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“That’s why the darkness has such a pull on his mind,” I say, a crack of thunder accentuating my words. “She became his light.”

The old, strong hands squeeze my forearm tight as Orlagh comes to a halt. I turn my head. She lifts a palm to my cheek, and I am comforted by its easy warmth.

“However yeh are tempted, yeh must not become that for him. He needs to find a light of his own.”

I look into her misty eyes, wondering, not for the first time, at their depths of wisdom. My chin bobs, and her wrinkled cheeks bunch under her eyes.

Another peal of thunder sounds, closer this time. The wind begins to pick up. Orlagh turns to go back, but one last question keeps me from moving.

“Why do you think my gift has grown like this—now?”

Holding out a hand to me, she gives me a moment to catch up. “Tha’s not something I can answer, my dear girl. But I suspect it has somethin’ to do with the solas comin’ back to the Vale. Don’t yeh think?”

I walk in uneasy silence, the ominous weather looming overhead. Each step I take solidifies my conclusion further, like a hammer driving a nail deep, deep into the inner reaches of ancient timber.

Yes, I think they have everything to do with it.

PART TWO

EMERGE

It has begun:

hope is kindled

within your heart.

Though now all that can be seen

is this veil of shadows,

your soul strains toward the light.

But be on your guard.

The moment you started

this journey upward,

adversity set its eyes on you.

Do not fear.

O, child, do not fear.

You are not alone.

15. Myrzeth

MYRZETH

RAIN FALLS IN DROVES FROM THE SKY.

The man moves through the forest, ribbons of ténesomni whooshing out of the way when his feet touch the ground. The darkness parts for him as a sea of grass. He holds out a hand, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Raindrops splash against his palm like tears, but the shadows don’t dare brush his skin. They gather above it like a submissive black cloud until he releases them, and they absorb back into the gloom.

Journeying alone, he slips between the trees without a living creature noticing his presence. The loose black tunic helps him blend in, even pressed to his flesh as it is by the rain. A well-worn satchel crosses his torso, bulging with a rectangular shape. He pushes it behind him and comes to a stop on the edge of a cliff.

“Praecéro,” he commands, and the ténesomni opens. Without the dark mists preventing him, he sees all the way to the valley below. To the city, glowing dimly in the distance. It almost looks welcoming.