The Lost Gods

Book Five: Chaos

Nine gods ruled the world. The Dragons of the Three Storms. Sacred Zhar Ptitka. The Basilisk. The Faerie Queen and Guardians. Holy Licht.

Schatten has been sealed for a 1000 years, a land imprisoned by fate and fear and the cruel whim of Teufel, Shadow of the lost Licht. But one man has managed to breach the seal, bringing chaos to the land of order.

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To defeat Teufel, the Shadow of Licht, would take a person of Chaos. Someone who can change, who wills himself to change, and instead of succumbing to those who would instill Order - changes them.
~Zhar Ptitka

Prologue

"What's your name, boy?" The old healer asked gently as he finished washing his hands, drying them off on an old rag which he then laid neatly on an old, scuffed table. He looked the boy up and down.

He had to look up quite a bit, for all that the boy was young he didn't lack height. Must be halfway to adulthood, all that awkward gangliness, hunching his shoulders to hide his height, which had no doubt come sooner than the boy liked. He had shoulder-length hair that was so rich and deep a red it looked like a dark fire. As if the gods had that theme in mind when they molded the boy, his eyes burned dark amber, a rich orange-tinged yellow that made it hard to look away. With age the directness of that gaze would prove lethal. Right now they only looked scared.

Which he probably was. Because the boy, as hard as he was obviously trying, was obviously nobility. "Have you got a tongue, lad?" The healer teased gently, winking one old, pale blue eye. "I'm Master Faddey."

The boy nodded. "My…my old nurse talks about you. That's why I came. My name is…Sasha."

Faddey nodded. He doubted that was the boy's name, but it would do. "What can I do for you?"

"I thought maybe you could tell me what was wrong with me," Sasha said. Faddey was struck by something he had not noticed before, too taken by the boy's appearance.

He wasn't moving. Not twitching or shifting, fidgeting or looking anxiously around. He held perfectly still, calm and patient despite the anxiety written so plainly in his face. If he kept that poise throughout his life, combined with his looks and obvious breeding - the boy would go far.

On top of the rest, 'Sasha' was obviously intelligent. If he was fifteen, or close, and Faddey figured that was about his age, and was aware enough to know that to go to a classier healer would be to tell his secret to everyone, then obviously he had brains on top of everything else.

Faddey was intrigued, but he put his curiosity aside to deal with what mattered. "Well, come on in and tell me what's wrong, eh? Would you like some tea?"

Sasha hesitated, obviously faltering.

"I'll put some on," Faddey said with a smile. He motioned the boy to the old chairs and table at the back of his small cabin. "Sugar? I've got a bit of cream left, I think…"

"Plain, please," Sasha said quietly, sitting as still as he'd stood before.

Faddey nodded and took the opposite seat, waiting for the water to heat. "So what's troubling you, Sasha? It must be bad, if you've come all the way out here. Surely someone back in the capital will be missing you."

Sasha shook his head, seemingly unfazed that Faddey had obviously figured out what Sasha was struggling to hide. "I go out riding all the time. They won't miss me until well after dark."

"Then tell me what's wrong."

"I feel weak all the time," Sasha said quietly, eyes fastened on Faddey, gaze steady, unfaltering. "No matter what I do. I exercise, I don't eat rich foods, and I avoid the strong drink my friends are always stealing from their parents. It doesn't seem to matter - always I feel tired, strained. Sometimes my chest feels strange, like my heart is struggling."

Faddey frowned. He'd expected something of the sort young boys always got upset over, something that even this remarkably composed boy would find embarrassing. This however…this sounded like a problem. Standing up, Faddey moved to Sasha and motioned for him to stand. "Open your shirt lad."

Nodding, Sasha obeyed. When he'd bared his chest, Faddey placed the palm of his hand over Sasha's heart, letting his eyes fall closed, listening and feeling as his mother had taught him so many years ago he no longer bothered to count them.

Wrong.

The rhythm wasn't true.

"Tell me, lad, did your mother have troubles with you as a baby?" Faddey dropped his hand and moved to make the tea, setting a chipped mug full of black tea in front of Sasha once the boy had reassembled his clothes and taken his seat again.

"She complained I was weak and slow," Sasha said, and though he still did not move, his tone of voice changed ever so slightly, a hint of pain slipping into it.

Faddey nodded. "You've a weak heart, I think. Mayhap it's too small for your body. If you've been doing things all boys your age do and haven't felt more than tired, I think you'll be all right, lad. But don't push yourself too hard, hear me? Nothing too strenuous - you're fine now, because you're young. As you get older, it'll get harder. Take it easy on the hunting…" Faddey paused. "As well as the swordplay. No doubt you're doing marksmanship as well. That should be all right. But too much stress and you'll wind up worse than tired and weak."

The boy nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help it?"

"You can be careful," Faddey said, trying to make it clear to a young, active boy that being active was the worst thing for him. "If it gets too bad, boy, you come back to me. I've got powders I can give you to help it, but they can be dangerous. When the pain starts, or you get to be too tired, you come to me. Otherwise, cut back the hunting and swordplay."

"Yes, sir," Sasha replied. "Thank you for the tea, and the advice."

Faddey smiled. "You're welcome, lad."

"What do I owe you?"

Tea and talking wasn't anything to charge for, not really, but Faddey could see pride in those eyes. "A silver, lad."

"Yes, sir," Sasha said and stood, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a single silver piece. "Have a good day."

"And you lad - take it easy on that ride home. If you ever cause that heart too much strain, you'll fall over dead. A boy like you? Will be a great man someday, even these old eyes can see that. Take care of your heart."

"I will. Thank you again." Sasha retrieved his cloak from the hook where Faddey had bid him hang it, tugging up the hood before slipping outside into the fading evening light.

Nine Gods created the world.

The Dragons of the Three Storms, gods of wind and water, closest to chaos.

The Firebird, god of fire and rebirth.

The Basilisk, god of stone and death.

The Faerie Queen and Guardians, gods of earth and life.

Licht, god of light, closest to order.

When the world was created, the gods looked upon what they had wrought and could not bear to be apart from it. So, rather than remain aloft with the full power of their divinity, the nine gods gave up the greater part of their power and chose to live among their children.

They descended to live among their creations, demi-gods rather than beings of full power and divinity. This made them prone to the same weaknesses and faults as the beings they had created, tempered only by their age and wisdom.

So the gods lived, for centuries upon centuries.

Over time, however, the happiness began to fade.

Licht, God of Light, closest to order, looked upon the pain and suffering that leaving his children to make their own decisions caused. Time and again he tried to guide them, set their path, to ease the hard lives they made for themselves.

Despair turned to bitterness, turned to hate, and Licht descended into desperate madness. When his brothers would not listen, Licht took things into his own hands and attempted to set the world upon the path of Order, to reduce the suffering of his children.

His brothers slew him, and Licht vanished from the world.

In rage and blind hate, Teufel, the beloved and sacred Shadow of Licht, spread Licht's feelings across the world on binding threads of fate, forcing the world onto a path of dark destiny.

So the gods and their creations fell victim, unable to escape the wrath of Teufel.

In the Land of Storms, a priest grew envious of the love bestowed by a dragon upon his brother and the position of power and trust that love brought with it. In that envy he killed his brother and bound the Storm Dragons, stealing their power and making himself ruler in their place.

In the Land of Fire, the people rose up against the callousness of their Sacred Firebird, first using and then slaughtering his priests before breaking their god into a thousand pieces, that he might never return to rule over them again.

Deep in the Land of Stone, the people emerged from the destruction that had altered the landscape of their country forever to find that their god, the Basilisk, lord of Death, had killed himself for reasons unknown. In the dark of his cavern temple they buried him, and carried on ever wondering if his death had been to save them, or because he had been trying to destroy them.

Far away in the mountainous lands of the Faerie Queen and Guardians, the people waited in vain for their gods to save them from the destruction and terror descending upon the world, only to discover that their beloved gods had, in the middle of a sacred Ceremony, slain one another and forced the land of Verde into a cycle of unending tragedy.

Sealing the Land of Light off from the rest of the world, Teufel inflicted his rage and hate upon the people for whom Licht had tried to do so much, for whom he had risked everything only to be slain by his brothers. The Land of Light became the Land of Shadow, its people locked into a life of terror and agony, trapped in the dark for as long Teufel exists to inflict his bitter hate upon them.

Part One

Without light, shadows are nothing more than darkness
~Words of Licht

One

"It's cold out here."

"It's snowing."

"Yes, I noticed."

"Hey, you started stating the obvious first."

"Shut up, Stefan."

Laughing, Stefan reached out and lightly cuffed his companion upside the head. "Come on, Killian, you've dealt with worse than this."

"I didn't like that either," Killian grumbled. "How much further, you think?"

Stefan shrugged. "Not too much. I recognize this hill, yeah? Village should be two more over." He laughed and suddenly bolted up the hill, more leaping than walking as he fought the deep drifts. "Come on, slow po-" He abruptly halted and stumbled back, losing his balance and toppling back down the hill.

Killian snorted. "You look like a giant snow ball."

"Quiet!" Stefan hissed. "I saw a baby Sent."

Abruptly Killian shut his mouth and knelt beside Stefan. Neither made any move to brush the snow off him, both holding absolutely still as they waited to see if they would live or die.

With larger Sentinels, running away was sometimes possible. Adults and some of the older teens preferred food that was easier to catch, and didn't bother hunting down straying people if they were moving too fast.

Babies and children though…they liked the chase. Playing. The only way to avoid them was to hold still until they grew bored.

Stefan finally released a pent up breath. "I think we're good - but keep close and a sharp eye out. Let's move quick, yeah?"

"Yeah," Killian said quietly. He was only just recently turned fifteen but his eyes were as old as those of the village elders - all but the youngest children had eyes like that. Stefan was only eighteen and most days he felt like the village elders must feel.

Especially times like these, when they had to risk a journey to the neighboring village in hopes they had the medicine the Chief's wife needed. If not…

Well, then that was the way fate intended things to be. The Will of Teufel.

Briskly Stefan stood up and began to shake snow from his heavy winter cloak, his pants and tunic. Resettling his snow shoes, he made his way clumsily back up the hill and retrieved the scarf - thankfully not wet, it was just too cold - that he'd had wrapped around his head to help fight off the worst of the chill. "Come on, hurry up. You're so slow!"

Killian snorted softly but obediently followed along as they crested the hill and two more before finally spilling down into the little valley where the village of Swallowtail lay. Smoke curled from chimneys, the smell of wood smoke mingling with the sharp bite of winter, the wind carrying hints of roast and stew.

Stefan's stomach growled. "Oh, I hope they're willing to share."

"They always share," Killian replied, rolling his eyes. "Especially with you."

"Yeah, yeah," Stefan said, making a face. The women loved pinching his cheeks and stuff, even though he was way too old for that now. "Let's go." He began to trudge his way down the hill and across the small field to the gate entrance.

"Hail!" the town sentry called, waving as they approached. He beamed as the boys drew close. "I thought I recognized you, Stefan. Killian, I see he conned you into coming along. What brings the two of you here on such a miserable day?"

Stefan grinned. "Adam, hail! It's cold enough to freeze the balls off a Sent, eh?"

Killian rolled his eyes. "We're here for medicine - hoping you had some shade tonic or the makings of it."

"Shade tonic?" Adam repeated, his levity fading. "Ach, lads. Who got bitten?"

"Maja," Stefan said grimly. "She was out getting wood. There was a newborn hiding in it, probably chasing after the cats…"

Adam nodded and motioned them inside. "Speak with Kora," he said, meaning the wife of the Chief of Swallowtail. "Even if we don't have it, you both could use something hot and filling."

