Keon stood squirming before a large, rounded rock embedded in the ground. With every exhale another sliver of self-control seemed to bleed from his body. Just the thought of trying to ‘steady his breathing’ loosened his already tenuous grip on his faculties. ‘Think of something else’ produced slim results. Facing the thought head on seemed only to ramp up its intensity. So he stood, suspended in a web of discomfort whilst Wellworn watched, arms folded, from a few feet away.

“Now Keon, I want you to take this rock and carry it up to the top of that hill.”

Keon’s weary gaze climbed the steep slopes leading to a forested enclosure, then fell back to his chest. He took a few belaboured steps towards the stone and stopped, shaking his head.

“I can’t carry that by myself,” he said, pointing.

Wellworn smiled.

“I did not say you had to carry it by yourself.”

Keon frowned, looking from him to the hill. He got the hint, but—

“Where’s the ‘mutual interest’ in that?”

Wellworn tightened his arms across his chest.

“Once you make it up that hill, you will be free to relieve yourself of your burden.”

Keon weighed his words, calculating. He sniffed and approached the stone.

“Fair enough.”

Feet planted shoulder-width apart, he rubbed his palms together in readiness, focusing his intent on the smooth surface of the rock. He blew out a breath and struck his palm. Instantly, he felt a difference. The weight that had been twisting his insides lessened. He could do this. They could do this.

His Mirror seemed to match his enthusiasm as they circled round to opposite ends of the stone. Looking in its eyes, even for a second, was still mad disorientating, but he had to stay focused. Just think of it as a mirror. Shaking his hands out, he bent down low and clasped his end of the rock. It was longer than it was wide and flatter at the bottom; ideal for two people to carry. The stone relaxed its grip on the ground, dragging a few stray blades of grass with it as they lifted it off the soil.

Step over careful step they pivoted and shuffled side-ways towards the incline. As they started moving up the slope, the Mirror’s foot clipped a stray stone and their hold faltered.

“Easy,” Keon muttered.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” it snapped, pupils flashing white with malice.

“Yeah, well—you don’t have a choice right now…” he groaned, straining against the stone.

“I’m only helping ‘cause I need to go.”

“You’re helping ‘cause I’m making you,” said Keon.

“Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know, bro.”

“You wanna put that to the test?”

The rock teetered between their grips. Keon’s eyes darted back and forth between their path and the rock.

“What are you doing?”

The Mirror grinned with malevolence.

“Whatever the hell I want!”

With a grunt, it heaved the rock over its shoulder and clawed for Keon’s Codex. A sweep of Wellworn’s palm sent it flying back into Keon, knocking him several feet from where he stood. He sat up, shaking the grass out of his bushy hair. He could feel Wellworn’s approach before his shadow loomed over him. Their eyes met and Keon’s diverted to the ground.

“I know, I know…” he said, brushing the grass off his thighs.

“Well,” said Wellworn, eyeing the horizon. “I did not expect you to master it overnight.”

“Yeah, well I did,” Keon said, scrambling to his feet. “I ain’t got all day.”

“You should know by now that when it comes to your Mirror, there are no shortcuts.”

That one stung, but he was right. Keon nodded and turned to where the rock had landed, gouging a gash in the ground.

“So, what now?”

“You do it again—from the beginning.”

Keon’s eyes whipped up in disbelief.

“From the beginning?”

“From the beginning.”

There was little use protesting. Wellworn’s firm stare was set.

As Keon’s arms drooped, a pair of eager eyes watched with intensity from the bushes several feet away.

Zahara nearly jumped out of her skin as she pulled away from the bush and caught Jonas standing beside her. He was leaning against a tree, picking the grime out of his fingernails with a freshly forged knife. It was rare for someone to sneak up on her, but if anyone could, it was Jonas.

“You should give him some privacy,” he signed.

She half scowled, turning her attention back to the gap in the bushes.

“I just wanted to see how he’s doing,” she replied.

Jonas pushed himself off from the tree trunk, flinging the blade to the ground where it immediately sprouted.

“He wouldn’t want you watching this. Seeing him fail. He cares more about your opinion than you think.”

A slight grin coerced its way out the corner of her mouth.

“We’ve all struggled with our Mirrors,” she signed. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Some more than others,” he replied.

She exhaled, leaning back, and resting on the soles of her feet.

“You’re worried about me,” she signed.

“Midnah-Dogu was rough. You haven’t checked in.”

