Shouts and piercing notes erupted from the jungle east of the glade. Faro spun out of his hammock, landing on the bedewed grass. He listened, trying to make sense of what he heard. It was night, but he did not recall falling asleep. His thoughts moved slowly, as if he wasn't fully awake. Like most nights, his hammock stretched beneath an old apple tree. As usual, his shirt hung from a branch, and he pulled it over his head. His sheathed bow and quiver hung there too, and his short spear leaned against the trunk.

He heard the voices and deep cries of the quth, as well as other sounds that he did not recognize—sustained haunting notes like some strange bird. Growing up, his mother had hummed melodies, and he had begged her to tell him the words. She had always resisted, but at last she had succumbed and sang him ballads. There was one ballad that mentioned the whistles of the companies of Findel.

"Falo!" He spun round. Vireel rode toward him through the glade atop a vaela. A second vaela—the two-horned beast—followed her.

"What is amiss?" he asked.

"The forces of the Nethec assail us in the south. My quthli cannot hold them long." She sang a note to the second vaela, and it trotted up to Faro. "We must aid them."

"What of my mother and Coir?"

"I have sent Lovniele and the man east to Forel with three hundred of my strongest quthli, far more than I can spare. It will go hard for the others."

"I must go to them. Why did you not wake me?" How could his mother have left without even waking him?

"No, I need you with me. We must hold the blades of the Nethec, lest they pursue them."

"How?"

"The glade will fall, but we are not yet surrounded," Vireel answered. The huffing calls of the quthli renewed to the south. "I intend to fight with my quthli," Vireel said. "We have wasted too much time. Mount!"

Faro leapt atop the second vaela. Riding was second nature, for though Vireel had often been absent throughout the years, she had never failed to encourage Faro to ride her vaela, even teaching him the calls.

It took little time at a gallop to reach the outer edge of the dense jungle surrounding the glade, though the thickets that hedged the narrow path snagged at their clothes. They slowed to a stop at the end of the path. Beyond, the wild Mingling waited. The unearthly sound of the whistles pierced the night, sending shivers down Faro's spine.

"I hear many whistles," Vireel said. "There is at least a company of the Nethec."

Faro knew that meant thousands of Findelvien were arrayed against them. Even with the quthli Vireel had sent to accompany his mother and Coir, they were vastly outmatched. Faro's ears told him that the fighting raged both in the trees and on the ground. Fighting on vaela-back would be pointless in the dense Mingling. How were they supposed to know what was going on? It was impossible to see more than a few yards, except on the narrow trails the quthli kept open.

"They press us hard,' Vireel said. "We must push them back, enough that the quthli can withdraw together."

"I thought we had to shield my mother."

"We must do so as we withdraw."

Faro was not yet in the battle, but the sound alone was bewildering. He heard a long hooof punched from the gut of some unseen quthli ahead, a horrid sound of some awful blow.

"How?" he asked.

"The Current. Stay close to me." Vireel slipped off the back of her vaela, and Faro did likewise, unsheathing his bow. She stepped forward, following the narrow trail. Before they had gone fifty yards, they reached a cluster of quthli huddled together, a breastwork of branches thrown up over the path. They crouched low to the ground, clearly afraid to rise and become a target. To either side, there was fighting in the thickets and trees. Down below the canopy, not even the starlight aided sight.

Vireel raised her hands and closed her eyes. For a few moments, nothing happened. Then, shrieks erupted further into the jungle. There was a pause as Vireel flexed her hands. With a great crack, cinders erupted as trees burst into flame in the forest ahead. By the sudden brightness, Faro saw the Findelvien swarming in the trees, silhouetted against the fire. He raised his bow and loosed an arrow and felt a tremor in his stomach as he saw the figure recoil and fall.

Vireel released a guttural note, pushing her palms forward and the quthli around them rose and surged forward in the attack. Vireel reached down to her side. From within a fold of her robe, she drew a long curved sickle-blade. Faro had never seen her go armed, before. "We must lead the assault. Go!" she shouted, extending her arm. Faro obeyed, hurrying forward, loosing arrows as he ducked between thorn-laden branches, pushing through gaps in the vines and thickets cut by quthli axes. An arrow sped past him, but it was shot blindly into the dark. Ahead, vien warriors pressed through the lower branches of a stand of kellwood, and quthli fell crashing to the ground, pierced by vien barbs. Faro paused and loosed arrow after arrow.

