Darkness at last, drawing its merciful veil over the reason of daylight as well as the eerie glare of moonlight. She walks towards the pit, pulling the cloak Herndel lent her close, knowing better where she is going than what she ought to feel ‒ and where she is going is no clearer than a dark forest trail lit only by the barest meagre glimmer of stars. But at least she knows that she walks towards a fate grander than that of your average raped farmgirl.

Her parting with Linder was somehow incomplete. With all the pieces she has had to leave out, small wonder. She couldn't bring her along to the others in broad daylight, she just couldn't. All the questions raised... although the truth about her is to be revealed as soon as Arkteia reunites with them, she just couldn't face Tirisi, Linder and Ma Crowth at the moment of truth. They wouldn't turn on her, not carrying Arkteia's freedom in her hands, but the mere thought of the looks in their eyes...

So before going in search of Ma Crowth, she did not tell the fretting Linder where she was going, but soothed her by promising her that come dark, Linder would be on her way to reunion with her saviour. Giving her directions to the shieling, telling her that though Arkteia and Brun were away right now, they would come later. When Linder asked what Arkteia and Brun were doing and if they needed help, Wrenne only said that they would tell her everything when they met. Not a word about what has passed during Linder's captivity and hideout in the back of the temple. She'll hear that soon enough.

When Linder asked her when Wrenne would join them, it took her some time before she could answer her that she wouldn't. Linder just looked at her in wonder. "Then why are you doing all this?"

Wrenne had to turn away to hide her grimace as she replied. "Arkteia will tell you once you meet her."

With that, she left abruptly to seek out the second shieling. And at her return at dusk, she dismissed all Linder's questions by shaking her head. "Please, Linder, I have too much to think about. Please ask me no more. You will have your answers soon."

And then the insufferable hours until it was time. Herndel bidding them goodnight and then the achingly slow progress of the moon across the celestial sphere. None of them able to sleep nor stay in the chamber, Linder pacing furiously across the floor of the silent temple hall, Wrenne sitting by the little door leading out, ever and anon prying it ajar to glare up at the glowing disc, no more than a couple of days from fullness.

When it set at last, looking at Linder before parting, Wrenne wondered what she believed that she saw. This forlorn young woman, standing there with her arms hanging at her sides, hands trembling and twitching, thanking her earnestly. Those gleaming eyes fixed on her as if she were the only light shining through the darkest tempest.

Wrenne had been on the verge of telling her then and there. It was tempting, a relief like puncturing a festering boil to see the pus leave her, getting free of all this uncleanliness. But she hadn't. She had merely said goodbye, as if to someone you will meet again tomorrow, rejoin with nothing unsaid, nothing undone. No pardons asked. No excuses made. Incomplete.

But now at last she is on her way to her own completion. To power. It is the only consolation, enabling her to put Linder behind her, silencing the nagging question of what she will think when she learns the truth.

What help is there in forgiveness anyhow?

By the pit, a campfire crackles peacefully. Beside it sits the youngest of the tythingmen, the one assigned to the most wearisome shift on guard. He is no more than twenty-something, appointed in the stead of his father who has fallen lame. Unmarried. An easy head to turn. She has made sure to learn his name, Randel.

Then she stops short. He is not alone by the fire. Chatting and laughing quietly, passing a wine-skin between them, the sinewy man and the boy with the wolf eyes enjoy the company of the guard. They have not yet seen her. But they are between her and Arkteia.

Fury and panic compete with sense for the dominion over her. Time is too precious for hesitation, she must run this risk. Drawing the headscarf further down and hiding the mead skin behind her back, she steps forward. When they notice her, the three men fall silent and stare at her. Then the sinewy man leers. "Well well well, what precious company. Come join us, sweetie!"

She gambles on playing innocent for just a little longer, hanging back at the edge of the firelight. "I couldn't sleep and then I felt sorry for Randel, sitting here all alone."

The men laugh and the sinewy man lets his gaze wander across her body, making her skin crawl. "And then you find all the three of us here, making merry. Well, don't be shy, come join us! We won't bite."

She puckers her lips. "I'm not sure I should..."

"Oh, nonsense!" the man interrupts. "We won't tell anyone. You're not from around anyway, so I guess your mother won't know."

The man rises and walks towards her. She backs up a step, but then he seizes her by the elbow - firmly but not so it hurts - and half guides, half forces her towards the fire.

