“What is this place?” Wyand wondered aloud as the howling wind churned the air high above yet never touched this valley.
“Crolun Raigh,” Carnan answered quietly, astonishment and worry both plain in his voice. “The land of the Eyeless.” As he spoke, the three Guided who had led them through the tunnel dispersed, each going in a different direction. Wyand’s steps faltered as he struggled to decide which person to follow, but then another man approached from the edge of the river.
“We prefer to be known as ‘The Cult of the Guided,’ actually,” the man said to Carnan, then he smiled and addressed the entire group. “And we’ve been waiting for all of you for a very long time.” Then the Guided removed the cloth from his eyes, and Wyand was left speechless by what had been concealed. The subtle flashes of blue and green that normally accompanied a Guided’s eyes were replaced by an intense, shimmering light of the same swirling colors. More surprising than that, a clear layer of what looked like crystal or ice appeared to be growing in the corners of each eye. It wasn’t until the man spoke again, though, that Wyand was truly stunned. “Peace and honor, Wyand,” he said warmly, and for the first time, Wyand saw the Guided’s face in its entirety.
“Hirst!” Wyand exclaimed. “Hirst?” The tall Pathshaper nodded proudly—the same Pathshaper who had once led Silax’ group of Woodsmen in Aldhagen. The same Pathshaper who had been banished by the Venerates. The same Pathshaper who blames me for his Casting, Wyand realized, fear suddenly creeping into his mind. Am I the reason we were all captured? Is this Hirst’s chance for vengeance? The Guided stepped closer with an unsettling grin, then moved in a blink and suddenly had his arms around Wyand.
The embrace was brief but sincere, then Hirst held Wyand at arm’s length. “Smile, boy! This is a glorious day!” he declared.
Wyand smiled weakly, but his confused frown remained. “I don’t understand…any of this. You should hate me for what I did to you.”
“Hate you? I would still be in Aldhagen if not for you.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“I needed to leave, Wyand. That was the beginning of the Vision that brought me here,” Hirst explained.
“And what is the significance of ‘here’ exactly?” Aemetta broke in.
“This is where the Guided go to die,” Hirst said solemnly, then he smiled and glanced at Carnan. “That’s what they tell you in Cynmere, isn’t it, Stonebrother?”
“It is,” Carnan said slowly.
“And while true, that is only one part of Crolun Raigh’s purpose. This is the spot where Taerius—the first Guided—took his final breath, and many Guided have followed his example since. It is also where Taerius received some of his most important Visions, however, and that is the reason most people are called here. This place…it offers a simplicity that is hard to find elsewhere, but that is necessary in order to more deeply connect with the Visions. It allows us to see them with improved clarity and interpret what we see more accurately than can be done anywhere else. No one has ever known why, but to those of us who witness the Visions, it feels as though the mountains of Crolun Raigh resonate with whispers of what once was and what will be. All Guided are called here eventually—some much sooner than others—but once summoned, we do not return to the world we once knew.”
“You certainly returned for us!” Carnan grumbled, still searching for signs of where Laersi had been taken.
“This is true, Stonebrother, but our unorthodox journey to meet with you was dictated in an urgent Vision that was received simultaneously by every person in this valley,” Hirst explained. “That’s never happened before, nor has a Vision ever instructed us to leave Crolun Raigh and travel so far, so we knew that retrieving you was a task of unparalleled historic importance.”
“Why me?” Keltin demanded quietly. “After all that I’ve done, what importance could I possibly possess?” Disgust lingered in every word, but it wasn’t directed at those around him. Wyand recognized that emotion as one that Ryna had shown several times during his time with her in Cynmere—Keltin hated himself for reasons Wyand did not yet understand.
“More than you can imagine, Keltin,” Hirst said sincerely, but Keltin shook his head in bitter denial. The Pathshaper nodded in understanding. “You’re all exhausted, I am sure. Please, let me show you where you’ll be staying.” Hirst turned and walked several strides upstream before Wyand and the others followed uncertainly.
