Breakers

By Scott Becker and Ben Becker

History, in any world, is shaped by those precious few bearing great influence, be it from wealth, charisma, or strength. But not all those with such power ever expected to wield any, much less a kind which could be described as magic.

Phileina, a humble servant to a greater good, wishes nothing more than to live out peaceful days with her best friend. Yet a part of her yearns for something more, something holy laws forbid. After taking up arms for his country, Davin now holds a hoe, as well as the mantle of fatherhood. But when his son, too, becomes an independent man, he must find a new purpose to drive him. And young Melly has plenty of dreams, too many dreams for the slum to hold. Her most fervent, though, is a simple one: that nobody goes hungry, least of all her family.

As the strings of fate weave themselves, these three will come to bear the future on their shoulders, when an abominable threat encroaches upon their homes. For they are Breakers, with the ability to rewrite the rules of reality. They just don’t know it yet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781387750900

Book preview

Prologue

The first thing Davin noticed when he stepped out of his tent were the clouds. They covered the whole of the sky, hanging low and casting their grey pallor over the camp. Fitting, given that today, they were again marching off to war.

It was barely morning, and aside from him, only those who had been assigned to the night watch were out and about, making their rounds. Their leather boots, stepping in time, produced soft sounds in the cold, misty air. The only other noises were the cries of distant birds. For now, at least.

Davin, not wasting any time, moved clear from the tent’s entrance and began to stretch, limbering up his arms and legs in a series of practiced positions. Slowly, one limb at a time, the fatigue of a night’s rest sleeping on little more than a wool mat bled out of him. Every little advantage he could get mattered, when the fate of his homeland was on the line. It was a bit difficult to do some of them in boots, but his socks were dirty enough already.

His heart racing as it pumped the aches from his muscles, Davin ignored the ever-present smell of unwashed men and simply took it all in as he waited. The large hilltop clearing upon which the Fioldish war party had made camp was packed full of canvas tents, each housing dozens of his countrymen. Even with the casualties from the past few skirmishes, their numbers were still over a thousand strong. Almost half that many horses were tied to posts in the center, the grass at their hooves devoured and trampled overnight. Stacks of crates and barrels, the remnants of an initially massive supply, were stored under tarps, alongside piles of blades and spears. In Davin, these sights never failed to stir up feelings of pride within his breast. Pride for how far they had come, pressing deep into enemy territory. From what little they told him, the other fronts of the war were going just as well, most every victory a rout.

Still, he pursed his lips. Much had been lost along the way to reach this place. Men whom Davin called brothers, cut down by the steel of their foes. Their blood seeping into foreign earth. But worse surely would have happened to those who could not fight had they not offered their lives to the cause.

And then the piercing note of a war trumpet shattered the idyllic moment, rousing his comrades-in-arms from their sleep and spooking some of the horses a bit. The chorus of annoyed groans from within his tent snapped Davin out of his solemnity and brought a small smile to his face.

One by one, his fellows dressed and emerged, rubbing the sand from their eyes. Many looked to Davin with familiar expressions of annoyance. But when an arm was suddenly draped across his back, Davin didn’t flinch. Instead, he just turned his head.

Good morning, Hans, he said. How’d you sleep?

Hans, looking over Davin’s shoulder, barked out a laugh. Take a wild guess.

Not enough? he said.

No points for that one. Hans removed his arm and stepped around, likely so Davin could better see the smirk on his youthful face. Like Davin himself, Hans was barely a man in terms of age.

Anyway, I think we should be going, Davin said. Soldiers moved around them like stones in a river, forming lines that all converged on one spot. Didn’t you want some of the fresh game our archers bagged yesterday? Because I’m also getting very tired of our dry rations.

Oh, moonsbane! Hans exclaimed, suddenly dashing off to join the lengthening queue once his memory had been refreshed. Davin shook his head in bemusement before running after him.

