Cedric walked with Grace beside the main path that led into town, his upturned face perpetually swiveling. He readily drank in everything--the skies, the fields, the trees, the crisp, fragrant air, the twittering birds, the small furry animals that scattered upon their approach. He belonged out here, among the vibrant life that bloomed and thrived.

It then occurred to him that Grace hadn't uttered a word. He glanced down at her. Her face was slightly puckered and a little pink. She briefly met his eyes, then immediately looked elsewhere.

Cedric wracked his brains for something to say. Though silence had always suited him better than speech, it seemed that her silence, for some reason, distressed her.

"I like eggs," he said.

She met his gaze, unreservedly this time, and giggled. "Most people do."

He liked her laugh, and wished to hear it again. "I'd never had them until recently. If I could, I'd eat eggs every day."

Grace frowned. "Could I ask where you hail from? You're… unusual."

Cedric instantly regretted initiating conversation. He'd barely just learned to talk again, and now needed to lie for the first time in his life. His mind ran in spirals, grasping for a plausible story, but nothing came to the forefront.

Ultimately, his prolonged silence spared him.

"I'm sorry," Grace said quickly. "I don't mean to pry." She'd gone pink again, and she turned her eyes back toward the path.

The following silence was uncomfortable even for Cedric, but Grace broke it this time. "There's a stream nearby, in the forest up ahead. You can sometimes find minnows in the water, even an occasional frog. I often played there as a younger girl. Would you like to see it?"

"Yes, very much," Cedric said, relieved. He didn't know what frogs or minnows were, but he greatly anticipated finding out.

Grace became more talkative as they made their way to the forest. She spoke of her father, her childhood friends, the first time she'd milked a cow, and the first time she'd killed a chicken. Cedric listened closely, determined to absorb every precious word.

She stopped her lively chatter at one point to draw attention to a large collection of wild bushes, weighed down by scores of small, blue fruits. "Yallowberries! I used to pick these bushes clean." She plucked a particularly plump, dark one and offered it to Cedric.

He hesitantly put the berry into his mouth. As soon as he bit down, an explosion of sweetness burst across his palate.

They picked as many as they could stuff into their pockets, and periodically ate them for the remainder of the journey.

The stream was not far from the outskirts of the forest, where slender trees still allowed sunlight to shine unencumbered. Here, it was merely a trickle of clear water that slithered across a path of smooth stones into the thicker depths of trees ahead. Cedric crouched down and touched the crystalline stripe with his fingertips. It was cool and crisp against his skin.

Grace beckoned him onwards. "Come, it widens further into the forest."

The stream indeed grew in breadth as they continued their walk. The sunlight began to fracture, struggling to pierce the thickening canopies above their heads. Grace undid the handkerchief that bound her hair. It fell in rich, loose curls around her shoulders. Cedric, a few paces behind her, caught the scent of warm pine.

His new friend's shoulders had relaxed. She seemed more at ease in the woods of her childhood, where many fond memories had been created.

The stream widened into frothy rapids, cutting a deep swath of banks on either side. Grace sat at the water's edge, atop the bouncing green moss, and kicked off her shoes. She lowered her feet into the stream with a sigh of satisfaction. Cedric did the same.

Amidst the warm, fragrant air of the forest, with the soothing flow of cool water across his feet, there was no place for the dark horrors that tormented his nights.

"I'd like to see the capital somebody," Grace said. She lazily swung her legs in the stream. "I've heard that the Citadel is so tall that it can be seen for miles beyond the city walls, that every structure is built of white stone, blinding under the midday sun."

"Why don't you?" asked Cedric.

She contemplated. "Well, my father needs my help, and… harvest season is approaching, and with his pain…" She shook her head. "Besides, not just any commoner can enter the capital. They would need a letter, signed and sealed by an Enforcer, stating a far less frivolous purpose than mine."

Cedric opened his mouth to ask what an Enforcer was, then shut it. He couldn't afford to reveal the true breadth of his ignorance.

