"Whew, finally caught up," said the rider. The setting sun struck Sain from behind, drawing from him long shadows over the threesome.

"What did you call me just now? Who might you be?" Lyn conversational tone opposed her tense posture.

"I?" He took off his helmet, green like the rest of his armor, revealing for the first time hazel hair, gleaming eyes, and a mischievous smile. "I am Sain, the gallant of Caelin." He swung a leg over and dismounted from his horse. He took her hand and brought it to her lips.

Lyn, realizing what he was intending to to, pulled away at the last second. Sain kissed at the air.

"Eh?" he gasped. "Will you not allow me to bestow a kiss upon your gentle hand?"

"I would rather you not, thank you," stated Lyn, who was wishing for some explanation of this odd behavior; was this supposed to be casual courtesy? Observing this, Miana drew back, one hand holding a phial of Pure Water. She eyed him distrustfully.

"Well then," Mark spoke up, "what is your business with us, Sir Sain?"

"Merely 'Sain' shall suffice, for I a humble knight." Nobody pointed out that he must not be very humble if he called himself so. "As for my business, now, where to begin?"

Sain's voice took on a serious tone. "I am one of many who have been sent from Caelin as messengers of our lord the marquess and his daughter Lady Madelyn." Mark and Miana exchanged short glances and Lyn stared at Sain listening with rapt attention. "We were sent to the Sacae plains to find a young woman bearing these traits: tall, slender, long straight hair, fair skin, green eyes and hair the color of spring pine needles, perchance a sword at her side, and the name Lyndis." He ticked off each trait on his fingers and was evidently pleased as Lyn matched each one. "In other words, someone with a near exact appearance of Lady Madelyn."

"You knew my m—her?" she blurted, catching herself just in time. She couldn't dare to believe it, it could all just be a coincidence... after all many people could be named Madelyn.

Sain shook his head. "I never had the honor of meeting her, though it was said that she was very beautiful, and her portraits in castle Caelin attest to that."

Lyn did not miss his use of past tense. "So Lady Madelyn is... not alive?" I ask, yet I know the answer to this...

"I regret to say that shortly after she sent her letter from the Sacae plains where she was last residing in, she died. However, the marquess wishes but one thing: to see his daughter's daughter once, at least, the granddaughter who bore the name of his wife."

"Me," she guessed. It was more of a question.

"You," Sain confirmed.

She simply said nothing. She stared straight ahead at the landscape with an intensity that would rival a hawk, deep in thought. "It all fits, doesn't it?" she mused to herself. She turned to Mark and Miana.

"I would say so," agreed Miana, "just look at the diary. Your family tree, your family history, and perhaps the entries would prove this knight's tale correct."

But Mark paused. "Yes. I suppose so," was all he said.

"Suspicious, Mark?" Miana said, a faint sneer on her face.

"Not quite. He seems trustworthy enough." He spoke to Sain now. "May I have a look at your helmet?"

"But of course!" He handed it to them.

Mark studied it. After careful examination he said, "That is the Caelin crest. Would you like to take a look?"

Lyn took it from his hands. Etched onto the helmet was a shield, divided in half down the middle with a bold line. On the left half depicted a falcon in flight and in the other lay an open book. A banner draped over the shield with letters Mark hadn't taught her before. Perhaps it was the language Miana used when she casted magic.

"Oh, sorry." She hadn't realized how long she'd been ogling over it and hastily passed the helmet back to its owner.

"Not to worry, sweet angel! With your benevolent touch you have blessed it—and me!—with well wishes beyond words." His jaunty tone told her the time for seriousness had passed.

Lyn blinked then turned to Mark, who was saying, "There is no reason to disbelieve him yet. So then, what will you do?"

What will I do?

"I once believed that I was all that remained of my tribe and my family." She spoke aloud her thoughts. It seemed she couldn't get her thoughts in order without saying them first, letting the words drift in the air. "That is, until now. I was all alone in the world, and now I have a grandfather. A family again. When I found out about the Caelin part of my family yesterday, they seemed unreal, as distant as the moon. But he's alive and real...

"Lyndis," she breathed. "I will one day be called that again." With her shoulders squared and head held high she looked directly into their eyes. "There is no question in my mind now. I will accompany Sain to Caelin. But this changes everything. What will you do?"

"I said I would go where you did, didn't I? I was to be 'your peerless tactician'," declared Mark. They smiled as they reminisced of the time in the plains where fate's whims brought them together.

Lyn turned to Miana. "Miana, you said you wanted to train up your magic, but now—"

"The reason I went to Sacae in the first place was to meet pure Animas and master its magic and I met Mark instead. Now I want to focus on Elder magic, and I must go where he does. So by extension of what he said, I shall come along as well. Not that it's the sole reason. I do not go unwillingly."

"Very well!" said Sain. "It looks like things are settled. Will you introduce yourselves to me?" he said to the robed two.

"I am Mark, the tactician, and that is Miana, a shamaness." There was a proper and formal way to introduce themselves to knights serving as escorts, but if Mark was to be honest, he wasn't sure if Sain really deserved it yet. I know I'm shaming Lyn by acting this way, but I cannot take this knight seriously. Can I really trust him with my life?

Neither Lyn nor Sain reacted to his rude behavior though, although Mark guessed it was because she didn't know about formal introductions and Sain did not notice or care. Miana noticed; he could tell from the sideways glance. But she did not attempt to correct him either.

Sain's gaze remained on them. "I see you two are... together," he said, eyes lingering on Miana, grin widening.

"What?" She jumped away from him.

"He's much older than me. That would be... What you suggest... He's probably your age!" Miana sputtered. "Though your words and appalling behavior does belie your age."