Davin waited patiently amidst the idle chatter as breakfast was passed out. By the time he and Hans had reached the temporary mess, the deer meat was all gone, and they instead received more of the same old impossibly dry biscuits and impossibly tough jerky. As a consolation, though, the officers had cracked open a keg of ale, and Davin got a mug to help whet his whistle. It wasn’t very strong, but it sure beat water.

Sitting down on a spare, unoccupied patch of ground on the nearby hillside, surrounded by hundreds, Davin started eating immediately. At this point, he was grateful for what he could get. Hans, next to him, stared wistfully at those who’d gotten the good stuff. 

When he still hadn’t touched his food after a minute, Davin jabbed him in the side. Eat, man. We all need our strength, with what’s coming.

I know, I know, Hans lamented, caving in. He sighed before tearing off a piece of jerky with his teeth.

Still, Davin wasn’t done with him. After a gulp of ale, he asked How’s that wound look?

Hans finished chewing, glancing down at a spot on his leg. It’s fine now. That arrow barely grazed me to begin with. Damn Salirians can’t aim to save their lives!

Hans’ sudden peal of laughter tapered off as he shoved a piece of biscuit into his mouth. Davin rolled his eyes at him. This war was serious, and if there was one thing Davin disliked about him, it was that he didn’t treat it with the gravitas it deserved sometimes.

Well, the more they fight, the more the survivors will learn, Davin noted. We can’t let our success get to our heads. Too much is at stake.

Hans wagged a finger. You’ve been listening to the general too much, Davin.

Davin’s eyes narrowed slightly. He’s our commanding officer. That’s kind of the point.

Yeah, well, he makes it seem like the most significant event in history. Hans shrugged. How is this any different from every other war we’ve ever fought, besides being bigger? I mean, really?

Before Davin could answer, though, a shout rang through the air. Attention, brave warriors of Fioldom!

Davin blinked, spinning to face the voice’s source. In a great coincidence, it seemed the general would be doing the answering. General Gradath cut an imposing figure as he strode down into the loosely assembled men. He was already fully dressed, the red arc painted onto his expensive plate armor catching the morning light like a miniature sunrise. And even if he hadn’t been dressed, his steely gaze and short beard made him easily recognizable. Everyone, Davin included, remained where they were, food set aside, conversations snuffed out by his presence.

The rhythmic thud of his boots echoed to Davin’s ears as Gradath scrutinized his troops. Eventually, he began. Today is the day this war truly begins! Today, we push into the heart of foul Saliria and end this threat to all that we have built!

Triumphant cries burst from inspirited mouths. Davin’s was one of them. He raised his fist overhead, a proclamation of loyalty.

Gradath, too, was unwavering in his resolve, his firm expression unchanged as he marched among his men, addressing the entire crowd. "Never again will the people of Fioldom be oppressed, their will shackled and bent under the hands of false gods! And we shall be their deliverance!

These past few ‘battles’ have been but skirmishes, small villages caught by surprise. Now, we face true opposition, and must do everything in our power to succeed! Gradath paused for breath, straightening further. Form ranks in one hour. We’ll set out the moment you have your orders.

As quickly as he came, the general left, allowing his ranks to finish their meals. The atmosphere, suddenly tight as a bowstring, snapped back to its more casual state from before. But for Davin, this return wasn’t complete. When he watched him go, familiar emotions roused within him once more. A will to serve, to defend, however his rulers saw fit. The drive of a boy given purpose, becoming more than himself. The same surge of pride that directed his path to the present. For his family, and his country, his duty was to fight. That’s all there was to it. Right now, it was all he needed.

A snort from Hans snapped Davin out of his thoughts, his friend downing the rest of his drink. Okay, never mind, Hans said. I see your point.

Davin’s brow rose. Surely, he’d heard speeches like that before? Still, in the grand scheme of things, Davin supposed it didn’t really matter why any one soldier chose to take up arms, as long as they all worked towards the same goal.

Good, Davin declared. Picking his food back up to his lips, he resumed eating, silently urging Hans to do the same. They all needed to be ready when the time came, and that time was upon them.

Davin focused on eating at a quick but steady pace, watching out of the corner of his eye as men stood one after another and trudged back up the hill to prepare. The second he finished, Davin followed.