An arcing pebble splashed into the stream not two paces from their legs. They both jumped and looked up at the opposite bank. A scruffy boy of Grace's age stood there, grinning crookedly. He was barefoot, and his clothes were heavily patched and faded.

"Finn, you utter bore!" Grace cried. "Did mother never teach you manners?"

He shrugged. "'Course she has. But this is much more fun!" Finn tilted his head at Cedric. "And who would you be?"

"Come and introduce yourself. Be a civilized man for once in your life."

After heaving a dramatically belabored sigh, he crossed the shallow waters toward their side of the bank.

Cedric stood up and offered his hand to the boy as Alvir had taught him to. Though Finn seemed a little taken aback, he shook it heartily.

"I'm Cedric."

"Well met. And whereabouts are you from?"

Cedric's heart sank, but Grace quickly interjected. "Far. An uncivilized lout such as yourself wouldn't have heard of it."

Finn put a hand to his chest in mock affront. "How this cruel mistress wounds me." He looked to Cedric. "See what I've suffered my whole life?"

Grace, still seated at the water's edge, swept up an arc of droplets into his face. "It's no more than you deserve. Besides, what are you doing here? Does your father not need help at the shop?"

"Slow day. He let me take the morning. Thought I'd revisit old memories." He jerked his head to the side. "Remember the tadpoles we caught there?"

Grace grinned fondly. Cedric once again had to bite his tongue rather than ask what tadpoles were. Yet another question to later relay to Alvir.

"We've known each other since we were crawling," Grace told Cedric. "Finn's father has always given us a good price on his wares."

"My pa sells the best-quality goods in town," Finn added proudly. "Cedric, have you been? Our shop is near the central square. Anything you need, from fabric to spoons. Caleb's bakery is thereabouts as well. He always has a sweet-roll or two to spare."

"I can't--shouldn't go into town."

"Afraid, are we?"

"No," Cedric snapped, more sharply than he intended.

Finn laughed and held up his hands. "Perhaps another time, then, when your courage returns."

Cedric chewed his cheek, then stepped out of the water and pulled his shoes back on. They were an old, faded pair of Alvir's, a little large on him.

He grinned at his new friends. "Which way to Methodosia?"

*

The midday sun bore down upon them as soon as they cleared the shelter of the trees. Grace quickly bound up her hair again while Finn shaded his eyes with a grubby hand.

"By the Goddess, will this heat never cease?" he bemoaned. A glistening sheen of sweat had already sprung up on his forehead and cheeks, and Cedric's own skin reacted the same. It was rather invigorating.

Grace was already several steps ahead. "Come, my brave warriors. Sweet-rolls await us."

Though Alvir had called it a humble little settlement, Methodosia was almost overwhelmingly large and bustling in Cedric's eyes. There were people around every corner, young and old, numerous voices continually battling for dominance. Barefoot, hollering children scurried past them. The occasional horse, sometimes accompanied by a cart, trundled by. Cedric could hardly resist gaping at the deluge of new sights and sounds, but the smells alone could have overpowered him: earth, sweat, smoke, wood dust, fresh bread, rotten fruit. He felt as though his head might burst from the flood of new sensations.

"Impressive, eh?" laughed Finn when he caught Cedric's expression.

After some time, Cedric noted with mild interest that he hadn't seen a single young adult among the townsfolk; they were either younger than he was, like Grace and Finn, or significantly older by at least two decades. A braying donkey then trotted by, and the observation was quickly forgotten.

The town's central square of well-worn cobblestone held a well at its center. The three of them raised a bucket from its depths and took turns drinking deeply. The water was blissfully crisp and cool, a perfect remedy for the blistering day.

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Finn poured the remainder of the bucket over his head and tossed his hair about, splattering Grace and Cedric with cold droplets. It felt too good for either of them to protest.

"Ah, that's better," he said, running his fingers through his drenched curls. "Now, for a sweet-roll to truly complete our recovery."

Like most of the village's structures, Caleb's bakery was a two-story building with a thatched roof. A tattered wooden sign, with a faded bread loaf painted upon it, hung above the entrance. Cedric's mouth watered at the warm, tantalizing scent that drifted out from the open door.

