The conversation with Tomford had been a welcome respite from the swirling thoughts about what Heradion revealed to him earlier about Ben. Was what he said about Sarien changing Ben the truth? If it was, that meant he’d killed his best friend and put something else in his body.

Sarien shuddered at the thought. Wayfaring, Heradion said. Other worlds. Sarien desperately wanted to know more. Heradion said not to use his power for any reason, but he’d made no promises to the old man, not as he saw it. If Heradion couldn’t or wouldn’t tell him more, he’d just have to work it out himself.

By the end of the day, they’d arrived at the edge of Primie Woods. Sarien was exhausted, and by the wan expression on the faces of his companions, so were the others. When Goslin declared that they would stop and set up camp near a small brook, no one argued. Tomford immediately went off by himself to perform a final ceremony for Anicetus. When Sarien asked if he wished for company, Tomford stated that he wanted to be alone, but thanked him for his offer.

The forest was massive and Sarien was informed that it would take most of the following day to find the road that would eventually lead them to the village no one seemed to know the name of.

The brook was narrow, but filled with cool, clean water and Sarien drank deeply after a long day on the dusty road. On one side of the road was an empty grassland. The wild grasses swayed in the slight breeze and Sarien thought it made for a lovely view for when they attempted to pitch their tents. Sarien puzzled at the different sticks and lengths of canvas and turned to see that no one else had any better luck pitching their own tents. Hart and Kax had given up entirely, piling the materials on the ground to create a makeshift bed.

A crow landed on a low branch of a nearby tree and cackled at their failure.

After several attempts and filling the air with curses, the group decided to sleep under the stars. The clear, bright day turned into a cloudless night as they sat in front of a campfire where Heylien roasted pieces of the deer he’d hunted earlier. Fat dripped and sizzled onto the open flame and Sarien’s mouth watered.

Tomford returned with a soft expression on his face. He had been crying, but seemed more at peace, as he sat down next to Sarien. Emeryn, who had yet to regain consciousness, slept in a bundle of blankets by one side of the fire, and the others squeezed in to fit. Heradion muttered something about needing to think, and walked off into the darkness, and Lien kept himself apart. He wasn’t a servant, but he was the last remaining member outside of the main group.

“Where’s Goslin?” Sarien asked, gingerly holding the hot piece of venison between his fingers.

Hart nodded toward the brook. Sarien could make out a dark silhouette of a man bathing. “Where do you think? Went as soon as Tom returned from there.”

“Always with the bathing,” Kax said. “Half the fun about being on an adventure is that you don’t have to even bother.”

Lana sniffed, her petite nose wrinkling. “It wouldn’t hurt to keep up with some basic hygiene.”

“Says the girl who spent the better part of a year caked in mud. Could smell you coming from a mile away!” Kax countered.

“Really?” Sarien asked. “Why?”

“She pretended to be a man,” Hart said, before tearing a large piece of venison with his teeth. He chewed contentedly and swallowed while everyone watched him. “What? She was! Fooled me.”

Sarien looked at her. “Why were you pretending to be a man? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“And what if I do mind?” Lana mumbled.

Goslin came into view, then sat down next to Tomford. “You don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to.”

Lana sighed. “It’s fine.”

Sarien watched as everyone leaned in closer, eager for any tidbit she might throw their way. Apparently, the others didn’t know much about her, either.

“My family name is Asengian, as most of you know. Loftians nobles. My father sits on the Council of Twelve in Vinden.”

“Council of Twelve?” Sarien asked.

“Loft does not have a monarch like the other nations. It is ruled by the Council of Twelve. The most influential noble houses.”

Sarien nodded. “Oh.”

“Aeromancers aren’t seen as powerful assets like healers in Vatnbloet,” she continued, nodding to Tomford. “But it still gives the houses some prestige when one is found in the family. I knew that if my father found out about my powers, I’d be used as some piece in his political machinations. A political marriage to some lordling or other.” She shuddered. “I refuse to be used. Generally, it’s only the oldest or youngest daughters who are married off, and I’m neither so I thought I was safe until—” Lana opened her palm and a gust of wind blew through the camp.

“How many sisters do you have?” Kax asked.

“Seven. Two younger, the rest older. No brothers. Why?” she asked before narrowing her eyes. “Don’t you dare even so much as look at them!”

Kax laughed. “They’re not even here!”

