Pepper / INK /

CHAPTER ONE

Taskforce

It had been six years since he had left the city. He didn’t remember fighting with anyone, just... leaving. Then there were vague images of a figure, Daniel he thought, but he didn’t know who Daniel was or why he was worried about him. But he was. He was very worried. So worried it took him a full minute to realize that the vehicle had stopped.

He stepped out of the conveyance. Steam driven, deep black and with a a high carriage top, it was one of the best police vehicles they had. And he hated it. Somewhere, in the very back of his mind was a familiar Jeep that belonged to this illusive Daniel character, and its connection to the word he could never remember, the big word, the word that would fix everything but he could never remember it, or even the shape of.

Max took a deep breath and shook himself out of it as if he could physically dispel the memory. He carefully stepped out onto the cobbles aware of the drop but standing there, door open, one foot down one foot still on the conveyance, he stopped. And on the Taskforce, when he stopped, those around him stopped. They said nothing while he analyzed what he felt. "I feel cold." He said. "Dead-cold"

The cold-clammy feeling of the dead washed over him, the tell-tale sign of blood magic, necromancy. Six months ago he’d been attacked, for the second time by a necromancer and the tip of the magic knife he used had broken off in his back, very close to the spine.

Even the best doctors he had been to couldn’t promise he would walk if he had the piece removed. And so he dealt with the pain that came from it, and thanked the gods that it gave him a sort of early warning of magic. Because the blade had been conjured, it was imbued with magic. And lots of it, so when it came in contact with other magic, it reacted.

Blood magic was cold, like death.

Solar magic was warm like a spring day, and Lunar magic, he had a hard time explaining it except to say that he was numb, but not in a bad way, like the way your skin got on a brisk night.

"I feel cold." Three words that could strike terror into the rest of the police force. "Its blood magic, be on your guard, get magic services out here and no one moves until they get here, if it’s active, which I have to assume it is, if we come across it, it could be trapped." There was always the chance that a savvy necromancer would have added a trap to his circle to keep people from messing with it.

Not wanting to step on it without knowing he went to the back and pulled on the heavy pack. The pack contained crushed moon quartz, the nozzle on his hand could spray a fine mist of it. And when he did, he watched as in some places it started to move, drawn to the magic that was active. It swirled and flurried in a circle, so they knew the outline of the spell, but they dare not approach the body, not till they knew the spell was off. But he walked as close as he dared, reading the lines and runes of the spell. "This is a setting spell. You use this to make sure that your ink can’t leave you." He said quietly. "It means the necromancer is Inked."

They all looked at each other, acutely aware of what none of them would say. That they knew this necromancer, that they had shook his hand, but without some other proof, he could put it on the Inkwalker and be done with them, their lives ruined in one fell swoop as they all ended up behind cold iron and the Inkwalker would die in his cell. He didn’t know why that scared him so much, or how he knew with certainty it was true. He simply did.

One of the gifts Max had always had was that of ’reading’ the magic of others, he could, with just a look, usually understand their spell just by watching the runes and circles they used. And when necessary he could borrow their spell, but the only times it had ever worked were when he was in fear for his life. And he didn’t recognize the spell he saw. It was new magic.

"This is a new Necromancer. Keep people away from the body, it’s right in the middle of the circle. And tell magic services to hurry up."

Everyone but Robert ran around to do his bidding, Robert, the oldest member of this group, wandered closer, but not as if he was curious, as if he was drawn. His eyes were glassy, the sign of someone under a spell, but he was close enough to the spell they dared not run to him.

"No." He shook his head. "No," He reached out as if to touch the body and stopped, just shy of the edge of the spell. His head turned and he looked straight at Max. "He killed her, he killed Marie."

Max walked as close as he dared, touching his friend. "Robert, it’s not her, she died five years ago, remember?"

After a moment the words seemed to register and he looked at Max. "I’m ok."

Max nodded knowing his friend was far from Ok. But he was torn, he wanted to send him to medical, get him taken off the force, for his own good, but with him under a spell, he feared what that might do to the already fragile man. He wished he had someone to talk to.

Max wasn’t sure how much of the Inkwalker lore he believed. His family supposedly had some connection to him, but as far as he knew, he’d never met the man. Of course, he never thought to ask, if that were true why did he have the moon lily on his back?