The scent intensified tenfold as they entered the bakery. It was a stiflingly warm space, illuminated by the light from the open windows. A cloth-covered table greeted their entry, holding the various baked goods for sale that day. Long, half-stocked shelves lined the walls behind the counter. A tall, thickset man tended to the large oven at the back of the room and turned at the arrival of his guests.

Caleb the baker boasted powerful arms and a large thicket of dark, wiry facial hair. His eyes were warm and welcoming.

"Grace! Finn!" he boomed. He dusted his flour-covered hands on his mottled apron, crossed over to them, and heartily clapped their shoulders, making them both stagger.

"Well met, Caleb," said Grace. "How fares business these days?"

"Could be better," he said. "There's been a downturn in everyone's fortunes lately. How fares your father?"

"A little irked by the chickens and cows. Our yields have lessened somewhat."

"Ah, let us hope that Eris may soon smile upon us again." Caleb's twinkling gaze settled on Cedric. "And who would this strapping young lad be?"

Cedric held out his hand. "I'm Cedric." Caleb's enveloping grip was rough and calloused.

"He's a newcomer to town," said Grace. "He's staying with Alvir until he finds his own accommodations."

"Why, the Bluebird's rickety, flea-infested beds aren't good enough for him?" the baker laughed. "Welcome to Methodosia, Cedric. I hope your new friends have made you feel welcome."

Finn fidgeted restlessly, peeking around Caleb' substantial bulk to catch a glimpse of the baked goods on display. "Caleb, could you happen to spare any…?"

"I'm afraid not. Henry already took his fill this morning, and I can no longer afford to give away what I used to."

Finn couldn't quite hide the disappointment on his face, which quickly turned bitter. "Henry Avidus," he spat. "As if I needed another reason to stamp him into--"

"Watch your words, lad," said Caleb gravely. "You wouldn't want those sentiments finding their way to his father's ears."

"He's a pig, he--" Finn had gone pink. "He latches onto Grace like a… a leech."

Grace started to blush as well. "I've told you to not make a fuss. He doesn't hurt me, there's no need to--"

"You're a plaything to him," Finn snapped back. "Someone ought to teach that filthy--"

"My shining knight!" Grace's voice dripped with potent contempt; for once, her features were mocking and unkind. "I beg of you, rescue me from the wicked Henry Avidus!"

Cedric watched this unfold in fascinated bewilderment.

Caleb stepped between the quarrelers. "Settle down, you two. Though some opinions of Henry and his father in this town may be… unfavorable, we have no need of a Lord Enforcer with a bone to pick with his own charges, especially in times like these."

He waited until both Grace and Finn met his eyes. They nodded reluctantly.

Caleb heaved a large sigh, ruffling his bushy mustache. "On second thought, I may be able to spare one more." He plucked a plump, glossy sweet-roll from one of the cloth-lined wooden shelves, which spanned the considerable size of his palm.

"You'll have to share." Caleb's eyes crinkled as he smiled.

After a deluge of enthusiastic thanks, Cedric, Finn, and Grace left the bakery. They gently pulled apart the roll into equal portions and devoured them within seconds. The pastry was soft, fluffy, and sweet, and Cedric immediately craved more.

After Finn returned to his father's shop, Grace offered to walk Cedric home, which he eagerly accepted.

Their path back to Alvir's cottage was a different one from before, and they soon came upon a large field with hundreds of wooden markers embedded in neat rows.

Grace did a curious gesture as they walked by, touching her right index and middle finger to her mouth, and then to her heart. It was the same as Marcus' salute to him, all those long weeks ago.

"What is that?" he asked, unable to restrain his curiosity any longer.

She looked at him in surprise and stopped walking. "It's a common sign in these parts, ever since the Madness. I can't describe exactly what it means…" She bit her lip in thought. "I suppose it's a gesture of remembrance, grief." She showed him again, more slowly. "What is not spoken is still felt in the heart."

