Well, up to this point, it has all been exposition and rising action. Today, we hit the climax—in all its horrific glory. Welcome to the next 4 books of your life.

I'm not going to lie, 5,000 of these 7,000 words is filler that I made up to stall for time. I was seriously not looking forward to writing this… :(

But it certainly catches up on what Zeel and Annad have been up to in the last 18 years, so don't complain.

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Chapter 9: Autumn

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Rin hadn't been so quiet in nearly 20 years, as it was in the month that the trading party was gone. With so many large, loud personalities missing from the village, it was like a hush had fallen over the valley. The people almost didn't know what to do with themselves.

Rowan hadn't been sure what to do with himself, either. Somehow, the quiet felt like the calm before a storm. Something unexpected was about to happen. He had sensed it as soon as he had heard his daughter's last prophecy. Which was frustrating, because the sigil hadn't mentioned anything about change to him recently; it had only revealed its secret when Star had asked it.

That boded poorly for her, in his mind. It wasn't as if he had expected destiny to forget about her but… He had always hoped that destiny wouldn't place her center stage, or hunt her down, as it had hunted him.

His wife, mother, and remaining sister had all shaken their heads at his anxiety, told him to lighten up, and had gone about their own usual business, firmly suggesting that he do the same. It would give him something productive to focus on, to take his mind off fears that were probably pointless.

Going about his usual business had seemed nearly impossible, at first. Almost all of his business included Star in some way. For the first few hours, he had felt a little lost. Then, that evening, Zeel had pulled their nicest cups from a cabinet and filled them with her homemade honey mead.

"Cheer up, for the love of all things," she had insisted, shoving a cup into his hand. "You could kill someone with that frown."

She had filled the cups suspiciously full, far more so than usual. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Are you trying to drug me?"

"If by 'drug', you mean 'force a smile out of', then yes, that is exactly what I'm doing," she answered tartly. "Again, please cheer up. Just imagine—we have the house all to ourselves for the next month. We can do whatever we wish, without fear of anyone's children getting under our feet. Think of the possibilities!"

"What did you have in mind, exactly?"

"I have no idea yet. We shall decide as we go along, for we have all the time in the world to do so. It's almost refreshing, not having a plan. It's been a long time since I haven't had each and every day planned out."

Rowan had wondered briefly about her enthusiasm, and quickly understood. The last time she had been without a plan, they had been climbing the mountain, and the world was threatened with an eternal winter. The unknown had been dangerous and frustrating, then. This time, it was different. This time, having no plan was less a sentence than a liberation. It wasn't just that anything could happen—it was that they could make anything happen.

And he had to agree, that was an exciting idea.

"Well then," he had said, raising his cup, "I look forward to deciding along the way with you."

She had smiled back, raising her own cup in answer. "To adventures," she said.

"To plans," he had added, as they clinked the cups together.

"And to throwing them away," she had concluded.

And so had begun a month of freedom and lack of fore planning in their house. Many things had changed temporarily in their home. Dishes had started piling up over days, either until the sink was overflowing or there were no more plates or spoons to eat with, and one of them was forced to wash them.

Their supply of mead, which normally lasted a month or more, disappeared in the first week. By that point, they had spoiled themselves; Zeel had decided that making more was her most important priority.

"It takes a week to brew properly, though, so we shall have to buy some in the meantime," she had said, very disappointed. "What a shame. I don't care for anyone else's nearly as much as I care for mine. But I'm sure something will do, until my own brew is ready."

Rowan had also been disappointed. It was widely agreed that his wife made the best mead in the village. It was an age-old Traveler recipe—a wedding present from her adopted father—and she had sworn to keep it a secret. The brew was sweet, deceptively smooth, and very powerful. When he wasn't drinking it, himself, he prescribed it as medicine. It was strong enough to numb pain and cleanse wounds, and was also good for easing aches in the head and stomach.

They typically used it up slowly, and so a new batch was only made once every few months. When a new one was needed, Zeel usually doubled or even tripled the recipe, and sold it at the market. It was never surprising if she sold out within an hour, because her product was so coveted. Even the few people who despised her bought her mead religiously, hoping that if they tasted it enough, they could decode the secret recipe and make it for themselves. So far, their efforts had been fruitless.