More trees ahead burst into flames.

"Go forward!" Vireel shouted as more quthli pressed passed them, hacking with axes to clear a way forward even as they met the foe.

"Sorceror! Sorceror!" someone shouted in a Nethec accent. Whistles pierced the fighting. Faro slid his short stabbing spear from his quiver. He should have practiced fighting in close quarters more. He saw the Findelvien ducking toward them through the branches and vines, viridian silks shimmering in the shadows and firelight. Faro pressed forward. There was fighting above and all around. A vien ahead saw him and drew back his short bow. Faro could not reach him in time. The bow burst into life, sprouting vines that grasped the arrow. Faro slammed his spearhead forward into the vien's chest, but it lodged in something hard. Next to him, a quthli lunged with an axe, bearing down another vien, and now bodies filled the confused thickets, vien and quthli. Wounded and dead fell from above as the Findelvien tried to press forward through the trees. The sting of smoke and the stench of offal assaulted Faro's nose.

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He managed to yank his spearhead free, but the delay gave the Findelvien time, and the foe came at Faro with knife drawn. Faro managed to grasp his wrist, but the warrior was strong. He saw the vien's amber eyes, and then a vine burst through his forehead, and he collapsed in Faro's arms. Whistles shrieked, and more Findelvien pushed forward through the tattered vines and thorns. The smell of sap mixed with blood. The resonant hooos of the quthli surrounded him.

Another vien, a helm of steel glinting upon his brow, a broken blade bloodied in his hand. Faro feinted towards the face, and the vien lurched his head back, squinting instinctively. Faro twisted into a high guard, his haft striking a branch that nearly spoiled his blow, but he sent the point of his spear low, sliding just above the warrior's greave and piercing his thigh.

The vien cried out and staggered back as Faro wrenched the spear free and prepared for a counter, but the vien fled, and Faro saw the plume ahead, the yellow crest upon the helm of a leader of the Nethec. All around, the quthli surged against the enemy, using arms and teeth, grappling them to the ground with their superior strength. He risked a glance upward and nearly caught an arrow in the face. He rushed forward before the archer could loose again, straight toward the plume. Something moved to his right—a great root upthrust from the ground, impaling a vien from below. The scream that followed was a horror of guttural agony. The plume of the Nethec saw the attack. He breathed deep and blew a sharp note on the whistle clutched between his teeth.

Faro's tried the same feint, jabbing toward the plume's face, but the vien did not withdraw, leaning forward and pressing inside Faro's guard, allowing the spear-blade to graze harmlessly against the side of his helm. The canopy of a tree just beside him burst into flame, showering embers down to the jungle floor.

Faro slid his spear backward through his hand to get the point in front of the vien again, but he had to leap back to avoid the slash of the vien's sword. Faro slammed into a quthli behind him, dropped to a knee, and swept his spear to the side, catching the plume behind the calf to trip him. The vien lifted his leg to allow the spear to pass, and in that moment Faro rushed forward, slamming his shoulder into the vien's stomach, knocking him off balance before he could recover his stroke. Faro twisted his spearhead downward and drove into the plume's sandalled ankle. He twisted the blade as the vien doubled over, yanked it free, and kicked him in the chest, sending the plume sprawling onto his back.

Something struck Faro from behind—a quthli pushing him aside as a Findelvien leapt from the tree above. The vien's blade took the quthli's upraised arm off and bit into the creature's forehead, felling him in a heap, but a second quthli, unarmed, wrapped the vien in both arms and drove its fangs into the vien's neck, sending a spurt of blood sideways. Faro turned. The plume was limping backward, sword raised, trying to retreat.

Faro rushed him, leaping across to his wounded side. The plume wheeled but struck a branch, thorns tearing at the silks of his sword-arm. Faro thrust forward, and the plume's block was too slow. Faro felt the spearpoint burst the plume's armor as steel rings gave way. Yanking his blade free, Faro drove it into the plume's neck. Dark blood welled from the wound. For a moment, the plume stood, then collapsed sideways. The vien had never cried out, the only sound a gurgling rasp through the wound.

