The sun loomed high in a cloudless sky, the shadows it cast too small, too light for a place so steeped in deception. Apar, the desert’s northernmost Lone Mountain, created what some might call a majestic scene. Those who understood would call it ominous.  

Hallu held tight to the tiny hand grasping hers. Her granddaughter, only four years old, tensed as they came upon a well and a bustling crowd. Many bore waterskins or buckets in hand; a few loud-mouthed men bore insults on their lips as they battled the throng, only needing to cross the intersection, apparently too lazy to take the long way around.

“We won’t be here long, little one,” Hallu said. “We need to fill our waterskins.” There was no reply as the girl glanced furtively at passersby. “Kaela? Did you hear me?”

Rich brown eyes looked up at her beneath a furrowed brow. “It’s too loud here, Sava.”

A hard lump formed in Hallu’s throat.

A million sounds saturated the air: shoes scraping sand, fabric rustling with movement, laughter erupting from nearby women, a shout exploding from one of the men as he grabbed the wrist of a child. There were bells ringing, sandbeasts bleating, and vendors calling out their wares.

But Kaela wasn’t talking about any of that.

Urgency made Hallu gather the girl in her arms, despite her being too old for such things. “I’ll carry you,” Hallu said. “Concentrate on me, little one.”

Kaela nodded even as she buried her little face in the crook of Hallu’s neck. Her warmth, the weight of her, the faint floral scent in her hair: it made Hallu’s heart skip.

Oh, how I love this child!

But the more she basked in the warmth of love, the colder the pit of her stomach grew. In mere hours, Kaela’s fate would rest in the hands of the Roshleth Council.

They will help her, she thought. They must.

Hallu swallowed the lump in her throat and strode into the thick of masses. She did her best to keep strangers from brushing up against Kaela. That made it louder.

The task was easier said than done. The well attracted crowds for a reason. The Desert of Eidolon was a hot, dry place, and the wells that provided water at each of the Lone Mountains produced clean, cool water. Without that, there would be no marketplace. And so, despite Hallu’s efforts, with every stranger’s touch, Kaela’s grasp grew tighter.

Hallu quickened her step until she reached the hip-high stone wall lining the community well. It was one of a dozen marking the ring of tents along the perimeter of the mountain’s base. Oblong and incredibly deep, there were none like these in all of Leyumin. The wells were ancient, perhaps as old as the Ancient Bridges in Ergon. They were thirty paces long, each one identical. Like the bridges, the stone did not crumble. The iron bars that ran their length and supported twenty buckets each did not bend or rust. To most, they were a miracle, a gift. They didn’t know Leyumin’s true history. To Hallu, they were a stark reminder of another time, a time when mortals held unimaginable, terrible power.

Hallu slipped into a space near a bucket emptied just seconds earlier. She knelt and gently peeled Kaela from her chest. Her granddaughter stood and grasped fistfuls of her skirts.

“Kaela.” Hallu used a gentle but firm voice. “You must stay strong. No one here can hurt you.”

Features pinched as though in pain, Kaela bit her lower lip before whispering, “I don’t think that’s true, Sava.”

Hallu licked dry lips as the words clawed at her heart. “It won’t last,” she said. “We won’t be here long.”

Kaela nodded but grew no less tense. 

“Give me your waterskin.” Hallu flipped back a layer of fabric at her own hip and worked loose the strap attaching her waterskin to her belt.

Kaela did as she was told. She always did as she was told, no matter if it hurt or if she didn’t understand. There was no stronger child in all the world.

Hallu wasn’t sure if that was entirely good.

It took too long to bring the water up. Hallu cranked the lever, leaning over the wall, thighs pressing against stone hot enough to burn through the layers of her clothes. One bucket lowered while another rose, slowly but surely. The action wasn’t kind to her wrists and elbows, and her arms ached fiercely by the time the filled bucket was within reach.   

She wasn’t young anymore, but it was easy to ignore the subtle increase of aches and pains when those who were young tended to her needs. Roshleths served their tribe, and tribes honored them in return. Hallu hadn’t journeyed without aid in at least a decade. It had been longer since she’d had to draw her own water. She’d expected the trek from the Nonnka camp to Apar’s Marketplace would be too short to cause her much trouble.

