommodate a growing community.

Despite the natural aversion she felt toward society in general, Ilara wondered how these villagers had come to settle here. Keeping her attention captive on one person at a time going about their business, she slowly began to weigh her inclinations toward self-preservation as more weighty than her strange interest in the scene. About to return to Anthem, her curiosity was all but slaked when she heard a voice join the whistler below her and her attention was thus directed.

"Good evening, Laith," said the stranger.

"Good evening. I hope your appointment has gone well, Master Sa'Celim?"

"I believe so. Anything to report?"

"No sir, all is well."

"Glad to hear it. Carry on. I'll come to take my post before the end of supper," the stranger said, patting the whistler on the shoulder. He turned to go through the gate but stopped short and turned his head back, holding it there as if listening.

Ilara watched nervously from her perch as the man called Sa'Celim lingered at the gate and looked around and up at the trees. Hugging closely the trunk as much as possible, Ilara waited until the serious face of the man disappeared behind the wooden gate.

~~*~~

Seven days without solitude worked disturbing influence over Xavier Sa'Celim. His men were still in training, and in the state they were in, Xavier's fervent attention was necessary to their improvement. Each day he awoke before dawn and delegated to them as much of his work as would be to their benefit in training and so that he could maintain his foremost duties as Caelta's guardian. He would return in the late afternoon from hunts and trap-setting and conduct grueling—but not cruel—training procedures well past the setting sun.

The past week he had spent another major portion of everyday meeting with the leaders of the triune villages on Mount Renscha's three-sided eastern shelf: Caelta, Reirq, and Sheia. He awaited their decision on a matter that would most likely result in further extensions of his time and efforts, and less likelihood to find solitude from time to time for his own sanity.

Xavier was a quiet man in many regards, and if left alone the only expression he would ever make would be that of poetry or song. His needs for solitude stemmed not out of a desire for escape, but out of his need for introspection and meditation. Much depth and conflict dwelt within him that if ignored, would ultimately drive him insane. The immanence of the approaching breakdown always made itself clear to Xavier well in advance, and thus he had opportunity to evade disaster. In light of the possible promotion which was likely to be forced on him in the coming weeks, Xavier worried his needed time of solitude would become nonexistent.

When the watchmen for the second shift of the night came to relieve Xavier of duty at Caelta's gate, his body begged for sleep. Brushing off his fatigue, Xavier took this, perhaps the last opportunity he would have in weeks, to get away.

The wide cleft between two boulders sitting twenty feet below Mount Renscha's summit and overlooking his village had been Xavier's solitary place since he had come to Caelta some years ago. Taking out some vellum and his quill and ink out of his satchel, Xavier set them beside him on the rocky shelf and looked up at the stars. Their brilliance was not new to him, yet he delighted in them whenever a chance such as this was given him to really take them in. His thoughts were on the magnificence of Deus and his heart soon echoed his thoughts in reverent prayer.

Xavier believed in Deus, the one true God, and in Christus His son, who died and rose again that all men might live. Xavier had clung to this in his trials and lost sight of it in his successes; but he was always driven back by the quality he had been given to see his own failings and need. He confessed even then in his heart to his God, that he feared any more authority given to him in the villages would be too difficult for him to bear righteously. Pride was a threatening temptation he knew he succumbed to too often. He spent an hour in thought and prayer on the subject before a peace settled over him and he took up his pen.

As his writing most often took place at late hours of the night, Xavier often used an odd technique to make light to write by. He kept twigs and brush under a ledge of one of the great boulders on the cliff, thereby kept dry for the purpose of quick flame. Taking the fine fuel to his side, he would light small amounts at a time to burst into short-lived flame, writing one line of poetry per burst. It was a sort of check he had invented for himself so that nothing he wrote would be over-thought, but all from the first profusion of his heart.

It was nearing the death-hour of the night, as the people of the triune villages deemed the hour set exactly between midnight and dawn. It was called such because of the history of numerous deaths by leoptera attacks that had occurred at this time of night. At least two watchmen were always posted at this hour at each gate around the three villages, and all of them well armed and aided by torchlight.

Footfalls and panting entered Xavier's hearing as he read his completed poem over, having just finished and about to go down to his cottage in the village for a few scant hours of sleep. Recognizing the characteristically clumsy sound of Ferran when climbing, Xavier rolled up his parchment and put his satchel over his shoulder, standing casually to wait for his subordinate and friend.

