Habit or instinct woke Jerya in the grey half-light. Railu was stirring beside her. Beyond the embers of the fire Rodal was a motionless bundle under the jutting flank of a rock. She glanced at her timepiece. It would be time for Sharess to Sing very soon.

Railu sat up a little, rubbing her eyes, unwrapping the headcloth to massage her scalp.

"How long to dawn?" she asked in a voice still foggy with sleep.

"Ten minutes—less—we've travelled East, haven't we? But Rai…"

"Hm?"

"From here we won't see the sun until long after it's risen."

Railu's eyes widened slightly. She leaned forward, drawing up her knees, resting her chin on them in thought. "Why didn't we think of that last night?"

The shadows had swallowed the whole valley and the sky above had been losing colour before they found this place on a broken spur sprawling out from the Eastern slopes. There were scrubby thorn-trees, sheltering rocks, a space among them which felt comfortably enclosed. No one had thought then what its position might mean; it had been too welcome, too providential in its timely appearance.

Jerya wriggled back down into her bedding, "It doesn't make any difference, does it?"

Railu looked across sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Simple. Who says we have to Sing at all? Who says we have to get out in the cold and fill our lungs with freezing air? Especially when we don't know the exact timing and won't see the sun anyway?"

Railu stared at her. "I hadn't thought…Not to Sing…"

"You can if you want," said Jerya lazily. "You know what it means, and what it does not mean. Me… I 'd forgotten what bliss it was to lie in bed."

She adjusted the blankets around her shoulders, settling down again. She and Railu were wedged between two rocks, each wrapped in blankets and sharing one of the deerskins which Rodal had brought. Thick heather beneath made what had turned out to be a remarkably comfortable bed. Even Railu had been pleasantly surprised. For Jerya, who'd grown up with a thin palliasse on a shelf of stone, it was almost too soft. In her weariness, she had slipped into sleep in no time, and she felt ready to slip back into slumber for a few more hours.

Railu was still sitting up, looking worried. "l… it's years since I let a dawn pass without Singing. It isn't so easy for me… and what about Rodal?"

Jerya was surprised, but only answered, "He looks as if he could sleep through a College chorus, never mind the two of us. Let him lie. The extra rest will help us all."

Railu still looked doubtful. Jerya moved quickly, sliding one hand out through her blankets to grasp Railu's wrist. She drew the arm back under the blankets.

"What time is it now?" she asked, keeping a firm grip so that Railu could not look at her timepiece. Railu did not answer, but her eyes widened in comprehension. "Exactly. It might have risen already. If we were on top of the mountain, it certainly would have. What time is sunrise, anyway? We don't know our exact altitude or meridian, even if we could see the horizon."

Railu nodded slowly, and Jerya could feel her relaxing, but she did not release her grip until Railu had manoeuvred herself back into the bedding again.

"Isn't this nice?" Jerya asked with a kiss. "Not to have to rush, not to get up in the cold. Just to lie here close together, warm and comfy, and just… just feel the dawn."

"I suppose so," Railu admitted. "Oh, but it takes some getting used to…" She pulled her hand free; this time Jerya did not resist. "Yes, it must be after sunrise now. The harm's done, if there is any."

With a shrug she settled-back, idly moving her hand across to stroke Jerya's head. Her fingers stiffened and halted. 

"What is it?"

Railu did not answer. Jerya freed one of her own hands to explore. The smoothness of her scalp was gone. In one direction her hand seemed to slide almost more easily, but in the other it met a distinct prickly resistance. "Why, my hair's growing back! I should have thought it would, since we stopped using the cream." Her fingers searched Railu's scalp, but it was as smooth as ever. "Of course, you've been using it years, not weeks."

Railu said nothing. Her gaze was troubled.

"What is it, love?" asked Jerya.

"I can't imagine you with hair… It'll make you look like a man."

Jerya laughed, but then she saw the misery in Railu's face. She pulled Railu's hand through the blankets and pressed it to her breast. "It'll take more than that to make me look like a man, surely. Besides, you had hair yourself once. Don't you remember?"