"Thanks, Adam," Stefan said with a smile. "Come on, Killian." Grabbing his wrist, Stefan dragged the younger boy into the village and all the way to the far end - stopping to chat here and there, waving and smiling, showing none of their anxiety. At the far end of the village was the Chief's house, his wife - delicate looking but Stefan knew she had an iron core - waiting in the doorway. "Kora!"

She kissed their cheeks as they drew up. "Stefan. Killian. Always good to see you, lads. Come in, come in. You look frozen near to death. It's too cold for boys to be traveling. Whatever was Reimund thinking?" Reimund was the Chief of Stefan's village, Oak Hill.

Bustling them inside, she immediately started helping them strip out of their heavy, sodden winter gear, hanging it all up on hooks by the fire, setting their boots close by before urging them to do the same. Stefan obeyed, unbuckling his sword and looping the belt over the back of a chair before sitting down before the fire.

Before Stefan could begin to answer her barrage of questions, half a dozen men came spilling into the cabin, talking and grumbling, shaking snow everywhere as Kora shrieked in outrage. "Ewald. I just cleaned these floors, you miscreant! Are you aiming to sleep with the horses tonight?"

"Of course not, my dove," Ewald said with a grin as he kissed his wife's cheek. "Something smells wonderful."

Kora sniffed and started ordering the men on where to put their things, then shuffled them off to the fireplace.

"Stefan!" Ewald crowed. "I heard a rumor you and Killian were here. What brings you here? The snow is treacherous and I've seen more than a few baby Sents out to play."

Ewald and his companions were all much alike, built for the hard life that came with living at the base of the Haunted Mountain. Their faces were all but hidden behind thick beards, melting snow and ice beading in them, shining in the light of the fire. All of them had violet eyes, though they ranged in shade from Ewald's dark violet to his own pale lavender.

Stefan envied them their massive builds, the sheer mass. He wasn't skinny, his shoulders were broad and he was finally filling out - but he'd always be slender compared to the majority of the mountain folk. For whatever reason, he simply did not have their bulk. It chafed, because he was finally eighteen - a proper adult - and still everyone treated him like a kid.

He broke from his thoughts as Kora pressed a bowl into his hands. "Venison," she said with a smile, then handed him a small roll stuffed with bits of dried apple. "Eat up; it's going to be a hard walk back."

"Aye," Ewald agreed, looking them over critically. Stefan tried to keep nonchalant, but he really hated the way everyone treated him for not being as large as the rest. By the time Ewald was his age, so it was said, he already had most of his bear-like build. Stefan had height, he was one of the tallest in his village…but he still felt like a twig. "Mayhap you boys should spend the night, leave in the morning. Temperature is going to keep dropping; it'll be a might warmer tomorrow."

Kora clucked as she fed her husband and the other men - the Chief's assistants, advisors. If they were all piling in here, they must have been out scouting or dealing with some problem that would have to be further discussed.

Stefan wondered if he'd be kicked out like a kid. Swallowtail business wasn't his, but if the problem was one that could spill over to Oak Hill then he and Killian should by all rights be allowed to listen in.

"Why are you here, lads?"

"Maja was bitten by a newborn Sent," Stefan said, staring at his bowl of venison stew. "Happened early this morning when she went to fetch more firewood."

Kora drew a sharp breath and drew her fingers to form a star over her heart in the ancient symbol of Licht. "Mercy of the lost light," she said. "Not poor Maja. At least it is a newborn; the poison will take weeks…" She turned abruptly away and bustled off to get more food and hot ale.

No one stopped or asked if she was okay. Kora and Maja were cousins, had grown up together in the fields of Swallowtail.

"We came hoping you had some shade tonic, or the makings of it," Stefan said quietly.

Ewald set his tankard down. "Ach, lad. I wish we did. Whole crop of night roses went sour though. We used the last of what we had just last week."

Stefan nodded, swallowing hard. It was the usual case; they'd known it was a long shot. Night roses were notoriously hard to grow - harder still to find in the wild because Sentinels hated the things and destroyed them whenever they found a patch.

Even thinking about Sentinels made him feel colder than the worst winter ever could.

Sentinels were the fearsome watchdogs of Lord Teufel. Wild shadow wyverns that began life as newborns equal in size to a full grown snake. Babies grew to be up to twenty feet long, scales dark and glistening, as though carved from black ice. Adolescents acquired legs and the nubs that would eventually become the great and terrible wings of adult Sentinels.

Most of the time, newborns to adolescents were all villagers had to contend with. That was more than enough - that young, the poison Sentinels generally preferred to use was slow acting but incredibly painful. Intended the keep the victim still while the Sentinel devoured it slowly.

Adults seldom used their poison - they had claws and teeth and a handful of other nasty tricks that were infinitely more amusing than poison. No one had encountered an adult and lived to tell the tale in a long time.

Stefan's parents hadn't. His was only one of many such tales, though.

"Ah, well," he finally said. "We knew it was probably no good, but we had to try anyway."

A grizzled older man sitting next to Ewald stroked his beard in thought. "Deer Run might have some to offer - I know they're usually better able to guard such things, and that one lad has a talent for growing finicky plants."

"Too dangerous this time of year," Ewald said firmly.

Sentinels loved the cold - it didn't bother them but made their prey slower and weaker. Deer Run was a larger village about five days away, meaning it would be ten days, if not more, total. The poison of newborns usually took about three to four weeks to work, so it was possible… "We could do it," he said. "Assuming we could get supplies, but that would only be a quick trip home, then off again. By morning we'd be on our wa-"

"No," Ewald cut in. "Far too dangerous. The last time scouts were out that way, they found the tracks of at least two adults."

The man beside Ewald snorted. "Yes, and what did we find not five hours ago?"

"Be quiet," Ewald hissed. "For all we know those two could have killed each other."

Another man scoffed. "Come off it. Those were sword marks. Something cut right through the scales. That's not Sentinel work. They kill everything except each other."

"It's been known to happen," Ewald said coldly.

Stefan exchanged a look with Killian, who shook his head in confusion and went back to his stew.

"What happened?" Stefan asked. "Is something wrong?"

The men fell silent.

"What?" Stefan repeated.

"We're not sure, lad," Ewald finally replied, looking discomfited - something Stefan could not ever remember the Chief of Swallowtail being. "Looks like a couple of adults killed each other."

"They were at least a mile apart!" One of the men snapped. "Come off it, Ewald. This isn't like you. You know what happened, just say it!'

Ewald glared. "I won't say it because it's impossible. No one could kill an adult Sentinel with just a blade. If it were possible, don't you think we'd have fewer men and women buried in our graveyards after falling victim? Six good swordsmen I've lost in the last eight years! No man could have killed two adult sentinels. They must have killed each other."

The men fell to muttering, and Stefan could catch no more than the occasional word - 'rumor' and 'heard of this in Black Hill'.

"Someone is killing Sentinels? That's impossible."

"Ay, lad," Ewald said, nodding approvingly. "That's what I've trying to tell these idiots. They listen to too much wives' gossip and peddler talk."

"Oh, really?" Kora asked, planting her hands on her hips.

Ewald smiled at her. "My wife speaks only truth and wisdom."

"See that you remember it," she said tartly, refilling his ale before taking Stefan's bowl and ladling in more stew. "Eat, you. Need to put more meat on those bones…though you are shaping up plenty handsome as you are…" She patted his cheek fondly and went back to work, humming softly.

Stefan flushed and ate in an effort to drown his mortification as the men all chuckled. "So what happened to the Sentinels, exactly?" he asked in a desperate attempt to get the conversation away from him.

Ewald grimaced. "Strangest thing I ever saw."

The man beside him snorted. "You're going senile. Strange, nothing. It was sword work." He looked at Stefan. "Someone cut the Sent up good. Sliced right through the scales. Looks like he bled it out a bit before finally getting to its throat." He made a slicing motion right beneath his jaw. "The field is soaked in blood - just beyond the creek. We found a second one a mile more up the way. Killed same as the first."

"Impossible," Killian said flatly. "No sword can hack through adult scales. They're harder than stone or steel. Harder than Stefan's head."

"Ach!" Stefan protested, and pretended to upend his soup bowl over Killian's head as the men laughed. "So what really did it?"

"No idea," another man said. "Heard rumors of similar happenings a couple of villages over, when a peddler came through here a few weeks ago."

The man closest to Stefan shifted restlessly in his seat. "They say some wild thing with fiery hair, drenched in Sent blood, passed through asking for food and supplies, over yonder in Black Hill."

"Rumors," Ewald said curtly. "Darkness of winter going straight to the heads of fools. No one can kill a Sent with just a sword. Especially not by himself. I thought I had wise men helping me, not idiots who listen to winter tales spun by cabin fevers."

Grumbling, the men nevertheless subsided into silence, the cabin filled only with the sounds of eating, the clinking and scuffling as Kora tided up.

"You boys should stay the night, head back in the morning," Kora said when they were done eating. "Bed down here."

Stefan shook his head. "We're going to Deer Run,' he said. "So we'll have to head back tonight to make ready for the trip. We can't waste any more time than necessary - thank you for the food and chance to warm up, though."

"You're not going to Deer Run. It's too far and too dangerous. I would say you were stupid to come here this time of year, but I can hardly fault your reasons. Maja wouldn't want you risking yourselves, and what will the village do if they wind up short two strong boys when it comes time for planting and harvesting?"

"We'll be back in time," Stefan said stubbornly, flushing at being called a boy. He'd killed Sents - only a couple of babies, but still. He'd watched people die from Sent venom. Why did everyone insist on treating him like a kid? "I've gone to Deer Run dozens of times." In the summer, when it was safest. Still, he knew how to travel through snow and ice, and how to avoid Sents. Killian too. That was why they'd been the ones to go to Swallowtail for the medicine.

Ewald snorted. "I said no."

"You're not my Chief," Stefan said quietly, hating to be defiant because Ewald and Kora were always so good to him, everyone was even though he never really did anything to deserve it. "I can't just give up; Maja's been like a mother to me."

The group fell silent at that. Everyone loved Maja; that she'd practically raised Stefan was much of the reason everyone also loved him, or at least it seemed to him.

"It's a dangerous journey," Ewald said heavily when he finally spoke again. "We can give you supplies, and I wish I could send-"

"No," Killian said. "We'll be fine. Stefan and I always work together. We're fast, even in the cold. Stefan knows all the safe spots."

Ewald sighed and nodded. "All right. We'll supply you and send someone to Oak Hill to tell them what you're doing. Just…come back alive, lads. Too many are dead already, and the grief will kill Maja faster than the venom could."

"We'll be careful," Stefan said. "I don't play with Sents." Usually, the phrase was a way of saying 'I'm not stupid' but here it also was meant to be taken quite literally. "It's five days there, if we travel hard. The same back."

"Get as much of the shade tonic as you can," Ewald said. "We'll give you goods to trade for it, aye? Now - have a slice of that wonderful pie my wife is cutting up and we'll get everything together for you. Should be a few hours of daylight left, that'll take you to the first stopping point."

The first safe spot was a cave that Swallowtail and Oak Hill kept ruthlessly clear of critters and anything that might draw a Sentinel.

Stefan wolfed down the cherry pie Kora gave him. "You make the best pie in the country, Kora. Honest."

"I bet you say the same thing to all the women who feed you," Kora said with a wink. "Thanks all the same."

"Do not," Stefan said, grinning as he stood up and began the laborious process of putting on his winter gear - layers upon layers, all of it then followed by his heavy cloak, the wrap for his head and face as extra buffering against the wind. "C'mon, Killian."

"Coming, master," Killian retorted.

Ignoring him, Stefan accepted the packs handed to him and nodded obediently at the advice of the group of men.

Kora came up and hugged them both, tugging affectionately at a stray bit of Stefan's short hair. "You boys take care. We don't want to read your rites for another hundred years, understand?"