She jumped to her feet, as if intent on walking away from the subject.

“I didn’t realise I had to.”

He spread his arms wide in a ‘come on.’

“You know how this works. No secrets.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle on my own,” she signed, pacing.

“And that’s my concern,” he replied. “That’s not the Torchbearer way.”

Her gaze fell, weighing his words.

“Is that why you’re avoiding your Mirror?” he signed. “That kind of infiltration op would have been child’s play before, and things have only gotten worse since then, haven’t they?”

“What do you want me to say?” she said, breaking their silence. “Every time I see it, it’s just a reminder of things I don’t wanna remember. It’s better this way. I’m better this way.”

Jonas approached, stepping lightly over a rising bush.

“A strong man can prevail against a loner…but two will withstand him,” he signed.

Zahara turned towards the clearing.

“And a threefold cord isn’t easily broken.”

Jonas matched her gaze, looking out through the bushes then back at Zahara.

“Just don’t let him become a distraction,” he signed.

She didn’t respond. Rather, she turned back to the gap in the bushes.

Keon was panting on his backside, surrounded by a litany of gashes in the ground. After about ten tries, they’d barely made it past the same spot.

“I don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head.

Wellworn cocked his head to one side.

“You keep trying to tell it what to do,” he said.

Keon flapped a shrug in exasperation.

“Well, I thought I’m supposed to control it! To tell it ‘No’?”

“Then let me ask you something,” Wellworn crouched down beside him. “Do you need to control your breathing?”

Keon frowned.

“No…”

“But can you control it if you so wish?”

“Yeah…?”

He wasn’t getting it.

“And when you do, do you tell yourself to control your breathing? Do you say, ‘body, stop breathing!’?”

“Nah...”

“So then,” Wellworn unfolded his arms and stood, “how do you control it?”

Keon sat, pinching the stub beneath his bottom lip.

“I dunno, it’s just—it’s like instinct. Or reflex. Same way I don’t think ‘move my arm’ I just wanna do it, and—” his eyes widened, rising to meet Wellworn.

He leapt to his feet, shaking off the grass, confidence restored.

“Y’know what, you’re actually a pretty good teacher.”

Wellworn chuckled.

Keon approached the stone with a new-found spring in his step. He rubbed his hands together and struck his palm. This time, he didn’t give the Mirror notice. There was nothing else but him and the stone. He bent down, reached for it—and it was like grasping it from both sides simultaneously. He could feel the competing sensations on opposite sides of the rock. Different textures, indents, and grooves. They all seemed to meld together, like how the vision in two eyes combined to produce a three-dimensional image. This was beyond that. Was it four? It felt like four dimensions. He was in two places at once, yet one; and before he knew it, the incline of the hill was levelling out. As he turned, he saw Wellworn standing at the bottom of the slope, a smile of satisfaction on his face as they set the rock down.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“YES!” Keon said, fists pumping the air.

He turned to his Mirror. Was that— a smile? A glimmer of mutual respect?

He raised his chin in a nod.

“Not bad.”

Wellworn had joined Keon at the top of the hill after dismissing his Mirror. He walked past him towards the forested enclosure; a clear sign that Keon was meant to follow.

“Keon. Thus far, you have been introduced to two aspects of Mirror Mastery. The first was mere reflection; performing the same action to fulfil a purpose. The second was cooperation; working together to achieve an objective. The third will not only be the most challenging but also the most perilous.”

“Alright,” Keon said with a half shrug.

Wellworn smiled and continued walking with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Your objective will be to have your Mirror act independently yet still complete the task set before you.”

“Are you serious?” said Keon motioning back the way they’d come. “You saw what happened back there. How am I supposed to do that?”

“You have done it once before, remember?”

He thought back to the valley and his battle with Aslan.

“That was different. We were separate then.”

“And yet, the same principle still applies. You assume that your Mirror will only act in life-or-death situations. It wants what it wants, and it will do whatever it deems necessary to get it. All it needs is an incentive.”

He stopped at the edge of the enclosure, either side of it closing in around them in a semi-circle. Light seemed to dim almost to darkness as it wove its way between the trees. Keon’s eyes roamed over it with trepidation, straining to make out any concrete details.

“You and your Mirror will each enter the forest from separate points. Once inside, your task will be to locate seventy-two stalks of wheat between you. No more, no less. Then, and only then, will you be allowed to leave.”