The frontline camp was host to a whirlwind of activity as the Fioldish force got to work. Food boxes were repacked, cups carted away, tent flaps were tied shut. At the outdoor stables, cavaliers readied their mounts, strapping on saddles, bridles, and barding. Archers refilled their quivers, and low-ranking officers barked orders. Men streamed to the quartermasters, receiving their weapons and armor. After a necessary stop at the latrine, Davin joined them. Being a humble infantryman, he was granted a leather helmet, a chainmail vest, a buckler, and a spear.

Donning the vest, it settled onto his body atop his standard grey uniform with a weight befitting its importance. The spear was sharp, but its worn wooden shaft was stained slightly dark with blood. And the helmet was… better than nothing, at least. Affixed to his off arm, the buckler would supplement it.

More than any of the gear, though, the sight of dozens upon dozens of his fellows around him going through the same preparatory steps filled Davin with confidence. What little fear he still carried with him was buried beneath born courage. Scanning the legion for his immediate superior, Davin formed up with the ranks of his squad at the other edge of the hill, the direction of their campaign. Eastward, the rising sun’s rays filtering through the clouds, gently illuminating the leafy trees and bushes in the valley beyond.

Soon, Hans stood with him, more and more soldiers taking their places. What had been a group of individuals the night before rapidly transformed into a single unit. One of many, Davin kept his posture straight, the butt of his spear planted firmly in the ground, holding it in position. Surely if any enemies were watching, they were intimidated by the aura of scale and intensity they were projecting.

And then, all grew quiet once more. Even the horses, cavaliers astride their backs, didn’t neigh or whinny. Only the rustling of banners in the wind made a sound, the gold and silver circles, side by side on a red background, clearly marking the nation to which this army belonged. General Gradath, his own decorated steed raising him up, surveyed his men, searching their faces for some hidden indicator of true readiness. Satisfied, he squared his shoulders, and began his briefing.

Our enemies have taken defensive positions within a forest about few miles out from here. Your commanding officers have all seen the maps. Follow them into position. The plan is a simple full speed encirclement, with all infantry squads coming in straight on as each half of the cavalry comes in wide from either side of the ridge.

Davin could barely make out Gradath pursing his lips at this distance. They have the high ground, and there will be losses, he added. But do not hesitate, even if you are facing down a woman. That’s just a sign the Salirians are desperate in their defense! If we allow them to regroup, then we’ve already failed. Let’s go!

When Gradath raised his sword, a mighty battle cry from all assembled shook the air. He reared his horse back, turned, and charged off. In a burst of hoofbeats, the other horsemen pursued, fanning out.

With an instinctively registered order from his commander, Davin moved, a coordinated walk brought out through months of experience, his individual gait corrected. Hans’s presence was a small comfort as they put the camp behind them, leaving only a token force behind to guard their supplies. Davin shot his friend a tiny grin of excitement, which he returned.

The hours seemed to fly by as Davin stepped in rhythm, boots meeting dirt. Down untrodden paths he marched, isolated from view by the high, rolling hills on either side as the sides of the valley herded them along like water in a river. Even the great sun could not stop their advance, still blocked by the clouds as it was. Plants in their path were avoided or brushed aside with steel, whichever was easier. Davin didn’t think; he didn’t have to. He merely needed to move, stay calm, and draw upon his training.

A thin sheen of sweat was tickling his skin, tempered by the wind, when he emerged into a new wilderness. Another clearing, breathtaking in scope, filled a great cleft in the landscape, patches of wildflowers carpeting the rocky floor. Beyond, a steep incline rose, brown-barked trees standing tall at the top. In another circumstance, he may have just stopped to admire the scenery. But there were Salirians waiting in those woods, and they wanted payback.

Davin’s squad leader thrust his spear forwards, the red ribbons near its tip billowing. This is it! Charge!

