Father then began to speak slowly, his deep voice a wispy, rasping shade of its former glory. It bobbled, and quavered as His Royal Highness, King by His Own Hand, and Slayer of the False King on the Road spoke softly to ‘Tj’Chin’Ker, casually throwing what he knew of his life and the world he lived in to the dogs. “I have seen the omens and auguries, and the shaman have been lying to us. For at least a century. I… They… ” His rage was apparent, and while ‘Ker had feared that this fury might have been his own doing, and now his own undoing, this talk of the shaman. Those crazed men and women of the Tj’Shea who dedicated their lives to hallucinating for the betterment of the People, felt like it may offer ‘Ker a reprieve.

It was with an abrupt sigh, and a clearing of his throat that the petite man before him dressed so finely in fabrics of reds and whites, and bedecked with jewels that named his rank as if they shouted in a quiet room, stopped his speaking, and centered himself as if he had a horrible task to complete.

His Royal Highness began again, as if embarrassed; though he spoke now with solemnity and with great deliberation, as though at any moment his previous anger, though not seen in centuries, might pop back out and kill his family, or his foes, even their hounds and thralls, as easily as in days long passed. “You deserved better than those two fools. One has to work with the tools at hand, and they are my tools from now until they die. Right after I hold today’s Royal Court, in fact. You deserve better than what is coming as well. But there is nothing for it. We have a blade of ice where we need iron.”

From where he sat, sprawled, against the cold gray wall, ‘Tj’Chin’Ker watched as the Father reached out to his right, and placed a broad, work hardened hand on the joined stones that made up the wall to the left of the door. He began a chant in the Old Tongue, which startled ‘Ker; he knew the Father was a potent mage in his own right, but had not been aware of his ability to so easily work the old, formal magics that made up the underlying structure upon which all other, more simple magics, were built. It wasn't just the difference between seeing a chef use carrots bought from a market versus carrots the chef had grown himself, it was seeing the chef change the natural laws that governed the kitchen itself so that the carrots were at hand whenever the chef reached for them.

Thunder, low and steady rumbling through the room, bouncing from wall to wall,

until every sound of every word worked its slow way into the souls of those listening. Where His hand met the wall, the cracks of each joint in the stone pulsed with a wan blue light. Those lights scrabbled, and crawled their way across the walls and floor, a few even upon the ceiling, toward the prisoner.

There was a snapping noise. Dried twigs underfoot in the darkening wood of an early Autumn evening.

‘Ker felt his body reconnect to the magic that had kept him healthy and young for centuries, as it did for all of the Tj’Shea. His body began to reset itself, slowly. Bones cracked and realigned themselves where they had been broken, and softer, spongier tissues began the process of knitting themselves back together. With no other magic to use, his body would reset over the course of a year or two. Maybe three.

He hoped this might mean he would be allowed his freedom, and access to his own enchantments. He could be hale and hearty in a few days, and away from the Father’s kingdom, if not his direct reach, in a week. Two weeks at the most.

Father began speaking again as the blue lit stones faded back to their gray, temporarily red speckled hue. “I cannot let you go. And I will not allow you to go.”

As his nose reset itself painfully in his face, and blood formerly held back by the damage there was loosed onto his chest and the floor, he turned a spluttering. red cough, and a pained shout into a queried “WHAT?”

...not my most eloquent... he thought as he tried to breath.

Few things the Father hated as much as to repeat Himself, He had once famously killed a rival king for making Him repeat Himself in public. His voice was now the storm, and one that He obviously held at bay, this now ensured the room’s three other occupants listened at quiet attention.

”‘Min’Hel will report to my wife that I caused you great pain. She may even embellish what she sees here,” A glance back at the officer confirmed this as ‘Min’Hel gave one slow nod. The King then gestured to His Senior Commander “He has his orders, too, and I will not strike them. You WILL be held here until it is time to present your bloodsoaked and SILENT form is dragged into Court. She must not know anything about my allowing you to heal a little, before you are …” and here, the king paused a moment before finishing, “...sent away.”

His gaze lurched off into the distance as he murmured “Too many know far too much already.”

‘Ker had no idea what his Lord was speaking about, and the hours long beatings had not been in aid of his cognition. It must have showed on what was left of his face.

“The people are in great need. I’m sending my champion to the Sunlit World tonight to try to set things right. To bring back hope that the people don’t even yet know they need.”

As the pieces snapped and clicked and popped into place in his mind, finding his voice was not easy, “That is why ‘Gai and Shoat were so happy. You have chosen one of them to breach the world of men, to carry out your mission. Find for themselves a great glory, you intend to send them back through the Door none of the People have opened in a thousand years… you…” ‘Ker trailed off, his eyes unfocusing as he let his mind wander these paths.

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Something was still not quite right. An element still astray, running free only to be hounded back in by The Father’s good graces.