“Wait,” Keon said, palms up. “That doesn’t make sense!”

“Oh?”

“Wheat doesn’t grow in forests. I-I-I-I mean, for starters you need adequate sunlight,” he motioned with a swing of his arm to the forest. “Have you seen this place?”

Wellworn smiled and folded his arms.

“Remind me, again, what it is I have asked you to do?”

“The impossible?” Keon scoffed with exasperation.

Wellworn’s brow furrowed, and Keon rolled his eyes.

“You’ve asked me to trust you,” he said.

Wellworn nodded a single firm nod.

“But seriously, how am I supposed to find wheat in there?” he continued.

“Easy,” Wellworn replied. “It is not supposed to be there in the first place.”

Wellworn turned and walked away, arms behind his back, leaving a bewildered Keon in his wake.

“When you are ready, release your Mirror. It will come with me. Once we are out of sight, await my signal before entering the forest.”

Keon stood scratching his thigh in impatient thought. Again, his eye-line rose above the treetops looking for any sign of Wellworn’s signal. He instinctively looked at his wrist, then rolled his eyes at his own silliness. He spun round in a circle. Maybe he’d missed it because it was coming from a different direction? Nope. Nothing.

He slumped to the ground in a huff, eyeing the edge of the forest. He could just go in. What was the worst that could happen if he went in early? At least he’d have a head start in case the Mirror tried anything. He needed a contingency plan. Come to think of it, what if the thing ambushed him in the middle of the forest and went for his Codex? Then again, that was the entire point of the exercise, right? They had to act independently yet somehow work towards the same goal.

He closed his eyes and crossed his legs, exhaling through his nose. Letting his thoughts run wild wasn’t going to help either, so he visualised them instead; little, fat bellied Mynds scurrying about all over the place whilst he scrambled to round them up, forging a set of chains to lasso the lot of them like Indiana Jones.

His eyes suddenly blinked open, a notion hitting him like a zap to the back of his head. Pulling on the harness, he swung his satchel round and extracted the Codex. It’d been a while since he’d opened it. Not since before the Empyrean. He stroked the cloth-bound cover with a newfound sense of awe and then gently thumbed it open. Flicking to the Appendix, he huffed a chuckle at his own ingenuity.

Waiting. Forest. Bored. Hungry. Needa pee.

Keon withdrew the graphite pencil.

“You ready to go? Do you get the mission?” he scrawled.

Took you long enough. He’s been waiting for you. Seventy-two stalks of wheat. It’s not that complicated.

He breathed out the temptation to reply with something snarky. At the very least, Wellworn had anticipated he’d contact his Mirror through the Codex which meant he was on the right track. Any minute now he could expect the signal.

“Ok, so here’s the plan. We collect exactly thirty-six stalks each. ‘No more, no less’ he said.”

Fine.

Keon chewed the end of the pencil in thought then put it to paper.

“If he’s getting us to collect wheat, there’s a good chance there’ll be bread at the end of this.”

There was a long pause, then—

What kind of bread?

He smiled. Got him!

“Fluffy, golden flatbread, glistening wafers. Probably some bagels. Soft and warm, fresh from the oven.”

His stomach growled in response, and he had a sneaking suspicion that both of them felt it.

GO!

Keon’s eyes widened.

He said ‘GO’ you dimwit!

He shot to his feet but stopped short. It could be a trick! No, no. The mind was literally an open book in this place, and Wellworn could read it. He’d know if the Mirror was up to something. This was all about trust. As much as he didn’t want to, he had to trust his Mirror; like trusting his own stomach to tell him he was hungry. He holstered the Codex, took a deep breath, and sprinted into the forest.

Wellworn hadn’t given him a time limit, nevertheless it felt like time was fast running out. He’d run into the forest without a thought as to which direction he’d come from. It was only as the unnatural darkness of the forest closed in around him that he realised his gaffe. He’d run wildly, twisting through the trees without a set path, losing all sense of direction, including the one he’d come from. Now he had no way to orient himself. It wasn’t good.

He stooped over with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. It was like the forest absorbed light. He saw daylight fighting through the canopy only to have its lustre drained as though shining through a sponge. This had the effect of scattering enough light to light ones way, but everything was dull and desaturated.