With a mighty roar, he did, exploding into motion. Davin, Hans, and the rest of the infantrymen burst into a jog, kicking up gravel and dust as they pushed into the open, an avalanche in reverse. In and out his lungs pumped breath, Davin’s body preparing to fight head on, knowing any such breath may be his last. He held his spear close in one white-knuckled hand, leading with his shielded forearm.

However, at first, it seemed like nobody was there. Further and further they pressed, but all Davin could hear were footsteps and the rush of breath. Then, he caught the glint of movement ahead and above. An arrow, sailing into the stones with a sharp thud. Missed. But there were more. Soon, it was raining death. A sporadic rain, but that didn’t make a difference. Around him, men grunted and cried out in pain, projectiles hitting their mark. A glancing hit to the knee here, a gut shot there. Soldiers stumbled, clutching at wounds, viscous blood oozing.

Davin’s heart beat frantically in his chest. The information registered, he was fine. He stayed in formation, not breaking rank as bodies fell, rolling and scraping metal and skin on the dirt. A gasp from Hans, and Davin flicked his eyes to the side. Hans had caught an arrow on his buckler. A clear reminder, how his own life hung by a thread. Focus.

More arrows arced toward them. Davin’s legs started to burn from exertion, the incline and the pace taking a toll. But stopping wasn’t an option. Soldiers, no, men, didn’t stop. They had to be strong. He had to keep going, be one small piece of a collective effort.

For every Fioldish man who fell to a bolt from the blue, there were a dozen who yet remained, still running headlong into the fray. Davin could hear more, see more, as his senses heightened. Shouts from between the trees, the war cries of their adversaries. In the distance, a growing cacophony of hoofbeats.

Suddenly, they had reached the treeline. There were flashes of movement, green-clad shapes repositioning.

Break! Search and destroy! Davin’s commander exclaimed. There was a feathered shaft sticking out of his shoulder, he noticed in the back of his mind.

Really, such was his existence now, in proper battle. Operating on instinct, he wove through the foliage in a random direction, spear clutched in both arms. They were shaking involuntarily from the fire in his veins.

And then, he was in the eye of a storm, frantic motions on all sides as people dashed among the forest, fallen leaves crumpling, chaos descending. Davin’s eyes darted rapidly in all directions, seeking threats.

There! A Salirian, bow in hand, scrambling for cover. Davin charged after him, weaving around roots and branches. The man glanced over his shoulder and flinched, spinning into a crouch behind a wide tree. Davin ducked to the left, moving to circle around from behind when he peeked back out from cover to take a shot. He missed, clumsily, and retreated to nock another arrow, eyes filled with desperation and determination.

But when Davin rounded on him, it was from his original path on the right: a fake out. By the time the man realized his mistake, it was too late. He tried to stand, whirling back, only to find the wood of Davin’s weapon slamming into his throat, hair and fabric scraping against rough bark as his gasp turned into a gurgle.

Growling, teeth clenched, Davin used his leverage to overpower him, dragging the point of his spear across the archer’s throat. He let out a pained half scream before falling to his knees, grasping at his gushing neck.

Davin panted with exertion, watched for an eternal instant as the life bled out. It wasn’t his first time killing a man, but that didn’t make it any easier. Or less necessary. Smarter men than he deemed this cause worth the sacrifice.

Everything escalated. The galloping reinforcements had caught up, pinning in those who tried to run, riding them down with frantic swipes or trampling kicks. Screams flew as plentifully as the arrows, every which way, surrounding Davin in a maze of battle. He burst back into the melee, teeth clenched, trying to make sense of the echoing noise, the spark of steel on steel, the crunch of wood on bone. Where was—?

Stop!

Davin nearly stumbled into a sapling, so unexpected was that scream. But to call a sound of that magnitude a scream would have been a grave understatement. It seemed to rattle every inch of his body, as if that single word demanded to be heard over the din. Unable to help himself, fear tinged curiosity forced him to comply, turning to face the source with wide eyes.

