One week had passed since the caravan began its journey, leaving the mountains of Elyssanar far behind. Dry yellow grasslands stretched in all directions to empty horizons, but a sliver of green pierced through it by a narrow, east-flowing river called the Pilgrim. It ran all the way to the border before flowing into the larger Missionary River that led southeast through Parasten, into Kircany, then turning sharply south into Arkonia. The highway road followed the Pilgrim, passing through villages and larger towns alike.

  A cold breeze blew against Elethe while she sat on the driver’s seat of a wagon next to the only other woman in the Company, Sirona, Donnan’s older half-sister; no northern accent, and not nearly of the same stature as him, but surprisingly twice as hard at times. She was a Class 1.6 Healer, the one Compassion Emogician to treat any wounded. For Elethe she was like a strict aunt, but in a good way. Sirona tolerated no nonsense and let you know it, but it was plain that she cared about the wellbeing of those around her.

  As if to prove it, she turned to Elethe and asked, “Did you get enough sleep last night?”

  “Yes,” Elethe lied, and felt guilty for it so she quickly added something that was true. “More than usual, thankfully.”

  “I’ve noticed you haven’t been eating much.”

  “I’m just not that hungry. Food is… gross.”

  A mischievous look crossed Sirona’s face. “Ah, gross. So, are you absorbing manna from Heaven? Nursing from the breast of Paradise?”

  “Okay, ew, why would you give me that mental image? But no.” Elethe took a deep breath. “I’m fine, just not hungry.”

  Sirona nodded. “A lot on your mind. You know what I did when I was your age and things weren’t going my way?”

  Elethe looked at her expectantly.

  “I cried.” Sirona looked at her disappointed face and grinned. “It took a long time before I got practiced at holding it in. Took longer to realize it didn’t help at all, and that’s when you really cry.”

  Elethe shrugged. “I think I’m all out of tears.”

  “If you ever find some more, I’m sure Donnan is willing to lend a shoulder, cause I'm keeping mine all to myself. Though you should really use your uncles’ more than anyone’s. Have you talked with him much?”

  Elethe winced, as she had not. It wasn’t as if she didn’t like him. Garec was her favorite uncle of the five she had, but lately she felt disconnected from him, as though an invisible wall had been put up between them. The wall had been there since fleeing the Academy, and she blamed it on the guilt over kidnapping Dowyr and Weynon. They seemed to be doing just fine, but it still stung knowing what she was partially responsible for putting them through.

  “You should speak with him when we stop tonight,” Sirona continued. “Family is your first line of support. I know things like this can break people apart, but they can also bring them closer together.”

  “I know,” Elethe sighed. “I don’t want to feel broken apart. He’s just so busy.”

  “So busy that you can’t speak with him? Elethe, do you really know that for truth or did you make it up?”

  Elethe cringed and turned away. “I made it up. Sorry.”

  “It’s not me you need to apologize to. Didn’t your parents teach you right? You must never lie, to any degree, to others or yourself. Lying makes you weak. Consequences cannot be avoided through lies, only delayed, and delayed consequences build interest. When they finally come, you have weakened yourself to the point that they will crush you. Only the truth makes you strong. Only the truth sets you free.”

  “Okay, okay, I get it Miss Evangelist. You don’t need to quote The Five Sentinels at me. I’ll talk to him. I just don’t know what I’ll say.”

  “You’ll say the truth, and will be happier and more fulfilled for it.” Sirona lightly slapped her under the chin. “Now stop sulking, your face wasn’t made for that.”

  “Okay, mom.” Elethe made an exaggerated grin that didn’t touch her eyes.

  Sirona laughed. “Do you think I would be a good mother? I have thought about it, but I can’t seem to find a good enough man.”

  Elethe rolled her eyes. “You would inspire fear and admiration in your kids.”

  “Ah, now that is true. They would be the perfect children who crush the shadow of Hell under their feet.”

  “What would you name them?”

  Sirona leaned back in thought. “I’ve always liked the name Adorra for a girl. Boy names are always so boring, so if I had a son, I would probably name him Ander, or perhaps Galan, like the heroes from stories of old. No more than two children for me. What about you? Have you given much thought into your future?”

  Elethe shrugged. “Not really. I mean, being an Empath I can sort of do whatever I want, but right now I just want to come out of this war alive. I’ll have time to think about what to do with my life afterwards.”

  “No reason you don’t have time now. It’s still a couple weeks until we reach Fort Calhoun.”

  “I don’t even know if I’m going to get married. Boys are aliens.”