‘Min’Hel slowly stood, and she and “Muir’Huk moved to either side of the King and answered his unasked question for their Lord. “It has been too long.” ‘Min’Hel said. Muir continued, “We have not traveled that path in too many years. Gone long are the times we could step from broch to broch in the fire pits with nothing more than a wisp of smoke. Even

The Tearing Times when flesh burned and hair singed away are far to the past. This old magic will, sadly, take at least two lives for every three travelers, now. And even that is not certain; it may take all three. The Nodens says our worlds have moved too far from one another in the Great Lake of the Stars these last ten centuries. The Doors of the Fireways closed too long ago to simply reopen them. We need…” he shrugged, and thought for a moment. “We need a large pry bar, where once a lesser spell, simply spat and a moment of will worked as a fine key.”

His eyes never left the blood splattered floor in front of ‘Ker’s bootless feet. A shrug, “Three is what the Sibyl and the Nodens say will work. The Mother of Us All, may she reign long, has never loved you. When news came of your rings…” His voice wound down to nothing, as if by saying nothing, one as well as had said everything on the matter.

The Fireways had been the method the ‘Tj’Shea had been using since the Dancer had first set the People on the paths. Jumping through the ceremonial fire pits had allowed the people, with the proper training, to move from one Fireway to the next in moments. Even traveling to the Hidden Lands, the Sunset Lands, the Lands of the People, the Fireways had been the secret to the Peoples’ ability to confound their human tormentors. When the Exile came, the ‘Tj’Shea had taken one last trip to their refuge, closing the doors behind them as they left the world of men.

The Sibyl and her sisters had been the keepers of the Fireways. During the eon they had spent in Exile, the Sisters of the Fireways had lost prestige, going from protectors of the Secret Land of the People, to Tenders of the Paths Between… and “Between” became a smaller realm of possibilities every year further from the day of the Migration. From All of the Sunset Lands, to Most of the Sunset Lands, then on to Some of the Sunset Lands… finally their domain, and their reach, had dwindled down to the Royal City and the outer regions of the First Land. To ‘Ker’s mind no more bitter, disappointed women existed, save only for the Mother, herself.

Muir’Huk continued in his gravelly monotone. “Our Royal Sire suggested you for the third. Knowing she would jump to see you gone, but she asked proof that you deserved such a sending…Politic as ever, Our Mother, all sides She would have appeased as long as She gets to see you dead and your carcass far from her hearth.”

Another piece, simply that. As lips bruised and bloodied, wounds splitting and cracking open anew, “your rings,” he had said.

Another piece, clicking into place with so many others. ‘Ker turned his one undamaged eye up to look at his betrayer.

“Yes, boy. I’m sorry but I had to tell her, not me, but I let her find out from other lips giving voice to my words.” A tear coming from the corner of a wrinkled royal purple eye at this. “But, you HAVE to go.”

“My death, then.” ‘Ker was resigned to it now, as blood seeped over his teeth, through broken lips onto a numb leg and the cold floor. A royal betrayal, a royal decree.

“No, son,” Thumb of the First Fist said, “His majesty has it in mind that YOU will survive the crossing, those two expendable idiots were chosen to give you a chance. THEY are the goats sent to slaughter. You are to be the emissary. You are given the Royal Charge. Of the three that travel, only the most worthy will pass.” This last said as if quoting something, or someone else. From the way he had pitched his voice it was a creaky voiced old woman.

The Sibyl, then. Another click. “…bitch…” the whispered curse went barely heard over his labored breathing.

Thinking he must have been beaten past all mental acuity, ‘Ker just sat waiting for it to all make sense. It was not in any evident rush to do so by his reckoning.

Damn Damn Damn… daaaaaaaaaamn…what is this?

“You will save us all, or die in the attempt.” The Father at last showing a small smile. “You will travel the Fireways, or you will not, and you will die. You will find the Dancer, and convince him to reopen the Fireways for the People to safely travel once again, or you will not, and WE will all die. And my wife will not know.” The old man laughed at that.

“If you succeed, you will be safely exiled to the Lands of Men, if you fail it was all for nothing and nothing will we all become. Now, give me a hug, I need your blood on my fine vestments, so all at Court will know I have taken a hand in finding your guilt.” As good as his word, his majesty swooped down, lifting ‘Ker easily from the floor of the chamber, and getting as much blood on himself as ‘Ker still had to give.

The Father’s sad smile became grotesque, a mockery of ‘Ker’s own trials these last two days, with ‘Tj’Chin’Ker’s blood smeared on half of the elder’s face.

The King extended his loaded arms to ‘Min’Hel, who took the burden that was ‘Tj’Chin’Ker, without even a grunt of effort. Her face, ‘Ker could see through the helmet, was as expressionless as the gray walls that surrounded them. She was stronger than he knew himself to be; she could carry a man to his death without flinching at the lies that would be told to justify that death.

Worse, ‘Tj’Chin’Ker knew, she wouldn’t flinch at the truths they would use to send him to his death.