Her eyes wandered back to the wooden markers. "I've been doing it my whole life, for the older brother I never knew." Grace gave him a sympathetic look. "Who did you lose, Cedric?"

He couldn't imagine what she was talking about. "No one," he said truthfully.

"Ah. Then you were one of the lucky few." She continued walking. Cedric followed, his mind reeling with barely-formed questions borne on a wave of growing, formless dread.

Grace bid him a warm goodbye at the foot of the hill. Cedric watched her retreating back, highlighted against the horizon by the late afternoon sun, and felt none of the joy that had filled his heart mere moments ago.

It was time he asked the questions that mattered.

*

Cedric's determination was somewhat dampened by a sudden knot of guilt that clenched his stomach when Alvir smiled upon his return. He'd flouted his promise to stay clear of the town, and without the slightest hesitation, no less.

But what harm had he really done? Why burden Alvir with yet another source of distress? For the sake of his peace of mind, perhaps it'd be preferable not to confess. He began to help Alvir with preparations for supper, relieved with this rationalization.

An Enforcer, Cedric learned that night, was a royally-appointed overseer assigned to every settlement within the kingdom. They upheld kingdom laws, handled disputes and crimes, and collected the quarterly tribute from each household in the village. This then led to a long tangent on what laws, crimes, and tributes were.

Cedric pondered this wealth of new information as he sat at the table and watched their meal bubble briskly in the fireplace. They were having soup tonight, a thin one made from rabbit bones, a few potatoes, and various roots and herbs that Alvir had gathered in the hills.

"Those who break laws, they are… imprisoned?"

"Aye." Alvir swayed gently in the rocking chair, squinting hard at the barely-carved block of wood in his hand.

"Which law did I break?"

There was no immediate answer. The quiet tranquility of the cottage deepened into something thicker, less comfortable.

Cedric turned away from the fire to meet the eyes of his caretaker, the man who'd singlehandedly restored him from the half-dead husk he'd once been. Perhaps it was unjust to burden him with such a clearly difficult question, but Cedric couldn't wait any longer for the answers to arise on their own.

"You committed no crime. You broke no law. You hurt no one," he said. His words were cautious, halting.

"But my predecessor did."

Alvir's eyes glistened from either the firelight or unshed tears. "Rava the Mad… there are no words to adequately encompass… what he wrought upon the kingdom."

"Try to. Please." Cedric's chest constricted with apprehension.

"You must not take any of the blame upon yourself," Alvir said. "Obviously, this was before your--"

The door to the cottage burst open, startling them both. Jana stepped in with a sour expression on her face, tracking streaks of mud across the threshold. She dropped her bow and arrows onto the floor with a loud clatter.

"No luck," she growled. "Not a deer, rabbit, or even lizard in sight." She glanced at the soup. "That may well be our last taste of game for a good, long while."

Alvir rose from his chair to plant a light kiss on her cheek.

"What were you two clucking on about?" Jana asked. "Cedric's as pale as a lily."

"It can wait until after we've eaten," Alvir said shortly.

Cedric couldn't remember ever being less hungry than he was now; his stomach had knotted itself into taut clumps. He looked up from his untouched soup at Alvir and Jana, who ate steadily and quietly.

By the time they were finished, his food had gone cold.

Alvir sighed, gathered up the two empty bowls, and placed them in a wooden basin by the back door.

"I was about to tell Cedric of the Madness," he said after returning to his seat.

Jana grunted approvingly. "Good. It's about time he knew."

"I'm not sure he's entirely ready…"

"Then allow me." She turned to Cedric, who leaned forward in anticipation.

"The one true certainty I can speak with is in the telling of my own account. Sixteen years ago, I rode with a band of men and women. We were seasoned mercenaries, our bonds with each other forged deep by blood and steel. On a night like most others, we made camp in the wilderness. A freshly-caught wild pig roasted over the fire. We were singing, drinking, exchanged ludicrous, bawdy tales."