"You're no use to me there," Ferran said with a grunt, his forehead barely showing over the ledge, "while I'm over here . . . trying to get up this cursed mountain." Xavier laughed and offered a hand to Ferran, who took it and allowed himself to be pulled the rest of the way up onto the cliff.

"Why did you follow me up if you hate the climb so much?" Xavier asked with a genial pat on his friend's back.

"Because I worry about you," he replied, catching his breath and dusting himself off. "Were you ever planning on getting some rest?"

"I am more rested now than I would have been in sleep. I know my limits as well as my responsibilities. You know that as well as I, so why did you really come?"

Ferran grinned. "If you hadn't noticed, it's death-hour, and I was mistakenly appointed as watchmen with Mehrk and Sean. They told me they could handle it and that I could go back to sleep, but while I was on my way, I sensed movement down the slope, on the southern cliffs. Can you guess what I saw?" Ferran finished with a bright smile that was clear even in the dark.

"I'm sure you'd rather I let you tell me."

"A dark, magnificent male leoptera, by himself. He was flying above the slope in just such a way as I could make him out with close observation. He was all shiny too. A real beauty. I'd love to go after him myself, but you know me and my . . . uh," he stammered.

"Your horrible lack of skill with an arrow, a spear, or any other projectile? Yes, all too well."

"Master Sa'Celim, if that beasty came right up to the gate on foot, I'd best him in an instant with Shreika here," he said, taking his thus-dubbed sword partially out of it's sheath, just enough to glint faintly in the starlight. "But my moment of glory has yet to arrive. So, are you going to go after him tonight or take the wiser path and get an hour or two of sleep before you begin again tomorrow?"

"What do you think I'll do? What would you do?"

"Is this a test?" Ferran asked, aware that in his position just under Xavier, he would take over as town guardian and militia leader if ever Xavier could not fulfill that duty.

"Just answer."

"Well, I think you're going to go after it tonight, forsaking all sleep because you do not even need it. You're a spirit, some of the men have said. I don't rightly know if they are wrong. But me, I am only human, so I would wait until tomorrow night and be prepared."

"Honest answer. Good. That's why I like you."

"And am I right?"

"Partly, you are. I am going to go after it tonight, yes, but I am not going to forsake sleep, for I am not wholly spirit—my flesh covers most of it. I am delegating the giving of assignments for morning duties to your shoulders. It will give you a chance to flex your leadership skills and me a chance to get a few hours of sleep. Besides, if I get this leoptera tonight, a male no less, it will more than account for skipping my morning announcements and hunt."

"Aye, sir."

"Good. Have you brought my spear?"

"Of course, right next to mine," Ferran replied, reaching for the second spear on the baldric on his back.

"Always prepared, Ferran. Remind me to keep you around."

"Naturally, sir."

Xavier, spear in hand, began the steep slide on his heels down the slope of the cliff down onto the wooded southeastern slope, bent at the knees with one hand feeling the passing rock face to his right for balance.

"Master Sa'Celim!" Ferran cried from the cliff before Xavier was halfway down.

Sliding to a stop by turning on the sides of is boots and grabbing a pine branch jutting out of the rock to his side, Xavier looked back up at his friend. "What is it?"

"How do I get down?"

Xavier laughed. "Figure it out! Think of it as a training exercise!" And with that he continued his slide, gravel loosening and falling with him. When he reached the bottom, he did not stop but ran carefully between trees and boulders down the steady slope and off toward the southern end of Mount Renscha. If he could find the male leoptera and take him down, the night would be a success. He said a quick prayer in his heart for wisdom and skill as he worked his way closer to where he hoped to find a trail, or better yet, the beast itself.

~~*~~

Since the one called Sa'Celim had shown himself, Ilara had found a strangely renewed curiosity for the village. She had stayed in the tree for over an hour simply observing the occupants of the town, especially curious about this Sa'Celim and what his status was here. She had watched him enter one of the small buildings briefly, coming out again and greeting his comrades as he went about many odd tasks.

His place here was difficult to decipher as she followed him with her eyes. He had gone from the large building she hadn't placed yet, seeming to issue orders to a dozen young men as they came out again, and then to one of the smallest houses to fix a door for an elderly woman who smiled and doted on him as he did. Next he had shoed a horse, followed by walking and talking with an older man who seemed dignified and to whom Sa'Celim seemed to be subordinate. He had bowed to the man after their meeting and went on to yet another task. Perhaps Sa'Celim was a teacher or a lesser leader.