The fighting was a hacking brawl wherever the jungle afforded enough space to swing a blade and a grapple otherwise. In the trees, the vien had some advantage, but where the quthli could close, they tore and shattered the vien with immense strength. Faro wasn't sure where to go next. There was hardly room to stand.

"Falo!" Vireel shouted. He turned to see her near, sickle-sword in hand, its blade still bright. She pointed upward. The Nethec warriors were falling back through the trees, loosing arrows where line of sight allowed, but it was hard for the shafts to fly true in the dense foliage. Vireel noticed something and her body went taut. A dense mat of hylfen vines parted, and a vien fell hard into a pitthorn, its wicked barbs tearing the flesh.

"We must go," Vireel gasped. "They are only regrouping." Quthli were converging upon them, some dropping from the lower branches of the trees. "Move back!"

Faro followed Vireel, hunched and ducking through the jungle. He had lost track of the path, and quthli led the way, hacking with axes and thick-spined cleavers. Faro stepped over a quthli with an arrow in its brain, its leg twitching madly. A new chorus of whistles erupted behind them. Vireel let out a grunt of frustration.

Faro looked around, trying to get a count of the quthli with them. It was difficult, for the beasts streamed through the jungle all around them, wherever there was space to move.

"There!" Faro said, pointing. It was the opening to the path into the glade.

"No," Vireel said. She raised her hands, and a dense wall of pitthorns erupted, choking the path. Even before they had fully crowned, she led eastward instead, skirting the outer thicket of the glade. There were more quthli. The fighting had obviously raged there as well, for twisted bodies lay in the undergrowth. It was impossible to get an idea of the situation beyond a score of yards. The whistles grew nearer in the south.

"What about the rest of the quthli?" Faro asked. "The females and the infants?"

"Sent with your mother," Vireel said. She was breathing hard.

"Are you well?"

"I'm fine. But we won't be if they catch up to us," she said. "We must move."

As soon as she'd said it, they heard renewed shouts and cries nearby. Without orders, the quthli circled around them, centering them in a protective knot. Vireel turned to Faro.

"Take my hands."

"What?"

"Take my hands!" she said, grabbing his bloody spear and pulling it from his grasp. She let it fall to the ground and took his hands in hers. Her breath came in ragged gasps. As soon as he felt her skin, the awareness of the Current flooded his mind. He resisted.

"No," she said. "Follow me. Grasp as I grasp!"

The fighting was breaking out afresh in the trees. The vien sought to press in from above. Without archers, Vireel's quthli were at disadvantage.

"Do it!" Vireel shouted at him.

He obeyed. He could sense her reaching out beyond herself, he did the same. The Currents were there, turbulent and constant, the irritation he had so long resisted. He followed her reach and took hold. The flow was confused, muddled, the two Currents meeting like eddies of flowing water. Yet Vireel had led the way, grasping at the Current that flowed from the east while opening her will to the power from the west. She thought of life, a seedmass lying dormant beneath the old ashes of a conflagration from decades before, a bed of possibility and promise. He reached out with her, directing the power to flow and burst and rise.

Shouts and screams and confusion filled the night, but Faro hardly noticed. His whole body was alive with invigoration, as if two seas met and clashed in a tumult of delight, joining together and streaming outward through he and Vireel. They too joined as one, even as the Wellsprings.

The quthli raised their voices in adulation, hoos resounding. Faro's whole body was alight, his mind racing as if he had never thought before. Vireel turned away her will, letting go of the Current. Faro tried to let go as well. The Current from the east slipped away from him, but the western Current, the Current of the Nethec, held him even as he held it. Space condensed into a few rapid thoughts. Cities of the Nethec lay bare in his mind, tirs rose above the undulating canopy of the forest, and deep in the twilight grove, the Wellspring, its waters never still. For a horrifying moment he saw them and they saw him:

The cursed scion.

"Falo!" Vireel shouted, sending a shock of will at him that staggered him. "Let go!"

He tried, but they were grasping at him. It felt as if the blood in his hand burned and froze at once. Vireel drew a knife from her robe and slid its point into Faro's palm. With the pain came awareness of his body. His mind focused on the sensation of steel. He let go, finding himself in the Mingling at night. He gasped for breath. A great dense mass of thorns and vines choked the trees to the south.

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