Long moments passed as Jess, stern and calm, stared back at the cockeyed looks the night-bathed faces around her wore. Many times, they would look at each other, Jess expecting some whispered comment to be passed, but would only nod and turn back toward the Prophet. With rising worry, Jess waited for these tense moments to pass.

Only when she felt she had waited long enough for these silent people to say something, Jess decided it was time to break her usual protocol and speak first. “I am Jess of the White Prophets,” she said, her voice echoing across the clearing. Her White senses still holding strong, she felt and heard the flight of a small group of dark blue birds that suddenly shot out of their nest atop one of the nearby huts.

Instead of a verbal response, Jess watched with veiled curiosity as more glances were shared amongst the villages, most responding with shrugs or smirks. Still, not a word was spoken amongst the now closely gathering people.

“Are you the tribe of Mother-dwellers known as Speakers?” Jess inquired.

Jess could have sworn she heard the people’s eyes blinking, but received no further response.

“I would like to speak to your leader,” Jess said quickly.

“No anger,” one of the men, the one whom Jess had thought was directing the firefighting, said in a nearly inaudible tone.

“I’m sorry?”

“Not sorry. Have no anger. Not required.”

“Anger?” Jess laughed, smiling as she took cautious steps toward the man. “I’m not angry. I’d like to speak with someone with authority.”

“No fear,” the man said, shaking his head and offering Jess a comforting smile.

Jess cleared her throat, about to say that she was neither angry nor afraid, when the man interrupted her.

“Annoyance,” the man said, shaking his head. “Nothing to be annoyed for.” Before Jess could give a reply, the man held up a hand to stop her. “Prophet. Same answer as before.”

Though Jess was sure not all of the men and women gathered around the smoldering huts had heard the man’s statement, all of the hundred or so heads nodded as a show of unity with the man’s words.

“Answer?” Jess asked, smiling weakly. “I haven’t asked a question yet.”

The man’s head tilted ever so slightly to the side as he watched the woman, making Jess feel like she was being judged from head to toe by someone more insightful than the former Matriarch.

“As I said, I am Jess,” the Blesser said, bowing her head slightly. “What is your name?”

The man tilted his head again and shrugged. Jess didn’t know why but this must have been funny for the other Speakers because they all began to chuckle lightly, smiling at the white-haired man.

Jess slowly walked toward the man, deciding to try a different tactic. With a smooth motion, she unclasped her white pen and set it aglow, allowing its power to shine a pure light on her and her immediate surroundings. She let it float slightly above and beside her head, like some sort of glowing sprite that lit her way.

“I am the Blesser and Matriarch of the Sevens Prophets,” Jess said as she stopped a short distance from the grinning, white-haired man. He was tall and well-built in the shoulders and legs, though a paunch-like gut stuck out from his thin-clothed brown shirt. On his face, Jess caught for the first time the distinct markings of a scar, two streaks cutting across his left cheek at intersecting angles. “I know by your demeanor that you are the tribe of the Speakers. I am not here to recruit any of you, as was done in the past. I am here for another reason.”

“Not a child,” the man said with quick words. He shook his finger in front of the woman’s face and repeated the words with a slower tone. “Not a child.”

“Ah, I see. You mean to imply that you are not a child. You are not referring to me.” Jess nodded, affirming this claim to herself. The movement made the man smile.

“Ah.” The long chuckle the white-haired man had as he looked at Jess made the Blesser feel she was quite young, but in front of another who was also quite young. “We can understand that reason.”

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“Reason? What reason?”

“Why you are here.”

“I know you can understand why we want Speakers as Prophets. But like I said, that’s not why I am here.”

The man shook his head, still smiling. “No. Is not. We know reason. Is why others come also. Others not Prophets.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Jess said.

“Is also good reason.”

For all her insight, for all the knowledge of Infinity’s work using the power of the White Prophets granted her, Jess was completely dumbstruck by a group of people who as far as she knew could not understand the basic principles of language.

While Jess thought of what to do next, the white-haired man turned back to the people. A silent exchange followed, and he turned back toward Jess. Jess expected him to say something when a look of curious surprise came over him and he turned back around, throwing his hands up in confusion. Jess caught a few of the Speakers shaking their heads but could read nothing else from the exchange. Finally, the white-haired man shrugged and turned back to the Prophet.