"We'll be back in two weeks," Stefan said, then led the way out before he could be halted. Daylight was wasting. This late in the year, dark fell hard and fast. Outside, he strapped on his snow shoes and led the way back through the village, calling a farewell to Adam before they turned northeast, away from home and toward the distant Deer Run.

Two and a half hours later he was sorely wishing the trip wasn't so necessary - for Maja he would do anything, of course, but he wished she'd gotten bitten in the summer.

At least it was quiet. Stifling a yawn, Stefan settled his pack again and trudged onward, too tired to feel like starting up a conversation.

He heard the crunch of something heavy walking in the snow, but his tired mind caught on too late - it was only the cold slice of fear that ran down his spine that tipped him to the presence.

Killian hissed in panic at the same time, and they scrambled for cover - far too late.

"We should have been paying attention," Killian said.

Stefan nodded in agreement. "Didn't even make it to the first safe spot. Depressing." He hugged Killian tight as the adult Sentinel appeared at the top of the rise they'd recently come down themselves like the monstrous shadow it was.

Its wings were folded to resist the chill wind that blew, its midnight scales glistening in the weak light of the setting sun. Fear racked Stefan's body, an effect of being so close to the terrible Sentinel. Its eyes were dark pools; on closer inspection they were supposed to be violet but anyone who could confirm that never lived to do so.

The Sentinel's breath steamed in the chill air as it slinked toward them.

"We have to run, Stefan."

"Yeah," Stefan replied. Neither moved. The fear induced by Sentinels was too strong. Besides, it looked hungry. That meant it would probably chase if they did try to flee. Often, adults preferred not to have to chase - most of the time they didn't need to - but if they were hungry enough, they would.

On top of that… "Besides, where would we run? Canyon, remember? Safe spot is back in the hollow at the end of it. Right now we either learn to fly or bolt for the safe spot - and we'll never make it that far before he gets us. Darkness take it! We should have been paying more attention!"

He tried to still his shaking as the Sentinel drew close, feeling every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He let go of Killian to draw his sword - stupid, pointless, but he wouldn't just stand here and let it eat him; his parents had gone down fighting and so-

Crack.

The sound jolted through him.

Crack.

The Sentinel roared with pain and whipped around - only to rear back, screaming in pain as blood poured from its nose at the fall of another crack.

Stefan stared wide-eyed.

A man stood behind the Sentinel, though now it faced him. He was tall, so tall Stefan felt short and he'd always been proud of his five ten stature. Slender, even beneath his cumbersome clothes - which still weren't as cumbersome as what Stefan and Killian wore.

His arm lashed out, and something long and sinuous and snakelike caught Stefan's eye - then that crack sound filled the air again. The Sentinel again snarled in pain and threw itself in a rage at the tall figure.

"What-who is that?" Killian demanded. "What is he doing? Is he mad?"

Stefan didn't reply, too captivated by what was happening. Distantly he noted Killian was dragging them to safety, but he wouldn't let himself be taken completely away. He wanted to see…

The stranger showed no fear as the Sentinel bore down upon him, merely lunging away and Stefan though he laughed as the Sentinel's head wound up buried in snow. Steel flashed in the fading sunlight and suddenly dark, black-red blood splashed across the snow. Roaring in a pure, mindless rage that made Stefan shake with fear, the Sentinel attacked again, massive claws glinting, wings snapping before settling close to its back again. The tail moved like a blur, but met only with another of those sharp cracks and more blood poured upon the snow.

Still more, as the stranger bolted around the Sentinel, always just ahead of it, sword nothing but a flash as he sliced another wound.

Sliced right through the scales. Looks like he bled it out a bit before finally getting to its throat.

Were…were the rumors true?

The Sentinel's tail moved again, and this time the man didn't quite dodge it, but went down hard in the snow, his cloak flying the other way. Curses filled the field, but the wind snatched away the actual words, leaving only the angry sounds.

Stefan gasped as the man stood up and started running to dodge the Sentinel's next attack.

Red. His hair was red. Stefan hadn't known hair could be that color. It was like…fire. Not bright, but like the deepest flames that came when a fire was settled, crackling steadily, warm and comforting. It spilled across his shoulders, sticking where the snow had melted into it. More curses spilled into the field as the man shifted his grip on his sword, bracing himself as the Sentinel came at him, steel clashing against teeth before metal flashed again and black-red blood poured with the strength of a small waterfall from the Sent's throat.

Roaring in anger and disbelief, the Sentinel reared its head up, thrashing back and forth, raining blood down upon the field, smearing the white with its thick, dark blood.

The stranger seemed oblivious to the screaming and falling blood, merely carefully dodging the claws and thrashing head to duck beneath the Sentinel, his movement barely discernable as he sliced open the Sentinel's gut before quickly sprinting away. Moving at a dead run, he snatched up his cloak and then went back up the hill from which Stefan assumed he'd come.

He turned around briefly, eyes landing on Stefan and Killian, then as suddenly as he'd come the stranger was gone.

 

Two

"He-he-he killed a Sentinel! An adult Sent. How did he do that?" Killian sounded almost offended.

Stefan snorted in amusement, though only distantly. He was still too awed by the fight, the stranger. He'd made it look so easy…no one had ever killed an adult. No sword could cut through the hard scales…yet the stranger's had sliced through as though the scales were nothing but flesh. What was the strange other thing he'd used? "Who was that?" he finally asked.

"Oh, you sound like the girls when they talk about Lambert after a hunt," Killian said in disgust. He clasped his hands and made a show of batting his eyes as he spoke in a breathless, adoring tone. "Oh, Lambert. What a fine kill. However did you do it? You're such a magnificent hunter."

"Shut up!" Stefan said hotly, feeling his cheeks burn. "I do not! When was the last time you saw someone kill an adult Sent? Never! It isn't done! No sword should be able to do that, never mind that other thing he had. Darkness take it, everyone has tried. It never works. How did he do it?"

Killian frowned. "Yeah, what was that strange weapon he had? Nothing like it here, though it sort of reminds me of the herding crops the farmers use."

"Yeah, now that you mention it…" Stefan frowned up at the hill. "I wonder where he went…do you suppose he went to Swallowtail?"

"Ugh, you really do sound like the girls." Killian stood up and brushed snow from his clothes. "Come on, you can go starry over your new love after we get to safety."

Stefan glared. "Shut up!" he hissed. "I am not going starry! We barely saw him!"

"Whatever. Wipe the drool off your face." Killian smirked. "Is this why I've gotten more kisses than you?" He turned and started walking away from their hiding spot and further down the canyon toward the safe spot.

"You have not!" Stefan bellowed, feeling stupid for fighting with a fifteen year-old when he was eighteen. Feeling dumber because it was probably true. All the girls, even a couple of the older ones, thought Killian was the most handsome thing ever.

"Five kisses as of yesterday. How many do you have, hmm?" Killian asked.

Stefan flushed. "Shut up," he muttered.

Killian snickered and jabbed him in the ribs - or tried. Through the layers of fabric, Stefan barely felt it. "Maybe you should ask Mr. Hair's on Fire for your first kiss, hmm?" He clasped his hands and spoke as he had earlier. "Oh, Mr. Hair's on Fire, you looked so big and strong killing that Senti-Oof!"

"Stop it!" Stefan howled, scooping up snow to throw it on Killian as he struggled to get up from the bank into which Stefan had shoved him. He turned and ran as Killian bellowed in outrage, bolting for the safe spot that wasn't more than a dozen yards away.

Killian tackled him just shy of it, the two going down in a fit of laughter, wrestling and tumbling in the snow.

"Come on, we're going to freeze to death," Stefan said at last. "Maja will kill me if I get her precious little Killian frostbitten."

Snorting, Killian obeyed and clambered up, leading the way down the narrow tunnel of rock that led to a cave well stocked with food, fire stuffs, and other necessaries. "I'll get a fire going," he said. "You get out the furs and food."

"Yes, master," Stefan retorted, but cheerfully obeyed, stripping out of his wet clothes and hanging them on special racks made for just that purpose, shivering a bit as he opened up a chest and dragged out heavy furs and quilts, laying them out before going to another chest and pulling out dried fruit, jerky, and a special flat bread. He sat down on the blankets and sighed. "Nice fire."

Killian sniffed. "Of course it is. I'm the best fire builder in the village." He grinned. "That's how I got kisses two and five."

Stefan rolled his eyes, refusing to be goaded. So a fifteen year old was better at that sort of thing than him. Whatever. Kisses and all the rest weren't that big a deal anyway, right? "Here, eat so you'll shut up."

Silence fell for a few minutes. "So how do you think he did it?" Stefan finally asked.

Killian rolled his eyes. "If we ever see him again, we'll have to ask. Otherwise, who knows? Maybe we were seeing things. I've never heard of men with fire for hair or swords that could cut through Sentinel scales."

"He did not have fire for hair, you dim-brains. It was just the color of fire."

"Oh, my mistake," Killian said. "I really thought he had fire for hair. You're the dim-brains. The love struck dim-brains."

"Am not," Stefan muttered. "We barely saw him. How many times do I have to say it? I was just stunned that he made killing that adult Sent look so easy…" He trailed off, recalling the memories of the fight to mind, the effortless way the man had moved - even after being knocked down. The Sent had been right there, its jaws blocked only by a sword and the man's strength and the man hadn't hesitated - just pulled a knife and slit its throat.

Like the Sent was nothing.

Killian chortled softly and poked idly at the fire. "So we've got a long five days ahead of us. I hope we don't run into any more Sents. Mr. Hair's on Fire probably won't be around to save us a second time."

Stefan swallowed a bite of bread and stared off into the shadows beyond the fire as he thought. Five days, through land that was largely wild - far too many chances to be ambushed. It was truly amazing that Ewald had given in so easily. Though if his village was also short shadow tonic…and he wasn't risking his own people to get it… Grimacing, Stefan shoved the cynical thought away and attacked a piece of venison jerky. Not the greatest foodstuffs ever, but certainly better than nothing.

Besides, Ewald had given them more than enough coin and trade goods for tonic. Enough he'd told them to be certain they ate properly and got proper beds for a night's rest. They could make it up to him at harvest time - which Stefan was always more than willing to do.

Finishing his food, Stefan returned what was left to the chest, then burrowed under the blankets with a yawn. "Don't let me sleep," he said, already half gone.

Killian snorted softly as he joined Stefan under the blankets. He was far better at waking early. "I won't, never fear."

Stefan tried to nod, but his head was too heavy and his eyes refused to open to check that all was truly well and safe. He thought distantly that it seemed peaceful, rather than fearful, for once, but fell asleep before he finished the thought, mind turning instead to a flashing sword and brilliant red hair.

"It's cold."

Stefan rolled his eyes. "And snowing."

"Oh, shut up," Killian groused. He finished drinking his tea, then cleaned and packed the cup away before putting out their little campfire. "Two days and I can sleep in a nice, warm bed."

Though he said nothing, too busy packing up their things, Stefan wholeheartedly agreed. He much preferred this journey in the spring and summer, when the air smelled sweet and the nights were neither too hot nor too cool.

Still, there were a few things to brighten the day. "We should be camping at the old temple tonight," he said with a smile. "I wonder what it will be like in winter."

"Cold," Killian replied, then slung his pack onto his back and strode from camp.

Rolling his eyes, Stefan settled his own pack and followed after him. "At least the temple will be better than a cave floor."

"Not by much."

"You're in a fine mood today," Stefan said with a frown. "What bug crawled into your blankets?"

Killian made a face. "Just tired and on edge, you know? I've only done this once before, and that with a lot more people."