His eyebrows shot up. "Even callous, you're stunning," he remarked. Her face screwed up in disgust, just as it did when she'd seen the seven-legger.

"Don't talk to me anymore. You don't have to mock me. I'm aware of my beauty, or lack of."

"Miana," Lyn murmured in her ear, while Sain droned on about something Miana didn't care to listen to, something about a "gravely wounded psyche". "He's only teasing. Don't take his words so seriously."

"Oh, I don't," said Miana tersely, "but he must know I'm too young for him to even consider like that. And the implications he made between Mark and I are just... deplorable. He doesn't know about my special handicap for magic and why I have to be near Mark all the time, does he?" If only I didn't have to rely on others for magic! "We'll have to tell him about that later."

"Shall we be on our way?" said Mark, trying to quell the tension buzzing through the air like bees.

"Yes, let's," said Miana, leaving the Caelinians behind as she walked up front, though she did not near Mark.

Sain smiled broadly at Lyn. "Milady, this is very fortunate. I had come, prepared to tell you about Caelin, but you have Lady Madelyn's very diary!

"To be truthful, I don't know how to read yet," replied Lyn. "But Mark and Miana are teaching me. So I would like to ask you a favor."

"Ask, and you shall get it!" promised Sain.

"Tell me about my grandfather."

"Gladly."

o-o-o

Long hair, green eyes, Lyndis, thought another knight. However, his search had yielded no fruit. The locals at the Shrine claimed no one of the sort had either lived or recently arrived. Nor had the priest of the Shrine seen anyone with the description come to the Shrine to pray. He sighed. Night was falling. There was nothing else he could do today. It looked as though he was going to have to just sit and wait patiently for his companion to return.

o-o-o

Tall, slender, fair-skinned. If it weren't for that Lundgren and his bounty she could sell for a pretty penny on the market. He chuckled to himself, lost in his sick thoughts. Well, the reward for her death is higher.

"Boss!" One of his underlings scrambled up to him, slipping once on the slick grass wet with morning dew. "We've spotted a traveler."

"Is he alone? Does he have guards or a weapon?"

"None that I could see."

"Good. Get the others in position, fast."

o-o-o

Eugene the traveller walked cautiously through the plains. Cursed Sacaens, he thought to himself, Why wasn't anybody willing to give up their sons so they can be raised as sophisticated, young men of Lycia? Surely they would not prefer to have them grow up as unruly savages in Sacae! What terrible parents they make! Now I must return home. I have failed...

Snap.

He sprang back, eyes wide as globed fruit. Then he cursed at himself. He had stepped on a twig.

A blur of motion, coming from the trees. He was aware of his involuntary scream, of figures suddenly all around him who pushed him to the ground. One hand—not his own—was over his mouth, muffling his screams. All of them had weapons. He was surrounded. He almost fainted.

As quick as the action began, it was now over. One man—their leader—put his foot on his chest, effectively holding him down and causing him to choke on dry air.

"Don't look so scared," the leader said, with the worse sort of smirk on his face. "We're being generous. Normally we'd search you to see if you have anything of value on you." He exchanged a glance with one of his fellow thugs and laughed, as though perhaps sharing an inside joke. "And don't struggle," he added, correctly guessing Eugene's next thought, "we just want some information, anything that's more valuable than your life. We know you came from Bulgar. Have you seen a Sacae woman, green hair and eyes, tall, slim, fair skin?"

He said nothing, barely able to breathe, let alone talk.

"Cooperate," roared the leader. "Or else your chances of survival will be much worse than it already is."

"Can I stand up?" It was only after he'd said it that he realized he was asking for a death wish. Asking his captives to let him up!

But he didn't die. "Fine," said the leader after a moment's thought, "but if you run, you're a dead man." He smiled cruelly, as though he enjoyed the idea of killing him.

Eugene got up slowly, praying that if he lived to tell this tale, he would never bother the Sacaens again. His limbs ached and he was shaking uncontrollably, but at least he was still alive.

"So have you seen the woman?"

No. "Y-yes," he said, "she was at Bulgar and left through the... east entrance," he lied.

The bandits seemed to buy it. "When?"

He allowed himself a quick sigh of relief. "Um, yesterday?" he said, hoping that it was the answer they wanted.

Oh no. He had said the wrong thing. The leader smiled down on him, like an enormous cat to a petite mouse, ready to pounce and devour him. "You're lying," he said sweetly, no doubt savoring the feeling that he was the predator and Eusild the prey. "The east gate is only open on rest days. And do you know what yesterday was?"

He shook his head, barely.

"A work day," he said. Then to his henchmen, he ordered, "He's useless. Kill him."

Eugene fainted before he could see the axe come down.

o-o-o

They were back on the sunlit trail. Lyn suggested a shortcut to the Shrine. They derailed from the road and walked through grass.

Thoughts of her grandfather flooded her mind. According to Sain, the marquess of Caelin was kind and wise—and stern, because he did not take ruling a country lightly, but he was never unfair. He never abused his position as ruler and trusted his subordinates with things and tasks that other officials wouldn't even dream of allowing them to do—there was no such thing as incompetence to him. "Every single person in Caelin has some sort of talent, whether it is sewing, delivering messages, or defending Caelin from those who wish malice upon her," he'd once said. "I will not let it go to waste."

How would he react when he saw her? Would he recognize her? Lyn was supposed to resemble her mother, which was his daughter, but still...

Suddenly two men jumped out from the trees and tackled Lyn. A strangled cry of surprise escaped her throat, but a well-aimed if not hectic stab of her sword sent one man to the ground and knocked the other off her.

The other three stood frozen for just an instant, completely caught off guard, then launched into action. Sain leapt onto his horse, sword drawn, Miana whipped her tome open, arm raised, and Mark yelled, "Run but prepare yourselves!"