#

Jessica, or "jessie" to most of her friends, didn’t like her step-father. She didn’t trust him, and him, standing on the platform claiming to be Inkwalker turned her stomach. There were a few things she remembered, and a lot of things she didn’t.

Her memory started at age twelve. Anything before that was a blur. She knew, at some point she had had a family, but when she was twelve her entire world went up in flames. There was fire. Lots of it, and it crawled across the ground and up the walls, it made things red and it chased her into a corner of the house where she had been sleeping, already there was no way out the door. The people outside were pulling people out as fast as they could, the fire brigade had arrived and begun to use magic and machine to try and put out the fire, but it had been started by a gaslamp.

She had been able to feel the flames licking at her. But she had drawn herself a circle and sat in it, praying, chanting, calling for help, sometimes all three at once. The flames inched closer and closer to her little circle, and she was terrified.

Suddenly there was cold. She couldn’t describe it, it wasn’t a wind, but it was like someone had come in bringing cold air with them. And with the cold was a figure outlined against the fire. A voice spoke to her. "It’s ok Jessica." The rich baritone took away her fear, and there was a scent like flowers in the night. She could smell soap and that strange scent of flowers, and a figure crushed her to his shoulder, flipping the edge of his cloak over her. "Let’s get out of here."

She had never trusted a voice as much as she did that one. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. This voice was safe. It seemed like a step and he had emerged from the heat of the burning building, and strode over to the gathered people. He stopped before a family, the husband was wearing lunar robes, the wife was wearing the veil of a healer. "Take her, I will come back for her later."

"What of her parents?"

"She has no parents, the gave her up to the Necromancer who meant to kill her. Take her to the place of healing, and I will find her there."

It was later that she woke up and was told that her savior had come back. A young man calling himself Javved. And he took her in his arms, but something was wrong, she didn’t feel safe, but she could see the lady who had cared for her, and her eyes were glassy, there was no help from there, for some heavy spell lay against her.

She dared not even think what her rescuer was, not within earshot of her new father. He gave her pills, supposed to help with the nightmares, and the missing memories, but she had figured out long ago, they were something else, some way to control her or constrain her magic, which had never worked right since the night of the fire.

When she was finally old enough to move out, she had, and with good will had moved to The city of the moon to join the officers of the cog, the police force. For years she hadn’t seen him again, and then, one morning he showed up in town saying he was the new services officer. But the only good thing was, his magic didn’t work on her. Whatever he had done, he could not force her to believe. He couldn’t make her do what he wanted to, not without using blood.

But, there was one thing she couldn’t do, she couldn’t use her magic. It wouldn’t work, and whenever she tried too hard, she ended up with a headache and a nosebleed. But she knew Javveds magic by feel. So she was rather surprised when she walked up next to Max at the scene to feel what she knew to be his magic, and see that it was a blood binding.

She tried to talk to Max, but he waved her off until they were somewhere he felt safe talking. And while she understood that, she was afraid, like so much else of her life, the thing she knew to be real, the thing she remembered, was going to fade.

"You’re bleeding." Max said, handing her a tissue. "Be careful."

#

Robert could still see the fairgrounds. But since the outbreak years before, the one that had claimed his wife, few had gone. They knew, as all people knew the fair wasn’t responsible, but it was the last memory he had of her and his son,

"I miss you." He said quietly to her stone. "I can’t talk to our son, I wish I could, but I know the price he will ask me, and I am afraid. Afraid if I refuse or if my magic fails me, that he will demand him, and I can’t give him that, so I have to play that I don’t love him, I have to, though it kills me.

Some days, I remember who and what I used to be, other days, there is only the pain and anger, the lack of magic making me what I am now. I hold a circle, but dimly, and my magic crashes back around me. I wear an iron band around my ankle so I will be less tempted, and it makes the fever hurt less too. The name of this malady is on the tip of my tongue, I knew it, I found it out before you died, but then it left me.

People are trusting him, the false Walker, the one who holds his ink with blood and taboo. The one who binds me to use magic I no longer have. But I was right, he wants my ink, so he doesn’t know that I cannot carry. He knows my family and my line, but he doesn’t know that I was taken out of line when I was young, my choice, that I didn’t feel I could be what I was supposed to be.