As he went from one occupation to the next, Ilara found need to move from tree to tree to keep sight of him. She spent five hours doing so, watching him with earnest interest she could not account for. After he had sat around a fire eating with several others, he had taken up the post of the whistler at the gate and Ilara had cautiously made her way back to her former perch above him.

She watched him less and less avidly as her stomach started to make its needs known and she realized how long she had left Anthem back at camp. She was about to leave when two men approached Sa'Celim to take his place. They lit an extra torch and stood at attention before Sa'Celim as he was about to leave.

"Anything we should know, sir?" one asked.

"As it happens, yes. The night is as dark as the day was bright. If either of you is caught sleeping or inattentively guarding, I'll give the order myself to have you sent back to Luria," He said with a brusque tone. "This is a serious task, and I want to trust that my men take it as such. Understood?"

"Yes, Master Sa'Celim."

"I bid you a quiet watch," their master finished and turned curtly away.

As the one she had been watching with interest for hours passed under the shadows of the village walls, Ilara turned her mind to her own situation. She felt a certain amount of self-reproach in light of the fact that she had been spying on strangers for the better part of her waking hours, too afraid to act on her fascination. The thing she now wondered most was what made it so necessary for this village to be constantly guarded. She assumed she would never get the answer, because she was certain she could not enter the gates and make herself known.

For some reason, the man called Sa’Celim was the barrier she felt most unable to cross. He seemed to bar her from even entertaining the idea of entering the village, no matter how intriguing it was to her. Despite the interest she could not account for, something about Sa’Celim sat ill with her. When she had first seen him—the way he looked at his companions—it was as though his look could cut through to one’s very bones, exposing them to the harshest of scrutiny. Not understanding or accounting for her feelings of vulnerability, she willed herself to leave and put it out of her mind. She looked briefly over the village once more as if to bid it goodbye, and turned to find her way back to Anthem.

As she climbed from branch to branch on the arbor path back to camp, she realized she might not be able to ever be among humans again, at least not as one of them. She could not even attempt to approach these people to sell a river dragon; that seemed a vain endeavor now anyway. Who could buy such an extravagance and vanity, even if they believed she could catch one?

The name 'Luria' came back to her as she went along, the place which Sa'Celim had threatened to send his men. Ilara wondered if this was a large place, a city or kingdom perhaps. The idea of a mass of people still frightened her, but if it was large enough, she could go there fairly inconspicuously, as opposed to if she made herself known to this tiny village.

Perhaps hope still remained that she could find occupation and provision for herself somehow, even if it was simply by hunting and selling her catches to provide shelter for the long winter months. Or perhaps, if this 'Luria' was really a large city, her ambitions to get the bounty for a river dragon could still be pursued.

Possibilities were extensive, and she would try to be brave and not shut herself off entirely to anything before giving it a chance, though the prospect of having to deal with people was a barrier she perceived as impenetrable. The prospect was enough to rub her nerves raw, but she was not even off the mountain yet, so worry would have to be set aside. For now she was decided on only two things: she would leave this mountain with Anthem as soon as was possible and she would try to find this 'Luria.' The rest—whether she would enter that or any city or remain a reclusive vagabond—would have to come later. She could not wander forever; she had to do something. She would face that realty sooner or later, and something in her knew this well enough to force her to act.

Ilara had found her way back to the path when she knew she was far enough from the village not to be heard. She followed it through the dark until she came upon the stream she had bathed in several hours prior. She leapt it easily and was back at the camp within a few minutes, eager to get ready and take flight with her beast. Looking around the clearing, sitting cold and still amidst the rocks and trees, Ilara saw it was empty. The grass where Anthem had lain was trampled and there was an animal carcass beside it. So, one of us has eaten, she thought enviously.

Ilara whistled. Only silence returned to her. She lifted her voice and sang again the first song she had ever sung to him, sure it would draw him. She waited.

Anthem did not come.

Chapter 4: Strangers

Having slept from dawn through the heat of day, Ilara awoke several hours before sunset, fully rested and awake. The brief thought of Sam's medicine and its effectiveness entered her thoughts as she stretched and felt no pain, even on her left side. She smiled and pushed away from Anthem, who yawned and rolled over, not willing to arise for his usual nocturnal activity before the fall of dusk.