They hightailed it, straining to increase the distance between themselves and enemy territory. The thudding of footsteps on spongy earth and faint cries of "Get them!" sounded far behind them.

In her peripheral vision something sprawled carelessly on the ground caught Lyn's attention. Something red. She stopped running away and instead, after a moment's thought, approached whatever it was.

"Lyn?" Mark said, slowing to a stop (Miana and Sain did too) but she barely registered them.

A gruesome sight met her eyes. Fresh blood splattered the grass where a limp, headless body lay. Not far from it, the head lay, thankfully not facing her.

Images from a horrific night, half a year ago sprang unbidden in her mind.

Lyn turned around slowly. "These men are out for blood," she said. Her whole body shook in rage. "They're bandits, bandits! We must fight them. This cannot happen again." She had not noticed she was waving her sword threateningly in the air until she saw Miana recoil reflexively and Sain eye it warily.

Mark trembled to see her livid visage. Lyn was the voice of calm reason. None of them had ever seen her snap before.

No time to be rational now, he thought as the bandits drew closer. He turned to face them. "Lyn, in front of me, Miana, my right side, Sain, to those trees westward but back up Lyn when needed," he commanded hurriedly.

"Mark," said Miana in a low voice. They were standing as close to each other as possible, but it wasn't enough. "I need contact with you to reach into—to tap into—to—" she stammered. Was there even a tactful way to say she needed to feed off his soul to perform magic spells? However, he seemed to understand because he rested a finger on her left wrist.

"They're coming," warned Lyn. "From the trees too."

Indeed, more spawned from the forest, axes raised high, yelling incoherent. Lyn sprang like a snake to tiny, ignorant mice. From Mark's viewpoint, she was holding up well, dodging their swings without leaving him nor Miana open, and taking a vicious lunge when am opportunity presented itself. Her swings were wilder than usual; Mark could only hope that she would come out in one piece and not lose her concentration in the heat of battle.

Somewhat frustratingly, Miana's magic was slow, due to both her limited experience and the nature of Flux itself, but the few spells she got in counted. Pairs and trios of bandits would come rushing in only to find the ground beneath them gone and their feet falling into bottomless abyss. Farther away, Sain proved to be a good distraction, stalling the group of bandits farther away from joining their comrades up front.

"Sain, get to that forest behind you!"

"Understood!" With lance in hand he galloped to the forest, bandits tailing him. As Mark hoped, the branches impeded the bandits' attacks.

More bandits fell. There were only a handful of them left, with not much more of them to begin with. Right and left, bandits screamed and fell as Lyn slashed their torsos, chests, limbs, throats.

"Miana, aim for those bandits. We can't have them sneaking around and attacking us from behind." She nodded stiffly. She was using more magic than usual and increasing the risk of being possessed by the dark spirits. But now was no time to be weak and doubtful in her skills, especially with all of their lives on the line, and they both knew it. In encouragement, he grasped her wrist with his whole hand.

"Lyn, pull back! Don't get yourself surrounded." Only now did she seem to notice the enemies on all sides of her, all for some reason more interested in her than the defenseless tactician and the shaman girl, so she pulled back, on the defensive. Lyn's fighting instincts were exceptional, and Mark found almost no need to warn her of incoming attacks and open enemies.

"Good, Miana," he said to her as the targeted bandits were dealt with, "now aim there. Sain, will you get your sword out!"

But as he was saying it, he noticed that, oddly, the knight did not have one. Then, an unlucky stroke of an axe cleanly chopped the lance in half. The knight stared at his severed weapon.

"Sain, retreat!" Mark bellowed. He did so at once, inadvertently luring those bandits to them. As he neared Mark ordered, "Borrow a sword from Lyn."

"Might you have a spare sword for me, milady?"

Lyn barely heard him. "No."

Sain was at a loss. "Is there nothing I can do to turn the tides in our favor?"

"I'm not sending you to fight them unarmed," said Mark.

"Only you and me left, Lyn," said Miana. Lyn was busy fighting for her life and so did not hear her.

Lyn was exhausted, just finished the last of them, when Sain's bandits arrived. Think of those villages that will fall, the innocents who will die if they live, she thought to herself as motivation. With a last push she engaged them head on.

"Sain, how many were you able to kill?" said Mark as he watched this new wave rush up.

"Ah... Two?"

Mark deigned not to answer.

"I assure you, tactician Mark, I am a proficient knight! But the weapon triangle did not favor me today, nor did Lady Luck."

"That wouldn't be a problem if you brought a sword with you."

The last two surviving bandits dropped their weapons and fled at once, seeing how this woman single handedly defeated them all. She considered giving chase, but she didn't—she was too exhausted and she hoped that two lone bandits with nothing but the clothes on their backs were not resourceful enough to cause much harm.

Most everybody was panting and recovering from the skirmish. Miana, being in the back lines, did not receive any injuries and Sain's armor had done its job well. Lyn, reckless as she was, had not allowed a bandit to even touch her. She was fine, albeit for various cuts and bruises. Sain's horse was in a similar state.

"All in all, a sweeping victory," Mark summed up.

Seeing that no more threats lurked about, Lyn sheathed her sword. "Sain," she addressed the knight not unkindly, "if we are to get to your companion you will need a more adequate weapon than that. We may run into more of those foes."

"How true, how true," Sain lamented over his half of a lance. "But for you, milady, I will still use the tip as a large-headed dagger if need be, against the vilest, most vicious villain."

The battle was over. Relief and victory tinged through the air like a heat wave. Mark allowed himself a laugh; Sain truly was ridiculous. Though this time he saw it not as a hindrance, but as a cause for amusement. "But Sain, that is not a very knightly weapon."