His eyes suddenly grew heavy. His breathing slowed, deepening almost to roaring snorts. The air thickened. A broad yawn stretched his jaw to aching point. Two slaps to the cheeks brought his eyelids slapping to the back of his skull but only for a moment. He stumbled between the trees, fumbling for his flask. Lifting it up, he took a wide-eyed look into the contents. The flask seemed to suddenly stretch far into the distance like an ever-expanding tunnel, then the water was as an ocean, its waves lapping against the edges of the bottle. The torrents then surged towards him, their billows breaking over his head—he snapped to attention, shaking the water of out of his curls. That had done it, but now the flask was empty. Whatever that was, he didn’t want it to happen again.

Blinking back to reality, he turned to-and-fro in search of a viable destination. Wandering aimlessly produced scant results. The stupor that had overcome him hadn’t returned—which was good—but the thought that it might happen again made him edgy. If it was having this effect on him, what was it doing to his Mirror? If he slept, would it sleep too?

Uh oh. Was he hallucinating? Several feet away, a stick-thin, golden arm poked out of the ground—and waved at him. A dull halo of misty light seemed to enshroud it until he blinked and rubbed the moisture away from his eyes. He shuffled towards it and found himself standing before a tall stalk of fresh wheat in front of a wide tree.

He huffed in relief.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard.”

It stood out like a sore thumb amidst the darkness—like it wasn’t supposed to be there. Keon shook his head. Wellworn sure had a way with words. He grabbed the stalk and gently plucked it from the ground. Next, he scarpered around the tree in search of another. Nothing. It was odd to find a solitary stick just hanging out by itself, but nothing about any of this was normal.

Twenty minutes later, he hadn’t seen sight nor smell of another. He spun around feebly in hope that he’d catch something he’d missed. Against all odds, his panicked persistence eventually paid off. Nestled between the twisted roots of a thick tree grew a bundle of wheat. One, two, three—there were six altogether! Jackpot! But that was it. He ran, slipped and climbed through the forest but nothing. No more. Nada. He was near enough pulling grass out of the ground but no matter how far and wide he searched he came up empty.

An hour passed. Tiredness seeped in again. Was whatever that thing was happening again? He dared not rest. He had to shake it off. Suddenly, that long night in the Narrow Strait came flooding back to him. Come to think of it, how the heck had his Mirror made it through that valley unscathed? It had travelled half-way around the world avoiding Mynds and Mysts the entire time. If it could do all that, who knew what it was capable of? Could it trick its way out of this?

Extracting his Codex, Keon sat with his back to a tree and peeled open the Appendix.

“What’s your status?” he scribbled.

‘My status? What do you think this is you nerd?

Keon eyes narrowed as he inhaled his composure.

“How are you getting on?”

I’m done. Been done for time. I’m waiting on you.

“What? How?!”

There’s wheat everywhere. It was easy.

Keon pinched the bridge of his nose. This didn’t make sense. How was it his Mirror was completely surrounded, and he was coming up scant?

“So, what; you’re just sitting there?”

Basically. It’s nice here.

He sat back in befuddlement, the Codex falling to his knees.

“You actually like that kind of thing?”

What? You think that was all you? You think I haven’t seen things too?

Keon knew that eyes were the window to the soul—or so people said—but he’d assumed this thing didn’t have one.

“What else do you like?”

What do you like?

“I like honesty.”

Liar.

He almost threw the Codex but stopped short. Maybe this thing knew him better than he dared to admit. Holding up the graphite pencil, he put it back to paper.

“Do you care about him like I do?”

Of course, I do. He’s my dad.

Keon lowered the Codex, breath escaping from his chest.

“Our dad,” he whispered.

He closed his eyes, mouth clamped shut and shook his head.

“You’re gonna have to finish this,” he wrote.

What?

“I’ve only found seven stalks of wheat. I’ve been looking for over an hour, and I can’t find jack. How many do you have?”

Thirty-six. ‘No more, no less.’ You were very specific.

Keon rolled his eyes.

“Alright, fine. Forget what I said. I need you to find the other twenty-nine.”

You need me to?

“Come on man,” he huffed out loud.

“Fine. WE need YOU to find the other twenty-nine so that WE can get out of here,” he scrawled.

Nothing.

There was no reply.

“Hello?!” he scribbled.

At the bending and snapping of tree branches he slammed the book shut and spun around. Golden shafts of light pierced the gloom like gleaming swords as the beams of entire trees bent and rolled away. After a moment, the groaning ceased, and a wispy silhouette broke through the haze.

“Well done, Keon Wesley,” came Wellworn’s thick accent.