It was a man, a Salirian militant, wearing a white tunic over his viridian tinted slacks. A healer, maybe? He stood in place, barely visible through a distant gap in the brush. Appearing as shocked as Davin felt, he looked down at himself before taking a deep breath. His expression turned from one of sorrow to one of tempered anger. Cries of agony and triumph alike tapered off as all present froze and stared.

No! shouted a Fioldish swordsman Davin didn’t recognize, apparently getting over the unusual interruption. Die, god-fooled scum! Blade overhead, he ran at the healer.

Then the healer glared at him, and his sword vanished.

The soldier’s motion petered off, and he searched his hands and the ground behind him in total bafflement. As he did, the healer slowly panned his head around. And every weapon he looked upon, Fioldish or Salirian, disappeared without a trace. Including Davin’s, the heft of his spear gone, hands closed around empty air. There hadn’t even been a spark of light.

Davin simply couldn’t believe it, blanching. Confusion didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling. Things like that, like… magic, they didn’t happen. Magic wasn’t real, the stuff of ancient myth and children’s tales. But he’d just seen it, with his own eyes. It happened, to him, right in front of him! His gaze bounced back and forth between the Salirian man and his own hands, uncomprehending. Judging by the murmurs of total befuddlement and exclamations of shock, Davin’s allies felt the same.

Only the healer remained unperturbed. Shaking his head, he slashed at the air in front of him with his arm. This whole war, all this needless loss of life… we never wanted this! You attacked us, completely unprovoked! We just defended ourselves! Well, no more.

He pressed his fingertips together in front of his chest, forming a triangle. I know not how, but it seems gracious Sali shared in my pain, and granted me her blessing. Through me, she ends this battle. I won’t let this stand any longer! Take your misplaced hatred and go!

A current of outrage shook through the Fioldish troops, battle cries turning to cries of protest, even as the Salirians whooped with joy. Flying colors, the flags of their country, dropped to the grass. Davin just kept staring at the healer before his strength gave out, everything hitting him at once as he fell to his knees. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Because if he did, and there was a god, then all the carnage, all those families who lost their sons, all of it would have been for nothing. Their drive, their power, their goal, all lost in one unfathomable moment, one use of unknown power.

Gradath, still on horseback, examined the cheering crowd, and his fallen men, with a sunken look. From the way he clenched his eyes shut, he’d realized the same thing as Davin. Sound the retreat! Have scouts send word to the other battalions. The general glared at the Salirians’ savior as they surrounded him, sharing their awe. There’s… nothing we can do. This war is over.

Rendered numb, Davin’s head spun. Sense had totally fled. Truly, what else could men do against a will such as that, save run? And so, Davin left, no longer sure at all what would come.

Chapter One

Come on, Phileina! Time to get moving!

With a soft sigh, Phileina pried her eyes open, the familiar voice bringing an end to her rest. She rolled upright, turning to face the door. Thanks, she said, just loudly enough to be heard. It wouldn’t do to wake up half the town by shouting.

She stood, her cot crinkling as she did. Her hands smoothed the wrinkles on her sleeping clothes automatically, even though she knew she was about to remove them. Taking a deep breath to wake herself up, Phileina pulled a set of green robes out of her unpainted dresser, a sign of her profession, and quickly changed into them.

In the middle of her small allotted room, Phileina looked herself over in her equally modest mirror, brushing off some stray pieces of lint. The robes fit her wiry body well. But she still wasn’t quite sure she’d made the correct decision, becoming a full disciple of Sali. She told herself it was because she simply hadn’t been keen on anything specific, though many doubts lingered. What did it say that she wasn’t quite eager to start the day?

Giggles filtered through from the hallway. Please, take as long as you need.

Shaking herself out of her stupor, embarrassed, Phileina brushed her hair straight and slipped on her sandals before finally making her exit.

The mischievously smiling figure of her dearest friend waited directly in front of her. Good morning, Iris.

Same to you, Phileina, Iris replied, reaching over for a soft hug. The regular gesture never went unappreciated by Phileina, and she found herself smiling too.

You know, when they say ‘spread Sali’s wisdom’, I’m fairly sure they mean sometime within the year, Iris added, coyly.

