Laevi marched eastward in column. They had left the High Tir five days earlier. Two contingents of riders stalked through the woods around them, ensuring their compliance and obedience. Riders had come for Laevi and the others in Veroi without warning. At Tir'Veroi, they were equipped with bows and armor of heavy laminated silks. The layers were joined by resin glue one after another, until the armor was stiff and hard as tree bark. There was little steel in the Embrace, and while the plumes and the riders escorting them wore mail and carried curved swords, no such were provided for the lawbreakers who made up the Company of Transgressors. Their arrows were knapped from chert in the old way.

"You will only lend support to the other companies," their commander had told them. Laevi hoped it was true. As he trudged in the midst of the others, he lingered in the memory of his departure, fixating on every detail of the way his mate and his children had looked. The riders had come in the evening, forcing the whole Tree down from their house. There was no hiding; all they had to do was look at his fingers to confirm. Thankfully, they only wanted him.

"You are my heart," he had said, embracing his mate one last time, staring at every curve of her face, the ebony luster of her skin and the gold of her irises. Her warmth, the strength and softness of her body. . . Just as he had every day since, he tried to hold these things in his mind as the column strode eastward.

Down on her knees, his mate had held their children as they watched him be led away between the riders. He looked back over his shoulder. It was his last view of them. It had been weeks since he'd touched the Current. He had hoped nothing would come of it—that life would continue as it had, full of thankfulness that his son had lived.

Crocodiles did not haunt the cooler western coasts. Laevi had never seen one before. Yet it was not crocodiles that he had cursed in his heart, but that Synod. At first, the anger burned bright, but as they marched deeper into the Embrace, he found that he could not muster the ire, anymore. Now, there was a dullness where his anger had smoldered.

In the High Tir, their commander, sitting upon the back of a tri-horned vaela, railed on about the severity of their crime, how they had broken the trust of their people, and yet by the mercy of the Synod were granted an opportunity for redemption and restitution at the front. In the greensward at the base of the High Tir, they swore allegiance to the Synod, to do the will of the High Liele, and to defend the Embrace.

Nothing could make him regret his choice—no speeches, no punishments, no threat of war. Back in Veroi, his Tree lived, and his son in it. Nothing else mattered when he remembered Hilva in the jaws of that monster. Laevi would have readily traded his own life to the crocodile in exchange for his son's. It was little different to give himself to the Mingling.

***

"Lovniele, awake."

Jareen sat up in her hammock and swung her feet to the floor. Vireel stood in the doorway with a beeswax candle in her hand. Its light flickered on the walls and illuminated Vireel's face from below. The stronger light of lamps in the outer room shone in behind her.

"What is it?" Jareen asked.

"Have you decided?"

"What are you talking about?" Jareen rubbed her eyes. At one time, when she cared for the Departing and then for her babe, she had been used to waking at a moment's notice. Decades had passed since then.

"A decision about Falo. You spoke with Coir."

Jareen squinted at her. She woke her in the middle of the night to ask? Something moved in the outer room. Jareen could not see what it was, but it cast a shadow on the wall behind Vireel as it passed across the light of a lamp.

"What is it?" she asked. "Why have you woken me thus?"

"The time for decision is now. Will you let me teach Falo?"

"What has happened?" Jareen leaned to see around Vireel. Was it Faro in the outer room? "Faro?" she called.

Vireel stepped inward and closed the door behind her.

"He is not here."

"Is he safe?"

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"Never, but he is in no unusual danger."

"Why do you wake me from sleep and press me for an answer?" Jareen demanded, rising to her feet. She knew something was wrong, and her old distrust of Vireel was quick to reawaken.

"Fighting nears."

"Then let us flee."

"Whether we flee or no, you must let me teach him."

Jareen moved to her clothes which hung along the wall, dressing hurriedly.

"Let us reach safety first, and then we can talk once things settle again."

"The enclaves are not without danger for Falo. I must teach him."

"I will not discuss this now! What could you teach him while we flee, anyway?"

"Is that your final decision?"

Jareen waved her hand.

"There is nothing to decide."

With the threat of the war so present, Jareen had always kept a travel satchel at hand, and now she stuffed it with a few extra garments, combs, oils, and her only tenae. Vireel watched, still holding the candle. Jareen glanced around the room. There was little else there. She had never accumulated much.

