A scattering of stars stood over the mountains. In the heart of a winter night, Enim led his horse out of the livery stable, his breath forming small frozen clouds in the air.

Enim had slept a whole day and half a night after the Choosing and by now, he felt almost capable of going on such a long ride.

He heard noises behind him and turned, peering into the darkness of the yard. The magical lanterns of a sledge became visible, surrounded by half a dozen shaggy mountain ponies with tired young humans on their backs.

Yoor and Torly brought the sledge to a halt. Enim could vaguely discern the bulging shape of Zurres in her new sleeping bag, with warmlings inside and the hood drawn tight.

Pulan and Som were giggling excitedly beside her. They were bundled up just as warmly, but sharing one bag, which promised to be much more fun. Besides, they were sparkling with excitement. They were going to Varoonya! Where Nin's family would no doubt be just as delighted by this wonderful surprise as they were themselves.

"Ready to go?" Enim rubbed his stiff fingers.

"Only if you lead the way," Yoor's voice drifted over. "I am lost in the night."

"So am I," Enim assured him. "But the horses are not. We'll let them lead. And at some point in time, there will be a dawn. I am sure of it."

They rode out into the wide snow-covered valley. Darkness enveloped them as they traveled, a few small figures moving under a vast sky, an immense, boundless expanse full of stars. Pale and distant, the lights of the firmament watched as the gentle golden glows of magic slowly made their way across the open highlands, far down beneath them.

The air was still and cold, carrying a scent of snow that cradled the strong, vibrant smell of horses in its ethereal realm like a promise, like a seed in winter. The grasses were silent, their eternal whispers contained within them, kept secret underneath a blanket of crystals until spring would turn the world to the sun and release their voices. But for now, it was only the snorts of the horses, the deep muffled sound of their hooves on the snow that spoke of life to the night, of the presence of warm, moving animals in a large cosmos full of stars.

The frost bit Enim's cheeks, but he was wrapped up well and still warm with the tea of this morning, and with the memories of recent days. That spirit of celebration and optimism still lived on inside him. He fondly thought of passionate debates, of loud laughter, and of so many people joining in and helping out, that everyone on the Choosing team could also have a break at some point, and a bit of rest.

Almost everyone. Enim himself had not slept much. His nerves had been too strained. As the Special Representative for the Mountains, he had been officially in charge of the whole process, and as an artificer the only one capable of caring for the receptacles in case of trouble. Neither of these functions had come to be called upon, as it turned out. But still. They had kept him up, together with the general excitement about everything.

After the first two days, the commotion in the streets had calmed down. People had still queued up for the Choosing, but more quietly now, without singing or dancing. Just patiently. Still talking to each other, but mostly chatting and making little jokes rather than debating grand visions of the future.

But they had all come. All of Shebbetin had taken part, and would never disappear off the map of Yurvania again.

It had gone well, Enim felt. Very well.

* * *

"That would have been the moment. That last night, when they thought it is all over and won, and they can relax. But no. Even in the aftermath, they still tied themselves to the receptacles."

Naydeer huffed derisively. "But never mind. Let them wallow in their imagined triumph. It will all collapse soon enough. Such an improvised procedure will never get recognized in Varoonya."

She turned with a rash, impatient move. "And even if it did. Those stupid miners don't know what they are doing. Surely they have all chosen the Mountain, which is going to be irrelevant. It will never make it into the Council. That little groupling of theirs is going to disappear right after the Choosing, leaving nothing in its wake but exhaustion and disappointment. All that expectation, all that euphoria, and then—nothing? All hope will vanish into that abyss. And should there ever be a Choosing in Shebbetin again, no one is going to believe in it."

Pramus ran a finger over the delicate paintings on a paper screen with a slow, pensive move. His thoughts seemed to travel out between landscapes of ancient mountains and gnarled, weathered pines. "Right. Maybe it was wise not to draw attention. To not even have bandits appear on the path to Hebenir, where there have never been any. Let the whole thing die the slow but certain death of disappointment."

His eyes sparkled beneath the wide brim of his hat. "A good thing then that they celebrated so much. This way it will hit them even harder when their pretty bubble bursts."

Pramus stroked his gray beard. "The rabble-rousers will run out of steam, and so will the rabble. The owners will regain their senses and remember who they are. Things are not turned upside down that easily." His lips twisted into a thin, mirthless smile. "And we too will have more room for maneuver again. Already the eye of Varoonya is no longer on Shebbetin."

He strode toward the fire and turned around so suddenly the silver dragons in the folds of his robes took wing. "We have come through hardships much worse than this. We will not doubt, not waver. And we are not alone."

The old Vanian they always spoke among themselves took on the sound of a mysterious, arcane language of power as Pramus intoned the creed of the Restitutionists, round vowels rolling off his tongue, hard clicks and sharp hisses punctuating their flow.

"Old times will be great again. May power lie where it belongs! For courage, truth and honor!"

* * *

As soon as the carriage arrived in Varoonya, all the youth went straight home, as promised, to prove to their respective families that they were alive. So only the adults stumbled up the steps to the palace, tired and travel-worn, yet determined to bring their quest to its glorious conclusion right there and then.

The old city glowed softly around them, stitches of a thousand colors adorning the silky night. But from the open palace doors, bright light and waves of music drifted down toward them.

"What...?" Yoor wondered.

"Big Choosing celebration," a young man sitting on the balustrade smiled an explanation at him. "Results have just been announced."