After a quick breakfast of cooked millet and Drakoberries—sweet and spicy red berries common to mountainsides—Ilara followed her ears to a brook, where she washed herself and her dirty set of clothes and put on her clean set. The water was cold and clear and tasted sweet. It made her dark hair shine and her white fingers whiter. When she had finished hanging her wet clothes, but before donning her dry leggings, she sat on the edge of the brook and let her feet soak in the frigid stream. All the while she stretched her toes between the flowing water she went deeper and deeper into introspection.

What am I doing out here? She wondered and the wind seemed to answer back by lifting and whipping her face with the long wet tendrils of her hair. If Taerith were here I would seek his council . . . but he's not.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she looked up briefly as if in hopes of seeing Elsu again, but she knew it would be weeks if not months before she received the first reply. What she saw instead was interesting, but not wholly unexpected; lapping streams of smoke rising faintly over the tree tops higher up the mountain. People.

Her feet suddenly realized their state and begged to be warmed, tingling as she pulled them out of the water and pulled on her leggings, losing most pensiveness as she went back to practical activities as she analyzed the smoke sighting.

Her boots were soft and comforting to her shocked feet, and she walked in them in a circle for a few moments, gathering her thoughts. Biting her lip and standing in a position between the way back to the sleeping lion and the wild cliffs of the mountain, Ilara briefly weighed an impulse that had made itself present to her, and which she soon decided she could not deny. Her quiver was full and she had her bow should any danger come upon her.

She would seek the source of the smoke.

An hour's climb led her to a path leading north and east along the upward slope. She took it without hesitation, keen on her surroundings in the early evening light. It was of a brightness she was still unaccustomed to since her months of night-dwelling, now that the days had grown long with the sun's extended presence. The orange glow the trees and rocks took on was fascinating and wonderful. As she passed such luminescent objects, her hands were compelled to brush them to glean some of their magic. Each time she did, the phantom light seemed diffused by her touch, yet she could not stay her hands.

The mountainside smelled sweet with a mixture of crumbling rock and rain and the persistent pines and aspens scattered about. Ilara was immersed in it; so much so, that she nearly followed the trail all the way to the village gate to which it led, forgetting her reasons for taking this path in the first place. If it had not been for the gate attendant's whistling, Ilara would have found herself confusedly in his midst. And if there was one thing she wished always to avoid, it was being caught unaware by another human being.

The human being in question was whistling a strange tune, and very loudly, as if he wished he was a songbird. The sound was so very unlike the gentle song of a bird that it was unmistakably picked out of the other forest sounds by the now sobered and cautious Ilara.

Immediately on hearing it, she fell back a few steps and to her left along the wall of the rock face that hugged the path. She was obscured from whatever it was pealing shrill notes into the air with wanton vivacity, and he was equally obscured to her. Slowly, she stepped a little forward, her back tight against the rock face, until she could see through the trees around a curve in the path the pacing, booted feet of a man.

Her hesitance to approach was as well known to her as her own breath, but the reasons why were difficult for her to rationalize as she stood there ambivalently. Stepping back again, Ilara made certain she was not in view of the whistling man, and started a smooth, slow descent down the side of the raised trail. The loose earth beneath her feet was difficult not to disturb loudly as she walked, and she quickly improvised her trail by using the trees. It was for her as easy a passage from tree to tree, and silent as the squirrels she learned the maneuver from, as it was to walk below and keep silent. Innately tree-drawn, Ilara moved with ease and her nerves calmed as she came closer to the village while staying hidden in foliage.

When she was at last as close to the man as she could confidently come, she found herself in the uppermost branches of an oak, which provided a view beyond the gate the man guarded to the small village behind it. The gate attendant kept on with his mirth-filled tune and Ilara surveyed what she could while certain he did not sense her.

It was a town made up of about forty small wooden structures presumably for housing, considering the gardens adjacent to most, and the children scurrying in and out of them. Most had rudimentary chimneys with gentle, steady smoke rising through them. A natural spring ran from the cliffs above, through the center of the village, curving near the gate to pour gently down the mantle's edge. There was a simple bridge over its center in relation to the town. It was such a small stream it seemed the bridge was only necessary during the spring months when the waters would presumably swell.