Railu shook her head sombrely. "No. I know I must have… l can just about remember the day they shaved me. But… in the memories before that, no, there is no hair. I can't… It's something that others have."

Jerya struggled with the blankets until she could free both arms and enfold Railu in a strong embrace. "It's all right," she murmured. "Just you wait and see. We'll both grow hair down to our waists. We'll be so beautiful…"

"You might," said Railu, without enthusiasm. "I won't. I haven't used the lotion since my first year as a Novice."

"Well, you're beautiful anyway, just as you are."

Railu looked unconvinced.

"Listen," continued Jerya. "For years, before my head was shaved, I had to bind my hair up in a headcloth. You've seen how I look."

Railu shuddered. "Awful… Your face all shut in like that."

"You know, I never thought of it like that. Does it 'shut in' the face or does it—what's the word?—does it frame it? There were one or two girls in Delven everyone regarded as beauties. Wearing a headcloth didn't change that.

"Anyway, that's by the by. But… when my hair was long, I was never permitted to let it hang free, save when I was alone in the forest or in my chamber. It felt lovely, and I was sure when I looked at my reflection in the water that it was… Though it's only in books that you can really see anything in your reflection in a pool." She laughed softly, but she was watching Railu's face the whole time. "Oh, Rai, it's only different… Lying in bed while the sun rises; that's different too. But it doesn't feel so bad, does it?" 

Railu was still contemplating her answer when they heard stirrings beyond the fire that had been earthed up for the night. They sat up, pulling the blankets around themselves, to watch Rodal writhe a few times, stretch his arms, knuckle his eyes, then sit up sharply, almost cracking his head on the overhang. He stared at them. His face was grey. "I knew… before l was even awake. l woke… because you did not Sing."

Jerya felt Railu stiffen beside her, her old suspicion obviously resurfacing. She pressed her hand firmly as she answered. "It's true. We didn't Sing. The sun has still risen, hasn't it?"

"I can't see it," he retorted, his tone rising, his eyes casting about wildly.

"Of course not. No more than you could ever see it in your chamber in Delven. Could you hear the Song then?"

"Seems to me I could. Maybe so faint I only knew it in my bones… This morning I knew there was none."

"No. But look yonder…" She inclined her head to the East, and the sun gilding the rocky peaks across the strath. Rodal, further back in the hollow, had to crane forward before he could see it too.

"There," said Jerya. "The sun has risen. We are in shadow here, that's all."

He looked no happier. Her impulse was to go over and shake him; had Railu not been there she thought she would certainly have done so. "Rodal. I told you there are many lies in the teachings of the Guild. l could have said that its very existence is based on a lie. But I left it till now. Till there was proof.

"We did not Sing. Still the sun has risen. Even if every Dawnsinger in the land were silent this morning, the sun would still rise. It would not be delayed by… by the space of a single heartbeat. Rodal, nothing we can do can influence the sun in any way, nor the course of the seasons, nor the daily changes of the weather… We have much knowledge of these things, can predict exactly the moment of the sun's rising, can predict the weather less precisely. But if today is going to turn stormy, we could sing a hundred songs to no avail. To say otherwise is a lie."

He stared at her, face still bloodless, forced a whisper as if his throat was blocked: "But why?"

"Why? Why lie? That I cannot tell you. The Guild has an answer, but why should l believe it? I know they have lied about other things—why should I believe their story of why they lie? Can you see now why I could have no part in it?"

Before Rodal could answer, Railu spoke, surprising them both. “The Song is not a lie. I’ve Sung it every day for eight years. You must see how strange it feels not to Sing now. No, Jerya, I understand why you don't want to be part of it, but I hold to this. The Song is not a lie.”