"In the hands of valiant Sain, it shall be," he insisted. "Without a thought I would ride undaunted into the jaws of darkness, armed only with this, if my angel's life is in question!" Then he hesitated for a split second. "Although, it might be easier if I had a sword, or a lance. Or both."

"We can head back to Bulgar," suggested Mark. The relief of winning the skirmish was fading away, and he was getting back to his regular, serious self. Miana was also back to her moody self, hanging back and letting those three chat. Surely she wasn't still mad at him about the whole fox thing... I'll have to apologize later. Much as he didn't like it—after all, he was still bitter over his loss as it was clearly her fault—their group was going to fall apart from the inside at this rate and that was one thing that must be avoided.

"Do we still have money?" asked Lyn.

He pulled out the change from a coin pouch. "Let's see... I estimate we have some one hundred Etrurian ducats, two hundred Bernese silver pieces, one hundred—" he squinted at the coin— "Ciaran coppers—that's pretty uncommon—and a few Ilian pennies."

"Ah." That's a lot of money, isn't it? "How much does it amount to?"

Mark tried to do the conversions in his head, then quickly gave up. "I'm not sure. Enough for an iron sword and lance, I'd wager, if the blacksmith is willing to take our mismatched coins." He shook his head. "It would be much easier if there was just one type of currency. Or a currency exchange."

"So are we going back?" Miana spoke up. It was the first thing she said the whole discussion.

Lyn frowned. Miana was still upset with Mark, wasn't she? She resolved to speak to Miana about that as soon as she was able. "Yes, if everyone has what they need."

The two men nodded. Mark stowed away the money. "Then let's go." Sain took to the front this time, followed by Mark and Miana, leaving Lyn in the back.

They had only just turned around headed back to Bulgar when she screamed in shock—that is, she tried to scream. Someone had apparently jumped out from some bushes and then tackled her down. Pinned to the ground, she couldn't reach her weapon.

"You're Lyndis, aren'tcha?" the attacker said. "The things I'd do for gold... A shame, but it's time to die, girlie!" Lyn eyes widened and she struggled all the harder.

"How dare you touch milady!" erupted Sain. Like a wolf, he sprang, spearhead in hand.

"Stop!" He was standing now, holding Lyn close like a child would hold a toy. Then one hand grabbed her neck. "One more step and I'll snap her neck in two."

Sain stopped in his tracks, mere steps away from this aggressor, hand still poised to attack. He was breathing hard. Miana couldn't see his expression, but she knew she wouldn't like it.

What do we do?

Everything was eerily, serenely still for just a moment. Everyone stood, all facing Lyn, all with different expressions.

Mark was thinking fast and frantically. What to do? Use Miana's magic? No, Lyn would get caught in it too. Diplomacy? No, won't work. He said something about money—can we bribe him with enough? No, we don't have that much! Would he even take it? There must be a way out! he screamed in frustration in his mind.

Either way, he wants to kill Lyn, or at the least harm her. That cannot happen. Sain will have to risk attacking. He must be the faster one.

If that's the only way...

Before he could decide to act, Lyn had. She swiftly stomped on his toes and bit his forearm both at once, and the man howled. The grip on Lyn lessened for just an instant and so she scrambled on her hands and knees to flee. With a shout he moved to capture his ransom but collided into Sain. The man was wrestling Sain to the ground when Sain threw a punch at his face and a kick to the gut. He stumbled backwards, hands clasped around his broken nose. Then dark hot blood like tar splattered onto his face and he fell with a heavy thud. Lyn drew the sword from his neck.

Everyone was silent. Sain lifted his helmet and for the first time that day Miana could see his expression: drained. Though his weary body protested, he still half-heartedly stood on edge as though expecting more enemies. She herself was bushed, emotionally too fatigued from being terrified and relieved, much like Mark, who was feeling heavy guilt for even thinking of having Sain risk it. She couldn't even begin to imagine how Lyn was feeling.

"We need to distance ourselves from here," Lyn said shakily.

"What about them? Leave them?" Miana's eyes darted to the bodies of the bandits for just an instant.

Lyn paused. She hadn't thought about that. "Give me a moment," she muttered, and without waiting for a response she approached the bandit who'd captured her.

His eyes were glassy, dull like unpolished metal. His mouth was parted, perhaps to utter a last scream. Blood still flowed out in sticky streams from his impaled throat. His limbs were splayed on the ground. He was still.

This bandit who had no name had wanted to kill her. He had wanted to murder her just like he had killed her tribe, all for some coin. Then she killed him. She could spit on him, cut his body up until he was nothing more than ribbons, leave him to rot, and he was powerless. But that was desecration. In death, he looked very, very human. There was nothing more she could do to hurt him, and likewise he would never return to harm anybody again.

"Lyn?"

She whipped her head around. Mark was right behind her, and Miana and Sain had caught up as well.

"I... I want them buried," she said.

Mark's eyebrows shot up. "How?" he asked carefully. There was no real efficient way to do the task; it would take days.

Lyn was aware of the fact as well. "The customary method would take too long. I was thinking... if Miana could do it."

Me? she thought. What's that supposed to—

Then it dawned on her than Lyn had meant for her to use her tome. "Ah..." she responded. Her tome was emptying of spells fast, and it was unlikely that she could find another Dark tome quickly seeing as it was punishable by death in most countries to create them. "Yes, I'll do it for you," she answered.

First, just a small sip of Pure Water to clear her mind, then standing side by side with Mark, she raised her arm to cast the spell. With the sweep of her hands, cluster by cluster the bandits were gulped by darkness. When the spell vanished, grass resurfaced, yellow and dead.

My magic's improved, but not enough, she thought. The pools of darkness were still larger and wilder than she'd preferred and once a spell had almost escaped her control and had gone off-center.

