"Do you ever wish to go home?"

Faro sat with his mother among the grape vines in Vireel's glade.

"Sometimes I miss the trees," she'd said. "There are trees there that have grown for thousands of years, and the cities of Findeluvié are like no others in the world."

His mother and Coir had often told him of the High Tir and the harbor of Talanael. That was not what he had asked.

"But do you wish to go home?"

No one had told him yet who he was, or why they lived far away. There were secrets, and asking directly only produced deflections.

"No," she said.

"I would like to go some day," Faro said.

"You must never go there, son."

"Why?"

Jareen paused for a long time. The air was motionless, and the evening hot.

"When I was in Findeluvié before you were born, I cared for the Departing there, those afflicted by the Malady."

Faro had heard of the Malady, and he knew of Jareen's days in Nosh among the Voiceless Sisters. He often asked her about the Order, but he had not heard that she cared for the afflicted in Findeluvié. He waited, knowing there was more to the story. His mother sighed.

"They gathered the afflicted together," she continued, "to try to isolate them, which was good. Sometimes you must abandon the contagious to protect the rest, but . . ." His mother's face set into a prolonged grimace, her mouth held in a frown.

"What happened?" he asked.

"They burned them."

"You mean the bodies?"

Coir had told him about that practice in Nosh.

"No. They burned them alive." She looked him in the eye. "You must never go there. The Synod claims to serve the people. . . but a people is never a person, and it will never be you."

"They must care for their own Trees, at least?"

His mother shook her head.

***

For Faro, the hours felt like days. He focused on breathing, but each breath stretched out for what felt like hours. He could feel the fibers of his lungs expand and collapse, the tightening and relaxing of his diaphragm. He felt the wind and held it in the southwest to drive them up the river. The sweep of water around the hull filled his ears with the music of innumerable individual droplets. Findel pressed hard. Rather than resist, Faro sought to ignore, to focus on his body, on the water, on the wind.

Surely he had overestimated his strength. Findel would break him.

No. He would not allow such a thought to live un-challenged.

But how long could he resist?

"We are here," Elshir said. "We will draw nigh to the bank, but we will not touch."

Faro looked up, feeling dizzy. Ahead, the high slope of the River-Tir rose on the north bank, its ancient trees effortlessly supporting a city of houses and walkways. The Synod's tempest had faded, and the trees barely moved in the deep of night.

From this close, Faro could sense the scions. It was custom in the Nethec that the scions of the Synod learn to touch the Current, even if they did not wield it. Coir had learned as much through correspondence with a scion of Findeluvié back when he lived in Nosh-across-the-sea. It occurred to Faro that it must have been his own father. He felt a flash of anger at how much they had kept from him.

Whereas most souls in the Nethec were impossible to perceive, when the scions touched the Current, it left its mark upon them. They stood out like dim glowworms on the night-time forest floor.

The sloop angled toward the north shore. Ancient trees loomed high above. No warning shout or sentinel's challenge met them from the shadows. Elshir's second son loosed the mainsheet. The sail turned free with the wind while the eldest deftly curved the craft's approach to the shore. Something scraped the timbers beneath his feet.

"May Isecan's blessing be with you," Elshir whispered. "It is time."

Faro sprang from the upswept prow over the narrow gap of water, landing on the steep bank. He steadied himself with the butt of his spear, grabbed a sloping branch, and pulled himself upward. By the time he looked back, the sloop had already come about. There was a breeze from the northeast without Faro's intervention, and it should carry them out to sea. He expected the Synod would expend no more energy on tempests with Faro disembarked, and he had warned Elshir and sons not to grasp the Current.

Despite the pressure on his will, Faro's body was young and spry, and he reached the top of the bank with ease. There was a footpath running there, and he broke into a jog. Sneaking would only give the riders of the Synod more time to reach him. Veroi was among the most sheltered of all the heartwoods. No enemy would be expected.

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A great earthen berm rose before him, ringed about by massive trees. They were the biggest trees Faro had ever seen, their roots emerging from the soil like the backs of sea creatures. As he approached, he saw that the path led through the heart of one of the trees in a long tunnel. There was neither gate nor sentinel at the opening. It made him suspicious, and he slowed to a walk. Were the inhabitants of Veroi so secure and confident that they did not even post sentinels? Had there ever been a need in the history of the River-Tir?

A sound drifted down from the trees above. It was singing, low and slow and lilting, like a mother singing to a babe. This was one of the cities of Findeluvié that his mother and Coir had described to him. If only he had come there for another purpose, but he could not heed the music nor enjoy the mighty trees. Findel's will did not lessen its constant pressure. Focusing on his purpose, he passed through the tree and into the tir itself. Fireflies danced among the trunks of towering eucalyptus, while gildenleafs gleamed in the under canopy. Stairways spiraled upwards, and great halls with colored glass windows sat amid the branches like they had grown that way.

Even in his hurry, he hesitated. This grandeur and beauty lived beneath the rule of the Synod. These vien did not fear war or sudden attack by night. Their Trees had grown there from time immemorial, with no axe laid to them. What terror or want did this tir know?

This is what I have given them. For thousands of years I have given them peace and plenty.