Stefan nodded. Killian was still young - only by three years, but that was enough so far as journeys went. The village only made a couple of trips a year to the larger Deer Run and only about ten were chosen to go - five adults, and five youths old enough and strong enough to begin learning the route. This would make Stefan's seventh trip, and the only time he'd gone solo.

He'd be scared out of his mind if he allowed himself to think about it too much.

They fell into a silence as they walked in the hazy gray of early morning, yawning blearily and barely awake enough to notice as the sun came up dimly behind the clouds.

Full sunlight never happened, not really. There was always just enough they managed a reasonable crop every year, but not the full sunlight of a clear sky.

No…that sort of thing was a myth. The sky only cleared a bit at night, for the moon to shine, and even then there were still plenty of clouds. The Chief had an old book that showed faded pictures of a clear blue sky filled with a blazing sun shining down upon a brilliant white palace…but it was a legend. If the castle and the blue sky had ever existed, Stefan had been told over and over, it was long gone now. The world was ruled by the Will of Teufel, and the sun would not shine until his Will said it might.

Stefan had always wondered what a clear sky looked like. He tilted his head up to look at the gray clouds, the tiny shreds of sun peeking through them. What would it be like, he wondered for the millionth time, if a picture were to come to life?

Snorting at the line of his thoughts, Stefan forced them away. He was eighteen now - old enough that come summer he would have to start thinking of a home of his own, and stop living in the Chief's spare room.

In a few more years, he'd be expected to take a wife, contribute to the village that way…though he couldn't even begin to imagine that. Everyone teased him mercilessly for having his head high up in the clouds even as he worked hard with the planting, the harvesting, storing for winter, building, repairing. They liked to say 'his body did the work while his head traveled.' Stefan couldn't help it, though.

He liked being out here, as frightening as it was if he thought about it too much. It was different, even exciting, to be doing something different, to be seeing new things. All right, so the route wasn't exactly new - he'd never traveled it in winter, that sort of made it new right?

Anyway, he would always be there to help…even if sometimes he wished he wasn't. No one ever had to know that but him.

"This place is a lot more interesting when it's not covered by snow and I'm not freezing to death," Killian said into the silence.

"I don't know," Stefan said with a grin. "Freezing to death keeps you quieter than usual. Otherwise…the snow is pretty, but I think you're right about it being not as interesting. Oh, look! White! Oh, look there. More white!"

Killian snorted. "Exactly."

"So what shall we eat when we finally reach Deer Run?"

"How about deer?"

Stefan rolled his eyes. "I'm ignoring you now; obviously the cold has frozen what little brain you have."

"Well it's already gotten to my hands, my feet, legs, arms…my head was bound to be next."

"Unfortunately not your mouth."

Killian made a face. "Fine, I'll be quiet. How long have we been walking?"

Stefan shrugged and looked up at the sky. "Maybe a couple of hours now? We've got quite a few more before we reach the old temple." He brightened as he thought of it.

The old temple was easily his favorite part of the journey. The one time they'd made the trip and rain had gotten them stuck there for an extra day had been his absolute favorite. It was situated in a massive field just beyond the forest they would be entering in another hour or so. A small stretch of the forest that grew thicker further up, but this way was largely thinned out. Just beyond it was the large stretch of field in the center of which was an ancient Temple of Light.

Some of the older folks said that the ancestors had once called it the Temple of Sunrise, and that once upon a time the region had stretched from the foot of the Haunted Mountains to the Black Hills that gave the town there its name. They were headed toward Deer Run, which was built in a different stretch of forest than the one they'd travel through.

The Temple of Sunrise was surrounded by water - a wide, deep moat filled with colorful fish that never seemed to die or even change. No one knew what kind of fish they were, and so far as Stefan knew never had anyone been willing to try and catch them. Some said they were sacred, others said they were as cursed as everything else that had once been blessed by the Lost Licht.

Over the moat stretched a bridge of gold-brown stone that, like the fish, never seemed to age over time. The temple itself was built of the same material, towering up three stories. No one had ever gone beyond the first floor, though not for lack of trying. All the doors save the entrance were sealed shut, as if the temple had been closed up but someone forgot to lock the last door.

Still, that one room was beautiful. A great table stood on a dais, made of bright white stone flecked with gold. The wall behind the table looked as if something had once hung there, but no one knew what. A thousand times Stefan had tried to guess, dreaming up all manner of things - paintings or carvings of the sun, perhaps images of Lost Licht himself.

No one else ever wanted to discuss it. It made them nervous even staying in the temple - but there was nowhere else to go except open ground, and an only idiot risked that. Stefan loved the temple, though. If only he could explore more of it…

Oh, this was the perfect opportunity to try it! Except that they couldn't waste time, not with Maja sick. He couldn't, wouldn't act like the boy everyone still thought him to be when Maja's life was at stake.

Even thinking about it made him feel ashamed. He should be focusing, not letting his foolish thoughts get the better of him. Properly chastened, Stefan increased his pace slightly, as if walking faster would leave his errant thoughts far behind in the snow.

They walked on in silence, neither boy in the mood to speak and both used to the other in a way that the silence was comfortable rather than awkward. The silence continued even when they stopped for lunch, broken only by a few brief comments on the weather, the journey.

A few times Stefan considered saying something, but his thoughts were going in too many directions for him to feel like focusing them. He was torn between his daydreams, worrying about Maja, the temple that was now only a couple of hours away, Deer Run a day's travel more beyond that…and at the back of his mind, the fight from a few days ago. If he were honest, it was a lot closer than the back of his mind.

He wished he'd gotten to speak with the stranger, to ask how he did it…get a closer look at the hair that seemed as though it were made of fire.

Stefan was jerked from his thoughts by a gut-wrenching roar, and a wave of cold fear hit him so hard he stumbled to his knees and gasped for breath. Killian was no better, kneeling beside him, eyes wide as he stared ahead at the forest they were just about to enter.

"That…that roar…"

It came again and Stefan shuddered, barely noticing that the snow was freezing his hands.

Killian licked his lips. "That…it can't be…"

"It is," Stefan whispered.

He'd only heard it once before, on the day he'd turned fourteen. The Chief had taken him up to the Great Peak and shown him the landscape of Schatten - the Dark City far off in the distance, barely visible…and the much closer Great Wall, and the terrible Great Sentinel which guarded it.

No one ever went in or out of the Great Wall. It was said Twelve Great Sentinels guarded it, and that another roamed the lands, and that only with the permission of the thirteen could anyone pass beyond the Great Wall itself.

They were easily the size of a small house, with wings that spanned three times that. Monstrous and terrible - it was said all those who got too close did not live to tell the tale. There was always a small chance of getting away from adult Sentinels - for they did not like to chase, and often preferred easy prey. Great Sentinels let no one get away. If you got too close, you were dead.

If you could hear one, you were too close.

"What…what is it doing here?" Stefan finally asked.

"The Wanderer," Killian said softly. Then all of a sudden he stood and bolted, running for the woods as though his life depended on it, leaving his pack forgotten on the ground.

"Killian!" Stefan bellowed, staring in disbelief as his friend vanished into the trees. "Killian…" Shaking his head, muttering soft curses, he shrugged off his own pack, then grabbed them both and ran toward the woods. Once there, he hid them as best he could in the roots of a great tree, then chased after his friend, whom he could just see by the movement of his winter cloak.

They ran for what seemed like ages, until Stefan's chest burned from the effort and sucking in the cold winter air. Drawing a breath positively ached when he finally spilled out of the forest and into the field, crashing into Killian and knocking them both down into a snow drift.

He clambered up, eyes going wide at what he saw.

The red-haired stranger.

Fighting…fighting…he couldn't make the thought form, it was too overwhelming. He rubbed his eyes, certain they were deceiving him, but when he looked again the sight before him had not changed.

The stranger was fighting a Great Sentinel.

Gone was his cloak - all his winter gear. He wore nothing but breeches and boots that came to his thighs, a shirt that was wet from the snow. His hair was tied loosely back, but remarkably bright against the white snow and the nigh-dark Sentinel.

It truly was the size of a house, its awful wings flared out, breath clouding in the air as it threw its head forward at the stranger, who merely leaped out the way.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

They happened so fast, Stefan could not follow - one moment the Sentinel was attacking, the next it gave another fear-inducing roar and pulled back, blood pouring from its nose and one eye.

Crack

This time the Sentinel screamed and Stefan hoped suddenly, fervently, that he never again heard such an awful sound. He stared in awe as he realized that now the Sentinel was completely blind - the man had managed to destroy both its eyes.

Desperate, pained and angry and it was a Great Sentinel how was it even possible, the gigantic beast began to thrash wildly, mindlessly, snarling and roaring enough that Stefan wasn't sure he'd ever be able to stand again. He shook with fear, unable to still his trembling - but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the gruesome fight either.

Weak sunlight flashed on snow-wet metal as the stranger dodged the wild thrashings and struck at the Great Sentinel's forelegs. If the shattering screams bothered him, he gave no sign, merely moved from one leg to the other, dodging and lunging as the Sent struggled to fight back.

Then he danced back, away, moving far enough from the Great Sentinel that he could assess the situation.

Suddenly the Sentinel whirled; its massive tail a black blur of motion, lashing out in a deadly radius to try and catch the attacker the Sentinel could no longer see.

The man attempted to get out of the way, but didn't quite, and Stefan cried out in dismay as the end of the Sentinel's tail caught him, sent him flying back across the snow - toward Stefan and Killian. He fell just a few feet short of them, and for a moment lay still.

Drawing a sharp breath, Stefan tried to stand - but the paralyzing fear induced by the Great Sentinel still held him fast. "Are-are you-"

Groaning, the man lifted himself, braced on his hands and knees. He looked dazedly at them, blinking slowly until awareness came back into his face.

Stefan stared.

His eyes were gold. The strangest gold Stefan had ever seen - a rich, dark yellow that almost seemed to have hints of orange in it. And his hair…it truly was red, rich and dark and glistening where the snow had melted into it. It clung to his cheeks and neck.

Then the moment shattered, as the man shoved himself to his feet and turned to bolt back down to where the Sentinel was still shrieking and attempting to find its attacker.

Dodging the blind, flailing Sentinel, the stranger managed to retrieve his sword and the strange weapon Stefan wished he had a name for. It cracked out, drawing more blood from the Great Sentinel at various points, until the snow turned dark red all around the combatants.

Suddenly the Great Sentinel stopped trying to attack, and instead threw its head up toward the sky, opening its mouth and keening a long, low, eerie roar that seemed to echo everywhere, reverberating in Stefan's bones, making him cover his ears - and he wanted badly to close his eyes against the terrible sight, but his gaze would not, could not, leave the red-haired man who so boldly faced down one of the creatures the people of Schatten feared above all but Lord Teufel himself.

He knew suddenly what the Great Sentinel was doing - calling other Sentinels. How he knew that, he didn't know, but it would make sense. If it were him, he'd call for help too - because it was obvious the stranger was winning.

Above the eerie cry, Stefan heard the stranger shout something he couldn't make out. It sounded like nothing he'd ever heard before. Then he lifted his left hand, and something flashed bright - then the wounds of the Great Sentinel, from his eyes all down his neck, the few scattered over his massive body - burst into flame.

The eerie call turned into a ground-shaking cry of pain and fear. The stranger spoke again, then another one of those silvery flashes, and the flames increased in strength, spreading out, consuming the Sentinel.

It collapsed beneath the flames and its badly injured forelegs, head dropping as it attempted to regain some sort of balance. Wet metal flashed, and impossible amounts of blood poured from its sliced throat to cover the stranger before he could get completely away - then the Great Sentinel thrashed wildly, madly, before collapsing in a convulsing heap.

After what seemed like ages, it went still.

Stefan could only gawk.