  “So you’ve told me, and yet I’ve noticed you talking to that… mute… quite often.”

  “You think I’m interested in him?” Elethe laughed. “He’s the king of aliens. I mean come on, he even looks like one. And why do you call him ‘that mute’? You know his name is Dowyr.”

  Sirona shook her head. “He’s no king of anything. At best he is a court jester, but no, I know a scoundrel when I see one.”

  “He’s not a scoundrel, he’s just an orphan with a free spirit.”

  “And what better combination is there to produce a scoundrel? For Heaven’s sake, he’s a Mind Intruder. Who knows what he could be up to when careful eyes aren’t watching?”

  Elethe opened her mouth and heard herself say, “Nothing harmful.” Her mouth hadn’t moved though.

  She abruptly turned around and gave a start when she spotted Dowyr scrambling out the back of the wagon and darting for the one Garec was leading.

  “YOU BASTARD,” Elethe screamed, ready to leap after him. “HOW LONG WERE YOU LISTENING?”

  She heard him make a strange gargling sound, something between an excited giggle and a yell of terror.

  “I told you he’s a scoundrel,” Sirona said with wry amusement.

  Elethe turned back with a scowl but said nothing. She would get back at him later… somehow.

  *

  Dowyr couldn’t help but snicker in his own way as he jumped into the back of Garec’s wagon. Messing with Elethe had so far been his only means of real entertainment during the journey. His eavesdropping had been largely boring, and he rolled his eyes at Sirona’s preaching, but once she started talking about him it was difficult not to cackle maniacally. He stuck out his tongue at her for the scoundrel comment. In a way, he liked Sirona, albeit at a distance. She was somewhat like Weynon; unwavering in her beliefs and not hypocritical in the least, but in a more ferocious manner. He wondered how she ever managed to become a Compassion Emogician.

  “Are you starting trouble with Elethe?” Garec asked.

  “No,” Dowyr channeled, using the voice of a boy from the orphanage that he had decided to stick with as his own. Nik had a nice voice. It was probably being ruined working in the mines. “Sirona too.”

  Garec freely let him and Weynon channel now, but Dowyr didn’t try to push his luck with what he could get away with too much. Weynon talked about listening to the land as they traveled, and how it was growing more and more silent as winter approached. The emotion in it had withdrawn and gone still. Dowyr understood the sentiment towards winter.

  “That’s worse,” Garec said. “Sirona better not be coming after me tonight.”

  “Sirona won’t, but Elethe will. Not because of me though.”

  “You were spying on them?”

  “Spying is such a strong word. I found a good place for a nap that just happened to be within hearing distance.”

  Garec gave him a sidelong glance. “And that place was the back of their wagon.”

  “It looked more comfortable than the rest.”

  “Right. Tonight I want you to start teaching my men the signs you’ve taught me, starting with the officers. They’ll be gathered at the command wagon after dinner.”

  Dowyr sighed. This is how it was with Garec: he asks if you were making any trouble, says it better not affect him, hints that what you were up to was no good, and then gives you something to do. At least he was more straightforward than the Sisters at the orphanage who fretted over everything.

  It was difficult to figure out what to think about him. Being a Class 3 Voidspeaker made him an oddity of sorts; Voidspeakers were treated almost as poorly as heathens in Elyssanar, if not worse. Besides being able to block another Emogician’s channeling, they were supposedly able to communicate with Hell himself. To some religious types, they might as well have been Hell. But no one in the Company treated him that way, and he always treated his soldiers with consideration and respect. He knew what needed to be done and made sure it happened, and there was nothing Hell could do or say to stop him.

  Dowyr didn’t believe Voidspeakers could really communicate with Hell though, since there was no way to prove it to his knowledge. The same went for Gratitude Emogicians, or Boosters, the opposite of Voidspeakers that could boost anyone’s channeling and supposedly communicate with Heaven. Either were able to communicate with something, that was for sure, but for all anyone knew it was just a bizarre side effect of the Emogics. Dowyr liked to think it was aliens. That seemed just as likely as Heaven or Hell.

  “You can clean the cookpots instead if you’d like,” Garec said, not even a hint of amusement in his voice, just cool matter-of-factness.

  “No, I’ll teach them,” Dowyr channeled. “Can Elethe help me?”

  “No. As unlikely as it is, I don’t want anyone getting suspicious about how powerful she is.”