Even with that in mind, she chanced another Flux. Further away was the civilian man who clearly had no place with the bandits, the one that had caught Lyn's eye in the first place. She casted Flux, and while her accuracy wasn't dead on, he too receded into the darkness like it was water and disappeared.

"Anything else you need to do?" Sain asked, not impatiently.

"No," Lyn said, "let's be off."

o-o-o

Moonbeams pierced the darkness like falling arrows and starlight twinkled upon Sain's new sword. She went into the her and Miana's tent.

"Hello Miana," said Lyn. The girl turned around where she sat, head tilted up, facing Lyn.

"Good evening," she muttered.

"Let's talk." Lyn sat as close to Miana as she could without intruding upon her personal space.

"It's about Mark, isn't it? And you think he's right and I'm wrong."

"...I think," Lyn said carefully, "that it takes two people to make a wrong. Neither of you are faultless. But I'm not here to burden you with that. I want to talk about you.

"First, when you said you weren't beautiful to Sain, did you really mean that?"

Miana blinked, not expecting that. "I didn't want him bothering me like he bothers you. But I'm not pretty. Not like you, anyways."

"What do you mean to say?"

Miana stood up. "Lyn," she said, "do you know what a looking glass is?"

"Yes." It was a shard of shiny reflective metal used to look at someone's reflection.

"Do you have one?"

"My mother must have brought a very small, ornate mirror with her apparently, when she left Caelin. We did own one—the only one in the tribe. She never took it out, and I never looked at it much."

Miana looked away. "So you haven't seen yourself recently, have you?"

"No."

"You are beautiful," Miana stated, looking right into her eyes. "Look at you, with your flowing green hair, sparkling eyes as bright as sunlight on water. And that's not all." Miana suddenly found it wise to keep her mouth shut.

Hearing that embarrassed Lyn. Much as she would have like to refute that, she couldn't as she didn't know if what Miana said was truth and to refute truth would be a lie. It sounded vain to not disagree but denying it would lead to nowhere. "That's not what matters," she replied. "There are other ways to look at someone's beauty, besides from a looking in a looking glass or a pond. What about someone on the inside? Their character?"

"I know," said Miana tiredly, sitting back down. "True beauty comes from within. That is also what I meant by 'not beautiful like you'. You are kind, fair, and compassionate. Anyone, even someone as blinded by Sain can tell that much."

"Miana," said Lyn, slightly exasperated. I never really cared about beauty... which is why I get embarrassed when someone says I am... Why should someone's outward beauty matter? And how should I answer this? Tell her she is beautiful too? Deflect it? In the end she deigned to say, "Looking glasses can only tell you the truth. It's you who interprets the image in the mirror."

"I know," said Miana again. "Enough about this. Is that the reason you came to me?"

"I have another one too. I would like to ask a question." Lyn loosed a deep breath. "Miana, what happens when people are overcome by your magic?"

Miana's faced darkened. "That is not an easy question to answer. I do not have a definite, correct answer. But I can tell you what I know.

"When a person is overcome by the darkness, it drags them down with chains sturdier than steel and heavier than lead. A man could dig and dig for days and not recover the body. It is gone."

"Gone where?"

Miana smiled at that, but without mirth. "Now that is what people debate about. Most who practice Dark magic believe that their bodies and souls just vanish. They have lost against the magic and that is the consequence. Meanwhile, most anima users—those who specialize in the magic of nature—think that their bodies dissolve to dust, but their souls rise to St. Elimine to be judged. But the Light monks? They have convinced the world that people enter a fate worse than death when they are swallowed by our magic. Their bodies suffer in some other world that the darkness transports them to but their souls remain trapped within them. They subsist... neither alive nor dead—forever."

That sounds terrible. At least the people who were buried today were already dead, Lyn thought, but didn't voice aloud. But her visage must have been enough because Miana stomped again to her feet.

"You agree with them, don't you?" she accused, hands balled up. "Well, you could be wrong. Nobody alive has proof of what happens. You all just assume the worst and then drive people like us out."

"I don't necessarily agree with them. But what do you feel for those who have fallen to it?"

"...My sympathies are limited. That is the same exact thing that happens to a Dark user when he or she can't control the darkness... only it is an absolute, irrefutable fact that when a shaman or shamaness fall prey to the dark spirits they become dead inside. They breathe and blink... But that is all. It happens more often than not... The temptation to yield to the darkness is tremendous."

"Why use Dark magic then?" Lyn said, now on her feet too, "why even use magic? Why take the risk?"

"Curiosity," answered Miana with a small smile. "The three houses that make up magic are all very different, but one similarity is curiosity."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't know much about magic, do you?" Lyn shook her head. "I'll tell you all I know then." She sat back down, much more composed. Lyn followed suit.

"Hmm... Perhaps it would be easiest if I could have it relate with something you're familiar with... Do you know the weapon triangle?"

"Yes." Before her journey, all the weapons she'd ever really known were knives, swords, and bows. And axes. But after she'd begun the adventure and after they'd bought Sain a new sword (which he wielded with pride; this was the very first sword that belonged to him since all his other ones he'd borrowed from Caelin's armory) Mark had explained the weapon triangle. The lance's superior reach bested that of the sword, though it was vulnerable to the mighty chops of axes. In turn, the wild axe faced a disadvantage against the versatile sword. Bows and knives had no place in the triangle, as bows were solely meant to be long range weapons and knives were generally too weak to use in serious combat.

"Good. In the trinity, Dark magic is comparable to axes, Light is comparable to swords, and Anima takes middle ground. The advantages and disadvantages work the same way too. But the reasons are different. Magic has always been more of a test of the mind than the body. Magic asks the timeless question, 'How does the world work?'. And each house veers in a different course.