He was jolted from his paralysis by movement, as the stranger began to move - stumble - toward them. He looked up toward them, started to speak - then collapsed.

Stefan stood frozen for a moment, everything too much for him to take.

"What just…how…" Killian stared.

"Come on," Stefan said, Killian's voice finally jarring him into movement. "We have to help him!"

 

Three

He woke quietly, stifling a groan with an effort, feeling every ache and pain of pushing himself hard the past several weeks. A Great Sentinel, that was why he'd been pushing himself. The one that moved around. He'd finally gotten its pattern down and gone after it.

Had he killed it?

The bastard had driven him to magic, he remembered that much. That was why…

Ah, now he remembered. He'd collapsed. Again. Wincing, he slowly sat up and opened his eyes.

He was in some sort of…he'd hazard to say a temple or sanctuary. It had the look of it. Austere, beautiful, immune to the ravages of time. Only the small fire he lay beside was anomalous, and from the look of it this place was used more as a campsite than a holy place.

A soft, surprised gasp brought his attention around, and he looked at the Schatten staring at him with wide eyes - pale lavender, surrounded by a thick fall of wavy, blue-black hair. Young - if the boy was more than twenty summers he would eat his whip. Probably not more than seventeen or eighteen.

The boy's cheeks were flushed, and he almost laughed at the way those pale eyes dipped to look at him before skittering away. Obviously they'd stripped him out of his wet clothes; it was the sensible thing to do. He could feel the cool air against his skin as the furs he was covered with slid down when he sat up. He wasn't exactly pale, but next to the dark copper skin of the Schatten, he probably looked it.

Suppressing a chuckle at the boy's discomfiture over his nakedness now that he was awake, he tugged the furs more securely around his lap to spare the boy further embarrassment - and it was a bit chilly in the room despite the fire and the way the stonework trapped heat - and finally spoke. "Thank you for helping me."

The boy finally looked at him again. "I was starting to worry you wouldn't wake. You were near frozen straight through and we had a hard time with your clothes…" His cheeks heated again. "Uh-my name is Stefan. I'm from Oak Hill, about four days' journey from here." He motioned vaguely behind him, obviously in the direction of his home. "You're not from Schatten."

"No. My name is Sasha. I'm…visiting, I guess you could say." More or less. Sasha repressed a snort. He glanced down at his hands, at the ring shining on his left middle finger. It was, at first glance, a plain silver band - but a second look and suddenly it seemed to sparkle like a diamond. A third glance and it seemed iridescent, like a rainbow had been turned into metal. Beautiful…powerful. He'd never wanted this kind of power.

So you want me to storm the gates of Schatten like some idiot from a child's tale.

We would like you to free Schatten, yes. More to the point, you are the only one who can right now.

You're saying I have little choice.

No. You, more than anyone in this world, have a choice. I've made our request. If you say no, that is your choice and right. We will wait for another to appear. However, you did say-

I know what I said. Give me the ring.

"Is the Great Sentinel dead?" he asked. "I'm fairly certain I killed it…"

"You burned it!" the boy - Stefan said, leaning forward eagerly, lavender eyes flaring. "I've never seen <i>anything</i> like that. How did you do it? Was that magic? No one has magic in Schatten. Where did you come from? Does everyone there have hair like-" he cut himself off abruptly, dark skin taking on a deep red tone.

Sasha chuckled. Had he been so at that age? So easily embarrassed by the sight of a bare chest? So quick to ask questions? No, he thought with a twinge of sadness. By eighteen he had ceased to care about anything but doing his duty. He shoved away the thoughts of why that was so as they tried to rise. No more dwelling, not when he had better things to do. "I do not suppose my clothes have survived?"

"They're over there-" Stefan said, pointing, not quite looking at him.

Following the direction he indicated, Sasha felt some of his tension ease. Everything was there - his sword, his whip, all of his clothes, even his pack it seemed, had made it. Another concern struck him. "Did you find my horse?"

"Yes," Sasha answered, eagerness returning to his voice. "She's a fine mare. I think she was worried about you, but after we got you settled and warm, tended your injuries, she seemed to calm a great deal. Um…I hope you don't mind but Killian took her into Deer Run, to get the shade tonic we needed and stuff for you…though you seem just fine now…the first day your chest was a mess of bruises. That's why we were worried. Now, though…"

Sasha grimaced. "I guess I heal fast." He guessed. Sasha almost snorted.

A ring made of pure chaos, to enhance and strengthen a person of chaos. In addition, it carries the blessing of four of the five countries - strength to your magic, to your health, to your spirit. You will not fall easily.

"Where are we?" he asked, changing the subject.

"About a day's walk from Deer Run, four days from Swallowtail, which is at the foot of the Haunted Mountains. Which reminds me…thank you for saving us from that adult Sent a few days ago. We were stupid and careless…without you…"

Sasha blinked. "Ah. I had not realized that was you. I thought a couple of kids had wandered off too far while playing or foraging."

Stefan flushed again. "We're headed toward Deer Run in hopes of obtaining more shade tonic."

"Shade tonic?" Sasha asked.

"Yes…" Stefan frowned. "It's the antidote to newborn Sent venom. If administered quick enough it can even help against baby and child bites. Surely you know that?"

"I've never been bitten. Usually my only problem is claws, teeth, and tails."

Those lavender eyes flared again. "How did you do that? No one - it's impossible. Their scales are impossibly hard. Cutting through them - I've never known anyone to do it."

Sasha snorted softly. "I'm guessing not many of you have ever bothered to really try."

"That's not true! Plenty of men have tried," Stefan said, awe turning to anger. "They all died, and their swords were always chipped, if not broken. Adult Sent scales are harder than steel or stone. Everyone knows that."

"Part of the trick is cutting against the scales - they overlap, forming a tight seal, but there is a way to get through them. It just takes strong, sharp steel and cutting against the - back to forward. That's the main part of it. My sword, though, was a gift. It's specially made."

Stefan frowned. "Specially made? To kill Sents?"

"To kill vicious, nasty creatures that object strenuously to being killed." Sasha looked toward his clothes, folded neatly and set aside against one wall. His boots were next to them. He stretched, slowly testing all his bones and muscles - other than some lingering soreness and a slightly aching head he seemed to have fully recovered. Time to get back to work.

Throwing off the furs, he strode across the wide room to his clothes - barely smothering a laugh at the quickly muffled gasp from Stefan. Honestly, had the boy never seen another naked man before?

Probably not one with Sasha's skin - or hair, the boy had been quite clear about his feelings on Sasha's hair - but still. He tugged on his underclothes and breeches, fastening the buttons and making sure the breeches were snugly in place before he retrieved his shirts. A thick undershirt went on first, padded heavily in the chest to help keep him warm, the shirt itself layered wool and silk, both of which were good at trapping heat. Over that went a heavy linen shirt, dyed black - all of his clothing was black. All things considered, it had seemed fitting.

Dressed, he grabbed his stockings, boots, and the rest of his gear and moved back to the fire. Sitting down, he pulled the stockings on, drawing them up his calves and fastening them to the ends of his breeches. Like everything else, they were made to block out as much of the cold as possible. That done, he stood back and began the laborious process of putting on his boots, slowly pulling them on and doing up the laces, making certain he had enough flexibility in the knee.

Task accomplished, he finally sat back down with his legs stretched out and turned back to his rescuer - who was once more red in the face. It was amusing and sort of refreshing - certainly he'd had nothing to blush about by the time he was eighteen. Obviously this boy had not done the things boys usually did at his age.

Idly Sasha wondered if perhaps it was because the boy obviously was so affected by men. Certainly a boy with an interest in women would not have cared about seeing another man naked. In small villages especially, nudity was not an unusual thing. He'd seen enough of the villages to know Schatten was much like his home, with public bathhouses separated only by gender.

Well, it was wholly irrelevant as a train of thought. He smothered a chuckle - perhaps in partial recompense for saving him, he was giving the boy something new to think about at night.

Maybe that Sent had hit him harder than he realized, if he was letting his thoughts wander to such idiotic corners. Shaking his head, Sasha pulled his gear close and began to go over it.

First was his whip - he'd had it for years. They'd fascinated him since childhood; the one year he'd spent his summer at the family estate rather than in the city, watching the herdsmen keep the cattle in line, even the stubborn, territorial bulls. Learning and mastering the use of a whip had been one of the only times he'd defied his parents. It would need some light repair and cleaning, but all things considered it had come through the fight well.

"What…what is that?" Stefan asked, breaking the silence. "Killian's right - it's sort of like the crops the herders use."

Sasha nodded. "Intended for a similar use, but it also makes an excellent weapon." Especially when it carried the blessing of a god; he could feel the power of it thrumming through the leather, against his palm.

He coiled the whip with motions as natural as breathing and set it aside, then picked up his sword and drew it from the scabbard.

The metal shone in the light of the fire, flashing for a moment as though struck by a brilliant light. Forged by artisans long dead, tended and used by creatures that lived for thousands of years, made to kill beasts that dwelt in places only one race could reach. The scabbard itself was simply black leather - the one the sword had come with he had rejected in disgust. Impractical for his purposes. Instead he'd made this one, simple and functional, specially treated to survive in cold weather.

Sheathing the sword, he gave the belt a once over then set that too aside. "My horse is all right?" he asked as he went through his pack to make certain his food stuffs, bandages, and other supplies had survived his collapse.

"Yes, she's perfectly fine. I'm sorry we borrowed her without permission, but taking care of you…"

Sasha waved the words away. "I'm not concerned. I appreciate your help. Most people, when they see me…" Looked terrified. This was the first time someone had spoken to him without stuttering in fear or looking as though they'd bolt any second. Obtaining food and supplies was ever a chore.

"You're so different," Stefan said, blurting the words out - immediately flushing again as he dropped his head in embarrassment.

Honestly, if he were inclined to use the word cute… "I'm sure I am," Sasha replied calmly. "I've seen precious few other redheads about."

"How can your hair be red?" Stefan asked, clearly still embarrassed but just as clearly unable to resist asking. His hand twitched, as though he had started to lift it and reach across the fire.

Sasha chuckled. "The same way yours can be black, I'd imagine. Where I come from, it's not so strange a color. More strange to me are your eyes - such a color I have never seen before."

"My eyes are boring," Stefan said matter-of-factly. "Everyone has eyes like mine. Yours though - they're like gold."

The ghost of a smile flitted across Sasha's face. "I assure you they're equally boring."

"So where do you come from? Why are you here?"

Sasha shrugged. "I have nowhere else to be."

"Oh…" Stefan frowned, but obviously took the hint that such questions weren't welcome. "Umm…are you hungry? We've been here long enough I had time to make a stew. It's not much, really…"

For the first time Sasha realized just how hungry he was, and he nodded. "Any food, especially of the hot and filling sort, would be most welcome."

Stefan smiled, genuine and bright, and Sasha blinked before tearing his eyes away to focus on his supplies again. He was far too old to be drawn to the smile of a boy barely old enough for such things - if he was even old enough. Thinking of his own youth, all his visits to illicit places, his behavior…no, eighteen or so was definitely too young.

Bitterness and sadness tried again to surge up in him, but Sasha ruthlessly fought it back. He'd lived too long with it; he wouldn't wallow now when he was trying so hard to finally let it all go.

A small clay bowl was pressed into his hands, and the scent of simple broth, bits of what smelled like venison. Stefan handed over a section of the flat bread that was common to travelers and Sasha dug in gratefully. He hadn't had food like this in a long time. The fine meals he'd once eaten every day were nothing but a fond and distant memory.

He leaned over the bowl as he chewed on the hard bread, and barely pulled it away before the ends of his overlong hair fell into the broth as it spilled over his shoulder. Stupid hair. He needed to cut it, but couldn't bring himself to simply hack it off. A shave would also make him quite happy; he'd never been fond of facial hair even if right now it helped with the cold a bit.

