"We can only assume that the cursed scion was killed on the ice."

The synod was gathered, Tirlav among them, but though his presence was compelled, they could not make him care. They had killed his son, and who knew if Jareen yet lived. There was nothing left in his life that mattered to him, and he was not even free to seek Vah'tane. He had been in Tir'Aelor when he had seen his son three days prior. That alone was likely responsible for allowing him to resist the rest of the Synod's efforts for those precious seconds.

"The next scion of Talanael will drink the waters before sunset tomorrow."

"We succeeded, despite Liel Aelor."

Tirlav barely roused himself at the jab. Their self congratulations could not barb him. He was already dead. They may have taken him from the Mingling all those years ago, but Hormil's teaching remained true. Now that his son was gone, the Synod could consider replacing him with his next heirs. He was too much trouble. They had not thought it openly, but he felt their malice. Most recently, his mate had born him a daughter, a little child at Tir'Aelor who played among the eucalyptus trees just as Tirlav had once done. The little vienu loved the music of the harp. His mate had given her a nine-stringed lap harp, and Tirlav could not bear to hear it.

It had been difficult to see what occurred on that distant shore. His son had grasped the Current with such strength that he became visible even at the fringes of the Current's reach. Tirlav had even felt the shock of the cold water when the scion fell into the sea. The Synod had drawn in the ice to crush him, and Tirlav had resisted. For a time, he thought his son had escaped the ice. Yet there was another along the shore who drew upon the Current. Perhaps that presence had killed him in the end. All they knew is that a day later, the blessing had passed to the next scion of Talanael, like a candle flickering to life in the darkness.

"Now our trouble with the lawbreakers will ease."

"We should be more concerned with the Malady. There are more cases reported among the companies."

The new outbreak had not yet reached the heartwoods, and the Synod had already given orders for daily inspections within the companies. Any found to show signs of the Malady were to be expulsed, sent east to sell their lives against the Canaen—even if alone. What mattered was to remove the infection before it could spread. Nevertheless, new cases were reported up and down the Mingling. Measures were already in place. Supplies were no longer taken to the companies but were left at a distance for the companies to gather, and even messages were shouted at a distance.

It was only a matter of time, Tirlav thought. Let it come. He did not care if the others sensed the thoughts. He was too weak to do anything but obey their collective will, but he had come to understand that there was a shade of difference between obedience and willingness. In that sliver of self he took refuge.

***

The young vien lad sat in a nest of tall ferns behind the hut, enjoying the rare sunshine. They were careful to keep him hidden from the path, even though they did not expect anyone from the enclave that day. His mother sat cross-legged next to him, breaking apart pomegranates for the child to devour.

It had been four days since Jareen had given her own blood to the lad. Yesterday he had sat up, and today he wished to come out into the fresh air. With it, his hunger had returned. His bare toes wiggled in the moss beneath the ferns. The blood vessels on his feet and ankles were already shrinking, their dark color fading, though she knew that some discoloration would likely be permanent. Those few cases of the Malady she had seen survive always bore such marks, a darker pigmentation where the Malady had spread.

Jareen couldn't help but smile as he devoured the pomegranate seeds, though it brought to mind questions about Faro. Where was he, and how did he fare?

"What's your name?" the vien asked her, his mouth full of the juicy jewels. Jareen tilted her head. It was the first time either he or his mother had asked.

"I am Lovniele," she said. It was easier to offer her Vienwé name, for she knew there was little hope they could pronounce the Noshian "r."

"I'm Telu," he said.

"I am Liethni," the vienu added. "You have saved us."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Some survive," Jareen answered. What she had done was done in secret. She had told no one.

"No," Liethni replied. "You kept us from the Mingling. And your tinctures. . . There is healing in them."

"The tinctures only help with pain or breathing," Jareen answered.

"I will take him home, now."

"Wait a few more days, at least. We cannot be certain he is through all danger."

"He is. I know he is. We will go. I will tell of what you did in the enclave."

"I beg you to remain silent."

"Why?"

"Is it not your law that you should have gone to the Mingling? Did I not harbor you against the enclave?"

Liethni's expression darkened.

"How can I explain?"

"Lie, or remain silent."

"I want to go home," Telu said. "I want to see Meli."

Liethni put her hand on her son's hair.