"Come, take me to him," she said, stepping past Vireel and opening the door. In the outer room, three massive quth waited near the door. Coir stood between two of them, looking like a tiny, frail thing next to the stocky beasts. He smiled at Jareen, but it was a sheepish smile.

"Where is Faro?" she asked.

"Go with them, Lovniele," Vireel said.

"Where is Faro?"

"My quthli will take you to Forel. They are expecting you, and will provide for your needs."

"Where is Faro?" Jareen demanded again, stepping close to Vireel.

"Falo isn't going with you. He is coming with me."

"Absolutely not. Where is he?"

"He is sleeping."

Jareen stepped toward the door, but one of the quthli moved to block her.

"I will scream," Jareen said. "He is a light sleeper. He will wake if I call."

"Please," Vireel said. "Do not make this harder than it must be. I bear you no ill will. Falo will not wake for a few hours, no matter what you do."

"You bitch," Jareen spat in Noshian.

"I take it that was rude," Vireel said, smirking.

"Where are you going to take him?"

"I will take him somewhere I can teach him safely."

"He is my son, not yours!"

"Of course he is your son. But you can't help him, now."

With rage, Jareen lurched toward Vireel, but a quth's arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her feet from the floor. She kicked at it, screaming, and calling Faro's name. Vireel pulled something from her sleeve, a little glass bottle.

Jareen knew what it was.

"Lower her," Vireel said, and the quth set her feet upon the floor, though it kept her arms pinned.

"Wait," Jareen said. "What about the Malady? How can you keep him safe from the Malady? He is of the High Trees."

Vireel stepped up to Jareen, her fingers on the glass-topped cork stopper. The vienu hesitated.

"Do not fear the Malady. It is no danger to him."

"He is not an Insensitive!"

"The Malady is a fungus sensitive to the Current. It can be made to colonize the blood. It feeds most aggressively in those marked by the Change."

"A fungus?" Jareen asked.

"It can be prevented."

"You know of a cure?"

"There is no cure, but as I said, it can be prevented."

"How?"

"By regularly ingesting an inert form of the fungus with food or drink. I have mixed it in our wine since you weaned him," Vireel said.

"What fungus is it?"

"I will not say, and even if you found it after a hundred years. Well, you don't have that."

"Why? It could save many lives. Why not tell me?"

"Because it is still working, Lovniele. The Synod fears it more than anything it has faced in all its cursed years. Except for your son."

Jareen stared at Vireel. She even forgot about the vile arms of the quth around her, holding her in place, its chest rising and falling against her shoulders.

"Is it. . . The Malady. Is it yours?"

"Most want to change the wind, the currents, to grow crops and form an embrace. Just like they neglected to use both Currents together, most also neglected the small things—things that cannot be seen by the eye, but with practice can be detected in the Current. I will admit, I stumbled upon it at first."

"You killed all those people. You killed my mother and sister."

"Yes."

"But it kills the Canaen, too."

"Again, yes."

"You would kill so many, just to destroy the Synod?"

"It will not destroy the Synod," Vireel answered, "but it will hurt and disturb them. With chaos comes opportunity. Because of it your child was born. He could truly change things."

"He will not do such things!"

"Are you sure? Is it wrong to kill some to set all free?"

"Set them free to fight each other like the Canaen?"

Jareen could hardly believe that she was speaking in favor of the Synod, but her horror outweighed any bitterness she felt against her own people.

"Such is the price of freedom. Freedom to choose war or to choose peace. Do the slaves of the Nethec not kill? I at least kill for a righteous purpose." Vireel raised the back of her hand and stroked Jareen's cheek, but Jareen turned her face away. Vireel sighed. "Do not think I enjoy this. You are the first friend I have had in centuries. I only told you about the Malady because I would not have you worry for no reason. I shouldn't even tell you as much as I have, but I want you to know that it is not to spite you. I have given my life to this cause. It is best not just for Falo, but for all our people."

Jareen clawed at the quth's hands, though her fingernails did no damage through the beast's thick hair. Vireel lifted the bottle to Jareen's face. Jareen tried to turn her head away, but the quth gripped the top of her skull, tipping her head down. Jareen screamed her son's name.

"You are a Child of Vah," Vireel said. "Your kind are not a part of this conflict and should not be harmed. But I recommend you keep silent about what I have told you, in the enclaves or anywhere else." With the bottle beneath Jareen's nose, Vireel pulled the stopper.

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