I hate it when I’m wrong, she thought.

If the situation wasn’t so distressing, she’d have laughed at herself. As it was, she refilled the waterskins in silence, reattached them to her belt and to Kaela’s, and allowed a woman behind her to drain the rest of the bucket.

Hallu held Kaela close once again and rushed through the crowd, her sore arms protesting the child’s weight. She sidestepped into a narrow space between tents and sat cross-legged on the hard-packed sandy dirt, pulling Kaela into her lap. Hallu coaxed her granddaughter into pushing away the noise and taking a drink.

“It will make you feel better,” Hallu said. “I promise.”

Kaela tipped the waterskin up, eyes drooping as she gulped down the contents. Slowly, she relaxed. It was just the two of them in that narrow pathway, and while people still milled about in the primary thoroughfares on either side of the row of tents, the area was less crowded. No one approached. No one even seemed to notice them.

Hallu also drank of the sweet, cool water. Her tongue, moments ago drier than a lizard’s back, savored the moisture. When she swallowed, relief slid smoothly to her gut, calming her nerves just a little.

Kaela wiped her chin with the back of her hand and leaned her head against Hallu’s chest. “I’m tired, Sava.”

Hallu said a silent prayer. “And the noise?”

“Better here.”

Thank the Sustainer, Hallu thought before whispering, “We can sit in the quiet for a little while.”

She smoothed wisps of hair from Kaela’s face and allowed her granddaughter to drift into slumber. The sun’s warmth soaked into Hallu’s skin, an old friend trying to banish the icy fear weighing down her bones. She’d lived her entire life under that sun. It had seen her grow up and marry and have children. It had been with her as her people traveled and traded and kept peace in the desert.

“What will it see you do, little one?” Hallu whispered as she rested her cheek on the top of Kaela’s head. “Sustainer will it, the sun will shine on you for a very long time.”

Hallu remained there, resting her weary body with her granddaughter in her lap. But the sun kept on its path, reminding Hallu of the time, and she could not stay there long. Not strong enough to stand while holding the girl, Hallu gently woke her with a few taps on her button nose.

“We have to keep moving,” Hallu said. “We must do what we came here to do.”

Kaela yawned as she climbed off Hallu’s lap and to her own feet. It took Hallu more effort, but she managed to stand without too much grumbling and her dignity still intact.

They were close to Apar’s Roshleth Sanctum. There, councilwomen lived and worked. There, Hallu would find her sister, Pernia.

It was one of very few permanent stone structures in the sea of tents surrounding the base of the mountain. Most believed the lie that it was simply a place for the Roshleth Council to abide. The truth was more complicated.

The Sanctum was a circular complex, mimicking the raised, spiraling mark at the nape of Hallu’s neck. Kaela had received the same mark on her first name day, as did every girl born to the Eremite tribes of the desert.

That mark was part of why Hallu was there.

She led Kaela to a gate set into the outer wall. There was only one way in and out, and it was guarded. Always. The wall—twice the height of a man and without windows—hid the secrets of the complex quite well. Flecks of white sparkled in the reddish-brown, smooth stone, but it was otherwise unremarkable: plain in construction and devoid of ornamentation.

Hallu’s stomach twisted as they approached. The guards—there were two of them—did not shift or move to greet them. Their expressions were stone, their garments a ruddy shade that blended well with the hard-packed sands and the wall behind them. Short swords were at their waists. These men were neither Eremites of the desert or Shikkians of the mountain. They were Guardians of the Sacred Order, another secret buried beneath the layers of normalcy presented to the world.

Only a few paces were between Hallu and the answers she sought, yet her feet dragged as the weight of reality settled upon her shoulders.

“Sava?”

Hallu looked down as Kaela tugged on her hand. “Yes?”

“Why are you so afraid?”

A shudder went down Hallu’s spine, and she stopped, eyeing the guards who were still out of earshot, Sustainer be blessed. “You drank all the water I gave you?”

Kaela nodded.