"For example, Dark magic believes that mathematics and logic—knowledge—can solve the puzzle. The dark spirits that we invite into our minds contain much knowledge... but we must be wary that they do not leech off our spirits while we drain off their knowledge. Knowledge is powerful, but it can turn against its master. Knowledge and common sense lord over nature and science—or Anima—but does not stand up to wisdom.

"Light is better known for their wisdom. They believe in a common deity, St. Elimine, and groups of these people discuss philosophy and ethics all day long. Light is acute, but not consistently powerful. But not everything can be explained with the brain. Some things can only be learned by the heart..."

"Light is better than Dark—that I understand—but Anima is better than Light because..."

"What use is the tight answer if you don't go out into the world and apply it? That is Anima's motif. They will go out on their own into nature, seeking answers from the earth itself. They tend to be the most outgoing of magic users, using solid truth and courage in their sciences and studies. It is the middle of two extremes."

"Interesting," said Lyn. "Parts of it agree with Sacaen understanding of the world. We believe in Mother Earth and Father Sky—we are truthful because it is a duty imposed on us to be truthful and shine like a blaze in a world of darkness. We were also sent to learn from nature and study it—to use it as needed but never abuse it. Through the generations we developed technology like the sword and bow."

"That is new to me." Miana wore a dignified smile. "There truly is nothing more satisfying than gaining knowledge and solidifying knowledge by teaching someone. I always thought that Sacaens would be the best Animages on Elibe if they ever took up magic. Especially based on your fiery, true soul alone."

Miana yawned. "I am sleepy."

"Animages..." Lyn had the feeling she just made up the word on the spot; she'd never heard it before, but it wasn't too difficult to guess what it meant. Somewhat relieved she didn't have to reply to Miana's inspection of her soul, she said, "Go to sleep, I won't trouble you anymore. Goodnight."

She stepped out of the tent. The two men were still outside, talking about something.

"Sain? Mark? Why are you still outside?"

"We were just setting up watch," Mark replied. "By my estimation, daybreak will arrive in about nine marks' time. I'll handle first watch, then Sain, third you, Miana last. Each watch will last two marks, except for Sain, who will stay up for three marks."

"Do not worry for me, milady," Sain said, "I would never dream of falling asleep on watch! Three marks is but nothing for me."

"But can Miana?" muttered Mark, "she is only a child, after all."

"I think we can," Lyn said. "For now, there's no reason to believe or disbelieve that Miana can stay awake long enough. If she can't tonight, we'll readjust the watch schedule."

"Mark and I have some insights as to why those lowly bandits attacked you specifically, if you like would hear them," Sain piped up.

"He mentioned money, which means that someone is paying somebody else to kill me." It wasn't a question. As she said it she knew it was truth. "Who would want me dead? The Taliver? No, they wouldn't send others to do the work for them, would they?"

"On the contrary milady, I believe it to be the plotting of your granduncle, Lord Lundgren," he replied, stepping closer.

"My grandfather's brother?" For six months she had been all alone, her world stolen in one night by a band of outlaws. Then as she'd lost all hope, a new family emerged from a distant land like a light in the storm, beckoning and welcoming. She had not imagined that even then, someone—a blood relation to her kind grandfather no less—contrived for her death. It was a shattering feeling, like broken glass. I never should have expected things to be perfect, like things used to be, she thought bitterly as she realized that innate desire had tumbled through her brain unnoticed all this time.

"Before House Caelin knew of your existence Lord Lundgren was next in line for the throne. But as you are the child of Lady Madelyn, daughter of the current Marquess, it is you who will inherit her throne next."

"Your existence is an obstacle to his ambitions, and he wants you removed," Mark summed up. "There is not telling how many know of the bounty on your head. Logically, the closer we approach Caelin the greater the chances for your death."

Lyn's mouth was agape like a caught river fish's. "But I have no intention of inheriting the throne," she protested. "I can't arrive to Caelin in peace?"

"No. It doesn't change the fact that you are entitled to it," said Mark.

"So we must take all precautions to ensure that you arrive to Caelin safely," declared Sain.

She sighed. "I understand. So thank you all."

"But of course," said Sain.

"I shall tell Miana about the watch. Goodnight, everyone."

o-o-o

The night passed without incident. Miana managed to stay awake through her shift (barely, there were many times where she was nodding off before she jerked awake again), earning the trust of Lyn and Sain.

They were on the trail to the Shrine. "Only two days' journey left," encouraged Sain, walking side by side with Lyn, quite closer than was necessary.

"So then," Sain said, looking behind where Mark and Miana lagged behind (mostly Miana, though she made an effort to keep up). "If I may, why must you two walk together all the time?"

Miana sighed deeply. Time to explain. "As you have realized by now, I use magic instead of metal weapons to defend myself. Every person—that is, almost every person—has a soul of either Dark, Anima, or Light, depending on which month you were born in, and that soul determines which type of magic you can use because the soul is the wellspring of magic. Do you understand me so far?"

"Ah... My sincerest apologies," said Sain with a smile, "but—"

"Perhaps you'll understand once I get through with my explanation," she interrupted. "So as I was saying, for reasons unknown I cannot produce magic on my own, but I can sense the souls of others. For example, if I stay near a person of Light, I use the Light in their souls to produce Light magic. For Animas, I use Anima magic, and so on. Mark here has a soul of Dark, and so when I am in close proximity with him and I focus on him, I use Dark magic. However, my personality changes to match that of the magic I use. So I am not always the same. When I am alone I revert to a magic-less self.

"Since there are so many of you with different souls I must drink Pure Water to remain my shamaness self, Miana. My Anima self is Amita, and my Light self is Serena. Understand?" All she saw was confusion in Sain's expression. "That was entirely too long winded an explanation. I refuse to repeat that for each time someone asks about my magic. Maybe I should write it down."

