The horned-one dutifully carried Vah through the remainder of the night and all the next day. The beast stopped twice for short rests to drink or crop grass, but after little time it would toss its mane and snort, letting Vah know it was ready to continue, and Vah would spring up on its back. He relaxed into the movement of the beast as on he rode. Were it not for the cold and wind, he may have enjoyed the exhilaration. Instead, he shivered violently; he had never known such cold, and it only grew worse during the second night. The wind stung his eyes, and a drizzling rain fell. It felt different from any rain he had known before, and it stung his skin.

To make it worse, the horned-one began to act out, kicking its hind legs up from time to time, or shying right or left for no apparent reason. The wind picked up, and somewhere in the middle of the night, he noticed everything appeared white around him, as if he saw through a mist. He blinked, trying to clear his vision. The ground grew lighter, somehow, and the cold was bitter. The wind cut from the west, and the beast trotted against it with head down, its curved horns piercing forward. As the sky lightened, not so much a dawn as a gloaming, he saw the wind whipping a white dust sideways.

The beast kicked again, lowered its head and arched its back, stepping sideways. It released a sound something like a scream and a squeal, then puffed great plumes of steam through its nostrils. With a great heave of its back, the beast kicked its hind legs into the air, and Vah flew overtop the creature's head, landing hard on the ground. With another scream, the horned-one wheeled and fled back east into the night.

The ground was cold and wet and covered in something he had never felt before. Beneath his hands he felt something like sand only it bit with cold. He pushed himself up to get away from it, only to again face the blast of the wind and the piercing rain—or whatever the stinging downpour had become. He had no word for it. Bitterly he regretted not having eaten before he left. His stomach was empty, and he felt his body struggle to warm itself. He could not still his trembling limbs. Even his stomach shook. He did not know how much more he could take. There was warmth in movement; he knew that at least. So he tried to walk, but his foot slipped and he stumbled and fell to his knees.

Ahead was west, as near as he could reckon beneath the overcast sky. Somewhere in all that desolation was his people. His limbs were stiff and numb. All he could see was the white sky and the white undulating ground. The wind had uncovered the tops of stones, revealing their dark grey. He had imagined many deaths since the quth came, but this had never been one. For all he knew, Findel's camp could be north or south—if he even knew which directions those were, anymore. It was a guess, and little more.

He bowed his head against the wind. The pain was subsiding, and the shivering lessened. He no longer cared for the cold wet that soaked his legs. Heaving a deep breath, he coughed. Dying was not so terrible, except that he would leave behind two brothers in contention. Like as not, neither of them would ever know what became of him. Would they blame each other? All his life he had lived in a forest that provided life for his people, only to come here where even the weather opposed them, and water hurt. . . . He felt warm again, at least. The wind did not hurt, anymore. He could lie down and sleep, and let the whiteness cover him.

"Brother."

Vah knew his elder brother's voice, but he could not open his eyes. His eyelids felt crusted closed. Pain erupted through his body, and now his eyes fluttered open. Findel was there, and fire, stinging his nose. Its heat was agony. A dome of green life sprouted above, enclosing them. Vah collapsed in his brother's arms.

***

When Vah awoke, he was lying on a bed of soft green turf. Above him, wide leaves formed a living dome so low he could not have stood. A fire crackled near him, its smoke swirling out through a gap in the leaves. Vah's nose and eyes ran.

"Here," Findel said, handing him a wooden cup of hot vegetable broth. He slipped an arm behind Vah's shoulder's to support him. The hot liquid burned as it went down, but it felt like drinking life after the cold. Findel waited to speak until Vah had finished.

"By all creation, I found you," Findel shook his head. His nose was running, too. "But I cannot heal you. The Current has no effect on you. I tried."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Vah said. But he had recovered enough to see Findel's downward glance. Squinting, Vah followed it. His feet were bare, his toes were flushed red, and a few of them had large swollen blisters. His fingers hurt as well, although they were free of the blisters.

"It is nothing," he said.

Findel looked at Vah's foot, frowning.

"How did you find me?" Vah asked.

Findel sat cross-legged beside him, keeping his arm around Vah's shoulders. The little fire crackled in a circle of stones, burning a heap of broken twigs.

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"I sensed Isecan, or at least something of his will approaching. I went out to meet it if I could, but it fled. Instead, I found you. Do you know where he is? What has become of him?"

"He is safe and well," Vah said.

"Where?"

Vah struggled to sit up straighter. He tried crossing his legs like Findel, but his toes and feet throbbed at the attempt and he straightened his legs again. He tried to lean back against his hands, but his fingers hurt.

"Lay down," Findel said. Vah obeyed. At least the ground was dry. After a few moments, Findel asked again:

"Where is Isecan?"

"Can you not find him with the Current?"

