"I've never seen such a sudden reversal of Crimson Fever," said the doctor. "You've got a lot of pluck to pull out of it so well, young man."

Castor grinned. "I want to go outside, but my parents won't let me yet."

Two days after he was stricken, my brother was home, though still on bed rest. The physician stopped on a house call to check on him.

"Well, they're right to do so. We don't want a relapse. Get plenty of rest."

"I will. Thank you, sir," Castor said.

I leaned against the door, waiting. When the doctor left, I entered the room.

"Silas!" Castor reached for me, and I indulged him with a hug. His close call with death had tempered my disdain.

"I've brought you some books to read," I said, and set the stack beside him on the nightstand. "Some of my old favorites."

He grabbed the top one, and his eyes brightened. "'Rangers Of Mars'? Wow! You know just what I like. Thank you so much."

"Here's the entire series for you. The Net is boring after a while."

He laughed. "And how. I much prefer a great read."

I sat beside him on the bed. "Castor, do you remember anything during your illness? Anything before you woke in the hospital?"

He tilted his head. "What kind of things?"

"Dreams, or unusual feelings."

"I did have a weird dream, but I don't remember much. There was a bird, and a boy wearing lots of bones. The doctor said it sometimes happens when you get the fever. You see things that aren't real. Funny, isn't it?"

I'd wondered how cognizant those without the Sight were within the spirit realms. Castor had a fragmented memory of his experience. If only I could determine how much Tamsin was aware, as she haunted me almost every night.

Mother and I met each evening after dinner. Her instruction took a more practical approach as the week wore on, with light doses of Asulma and ventures into the Otherworld.

I continued working each day as well, and soon fell back into the comfortable routine of data analysis and staff management with Mr. Tremaine.

Father questioned me one morning, during our commute to company headquarters.

"I hadn't realized you shared your mother's religious beliefs," he said. "How long have you followed them?"

"For several months now. Coming upon a year."

He looked away, and took a long draw from his cigar. "I find it interesting, though primitive. Much to do with bones and animals, correct?"

"Yes. Though much more occurs within a state of lucid trance. It's difficult to explain."

"There's no need to," he said. "I respect your choices. So long as you find merit in it, and no harm ensues. The skull ring you wear and the social club are involved, aren't they?"

"They are. You might think of it as a gathering of Pruessian shamanism enthusiasts."

He ashed his cigar into the round tray by his armrest. "Ah. That's a better description than any your mother gave me. I understand why you're drawn to these traditions. Many in society condemn anything Pruessian as inherently evil. I believe the Pruessian people are ready for change. They only need a push to turn against their own corrupt leader."

I merely nodded.

His jovial mood continued the rest of the day. After dinner, he joined Castor for a night of holo-vision and board games.

Mother and I retreated to the eastern parlor for a ritual.

"Wait here," she said, leaving me in the darkened room, with only a single candle.

Before me lay an assortment of arcane tools, spread across a portable altar. At each corner rested a tiny bird skull, four ebon beaks pointing to the mysteries at their center--Mother's athame, the vial of Asulma, and two unusual bone instruments. I knelt before the array, and quieted my mind.

Mother sauntered in minutes later, bones and beads of wood and stone clacking with each step. Draped about her shoulders was the same mantle she'd worn as the oracle, an intricate weave of hollowed bone segments and sinew, fur and feathers. The candlelight licked along her feral guise, shadows and form dancing along glimpses of bare skin.

"You appeared this way in the Otherworld, when we sought Castor," I said.

Her grin was hypnotic beneath the regalia of dead birds. "You've seen my spirit. I'm honored to share it with you."

"I'm confounded by your abilities, in comparison to my own. How are you able to speak within my head? And how do you transform into a bird?"

She laughed. "I'm a little farther than you in the great adventure. Yours is beginning, and you must find your own way. I can give you no answers."

"I think I understand." As she reached for her athame, I noticed the tattooed markings branching around her navel. "Are those symbols a part of the Old Ways?"

She nodded, and placed her fingers upon them. "My journeys are etched within these runes. Yours will be different than mine, but no less significant."

"I'm to be tattooed as well?"

"Eventually. I plan to teach you as Grandfather Kraelis would have. Lady Selketh may not agree, but she can't stop us."

I rested my hands on my knees, and met her dark umber gaze over the flickering altar. "There's something I've meant to tell you."

"Certainly."

"When I was last at Fairside Manor, Lady Selketh mentioned she wasn't persuaded in allowing my Rite. Rather, that her initial hesitation was but a show for those of lower rank. She then offered to teach me the secret ways of power."

"Really? Did you accept?"

"I did."

Bones and ornaments shook alongside her laughter. "How delightful. I expected her to lure you sooner or later. She has no idea what she's started."

"What do you mean?"

She slid her athame from its sheath, and dipped it through the flame four times. "You're an integral player, in a game far more encompassing than Lady Selketh's. Our family is The Order, Silas. Its origins, the very teachings and rites--there would be nothing without the knowledge passed down through our line. A very different war brews beneath the surface. But it won't stay hidden for long."