She looked at Jerya, then at Rodal, who was watching her with a peculiar intentness now. “The Song does not promise that the sun’s rising depends on it. Well, the Song does not promise anything, certainly not in words that anyone but a few scholars now understand—or claim to understand. Yes, many people believe that the Song has power. I know that allowing them to go on believing that is… well, questionable, anyway. That doesn’t mean the Song itself is questionable, let alone that it’s a lie.”

Again she looked at Jerya, at Rodal. “And maybe… Maybe it does have power, just not in the way people think. Not power over the sun or the weather. Not even power over those who hear it.”

“If they believe it, it has power,” said Jerya. “I believed it, never thought to question it, right up until that time at Kendrigg.”

“Yes, in that sense, you’re right. And I know that’s the heart of your grievance, and by not Singing we prove something once and for all… but still I'm missing it. I miss… what I was about to say is that the Song does have power… for those who Sing it. When we Sing—“ She stopped abruptly, and when she resumed her voice was husky. “When I Sang, every morning, with all the others in the College, it reminded me I was part of something bigger than myself. Just like shaving our heads, and wearing white. And I think… Sharess said this, or something like it. Though she was alone, every morning when she Sang, she felt connected to all the other Dawnsingers right across the Sung Lands.”

Rodal shook his head, bewildered. "I understand none of this."

Jerya felt Railu relax, her worries allayed by Rodal's evident distress. "I will try and make it clear to you. But what did you understand before? You only accepted what you were told—or led to believe. Now we tell you differently. You have to choose… who do you believe?"

He held her gaze for a long time. Jerya resisted the temptation to assail him with further arguments. The only argument which really counted was already before him; the sun had risen. If that was not enough, he would simply have to trust them. 

Then he looked about him, this way and that, searching. Abruptly he threw aside his blankets and began pulling on his boots. "It looks like any other day, l reckon," he said. Jerya began to breathe more easily. " And you must believe what you're telling me—if it isn't true, you're in the same peril I am."

"I don't say there's no peril," said Jerya. "There may be terrible storms in these mountains. There may be other dangers we cannot foresee at all. I only say that whether we Sing or not will make no difference."

"Well, we'll see," he grunted. "But I wish you'd told me. It did me no good at all, waking like that."

"I'm sorry, Rodal. I didn't plan it."

He shrugged, rose, turned away and vanished behind the rocks and down the slope. Jerya began to extricate herself from the blankets, But Railu caught at her.

"Hold me again," she begged. "A moment longer, while he's gone."

Jerya twisted, pulled Railu close again, felt the crush of breast on breast. She pressed into a long kiss, let one hand roam over Railu's head. She had said she was happy to grow her hair back, but she also knew there were things she would miss about being bald.

"A shame we aren't alone, lovely one," she whispered. "l can think of a better way to greet the dawn…"

"In a few days we will…"

"Besure, when we're through the mountains… if the weather holds. If Rodal can get back safely. He's risked enough to come with us. We can't ask him to risk his life rather than see the winter through with us."

"I suppose not."

Jerya heard the reluctance in Railu's voice, and pulled away to see her more clearly. "Is that the best gratitude you can find? You were pleased enough with the warmth of these deerskins—and the fire he made."

Railu shook her head slowly. "Yes. I am sorry. I'm sure it'll be a great help, having him with us. And it's truly… generous of him. But still…"

"But still?"

"Oh, he disturbs me… I don't know what to think. Sometimes l find myself talking to him almost as if he were another woman. l get so wrapped up in… whatever we're talking about… that I forget he's a man. When we talk that way, most of the time it seems he thinks no differently from the way we do. But then he'll say something that reminds me he is different… that he's a man, and men don't think as we do."

Jerya laughed. "Rai, do I think as you do? Not all the time, surely—remember, all those arguments about mathematics? I think if you'd been able to talk to some of the other women in Delven you'd have found them, perhaps, even more strange than Rodal. I think I found more of an understanding with him than I'd ever done with any of the women or girls. But I found out too late. If…"

She said no more. Railu would hardly be pleased with the thought that had taken her. If she and Rodal had discovered their affinity sooner, even by a season or two, then—Delven being Delven—they would likely have been soon betrothed, even wed. Who then would Sharess have sent as Postulant? Certainly not herself—though who else could she possibly have Chosen? Well, everything would be different. Everything. But 'what if' is a question, not an answer.