“Well, like I was saying, I barely know my father and I would not have him force me into bed with,” she gestured toward the others around the fire, “one of your kind. So, I left.”

“But that doesn’t tell us anything about how you ended up at the academy,” Hart protested.

“Or why you dressed up as a man,” Kax added.

“I’m getting to that,” Lana said impatiently. “The Eldsprak Academy accepts applicants from other kingdoms, so I tried my luck. At first, they refused me, so I showed them what I can do.” Another gust of wind blew through the camp.

“Having magic users from other kingdoms is a point of pride for the academy, so they accepted me without even knowing I was a noble.”

“But that doesn’t explain why you dressed up like a man,” Hart insisted.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“I’m getting to that. If you’d just stop interrupting me!” She sighed and looked around. “It was a disguise. Both to make me look more like a commoner, and to get rid of all the expectations.”

“Expectations?” Tomford asked, obviously confused. Sarien didn’t get it either but hadn’t wanted to show his ignorance.

“On women,” Lana said.

Hart frowned. “I don’t get it.” Clearly, Hart didn’t mind showing his ignorance.

“There are a whole lot of expectations that come with being a woman. How to behave, how to look, move, smell. Everything. Even who to love! I hate it! If you imagine a noble woman, I’m pretty sure all of you get the same image in your head, right? The nurturing pretty girl with long, flowing hair, impressive curves, and a yearning to get married.” She gestured toward Emeryn on the ground. “Just look at her. She’s perfect! She has more grace than me in the little finger of her one remaining hand than I do in my entire being. I’m none of that, and I don’t want to be!” Lana glared around the fire as if daring the others to rebut her.

“I thought Emeryn wasn’t a noble,” Sarien said, then winced as Lana turned her glare at him.

She waved the objection away. “Fourth Circle then, just another name for the same thing, as far as I’m concerned.”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Goslin said. “But are you saying you want to be a man?”

She deflated. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what?” Kax asked. His hand was on the pommel of his sword again.

“I am a woman, but that does not mean I want to be buried under a mountain of expectations. I’m not here to take care of you, or for you to fall in love with me. Is it so bad to just want to be me?” She blinked and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

They sat in silence for a long moment, then Goslin nodded. “I think I get it.”

Heylien spoke for the first time since she’d started her explanation. “You can be whoever you like when you’re with us. You decide how to act, look and dress. We promise not to fall in love with you, little sister.”

“Yeah,” Kax said. “Just don’t stab us if we misstep.”

“I’ll try not to,” Lana agreed, grinning.

After dinner, Sarien huddled around the fire for warmth with the others on top of his bedroll and a thin blanket. Sarien couldn’t sleep, not with everything that had happened earlier that day. He’d learned so much about his powers, but still knew so little.

On a whim, he placed his hand on the spear that lay beside him. Instead of speaking out loud, he tried to send a thought. He didn’t know what the others might say if they caught him conversing with his weapon.

Bandit?

No answer.

He tried again. Are you in there?

A sense of something grew in his mind. Not the bandit. Whatever it was, there was a low growl like the purring of a cat.

The luison.

Slaying the one in the fight must have trapped it in there with the bandit, Sarien thought.

Are you in there with the monster, bandit?

Still no reply. At least not with words. An image, almost like a projected thought.

Death.

Destruction and blood.

The purring growl increased. Malicious. It wanted to hurt. To kill. There was not a doubt in Sarien’s mind. Trapping the beast in the spear with the bandit had meant the man’s complete destruction.

Bile rose in his throat, and his eyes teared as his face flushed. Sarien stood and moved away from the fire and the slumbering forms of his friends. He was going to be sick.

He brought the spear with him, fearing what it might do if he left it with the others. It couldn’t attack on its own, of course, but he couldn’t shake the sense that it would hurt them. Hurt anyone who got close.

Sarien waded into the brook, the icy water rushing by his ankles, before he fell to his knees. He retched, emptying his stomach into the shallow water. When there was nothing left, he stood, his trousers soaked through.

“You caught one of them in that spear of yours, didn’t you?”

Sarien spun to face Heradion. “You scared me! How long have you been there?”

“A while,” he answered. He brought a small flame into existence, holding it out in front of him to give them some light. “So did you?”

“Yes. Thought it was a good idea to try. It seems easier to strike when using my black flames.”

“It was not a good idea.”