“We can’t stay here, Hirst,” Wyand said worriedly, echoing the thoughts of the other members of his group. “As you saw—and probably already knew—there is a war happening right now that we’re part of.”
“And you feel, because you possess the means of converting the Penitent Faithful one by one, that your place is on the front lines,” Hirst added.
“…Isn’t it?” Wyand asked.
The Pathshaper stopped abruptly, his eyes flaring with light as he looked back at Wyand. “There is no time; too many will die if you follow that plan.”
Wyand was stunned—the key element of the Cynmeren strategy had been the rapid capture and cleansing of the Penitent Faithful, a task which was impossible without the Stormheart and the Thoughtcaster. “What are we supposed to do then?” Wyand asked.
“We devise a better plan,” Hirst replied simply. His knowing smile, though warm, had an air of smugness to it that Wyand didn’t like. It was becoming easy to see how Silax had developed his own arrogance after following a man like Hirst for so long. “That discussion will come later, though,” the Pathshaper went on as he led them into a structure that was much larger than the other huts Wyand had seen. “This is one of our storerooms. It’s virtually empty and not needed for now, so you can all rest here. I’ll go retrieve some blankets and bring back food as well. Feel free to light the fire if anyone is still cold, just remember that wood is a precious resource this far north.” With that, Hirst stepped out and closed the old wooden door behind him.
Wyand looked from one dim corner to the next, but there was nothing at all interesting about the storeroom. It had mud walls twenty strides long on all sides and a high, sloping roof of thick strips of bark. It was also empty, just as Hirst had described, save for a few sacks propped against the far wall beside a stack of firewood and kindling. “This is madness,” Aemetta muttered. “We need to find a way out of this place.”
“What about Laersi?” Carnan demanded. “I don’t even know where they took her.”
“Even if we found her, what then?” Wyand whispered. “We have no scrid, and no idea how to get back to Cynmere or anywhere else from here.”
“So, what do we do, then? Just wait?” Aemetta asked incredulously.
“That’s all we can do, for now,” Wyand replied with a shrug. “I don’t want to be here either, but I don’t see any other options.” The door creaked on its weathered hinges, and everyone turned to stare at Keltin as he stood in the entrance. “Keltin, what are you doing?” Wyand asked.
“Leaving,” Keltin replied quietly.
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Hirst said suddenly from behind him. Keltin stepped aside as the Pathshaper entered with blankets and pouches of food. “You’re all free to leave; forgive me for not clarifying that. Our scrid will not carry you, though, and the land beyond Crolun Raigh is…unforgiving. Are any of you familiar with the ice viper?”
“I’ve heard stories of them, but I’ve never seen one,” Carnan answered.
Hirst smiled as he finished handing out the food, then he retrieved two logs from the short pile along with some kindling and began working to light a fire. Keltin still stood beside the door, but at least he appeared to be staying for now. “You may have seen one and never even known it—they’re tricky. Outside Crolun Raigh, the snow is teeming with ice vipers, but you wouldn’t be aware of it unless you knew how to spot them.” After breathing life into the fire, Hirst coiled up a small section of rope and placed it on the floor with one end extended out just over a stride. Then he reached into one of the food pouc
hes and produced a tuft of thick grass.
“Their bodies are no more than two strides long and they’re pure white, except for the very tip of the tail,” Hirst waved the tuft of grass before placing it at the end of the rope that extended away from the coil. “They don’t have eyes, but there’s a lump on the top of their heads that they must use for something important, because it’s the only thing they keep above the snow besides the tail.” The Pathshaper used his hands to mimic a mound of snow on top of the coil of rope, leaving only the end showing between his palms.
“They wait in the snow, sometimes for months, until a prospective meal passes by. Being that food sources are scarce, any hungry creature or unwary person will see a patch of grass and be tempted to eat it. And that’s just what the vipers want. At the slightest touch on that tail”—Hirst flicked the grass—“the ice viper’s head shoots out from beneath the snow and delivers a lethal bite. It takes less than a second for one of them to bring down something the size of a person, and I’ve seen them consume a nysk on more than one occasion.”
