Yoor had finished mopping the floor and turned around to give Enim a bright smile. "Are you sure you don't want to come along to the party? Lenoren will surely be there. It's her daughter's birthday, after all. You might be able to speak to her. Or some others, like Qin Roh, Lenoren's partner. I have given her your report already, after all."

"No," Enim replied uncomfortably, "you know how I feel about that. It isn't quite right. This is a private party, and you have been invited, not I."

Enim disappeared into the kitchen and reemerged with a pot of steaming dahl. "It's great if Lenoren's daughter is smitten with you and you agreed to be her birthday present. But there needs to be an official way of bringing matters before the county, a way that is reliable and open to everyone. Not dependent on chance party invitations by families of Council members. That is just not proper at all."

Light broke through the clouds, catching on bright white sails negotiating their way along the river below. Enim watched them, thinking of the many meetings he had gone to by now, and the way they always seemed to be slightly off course, never really right for his concern. Always elegantly maneuvering around him, like a purposeful sailor around an unexpected rock in the stream.

Enim sighed. He shook off the memory of the black hawk that had clutched his report.

"I'll soon have it figured out. One of these many scribes is going to pick it up, or going to point me to the right path, and then things will get moving very fast. No doubt." Enim nodded affirmatively at reality as he had always understood it. He set a steaming plate for Yoor down in the bay balcony. "But you go to the party and enjoy it."

* * *

'I'll talk to you.'

Even that little note annoyed Lenoren. Though she could not have said why. Except for who it was from. Would anyone else manage to squeeze a tone of condescending command into just a few words on a tiny piece of paper?

Lenoren sighed. Maybe it was only her imagination. She was tired, overwrought. She ought to go home. And deal with this kind of thing in the morning.

Lenoren cast a brief glance at the report the note had been attached to. It looked vaguely familiar. Had she seen that before? Something about the Mountains. Lenoren lifted a page. A very brief paper. Now here was some good news, Lenoren thought with a sneer.

Nevertheless. She'd leave it for the next day. She just needed to get home now. She could not be late for her daughter's party either. Nin would never forgive her. You only turned fourteen once, after all.

*

The courtyard of Lenoren's home was riddled with washing lines. Huge, brightly colored sheets of cloth hung down all the way to the ground, in an intricate arrangement that turned the whole space into a labyrinth, full of secret nooks and alleys, hidden dead ends, and unexpected openings. Nin and her friends had put this up for the party. For privacy, they had explained. And for beauty. And for making it more of a party.

Right now, while the adults stood mostly around small tables by the wall enjoying juicy fruit and harmless gossip, the youngsters roamed the maze, bent on getting lost and finding each other all over again. Nin turned around to her friend—and froze in mid-motion.

A sparkle of stars had appeared overhead. Music chimed in, nearly inaudible at first, then richer, fuller, more demanding. The swirling sparks began to move, forming purposeful patterns.

All the youngsters had seen them. Eagerly, they followed the call, impatiently pushing aside the fabrics whenever they could not find their way around them fast enough.

They emerged into the courtyard before the expectant eyes of the adults, who had ceased their conversations by now. The music swelled, the stars gathered into one dense swirl of light and color, and Yoor stepped through that sparkling cloud.

His long, flowing robes showed the contours of his graceful body, leaving his shoulders bare to shimmer an iridescent blue beneath his pearly hair. He advanced slowly. The crowd of youths stood spellbound, in one huddled group with Nin a little in front, having half moved there, half been shoved by the others. Nin's eyes were shining, but her shoulders cramped and her fingers clenched into an awkward knot.

Yoor walked toward her. He halted a respectful distance away, like a pilgrim before his shrine and bowed in a flourish so humble and ravishing at the same time that Nin's breath caught. When he straightened up, he held a flower in his hand, a glass blossom shining with magical light. "May I bestow this upon you, Crown of the Day," his voice flowed out in a mysterious singsong, "with a blessing that will grace your life for all time to come."

A pale globe had risen, filling the black sky with silver. Yoor was still surrounded by avid youngsters, Nin first and foremost among them. For moons she had hungered for all things coming from Yoor, and when Qin Roh had passed on Enim's report about Shebbetin, Nin had practically learned it by heart. And was now eager for more. So Yoor told the tale of the Mountains.

Of how there was a mission of epic proportions waiting for them. How they needed to make the wheel of history turn, to end the plight of the downtrodden, to let justice and kindness triumph. It was the Transition, but it still had to happen, all of it, and they were the ones to do it. This was the future that was meant to be, and it was calling out to them, longingly, urgently. They were the ones. Destiny would be unfolding through them, if only they were brave enough, wise enough, to do right.

Nin's eyes had grown wide.

She held no doubt.

This was her quest.

*

Lenoren frowned as she passed behind the little crowd around Yoor, half-listening to their conversation. What? Mountains again?

Her eyes fell on a paper that someone had left lying on the buffet, in between the yogurts and the fruit salad. And at that point, Lenoren gave in. This report was following her home, was it?

* * *

'I'll talk to you.'

The note slipped out between the papers and landed on Lenoren's desk among sweets, tea glasses and inksticks. She picked it up, a mental image of its author rising unbidden in her mind.

Zurres was a gray eminence in the palace now, a discreet presence of inscrutable power, insinuating herself into whatever business seemed appropriate to her.

Zurres also was a retired recoursor, one of those people who, on very rare occasions, used physical force in the name of the state.

And a retired secret guard, Lenoren thought maliciously, inwardly reproaching Zurres for the deeds of her youth once again, when she had served the Feudals, cruel overlords who would even have such a thing as a secret guard!

Lenoren leaned back. It was official policy not to hold people's past against them. To allow them to move on.

And Zurres had apparently not only switched sides in those stormy days before the Exit of the Feudals. She had also been in the service of the new recoursors ever since, guided by and protective of the values and practices of the Transition.

She had. So everyone said. Even if you would not believe it looking at her, Lenoren sneered.

At that moment, an apparition in black swept into the office, dark robes billowing, eyes of steel gleaming.

* * *