"Wait," Mark snapped. He looked mad. "You keep saying 'in close proximity'. I thought all this time you required touch."

"I do, most of the time. As time passes and I improve, I depend on you less. But I'm still a novice when it comes to Elder magic."

"Ah," Sain gasped, beginning to grasp her explanation. "I understand now."

"You do?" said Miana.

"I see the stars are in perfect alignment, for you fate with magic has brought you closer to this man!"

Lyn laughed, knowing it was a joke, and Mark went along, murmuring, "Yes, I too am lucky indeed." Miana, who didn't notice his teasing tone, sputtered, "You are unbelievable. Is that all you think about?"

Sain laughed, knowing he'd gotten the upper hand for once.

o-o-o

Their supply of food, combined with Sain's, was enough to last them another night.

"Sain, is there something you want?" asked Lyn politely, noticing the knight behind her. She had finished evening chores: cleaning the wooden plateware, stoking the fire, assorting the unused kindling, and checking inventory with Mark. She was planning to go to bed early, as she had discovered that third watch was very nearly the worst shift next to second watch (though she did not complain).

"If it inconveniences milady, then do not mind me. I am only a humble knight, a mere servant, you need not pay me any more heed than you would the air."

"Sain." She spun around to face him. "You are no mere knight to me. You are a good companion," she added quickly before he could make any outlandish conclusions. "So is there something you need from me?"

For once, Sain didn't seem to know how to word his thoughts. Lyn sat by the fire and gestured for him to do the same.

As Sain was assembling his thoughts, Lyn looked at him, expectantly but not impatiently. She noticed small things about him. Like how without his armor on (he was wearing a black shirt and tan trousers) he was very muscular, with square shoulders and bulging arms. His fingernails were chipped. His eyelashes were long.

"To be blunt," he said finally, shocking Lyn out of her thoughts, "do you accept Miana?"

"Of course. She can seem tactless and rude to you sometimes, but that's because your behavior upsets her."

"That's not what I am referring to," said Sain in his serious tone.

"Do you mean her preference of magic?"

"Why Dark? Truth be told, I did not understand her explanation, but I gathered that she could choose any of the three magics to use. Why Dark? Why the forbidden magic?" And for the first time since she'd known him, Sain was not teasing or making some silly allusion to love. He sounded somewhat frustrated, even a twinge angry, but most of all, sincere.

"Oh," Lyn remembered, "I'd forgotten that in the other major countries Dark magic isn't accepted." Sain nodded. "I can tell you what I think and know," she said. "In the Sacae plains, nobody uses magic. It is not unheard of—mages were told of in our myths—but nobody practices it anymore. So I had no experience with people of the magic community. When I met Miana, she was one of the first mages I'd ever known. I was a little frightened of her at first. But we shared some common ground: both of us wanted to improve our offensive skills. Also, when I saw that she was not a bad person and that she never abused her magic, I accepted her, Dark magic or not."

"A bad person?" Sain echoed. "Dark magic is naturally evil. Yet she wants to improve it?"

"She's not evil," Lyn pressed on, seeing where he was getting at. "Have you ever wondered if she is afraid of it too?" she asked, thinking of her chilling conversation with her last night.

"Then why would she use it if it frightens her?"

"So that she can master it. I think most people are frightened of their weapons when they first hold it, when they understand its potential for good and evil. When I was a young girl learning the sword I was always afraid of cutting myself with my sword, and afraid of what the sword could do unto others. But then I practiced and improved, little by little, and so I have no such fear now."

Sain laughed now. "You are a woman of great integrity, truly! Caelin is truly blessed to have such a radiant flower like you. I apologize now for ever wavering with my trust in your friends—a grave transgression for a vassal like me!—and I will try to accept her as well."

"That is indeed a noble act," said Lyn, "to counter what your upbringing tells you and seek the truth yourself."

"I have yet another question," said Sain, eyes sparkling. "Why did you wish to bury the bandits, even after all the danger they put you through?"

Lyn sighed. "In the end, they were humans as well. Not human, perhaps, but human beings. It is considered desecration in Lorca tradition to leave their bodies to decay."

"Ahh... How noble."

Lyn grimaced. "Perhaps I sounded misleading. I meant it was desecration to the plains to leave a human body to rot, outsider or no."

"Oh." He smiled. "So why magic?"

Lyn shuddered inwardly as she recalled her talk with Miana again. "It would have taken too long otherwise. When I buried my people, I had planned to bury each of them. They would form a circle, to represent eternity. But I lacked the strength. I hardly was able to bury my parents, much less the entire tribe... So I laid them in a ditch and prayed over them. The bandits were somehow human, but I did not care about them like I did my tribe, so I wanted them... spirited away."

"I see. But I still believe you truly are the angel that Caelin needs in times like these. Not your corrupt granduncle."

"Sain, please do not compare me to an angel. The way I acted that day, when I saw that dead traveller man... I had lost all calm thinking, and I must apologize for that."

"Nonsense. It was understandable why you had reacted in such a fashion. I wonder now... do you love your enemies?"

Lyn looked at him skeptically, as though she could not believe the words she'd just heard. "Never. I have never heard of such a thing. I don't think I can even think about forgiving them, let alone loving them."

"I think you're wrong. You never like to kill anyone, not even bandits, and when you do you bury them. You are even more beautiful on the inside than you know."

This again? "I said it was for respect of the plains, not of those people. It's impossible to love your enemies," Lyn reiterated. Though perhaps on the inside, in some tucked up corner of her mind... No. Impossible. To love her enemies, the bandits who had destroyed her tribe, was to hate her tribe. Unthinkable. She could not love both. Never.