"We will go," she said, standing. Liethni paused before looking at Jareen and adding: "I have more children."

The revelation came as a surprise to Jareen. Had she truly left the others to take her son into the Mingling and die? Presumably the others were with her mate or the rest of their Tree. Jareen only had Faro, and she had been too afraid to go into the Mingling alone to chase him. . . It was not quite the same, but she still marveled at Liethni's strength.

"Are you sure you will not wait?" Jareen asked. "He is still weak."

"It is not far," Liethni said. "And I can carry him if I must."

"Will they accept his healing?"

"They must." She placed a hand over her chest and lowered her head. "Thank you, Daughter of Vah."

Jareen forced a smile. Liethni took her son's hand and led him around the side of the hut and toward the path. Just before Liethni turned the corner, she paused and looked back at Jareen.

"You honor your father," she said. Moments later, the two slipped out of sight along the path.

Her father? Jareen frowned, wondering how Liethni could know anything about her father, but then she realized—the vienu meant Vah.

Not far away, Coir sat amongst some of the quth who were using the pleasant weather to once again groom each other. It was clear to Jareen by the way he held his head that he had been listening hard to overhear the conversation with Liethni, even if he didn't look over. Now that the mother and son were out of sight, he rose and approached.

"Well," he said in Noshian. "I find it strange that the child recovered so rapidly after he had taken such a turn for the worse."

Jareen hadn't confided in him. The truth was, she didn't know what to do with her knowledge.

"It was a rare recovery."

"In the High Tir, I witnessed two recoveries among all those you cared for," he said, carefully lowering himself to the ground so he could lean against the wall of the hut. "None of them occurred in a few days. Three weeks from the worst point was the shortest, and it wasn't until the third that they rose. I doubted my memory, but I have the notes still. I checked them."

Jareen nodded, her lips pursed together.

"I've known you a long time now," Coir said. "In human measure."

"Yes."

"I do not think you prepared more of your solution. You didn't have time."

"No."

He waited, and Jareen felt a flush spread up her neck and across her cheeks. She knew it was obvious that she was withholding. If she could not trust Coir, who could she trust? Hadn't he proven himself? Talking about it might help her formulate a plan, anyway.

"It was my blood."

Coir nodded, looking away toward the quthli.

"How much did it take?"

"I filled the bladder. I'm not sure if it would need to be so much or not."

For a time, they sat in silence, basking in the rare sunshine. Liethni had informed them that just a few miles deeper into the enclave, the sun shone most days, but this close to the Mingling, rain was the usual.

"I made inquiries in the reports while we were in the High Tir," Coir said at length. "Do you know how many Insensitives were in Findeluvié at that time?"

"No." She hadn't known Coir inquired about Insensitives. She had considered it herself, but had decided not to ask; she feared that if she drew attention to them, the Synod would force them to assist her, and she wanted them left alone. Whoever they might be, she did not wish to be the reason they were plucked from their lives as she had been. It was silly. Certainly the Synod would have considered other Insensitives. "How many?"

"There were only two others alive at the time, one quite elderly, and one just born."

Jareen had always known that Insensitives were exceedingly rare, but that was fewer than she had expected.

"What you have discovered. . . You cannot let it be known," Coir said. "Promise me you won't let this be known."

Jareen smiled at him, but it was a joyless expression. Coir's face wrinkled with even more furrows than usual. Her own face had begun to wrinkle in places, and her neck. What a pair they were.

"I know you love self-sacrifice," he said. "But it won't just be you that suffers. Think of that child. Or of the Insensitives among the Canaen."

When she was a young Sister of the Order during the plague, she had seen whole families bricked. Perhaps only one or two in the house were infected, but all were bricked in, and a guard set. At the time it had affected her strangely little, but she had thought of it often in the many years since. She had known that the loss of a few would protect the many. No one liked it, but it was so. What difference was there now, except that she might suffer as a result, or ones like her?

"Jareen!" Coir said, earnest concern raising his voice a pitch. He must have seen something in her expression.

"Fear not, my friend," she said, forcing another smile. "She does not know."

"Keep it that way. If it needs to be my dying wish for you to honor it, I'm more than willing to run into the Mingling to look for Vah'tane." Coir tried to grin at his own half-jest.

Jareen rolled her eyes at the absurdity.

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