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  Dowyr hummed and nodded. He and Weynon had been given a stern warning not to give any indication that Elethe was anything other than a Class 2 Empath, and if she accidentally taught the officers signs too quickly, they might grow suspicious. Garec had been rather upset to learn she had revealed her secret to them. It briefly tempted Dowyr to blackmail him into letting Weynon and himself go free, but Weynon was adamant about staying and helping, and Dowyr couldn’t just leave him behind. That, and there was probably nowhere they could go and be safe from the Halberd.

  That damned Halberd. It was impressive, in a demented sort of way, that Elyssanarans had taken Zion, the paragon of justice and peace, and associated him with unwavering, violent devotion to the country, under penalty of death. It made Dowyr want to tear his hair out. He may not have believed in them, but the Sentinels deserved better than that.

  The thought made him wonder what the Kircans believed about them. Did they have some version of the Halberd driving them too? Or maybe something else made them be the aggressors. The clergy in Elyssanar had said they believed in the Five Sentinels, but followed their teachings incorrectly. He had tried to get details as to how, but most of the examples he’d been given were either irrelevant to the text of The Five Sentinels, or were correct ways to follow the teachings, just not according to the interpretation of Elyssanar’s religious scholars. Only a small handful of examples sounded like blatant disregard for the sacred text, but he wasn’t sure how much he could trust the clergy’s word on it.

  The world was just too full of liars.

  *

  Later that evening, the sun just above the horizon, Elethe sat warming her hands at a fire shared by Donnan, Sirona, Dowyr, and Weynon. Dinner had just been finished, and the smell of stew still hung in the air. The convoy was camped outside a small farming town, the Pilgrim River only a stone throw anyway. Elethe hoped the soft rippling sound of it would help her sleep. She always liked sleeping near moving water; it gave a calming sense of peace.

  Thinking of peace, she glanced at Weynon. A faint gray glow pierced his head; Dowyr was channeling to him. Boredom looked as she had expected it to, and it tasted about the same when she Matched it. Dry air mixed with flavorless water. There was nothing unpleasant about it, it was just... boring.

  She had thought of asking Weynon to use his Emogic on her from time to time, but it felt wrong. After putting him and Dowyr through all this, she didn’t deserve to feel at ease ever again.

  Garec approached the fire but didn’t stop to warm his hands. He locked eyes with Dowyr. “My officers are waiting for you at the command wagon.”

  Dowyr sighed and got up, signing, I’m going.

  Garec gave a short nod and walked off. Sirona cleared her throat to get Elethe’s attention and motioned to him with a sharp gesture.

  Guess I’m going too, Elethe thought sourly.

  She followed Garec back to his fire which was surrounded by a dozen empty stools. They passed other groups of soldiers gathered around their own. There was an ambience of soft banter between them, and an occasional burst of laughter. Some were playing cards or a game of Kings on a small portable checkerboard. She still needed to try playing it, especially since she now understood how the game was played, having absorbed that information from Dowyr. The odd tower-looking pieces had always made it look too complicated to try before.

  “Dowyr said you would be coming after me tonight,” Garec said, sitting on a stool and turning to face her.

  “Of course he did,” Elethe said coldly. She moved to another stool and sat, holding her hands out to the fire. The sun was close to dropping below the horizon.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Elethe took a deep breath and remembered what Sirona had told her about the truth. She didn’t want to say it. It would be easier to just walk away and forget it all. Instead, she opened her mouth and said whatever came to her mind.

  “I don’t like what we did. What you did, and what you made me do. You never said kidnapping them was part of the plan, I thought we were going to wait until they had graduated then recruit them personally.” Not knowing what to do with her legs, she stood back up and moved in front of Garec, her back to the fire. “And why did we have to take Weynon? He’s twelve! We’re bringing an innocent, pure-hearted twelve-year-old boy into the mouth of Hell. I want to cry just thinking about it. I feel like this war is putting a wall between us, and I don’t know what to do. It feels like the only ones who listen to me are Sirona and the boys. Can’t you listen to me too? Or are my problems something you’re indifferent towards?”

  Garec appeared to listen intently, though his expression didn’t alter. Once Elethe had finished, he clasped his hands and exhaled slowly. “I really wish things could have gone the way we wanted back at the Academy, but we’re in wartime. Things had to change. I’m sorry for the hand you had in taking the boys, I hope you can forgive me. You’re only sixteen and are already carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. I know it’s not fair. Life can be cruel as Hell. But you’re strong enough to fight it and win, perhaps stronger than all the rest of us. Why else would you be an Empath? I need you to be strong. None of this works without you.”