"Maybe," said Sain, unconvinced. "But I warn you now, as fellow human and justice bringer—" he leaned closer to her, looking into her eyes—"Do not become like the bandits that you seek to kill. If you must kill, do it with justice and sorrow in mind. Do not kill for revenge."

Lyn was taken aback at his solemnity; he spoke with the authority of her father, Hassar, the chieftain. She was not even awake he was capable of such a gravity. "I know," she said, unable to look into his eyes any further. "The difference between the bandits and myself is that they killed for their own selfish reasons. I didn't." Did it sound false to Sain's ears?

He believed her. "That is good," he said, a satisfied smile brimming on his lips. "I'll leave you be, milady," Sain said. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," said Lyn.

o-o-o

"Miana?" Somewhere in his mind Mark hoped she would not answer, so he could put this off for another day. But the majority of his mind had thought Do it today, now. It was the smarter thing to do.

Her tent quivered slightly, then she peeked her head out. "What do you want?"

"To talk."

She emerged from the tent, crossed her arms, and looked at him expectantly.

"Let's go somewhere more private," he mumbled. In silence they headed off, somewhere that was distant without straying too far from camp or the light of the campfire. Then he stopped and looked at her.

"I apologize," he said.

She blinked. "For what?" she said. She was going to drag this on for as long as possible, he knew.

"For always being wary of you. For getting angry over Kazza and taking it out on you."

She said nothing for the longest time. Then, "Are you waiting for something?"

He exhaled exasperatedly. "I have not the time, energy, nor the patience to speak to you if you are going to behave like this. Goodbye," and he walked away.

She dropped her arms. "Very well, I'll stop—come back," she called hastily, catching up to him.

They stood facing each other again. Mark said plainly, "I've admitted my wrongdoings. It is your turn."

"I don't forgive you yet," said Miana, whisper soft. "You first called me stupid. It may seem small to anybody else but you at least should've known better. You never tell a shaman or shamaness that they are lacking in knowledge. But I'll pretend like you didn't know better, for your sake."

It was true that he'd said it at the time with purpose, knowing it would be a deep blow to her. But he lost control of his emotions, just as every single human being is wont to do.

"If you hadn't said that," Miana continued, "I might have taken responsibility for your poor fox. But you did."

"You should take responsibility for those actions," he growled, only barely able to replace "crimes" with "actions".

"Why would I now? I've lost all respect for you."

Maybe she'll say something I can use against her. The sooner this is done with, the better off us both. "How?"

"Because of what you said to me. First, I was too stupid, and what was the next thing you said? Oh yes, 'Make someone else suffer while you get away'? That is untrue, and you ought to know that. Did I ever run away from you once? Use you or Lyn as a shield? Remember that I was never being chased in the first place, and I only said that to test you. And I see who you really are now."

"And what would that be?" He was not curious, merely seeking to keep her speaking.

"You're a coward," she spat. It was clear she had been waiting some time to say those words. "The way you just—" But her voice stopped dead in her throat, her cold, fierce front faltered, and suddenly she burst into tears.

"Miana!" Mark said in shock, he had not expected this either. His own anger abated. He stepped closer, and after a moment's doubtful thought, he chanced a small hug. She cried harder.

"I—just..." Miana blubbered, "I felt betrayed, Mark, when you did that." she said once the flow of tears stemmed and her voice steadied. "I always thought you were better than that."

"I am," Mark said, "aren't I?" It was a certainly strange thing to proclaim about oneself, but now was not the time to dwell on that. "I just lost control of my emotions then, that's all."

"Yeah..." she murmured, still not fully convinced. "I just... I felt so alone, when I first embarked on my trip to Sacae. It was crushing. And then one day I just saw you and Lyn, and all I knew next that we were adventuring off to someplace together. All this time I was worried you wouldn't want me anymore," now her voice turned bitter, "and I think I was right."

"But we do want you."

"'Make someone else suffer so you can get away?'" she quoted.

He sighed. "I'm sorry for that," he said. She said nothing.

He released her from the hug. "What is it?"

"Are you really?" Her tone was flat, disbelieving.

"Miana, I'm hurt," he said half-joking, half-serious, "how do you think that makes me feel?" When she said nothing again, he looked directly into her eyes.

"Miana," he said, firm but gentle. She had never heard his voice so soft before. It was almost unsettling. "I really am sorry, you should know. But why do you always have to be so pessimistic about everything?"

"Because," she said, "I'm afraid the truth is even worse."

"But it's not always," pressed Mark. "and you have to face it sooner or later. Sometimes the truth is bitter, but generally, it's preferable to always expecting the worst to happen."

"You're wrong. Disappointment is cruel. So if you always expect the worst to happen and it doesn't, you feel happy. And if it does, you'll be expecting it anyways."

"That is... naive thinking. Those are the words of one who has lost all hope. Even now, you try to convince yourself that this was going to turn out badly and that this was going to lead to nowhere." Her face betrayed her shock, and invigorated by his correct guessing, he pressed on. Reading her like a book, he said, "But somewhere, you were hoping it would end well. I think it has the potential to. But you have to take the risk. This isn't something that you can calculate or ask knowledge to help you with. You simply have to try."

"I never want feel disappointed like that again," she said. But her feet moved closer to Mark, as if her body was spiting her mind. "Mark," she said wearily, as if she had no more energy left, "I forgive you. And I apologize as well for my faults: for killing your companion, for not taking responsibility sooner, and for my slights against you."

"I forgive you. Now," Mark said, "I suggest we return back. Unless you have anything more you'd like to say now?"

She thought for a spell. "Well... I think," she said at last, "I never lost my respect for you."

Smiling, he returned to camp, Miana hurrying to catch up on her small legs.