She looked at Railu, and at last she got a smile in return for her own. She was happier than she could measure to have met Railu, yet she knew that if things had indeed gone differently, if she had remained in Delven, she would never have missed her. It was hardly a comfortable thought, but truth and comfort were two different things. She seemed to have known that for a very long time.

Her education, however… she had a strong conviction that she would have missed that. And I could have had so much more…

Railu seemed impatient with Jerya's pensive silence; she untangled herself from the blankets and began to don her boots. Jerya could think of nothing helpful to say, and nothing to do but follow suit.

Though they had slept fully-clothed, they were still goaded into urgent movement by the jab of the sunless air. Jerya pulled the slices of turf off the fire, while Railu began breaking some of the dead wood Rodal had gathered last night—old heather-stems, juniper limbs. They fed the fuel piece-by-piece to the slumbering fire. The wood was very dry, half-rotted, its surface crumbly. It soon caught, and yellow flames breathed quick warmth to her hands. Behind her, Railu was stamping about, swinging her arms. Jerya watched her own breath mingle with the thin stain of smoke from the growing fire, warmed her hands, shivered suddenly as the cold air scratched at her scalp, and thought, We need hats. A headcloth would keep the sun off their scalps, but there was scant warmth in it. Perhaps they could wrap them differently, get several thicknesses of cover.

The stamping had ceased. She glanced over her shoulder, saw Railu standing between the rocks at the head of the stream-slope with a fixed gaze down into the little valley. Curious, and eager to be moving, she rose and went to join her. Rodal stood birth-naked on the banks of a plunge-pool below a little fall. It was fortunate his back was to them, she thought, but still… Then he dived, vanished in the rage of white water, reappeared at the far side of the pool. His wordless gasp of cold-shock was clear as a shout to them.

"You shouldn't be looking," said Jerya gently, putting a light hand on Railu's arm.

"Why not, then?"

"Choss, if you don't know… He's a man and you're a woman. Would you want him to watch you bathing?"

Railu turned away obligingly, but her face was puzzled. "I suppose not. I never thought about it before."

Jerya could hardly comprehend that Railu might be disturbed by some of the things Rodal said, but not by the possibility that he might see her bathing. She could only shake her head. "I doubt he'd care to know you were watching. Isn't that reason enough for now?"

Railu shrugged. "If you say so."

They crouched together to build up the fire some more. Soon they heard Rodal coming up behind them. "You're up, then," he said heartily. His face was bright and flushed, his naturally wavy hair dark and curly with water and a hasty drying. "If you want a real wakening, there's a pool down there."

Jerya said nothing, and she was sure her expression did not change. Still, Rodal saw something. "Watching, were you?"

"Not watching," she retorted. "Perhaps l caught a glimpse; how else was I to know there was something I shouldn't have seen?"

He stared a moment, then laughed. "Flip if I care… I've nowt to be shamed of. And proud to say I know my manners—l won't go peeping if you want me not to."

"I do want," she said firmly.

Railu followed her down the slope. At the pool's edge, on a narrow strip of shingle, they undressed as fast as they could. "Now I'm not so sure I want to do this," said Jerya. "But I am sure it's best done quickly." Railu's answer was only a grunt, buried in her struggle with her shirt.

Even exposing her body to the air was like a cold bath. Jerya stole a quick look up the slope, as if defying Rodal to be watching, but he wasn't in sight. Then, before courage could ebb, she turned and flung herself into the water.

It was like a sting and a bruise on every inch of herself. Even before she bobbed back to the surface she could feel the chill striking into her bones. She rose to the air with liquid ice streaming from her face, and then she knew why Rodal's scream had been silent. It was as if there was nothing in her lungs; reaching for breath she drew no air, only cold. Her tarn in the forest had been cool enough, but never like this.