Zeel was very proud that she could offer this to her husband's people. She drew a strong identity from honey, as all Travelers did. Honey was an amazing substance—it never spoiled, could be made from any flower, and had a myriad of uses. It was good to eat, on bread or cake, or in tea. It had antiseptic qualities, and the Travelers often used it to dress cuts and scrapes. It was easily added to soap, and helped keep hair and skin soft and smooth. She used honey for nearly everything, and it was frequently said that she spent more on the glorious golden liquid than on any other item in her home.

So far, Rowan hadn't found a reason to complain about this, and so he didn't. Not even when his neighbors commented that it seemed odd. Of course it seemed odd to them, he frequently thought. It wasn't how they had been raised, or how they lived. At any rate, he also appreciated how useful and wonderful honey was, though for an admittedly different reason. Because his dearest friend practically bathed in the stuff, she always smelled just like it. Even without honey-laden soap perfuming her hair and skin, he had always thought that she smelled just as sweet. It was part of who she was to him. In his mind, she had always smelled like fresh honey, warm sunshine, and sweet freedom.

It was common knowledge that they often ventured a short distance into the hills on pleasant evenings, and this continued with regularity. There were healing herbs that grew beyond the village which Rowan needed for his work, and some of them only ripened or blossomed in the damp and cool of the night; and Zeel usually went with him, to assist him and keep him company. They were normally never gone for very long, because they hated to leave their daughter alone. With her gone, however, it was easy to lose track of the time. There was nowhere in particular they needed to be. There were more and more nights when they simply walked for pleasure, wandering and talking into the late hours of the night, even lying in the grass and gazing at the brilliant heavens, as they had rarely been able to before.

Waking on time in the mornings following those nights was a pain, but well worth it.

They quickly began to wonder why they hadn't been letting Star go on these trips for years.

He had also spent an alarmingly considerable amount of time at the carpentry, looking after his sick friends. He had been optimistic before the trading party had left—after being ill for weeks, Shaaran had finally been recovering nicely from her cold. Then, all at once, her brother had caught her cold, and Bronden had caught it from him, after resisting it for nearly a month. They had all been optimistic about that, too; the two furniture makers were certain that their colds would pass in a day or two, in time to leave with the others.

That had not happened. When the trading party had left two days later, Norriss and Bronden were even worse, somehow. Again, they hadn't worried about it. They had insisted that would bounce back quickly, and catch up when they recovered. Surely, they had said, they were strong and healthy enough to shake off the cold after another day of bed rest.

That hadn't happened either, in spite of everything Rowan had done to heal them. The sickness had clung to them with an iron grip, no matter what he had done. They had both lain in bed for a week, racked with a nasty cough, runny noses, and a mild fever. There had been no possible way for them to make up for the time they had lost.

Finally, as suddenly as it had come over them, they had recovered. The fever had broken, and their coughing had eased. Over a night, it was like all sickness had vanished entirely from the carpentry. All three of them had jumped out of bed that following morning, healthy as horses, and deeply peeved to have missed going to the coast.

"I haven't been so ill since I was a small child," Bronden had commented, unusually thoughtful in her anger. "And I have rarely been ill at all since then. It all comes from being healthy and strong. This has been a strange thing… I sincerely hope that it doesn't happen again."

True to her practical nature, she chose not to dwell on it, and moved on with life. It was over now; and even though she had been unable to go on the trading trip, she was looking on the bright side. There was still plenty of work to be done around the carpentry, which wouldn't have to be put off for a month. She had pounced on the work with all her might, glad to have something productive to do.

All the same, Rowan could tell that his own thoughts were nagging at the back of her mind. The whole episode had been very strange in every way. It may not have been obvious from a distance, but there had been something almost supernatural about it.

Such an illness is easy enough to heal, he kept thinking to himself. I've cured it many times in the past, in only a few hours. And this bug has been making its rounds, lately; I'm sure that every family in the village has been stricken with it over the last few months. But the most severe cases lasted less than a week. Even the youngest, weakest of our children recovered in a few days, without the help of earthen magic.