The first decent town he managed to rent a room in, he was cleaning himself up. It wouldn't last long, but for the few days it did last he would be much happier. Sasha dipped a piece of bread in the broth and then popped it in his mouth. He glanced up to say thanks - and barely kept from laughing at the way Stefan hastily ducked his own head.

Of all the people to rescue him, Sasha would be rescued by a boy who obviously had a slight case of lust-touched hero-worship. When was the last time anyone had looked at him with either? Lust? Not for longer than Sasha liked to think about. Hero-worship? The sheer absurdity made him want to laugh and laugh.

"This is good," Sasha finally said, burying his mirth so the boy wasn't embarrassed further. "Thank you again."

"You're the one who killed an adult Sent and a Great Sent," Stefan replied, looking up, eyes bright as he recalled the fights. "We definitely owe you more than poor camp food. That was the Wanderer, wasn't it? He's like hundreds of years old, or so the elders say. All of the Great Sents are. How did you do it? I just don't see…it's like something from a story…"

In actuality, the Wanderer made exactly four Great Sentinels dead. Nine to go. Sasha feared Stefan would pass out if he mentioned that, though.

"They were talking about you in the village," Stefan continued, bowl forgotten in his hands. "They said you killed two other adult Sents near Swallowtail and that in Black Hill you showed up drenched in blood asking for supplies. That you had, um, fiery hair."

Sasha chuckled. "Hardly fiery. You're welcome to touch it and see - I assure you it is quite ordinary and boring." He threw his head back and laughed, unable to help it with the wide eyed look Stefan gave him at the offer.

He could not remember laughing so in more years than he could bear to think about. Laughter wasn't something that factored into his world. He had not thought it would have entered his world here.

"Sorry," Stefan mumbled. "I must sound stupid."

Oh, he hadn't meant to do that. Idiot. "Hardly. No doubt in my homeland people would be vying for a look at your eyes. That is why I laugh - to me it is quite boring, and often a great nuisance. You are certainly welcome to touch it, though I fear you will be disappointed."

Stefan wrestled with his curiosity for maybe half a minute, then set his bowl down with a clink on the stone floor and circled around the fire, cheeks hot but eyes bright with wonder as he reached out with shy but eager fingers to touch and then run his fingers through Sasha's hair.

"It looks as though it should be hot," he said softly in wonder, "but it's not."

Up close, Stefan smelled of sweat and snow, sort of earthy, and Sasha was startled at how forcefully the mingled scents struck him - like a punch to the gut. Ridiculous. Obviously he'd endured his own company for far too long, if he was being stirred by a mere boy. He was more than twice Stefan's age; he should not be struck by this hard and sudden lust.

Taking a deep, slow breath, he forced himself to turn to thoughts of his looming fights and ignore the fingers that ran so soft and gentle through his too-long hair. It didn't work as well as he would have liked, but it did keep him from embarrassing himself.

Definitely too much time alone in this gods-forsaken country.

Stefan finally withdrew his fingers. "Sorry. It's just…so different."

"I would not have made the offer if it bothered me; there is no reason to apologize. It would surprise me more if you took my hair in stride - I'm well aware I look every bit the stranger I am in this country."

"Where…" Stefan shook his head, wavy hair brushing against his cheeks, making him look younger - doing much to emphasize just how wrong the direction of Sasha's thoughts had been. "What will you do next? What are you doing?"

"Killing Sents," Sasha replied.

"Why?"

Sasha knew he didn't really want to know the answer to that, even if Stefan thought he did. "Isn't that reason enough? Would you prefer I leave them alive?"

"I guess not," Stefan said. He frowned. "The Will of Teufel is that the Sentinels guard the Land of Shadows, protecting it from all threats - both those from without and those within."

"Well, the great and mighty Teufel is welcome to send all the Sentinels he wants after this threat." He'd prefer Teufel just come himself; that would save him months of hassle tracking down and killing all the Great Sents - and then figuring out how to get beyond the wall. Scaling it didn't work; old magic prevented such measures as that. Even the myriad blessings Sasha carried couldn't fight the ancient spells laid upon the Great Wall.

Stefan drew a sharp breath at his words, staring wide-eyed at him. "You-how can you say such reckless things?"

"I'm quite good at saying things that get me in trouble," Sasha said. He finished drinking his broth and handed the bowl back. "Thank you again for the food - and for rescuing me. Once your friend returns with my horse, I shall le-be out of your way." His tongue almost slipped, on the last there. So hard not to use his native phrases, which would only confuse the people here and he was already confusing enough.

Thankfully this was the first real, extended time he'd spent with any Schatten. Obtaining fresh supplies from people who were terrified of him required very few words. "You said Deer Run was only a day away on foot?" Sasha asked. "In what direction is it? Where is the Great Wall from here? If you do not mind telling me…the one map I have is woefully inadequate, and by now I have lost my bearings."

Stefan settled down beside him, rather than return to his side of the fire. "We're only about a quarter mile from where you fought the Great Sent, actually. Deer Run is northeast, that way," he pointed toward a corner of the room, then motioned in the opposite direction. "My home, Oak Hill, is southwest. At the foot of the Haunted Mountains. The Great Wall…that's a bit of a journey. From here, about ten days on foot. I guess with a horse that'd be a lot less…why would you want to go there?"

"You seem to know the area well."

"My parents were scouts," Stefan said. "It was their job to track Sents, see where they nested, so we knew where to avoid making journeys to places like Deer Run and all. An adult Sent killed them when I was about five or six…they left behind a lot of maps, and I keep hoping to be a scout myself someday, though the Chief says I'd make a better farmer."

Sasha looked at him speculatively, then reached into his bag and pulled out a worn, much abused map - one of the only remaining maps of Schatten in the world. He spread it out on the floor and started to ask Stefan to point a few things out to him - when the boy burst into laughter.

Stefan clapped a hand over his mouth, which didn't do much really to stifle his almost boyish laughter. "I apologize. It's just - this map is horribly out of date, at least in the areas I know."

"I have learned that the hard way, trust me," Sasha said tolerantly. "I am hoping you might be able to make at least a few corrections for me. No one else has spoken to me long enough to hear the request."

Eagerly Stefan nodded. "I could make a few changes - oh! But you should come speak with Hartmann! He used to be a peddler, back before he broke his leg and it became too hard to travel the long distances. He knows all of Schatten like the back of his hand. If anyone could fix your map, it would be him."

Sasha hesitated as he pulled out his pencil case. It was tempting…his job would be much easier if he could trust what the map said, and too often he'd planned to go through a valley only to find it was like a lake, or to stop at a village only to find empty forest… "Would he be willing to help me?" he said finally.

"Yes! Definitely," Stefan said. "Just wait until I tell them you killed the Wanderer - by yourself! With just a sword and a-a whip. They'll want to hear all about it, and of course everyone would be willing to help. Oak Hill is a wonderful village. They all took care of me when my parents died - and Killian, he's an orphan who stumbled in one day. Not even he remembers what happened to his parents. Everyone immediately took him in though. Of course Hartmann and all the rest would help you."

He sincerely doubted that, but any chance at fixing his confounded map - and perhaps another solid meal or two, surely he'd get that much - was worth taking. He still had more of Schatten left to trek through than he liked, and nine more Great Sentinels. After that he apparently had a 'Holy Sentinel' and Teufel himself to kill.

If he cared about anything anymore, just thinking about all he had left to do would depress him. He didn't though. Kill the Sentinels, defeat Teufel. If he worried about anything, it was that he'd die before accomplishing his mission.

Which reminded him - the ring couldn't take care of everything. It helped, that was all.

Opening his bag again, Sasha immediately found and pulled out a small silver flask. Unlatching the top, he tilted it back and swallowed the acrid, burning medicine inside. A deep warmth blossomed in his chest, easing a tension he seldom noticed except when the medicine briefly relaxed it.

Getting that effect was harder and harder - only the ring kept the strain of combat and magic-use from outright killing him. Eventually, it would. There was no way around that. From the time he was thirteen, Sasha had known his heart was weak. From the time he was sixteen he fully understood it would eventually kill him years before his time.

Closing the flask, he returned it to his bag. Pointedly ignoring the curiosity on Stefan's face, he rolled his map back up and stowed it. "If you do not think your fellows will mind my presence overmuch, I would very much like to speak with this Hartmann."

Stefan beamed at him, another of those smiles that made Sasha's breath catch for a moment - and deeply annoyed him. Yes, definitely too much time alone if he was looking at a boy who could easily have been his son in a different life. Especially when he had more important things to do. Perhaps he should indulge in more than a nice room whenever he managed to get to a large town… Sasha snorted softly at himself. Here he was attempting to save the world and his mind was filled with the crassest of thoughts.

"When is your friend due back?"

"He only set off a couple of hours ago…we were horribly uncertain about taking your horse, but finally it just seemed more important to get the tonic, even if we risked angering you. He won't be back before evening - and possibly not tomorrow, if he can't get out of town well before dark." Stefan shrugged.

Sasha nodded. "So what is this, exactly?" He motioned to the building around them.

"One of the old Temples of Light…some of the older folk in town say it was once called the Temple of Sunrise." Stefan's face took on that eager light Sasha already recognized as he talked about the temple. "It's actually three stories high, but all the doors are completely sealed. I've always tried to get them open, on our journeys to Deer Run, but I'm always told to leave well enough alone." He looked wistfully at the nearest door. "The Will of Teufel keeps them closed, for we no longer have use for the Lost Licht."

The Will of Teufel. Sasha wanted to voice his opinion on <i>that</i>, but bit the urge back. It would do no good, and probably serve only to terrify away the closest he'd come to an ally in this sad, wretched place. He stood up and stretched, groaning as he worked the kinks out of his back and neck, then stood, considering a moment. At last he shrugged and gave into the strange impulse overtaking him, and stalked over to the door at which Stefan had been staring.

Magic thrummed gently - old, but faint and weak. The Seal upon the door had been placed with minimal effort. Pressing his hands flat upon it, Sasha murmured softly for the door to open.

On his left hand, the shining, shimmering ring flashed bright for a single moment. The magic thrumming beneath his hands vanished. Fumbling for a moment, Sasha at last determined how to open the door, gripping the deep grooves on one side and shoving it slowly, gritting his teeth, to the side. The door slid with groaning, grating complaint into the wall.

Behind him Stefan exclaimed in shock. "You-you-how-"

Sasha smirked as he stalked back to the fire. He lifted up his sword belt and wound it twice around his waist before buckling it, then settled the sword into place. At his right hip he hung his coiled whip. After a moment of hesitation, he decided to leave his flintlock where it was in his bag. He shouldn't need it in a temple that had been Sealed to all and sundry for more than a thousand years.

"Shall we?" he asked. "Best put out the fire first."

Still wide-eyed with disbelief, Stefan quickly scrambled to obey, dousing the fire and then retrieving his own sword - which Sasha was relieved to see he seemed comfortable with. Then he waited eagerly, all but bouncing in place.

Lips twitching, Sasha motioned. "Let's go take a look, shall we?" He didn't know why he bothered - but who knew what you'd find in places like this. Turning sharply on his heel, making sure his sword was loose in its sheath and ready to be drawn, Sasha led the way through the open door and up the stairs beyond it.

Four

Stefan hoped his mouth wasn't hanging open as he followed Sasha - and what sort of name was that? It sounded so different, full and smooth when he said it, from anything he'd ever heard.

His hair…Stefan had always thought Maja had soft, pretty hair. It was long, she always kept it braided, and at night he helped her brush it out and redo the braid. He loved doing it, the softest fabrics did not compare to Maja's hair…but it was nothing like Sasha's. Stefan had never wanted to stop touching it, stroking it. How could anyone think Sasha's hair was boring? Even if he had said it was common where he'd come from.