“I thought…” Hallu swallowed hard. “I thought it was… quieter. Am I… loud?”

Kaela shrugged. “It is, and… only a little.”

Hallu knelt and smoothed Kaela’s tunic, keeping a smile on her face despite her firm tone. “Say nothing until I give you permission. It’s time to keep your secret close. Do you understand?”

Kaela paled. “But why are you afraid?”

Hallu closed her eyes.

Breathe. In and out. Pernia and the council will know what to do.

She opened her eyes and met Kaela’s with a stern look. “It is time for obedience and trust.”

Kaela nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line. There was so much determination on her little face. Hallu stood. There was no more delaying. She and Kaela stepped up to the gate.

Beyond the wrought-iron gate set into the wall, beyond the stone hall running through to the other side, pops of green stood stark. Sunlight illuminated a courtyard and garden. It was a beautiful prison of their own making.

Both Guardians placed a hand on the hilt of their sword. It was a subtle movement, but the message was clear.

“What business have you?”

Hallu lifted her chin. “I am Hallu, Roshleth of the Nonnka, here to see my sister, Pernia, who sits on the Council.”

No trace of emotion on the Guardian’s face gave Hallu any idea of what to expect. She had been to the Sanctum before, of course, but it had been years. Memories of a similar frigid reception surfaced.

Despite her disdain for the Guardians of the Sacred Order, she recognized that their people and hers were long-standing allies with a common enemy. The Guardians fought a war the world thought long settled, perhaps even mythical, and because they did, the Tribes of Erem were released from the conflict, allowed to seek peace in all things. And so, her people lived in tandem with theirs and subjected themselves to the Sacred Order’s rules; Hallu understood it, accepted it, and hated it all at the same time.

The Guardians’ hands relaxed, and one of them opened the gate while the other said, “Roshleth Pernia has been expecting you.”

Hallu and Kaela were let into the passageway beyond the gate but asked to go no further. One of the men disappeared into the complex and returned a short time later with Pernia behind him.

Older by five years, Hallu’s sister had more gray in her once-black hair than she did, but Pernia spent less time in the sun, so her skin was smoother. That alone made her look younger than Hallu by a decade.

“Follow me.” Pernia gave no greeting, not even a smile. There was no shuffle to her walk. She had always been as elegant as she was stalwart.

Hallu crossed the threshold into the heart of the Roshleth Sanctum. Those who lived there could not leave without escort, yet the complex itself was their domain. The Guardians did not reside there nor did they interfere so long as certain rules were followed and trust was maintained.

Leyumin had to be kept safe. In the end, that mattered more to the Roshleth Council than complete freedom.

Kaela gasped in delight when the full courtyard came into view. Another smaller well was the centerpiece of the entire complex, a thing outsiders would find shocking. It was made of the same ancient stone as those found in the marketplace. Five increasingly larger rings of ordinary stone troughs expanded from the well, and from those sprung a garden, the largest collection of greenery in Apar and the most secluded.

She grinned up at Hallu. “It’s pretty, Sava!”

Pernia slowed to a stop and looked back at her with a disapproving look. Hallu merely returned Kaela’s smile and squeezed her hand.

“Perhaps you can see it all up close later,” Hallu said.

Pernia clucked her tongue. “Priorities, Hallu,” she said.

Hallu raised her eyebrows and met Pernia’s eyes. “We are still following, sister. Are you still leading?”

Her older sister had not changed. She was still harder than stone, a mountain that could shield you or crush you. Some may have thought her devoid of compassion, but Hallu knew differently. She wasn’t much different from her sister in many ways. They both loved with all their beings because they both understood that love was not weakness. The stories of the stars made that clear, and who would they be without their stories?

Pernia bristled and turned on her heel, muttering something Hallu could not make out. At least she didn’t chastise Hallu while young acolytes scurried about, tending to their duties. In the past, Pernia wouldn’t have hesitated to scold her, despite the fact that it had been a very long time since Hallu had been a child worthy of scolding. Being older had always given Pernia a sense of superiority.

Is that still the case, Hallu wondered, or has she come to understand it might be inappropriate to berate a Roshleth, even if she is your little sister?