"What??"

Yoor's lips grew pale.

"No!!"

He clasped his receptacle and ran up the stairs two steps at a time.

Their little group burst through the palace doors like a tempest, bustling people left and right, leaving confusion and indignation in their wake. But all around them, the celebration continued. Laughter and voices drifted over the colorful throng. The huge board on the side wall no longer held a hundred colorful notes on upcoming gatherings. Instead, the names of groupings were listed in big, bold letters, next to the number of seats they would have in the future Council.

The Mountain: Zero.

"No! Wait! Wait!!!"

Yoor's voice rang out through the hall with the power of magic. "The Choosing is not over yet! The results are not out!" Lights in the whole hall dimmed at the behest of his spell, and the crowd fell into a stunned silence. Countless heads turned to look at the bright beam of gold that fell only onto the receptacle Yoor held raised up high in his arms. "These are the voices of people from the Mountains. They must be heard! They will be included! Now!"

*

Zurres was the only one to be admitted to the deliberations of the Choosing committee. Enim, Torly and Yoor waited outside closed doors.

In the great palace hall behind them, the festivities had resumed. People were joking and drinking, chatting and dancing. Yoor frowned at them. "The Choosing is not finished. They shouldn't be celebrating yet. Did they not hear us? Not believe us?"

Torly lightly bumped her shoulder against his. "Come on, let them. It's all right. Our receptacles will change the world for us, but not for them. We'll only get one position in the Council, maybe two. All the rest will stay the same. So they might as well applaud their own results right now. We will not disturb them by very much when we join in."

Torly rocked and rolled a little, her energy bubbling up again despite the fatigue from the journey. "In fact, we might as well start celebrating ourselves. We've got enough to be happy about." She began twirling around Yoor for a turn or two. "It was brilliant," she huffed, a little breathlessly. "I've never had sleepless nights so well spent."

Yoor beamed back at her, burying his hand in her hair. "Well, I've had a few others," he murmured in her ear, pulling her back toward the dance.

But then the door opened and the committee chairperson stood on the threshold.

Torly hopped straight into her path. "So? Please! How does it tally? Will the Mountain have an observer in the Council? Or even more?"

The wiry woman looked at Torly in astonishment. It took her a moment to rally. "Uh. That was not our task. We did not tally." She gave Torly a probing look. "We only determined whether the receptacles will be taken in at all. Whether this late amendment to the list of eligible choosers can be accepted."

The chairperson cleared her throat. "And it cannot, I am sorry to say. So, no. The Mountain will have no presence in the Council. None of these receptacles will even be counted. The results as announced in the hall are final."

Torly's mouth fell open. "But... "

The chairperson carefully stepped around her. "You can ask Zurres for the details. Now, if you'll excuse me."

She walked away.

Torly's gaze followed her as if in a dream. Or in a nightmare, where you can see your heart's desire drift away on a current, so close, so close, but just beyond reach. And you try to catch it, to hold on, but you cannot make a move, not a sound.

Frozen, petrified, Torly watched the woman disappear.

She turned around. Wide-eyed, she sought Yoor's gaze. But Yoor just stared down the deserted hallway.

Enim was the first to come out of the trance.

With a rash move, he tore the door open and stormed in. Yoor and Torly rushed in at his heels and almost ran him over when he stopped short.

The room was empty.

A few ink bowls and brushes lay strewn across the table. That and a disarray of vacant chairs were the only traces left behind by the commission. And a door in the far wall, standing ajar.

Enim fought his way through the jumble of chairs and pushed the back door open.

He stood in an empty corridor.

"No."

"No way!" Refusal radiated off Torly like a steam off an indignant dragon. "This Zurres person is not going to make off without us!"

Enim was already on his way. "We follow her. We need answers. This can't be the end! The people of Shebbetin must be included!"

He was running down the hall when he stopped abruptly and turned around to stare back. The corridor also continued in the other direction. From where another passage forked off to the side. There was no indication whatsoever as to which way Zurres might have gone.

Enim looked at Torly and Yoor.

"We'll split up!" Torly was already pulling Yoor away. "We'll meet up later in the entrance hall."

Enim nodded at their retreating backs and took up his own pursuit again. He turned right at the next corner. Then right again. And left. Endless halls and flights of rooms stretched out before him, all empty, silent, forsaken.

Yawning doors and dark windows gawked at Enim as he passed uninhabited desks and yellowed pages. Enim hurried on. He had lost all sense of orientation. One room looked like the next, all dusty and motionless, an unreal still life.

But then he heard voices. Distant, at first, louder and clearer each time he turned a corner to follow their call. Until, finally, he burst out through the last door into the merry exuberance of a Choosing celebration.

"Where is Zurres?"

Enim took hold of the first man by his side and turned him around almost violently. Astounded, the man raised his eyebrows, then his shoulders.

Enim let go.

Surprised and disapproving glances landed on him from all around. A dozen shrugs met his demand.

Enim pressed on through the throng, in between bright robes and clinking glasses. People were laughing and dancing. The music was too loud, too fast. Enim's breath turned ragged. He felt like in a fairytale castle, where the fay were holding a great feast while the human world was dying. Where one lone traveler was desperately trying to find his loved ones, to save his world, to go back home.

But fate held him in its iron claws.

Enim hurried on endlessly between mirrors and chandeliers, between glints and colors, lost in the whirling press of the ball.