Phileina felt her face darken as she pouted. They’d been friends long enough for her to know it was all in good fun, but familiarity hadn’t dulled the effectiveness of her playful barbs. Yes, yes. I’m ready now.

With no more delays, the pair of them could set about on their traditional duties. On their way out, she and Iris made their way through the large common room of the temple, stone benches facing the large windows and elaborate paintings which lined the walls. Some were scenes of cooperation and joy among people, others dense landscapes filled with animal and plant life.

Time to make the rounds! Iris cheered, practically leaping through the lockless door and into the early light. A bit of that enthusiasm made its way into Phileina, bringing her to full wakefulness as she trailed after her and into town.

The view from the entrance never failed to put things into perspective for Phileina. Even as low up the mountain slope as the temple was, the rest of Dencrest seemed small nevertheless, the groves and river beyond far dwarfing the rock-hewn buildings. She and her kinfolk really were blessed to have this fertile place to call Saliria, rich in life so long as there was harmony.

Ahead, Iris skipped down the well-worn path, beckoning Phileina along. She huffed, silently chiding herself for getting wrapped up in her thoughts again, and walked briskly to catch up. Phileina didn’t try to start the conversation back up, and just smiled. Iris’, shining in return, came far more naturally, framed by her wavy russet hair. There wasn’t much to say, really, as nothing of note had happened yet in the day, and Phileina wasn’t inclined to make small talk. Even if the weather was, admittedly, nice when compared to yesterdays. Evidence of the rainstorm still lingered in the form of mud puddles, overabundant dewdrops, and a darkening of the soil, clear for all to see under the blue sky.

As they entered Dencrest proper, Phileina spied plenty of the villagers taking advantage of the fine morning, getting an early start on their various self-appointed duties. And, Phileina knew, those duties were especially critical. Including Nason’s, who waved at her as he walked across their path, pickaxe resting on his shoulder.

Hello, you two! he greeted, rustling his scruff with a show of teeth.

Nason! How are you? asked Iris, the glint of genuine interest in her eyes. Those rambunctious tykes of yours not giving you too much trouble lately?

Nason laughed. Me, no. My wife, yes. Actually, she could use some help with the house, I think.

Iris hummed in understanding, then beamed and nodded. Can do! You can always count on us! Of course, you already knew that, I’m sure. Iris chuckled, resting a hand on her hip.

Nason’s own grin widened. Sali really came through for us, he confirmed, glancing at both disciples in turn.

Stay safe, Phileina quietly added, joining her fingers in the traditional gesture of prayer.

I will, Nason replied, meeting her eyes before returning to his course around the mountain.

Without missing a beat, ever lively, Iris resumed jogging. As if drawn along by her wake, Phileina kept by her. The faint sounds of children’s laughter, the bustle of chores attended, and crackling hearths grew pronounced as she reached the flat ground of the town center, marked by the higher density of homes. Every last one, old or new, had been used, tended to, and reused across families and generations. The nonreplicable, lived-in atmosphere never failed to raise Phileina’s spirits, a smile rising unbidden.

As she and Iris meandered this way and that, Phileina watched neighbors trade warm greetings, never failing to remember a name, no soul unknown to another. Iris never failed to wave a salutation, while Phileina didn’t want to interrupt.

They were almost at Nason’s place when Phileina noticed elder Abil determinedly hobbling over to them, cane in hand. Iris would have zipped right past him, zeroed in on their destination, had Phileina not grabbed the back of her collar.

Iris let out a squeak of surprise, spinning around. What was that for?

Phileina cleared her throat, briefly tilting her head in his direction. We’ve got company.

She at least had the wherewithal to look sheepish as Abil spoke. I was hoping I’d run into you.

Obviously, he approached Iris first, squaring his squat body immediately in front of her. As everyone in Dencrest often did. Not that they disliked Phileina, mind, far from it. Just that Iris had an effortless beauty, whole even when heavily confined, the sloping shapes of her chest and hips defined even though her clothing.