" Here, have a seat. This young man here is Woller, I guess he's not much older than you, strapping lad isn't he? And I'm Radlan. Almost the same name as Randel here, heh, but twice as much fun. Oh, I see you brought your own!"

He relieves her of the mead skin, opens it and sniffs. Then winks at her.

" Mead, eh? I know you hang out at the temple, so I guess you helped yourself to some of their best. Not as pious after all? I knew it!"

Wrenne blushes from anger, but makes an affronted face.

"Not at all, good sir! I asked permission of the hallowman. I meant it for that poor bewitched girl, but she had only so little before being overcome with weariness."

Woller giggles and mutters to Randel, as if Wrenne can't hear him. "Girls can't hold her drink, can they? How much do you think this bit can take?" Randel frowns and hushes him but Woller merely sniggers to himself and offers the wine skin to Wrenne. "Here sweetie, have a drink!"

"Is that wine?" she says, raising a hand. "I never drink wine, it's so strong. I meant to have only a little mead and the rest was for Randel."

Radlan, the mead skin already at his lips, lowers it again and swallows a slight mouthful.

"Mmm, beg your pardon, sweetie. Here you go, Randel. Gift from the miss."

He passes the skin to Randel, who reluctantly accepts it. "I really shouldn't..." he begins but Radlan's laughter interrupts him.

"Come now!" he says, waggling his eyebrows. "You can't turn down a gift from a pretty girl, can you? Mead is nothing, you won't get drunk on a skin of that on top of the little sips of wine you had, good lad that you are." He winks obviously at Woller who sniggers again. Those two have surely had more than a few sips already. Then Radlan leans towards Randel and mock-whispers. "Don't you see she fancies you, coming here with mead like this?"

Randel blushes deep enough to show even in the dancing firelight and glances at Wrenne. Well, that's one head turned for sure. The other two she feels more like bashing in with a shovel. For now, she can only play along and hope for an opportunity to get rid of them. With luck, the sleeping potion in the mouthful Radlan took, along with the wine, might make him drowsy enough for her to catch him off guard. And Woller doesn't seem too clever.

Radlan rattles on. "Of course she fancies a handsome young man like you. Perhaps Woller here might do at a pinch. An ugly old fart like me, not a chance. Am I right, sweetie?"

All her senses cry out in alarm as she hears the wolf on the prowl in Radlan's words. Her eyes seek out Randel's, pleading. He meets them, looks at the other two, swallows. "Stop it, Radlan," he says with more timour than assertion. "You're frightening her." Then he glances at Wrenne. "Here, miss, come sit next to me."

He makes some room on the log he is seated on, away from Radlan and Woller, and she hurries to accept it. Radlan makes a grimace and turns to Woller. "Told you so. Ugly old fart won't do."

Woller giggles and looks hungrily at Wrenne. "I'm not old nor ugly. Am I?"

Radlan pats his arm. "Of course you're not. But you're not a patch on big, strong Randel here."

Woller keeps staring at her, then looks sulkily at Randel. "It's not fair. I think we ought to share. Like friends."

It almost turns Wrenne into hysterical laughter as she hears an echo of her own thoughts. Friends share... She draws closer to Randel and looks for a handy rock. Then out of nowhere, an eerie voice is heard.

"In the name of the Herder, touch that girl and the Merciless Hunter will be upon you! Begone, foul wretches!"

The voice is bright yet booming, clear yet growling, that of a woman and a beast at once, not a voice that could come out of a human throat. They all freeze, turning wide-eyed towards the pit whence it comes. Then Radlan curses. "The witch!"

Suddenly, with a wordless babble, Woller turns on his heels and rushes headlong into the darkness, stumbling and tripping over shrubs and rocks, cries of pain and fear quickly receding. Radlan curses again. "Your tricks don't scare me, witch!" he shouts, shaking his fist at the pit. "You'll get your due, never fear!" He stoops and retrieves the wine skin, downs a huge culp and slams the stopper into the opening. Then he, too, crashes away, shouting and cursing after his young companion.

Wrenne sags, shaking, and lets herself be supported by Randel. She notices his hands are shaking, too. "Was it the witch that spoke?" he whispers, voice quavering. "Invoking the name of the Herder? How..."