“Not listen,” the man said, tilting his head back toward the smiling people behind him.

“What did you tell them?” Jess asked.

“Need privacy for Jess sake. Speakers say Speakers know soon enough so Jess need know Speakers know when Speakers know.”

Jess cleared her throat, struggling to not attempt to correct the man’s broken words. Apparently she must have done something funny because the white-haired man laughed and said, “Is not easy. Only speak to travelers. Prophets even less. Forgive.”

“That’s fine. I can understand you well enough. I hope I don’t sound condescending. Eloquence is a prerequisite for women in my position,” Jess explained.

She couldn’t believe the man could understand those words, and immediately regretted speaking in such a way. But Jess was surprised when the man instantly replied, “Understand, Jess. Is Jess?”

“Yes. My name is Jess.”

“Hmm.” The man’s eyebrows sunk down and he rubbed the light, brown goatee he wore. “Not feel like Jess. Jess not enough.”

“On my planet, Home, we go by two names. My first name is Jess and my last name was O’Condor.”

The man shook his head. “Is not you, Jess. Is not Jess O’Condor. Your name is…”

It felt like a twitch of a sensation, like the twinge of joy from seeing candlewax glow, or the way metal smelled after a spring shower. These and a thousand other thoughts, impossible to define and equally impossible to grasp shone at the edge of her mind. It was there and gone and Jess was left to wonder if she’d even felt anything at all, or if the sensation was simply a chill brought on by the settling autumn wind.

“Is name. But for Jess, must call Jess,” the white-haired man said, and smiled. Jess returned the smile, cautiously, her heart pounding. “Jess want hear real name again, but not for good reason. Understand name, then can be called by name.”

All this talk of names suddenly gave Jess a feeling of alienation from the people watching and smiling at her. Most likely they were communicating in that unspoken way Speakers did, discussing and judging her.

All Mother-dwellers had a heightened sense of empathy. They always made the greatest interrogators, horse-riders, Whites, and diplomats. The Speakers were different, and not just in the way they lived apart from others, traveling on the edges of Mother society at all times. Their sense of empathy was so strong it allowed them to communicate with it.

It wasn’t telekinesis, the act of speaking in another’s mind that Whites knew and understood perfectly well. It was a shared feeling that seemed to convey meaning. A subconscious translation of emotion into thought and language. Speakers could carry conversations without ever opening their mouths. Few Prophets could work their minds around it, Golds and Reds even less, but it had been tested a long time ago and proven true, though some disputed the tests.

Jess couldn’t help but realize that she was the topic of what would have been an incredibly loud gathering of conversations going on between the dozens of Speakers standing around her. Hoping to ignore this, she smiled at the white-haired man. “And what is your name?” she asked.

“This is name,” the man said, and smiled.

Jess felt a slight spark, like a fly buzzing past her ear, and then nothing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get that.”

The man sighed. “No. Is okay. Name not important.”

“Hold on. I have to be able to speak to you in a more dignified manner. Let’s see.” Jess scanned the man, looking for something that would tell her what his name would be. She tried thinking of old Prophets, names of great leaders in the past, names that might give him a little honor.

“No old name,” the man said, raising his hand. “Have name. No one else.”

“Okay.” Jess bit her lip, unable to think of something. When she stopped thinking, and just looked into the man’s face, the only think she could think of was the shape of the scar on his cheek. “Vee.”

“Vee?”

“Yes. Your scar is in the shape of the letter V.”

The man put his hand to his face, touching the scar as if just then remembering he had it. “Letter. Understand.”

“May I call you Vee, then?”

“Vee.” The man thought on it. Someone must have spoken to him because he turned around and had a quick, silent conversation. Then he turned back with a blank expression on his face. “Is empty.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can think of something else.”

“No. Vee is good. Is empty so has nothing else to it. Allows Vee to become me, not me to become Vee.”

Jess thought back to all the thousands of people who had been named after famous Prophets and other figures of history. She thought of all the Jaspers she’d met, all the Sonofs, all the O’Condors. It made her realize there was incredible wisdom in what Vee said.

“So, Vee,” Jess said, nodding slightly as she smiled.

“So, Jess,” Vee said, chuckling as he imitated the gesture.

“I need your help with something.”

The man shrugged. “Vee knows.”