“How could something that small consume a nysk?” Aemetta demanded.
“Because once the prey is immobilized, the vipers don’t work alone,” Hirst explained. “Their venom dissolves everything—skin, flesh, bone—and they all congregate around the resulting pool of slop to drink through their narrow, tube-like mouths. It can take days, but when the ice vipers finish, there is nothing left of whatever they killed.” Hirst plucked the grass off of the rope and bit into it with a crunch.
Wyand opened his food pouch and found more of the same tufts of thick grass. “Does that mean these are…?”
“Viper tails, absolutely,” Hirst said with a grin before taking another bite. “Don’t look so worried—the ice vipers can grow them back. Enjoy them, but don’t expect this to be a regular meal. They’re only consumed on special occasions, for the obvious reason of how difficult they are to harvest.” The wind whistled across the mountains in the distance and the fire crackled as Wyand and the others stared at the green tails in their small pouches. Finally mustering up his courage, Wyand removed one of the viper tails and took a tentative bite. Instantly, he was amazed by the delightfully cool, clean flavor that filled his mouth. Keltin, Aemetta, and Carnan saw his reaction and they, too, began eating.
“Since you brought us here using the scrid, does that mean they’re immune to the ice vipers?” Aemetta asked a moment later.
Hirst nodded. “Their shells are too thick for the vipers to pierce.”
“May we use some of your scrid to return south?” Aemetta continued boldly.
“You may not,” Hirst replied with an apologetic frown.
“You said we could leave if we wanted to.”
“Yes, you can leave. Our scrid stay here, though.”
“So, we’re trapped then,” Aemetta concluded with an accusatory glare at Hirst.
The Pathshaper sighed. “View it that way if you wish, Aemetta. Or you could admit that you’re here to serve a greater purpose.”
“And what is that, exactly?”
“The liberation of Dism Slyde, of course,” Hirst said. He grinned excitedly at each person in the room, but their looks expressed only concern and confusion.
“How are we supposed to liberate Dism Slyde?” Carnan demanded.
“That’s just it—I don’t know yet,” Hirst admitted. “But now that your group is here, I know the way forward will be revealed soon.”
“Wait, you brought us here and you don’t even know why?” Aemetta exclaimed.
Hirst held up his palm to soothe Aemetta’s indignation. “I didn’t say that. Your purpose is to free Dism Slyde—that is why you’re here. I just haven’t been shown the details yet of how that’s going to happen.”
“I thought the Guided were supposed to know everything,” Carnan muttered.
“That’s a common misconception,” Hirst replied. “No one knows everything; the Guided are just granted an enhanced view of time and the intertwining streams of events that flow through it. For example, I knew to light this fire because Aemetta would be starting to feel cold.” Aemetta folded her arms tight to her chest and looked away, but she didn’t deny that what Hirst said was true. “I also know that Carnan is currently wondering why my eyes look the way that they do and is worried that the same will happen to Stormsister Laersi at some point. Isn’t that right, Stonebrother?” Carnan nodded faintly, traces of fear plain on his face.
“So, you see, when I tell you that I’ve had a Vision of all of you bringing freedom to Dism Slyde, you can trust that it is something I have actually experienced. It is real. It will happen.” Hirst stood and walked to the door, then turned to face them again with a frown of mild irritation. “And since I know you’re all wondering now, the eyes of the Guided begin to look like mine when a person practices delving into the Visions more and more deeply. Eventually, I will rely solely on the true sight that the Visions offer my mind; my eyes will be left useless, encased in a crystalline film as hard as any stone.”
“That’s horrible,” Wyand blurted out.
“It’s a change, definitely,” Hirst admitted. “But if it allows me to ensure the future of all people on this world, then it is barely a sacrifice at all.” The Pathshaper opened the door. “Rest. I will return with more food later.”