He seems unsure of whether to be affronted or astounded. But Wrenne puts her hand on his arm. "Can you keep a secret?" He nods, mutely. Wrenne picks up the mead skin and hands it to him. "Here. You might need it."

He accepts it now without hesitation and gratefully swigs several gulps before handing it to her, scowling and knotting his fists. "I never knew those two were like that. I guess they were drunk. I'm so sorry."

Wrenne, lowering the skin after pretending to drink deeply, shakes her head. "It's not your fault. And they were right about one thing. I mean, you really are big and strong... and kind, too."

Again, he blushes and looks down while shooting glances at her. She notices that her headscarf has slipped down but pretends not to notice. Then she can finally serve him her story, hoping that Woller will have stampeded far enough away that they will not return tonight.

"I do like your company," she starts, "but that's not why I came. I came here in the name of the Herder."

Now he looks up at her in rapt attention, then at the pit and back again. Wrenne nods. "Yes, she did indeed speak in the name of the Herder and not in falsehood. I have been talking to her. Perhaps you've heard about that?"

Randel nods in wonder. "Do you mean that you spoke to the witch about the... the Herder?"

Wrenne nods back. "And she has listened. This is the secret you must keep. I had a vision of the Herder, where He told me that if I could make the witch repent, He would come and raise us both into His glory. And I had a feeling that it would be tonight. So I came."

Suddenly Randel blanches and shrinks. "The... the Herder will come? Here? Tonight?"

Wrenne hurriedly puts a soothing finger on his lips. "Do not fear! I tell you because I like you and want you to witness His glory as I have. But not all can abide His presence. I almost fainted when He came. So I wanted to warn you as well, perhaps you will never know of His coming, but only awake to find us gone." She looks at him with all the sadness she can muster. "So please understand. If it were different, perhaps you and I... well. We could have time to get to know each other better." She shrugs and sighs, then raises the mead skin again. "Here is to what might have been."

Again, she makes a show of swallowing deeply while keeping any of the drugged mead pass her lips. When she hands it to Randel, he raises it in his turn. "What might have been. Thank you, miss Ardele. I will never forget you."

She closes her eyes as he drinks deeply. No, of course he will not forget the night when he missed the sight of the Herder and the love of a pretty girl.

They keep passing the mead between them and before long, Randel's eyes begin to glaze. He sags and slumps, frowns and squints hard at her. "Ardele..."

She hushes him gently. "The Herder is coming. Be quiet."

She strokes his forehead and he leans against her hand, eyelids fluttering close. As he topples to the ground, she catches his weight as best she can to slow the fall. It's the least she could do for him, she reflects as she stands up, looking down at his peaceful form. For a moment, she wonders what sort of man he is at heart. He acted decently, to be sure. But she has seen that before in men who turned out to be wolves.

In another life, she might really have fancied him. Now all she can feel is pity and mild disgust. Would he truly have stood up for her against Radlan and his cur, that witless toad Woller? Or would he have been swayed by that swaggering man-talk? She will never know but feels no regret as she stoops to relieve him of the key and turns away.

As the lock rattles open, she can see Arkteia looking up at her. "You will have to find some sort of pole," she says, "and a rock or chunk of wood to pry the grate ajar."

Wrenne raises her eyebrows, grabs the bars and pulls. Arkteia is right. It is too heavy for her alone. It takes a little while of searching, but soon she can prop up a sturdy branch over a rock, one end under the grating. When she puts all her weight on the other end, the grating rises no more than a foot from the ground but it is enough. Arkteia, standing on Brun's shoulders, wriggles through as quick as a snake. Then she runs to the store of firewood, gets a thick block and props up the grating. Together, the two of them manage to wrestle the grating open, letting out slam down against the ground. Then Arkteia walks over to the crane, beckoning Wrenne along.

She might have saved herself fretting over how it works, Arkteia seems to know exactly. She grabs a spoke to turn the windlass, motioning with her head for Wrenne to help. Hurrying over to the other side of the windlass, she finds another set of spokes allowing two people to work together.

It is quick work raising the cage off the ground, a catch clicking over a notched wheel to keep the windlass from running backwards, and swing the crane over the pit. Then Arkteia pulls a lever, tightening a leather belt wound about the axis of the windlass, and releases the catch. The cage sinks gently into the pit, its descent slowed by the tight belt. Wrenne watches in awe. "How do you know this?"