Oh, how Stefan wished he knew where Sasha came from. His accent was so different - like nothing he'd ever heard, even from the peddlers and their accents were always funny. No…Sasha had an almost…lilting sort of accent. He made words sound like songs, even when he was frowning.

He grimaced at himself. Even in his own head he sounded like a starry girl gushing over one of the hunters. Pathetic. He was just fascinated by the way Sasha had so easily killed a Great Sent - and who knew how many adults! On top of that, he made it sound as though it should be easy. Stefan still didn't think it was. He knew too many people who had gone out one day and never returned - occasionally bones were found, but not often.

"How did you open it?" he finally asked, unable to keep silent even though he felt he should for some strange reason. "Was it mag-" he ran into Sasha's side as he suddenly stopped at the top of the stairs.

Oh, what was that smell? Stefan felt a shiver run down his neck and spine that was nothing like the chills that ran through him when a Sent was close. This was…it made him feel hot and cold all at once. Sasha…they'd cleaned him up, but the bitter tang of Sent blood still clung to him. Beneath that though…he smelled like leather and smoke, a hint of something rich and spicy that Stefan couldn't put a name to. It made another hot-cold shiver run down his spine, and he hastily stepped away, confused and flustered.

"Magic?" Sasha finished for him. "Yes. I'm surprised you know anything about magic."

Stefan shrugged. "It's in the stories, a few of the old books the Chief still has though a lot of the words are worn away. They say the Great Wall was built with magic."

"It was," Sasha replied absently, finally moving forward again but with his sword drawn. "Watch your step. It doesn't as look as though the temple has aged…but one never knows…" He walked forward and Stefan followed after, heart beating out of his chest - both from his earlier discomfiture and the sheer awe of actually being in the sealed off room of the temple. He'd never thought it would actually be possible, so many had tried to open the doors and it had taken Sasha only a moment and a few muttered words…

Ach, he was fawning again. What was his problem? He was too old to be fawning over anyone.

His thoughts broke off as he finally took in the room they were in. "Oohhh…what…what is all this?" He moved in a daze to the far wall, fingers reaching out, stopping just short of actually touching the beautiful painting. It took up the entire wall, top to bottom, end to end… "Who? What?"

Sasha came up beside him, footsteps soft even on the hard stone floor. He reached out and touched the nearest portion of the massive painting. "Do you know nothing of the gods in this country?"

"The gods slew Licht, who went mad from grief and anger. Furious at the betrayal, at losing Licht, Lord Teufel sealed Schatten from the world." Stefan licked his lips. "He created the Sentinels to punish and watch over the children of Licht, that they never again stray from the path and cause the grief which first drove Licht into madness."

"That…" Sasha shook his head. "The gods are idiots, every last one of them, but that is not quite how it happened."

Stefan frowned. "How would you know? Lord Teufel's knowledge and Will are absolute. It was we children of Schatten who first caused Licht to be Lost."

"No," Sasha said softly. "That was entirely Licht's fault."

"You can't say that!" Stefan protested. "It-Lord Teufel forbids such things! It is to prevent such words that he created the Sentinels."

Sasha snorted contemptuously. "Yes, I've seen his Sentinels. They are being dealt with. If 'Lord' Teufel has a problem with me killing his monsters, he is welcome to come and speak with me about it. That would be easier than hunting him down."

He could only stare and sputter, the blasphemous words shaking him to his core. A chill overtook him and Stefan hugged himself. "No one says such things."

"Maybe someone should," Sasha replied, letting his hand slide away from the painting.

As anxious as the words made him, Stefan burned with curiosity. "Who-who are they?" he asked, voice low. Hesitantly he reached out to touch the image Sasha had.

Sasha reached out again, touching the image, fingers just barely brushing Stefan's own. "This is Zhar Ptitka, the Sacred Firebird of Pozhar, Land of Fire."

The image depicted a bird with feathers made from fire, its beak opened in a cry that in Stefan's imagination seemed loud and piercing. It was beautiful. He tore his eyes away to look at the rest of the wall, turning to look at the water that came next - forgetting that Sasha stood next to him and once again bumping into him. His nostrils flared as he took in the strange, spicy scent again, so rich it far surpassed the smell of dust and time that filled the strange room.

He backed hastily away, hating the confusion, the way his cheeks heated - the faintly amused look that flitted across Sasha's face. "Who-who are they?"

Sasha followed the direction of his finger. "The Sacred Storm Bringers of Kundou, Land of Storms."

"They…they look like…like Sentinels but…different too."

"They're dragons," Sasha said. "Not serpents. Somewhat similar in appearance, perhaps, but the Sacred Storm Bringers can travel to the depths of the sea and the heights of the sky. They control wind, water, lightning and thunder, snow and ice. No mere serpent, not even a Sentinel, could ever equal a dragon."

Stefan frowned and pointed to another image, this of a great coiled serpent with dark pools for eyes. It was the color of stone, and the scales seemed almost to shine.

"Again, greater than a mere serpent…that is the Basilisk of Piedre, Land of Stone. The god who was charged with overseeing death; his great eyes can kill with a single glance."

"That…why would anyone want to control death?"

Sasha lifted one brow. "Life, even for gods, is not about wanting. They made this world; they must care for it - life, death, creation, destruction…chaos and order."

Stefan nodded, not really understanding and sort of scared to though he'd never admit it - it sounded too much like more blasphemy, even while he burned to know more. "Who are they?" he asked to distract himself.

The last image was of a beautiful woman with wings that looked as though they were made from a rainbow. On her left stood a beautiful silvery horse with feathered wings. On her right stood a pure-white horse with a mane of gold, and a horn that shone like a beam of sunlight peeking through the clouds.

"Those are the gods of Verde, the Highlands - the Faerie Queen and Guardians…" Sasha's voice softened as he spoke, something like pensive sadness flitting across it as he moved to gently touch the cheek of the one he'd called the Faerie Queen. On his hand, the strange, beautiful ring he wore flashed in the dim light. "They are gods of life."

"Who's the last one?" he asked, pointing to one who seemed not to fit at all - instead of a great, strange beast it was simply a man with light brown hair and brilliant gold eyes. Just looking at him made Stefan feel happy and sad all at once. It was like looking at the things that had belonged to his parents and feeling an ache.

Sasha looked at him as though he were mad. "Surely of all the gods, you would recognize this one? This is Licht, the God of Light, father of Schatten."

"Lost Licht?" Stefan asked on a whisper, drawing close to the image and hesitantly laying his hand upon it, heart beating so fast he feared it would come right through his chest. "This is Lost Licht?" He curled his other hand against his chest, willing his heart to slow.

"Yes," Sasha said just as quietly.

"He doesn't look mad."

"He wasn't always." Sasha turned away to explore the rest of the room, and after a few minutes Stefan followed him, though it was hard to tear his eyes away from the image of the handsome, somber Licht.

Though the view before him now was equally intriguing, if not more so. As beautiful as Licht's light hair was…Stefan still liked Sasha's more. Sasha was…so different he couldn't put a name to all of the things he felt.

He was tall, at least a few inches taller Stefan. That red hair, the softness of it his fingers would never forget. Yellow-orange eyes like some flicker of fire. Most unique of all the man was so skinny. When they'd undressed him, Stefan had been astonished to see how clearly some of Sasha's bones were defined - at his wrists, his elbows, ankles, even his hips. His face burned as he remembered how closely he'd examined Sasha, completely fascinated by the pale, slender body. As slender as it was though, Sasha was clearly strong - no weakling could kill a Great Sentinel. The biggest men in the village were scared of Sentinels…who was Sasha, that he seemed afraid of nothing?

So fierce looking, with his sharp face, those blazing eyes that made Stefan want to freeze in his tracks.

There he went being stupid again. He really was a kid, to be so childishly fascinated by something new and different. The men in the village wouldn't act this way - they'd be completely calm and unruffled. Sternly Stefan told himself to be the same, that he was representing Oak Hill.

"What is the rest of this?"

"Hmm?" Sasha asked as he looked up from a small table made of the same gold-flecked stone as the one downstairs. "This is a meditation chamber, I would hazard to say. Places for candles and incense, representations of the gods to ponder…people probably came here to see the sunrise, to meditate on the wisdom Licht bestowed, to ask his advice and help." He gave one his faint smiles, something that Stefan thought was probably rare. "Things of that nature. There are rooms like these back home."

Stefan bit back the urge to ask where that was, knowing it was futile. Instead, he turned back to the painting and tried to guess. The…Firebird? With his red hair…perhaps that was too obvious. Was one of those lands home to great warriors? Why was he here? Had he been telling the truth when he'd said it was just to kill Sentinels? Who would come all this way to do something so dangerous?

It wouldn't do any good - eventually Lord Teufel would just make more. His Will was that the Sentinels forever watch over Schatten and its people.

What if…

He cut the thought off before it could go anywhere, going cold at the direction his own thoughts had tried to take. What if Lord Teufel heard them? What if…Stefan shook his head, desperate to clear it. He was a faithful child of Schatten, he was.

A clatter and shout from below broke into his thoughts, and with relief Stefan bolted for the door and clambered down the stairs, crashing into Killian as he appeared in the open door way. "You're back!" he exclaimed. "I didn't think you'd be back for hours."

Killian glared. "What are you doing? Why are you up here? How did you get it open?"

Stefan frowned. "What's wrong, Killian? We're just exploring. Did you get the shade tonic?"

"Yeah, I got it. What do you mean 'we'? He was a mess of bruises, never mind those nasty scars on his back…those wounds must still be healing, the scars don't look that old."

Laughing, Stefan shoved Killian out of the way and back into the main room. "Who are you? The village healer? He's fine, Sasha's fine. He used magic, Killian. Magic! Like in all the stories! Just whispered and the door opened, it was almost as incredible as watching him kill the Sentinels and-"

A soft chuckle broke in, and Stefan abruptly cut off, feeling his face burn.

Killian sniggered quietly and pointed at him, making fun of Stefan's red face. Then he stepped aside and looked up - and up - at Sasha. "You're feeling better?"

Sasha quirked one brow at him. "Much. Thank you for your assistance. Your name is…Killian, yes?"

"That's me. I didn't recognize what he called you, but I guess it's obvious you're not from Schatten."

"No, I'm not. Where I come from kids are taught manners. My name is Sasha."

Killian glared. "I'm not a kid and pardon me if I'm suspicious about a man who shouldn't be here. No one from outside comes to Schatten - not unless they want to be eaten by Sentinels."

"They keep trying," Sasha said. "So far, I've been winning."

"Yes, that's why we had to completely upset our entire journey to help you."

"Killian!" Stefan snapped, snatching his friend by the scruff of his shirt and shaking him. "What is wrong with you? What would Maja do if she saw you acting this way?"

"At least I'm not acting starry," Killian retorted.

"I am not acting starry," Stefan hissed furiously, shaking him hard before finally letting him go. "Stop acting like a Sent and learn some manners. You borrowed his horse after all."

Killian glared, but then with a grimace subsided.

"Finished?" Sasha asked coolly.

"Yes," Stefan muttered, unable to look at him now that Killian had shouted how 'starry' he was. He was not! Shoulders hunched, he stalked over the fire and began slowly to bring it back to life. "So you got the tonic? Run into any problems?"

"No," Killian muttered, obviously still in a foul mood - Stefan wondered what had caused it. "Plenty of it, enough for us and Swallowtail. So what did you do while I was gone, besides use magic and go through forbidden temples?"

Stefan glared at him and did not reply, poking furiously at the fire.