"Later on, I learned that this night had been the start of the Awakening, a divine event that heightens the power of the Heirs somehow. It's all deeply embellished and muddied by legend, but most folk know, for instance, that the Hadria River was woven together by a descendent of Rhea, many centuries ago, during an Awakening."

"Every man, woman, and child in the kingdom had felt its approach deep in their bones, but only the Heirs could know precisely when the Goddess' power was set to crest and break. Reinhart was the first of us to see the eclipse. He'd always had the sharpest eyes."

Jana paused, and took a small breath before continuing. "What I felt next was… indescribable, as if all of my darkest thoughts and desires had merged into a single, overpowering need. It rose to the forefront of my mind and obliterated all else. I tasted blood on my tongue, and wanted nothing more in those moments than to bathe in endless oceans of it."

"When I came back to myself, the entire camp had been slaughtered, save a few others. My sword was drenched in blood and viscera, and the eclipse had passed."

Jana's jaw clenched, as did her hands resting on the table. "None of us knew what had happened, or why, or how. Us survivors fled our separate ways, terrified that we might be overtaken by the Madness again. I resolved to ride alone from then on."

"This… this happened everywhere?" Cedric asked in a strangled whisper.

"Indeed." She shot a sardonic look at her husband. "But fortune had smiled upon Alvir, as it often does."

He nodded. "I was travelling alone in the deserts of my homeland when the Madness struck. I did feel a terrible darkness take over me, but I was a far distance from any others I could have hurt. I suffered harrowing visions and an unstoppable stream of terrible impulses invading my mind, but only when I'd arrived at a settlement did I discover the true horrors of what the Madness had wrought."

"A week later, the capital dispatched thousands of heralds to relay a message from the Divine Heirs," Jana continued. "I happened to be stopping by the town of Haxus when a herald arrived there. The villagers crowded him, desperate for answers. They hadn't even finished burying all of their dead, and nearly every survivor nursed fresh wounds."

"The heralds' message was hardly satisfactory, though I don't believe that any single pronouncement could have been. They stated that King Rava, the Heir of Darkness, had been responsible for the Madness on the sacred night of the Awakening, and that Ayo, Rhea, and Asha had been forced to end his life to lift the thrall. Then followed the decree that all of Rava's future incarnations would be found and imprisoned, never again to claim their throne in the Citadel, and that all of his noble followers, the Dark Apostles, were to be banished from the capital."

Cedric suddenly remembered the sort of folk he'd encountered in Methodosia: plenty younger than he was, but none less than fifteen years older. Now it was clear what had happened to that absent generation, the ones who'd been young, defenseless children at the time of the Madness. The terrible answer to a question he hadn't thought to ask.

Cedric's head pounded ferociously, and he clenched his hands in his lap until they ached. A heavy silence settled between the three of them, punctured intermittently by crackling snaps from the fireplace.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. His field of vision had grown hot and blurred.

Alvir put a hand on his shoulder as Jana pinned him with a steely, unyielding gaze. "The men I mindlessly slaughtered were my blood brothers. I would have died for them. Not a day passes when I do not think of what could have been, had the Madness not struck."

"Jana…" Alvir murmured.

Cedric's gaze dipped onto his feverishly knotting fingers.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

He shook his head.

"I see a troubled and tortured young boy, saddled with the vicious luck of being born into the wrong lineage at the wrong time. I did wonder how I'd feel when I entered that rank hellhole of a cell, but inside I found nothing more than a filthy child in desperate need of a good meal."

A startled, strangled laugh escaped him. He brushed a rough hand across his face and turned to Alvir. "How long is the journey to Borne?"

"About a fortnight on horseback, at best. Why do you ask?"

"If I can restore your eyes, I must learn how."

"Cedric, we've already talked--"

"Please, Alvir. I…" Cedric struggled to properly express the desperation gnawing away at his chest. Beneath the shadow of such a bloody, disgraced legacy, he wanted--needed--to do this. Something good, if only for one person.

Alvir seemed to understand.

"Very well," he said. "I can begin gathering supplies tomorrow. We should be ready to depart within the week."

Cedric began to eat his cold soup, barely tasting it.