Arkteia frowns quizzically at her, then smiles grimly, shrugging. "I worked a lot with traps when I was young. I can see how things like this work. Now help me raise the cage door."

She hauls on a rope that runs through a smaller pulley next to the large one where the hawser for the cage runs. It raises the cage door so that Brun can enter. Once she is inside, Arkteia lets the door fall in place and points back at the windlass.

With Brun inside, it takes much more strength to raise the cage, but not as much as Wrenne feared. Together, they make good progress at first. But though the pit is not deep, it takes a turns of the windlass for every couple of handsbreadths upwards, and one turn takes many heaves on the spokes. Soon, her muscles are burning. These last few days have been taxing. She can see that Arkteia, too, is trembling with strain - of course, she has spent a day in the pit with only some thin gruel for nourishment. The cage is only halfway up when she feels she can go on no longer.

"Perhaps," she pants, "perhaps we can come back later for Brun? With more help?"

Arkteia growls and hauls on her spoke with all her weight. "We leave together or not at all."

Wrenne raises her hands but lets them fall as Arkteia is not watching her anyhow. "Just a minute of rest then? I'm spent."

Arkteia looks at her over her shoulder, then lets go of the spoke. "A minute."

Wrenne gratefully lets herself fall to the ground, drawing deep gulps of chill night air. Soon the sweat starts cooling her and her breathing slows a little. She rolls over on her side and catches sight of Arkteia, lying by the edge of the pit, talking to Brun. Then she rises and spits in her palms, rubbing them together while looking pointedly at Wrenne. With a groan, she gains her feet again and follows.

Somehow, she slips into a state when the spoke is all there is. First the one she is heaving on, then the next. She loses count after the first few ones and simply grunts for every pull. When Arkteia tells her it's enough, she barely hears it.

The cage is not entirely out of the pit, but Arkteia swings it close to the edge, turns it so the door faces outward, then pulls again on the rope raising the door. Wrenne stumbles over to help her. As the door slides open enough, Brun scrambles out of the cage and onto firm ground. Then she trots over to Arkteia and rubs her head against her belly. Arkteia hugs her hard for a moment, then draws away. "We're not safe yet. Come on, let's get the cage and the grating back in place."

Wrenne groans. "Why? Let's just go!"

But Arkteia shakes her head. "Our release is supposed to be a miracle, is it not? Then the cage must seem unused and the grating should be locked."

Wrenne nods mutely. Of course. She musters what strength she has left and hobbles back to the windlass. Without Brun inside, the work is much less hard, but her arms feel as feeble as a slug. Suddenly, she is pushed aside and falls backwards. She cries out as a rock scrapes her hand. Then she sees Brun, effortlessly turning the spokes with her great paws.

She remains seated, licking her sore hand, and watches how Arkteia puts the cage back where it was, taking care to turn the door in the same direction as before, then lift the open grating enough for Brun to work herself under it and push it up and over, slamming back into place. She fastens the lock and then comes over to Wrenne, holding the key towards her. "Put it back where it was. I couldn't see where you took it. Now, where do they keep my bow?"

"The blacksmith's."

Arkteia mutters an inaudible curse. "Good locks, then. Will take a little longer. Better get to it."

Wrenne's eyes widen and she gapes. "Wait, you can't go into the village now!"

Arkteia gives her a sidelong glance. "It's a couple of hours still until dawn and I really need my bow. Follow Brun, she knows the meeting place. Oh, and where have you got that thing from Ma Crowth?"

Wrenne points towards the sleeping Randel. "It's in a pouch next to him. It looks like an ordinary rock. What is it?"

Arkteia is already on her way to retrieve it. "Diversion, if needed."

Then she freezes and quickly bounds into the shadow of a little boulder. Wrenne freezes too, tensing, and hears Brun sniffing the air behind her and then fall silent, disappearing into the shadows.

Someone is coming.

Her first thought is that Radlan and Woller are returning. For a moment, she considers the branch she used to pry the grating open, but it is too heavy for her to swing. Instead, she looks around for a sharp rock, anything... And then a figure enters the firelight and stops. Not Radlan, not Woller. No one she needs a weapon for.

"Herndel! What are you doing? You shouldn't be here!"