Two larger structures stood at the back of the village, one on each side of the stream. Each was against the ascending mountain slope and facing the other buildings as if addressing a crowd that had formed a sort of circle around its leaders. Ilara saw that one of these buildings was a place of worship; a temple or church of some sort as evidenced by the carved door depicting an intricate cross. The other building she could not account for.

The whole village was situated in such a way that it was nestled in a place of safety, a place one could equate with the location of an eagle's nest. Its gate connected to a wooden fence that extended to the rock face to its left and the cliff-like slope to its right and around the village, hemming the town into its protective arms. The mantle the buildings were built upon on this side of the mountain was a great height above the lower slopes, yet not so high as to make living here impossible. It was positioned in just such a way as to give the impression of impenetrable security, without the idea that it was impossible to access. And for such a precocious position, it was surprisingly large enough to accommodate a growing community. Ilara wondered how they had come to settle here.

Her curiosity was all but slaked when she heard a voice join the whistler below her and her attention was thus directed.

"Good evening, Laith," said the stranger.

"Good evening. I hope your appointment has gone well, Master Sa'Celim?"

"I believe so. Anything to report?"

"No sir, all is well."

"Glad to hear it. Carry on. I'll come to take my post before the end of supper," the stranger said, patting the whistler on the shoulder. He turned to go through the gate but stopped short and turned his head back, holding it there as if listening.

Ilara watched nervously from her perch as the man called Sa'Celim lingered at the gate and looked around and up at the trees. Hugging closely the trunk as much as possible, she went unseen and the serious face of the man soon disappeared behind the wooden gate.

~~*~~

Seven days without solitude worked disturbing influence over Xavier Sa'Celim. His men were still in training, and in the state they were in, Xavier's fervent attention was necessary to their improvement. Each day he awoke before dawn and delegated to them as much of his work as would be to their benefit in training and so that he could maintain his foremost duties as Caelta's guardian. He would return in the late afternoon from hunts and trap-setting and conduct grueling—but not cruel—training procedures well past the setting sun.

The past week he had spent another major portion of everyday meeting with the leaders of the triune villages on Mount Renscha's three-sided eastern shelf: Caelta, Reirq, and Sheia. He awaited their decision on a matter that would most likely result in further extensions of his time and efforts, and less likelihood to find solitude from time to time for his own sanity.

Xavier was a quiet man in many regards, and if left alone the only expression he would ever make would be that of poetry or song. His needs for solitude stemmed not out of a desire for escape, but out of his need for introspection and meditation. Much depth and conflict dwelt within him that if ignored, would ultimately drive him insane. The immanence of the approaching breakdown always made itself clear to Xavier well in advance, and thus he had opportunity to evade disaster. In light of the possible promotion which was likely to be forced on him in the coming weeks, Xavier worried his needed time of solitude would become nonexistent.

When the watchmen for the second shift of the night came to relieve Xavier of duty at Caelta's gate, Xavier's body begged for sleep. Brushing off his fatigue, Xavier took this, perhaps the last opportunity he would have in weeks, to get away.

The wide cleft between two boulders sitting twenty feet below Mount Renscha's summit and overlooking his village had been Xavier's solitary place since he had come to Caelta some years ago. Taking out some vellum and his quill and ink out of his satchel, Xavier set them beside him on the rocky shelf and looked up at the stars. Their brilliance was not new to him, yet he delighted in them whenever a chance such as this was given him to really take them in. His thoughts were on the magnificence of Deus and his heart soon echoed his thoughts in reverent prayer.

Xavier believed in Deus, the one true God, and in Christus His son, who died and rose again that all men might live. Xavier had clung to this in his trials and lost sight of it in his successes; but he was always driven back by the quality he had been given to see his own failings and need. He confessed even then in his heart to his God, that he feared any more authority given to him in the villages would be too difficult for him to bear righteously. Pride was a threatening temptation he knew he succumbed to too often. He spent an hour in thought and prayer on the subject before a peace settled over him and he took up his pen.

As his writing most often took place at late hours of the night, Xavier often used an odd technique to make light to write by. He kept twigs and brush under a ledge of one of the great boulders on the cliff, thereby kept dry for the purpose of quick flame. Taking the fine fuel to his side, he would light small amounts at a time to burst into short-lived flame, writing one line of poetry per burst. It was a sort of check he had invented for himself so that nothing he wrote would be over-thought, but all from the first profusion of his heart.