Hallu tugged Kaela onward as Pernia led them beneath a portico that ran the circumference of the courtyard.

Kaela fixed her eyes on the dozen acolytes dotting the garden to their right. They were dressed in robes of homespun cream cloth trimmed in purple, their ages ranging from thirteen to twenty. Pernia’s robe was identical except hers had golden trim and an embroidery along the hem of some saying in the old language. Hallu had once asked her sister its meaning, but Pernia wouldn’t answer. She’d never asked again. If the Roshleth Council wanted something kept a secret, it was kept well.

To their left, they passed doorways carved into the stone. Heavy curtains made of layers and layers of dark green fabric hung over each entrance, concealing the contents of the rooms beyond.

Pernia stopped before one of these curtains and held it back, gesturing for Hallu and Kaela to enter. The room was long and curved so that Hallu couldn’t see the end of it on either side, though it wasn’t very deep. Lavish shelves, made from the taurret wood of the North, one shelf per row, stretched to either side of the entrance. Each shelf boasted tomes or scrolls, precious resources few knew existed. Directly before the doorway was a sturdy set of tables and chairs, these of more common wicker.

Regardless of the impressive nature of the library, Hallu frowned. She’d expected to be led to an assembly of the Roshleth Council.

“Sister, I—” Hallu began.

Pernia held up a hand. “Not yet,” she said as she glanced around the room. She walked the single path both ways, searching amongst the shelves at a quick pace.

Hallu’s frown deepened. “What are we doing here?”

“Hush, Hallu.” Pernia disappeared around the far curve of the room, reappearing seconds later with less tension in her movements. “We’re alone,” she said. “Come.”

“Where are the rest of the council?” Hallu asked, pulling Kaela back as the girl started to follow Pernia. “I didn’t come here for games. It is imperative—”

“It is imperative,” Pernia whispered harshly, “that you do as I say.”

Hallu blinked at her sister’s tone. Something uncharacteristic in her tone made Hallu pause: she spoke with urgent and intense fear. Kaela pressed into Hallu’s skirts, and Hallu placed what she hoped was a comforting hand on her granddaughter’s head.

“Lead the way,” Hallu said.

Pernia nodded once, her lips drawn taught, the wrinkles of her forehead more pronounced as she furrowed her brow. Hallu and Kaela followed her past rows of shelves until they came to the end of the room. Pernia shuffled between the last shelf and the wall.

“Please,” Hallu said, keeping her voice low, “tell me what we are doing.”

“Your letter was disturbing.” Pernia looked at her, and there was another unfamiliar emotion displayed plainly in her features: pity. “You should have never written those things down.”

“What?” Hallu’s heart skipped a beat. “I followed the rules. I don’t understand.”

Pernia sighed and turned back to the wall, pressing her hands flat against it. “I burned the letter. No one but us will ever know it existed.” She pushed, and the wall gave way.

Stone ground against stone as a door, wooden and overlaid with a façade to blend with the wall, cracked open.

Kaela pointed at the hidden entry with wide eyes. “It’s a door, Sava!” she said.

Hallu was still processing the fact that Pernia had burned her letter. It was the only proof that Hallu had gone through the correct protocols. The hidden door was odd, but it was not the first thing on Hallu’s mind. A place such as the Roshleth Sanctum was bound to have many enigmas. Hallu already knew of a few underground rooms with similar hidden entrances.

“Pernia, I don’t understand,” Hallu said. “The council must know—”

“They must never know.” Pernia slipped inside the dark room, and it was clear she expected Hallu to follow.

Light brightened the room as Pernia lit a sconce with flint and iron, a small kit returned to an inside pocket of her robes. Hallu ushered Kaela inside and closed the door behind them. It clicked into place. The room was tiny, barely big enough for the three of them, and there were only a few floor pillows and a low, smooth, stone table inside.

“Sit,” Pernia said as she took one of the floor pillows.

The room was dry and hot.

“If you needed privacy,” Hallu asked, “why choose this place? It’s barely larger than a broom closet, Pernia.”

“This room has been forgotten by all but a few.” Pernia sunk into a floor pillow and looked at Hallu expectantly.