So why did it attack here so suddenly? And why did it refuse to go away, in spite of all the magic I threw at it? There is only one answer for it, I fear. It was no mere cold that had gripped my friends. It was the hand of Fate, itself. I'm sure of it.

Why Fate would chose to clutch his friends so tightly, now of all times, was a terrifying mystery to him. Going on this year's trip to the coast had meant much to them, and it had meant much to him as well. Three extra pairs of eyes on his young daughter would have brought him great comfort. Especially when they belonged to people with so much sense.

Allun and Marlie meant well, and they loved Star with all their hearts; but they had serious work to do, and couldn't be everywhere at all times. And he didn't entirely trust Allun not to encourage her more adventurous side. Shaaran and Norriss, on the other hand, would have hardly let Star out of their sight. The girl would have been kept on a short leash if they had been with her. She would have been frustrated; but at least her father could have trusted that she wasn't getting herself in any trouble.

He didn't expect that she would deliberately go looking for trouble, of course, and she had promised that the bulk of her adventures would only go as far as the books in the library allowed. But Maris was a large town, and Star was a young girl with a short temper and little patience. There was plenty of trouble she could stumble into while no one was watching her, and it made him uneasy.

At any rate, all the news he received from the coast was good, at worst uninteresting. The Keeper checked in with him nearly every day with a report on the trading party's work. He also told him everything that Star was up to, and assured him that the girl was behaving herself perfectly.

Her prophecy has been fulfilled, he had reported one day, his voice whispering into Rowan's mind like rolling waves, as it always had. She has found her gleaming pen, at last. It seems that a fresh fighter's quill washed up in the tide, where she found it, picked it up, and carried it back with her. She has crafted a new pen from it, and is using it even now. It is just like old times, my friend. Ah, we might have known that it was as simple as it seemed.

Good old Doss, Rowan had thought when their connection had broken. He wants me to stop worrying, as he knows I do. Like me, he wants to believe that her prophecy was less than we both know it is. We had prayed that the solution would be simple, and here it is. But he can't fool me, and he knows it well. There's something he isn't telling me about this gleaming pen…

Oh, I shall think on it later. The Titan of Water can keep a secret as well the Titan of Earth; he is called Keeper, after all. The important thing is that the prophecy is fulfilled, and behind us for the time being. I will count that as a success, and leave it at that.

For now…

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Another couple of weeks had passed in this way, and life had marched on as it was. The valley had changed remarkably in that month. The leaves on every tree were all brilliant gold, deep scarlet, and rich brown. The air was growing chillier and chillier by the day. Another impressive harvest was being brought in from the fields, and the storehouse was filling with incredible speed. There was even talk of enlarging the building when spring came again, because this year it was officially too small to hold the whole harvest.

Many people saw autumn as a sort of ending, a fever of preparations before the inevitable end that winter was. The seasons were symbolic of life, in that way—birth in the springtime, life in the summertime, preparations in autumn, and death in winter. And then springtime would come again, and the cycle would repeat itself. Just as people did.

Rowan could understand that; but the busyness that always came with the changing leaves filled him with energy. There was life and beauty to be seen in all the seasons. And autumn had always held a special importance in his heart. His birthday was in the middle of autumn. The leaves had only begun to change, when he had been swept off into his first adventure, and again on his first trip to Maris. Watching his wife carry their child through the fall had been like bringing in a harvest of their very own.

There were a lot of beginnings to celebrate every autumn, and the season that followed held no fear for him, either. Since he had become the Titan, the cold of winter had come to feel less like a death and more like a period of rest. It was a time to gather strength for the coming year, to peacefully enjoy what had taken all the seasons before to prepare. Especially now, when winter was so blissfully short. To him, winter was now a time to be savored.

He had a feeling that it would be a good winter, too. He couldn't wait to spend those months studying the notes that Star would bring back from the coast. He looked forward to continuing her training; she seemed ready for a more advanced level of work with the sigil. He also looked forward to shorter days and longer nights—more time for blessed sleep, when he could best recover his magical strength. He would follow the bukshah to the mountain, up the secret stair, and survey its landmarks, as he had been doing for years. Now that he understood that the mountain and the Dragon had needs of their own, he was determined to look after them.