When the wooden door shut, everyone stared silently into the tiny fire, each person lost to a unique set of thoughts and worries for several minutes. How can we find answers that not even the Guided know? Wyand wondered repeatedly as he subconsciously stroked the Stormheart for comfort. He hadn’t accessed the Thoughtcaster since before leaving Cynmere, but he already knew it held no information regarding Dism Slyde. That was one of the first questions Wyand had asked of the Monitor during one of his early linkages with the Thoughtcaster, but the information either never existed or had fallen to the corruption long ago. Still, he was glad to find that the feel of the Stormheart was reassuring—it was tangible proof that the Cultivators could be destroyed, and their evil influence removed forever.
Eager to find a means of escape but unable to leave the confines of Crolun Raigh, Carnan unfolded a blanket and wasted no time falling into a deep slumber. Wyand thought to follow his example although it was still many hours until nightfall, but when he began preparing a blanket for himself, Wyand noticed Keltin on the far side of the fire. A look of silent horror still gripped his friend’s face; it felt unnatural, considering Keltin’s normally jovial demeanor. Even if the Thoughtcaster has no new answers for me, at least it can help him now, Wyand reasoned, and he quickly made his way to a spot by Keltin’s side.
Aemetta glanced at Wyand and stood as he approached. “I’m going to get some rest,” she said, unfolding a blanket and walking to the other side of the room. “You two have much to discuss.” Once she was settled, Wyand stared into the fire, unable to find the words he needed to begin the conversation with his old friend.
“Why didn’t you strike me down when you had the chance?” Keltin asked quietly as he, too, remained fixated on the flames.
Wyand’s mouth hung slack. “I…I would never hurt you, Keltin, even if it meant losing my own life. That’s the Cynmeren way—we’re trying to save people, not kill them.”
“There’s nothing to save after what I’ve done.’ Keltin muttered. “I’m not who you knew in Aldhagen.”
“Neither am I,” Wyand admitted, both to Keltin and to himself. “But that doesn’t mean our friendship has changed.”
Keltin spun away from the fire, his face distorted by shadows as he at last looked at Wyand. “I’ve killed so many people—dozens, without any hesitation. And I almost killed you, Wyand.” Though his voice was hollow from shock, there was a note of shame hidden deep within Keltin’s words.
Wyand tried to suppress the horror he suddenly felt, but the truth was staggering. Keltin’s a murderer, his mind whispered, but he knew that thought would only cause more damage to an already painful situation. “You didn’
t know,” Wyand said gently. “You were told that the Cynmeren are monsters, meant to be hated and killed. So that’s what you did.”
Keltin nodded, then his lip shook and he turned to face the fire again. “You’re right,” he said with a hopeless laugh. “Everything just feels so broken.”
Wyand lifted the Thoughtcaster out of his armor. “This can help put the pieces together.” He passed the relic to Keltin, who held the chain with an uncertain frown. Having witnessed the same reaction hundreds of times before, Wyand knew exactly how to explain. “It’s called the Thoughtcaster, and it’s from the earliest days of Aldhagen. Information and memories are stored inside it, and it will help you understand the truth of the Old Kingdom and the nature of the ones you call Venerates.”
Keltin’s frown deepened. “Why do you have this?” he whispered.
“That…would take a while to explain,” Wyand replied. “For now, just trust me. When you’re ready, put the chain around your neck and take this.” Wyand held out the Stormheart, which—as expected—Keltin viewed as nothing more than a stone. With his sunken eyes still wide with doubt, Keltin slipped the Thoughtcaster’s chain over his head and reached for the Stormheart.
Wyand pulled the stone away briefly. “Unlike our current situation in Crolun Raigh, you can leave the Thoughtcaster whenever you want. Just try not to panic when you reach the Interface.”
“Am I going somewhere?” Keltin asked skeptically.
“Only in your mind,” Wyand replied. Keltin nodded, still unconvinced, and took the stone. Then he watched in awe as the blue light erupted from the core of the Stormheart and illuminated the shadowy corners of the storeroom. An instant later, the glow faded and Keltin gasped.
“I wasn’t ready for all of that,” Keltin panted as he tossed the Stormheart back to Wyand and hurriedly removed the Thoughtcaster.
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