Keon stomped out of the forest, Codex in one hand, stalks of wheat in the other.

“That was out of order man!”

Wellworn raised a brow.

“Oh?”

“You said to get seventy-two stalks of wheat…!”

“Seventy-two between you. It is you who deemed it necessary to divide your load equally.”

Keon flapped his arms in incredulity.

“How else was I supposed to do it?”

“Through cooperation and communication, which you managed in the end.”

“Only ‘cause he was stuck,” the Mirror sauntered out from around the trees, its bundle of golden wheat in hand. It drew alongside Wellworn. Since joining together, its bedraggled, hideous visage had all but vanished save for its white shining pupils. How much they looked alike, talked alike, even walked alike unnerved Keon to no end. As a result, when it spoke, its words bit with a savagery unlike any other. “He would have tried to do it by himself if you’d let him, as always.”

“What do you know?” Keon shot back.

“All of it,” Wellworn and the Mirror said in unison. They both seemed to be enjoying this.

Keon rolled his eyes.

“Can I put him back now?”

“Shortly,” said Wellworn, “But first we have work to do.”

Keon, Wellworn and the Mirror had made their way back to the big, crosswise table. The Mirror was out of earshot, using its unnatural brute strength to grind the wheat they’d collected into flour. Wellworn fed dried logs to the stone oven whilst Keon leant against the preparation table nearby, watching his living reflection.

“He confuses you,” Wellworn said, observing.

“He absolutely baffles me, mate.”

“You thought him incapable of appreciating beauty.”

“I mean, I assumed he was all about rage and anger and power…not…aesthetics.”

“From the same mouth come both blessing and cursing, though it ought not be so.” Wellworn said. He paused for a moment, deep in thought, staring at the scars lining his fingers, his hands, all the way up to his arms. “Just like all of you, your Mirrors are lost…afraid…and broken. I came to save them as much as I did you.”

He’d never heard Wellworn speak this way before. The look in his eyes though, he’d seen that. Back when he first told him about the Morningstars. Vulnerability lined his pained forehead, scars surfing the creases of his brow. Keon got the sense that he meant every word.

“Will there ever be peace? Like…between people and their Mirrors,” said Keon, thoughtful.

Wellworn smiled and his face seemed to glow with warmth.

“One day…when the Eighth Day dawns.”

Keon’s countenance flinched.

“What is that?”

“You have heard that phrase before,” said Wellworn.

Keon swallowed. He had.

“From my dad.”

Wellworn nodded thoughtfully, looking away.

“It is the dawning of a new day. One that never ends.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Keon scoffed, playfully.

“Far from it. It is the coming of an age when all night ceases and darkness dies forever. On that day you will never grow weary, and neither will you know want, even of life itself.”

Keon’s brow peaked and he leaned in closer.

“You sayin’…we’ll never die?”

Wellworn turned to him.

“I am saying, even if you do, yet you will live.”

The Mirror was crouched down in front of the stone oven, staring intently at its covered surface. It hadn’t moved an inch in forty minutes. The thing was bloody impatient. Wellworn stood over the preparation table cutting onions and vegetables. Keon watched the Mirror with equal intensity from a seat at the crosswise table. Slowly, he unclipped his satchel and slipped out the Codex. Bit by bit he slid it onto the table and peeled open the pages, turning to the Appendix. Frankly, fear had kept him from ever looking at it for more than a few seconds, but he’d started to wonder; could you read a Mirror’s memories? After all, it was said that the body kept score, but for how long?

Bread. Bread. Bread. Oven. Bread.

Keon flipped back a few pages.

Waiting. Forest. Bored. Hungry. Needa pee.

Too far, but now he knew. The Appendix kept records for at least a few hours.

There it was. He’d found it.

Surrounded by glowing, golden wheat in a dark forest.

That was—oddly specific and detailed.

He took out his flask, popping the cap open, then rolled his eyes. Of course, he’d emptied its contents all over his head back in the forest—though there were a few stray droplets left. He held the flask over the Codex and shook it until the drops marched their way to the bottleneck. With one final flick and a tap, a solitary drop fell to the page. The wet patch spread quickly. As it did the page exploded with colour and movement. A ring of golden wheat, gently wafting in the breeze, spread across the parchment like a sea of flame. In the centre of it all sat his Mirror. Knees crossed. Tranquil. A deep breath in and a deep breath out. It smiled.

Home.