He was toying with the idea of letting Star accompany him this year. He normally went alone, as the journey was his task. It was one of the rare occasions when even Zeel left him his space. She had no real desire to be on the mountain again, and often wondered when he grew excited about the trip every year. It was a far cry from his sisters—especially curious Annad—who begged him every year to take them along.

The mountain was no place for curiosity. He had a sort of sway over it now, because the sigil had bonded with him. But it was still a dangerous place, full of mystery and long lost secrets waiting to be uncovered. Now that he had the power to do so, he felt that it was his rightful mission to uncover and reclaim them all. It was still a difficult and draining task, which required no small amount of caution.

Happily, he was the most cautious person in Rin. There was no one else in the village who could have done this work. Star was not particularly cautious, but she respected her father's work, and she respected the mountain as was proper. And who was better to chronicle his discoveries than his studious daughter, whose plan was to write down the world's miraculous facts?

Making the journey together would mean much to her, he thought. Though he didn't relish the thought of bringing it up with his wife. It was another thing they would disagree bitterly on. Zeel would surely stand against such an idea with all her strength, and there was sense in that. The mountain was no place for children. They had learned this through horrible experience.

But there is sense in my point of view, as well, he told himself. We will be equally matched in this argument, as we usually are. We will spend weeks fighting over it. No doubt she will banish me to couch in the common room for days; she did so last time we fought like this. I don't look forward to that… All the same, I will have to bring it up, sometime.

He resolved to save that string of arguments for another time. For the moment, life was too sweet to spoil with fighting and disagreements.

Early one afternoon, the voice of his far away brother whispered into his mind once again, bringing news he had been expecting for days.

The trading party has finished packing their things, said their farewells, and departed. The last of the wagons has trundled out of the town, and my place feels sadly empty for it. It has been a good and fruitful stay for us all. I hope your people manage to find just a little more room in their storehouse. A bounty is headed toward Rin.

And not just a bounty of goods, Rowan had answered, his own voice like the silent creeping of roots growing deep and deeper into the earth. The wealth of knowledge my Star is carrying home is considerable, as well. You said she is bringing back several books full of her notes.

She filled ten thick notebooks in all this time. I struggle to imagine which sad tomes she left untouched in our library, though she lamented about barely scratching its surface.

It will be far more than we have here, in any case. My people have been scornful of her work in the past, unable to see how useful her skills really are. When they see all the work she has done, perhaps they will think differently. That will please this father's heart greatly.

Your step-father's heart will also be greatly pleased. Alanis has done well on her own. My people seem to like and trust her, as they have trusted John in the past. She is young and still has much to learn, but she has the makings of a discerning trader and a fine leader. You should be proud of your little sister. And tell your mother that she should be proud, also. I can see clearly as the sun, the role of a man's little wife would suit the child poorly. Tell Jiller that the Keeper of the Crystal says so. Perhaps the word of two Titans will put an end to her worries.

What of the rest of my family? I can't imagine it was a tearful farewell, but Marlie has never been one for good-byes.

The Keeper laughed softly in his mind, like a wave breaking against a rock. No, it was not a tearful farewell, he agreed. But it was a long one. They dislike being apart for 11 months out of the year, when such fellowship thrives between them. It is not as easy for them as it is for us, who are never terribly far apart at all.

So, we shall be expecting them back in the next few days. That will please my people. And the traders will be pleased, also, to see the work we have done here.

This time, the Keeper's laugh was sharper, enough to feel as though sea spray and foam had splashed into his mind. So says the man with three days of unwashed dishes piling up in his kitchen sink. You should see to those at some point before your daughter returns.

Oh, hush, you. It's on my to-do list. And I mean to get to it before my wife does. We have much to discuss in the coming weeks, and I would prefer to be on her sweeter side.

I shall leave you to it, then. Perlain is coming, and I wish to speak with him; and I sense that someone is coming to see you, as well. Your feisty sister, if I am correct. And I usually am.