It was nearing the death-hour of the night, as the people of the triune villages deemed the hour set exactly between midnight and dawn. It was called such because of the history of numerous deaths by winged-lion attacks that had occurred at this time of night. At least two watchmen were always posted at this hour at each gate around the three villages, and all of them well armed and aided by torchlight.

Footfalls and panting entered Xavier's hearing as he read his completed poem over, having just finished and about to go down to his cottage in the village for a few scant hours of sleep. Recognizing the characteristically clumsy sound of Ferran when climbing, Xavier rolled up his parchment and put his satchel over his shoulder, standing casually to wait for his subordinate and friend.

"You're no use to me there," Ferran said with a grunt, his forehead barely showing over the ledge, "while I'm over here . . . trying to get up this cursed mountain." Xavier laughed and offered a hand to Ferran, who took it and allowed himself to be pulled the rest of the way up onto the cliff.

"Why did you follow me up if you hate the climb so much?" Xavier asked with a genial pat on his friend's back.

"Because I worry about you," he replied, catching his breath and dusting himself off. "Were you ever planning on getting some rest?"

"I am more rested now than I would have been in sleep. I know my limits as well as my responsibilities. You know that as well as I, so why did you really come?"

Ferran grinned. "If you hadn't noticed, it's death-hour, and I was mistakenly appointed as watchmen with Roark and Sean. They told me they could handle it and that I could go back to sleep, but while I was on my way, I sensed movement down the slope, on the southern cliffs. Can you guess what I saw?" Ferran finished with a bright smile that was clear even in the dark.

"I'm sure you'd rather I let you tell me."

"A dark, magnificent male leoptera, by himself. He was flying above the slope in just such a way as I could make him out with close observation. He was all shiny too. A real beauty. I'd love to go after him myself, but you know me and my . . . uh," he stammered.

"Your horrible lack of skill with an arrow, a spear, or any other launched weapon? Yes, all too well."

"Master Sa'Celim, if that beasty came right up to the gate on foot, I'd best him in an instant with Shreika here," he said, taking his thus-dubbed sword partially out of it's sheath, just enough to glint faintly in the starlight. "But my moment of glory has yet to arrive. So, are you going to go after him tonight or take the wiser path and get a remnant of sleep before you begin again tomorrow?"

"What do you think I'll do? What would you do?"

"Is this a test?" Ferran asked, aware that in his position just under Xavier, he would take over as town guardian and militia leader if ever Xavier could not fulfill that duty.

"Just answer."

"Well, I think you're going to go after it tonight, forsaking all sleep because you do not even need it. You're a spirit, some of the men have said. I don't rightly know if they are wrong. But me, I am only human, so I would wait until tomorrow night and be prepared."

"Honest answer. Good. That's why I like you."

"And am I right?"

"Partly, you are. I am going to go after it tonight, yes, but I am not going to forsake sleep, for I am not wholly spirit—my flesh covers most of it. I am delegating the giving of assignments for morning duties to your shoulders. It will give you a chance to flex your leadership skills and me a chance to get a few hours of sleep. Besides, if I get this leoptera tonight, a male no less, it will more than account for skipping my morning announcements and hunt."

"Aye, sir."

"Good. Have you brought my spear?"

"Of course, right next to mine," Ferran replied, reaching for the second spear on the baldric on his back.

"Always prepared, Ferran. Remind me to keep you around."

"Naturally, sir."

Xavier, spear in hand, began the steep slide on his heels down the slope of the cliff down onto the wooded southeastern slope.

"Master Sa'Celim!" Ferran cried from the cliff before Xavier was halfway down.

Sliding to a stop by turning on the sides of is boots and grabbing a pine branch jutting out of a rock to his side, Xavier looked back up at his friend. "What is it?"

"How do I get down?"

Xavier laughed. "Figure it out! Think of it as a training exercise!" And with that he continued his slide, gravel loosening and falling with him. When he reached the bottom, he did not stop but ran carefully between trees and boulders down the steady slope and off toward the southern end of Mount Renscha. If he could find the male leoptera and take him down, the night would be a success. He said a quick prayer in his heart for wisdom and skill as he worked his way closer to where he hoped to find a trail, or better yet, the beast itself.