Heaving chest, hands opening and closing, he stands there unable to take his eyes from her. Then he swallows and catches his breath. "I know. I'm sorry. I just..."

He hangs his head, dejected, daunted. Then as if pulled by strings, his eyes seek her out again. "I awoke in the night with a strange pain in my chest. At first I feared an illness had taken me. Then the thought of you came to me. I thought I might never see you again. And then I knew that this was the pain I felt."

Suddenly, she notices his bare legs shoved into tangle-laced boots, his unbelted tunic flapping loose, nothing more over it than his bright blue woolen cloak clasped askew. No hat covering his tousled hair.

"I ran to the temple," he continues, "and found you gone and the girl as well. So I believed you had already been taken up, away from... Then I had to see if the witch was gone as well so I ran here. And now I find you here!" In his face, a timid smile tries its luck underneath eyes torn between anguish and hope. It is followed by a curt laugh. "It is silly, I know, but I thought... there was... I had something I felt I had to tell you before you disappeared from my life. Perhaps the Herder will frown upon me for interfering... but His will be done, and if what you have taught me is true, then perhaps He will show me forgiveness for being a mere mortal, weak man with a man's foolish dreams."

He studies her face like a supplicant about to bring his petition before his lord. In her confusion, she neither moves nor speaks. Whatever he reads in her impassive face, it is enough to shatter his fragile smile and start to turn away. "I'm sorry. I should go."

"No!" Wrenne startles herself with her own exclamation. Then she pulls herself together and continues. "At least tell me what you wanted to say."

For a moment he brightens, only to cloud over again, bright red from cheek to ear. Staring hard at the glowing red embers of the starving campfire, he turns back towards her and slowly shakes his head. "It really is silly. I'm almost twice your age and you are destined for something higher. But I never met anyone like you. I know it cannot be. But I'll never have peace of mind unless I find out if it could have been."

At last he looks at her, still furiously blushing, his eyebrows half raised in unspoken question. A question that eludes her.

"If what could have been?" she asks, nonplussed.

He swallows, draws his quivering lips into a twisted grin. "Well... if you and I... if the Herder had not..." Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and speaks in the voice of one who is about to take a long plunge into deep water. "If you had stayed in this village, would you have considered staying with me? I mean... live with me?"

She is grateful that he keeps his eyes shut as she finally understands what he is trying to say, for now it is her turn to blush. "You mean as your wife?"

His jaws clench. His eyes open but remain riveted to the ground. "Yes. I know it cannot be and I know it is silly. All I ask is if you would at all have considered it. If it is... if I am perhaps not entirely silly and laughable to ask."

Wrenne reels. How on earth did this happen? "Laughable?" she says in honest confusion. "Why would you be laughable?"

With a huge gulp of air, he suddenly, quietly, starts to cry and sinks to his knees. "Thank you, Ardele. Please say no more. It was all I needed to hear. Perhaps..." He wipes his eyes with the hem of his cloak and finally meets her eyes, seeming more himself again. "Perhaps you will not take it amiss if I share your vigil? For I take it you are waiting for the Herder..."

A sudden crackle and shower of sparks from the fire bed interrupts him and he looks around, startled. As he catches sight of the sleeping Randel, he gasps and looks at her with eyes as round as a horned owl's eggs. "He is asleep! Does that mean that the Herder... that it is already..."

That is when the world turns into light. A huge blaze as from a tiny sun erupts in the fire. Wrenne is blinded by the flash and covers her eyes while she hears Herndel crying out. Then the same voice that sent Woller into panic roars in her ears.

"Kneel, human, before your Herder! Kneel!"

As the ringing echo dies in her ears and white spots dance before her eyes, Wrenne hears Herndel's muffled voice. "My Lord, I am blinded by your presence! Forgive your errant servant, My Lord!"

Wrenne cries out as hands seize her by the arms and pull her away. Then she feels thick fur under her hands and hears Arkteia's voice hissing in her ears. "Brun will carry you to safety. I will meet you later. Get up and hold on tight!"

Wrenne climbs, still blind, onto Brun's back. Then she feels her great body vibrating as the voice sounds again. "Bear witness to the miracle, my faithful servant."

After that, Wrenne has no time to wonder what just happened, nor time for anything but hanging on as Brun gallops away into the night. The world grows dark and silent around her and shrinks into the single sensation of riding a bear.