Beside her Railu surfaced, tried to speak. They shared silent, breathless laughter. Jerya submerged again, made the swiftest, most perfunctory passes of her hands as a token washing, then hastened to the shore. She shook herself, dog-fashion, then furiously towelled off the moisture with the blanket she had brought. Her teeth were chattering a little as she started up the slope, until suddenly the warmth of her exertion made itself felt. At once there was a glow, a kind of singing in every limb; she felt lighter, stronger, younger.

The smell of frying sausages—venison, she was sure—came to her nostrils and she almost skipped into the campsite. Rodal looked up, grinning. "Didn't l tell you? Knows what's best for you, your Uncle Rodal."

"I'll thank you tomorrow, when I'm sure I haven't taken chill," she said primly—but then moved on impulse, dropped to sit beside him and bestowed a peck on his cheek. "Good morning, Uncle Rodal."

"I'm not your Uncle really," he said, with an odd twist in his voice, concentrating fiercely on the sausages. Was that a blush? It was hard to tell with his tanned cheeks.

A loaf and a knife lay beside him. Jerya sawed off half a dozen slices ready for the sausages. It was impossible to cut delicately. She told herself that the bread would be best when fresh, and that they needed a substantial breakfast. The day ahead might—probably would—be long and strenuous.

Railu appeared just as they were ready. Rodal handed her a sandwich near as thick as her wrist, and she thanked him with an unforced smile.

They were soon fed, packed, laden and on the move again, angling down the slope to cross the stream well below the pool. The slopes were less rocky after the crossing; a slight rise from the stream, and they were on a smooth incline to take them easily down again to the main valley. There was even a faint but undeniable path through the heather and coarse tussocky grass.

"None of the men ever came this far, surely?" asked Jerya.

"Not likely," said Rodal. "Too far ayont Song-reach." He made a soft snorting sound that might have been a chuckle.

"Then what would make this?"

"Wild goats, I reckon. I haven't seen any, but I don't know what else would do it… mind, this is new country, besure. Still, it don't look all that different from parts I do know."

As the way levelled, they walked from shadow into sunlight. At once the world seemed two months warmer. Jerya simply stopped and turned to face the sun, eyelids closed against a blood-reddened glow. Beside her, she heard Railu murmur, "Bless you, Mother Sun."

"You call it mother, do you?" asked Rodal. Jerya did not open her eyes; let Railu answer.

"Of course. What else?"

"Well, I've heard men say the sun is male, which is why it takes a woman to summon him. But then you tell me now he comes of his own accord, so I put no faith in that any more."

"The truth is, the sun is neither male nor female. But it's the source of all life. Why not call it mother?"

They walked on in the light and warmth. Soon it became necessary to remove excess layers of clothing, and before long they were down to their leather shirts again.

The great curve of the glen began to open before them. Peaks marched into view along the horizon, still shadowed against the brightness of the sky, a wall across the world. And then they saw it, almost directly in the line of the upper glen, revealing itself as their angle of view shifted: a conspicuous notch in the mountain wall. Its base was still high above the valley, but not much above half the height of the peaks to either side.

Rodal made a satisfied kind of noise in his throat. "Well, there's no problem picking the route, so long as it stays clear. Even in a mist I think we could find it."

"How far is it, do you reckon?" asked Jerya.

"Hard to say." He shielded his eyes against the light. "Nothing to fix on whose size I know for sure. Those crags there could be three hundred feet, or nearer a thousand. We might get to the top of that pass tonight; we might barely reach its foot."

"Well, let's find out."

"No gain in pushing on any faster than we are," he cautioned. "We'll tire ourselves quicker… and it might be better to stop at the foot anyway."

"Why?"

"Did you notice it was cold last night?" That was one question that required no answer. "It'll be a sight colder up there. And who knows how much shelter there is? Who wants to spend a night in the open up there? Not me."