  “That’s the problem, I’m not strong enough! I’m not Elysium, I’m a bloody mess forced to feel everything all the time. You can’t just treat me like I’m some tool to be used. And you can’t treat Dowyr and Weynon like that too; we’re kids, not soldiers. Did you forget that? Because you didn’t used to treat me like this.”

  He sat still in thought. “What do you want me to do? I can’t just make all the problems disappear instantly, and right now there’s one taking up all my attention and energy.”

  “I don’t need you to solve my problems! I just want to feel like you’re here for me while I’m dealing with them, to feel like you still see me, and not just some tool or weapon.”

  Garec rubbed his eyes and a haggard look came over him. “I’m sorry. I wish I had experience as a father to be a better uncle. If your father knew where I was taking you, he’d likely kill me. I probably deserve it.” He took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. “Come talk to me whenever you need. I don’t care if it’s in the middle of a war meeting or the middle of the night. Just not in the middle of a battle, alright?”

  Sitting back down, Elethe let her shoulders relax. “I wouldn’t do that to you. But thanks. That’s all I needed to hear, and… and you’re still hiding something. I know your anxiety has been way up this week. Is it something to do with the plan?”

  He grimaced. “Not the plan. I shouldn’t have blocked those boys for so long. Maybe it would’ve been better to knock them unconscious.”

  She winced. He wouldn’t have said it outright, but the message was clear: Hell had been speaking to him that night. How long had he been channeling? Five hours? Six? That was far longer than any believing Voidspeaker would be comfortable.

  “He’s a liar,” she said softly.

  Garec sniffed. “Like I don’t know, but that doesn’t stop him from telling the truth when it’s to his advantage. And the truth can be one of the strongest advantages. You want to know something he said?”

  Elethe shivered, and not just from the cold. “Not really.”

  “No, I think you’ll get a kick out of this. He said Dowyr serves him and is going to kill you.”

  He said it so casually that it took Elethe a moment to process the words. “Oh, well, one of those may be true. I’ll just have to kill him first, then we’ll know for sure which it is.” She glanced towards the command wagon’s fire a short way off where she saw Dowyr linked to a group of officers with small gray streams of Boredom.

  Garec laughed—an actual laugh—and shook his head with a grin. “I don’t know, if I had to put money on who wins that battle… well, I’d put it on you, but I think that boy is cleverer than he looks or lets on. Didn’t he already know how to use his Emogic when the Academy picked him up?”

  “Yes, mainly because he’s read all the books about Emogics and channeling you could think of and then everything else in Elyssanar’s library. And he remembers every word. I don’t know how, but he does. There’s something seriously messed up with his brain, which is probably why he’s a mute. Or, going by his looks, he could be an actual alien. Being an orphan supports that theory. But unfortunately I also know everything about him, so he’s only alien in spirit.”

  Garec raised an eyebrow at her. “You know everything about him?”

  Elethe blushed, remembering the moment. It was rather embarrassing in hindsight. “When I first Matched his channeling, I… dove headfirst. I guess at my Class, Boredom can absorb information like a sponge. Most of his knowledge didn’t stick for long, I just can’t remember that much pointless information, but anything to do with himself, and signs, yeah. I know it all. It’s kind of… uhhh… weird.” There were some memories she wished she could get rid of.

  He looked in Dowyr’s direction with consideration. “Is there anything about him I might need to be aware of?”

  She shrugged. “He’s a teenage atheist. If you’re worried he’ll try to run away, or defect, or anything like that, it might cross his mind, but I doubt he’d ever try. He’d never abandon Weynon at least. I don’t think his conscience would let him. He doesn’t think of himself as such, but deep down he’s a good kid.”

  Garec nodded slowly. “So why does he call himself Mawkin?”

  “He thinks it’s funny.”

  “That’s it?”

  Elethe nodded. “That’s literally it.”

  “Hmph. Teenagers.”

  “Hey, we’re not all bad.”

  Garec smiled. “I know. What does he think of me?”

  “Dunno, but he’s still channeling. I can check for you without him knowing what I’m looking for.”

  “No… no, I have a feeling he’d figure it out and not be very happy about it. Better I learn from him myself, I think.”

  Elethe rolled her eyes. “If you say so. I think I’m going to get ready for bed now before it gets too dark. Thanks for listening to me though.”

  Garec waved a dismissive hand. “I’m unworthy of your thanks, just doing as I should. Thank you for coming to talk with me, you’re a brave young woman and I’m grateful for your confidence. Sleep well.”

  Elethe smiled, believing for the first time in a while that she would sleep well.