He ran his hands across the cold stone. "I just want to hold him and tell him that I love him, that this started as an undercover mission, but with the mayor I reported to dead, there is no one to report to, and every day my old life becomes more dim, and I pray, I pray that the Inkwalker stops him before I do the unthinkable. He’s already tempted me. He can see the marks of blood magic on me, the time I dabbled as a child, he can see the tattoo of judgement on my arm, but he can’t read my mind unless I let him, bearing the lily means that I am immune to most magic, but what little I can cast, it come out twisted and painful."

He looked out over the emptiness. "What am I doing? What have I done? I know I’m trying to protect my son, or at least, that’s what I say, but am I? Or is this revenge? And most of all will there be anything left of me when my job is over?"

The gift he had meant to give his wife still sat on the headstone, it had not been moved, and it was spelled impervious to the elements. And for a moment, he thought he could hear his wife telling him to take it and write down what he knew and give it to their son, write it down now while his mind was still clear.

A hand went to the locket at his neck. A gift he had given his wife, he had taken it back before he buried her. Afraid it could be used for the unthinkable, he kept it on himself at all times. Because he didn’t know if he would have the ability to kill a Becomer or Risen version of her, not even for their son.

#

"I’m sorry, I have no choice. If we are fortunate, then her magic will come back, but I have to stop the spell or it will destroy her."

Karilyn was seven when she got hit by a rebound that wasn’t even hers. The spell was still trying to twist her, and it was all the healers could to keep it from killing her. As it was she would never leave. She would never go outside, she would lay in bed in agony until one day she gave up, or the magic of her caretakers failed.

The iron bands were cold, and they made her feel bad. But they stopped all magic, both hers and the spell that had bonded to her.

Two years later she had been playing when she saw the small owl hopping from foot to foot. It was waiting for a man who was haggling over price. She had been warned, repeatedly to avoid public displays of magic because they could undo her protection and bring back the spell.

She reached out and petted the bird, it peeped. "Ruru, here." The figure said, holding out his arm. The bird flitted up to land on the forearm before nibbling his fingers and climbing to his shoulder. It turned to look at the girl, its head tilting this way and that.

For a moment, she thought the bird was talking to the man, but that didn’t happen did it?

"What’s your name, child?"

"Slave, they call me." She said with a bow. She held out a shackled wrist. "They say I’m not much good with these."

"Slave, what are you doing?"

The figure clapped and the angry man stopped in his tracks. "She is no slave, she is free."

The man turned. "Who are you?"

"I am a man who it would do well to remain on the good side of, I carry a circle and I carry it well despite the cold iron."

"You’re a caster then?"

"I am."

"Would you like her? She’s good merchandise, very compliant."

This time he didn’t clap, just placed his hand against a piece of broken wood and a moment later there was a staff in his hand. "She is not property, slavery is utterly forbidden."

"Whose gonna stop me? You? I’m not scared of you, and I’m not scared of the messenger of justice.’

He smiled. "Your words betray you. For I am he."

"There is no guardian for this area."

"Because it was supposed to be a haven for the righteous unfairly charged, and while it is true he cannot judge, he can free." Daniel smiled. "For no man is to be banded in iron without trial except as needed by law or medicine, and even then it shall not impugn their status, nor make them less." That was the law. He tapped the stick and the chains fell off her, and when the man tried to grab her, he could not.

"I would they had called me, I could have cured you long ago." He knelt down. "Do yout trust me?"

"I do,"

"Before you were slave did you have a name?

"Karilyn, Kari, for short."

"Kari, listen to me. These men have hurt you, badly, and they have bound you with a spell that was not an accident, I can break it but there may be discomfort."

"It has to be better than this."

"It is. It is much better than this." He placed a hand over her chest where the scar of the dark magic was, the magic became blue-white against her and around her, and there was discomfort, not quite pain, but discomfort like when you peel something off and it doesn’t quite hurt. Suddenly she found she could breathe again, regularly without pain. And the world seemed to twist around her. "There will be someone here, and one day, you will be asked to leave everything you know behind to save the city or the world."

She nodded. "You are the Inkwalker?"

"Yes, and I will give you something that can protect you from them ever trying it again." He placed a hand against the back of her shoulder and there was heat and pain for a moment and then there was a flower tattoo on the back of her shoulder. "That is the moon lily, the mark of those whom an Inkwalker trusts."

"How do you know you can trust me?"