Hallu encouraged Kaela to sit across from Pernia, and the girl hopped onto a pillow, landing on her knees. Hallu sat next to her.

Kaela looked up at the ceiling and around at the walls. “Is this secret, too?” she asked.

“Yes,” Pernia said. “Even if I were to ask you about it in another time and place, I would expect you to pretend it does not exist. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Aunt Pernia,” Kaela said.

Hallu quirked an eyebrow. “You have deduced that she is your aunt?”

Kaela nodded. “Because she is your sister.”

“You did not explain this to her?” Pernia asked, and when Hallu shook her head, Pernia’s expression darkened. “She is too advanced in speech and in manner. People will notice.”

“They already have,” Hallu said, “but they are impressed, not suspicious.”

Pernia scoffed. “As of yet, sister.”

“You confuse me.” Frustration was beginning to match Hallu’s fear. “This happens, does it not? Not to one so young very often, perhaps, but still…”

“Her youth is part of what concerns me,” Pernia said. “That and the strength with which you describe her curse.” Her eyes narrowed. “Her ward—was it done haphazardly?”

Offense flared hot, and Hallu straightened, allowing some fire into her tone.

“I would never allow a ward to be done improperly.”

“Did you check it?” Pernia said, eyes narrowed, tone sharp.

“As is my duty.” Hallu struggled to keep her volume under control. “She is my granddaughter! Even if she wasn’t, I would have checked. You know this.”

Pernia worked her jaw back and forth before reaching out to Kaela. “Come here, child.”

Hallu’s mouth dropped open when Kaela obeyed and Pernia turned her so that the woman could push aside Kaela’s hair and examine the spiral herself. Hallu ground her teeth. So be it. If Pernia needed the confirmation, Hallu could stand the insult. She would only find that the ward had been perfectly placed.

“Mine isn’t as pretty as my friends’ symbols,” Kaela said. Many families chose unique frills or twirls to accompany the spiral. That wasn’t an option for family lines like Hallu’s.

“This is no simple symbol of belonging, girl,” Pernia said.

“I know,” Kaela said.

“Oh?” Pernia asked. “And what do you know?”

“That Keepers of Legend belong to all Leyumin, not just one tribe or family,” Kaela smiled at Hallu. She was repeating what she’d learned, and she was right, but she also didn’t know the whole truth.

“Keepers of Legend,” Pernia said. “You have already begun your training?” She glanced at Hallu, her upper lip curling.

“I couldn’t allow her to go on without instruction,” Hallu said.

“I suppose.” Pernia refocused on the ward. “I need a few moments of silence,” she said.

She traced the spiral, over and over again, and her face grew grimmer with every passing second. The delay in affirmation made Hallu’s cheeks grow hot, first in anger and then in worry. When Pernia dropped Kaela’s hair back into place and ran a hand over a face gone pale, Hallu’s stomach nearly heaved as Kaela returned to her pillow.

“Did you find something wrong with it?” Her voice cracked despite every attempt to keep it steady.

“No,” she said. “I was hoping… if it had been a mistake with the ward, I could have fixed it. Now… if the Sacred Order were to get a hold of her…”

“I don’t understand,” Hallu said, not bothering to suppress the panic bubbling up from the pit of her stomach. “Why would they be involved beyond an initial notification? I brought Kaela here to become an acolyte. Is that not the next step?”

Pernia’s despondent laugh sent a chill down Hallu’s spine. “Tell me, dear sister, at what time did you begin to notice the darkness peeking through?”

Hallu shifted uncomfortably. “We all noticed something different about her about six months ago, but it was only recently I began to dig deeper and ask her questions. When I found out she could feel the emotions of others, I sent you the letter and made plans for the Nonnka to come this way.”

“Six months ago. And she’s four years old now?” Pernia looked at Kaela. “Child, tell me what has happened to you. Tell me about your curse.”

Kaela chewed on her lower lip, her eyes glistening. “Sava?”

Hallu held out an arm, and Kaela scurried into her lap. She trembled as Hallu turned her to face Pernia. “You must tell her about your curse, little one. I’m with you. Do not fear.”

