Somehow, the world went on. Qereth kept on bustling around them, totally failing to take notice of the two corpses splayed on the ground, the knight, the child and the grieving woman. At some stage later in the day someone would report the bodies to the city police and an officer would come to tidy them away. But not yet. Anthē cried some more, but it did not bring him back. Leukos was no longer present to them in that body. Zantheus bent down and picked up his manuscript.

“Why?” said Anthē.

“Listen,” said Zantheus, “we’ve got to get out of here. There might be more of them.”

“What?”

Suddenly Anthē was very afraid. It was all too much for her, the grief, the disorder, the danger.

“We’ve got to get out of here Anthē, in case more of them come.” He took her hand and tried to lead her away. “Quickly.”

“No!” Anthē resisted. “We can’t just leave him there! Poor Leukos! Why? Why did they do this to him?”

“I know it’s sad, Anthē, but we have to go.” said Zantheus. “We have to get out of here, come on. We’re in danger.” Anthē let herself be led away, along with Tromo. She could barely take in what was going on. Leukos was dead. Poor Leukos. He had only wanted to find Sophia... Sophia! Where was she?

She looked around for the woman. “Sophia, where are you? Are you really a relative of Tromo’s? Where is she?!”

She had gone. She had abandoned him.

Zantheus was saying something. “Anthē? Anthē, are you listening to me? Have you still got the address that Krestotes gave you?”

Anthē didn’t answer his question. Instead she asked a different one. “Why? Why, Zantheus? Why did that man kill Leukos?”

“I think he was a Government assassin,” said Zantheus. “He was sent by them to kill Leukos. There could be more of them, we’ve got to be quick, Anthē, that’s why we’ve got to hurry. Do you—”

“But why?” interrupted Anthē. “What had he done? What did Leukos do wrong? He was only trying to find Sophia. What did he do wrong?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” said Zantheus. “It’s something to do with Enlightenment. Leukos knew something. He knew something about Enlightenment... He knew it was a lie, I think... Who was that woman?”

“Sophia,” repeated Anthē. She was still distraught and stunned by grief. “That woman with the blonde hair was Sophia. I met her once, in Sadeh... She said that Leukos was in love with her. That’s all he wanted, Zantheus, he just wanted to be with her. They didn’t have to kill him just because he knew something about Enlightenment...”

“I know, I know Anthē, they didn’t. But please listen, we don’t have time for that now, I don’t think it’s safe. I’ve got to protect you. Do you still have the address Krestotes gave you?”

“Yes,” said Anthē finally. “It’s here in my pocket.” She took it out and gave it to Zantheus.

“Thank you,” said Zantheus. He had made sure that they had started walking south. “Now we’ve just got to find the place.” They walked fast, Zantheus spurring them on, saying “Quickly” and “Hurry.” He kept his eyes peeled, searching about for any other figures dressed in black. He could see none. He hoped that he would be able to get Anthē and Tromo into a house without being spotted. They asked a man for directions and found the street, then the door. Zantheus was relieved when Krestotes answered it.

“Zantheus, what a surprise!” he said cheerfully, then became more sombre when the knight ushered the woman and child through the door and slammed it shut with a sense of urgency. The space inside was well-lit and well furnished, but Zantheus did not have time to take it in properly.

“Krestotes!” he said. “I’m so glad we found you. We’re in grave danger. Leukos is dead. He knew something the Government didn’t want him to know. They may want to kill us as well. I need you to hide Anthē and Tromo for me.”

“Slow down, Zantheus!” said Krestotes, though he was clearly affected by the news. “This is terrible. I am so sorry. Of course, of course I will look after them. I will hide them, don’t worry. How do you know that it was the Government?”

“I overheard a conversation,” said Zantheus quickly. He was extremely flustered. “The head of my Order and the Provost of the Academy. They were talking about getting rid of Leukos. They tried to kill me, but I escaped. And now I’ve killed their assassin. Leukos knew something. They said he was dangerous. And I think we’re dangerous too, just because we know Leukos. You have to hide Anthē and Tromo.”

“Yes, of course I will.”

“What about you, Zantheus?” asked Anthē. She was still in a state of shock, white as a sheet. “What are you going to do, Zantheus?”

Zantheus looked her in the eyes.

“No, not again,” said Anthē. “Please don’t leave me again, Zantheus.”

“Anthē, please try and understand. One more time. I have to leave just one more time. I need to know what happened on the top of that mountain. I need to go back there one more time.” Anthē was shaking her head. “Then I’ll return. I’ll come back for you. I’ll come back for you and Tromo and we can be a family together. I promise.”