"No. The further away, the weaker it becomes. Especially to the east. There is confusion there. Why hasn't he returned?"

"They know, Findel," Vah said. "They're free. They know what you did to them."

Findel was silent for a time. The fire was quickly devouring the twigs, and Findel reached out to a little bush growing in the leafy dome. New branches burst from it. He snapped them off and tossed them onto the flames.

"I did not wish for what happened, but all I have done has been for the safety of our people."

"You took their wills."

"No. I have only made decisions. Decisions that had to be made. Decisions they could not have made themselves."

"Who gave you the right to choose for them?"

"No one. I took it before anyone else could. If I hadn't forbidden the others from grasping the Current, there is no telling what might have happened. Our old life is gone. Hard choices had to be made."

"You forced Tessiel to be your mate against her will."

"She lost her mate, and I mine. There are so few of us left. If our people are to survive, we cannot spend years in grief and fruitlessness. You may not like that answer, but it is the truth. I simply made the decision that had to be made, that the others could not have faced."

"Do you believe that?"

"It was best for our people."

"It was best to take away their will?"

"It just happened!" Findel said, exasperated. He flung his hands in the air. "The first times, I mean. I didn't even realize what was happening."

"Did you make her remove the cairn as well? For her babe?"

Findel fell silent for a time.

"Maybe that was wrong," he said at last. "Maybe I was wrong. But the people are mated now. I cannot undo it. Our survival is forward, in new children, not behind in death."

"Is it worth surviving without our memories?"

"Surviving is enough."

"Why not let the others free? Let them grasp the Current as well."

"I told you," Findel said, shaking his head. "I wish you knew what it was like. But I am glad you don't. Look at me." He held up his marked hands and motioned to his face. There was even more discoloration and growth since last Vah had seen him. "We do not know how this ends. We know so little. I stumbled on it first. It would have been someone. Could you have trusted them like you can trust me, your own brother? You have no idea how lonely it is for me. You are my only friend."

"Those who aren't free to be enemies cannot be friends."

"They are free."

"Not free to disobey you. Let them go. Stop it. You don't even need to explain."

"They would know, if they grasped the Current. Whatever becomes of me," Findel said, holding up his hands again. "It will not befall the rest. Now tell me, brother. Where is Isecan?"

"Beyond your power."

"I sensed much that I do not understand when he came back for you the first time. Please, I will not harm him. He is my brother."

Vah only shook his head. He could no longer trust his brother's judgment, and he had not yet decided what he should or could tell Findel about Isecan's second Wellspring. How much Findel had guessed, Vah didn't know. A gust of wind howled around the dome of leaves, depressing the roof. Findel raised a hand, and the dome righted itself, shuddering against the weather.

***

They spent the night in the dome. Findel kept the fire burning, but when dawn came, they ventured out into a blasted world of white. Yeleseni the Findel named it: stabbing rain. The snow was up to their shins, heavy and wet. It was a nearly ten mile hike back to the tir and the camp, and Vah's feet ached with each step. The blisters had spread across his feet, and while his hands had not suffered as much, a tingling burning sensation filled them.

As they arrived, the great conifers growing up the tir-side looked like white pillars, except for where the heavy snow had broken branches off with its weight, leaving gaping wounds in the rising copse. Entering the shelter of the trees, Vah saw many huts built of rocks and conifer branches, drooping roofs covered in snow. The smell of smoke filled the air, and a great bonfire burned on the hillside with Vien huddled around. Breathing stung the nose and started the eyes watering.

When the people saw Findel and Vah arrive, they turned and murmured. The sight of them struck Vah's heart. They looked miserable and cold even with the fire, their eyes red and swollen. There was less snow beneath the trees, but whatever vegetables and herbs they had grown were frozen and wilted.

"We're hungry," someone called.

"I will grow more food," Findel answered.

"Findel," Vah said, looking at the mutation creeping up his brother's hands. "It is warmth they need most. If it was warm, you needn't regrow the plants."

Findel sighed.

"But what can I do about that?"

"Isecan. . ." Vah hesitated. He didn't want to say anything about Isecan, but their people suffered sorely. This was not an abstract argument of will and choice, right and wrong; they were freezing, wearing barely enough to cover their skin, their arms folded over their chests as they stood shoulder to shoulder around the bonfire. Scores more must be huddled together in the shelters.

As soon as he said Isecan's name, Findel had snapped his head over to look at him.

"Isecan what?"

"You can warm the air," Vah said. "Keep the warmth down, but let in the sunlight. I think, anyway."

"How would you know? Is that what Isecan has done?"

"I don't understand it," Vah said. "But I know it is possible."

"Because you've seen it."

Vah didn't respond, but Findel didn't need it.

"Go to the fire and stay warm," Findel said. "I go to the Wellspring."

With that, his older brother strode away.

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