Tell him hello for me, Doss. And thank him for looking after Star. Let him know how much it means to us all.

As if I have not been giving him such tidings all month, but I shall repeat it all once again. Tell your own family that I say hello, as well.

His voice faded as suddenly as it had appeared, and was gone like a receding tide.

It's nice that we come and go from each other's minds so freely, Rowan thought as he went to the door to greet his sister. When it first happened, contacting each other took a great deal of concentration, and so we left it only for true moments of need. Now that we are both Titans, it's easy. That connection is still very special, because we had it before we quite realized who we were; and it was a clue that I should have taken better advantage of. I'm glad that we share it.

Which makes me wonder where Mithren has been, and why he hasn't spoken with us recently. He is normally as present in my mind as Doss is, and can come and go from us as easily as we can come and go from him. Yet we've only spoken with him once or twice in the last month. Where could he be, and what could he be up to?

I'll have to worry about him later, though. Annad is enough of a distraction for the time being….

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After Annad had left that afternoon, word of the trading party's return spread like wildfire. By the following afternoon, the whole village had been aware of it, and the people were buzzing with excitement. Life would soon be back to normal, and another year's worth of valuable goods would arrive to be bought and sold.

Word had not spread of what Annad had come to talk to her brother about, though. It was a secret she was wisely keeping as closely as she could, and was known to only a very small handful of people she trusted. Rowan wasn't sure if their mother even knew of it yet.

"I would be expecting a rather awkward question from Norriss in the next few weeks, if I were you," the woman had said vaguely. "Something to do with rings and white dresses and flowers, and possibly this coming summertime. Or perhaps he will mention next autumn. I don't think he's made up his mind just yet. In any case, it will be happening; so be prepared not to be angry with him, please."

Rowan wasn't sure what his sister had been expecting him to do, but his reaction seemed to have surprised her. "Well, finally," he had scoffed. "It's about time. This dance of yours has been exhausting. Thank you for coming to an agreement, at last."

Annad had stared at him flatly. "I said nothing," she had insisted.

"You said enough. And I'm not angry—in fact, I'm rather pleased. I have wagers to collect from several people, now. Including Bronden, who thinks she knows her apprentice so well. I'll collect enough to expand my garden, as I've been wanting to. Thank you, little sister, thank you so much."

The blonde woman had been in a huffy mood afterwards. But she had stayed for more than an hour, sharing news and a pot of tea with her brother and sister-in-law. In spite of her mood, she had been slow to finally leave their house and return to her own work. She was busy this season training a new, small class of youngsters, only five strong, and one of them was hardly strong at all. But she had equipped this one odd little girl with a dagger, and the child was showing a little skill at it. With time and training, Annad hoped the girl would be strong enough for a short sword, or perhaps a whip.

"If she grows to favor a whip, I shall have to send her to you, brother," she had said as she finally left. "I'm at home with blades of all kinds, but whips have always felt clumsy in my hands. Your strength has always been in your hands, and so the weapon has always suited you much better; it's the only weapon you've ever been great or even good with."

Rowan and Zeel had waved after her, glad that she enjoyed her work. Annad was a grown woman, closer now to thirty than twenty, and she lived an unusually unsettled adult life. She still lived with her parents, mostly; she insisted that it pleased her mother, and was good for her little sister for her to be so close by. Half the nights of the week, however, she ended up sleeping at her brother's house. It seemed to the people that she lived like a nomad, in and out of her family's attics, because she had no house of her own and no husband to provide one. And it didn't seem to bother her one speck. In fact, she almost seemed to revel in her freedom.

It was really just like her. She was taller and fiercer than she once was, but she hadn't changed a bit.

That had been four days earlier. In those four days, the husband and wife had been slowly tidying their house once again. Hopefully, once the floors were swept, and the stove was scrubbed clean, and the dishes were all washed, Star would come home and never realize that the house had fallen into such disarray. It wouldn't do for her to think that such a thing was permissible.