Sarien sighed. “I understand that much now. Do you know what happened to the bandit?”

“Bandit?”

“The man who was in there before. He’s gone.”

“The art of slaying is not one I’m very familiar with,” Heradion said, pursing his lips. “But I’ve never heard of imprisoning more than a single entity in an object. To be honest, I didn’t even know you could improve on weapons by imbuing it with someone or something. If I were you, I’d make peace with the fact that I’d killed that man.”

Sarien balked. “Killed?”

“Well, yes. What did you think would happen? Either the luison got to him in there, or adding another being, or however you wish to call it, pushes the first trapped entity out.”

“How do you know these things?” Sarien asked. “You’ve obviously come in contact with someone with these powers before. A slayer and a wayfarer, is what you called them?”

“It’s what it’s called.”

“And?”

“Don’t push your luck, lad.”

Sarien glared at him, still standing in the cold water.

The old man continued, “I’ll tell you, but you will have to give me your word on something first.”

Sarien walked out of the stream, shivering in the cold night air. “What kind of promise would you have of me? I’ve already said I won’t just forget I have these powers!”

Heradion held up a hand to ward Sarien off. “Nothing like that. I understand you won’t be persuaded to see sense.”

“What then?”

“There’s a place I want you to promise you won’t travel to, and you can’t ask me why.”

“Why?”

The old man rolled his eyes and sighed. “If you want to know more, that’s my condition.”

“Fine,” Sarien muttered.

“You call it the dark continent.”

Sarien shrugged, he had no plans of ever going there. “Fine.”

“I’ll tell you what I know. Perhaps it’s for the best.” Heradion increased the size of his flame and somehow placed it on the ground between them, letting Sarien dry himself by it. “Slaying isn’t a very accurate name for the power. It is used to seal beings into objects. You used it on a man, leaving his body behind, right?”

“Right,” Sarien said, holding his hands near the flame. “The bandit.”

“You used the spear to do it. First time I’ve ever heard of a weapon being used, but from the look of it, that works too. The power does not kill, only imprisons.”

“Wait,” Sarien said. “I can imprison whatever or whoever I wish? Are there any limits? Why is called slaying?”

Heradion held up a hand to stop the onslaught of questions. “Your strength in the power is the limit. In theory, there are no outer bounds. The power of slaying can be used to trap almost anything or anyone. The name is short for godslaying. The power to kill gods, or near enough to it.”

“Godslayer?” Sarien asked, dumbfounded.

Heradion snickered. “Quite the nickname, huh?”

“Hold on,” Sarien said, frowning. “You said it doesn’t kill, only imprisons. Does that mean the gods aren’t really dead? Is this power what brought down Eld, Ocea, Taera, and Anea?”

“Perhaps you aren’t as dense as you seem,” Heradion admitted.

“But doesn’t that mean they’re still alive?”

The old man chuckled. “I wouldn’t go spreading that around. Everyone would think you’re crazy.”

“Who are you, really?” Sarien asked. “You can’t just be some pyromancer.”

“That wasn’t part of our deal,” Heradion said, standing. “I fear I must leave you for some time. Take care.” The fire winked out, and Heradion turned to walk away.

“What? Wait!” Sarien demanded. “You’re leaving?”

“You brought this on yourself,” Heradion said. “I don’t like what you told me about those friends of yours back at the Karm estate.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You brought something to this world. Who knows what kind of havoc it might wreak if it isn’t reined in?”

“But he’s Ben, it was just shock. I’m sure of it.” Sarien’s words sounded false and desperate to his own ears.

The old man grunted. “Doubt that.”

“Then I’ll come with!”

“And your friends here? Your father?”

The old man was right. Sarien couldn’t veer from his course. “Just don’t hurt him, please?”

“I’ll come back once I’ve investigated what you did. If all goes well, we’ll meet again. And Sarien?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want you to think that what I’m saying is in jest. It might be better for everyone if you died during this foolish quest of yours.” Heradion turned his back to Sarien and walked away to where the horses were tethered. “Wait!” Sarien yelled. Heradion stopped and turned. “Can’t you at least tell me your real name?”

Heradion chuckled. “Why don’t you ask your father?” With that, he mounted. Sarien stood there in the dark, frozen, as he listened to the fading clopping of Heradion’s horse disappear into the distance.

The old bastard knew his father. What sort of man was Talc Wald? The more Sarien learned, the less he felt he knew.