~~*~~

Since the one called Sa'Celim had shown himself, Ilara had found a strange new curiosity for the village. She had stayed in the tree for over an hour simply observing the occupants of the town, especially curious about this Sa'Celim and what his status was here. She had watched him enter one of the small buildings briefly, coming out again and greeting his comrades as he went about many odd tasks.

His place here was difficult to decipher as she followed him with her eyes. He had gone from the large building she hadn't placed yet, seeming to issue orders to a dozen young men as they came out again, and then to one of the smallest houses to fix a door for an elderly woman who smiled and doted on him as he did. Next he had shoed a horse, followed by walking and talking with an older man who was dignified and to whom Sa'Celim seemed to be subordinate. He had bowed to the man after their meeting and went on to yet another task. Perhaps Sa'Celim was a teacher or a lesser leader.

As he went from one occupation to the next, Ilara found need to move from tree to tree to keep sight of him. She spent five hours doing so, watching him with earnest interest she could not account for. After he had sat around a fire eating with several others, he had taken up the post of the whistler at the gate and Ilara had cautiously made her way back to her former perch above him.

She watched him less and less avidly as her stomach started to make its needs known and she realized how long she had left Anthem back at camp. She was about to leave when two men approached Sa'Celim to take his place. They lit an extra torch and stood at attention before Sa'Celim as he was about to leave.

"Anything we should know, sir?" one asked.

"As it happens, yes. The night is as dark as the day was bright. If either of you is caught sleeping or inattentively guarding, I'll give the order myself to have you sent back to Luria," He said with a brusque tone. "This is a serious task, and I want to trust that my men take it as such. Understood?"

"Yes, Master Sa'Celim."

"I bid you a quiet watch," their master finished and turned curtly away.

Ilara was startled by the harsh words of the one she had been watching with interest for hours. He seemed respected by these people, but her newest view of him made him out to be a man of arrogance and plotting. He seemed to have gone one moment getting on the good graces of an old woman, and next threatening his own men, come to do their duty. What was his place here anyway? She was fairly certain he was not the main leader of the village, but he seemed to stretch his arm of authority as far as it would take him.

She was reminded suddenly of Duard, pushing his way into their lives, pretending he had the right. At least Duard was always cold and did not attempt to hide his hold over her family, whereas this man seemed the conniving sort, the kind that could be even less trusted than such a man as Maeron Duard. The kind who would gain your trust only to use it against you when it suited him.

Ilara's stomach twisted inside her.

I will not make myself known here. I cannot become one of these people. It would be like thrusting myself under the authority of another Duard.

She looked briefly over the village once more as if to bid it goodbye, and turned to find her way back to Anthem. As she climbed from branch to branch on the arbor path back to camp, she realized she might not be able to ever be among humans again, at least not as one of them. She could not even attempt to approach these people to sell a river dragon; that seemed a vain endeavor now anyway. Who could buy such an extravagance and vanity, even if they believed she could catch one?

The name 'Luria' came back to her as she went along, the place which Sa'Celim had threatened to send his men. Ilara wondered if this was a large place, a city or kingdom perhaps. The idea of a mass of people still frightened her, but if it was large enough, she could go there fairly inconspicuously, as opposed to if she made herself known to this tiny village.

Perhaps hope still remained that she could find occupation and provision for herself somehow, even if it was simply by hunting and selling her catches to provide shelter for the long winter months. Or perhaps, if this 'Luria' was really a large city, her ambitions to get the bounty for a river dragon could still be pursued.

Possibilities were extensive, and she would try to be brave and not shut herself off entirely to anything before giving it a chance, even if it meant she would have to deal with people. But she was not even off the mountain yet. For now she was decided on only two things: she would leave this mountain with Anthem as soon as was possible and she would try to find this 'Luria.' The rest would have to come later.

Ilara had found her way back to the path when she knew she was far enough from the village not to be heard. She followed it through the dark until she came upon the stream she had bathed in several hours prior. She leapt it easily and was back at the camp within a few minutes, eager to get ready and take flight with her beast. Looking around the clearing, sitting cold and still amidst the rocks and trees, Ilara saw it was empty. The grass where Anthem had lain was trampled and there was an animal carcass beside it. So, one of us has eaten.

Ilara whistled. Only silence returned to her. She lifted her voice and sang again the first song she had sung to him, sure it would draw him. She waited.

Anthem did not come.