  *

  Weynon had made himself ask to sit next to Garec for today’s riding, and permission was given. For a good amount of the journey he had watched the Captain, paying attention to how he spoke, whether to his men or to Dowyr and himself. He liked the way he spoke; there was strength in it, but without harshness. Garec was brief in almost everything, yet full of encouragement towards everyone. It reminded him of the way Valhalla spoke in The Five Sentinels. The only thing that made him nervous was his being a Voidspeaker. He could talk to Hell, or at least Hell talked to him personally. That should be enough to give anyone pause. Weynon often had to remind himself of what Donnan had told him, that people are more than their Emogics.

  Up until now he had spent most of the journey staying with Dowyr or Donnan, keeping more to himself. It was taking time to adjust to traveling with a couple hundred people. He liked talking with others, but more on the listening side, and crowds had often made him nervous. Donnan was at least a recognizable face from the Academy and would regale him with stories about life up in the wild north, such as his attempts to tame everything from bison and horses to songbirds and foxes. Most were failures, but they made for great stories. Dowyr would talk about his most recent prank on Elethe or what his next one would be, and eventually he branched out to pranking the other soldiers, though subtly with his Emogic.

  Watch, Dowyr would sign, staring intently at a soldier sitting by a fire, who would suddenly jerk his head, slap his cheek, and look very confused at his clean hand. Dowyr would make a soft half-cackle, half-grunt sound and explained he made the soldier see and feel a large mosquito land on his face.

  “Why?” Weynon asked, genuinely curious.

  “Life is too boring to not mess with people a bit,” Dowyr channeled.

  Weynon didn’t exactly understand his need for the pranks, thinking life was more than interesting enough to not need bother people with such things, but at least it made Dowyr happier, and it wasn’t like he was doing any real harm.

  However, for some reason, he cut his Emogic pranking short when Elethe called him out on it. According to him, she ‘spoiled the fun of it’, but he just went straight back to pranking her without using his Emogic. On and off, at least. It became more sporadic the closer winter came, which Weynon understood perfectly, now more than ever. Everything slowed down in winter, even the land itself.

  Some days it almost made him cry, being able to listen to the land. The sound of it reminded him of a heartbeat, and it was becoming fainter by the day, its beats further apart. Nature was always giving off trace amounts of Emogic, and he could sense it. Winter caused a great deal of Sadness, as though nature believed it was dying and could do nothing to stop the inevitable. Yet deeper down there was a feeling of knowing that this was the way things were, that the cycle of life would begin again and there would be cause for joy. Nature knew that after the end, there was a new beginning, just as was written in The Five Sentinels. Heaven had caused many endings, but always following was another beginning; such was the way of all things, eternally.

  Only now the ending of something is what Weynon hoped for. Wars had always been something far away from him, whether by time or distance. They never concerned him except to pray for the souls of those who fought. Now that he was moving straight towards one, he also prayed for his own soul and for the end of the war to come swiftly.

  “Was there a specific reason you wanted to sit with me today?” Garec asked.

  “Yes,” Weynon said slowly, “but I don’t know if the question I have is appropriate to ask you.”

  Garec smiled in amusement. “Just ask, I’ll not be offended.”

  “I’ve been wanting to ask for a while. What’s the story behind your Apex?”

  “Ahh, that. There isn’t much to it. When I was sixteen my little sister fell in a river, so I jumped in after her without a second thought. I was completely indifferent towards my own life in that moment. Whatever happened to me didn’t matter, I just had to save my sister. I did, and in the middle of it all, I had my Apex.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I told you there isn’t much to it.”

  Weynon frowned at nothing. “That must have felt like a curse after doing something so heroic.”

  “Sometimes it felt that way, but looking back, it was only an occasional scornful look from some pastor or colorful choice of words from a stranger who had heard of me. Most of my family didn’t see me any differently, at least the ones who mattered to me. Overall, I’ve rarely had the burden of needing to use my Emogic.”

  “So… when you are using it… does he really talk to you?”

  “Always.”

  Weynon shivered. “Did he say anything about me?”

  Garec grimaced. “Nothing worth repeating. Best to be content knowing he hates you, which means you’re doing something right.”

  “He hates everyone though.”

  “Yes, but from what I can tell, you more than most people.”

  Weynon hesitated. “And… Dowyr?”

  “He hates everyone. You know Dowyr is a good kid.”

  Weynon breathed a sigh of relief. “He is.”

  There came a distant sound of Elethe shouting from behind, followed by an unholy screech that Weynon guessed was Dowyr.

  Garec sighed. “He’s going to get himself killed if he keeps doing that.”

  Weynon smiled. “Probably.”