"Nor me," said Railu.

"No, you're right," conceded Jerya. "We stop where we can, leave it till tomorrow to cross the pass."

Rodal gave a short brusque laugh. "If we're lucky."

"What d'you mean?"

"I mean…" He stopped abruptly, faced her. "I mean a dozen things. For one… we've only your word that the world doesn't just come to an end there. And how would you know?"

Jerya began to speak, then stopped, mouth half-open, feeling foolish.

"Yes!" Rodal said with evident satisfaction. Jerya could only guess what pleased him: perhaps just the fact that he had been able to reduce her to speechlessness. "Someone told you. But you've been telling me we can't believe all they say. Maybe our old tales are true, and we'll walk into the Blistered Lands and shrivel up like dry grass in a flame. Or maybe we'll never even get that far. We can't any of us say there aren't sheer crags all along the other side there. What'd we do then, eh?"

Jerya knew she was daunted, but she did not let her voice betray it. "There's not much we could do, is there? We'd better just hope there aren't."

"Just so," said Rodal with grim amusement. "But then it's been that way all along, hasn't it?"

"What way?"

"You've been hoping there's a pass through the mountains—because it would be most awkward if there weren't. You're hoping there's a way down the other side—because it would be most awkward if there weren't. And you're hoping the Blistered Lands have healed as they told you—because it would be most awkward if they hadn't. Most awkward—but just suppose…"

"Rodal, what are you suggesting?" 

"I'm suggesting we should think a bit," he said. "Even if those lands have healed—how d'you know they've healed just right? What if you can't get down there in the first place: what would you do then? Stop here? Nobody'd disturb you. But how long before you starved? There's not much to eat up here."

"You said there were goats."

"I said there might be. Suppose there are—what good's that to you? Ever tried to catch a wild goat? I've seen it done, but it took a dozen men, and nets, and most of a day."

"Rodal, why are you talking about living up here? We never planned to do that. There will be a way down from that pass."

"I expect there will," he agreed.

"Then why—" she began sharply, but he held up his hand to block her.

"Probably…" He repeated with a heavier emphasis: "Probably. But how can we be sure? And in any case… a way down to what? Have you really thought about it? There might be no more life down there than there is here, or in those empty plains. That's what my feelings tell me it'll be like—because that's what my heart tells me a land without Dawnsingers must be like. I know, I know, it makes no difference; so you tell me. But I can't really feel it yet. I don't think I really will until we come down from the pass and find a place like Delven. A place where folk could live, anyway.

"And… even supposing that… suppose we find somewhere just like the lands round Delven… That's the best we can hope for, isn't it? And if it's like that, you won't starve. If it's like Delven-lands, you know how to live. But you'll spend most of your daylight hours keeping yourselves fed and warm. Sure as the rock itself, it'll be nothing but hard work… and what happens if one of you breaks a leg, or gets ill? What happens—if you live long enough—what happens when you get old?"

She did not answer, having no answer to give. There was an empty silence. A faint breeze ruffled the long dry grasses, rattled the dead stems, plucked at Rodal's hair.

"Well," he said then. "You answer those questions yourself. I think I'd better stop, or I'll be persuading myself I should stay with you."

Before Jerya could reply, she was unbalanced by the sight of Railu's face. She was gazing at Rodal with an altogether new look in her eyes, as if she would like nothing better than to persuade him to stay. Jerya knew that her reaction was perverse—had she not earnestly counselled Railu to make better friends with Rodal?—but she felt a quiver of dismay.

It was surely the sheer reasonableness of Rodal's tone which had so impressed Railu, but Jerya could not make her reply sound anything but petulant in comparison. "Rodal, do you have to look on the black side? What makes you think Delven-lands are the best sort of place we can find? We've the whole of the Blistered—what were the Blistered Lands—to choose from. Rivers no one else has ever fished, forests no one else has ever hunted; soil no one else has ever planted."