“I feel sadness and anger and happiness in the air, sometimes,” she said in a small voice. “When Momma is sad, her sadness touches me and seeps into my skin. When Papa is happy, the air is warm around him like a blanket on a cool evening. My heart feels happy, too. Sometimes, though, I feel things I don’t understand, and it scares me.”

“You are well spoken, child,” Pernia said, but the way she said it marked the statement as anything but a compliment. She looked at Hallu. “Her intelligence has increased quickly?”

“She’s a bit beyond her years, but—”

“A bit?” Pernia shook her head. “So then, we know these things. First, her ward does not eradicate the darkness. The damning power of our ancestors runs strong in her blood, so strong that though it is surely dampened by the ward, it is still affecting her and at such a young age. Second, her mind is unusually sharp. This coincides with legends of savants among our ancestors, which means she has potential for great evil.”

Kaela cried out and twisted back into Hallu’s arms, hiding her face.

Hallu’s skin prickled as she held her granddaughter tight. “Kaela is a good girl. And the water of the Lone Mountains subdues her.”

“Does it?” Pernia asked. “Completely?”

Bile rose at the back of Hallu’s throat. She could not answer.

Pernia continued. “Usually, when the curse is strong enough, the darkness seeps through a ward and gives a woman an inkling of some unnatural ability. But tell me, sister, did you see even one acolyte as young as Kaela in the courtyard?”

Words still lost to her, Hallu simply shook her head.

“That’s because those who come to us have only that inkling. No one with a curse as strong as hers still lives. And for it to manifest at such a young age! We have no idea if the Lone Mountain’s measures will keep her in check as she ages. She is like a Shikkian. She might as well not have a ward!”

“Kaela is not a Shikkian. She is of the Tribes of Erem.” Those words came without hesitation. “Do not compare her to them.”

“The Sacred Order would certainly do so,” Pernia said. “They are not known for their ability to see nuances, sister.”

No one with a curse as strong as hers still lives. Hallu sucked in a sharp breath as pieces fell into place, painting a grotesque picture.

Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, and her hands trembled. She balled them into fists, trying to concentrate. “Are you saying you’ve seen this situation before?”

“With a child? No. With women? Yes. Twice.”

Hallu’s throat ran dry, and her next word croaked. “What… what happened to them?”

“They’re dead, Hallu. The Sacred Order won’t take risks like that.”

A sob wrenched from Kaela. “Sava?” she cried, and the fear in her tone broke Hallu’s heart.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Hallu said, taking Kaela’s cheeks in her hands. “Do you hear me, little one? You must quiet, now, or else someone might hear you. Please, Kaela.”

Kaela clasped her hands over her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut as her muffled sobs continued.

Hallu looked back at her sister. “Do you hear me, sister? I won’t let anyone harm her.”

“Neither would I. This is why we are here, in this broom closet.” Pernia brought out a little tray from beneath the table with a small cup on it and slid that across the table.

Hallu stared at it. “You prepared it before we arrived? What is it?”

“Have her drink it,” Pernia said. “She will sleep, and when she wakes in a few hours, she will not remember what we have said. She’ll be confused but no longer frightened.”

Hallu took the vial and coaxed Kaela into drinking it. True to Pernia’s word, it was only a minute or two before Kaela was calm, and another minute until she was asleep.

“What do we do?” Hallu asked. “She must know the truth if we are to keep her safe.”

Pernia nodded slowly. “Yes, but… it will need to be instilled over time. The secret must become as much a part of life as the setting sun. It would do no good to try to frighten one so young into obedience. She should be afraid, of course, but her motivations must come from loyalty and love for those who would suffer should she be found out. But living in fear… that would only feed the darkness. Cultivate an urgency to fight it but also a confidence in her ability to overcome it, even if you suspect she may not be strong enough. Fear without love weakens the mind. Give her happiness and discipline, and she may escape the temptation to explore the darkness.”

Hallu’s eyes blurred with tears as she caressed her granddaughter’s hair. “How am I to do this?”