Now it was late in the evening of the fourth day. They had thought of journeying into the hills for one last late night of wandering, but had decided against it. Zeel had decided that the night was too chilly, and the journey would have been unpleasant for her. Also, she wished to start rising early again, and had a long list of things to do in the morning. And so they had instead shared some of her newly made mead, and gone to bed a little earlier than they had been. It was uneventful, but they were sure to be glad of it later.

"You seem tense," she commented as she curled up beside him. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I don't think so," he answered, raising his hand to touch the Earth sigil. "It's another day closer to seeing our daughter again. I'm just excited, I suppose."

She smiled and closed her eyes. "Then get to sleep, so another day can dawn and pass quickly. I'm excited, too."

Rowan wanted to sleep, but it wasn't coming easily for some reason. He briefly reflected on his life, and how it couldn't possibly be better. For all that he was a Titan with tremendous power, his life was settled and happy, more so than he had ever dreamed it could be. His daughter was on her way home. His wife was asleep at his side. His best friend and beloved sister were thinking to be married in the coming year. His village was alive and safe, and prosperous. His life was nearly perfect. The only thing that could have made it more perfect would have been having his father alive to see it all.

So what was keeping him awake? He felt worry clouding his mind for what seemed no reason at all. He gripped the sigil and closed his eyes.

Please tell me, my friend. What is coming? What is about to happen?

Instinctively, he braced himself for burning pain and whispered words, and the alarm it would cause his wife. He waited for long moments, but nothing happened. The medallion of gold remained cool in his hand, as ordinary and lifeless as a useless trinket.

Then it is nothing, he assured himself. If there was a real reason to be worried, the sigil would have told me so. I really am just excited to see Star, and there is nothing to fear. Nothing at all.

He forced the worry from his mind, forced himself to relax, so he could sleep. Life would go on in the morning, and he would need all the energy he could get.

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A sudden noise broke through his restful but dreamless sleep. Rowan's eyes flew open at once, though he remained utterly still in his bed. For a strange, sickening moment, it was like reliving the darkest parts of his adventures. Every muscle in his body reflexively tensed, braced for action. He strained to listen for sound, trying to hear the noise that had woken him.

The noise didn't come again, but with a start he realized what it had been. It was the jingling of a brass bell hung above the backdoor. During the day, it would have said that a patient, or perhaps a sister, had come to see him. During the latest hours of the night, it could only signal an intruder.

Beside him, Zeel was also tense. She was wide awake, urgently gripping his arm with one hand, and slowly reaching beneath her pillow with the other for the dagger she kept hidden there. He knew that she was listening just as intently as he was. And she was taking no chances.

A sharp creaking sound reached their ears. It was the sound of a loose floorboard, only yards from their bedroom door, being unwittingly stepped on and then backed off of in surprise.

Zeel's grip on his arm tightened.

"Someone is in the house," she whispered needlessly through gritted teeth.

"Be ready," he whispered back.

He felt more than saw her nod of agreement. They parted and slid out of their bed like shadows, not making a sound. She had pulled the long blade from under her pillow, casting its sheath aside so the metal glinted clearly in the dimness. He took up his whip, rarely ever used, coiled on the small table beside the bed. Armed and ready to face the frightening unknown together, they moved silently to the door.

Another door down the hallway was being opened—they could hear the hinges creaking slightly. They could hear muffled whispering, and the sound of that door being closed again. There were two or three intruders, at least. Rowan wondered furiously who they were, and what they could want.

Robbers, who believe me to be rich as well as odd, he decided grimly. Or perhaps a parcel of older children, on a dare from some of their friends. Well, it doesn't matter. It's been years since we've had to deal with ruffians like this, but we can do it again. I doubt they can surprise us.

We can surprise them, however. They don't know where we are yet; but we can easily guess where they are, even though the door is closed. There aren't many doors in this house, and very few places for so many people to hide. Whoever it is, we will catch them, for sure.

He was far from afraid. All the same, the intrusion was alarming. And for some reason, he felt dread creeping into his bones. Something was stirring in the air. Something menacing and terribly familiar. But he couldn't quite place the feeling, and it alarmed him even more.

They took their positions on either side of the closed door, flattening themselves against the wall and holding their weapons at the ready. A troop of soft footsteps was making its way down the hall. Another second or two, and the door would ease open. Any second….