"It was magic, and if the temple is forbidden then Teufel should have sealed it off better," Sasha said as he sat down next to Stefan, setting his sword beside him.

"Lord Teufel created the Sentinels to tend to such matters."

"I see. I guess he was so busy doing that he failed to teach the children of Licht manners. You are rude without cause."

"I'm rude because you don't belong and Stefan is acting all strange," Killian retorted, glaring furiously at Sasha. "What kind of name is Sasha anyway?"

Stefan slammed his hand down, wanting badly to reach over the fire that flared up and strangle his friend. "That's enough, Killian! Stop acting like a petulant child! You're fifteen - old enough to be taken to the Peak once the snow melts. Stop acting like you still belong in the nursery. I can take care of myself."

Killian pinched his lips together, obviously wanting to retort, but finally nodded stiffly and subsided.

How depressing. His best friend was mad at him and now Sasha probably thought he was a complete and utter child. It was all so unfair. Now what was he supposed to do? Caught chattering away like a girl, then his best friend called him starry right in front of Sasha, and now they were bickering like children. Stefan poked morosely at the fire and wondered if throwing himself into it would do any good. Too small, he had to concede. Better off throwing himself in the water outside the temple. Which he was about to do.

A soft laugh broke into the tense silence, and Stefan barely kept himself from visibly cringing. Now Sasha was laughing at them. "My name, more or less, means 'defending men'. My mother was stern, but a romantic at heart. She planned to give all her children such noble names."

"Planned?" Stefan asked before he could stop himself.

Sasha nodded, and quietly added more small pieces of wood to the fire that Stefan had suddenly forgotten. "She grew ill, and it destroyed her ability to bear children."

"Oh…" Stefan said, hanging his head. "I am sorry. The elders say my tendency to ask questions is nearly always rude."

"If I had not been prepared to answer the questions, I would not have made the statement I did," Sasha replied quietly. He smiled faintly. "Curiosity is not necessarily a bad thing, and learning to ask questions tactfully only comes with age. There is no harm in the young being direct. That is what youth is for."

Stefan made a face. "I'm not a kid."

"You are still quite young," Sasha said with a chuckle.

"And you're so old?" Stefan challenged "You don't look it."

Sasha surprised him by throwing his head back and laughing. The sound of it was…Stefan had a hard time holding on to his thoughts. "Thank you," Sasha finally said, still chuckling. "That is most flattering. I assure you, however, that I am well on my way to old. I am forty three as of…oh, two months or so ago, I suppose. It is hard to keep track, and I never cared to anyway."

Forty three…that was…twenty five years older than he. Stefan hoped he wasn't gawking. "You're not that old."

Shaking his head in amusement, Sasha continued to stoke the fire Stefan was neglecting in favor of staring. "I assure you, I am that old."

Stefan flushed. "I didn't mean you're old, I just mean…" he gave up with a frustrated huff, feeling every bit the kid he tried so hard not to be. He was eighteen - old enough to hunt, to be trusted to make trips, to scout once he passed the tests come summer…why did he still feel like he was fifteen?

Thinking of fifteen reminded him of Killian, and he shot his friend another nasty glare.

Killian ignored him.

Fine. He could be that way. Stupid him for thinking he could be friends with a fifteen year old. Argh, what was wrong with him? Why was Killian in such a snit? If he wanted to be a total child, then fine.Let him. Stefan could make his life a whole lot worse. "Sasha is coming home with us."

"What!" Killian said, jerking in surprise. "He is not!"

"Yes, he is," Stefan said. "He has a map, but it's completely outdated. I told him Hartmann would be able to fix it for him - and he did kill a Great Sentinel. He deserves more than just stupid broth and us bickering."

Killian snorted. "He's going to bring the wrath of Lord Teufel upon us all."

"He is not," Stefan protested.

"What," Sasha interrupted, "is the wrath of Teufel?"

"Lord Teufel once sent a Great Sentinel to destroy an entire village because they blasphemed and attempted to fight his Will."

Sasha shrugged. "Then I will not visit your village. I am quite interested in defying this so called Will of Teufel, but I will not drag innocents into it. You are welcome to crawl back to your village and follow his heartless Will if you please."

"Teufel isn't heartless," Killian hissed.

"That is your belief, and I have mine," Sasha replied implacably.

"Stefan!" Killian demanded him. "Tell him-he's being blasphemous."

"What?" Stefan asked, starting, looking up from the fire. "Ah-he's not from here, Killian…" Stefan faltered, the fury on his friend's face making him unwilling to admit he sort of agreed with Sasha, as scary as it was to think that.

"Starry," Killian said in disgust. "I'm going to get the food I bought in Deer Run." Standing, he stomped off back outside.

Stefan flushed and dropped his head. "I'm sorry," he said, forcing the words out, utterly humiliated he had to. "Killian is usually so friendly…I don't know what's gotten into him."

Sasha chuckled. "Oh, I can think of one or two things that might have stung him. He'll cool down, boys always do."

"Still…he shouldn't have been rude to you."

"I am used to people being far ruder…including myself," Sasha replied, and something like bitterness flickered briefly across his face, gone so quickly Stefan half thought he'd imagined it.

Silence fell until Killian came stomping back inside carrying his pack, fat and full. "I brought new jerky, real biscuits, and some smoked sausages…I even cadged a few apples." He flicked an impatient glance at Sasha. "Enough for three."

"You're too kind," Sasha said, as though oblivious to the simmering resentment. "I have offerings of my own, if you do not mind strong tea. There is still plenty of fruitcake, and maybe even some lemon drops…" He stood up and retrieved his bag from beside Killian, rifling through it a moment before coming up with a small sack, something wrapped in cloth, and a small metal tin. "There," he said, indicating the sack. "I do have some lemon drops left."

Stefan laughed, trying to stifle it, smothering the sound with his fingers, but it slipped out anyway - how could he resist? The fierce slayer of a Great Sentinel was smiling over candy and his best friend looked ready to kill. "It-" he bent over laughing. "It seems as though we've got quite the feast before us, then. I say we eat. Killian, hand over those sausages. You always burn them."

Grumbling, Killian obeyed, then pulled out the biscuits as Sasha unwrapped his fruitcake which looked and smelled absolutely wonderful. He accepted the chunk Sasha handed to him, humming in pleasure at the taste of the fruit, the soft texture of the cake…crunch of the nuts…and a warm burn. "What's in this?"

"Brandy," Sasha answered. "Very warming when you have to sleep in the snow, I promise."

Several minutes later the sausages were finished and suitably cooled. Stefan divided them out and dug into his own with relish, licking the juice and grease from his fingers as he finished, wishing mournfully that there were more. He stole a look at Sasha, then looked hastily away, that hot-cold feeling coming over him again. Hastily he bit into his biscuit, and when that was gone he finished off his bit of fruitcake, making the warm, bright treat last as long as he was able.

He stared into the fire when he was done eating.

"Here," Sasha said, breaking into his thoughts, holding out the little sack.

Stefan blinked at him, then obediently held out his hand as Sasha tipped the sack - a small, pale round candy spilled into his hand. Stefan popped it into his mouth, and immediately smiled as the flavor of lemon and honey burst on his tongue. He beamed at Sasha. "Thank you."

"Certainly," Sasha said. "Now I suggest we bed down, so that we might rise early and be on our way that much sooner. You have tonic to get to this Maja of yours, and there are Sentinels to be killed."

"Just because you killed one Great Sentinel doesn't mean you can kill the rest."

Sasha merely smirked, then stood and fetched his bedroll. He laid it out near where he'd been sitting. Hesitating a moment, Stefan fetched his own and laid it out near Sasha's, ignoring the way Killian rolled his eyes and then turned his back. Making a face at him, Stefan then threw a few more sticks on the fire before wrapping up in his cloak. "Goodnight," he said softly.

Killian said nothing, and Sasha murmured a soft 'good night' before everything fell silent.

Though he tried to sleep, Stefan could not. He finally opened his eyes again and stared up at the ceiling, then turned on his side to stare at the man just over an arm's length away.

Sasha was still, and in the light of the flickering flames his skin seemed paler than ever. His hair fell across one cheek, along his neck, just touching the floor. Against the flames, his hair really did look as though it were made from fire itself.

Watching him, somehow unable to tear his eyes away from the still, handsome face, Stefan eventually drifted off.

Five

Sasha slowed to a stop at the entrance to the little village, shaking his head as Stefan bolted across to a house that was clearly of some importance to mark by its size and location in the center of the small circle of houses.

He ignored the looks the sentry gave him, as well as those of a couple of women walking huddled together, baskets in their hands. Turning away, he stroked the nose of his horse - Chestno, a very faithful coal-black mare. She'd stuck with him even through the Jagged Mountains, and through his first battle with a Sentinel. If he had a friend at all, it was Chestno. Murmuring quietly, he waited patiently for Stefan to return.

Hopefully they would allow him a day or so to rest before they encouraged him to be on his way. He deserved a night just for putting up with the spats between Stefan and Killian. Gods above, had he been that argumentative and jealous and possessive at that age?

Sadly, the answer was yes. Boys were always boys, after all. Though even at that age, he'd learned there were better ways to fight than with fists and careless words. No…his words had ever been far from careless.

He shoved the errant thoughts aside. He was done with the past. There was no point in thinking of any future beyond 'Kill Great Sentinels, Holy Sentinel, and Teufel.' The present was all that mattered now.

More and more people came to stand on the stoops of their houses as word spread of his presence. Sasha was torn between impatience and amusement - but he had to remember no one in Schatten had seen or heard from the rest of the world for hundreds of years. Back home he might be unremarkable, but here…it would be flattering if he didn't know it was just because of his sheer oddity. He'd often considered dying his hair for the length of his time in Schatten, but in the end it was just too much work.

Thankfully, Stefan came bolting back toward him a couple of minutes later - Killian unsurprisingly absent. "The Chief says he'd love to meet you," Stefan said, stopping just short of crashing into him, breath clouding in the air, a bright smile on his face. "This way, I'll show you where to put your horse."

Obediently Sasha followed, wishing ruefully he had the energy to bounce around after a hard day's travel - even with the chaos ring, he could not compete with youth. Shaking his head in amusement, he led Chestno into the stable and stall Stefan indicated, then went about taking care of her.

All the while Stefan all but vibrated, shifting impatiently and wandering the stable, trying to stay out of the way but not quite able to do that and be still. Sasha chuckled softly and gave Chestno one last pat before he let her be. "Thank you," he said.

Stefan nodded absently and turned away. "This way, there's stew ready and fresh bread and the Chief sounded really interested in meeting you…"

"I bet…" Sasha murmured as he followed Stefan into the house at the center of the village - and how vastly amusing that so many people suddenly needed firewood or to speak with their neighbors on some urgent matter.

"Reimund!" Stefan called in greeting, and five people looked up at the sound of his voice.

Sasha glanced briefly at Killian - the few minutes in friendly company had not improved his sour demeanor, and Sasha wondered tiredly how much poisonous seed he'd sown in the minutes that Stefan had been absent. The others he didn't recognize, though the pale, sickly woman by the fire was likely the ill Maja, the broad, wide man of roughly fifty years or so standing over her rocking chair probably Reimund…a man who looked much like him sat at the nearby table, probably a son. The last, a small woman but with the lines that only hard labor could bring, did not resemble the others but had the feel of an old friend or some such.

Killian crouched beside Maja, holding her hand and turning a far kinder expression to her than Sasha had imagined the boy capable of making.

Bowing his head, Sasha waited for them to speak - no one had bothered to teach him etiquette before sending him off, and he highly doubted anyone would be impressed by the manners he did know.

"You are…as strange looking as they said," the man Sasha presumed was Reimund said slowly. "From where do you come, stranger? Lord Teufel does not permit interlopers."