"All right," he said, "Food may not be the problem… what about shelter? Not every place has caves so great and handy as ours—and even they had to be enlarged and linked up in the beginning, and extended many times since. But suppose you can find a decent cave. And you can clear out the rats—or worse—and clean it up. And you can get enough firewood when we haven't a saw… And you can do all that within the space of daylight. And…"

"And what?" demanded Jerya sharply.

"Ah," said Rodal, smiling, "That's my real question."

She stared.

"I see… well, I have some notion what it is you're running from; not much, but a beginning. But what are you running to? Or are you just running?"

"Yes, of course we're running," she said. "What else can we do?"

"I don't know about that. I don't know too much at all. I just know I'm not happy about this…"

"Then you know what you can do, don't you?" she stormed. The look on RaiIu's face told her there would be a price to be paid, but she could not restrain herself. "If you don't like this path, there's another one. No one asked you to come…"

"Not so," he said, with maddening calm. "The Dawnsinger did."

Somehow that was worse. "You're right, Rodal. You're quite right: you don't know too much. How dare you wade in and start telling us what we should he doing? Do you think I chose to do this? Do you really think if I'd planned the way the world is I'd be here now?"

The force of her outburst was quickly spent, but she did not leave him a moment in which to speak. He had to content himself with a shake of the head as she went on, voice turning quiet and weary. "Of course not. We're not given choices like that. That's not the way the world is. You should know that. What was your choice? Lie to your kin, or deny Annyt her journey to Delven?"

Seeing Rodal grimace, doubtless at the mention of Annyt, she continued quickly. "And what was ours? Surrender to the will of the Guild—or this. If you think there is a third choice, tell me, please. But if you are trying to tell us we have chosen wrongly between the two, I don't want to hear it. You… you cannot know all that lies behind it.

"Besides, it is our choice. For our lives. It's not for you to choose for us. Not even for the Dawnsinger. She chose for me once, and look where we are now.

"Rodal, I am grateful for your help in our journey, but if you do not think we should be making it at all, you had best leave now."

He looked stricken, and Jerya's heart softened, but her words could not be unsaid. The aftertaste was bitter nonetheless.

They stood in silence for a long while. In the stillness Jerya felt how keen the air still was. The breeze was no more than an uneasiness of the air, but its touch on her arms or her scalp could make her shiver. It felt as if the great bare hills had all turned their backs. Suddenly she felt a pang of terror. If Rodal should leave them, as she had just challenged him to do, she did not know how she would be able to go on without him. It had been exactly what she intended, originally, but now…

And what would Railu do? Railu, who was still gazing at Rodal as if expecting miracles, though he seemed wholly unaware of her attention.

At last he spoke, and at his first words her heart lifted within her. "It's truth you speak: I don't know." He looked from Jerya to Railu. Jerya was about to speak, step forward, take his hands and seal their reconciliation with some soft words, when he added, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I spoke like that. Perhaps I was still angry about waking that way this morning. Realising that I was truly in Unsung Lands…" His voice faltered for a moment. "But why should I be angry at you? If it is all lies… you're not the ones doing the lying." He swung back to her. "Doesn't it make you want to stay and fight? Doesn't it tear at you just to turn your back and walk away from it all?"

"Fight?" said Jerya. "Fight the Guild? How could we do that? Or even should we? They may be right; the deception may all be necessary. I don't know. I'm not saying the Guild is wrong; how am I to know that? I only know I couldn't be part of it… Of course it tears at me, Rodal, more than I dare say. Leaving everything we've ever known. I'm full of… foreboding." There had been stronger words in her mind than 'foreboding'. "But we can't stay. There's no place in this land that could hide a renegade Dawnsinger. There's no way to go but ahead… therefore we have to trust that there is somewhere to go."

He nodded. His eyes strayed past her toward that bright gash in the skyline. "Besure," he said, adjusting the balance of his pack a little. "I reckon we'd better get on then, and see what we may see."

Jerya blinked. She thought she had very likely never heard braver words.