She practically fell on him, and he embraced her. “I promise,” he said again, stroking her hair. “Even if I get thrown to the other side of Mashal again, I’ll come back for you, I promise. But I won’t let that happen again. Krestotes will look after you until I come back. Won’t you Krestotes?”

“Of course,” said Krestotes gently.

“Soon,” he said. “I will be back soon.”

He kissed Anthē again, more confidently this time.

“But Zantheus,” said Anthē, her heart leaping and dancing, “what if one of them finds you? What if they send another assassin?”

“Then I will defend myself from him,” said Zantheus. “I have already killed one. I need to do this Anthē, I’m sorry. I have to do this, I have to find out. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

He turned to leave, but he was stopped again.

“Zantheus!” said Tromo.

Zantheus looked round, astonished.

“Tromo, you spoke!”

Anthē fainted.

Krestotes caught her. “She’ll be alright. She must be very overwhelmed,” he said when Zantheus looked concerned. “We’ll take care of her. Go and do what you have to do.”

Zantheus knelt down to speak to Tromo while Krestotes placed Anthē gently on the floor and went to get a bucket of water and a towel.

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“I always knew you could talk,” he said to the boy, smiling at him.

“Zantheus...” said Tromo. “Leukos told me something.”

“Yes, what did he say?”

“He told me to tell you something. He said to tell you about the tunnel in my dream from a long time ago. You got to find a tunnel. There’s a tunnel under the tree.”

“What tree?”

“The tree with the long branches hanging down, at the bottom of the mountain.”

Zantheus was amazed. The mute was speaking, and he spoke impossible things. There was a solitary willow tree at the bottom of Mount Awmeer where traditionally the departure ceremonies were held, called ‘Tsaphtsaphah’ but nicknamed the ‘weeping tree’ because of its long hanging branches and because the knights wept at the departure ceremonies. How could Leukos have known about the weeping tree? He had never mentioned it to him. Leukos really had known something. He was surer then than he had ever been that he had to go back again and go to the top of Awmeer one more time.

“Thank you Tromo,” he said sincerely, and hugged him. “I’ll be back for the two of you soon. I promise.” He got up and left the house.

Something was about to happen.

He paced the streets once more, keeping his eyes out for any more assassins.

He found the square again, and the river Nahar.

He took the same path that he had taken the previous day, only with new knowledge, new determination.

The weeping tree, Leukos had known about the weeping tree. He could see Awmeer again. He went out the East Gate.

Something was about to happen.

He strode across the plain of Aythia again, back and forth he was going across this plain, would it ever end? His only thoughts were for Anthē, and Tromo, little Tromo who could speak after all. Yes, they would adopt him as their son, if they didn’t find his family. That was perfect. And the weeping tree.

Something was about to happen.

Eventually he came again to the Sanctuary. Somewhere in there was the corrupt Rhemeus, Rhemeus who had lied to him for his entire life. And Gaius, loyal Gaius who was probably nursing his broken leg. He avoided the building and pressed on to the mountain.

The ground became uneven and he started to climb the gradient. He came to the lower slopes. Here was the snow, here were the training runs he had mastered –and all leading up to here, the foot of the mighty mountain. He stood at the foot of Awmeer and looked for the weeping tree.

Here she was. This was the tree, always clothed in snow. No-one knew how it had grown here, and why it alone and no others. It was said that it had been here as long as the Sanctuary itself, that the ancient founders of the Order had planted it. This was where the knights gathered each time they held a departure ceremony to send another hopeful up Awmeer to try to attain Enlightenment. None had ever returned.

Except for Zantheus. Here he was ready to tackle the task again. Only, only this time, he didn’t climb.

“What was it that Tromo said?” he thought aloud. “Under. Under the weeping tree?”

Something was about to happen.

He knelt on the ground and started to dig into the snow at the base of the trunk, wondering if he was mad. The weeping tree had roots, big, thick roots going deep down into the ground. He had never realised that before. Now what? He searched in among the roots and started to pull one or two of them up, dirtying his arms in the brown, slushy soil that lay beneath the snow here. By chance he pressed on a certain patch of earth and it gave way under his hand. There was a hole here. He dug round it. Not just a hole, a burrow. A tunnel! There was a tunnel under the weeping tree, under the weeping tree, just as Tromo had said!

Something was about to happen.

He crawled his way into the tunnel and started going along it, downwards, further underground. Now and again he looked back, and he could still just about see a light behind him at the entrance of it where he had come in under the weeping tree. Then the ligjt disappeared. Everything went black and he was crawling along the tunnel in pitch darkness.

Something was about to happen.