The doorknob began to turn, cautiously slow. With the same slight creaking sound, the door began to open. Standing against the wall, they couldn't see who had opened it. The dark shape of a head and a broad pair of shoulders leaned into their view, just silhouetted by moonlight.

"Nothing here," whispered a voice, as the shape retreated.

"Then search the attic," came a gruff, whispered answer. "She is here. She must be. I can sense it."

That was as good a queue as any. As one, the husband and wife raised their weapons and spun out into the hall—directly into a battle they hadn't expected in the slightest.

The following minutes of fighting passed in a blur of twisting bodies, flashing blades, and darkness, which Rowan spent the rest of his life unable to make sense of. The attack they had stumbled into instantly made him aware of several things at once.

First of all, there were far more than two or three intruders; he could feel the swirling energies of at least ten strangers, all of them tall, armed, and somehow pulsing with unexplainable power.

Second, he was woefully outnumbered, and would certainly need magic if he was going to keep himself and his wife safe from these people.

Third, a sudden cry of pain, a triumphant shout from Zeel, and a door slamming shut somewhere down the hall.

And finally, a chill of pure terror, as he silently screamed to the sigil for help, and it gave no answer.

They spent what seemed an agonizingly long time battling the small army of invaders, trying their best to fend them off. But they had never stood a chance against so many. Rowan quickly felt two pairs of powerful arms take hold of his own, felt his whip yanked out of his hand, and found himself being dragged toward the backdoor. He struggled with all his might, but the hands that held him were far stronger than his own, and there was no hope of escaping them. Behind him, Zeel was also being dragged away, struggling just as vainly against her own captors.

"Quiet down," a woman's voice snarled in his ear. "Not another sound out of you, you hear me? We're not above slitting a few throats, if we have to."

Every instinct in his body ached to scream for help. The carpentry was only down the lane; surely, his friends would hear, and they would come. However, the instinct to protect his wife was overwhelming. People would look on it later as dreadful weakness of will. For now, with so many enemies pressed around him, he couldn't believe that a call for help would be worth the risk. He continued to struggle every step of the way, but he didn't make another sound.

"Zane, Rita, wait," someone commanded. "Not another step. If we let the Titan surround himself with raw earth, we won't stand a chance. Just take the woman outside. And someone get us some light, already."

Rowan was pulled to halt and then to the side, as his two captors—Zane and Rita—made way for Zeel to be hauled kicking and screaming outside. He could feel panic radiating off of her like heat, even though he could barely see her. He struggled desperately to reach for her, but he was held too tightly. She was ripped painfully from his reach. The terror was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

He abandoned his warning to be silent. "Let her go," he begged as loudly as he dared. "Whatever it is you want from us, I'll give it to you! Take me if you must—just let her go!"

A reddish-yellow light flared up, illuminating their attackers for the first time. Every one of them was tall and straight as a watchtower, all dressed in uniforms of steel gray and black. They were all dark-skinned and dark-haired, and might have been easily mistaken for Travelers…

If only for the black mark they all bore, running in a cruel streak from their hairlines to the tips of their noses. Rowan gaped at them in shock, his eyes widening in speechless horror.

Their attackers were all Zebak.

The closest to him was a man his own height, the gold emblem on his jacket marking him as a high-ranking officer, most likely the leader. His eyes were pale violet, and might have been quite beautiful if they hadn't been clouded by so many thoughts and emotions. Beside him, a slightly shorter woman stood at ridged attention, holding what looked like a blazing ball of fire in her left hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Rowan couldn't help but marvel briefly at this; but mainly, his horrified gaze was locked on the violet-eyed leader.

"There is nothing you can give us, now," the man stated plainly, almost unhappily. "We've already claimed what we came for."

His eyes flicked away, and he gave a slight nod. "Zane, deal with him."

"As you wish, Zamiel," came the grim, reluctant reply.

A splitting pain hit his head like a thunderbolt, and dots of light danced across his eyes. He felt himself falling to his knees. He heard his name being screamed, but it was already far distant. The world went dark once again, and he knew no more.