Jareen raised her wooden mug of water and sipped, wrinkling her nose. The little embrace that the Canaen sorcerers had raised over their camp mitigated some of the strange flavors of the Mingling, but the waters still flowed from outside the embrace. It was strange that even the water bore the traces of the moldy flavor, but so it was.

"I will admit that I miss the quthli," Coir said. "Right about now, I'm wondering if I should have gone with them. It's bad enough surviving on Vien fare when there is plenty of it. Take away the wine and it's miserable."

"Maybe you should have gone with them," she said. They spoke in Noshian, for it was far easier for Coir to speak his native tongue with his aged and faltering voice.

Coir waved her statement away.

"Oh, let an old man grumble," he said.

"I'm serious. It might be safer, and they truly seemed to dote on you."

Coir shrugged.

"I'm where I should be."

Jareen pressed her lips into something like a smile. She felt the red flush rising in her face. He was always so much better speaking his mind than she was. He was older every day, and he had remained with her for so long. He meant more to her than anyone but Faro. The two of them were her Tree. For once, she didn't want to let the moment pass, but all she managed to say was:

"Thank you."

"What?" Coir asked.

"Thank you for staying."

He smiled at her, as if he knew how uncomfortable she was. How could he not? She could feel her pulse in her face. An Insensitive could not hide feeling. She felt an urge to flee, at least from the topic.

"I've never really asked you much about Vah," she said.

Coir didn't respond at first. He cocked his head a little to the side, his smile fading into a squint of confusion.

"I know you've spoken about him," Jareen continued, "but I never more than half cared. I'm sorry for that. Will you tell me more about him?"

"You know the basics," Coir replied. "The stories are different in Findeluvié and Isecan. To the Inevien, Findel is the villain who enslaved his people, and in the Nethec it is Isecan who sought to corrupt the people."

"And which was true?" Jareen asked.

Coir ran a hand through his thin hair.

"I used to think that it must be Findel—ever since I found out about the enslavement of the Nethec. Yet I have learned much of the Canaen since then. They have hardly established a reign of peace. Even amongst themselves, they vie for power, using the Current or force of arms. It is rare that at least one enclave is not at war with another for some reason. They say they fight the Nethec to free their enslaved brethren, and maybe some do. Did you know that in Chemil and Ieloe a vien cannot marry before serving in the wars, and in Theniel only veterans can speak in council?"

"Humans are not more peaceful," Jareen said, "but at least they are free. Better a choice for evil than mindless slavery."

"So I have long thought as well," Coir said. "But sometimes I wonder. . . If the brothers had stayed together, and the Synod ruled all without war. . . would a vien like Tirlav been left to play his harp until the moon dimmed and the stars faded in the sky? What freedom did he ever desire? He only wanted beauty."

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Jareen frowned at the thought of Tirlav. It had been so many years, at least for an Insensitive. His memory had never faded entirely. Sometimes, she struggled to picture his face clearly, but she always remembered the touch of his hands.

"But about Vah," Coir said, shaking her from the recollection.

"Yes."

"I think he wanted peace between his brothers. I think he wanted no part of the war. I think he wanted away from it all, but he tried to help others. You are more his daughter than you know."

"Not that it's made a huge difference."

"I suppose you could say that for his efforts, too, but a few joined him. To them I think it made all the difference."

"So, do you think he really had a vision in the Wellspring?"

"I think so. I certainly have no doubt that he believed it. He spent his remaining years risking his life to travel back and forth between Findeluvié and Isecan, trying to persuade the people to join him."

"It is no wonder so few followed him. It is a hard message to believe."

"Is it?"

"That people could follow him through some mystical gate to some unknown land?"

"To peace."

"Alright, to some unknown land to get away from the war."

Coir shrugged.

"Some say it is a city. Others, a beautiful tree reaching to the heavens. The city idea is more common in the Nethec."

"That's it?"

"It is a place without war, without fear, and without the need for power," Coir said. "Open to all who would follow."

"And you don't see why that is hard to believe?"

"Harder than believing in hot-springs that grant the power to change the weather and do miracles?"

"Which people use for evil. Something good is harder to believe in."

"That strikes me as prejudice."

Jareen shrugged.

"And they all went into the Mingling and were never seen again. Not even a message sent back saying, 'it's all true!'"

"I thought you were sincere in wanting to know."

"I am. I'm sorry. But it isn't wrong, is it?"

"No messages have returned, but I do not think return is possible. I think that's why Vah stayed until age had nearly taken him. His followers had to carry him. I believe it's real," Coir said. "I think he led them there."

"But no one has found it since."

"I would not say so."

"Who?"

"Many, I suspect. Did you know that over seven hundred years ago, the Synod commanded that no one was allowed to go to the Mingling, not even to seek Vah'tane?"

"No, I didn't know."

"They have reiterated it a few times, since. Yet every year, a few still slip away and go seeking Vah'tane."

Jareen had heard of those who left, of course. As a child she was told they had grown so weary of living after so many centuries that they sought death. She'd always accepted that was all it was. She'd known Departing in Nosh who sped their own demise rather than face a wasting sickness. It was news to her that the Synod had forbidden it, but she had no reason to doubt Coir's account.

"Are you sure they go to the Mingling?"

"All say so. Even Hormil said so."

Jareen frowned.

"Have you ever known anyone but an Insensitive to disobey the Synod?" Coir asked.

Jareen was already asking herself that. Even Tirlav had blindly obeyed. . . at the cost of his son, and of Jareen as well. Nothing could convince her he had done so of his own will. Even as a member of the Synod, he was a slave. She was certain of it. And what of Hormil? She hadn't thought of him in years. Seeking to disobey had driven him mad and sent him fleeing naked and raving.

Coir appeared to take her silence for an answer.

"Vah made a promise before he left, that anyone who wished to seek Vah'tane could do so. That Vah'tane would remain, awaiting them. How an Insensitive could promise such a thing, I do not know."

"So you think because the Synod is not able to stop them, that it must be true?"

"I always found it strange that though the Synod forbid anyone outside the war from going to the Mingling, they never commanded that Vah be forgotten. They could have, you know. It is clear that they suppress knowledge. Only the few veterans know the reality of the war, for example, and they cannot speak freely."

"I'm sure you have a theory," Jareen said.

Coir inclined his head.

"No matter who retells the story, whether in the Nethec or among the Inevien, all agree that Findel and Isecan loved their brother Vah. Neither would harm him, and it is this that has given the Insensitives what modicum of respect they enjoy. The enclaves are too fractured to erase knowledge, but the Synod could. I think Findel would not transgress the memory of his brother."

"Findel has been dead for two thousand years."

"Yet he formed the Synod." Coir carefully enunciated the name in Vienwé: "It is Findeluvié."

Findel's Embrace.

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