“Return to the Nonnka. Teach her what she needs to know, how to fight her inner darkness.” Again, Pernia pulled a tray from beneath the table. “I have read of our ancestors, about how they fought against what they called The Gloaming. Some of the only records of their experiences are in the library you walked through moments ago. The Gloamin is the darkness that begins as light, the beauty before one is plunged into pitch-black night, the tantalizing curse.”

Hallu closed her eyes, blinking away tears which made lines down her cheeks. She whispered, “The curse that breaks through Kaela’s ward.”

“Exactly,” Pernia said. “I have spent the last span making copies of passages that might help you, to prepare for the worst outcome, to perhaps cultivate the best possible one.”

“Does this not go against your vows?” Hallu opened her eyes and met her sister’s gaze with her own.

“Of course it does.” Pernia slid the tray of scrolls across the table.

Hallu’s chest swelled with gratitude. “You will never know how much this means to me, sister.”

Pernia shifted uncomfortably. “She is family, and besides, it is not so selfless. Those two women I spoke of, the two whose wards failed them, whose curses surpassed the ability of the Mountain to suppress…” She paused and then averted her eyes. “Their entire lines were eradicated—murdered—to ensure such power could not be handed down to another generation.”

A numbness blossomed where gratitude had been, and Hallu couldn’t speak for several moments. “Their entire line?” she asked. She thought of her daughter, young and with many more childbearing years ahead of her.

“Yes,” Pernia said. “My own children would be at risk, too.” She leaned forward and touched the scrolls, her eyes hard with new meaning. “You must memorize what I have written here, and then burn them. Do not tell anyone of her condition. Ever. Not even her mother. And Hallu?”

Hallu could only raise her eyebrows in response; words would not come. Everything she sought to say got stuck in her throat. She swallowed hard, sorrow and worry like stones in her stomach.

“There may come a time,” Pernia continued, “if Kaela is not strong enough to fight, if she succumbs—”

The need to never hear the words that must come next opened her mouth. “Don’t.”

“Hallu—”

“I understand,” Hallu said softly. “I will do what needs to be done. Kaela will learn. She will put away the darkness.” She gathered her granddaughter closer still, savoring the rise and fall of the girl’s chest. “She’s a good girl, and the strongest I’ve ever known. The smartest, too. She can do this.”

“Let us hope,” Pernia said with more empathy than Hallu remembered her sister ever displaying. “Perhaps the Sustainer will save her, if we are faithful.”

A moment of silence sealed solidarity between the two sisters, but there were things to be done, ways to move forward.

“I do not wish to waste time,” Hallu said. “Lead me to guest quarters where Kaela can rest and where I can read what you have prepared.”

Pernia offered a satisfied nod as she stood and took Kaela’s sleeping form so that Hallu could get to her feet as well. The two of them cautiously left the secret room, and Pernia led Hallu to the place she would spend the night with her granddaughter. While Kaela slept, Hallu studied.

Kaela woke hours later, dazed and thirsty. But she was unafraid. The tincture had worked just as Pernia had said.

“Let us get you some water, little one,” Hallu said as she put the scrolls away in a burlap sack. She would burn them before she left the Sanctum, but leaving them out for Kaela or anyone else to stumble upon didn’t seem wise.

Kaela smiled as if all was as it had been. Hallu led her granddaughter to the well, to the water that was meant to counter the curse. All the while, she smiled back and schooled her own emotions lest they leak into the air, lest Kaela feel her fear.

She had to have been mostly successful, or perhaps the water took some of the edge off Kaela’s curse, for the girl asked to play in the courtyard’s garden before night came. Hallu allowed it, sitting on a white stone bench, pouring out prayers to the Sustainer, asking for help. All the while, she kept a smile aimed at her granddaughter.

She could not fear. As Pernia had said, that would only feed the darkness. And so Hallu focused on trust. Trust in her god. Trust in the love for her family that filled her to bursting.

The sun was giving way to dusk. It was partly hidden by the black peak of Apar, and a shadow—one more suited to the likes of that place—crept across the complex, the dark cutting the courtyard in two. Kaela skipped over the line, from sun to shadow, paying no heed to the change in light.