"You have given them everything but themselves," Faro muttered. He searched the Current and veered down another path. It would be morning, soon. The smells of dew and blossoms delighted his nose, and he focused on it.

The scions were not in the canopy as he had hoped. There was a hall near the base of the hill itself, secluded among arbors of grapevines. There was no light within the structure, but he sensed them there. Twenty-three scions. So few, but almost all the High Liele were young, without time to grow their redundant branches. Vireel had seen to it.

Faro stretched out his hand and took a breath. It was warm beneath the trees. Slowly, he started to collect heat together, making sure to use the Nethec Current. He wanted them to notice.

The strength of the Synod and of Findel came down upon him at once, exerting all their strength. Cold flowed into those timbers, and a frost rime spread across the windows. Faro drew more, squinting as the pressure sent shocks of pain through his arm. The cold intensified. They were strong. He gasped and let go. This was not the time to exert himself.

You are still too weak.

Faro did not respond. Instead, he walked toward the door.

A thick layer of frost covered the carven lintel. He grasped the handle and pulled. It was not even latched. Thunder cracked overhead, one peel, another, and another, rolling into each other. Lighting flashed in the sky. Voices broke out far overhead, calls of confusion from vien and vienu.

The Synod was trying to wake up the tir. He stepped into the hall. There was movement in the wings. Someone lit a lamp down a passage. He heard voices.

Faro hesitated. The peals of thunder continued above. A vien rushed to the door, arrayed as a warrior, mail hanging down his thighs, a helm on his head and a naked sword in hand.

"Who are you?" the guard demanded.

"I am from the Synod," Faro said. "There is danger."

"What is the meaning of this thunder?"

"I have little time," Faro answered. "Gather the scions and prepare to move. This is the command of the Synod."

The Synod might be able to conjure thunder and cold from afar, at great cost, but they could not speak into the mind of one who had not grasped the Current. It was Faro's voice that the warrior heard.

The vien hesitated, and in that moment a second warrior rushed out of another passage, followed by a vienu in a flowing viridian silk gown. She held a lamp, and its light shone on falling brown tresses like the curled bark of the cinnamon tree.

"Who are you?" the second guard demanded.

"He is from the Synod," the first answered. "Gather the scions." The two warriors fled back down the passages, calling out to rouse all within. It was hardly necessary, for the thunder had likely roused all within the tir.

A young vien in a night robe rushed into the entry hall and squealed as he saw Faro standing there with his spear.

"Who are you?" the vien cried. He was not yet at full stature.

"What is going on?" the vienu scion asked. "What is this thunder?"

"You are in danger," Faro answered. "I am of the Synod. The thunder is a warning."

"A warning of what?" She was lovely, and Faro's heart went out to her. He had known so few vienu, growing up isolated in the glade. He used to dream of someday meeting such a lovely maiden. Her forehead was furrowed in confusion and fear as she looked out through the high windows at the flickering lightning.

He remembered the words of Vireel:

"It all comes down to force of will."

His head throbbed and his thoughts came in muddled images. The shooting pains tormented his arms. He tried to steady his will. He could not be weak, now. Maybe he had been overconfident. The whole thing might not work, anyway.

In minutes, the entry hall was full of the scions. Some were grown, others hardly walking. Faro tried not to look at them, though it was not difficult. The pain made him squint. There were only three doors to the entry hall—the main door through which Faro had come, and doors to two side passages. Four warriors of the Synod stood with the scions. His arms shook as he reached to the warriors with the Current. The Synod could not see them.

"Go out and hold the doors. Let no one pass, and do not enter, no matter what you hear." Their wills responded to his commands, and they hurried to obey. Soon, the doors shut from without.

"Are you here to protect us?" a young vien asked. "Is there an attack?" The vienu with the cinnamon hair had her arm around the child.

"I am here to set our people free," Faro said.

There was power within the living steel. Current of the dhar vent lingered there, but much more of Isecan. The Synod might recognize Isecan's Current, but he hoped the dhar Current would be unfamiliar. It would be wiser to conserve it for the Synod, to conserve himself. Even without the Current, the spear blade was sharp, but his control over the minds of the scions was far from certain. If the guards wavered and the scions scattered and fled. . .

The scions watched him. He gripped his spear as a wave of dizziness passed over him. The weight pressed on his mind, pulling at the fractures of his will. The Synod had filled the sky with thunder and lightning in their futile attempt to rouse the city. So much power scintillated above. It was foolish of them. Far away, he felt the panic of the Synod, even perceived scraps of their confused arguments.

Have the Canaen given you a thirst for the blood of children? The question came not from the Synod, but from Findel.

I was a babe in the womb when the Synod marked me for death.

Now you see why.

"What is this about?" the vienu asked.

"I am the first scion of Shéna," a vien said. "I demand to know the meaning of this intrusion."

"Be quiet," Faro answered, and the vien closed his mouth.

What do you want? Findel asked.

My purpose is my own.

Do you think threatening these children will accomplish anything?

Despite Findel's disregard, the Synod was in an uproar. He could still feel their distress.

It was time.

The scions watched him with mute alarm. He held out his hand to them.

"Reach out and grasp the Current."

"That is forbidden," the vienu said.

Faro allowed more of the Current to flow to them.

"I am High Liel of Talanael and Aelor, and I command it."

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