It was strange, suddenly scrutinizing people she’d known for ages in manners colored by her fresh education. Disciples of Sali, to properly fulfill the miscellaneous needs of their society, required knowledge of all manner of topics, even sex. Some may eventually end up called upon as midwives, for example. Though Phileina hoped she’d never have to assist with such a stressful, all-important endeavor as childbirth. Still, her memories of that experience, studying under the priests in the Rose Valley temple, were nostalgic, for that was when she first met Iris. Phileina herself had been pulled in by her effervescent charm back then.

So, what’s the problem? Iris asked. Need to get at that shelf again? Because I can just rustle up a stool for you.

Abil uttered a wheezy chuckle. No, dear, I wish it were that simple. Here, his face fell. I’m not sure how to say this…

Take your time, Phileina said. Iris nodded, attentive.

Abil took a deep breath and seemingly surveyed the quiet landscape, thinking. Well, I’ve been around a long time. And living in Dencrest for decades. I’ve seen a lot, and forgotten just as much, surely. Heck, I would have made my way out here earlier if I’d known how serene this little community was before the Last War happened. I have no complaints about how I spent my life.

Uncertainty filled his eyes. Or was it shame? But, here’s the thing about wisdom: the more you know, the more you realize just how much you don’t. And, well, I’ve been having… doubts. About our faith.

Iris gasped in surprise. Phileina maintained eye contact, waiting for him to explain.

Is Sali really watching over us? he posed. Was her doctrine truly passed down, or is it something else? Of this, I find myself unsure.

Sali is definitely there for us! Iris declared. She sent a Messiah to enact her will! What else—

The hand Phileina placed on her shoulder cut her off. Phileina shook her head once, then turned to Abil. Firm rebuttal wasn’t what he needed, she felt.

It’s good that you’re still searching, Phileina said. Oh, how should she put this? On the spot, her hands unwillingly began wringing themselves through her hair. But, um, whether or not Sali is actually there doesn’t matter nearly as much as what she teaches us. Look around you. Here, we all care for each other before ourselves. That’s worth celebrating, regardless of how it came to pass, isn’t it?

As her response sunk in, Abil’s eyes slowly lit up. He hummed in understanding.

Iris smirked at her. Couldn’t have said it any better myself!

Phileina rolled her eyes, and Abil chuckled dryly again.

The kindness in Salirian hearts really is something special, I suppose, Abil said, once he’d composed himself. I won’t keep you any longer. And thank you, Phileina.

You’re very welcome, she replied, fidgeting in place.

Bye! said Iris.

Once they were alone again, Iris jabbed her playfully in the shoulder. Seriously, nice job there. Philosphy is, sadly, my one weakness. We make a great team!

Phileina felt herself blush. That level of praise always seemed misplaced, especially coming from her. T-Thanks, she stuttered, fixing her sleeve.

Satisfied, neither wishing to dawdle, Iris and Phileina went over to see if they could find Nason’s wife, Faye. Had Iris not long since memorized the town’s layout, it would have been a troublesome task, as their cottage was nearly identical in design to the rest of the buildings in Dencrest, even down to the vines of ivy snaking up its grey stone walls. All it took to confirm for certain they had the right place was a few raps on the door.

Coming! came a voice from inside. Then came hushed but rapid footfalls, and the threshold swung inwards to reveal Faye, fastidious as always in her white frock. Oh, goodness, helping hands. Please, she insisted, ushering them inside.

Someone’s happy to see us, Iris quipped.

Take a look, Faye said, gesturing behind her.

Phileina did. On the cobbled floor, near the back wall, sat a bucket, half full of water. As she watched, a drop of water fell from the roof, plinking into the bucket.

Oh, your roof is leaking, Phileina noted. Some of the thatch must have been blown off. That wasn’t the most urgent of issues, but she could see why Faye thought it was.

I’d fix it myself, but I’m not the best with heights, Faye explained. Plus, I still haven’t finished knitting a second blanket this season. Which I was getting back to in a minute.

You’ve been that busy? Phileina asked.

Faye hung her head. "I’m