"When I last spoke with Uncle Holten, he mentioned he was once a seeker, and that Grandfather Kraelis taught him as well."

Her head snapped about, voice razored as her bone blade. "When did he tell you this?"

"When he drove me to Chamberlayne."

She studied me, and her displeasure eased. "What else did he say?"

"He said The Order was corrupted by Lady Blevasnya, and warned me to be cautious."

A strange grin curled one corner of her lips. "For once my brother speaks the truth. Don't fear those who stand against us. I'll protect you. Together, we'll restore the Old Ways. It'll take time, but we'll have revenge."

"Revenge?"

She raised her athame, and her fingers drifted like smoke across my wrist. "I can't tell you now, as our enemies watch too closely. We mustn't worry about such things yet. Let's begin our ceremony. Only a few drops tonight."

I remained still as she pierced my fingertips. The Asulma flowed warm and rhythmic into my veins.

She locked hands with me, and specks of our shared blood sputtered the candle flame.

Within minutes, I plummeted into the misty void of the Otherworld.

"Sing with me." Her voice resonated in my head as always. "The words will open your Sight."

I joined her in the chant. As she promised, a familiar prick of light opened from eternal shadow. I soon stood upon the seashore. Waves brushed against my ankles, a feathered caress as light as Mother's wings.

Duke greeted me with both paws upon my shoulders.

"This beach is your home, where the songs will always bring you," she said. "Remember it when traveling in the Otherworld, and you'll never be lost. A seer's voice is his greatest ally, next to his guide. Sometimes nightmares will follow you, even to this haven. When you must face something in the spirit worlds, it'll forever pursue you until you conquer it."

"This place is usually choked with blood and gore in my visions. It's perfectly clear tonight."

Her image shivered. "Blood? An omen of some sort. And so much water. I daresay water will be an important element for you in years to come."

A wave crested, nearly tumbling me. I held to Mother's hand for support. "Dark water swallows me often, yet I never drown."

"How fascinating. And your guide is of the Four-Legged Clan, not the Swimmers. It's a riddle you must solve yourself. What I can teach is how to merge with your companion."

My Sight and waking reality blended. "The Asulma is wearing off."

"You won't need it. It was only to establish your connection. A seer is the same in all forms. Everything is illusion, including the world we call the real one. Your dog stands at your side always, because he resides in you."

Mother's voice echoed, her lips never moving. Where did she derive this ability?

She took a pair of bone instruments from the altar, and offered one to me. It resembled a sistrum, a driftwood handle tipped with a the skull of a small predator. Teeth, pebbles, and wooden beads hung upon thin cords of sinew, clattering together at the slightest movement.

Speaking with her physical voice, she urged me to stand beside her. "You know the chants I've taught you. Now, follow me."

She'd kept for herself a thin bone whistle, about the width of a finger. It trilled to her breath like birdsong. Three steps forward, she turned, took three backward, then whirled, and repeated in a circle about the altar.

Assuming I was meant to play the rattle, I mimicked her dance, and shook the instrument in time. It seemed silly at first. But traces of the elixir still flashed, and Duke's paw prints overlapped mine.

Another wave swept over me, then vanished. Sweat dripped down my brow, stinging my eyes. Mother's sway and the bone song's rapture enveloped me into a new kind of trance. The distinction between rational thought and dream rippled.

"As without, so within. As above, so below. All things all connected. Your friend dances as one with you. Search for the place you share."

At that moment we shared a path, a circle upon the raging shore. Duke's prints and my own were the same. Fur and claws shimmered along my fingers, my skin. I panicked, and dropped the rattle. "What's happening? I feel strange."

"Breathe, and dance. The spirit of the dog, of keen senses and cunning, the leader of the pack--these are yours. Take them."

I closed my eyes, and continued the movements. All became a blur. Then, my perception jolted to acuity. Scent and sound taunted my mind with unknown adventure, if I were to follow their trail. Strength filled my limbs, my heart pounding for the temptation of the hunt.

A voice which wasn't Mother's whispered a name, fading to a soft breath at my ear. I repeated it aloud. "Fenvolvna..."

Mother stopped. Silence thickened the air.

"Your Guardian," she said in physical reality, and laid a hand against my cheek. "Already she chooses you. You're blessed to hear her so soon. I'd say that's enough for one night. Let's sit, and discuss what you've just experienced."

She offered me a sip of consecrated wine from a small goblet, to ground the power we'd raised.

"Duke was a part of me. Or rather, I was Duke. I couldn't tell which."

"Transformation is another gift of the Jasters. Grandfather Kraelis was a trickster of the highest degree. You've inherited this as well."

"Is the Rite still scheduled for tomorrow night?"

She slipped an arm around my shoulders. "Yes. And I'll be there for you every moment."

We retired soon after. I was both shaken and thrilled by the night's revelations, yet I was oddly calm when I thought of the Rite. In my heart I knew it was necessary, vital to my growing talents. However dire the conflict Mother hinted at with Lady Selketh, I was firm in my conviction.