He wondered where the tunnel led, and how long it would go on for. He wondered if it was just a burrow made by some animal. He wondered how long it would be until he decided to turn back, whether he would be able to make it back at all. He wondered whether he would die in this tunnel. Leukos didn’t want that, did he? He couldn’t have sent him here to die, could he?

No, no.

Something was about to happen.

He thought of Anthē and Tromo. He had promised them he would come back, and he would keep that promise. Here in the darkness, totally enclosed under the ground, he felt so alone without them. He felt as he had done last night when he had fallen asleep by the river. Sleep... He was so tired. Where was this tunnel taking him, where would it end? How long had he been crawling now? It was probably night by now. Time was stretching, he had no way of keeping track of it.

And the hunger –he was so hungry. When was the last time he had eaten? He hadn’t worried about food, he had been so keen to get to the Sanctuary, and then back to Anthē and Tromo. Anthē and Tromo. How he missed them. He must get out. He would go back to them after this. He would keep his promise. Time, he had lost track of time. It’s all a matter if time, Zantheus. He was no longer sure whether he was in a dream or not. Everyone dreams, don’t they? Leukos wouldn’t lead him down here to die, would he? Time, it’s all a matter of time, Zantheus, I had to leave some time. So dark, it’s so dark down here. How long does this tunnel go on for?

All of a sudden his right hand had nothing to support it and Zantheus slipped down some steep incline in the dark. He couldn’t see what it was. He could hear his armour scraping against the rock as he slid. He stuck his arm out and grabbed onto the rock—and just in time. At the same moment that he did this he went over a kind of lip. His arm straightened out and he cried out in pain as it took the full weight of his body. He was left dangling over some invisible edge in the dark, holding onto it with one hand. He must be in some kind of cavern. He wished he could see. He was so afraid. Was he going to die here? Leukos hadn’t sent him all this way to die, had he? He searched around with his feet for something to stand on. Nothing. He couldn’t get his left arm high enough to grab the edge with that as well. He tried to lift himself up. To his horror, he was not strong enough. He was unable to do it. He couldn’t hang here forever. Should he drop? What if the fall was too big, what if it killed him? He had to pull himself up. But he was too heavy.

His armour. Could he part with his armour? Article Six: An Aythian knight must never remove or leave his armour. But...what did those rules matter anymore? He took off his helmet with his one free arm and let it drop. He listened. No sound came. He must lift himself up. He reached over and unbuckled his breastplate. He held it to his chest for a while, then let it fall away. He listened again. No sound. He was just about able to reach down and undo the clasps on his thigh guards. He let them fall too. Then he tried lifting himself up again. It was still extremely difficult, but he started to move. He came closer and closer to his hand. He was so tired and hungry. The strain was nearly too much. He shouted, then screamed, with pain. The exertion was too great. Then the scream cracked and became a song. He was up and over the ledge; his voice rang out like an instrument in play, echoing in the darkness. He started to crawl slowly up the slope he had just slid down.

Enough was enough. He would find the tunnel again and go back, go back to the weeping tree, back to Aythia, back to Qereth. Except he did not find the tunnel again. To his surprise, the ground evened out. He stood up very carefully. It was so difficult doing this in the dark. He stepped forward cautiously. He got a fright when he felt his waist bump into something. He got a grip on himself. A table. There was something on it. Something soft and round. He was so hungry. He lifted it to his nose, then to his lips. It was all crumbly and sweet. Bread. He found a cup too. Wine. He had never tasted wine before, but he knew it was wine. It quenched his thirst and ran soothingly down his throat. He felt replenished. It had only been a simple meal, but he felt revived. He stumbled on beyond the table and walked in the darkness for a little while longer. Now his shin hit something. A step. He mounted it. Then another. He was climbing a set of steps. He went on, step after step, for what seemed like an age. But he didn’t mind. A light appeared. Yes, a light up high. He was climbing up to a light. And it was getting colder and colder.

He could feel snow on his face. The light was getting brighter. It got brighter and brighter, impossibly bright. He was outside now. The day had dawned again, the third day since he had returned to Aythia. Up here, everything was white. The mountaintop shone so brilliantly that everything seemed to merge together to form a single, unified whole. He was back on Awmeer. He had made it back, at long last he had made it back! He climbed, he climbed for all he was worth. There! There was the mirror, bright and burning in front of him once more! He had returned! But he could see someone else in front of it. Someone else was with him here, up on the mountaintop.

It was another knight, only his armour was black and covered in dirt. He was kneeling in front of the mirror.

Zantheus understood. He understood why Leukos had sent him this way.

“How can I go further?” he heard himself say.

“I will show you,” he spoke into his ear.

Then he wrapped two arms around himself and flung himself high, high, high into the sky.

Zantheus turned and began his journey back down the mountain, feeling enlightened.