"Ruru likes you, and that is a good thing." He smiled, "I wish I could stay, but I can’t." He looked around. "But what else I can do is this. " He took her hand and led her to another part of the city. "I know she isn’t yours, and can never replace what you lost, but I think you two need each other." The woman, Lori, said nothing, she simply crushed the girl in a hug and sobbed into her hair. "Thank you."

#

Twenty years ago:

The nine-year-old had been practicing spells, he was a lunar, so he out later than some would be, but since the sun was still up, it didn’t surprise him to see the solars running toward him. There was, he wasn’t quite sure how to explain it, but there was moonlight, and then cold air, and a smell he didn’t know. Out of habit John stepped forward to give the caster room so he didn’t step on his circle.

He saw the spells come toward him as the solars fired. His hands dropped to his side, brushing the floor and then he could feel the cold sensation of powerful magic, and the protection spell exploded full force in front of him. There was a flash but no one was hurt as the invisible magic shield absorbed the magic fired and shuttled it away in streaks of orange that were swallowed by blue-white.

"Leave him alone." The spell had taken a lot out of him but he still stood over the man, hands balled into fists prepared to fight without magic if he had to. To attack a Caster who was down was beyond bad manners.

"That’s the freak." One of the solars said. They had to be twice John’s age, but he didn’t care. He was prepared to fight. But a moment later he felt a hand on his arm, and then he didn’t feel so weak. "Moonlight, protect us."

The spoken words had the force of spell and the air around them turned cold, a magic circle appearing around them.

"I don’t care what you think, he’s human."

"He’s a freak, and if you protect him you are too. Why don’t you run home little boy, its late,"

"You first."

The figure behind john shifted again and this time he heard gentle footsteps and the tap of a cane. "You do not know your danger children." The quiet voice addressed the Solars. "If you leave now, I will forget that you attacked me when I was without my circle."

There was something about the voice that made John feel stronger. And the fact that this man’s words cast magic made him very powerful, there were few who could cast without a circle. John was one of those, but only when someone more powerful cast around him, he could borrow their spells.

There were no more words, but the staff, or rather the scythe lashed out trapping one of the men and spinning him to the ground. "I am tired, I will not judge you now, but you ever meet me again and do not give me the respect due the office and I will judge you."

"You’re just a freak."

"Why don’t you use my title? You are not without circle, you have to know what I am, you have to know that a single hand clap and you are done."

John by now had figured out this was an inkwalker. "Honored father, if you need magic, use mine." He turned and held up his hands palm out. "You are tired and these men have chased you."

"Thank you child." He placed his palms against the young man’s and their circles entwined into a figure eight, the tattoos glowed faintly and he smiled.

He didn’t take anywhere near as much as he needed but any more would harm the boy. "This is our judgement. That we shall meet again, and if you not be righteous men when we next meet you will face the wrath of the ink."

A single swipe of his arm and all three of the Solars had been tossed down the end of the street. Daniel sagged against the scythe, now a staff again and tried to catch his breath. John pulled the man’s arm over his shoulder to help him.

"Honored father, do you need a place to stay?"

"I do,"

"We have an extra bed, our food is simple, and our house poor, but we honor you."

"Then I honor you." He smiled, green eyes rimmed in silver, sparkling in the sun. "Lead the way little one, for I promise you, as long as you hold on to who you are now, no harm will befall you that the Ink will not know."

John brought the man before his mother. "Mother, this is the Inkwalker, I saved his life."

Daniel smiled. "Please, call me Daniel."

"Of course Daniel," The young lady said, hands clasped, she bowed. "We honor you, being as low as we are, we would not deign to have asked you in, save the impertinence of a little boy."

"Honored sister." He clasped her hands so she would look at him. "We are the same, you and I, any man who calls you low dishonors your name for you may be poor, but you are not low, not common, for your son showed an uncommon valor he faced down three solars to allow me time to get my breath."

"We are honored."

"Please, is there a room, I fear I must sleep."

"Take him to Hannah’s room."

He nodded and took him to a room. There is a bed, its still made," He smiled and gestured. "There is a bath, there." He pointed through the curtains. "And I will bring you food. Are you without meat?"

"Not this week." Daniel said as he sat down on the bed and pulled off his sandals. "Can you help me get these outer garments off so I may bathe?"

It was clear to see that Daniel was tired, he had walked a long way, he was bloody, and cut, fresh stitches adorned his arms and legs, but none of the tattoos were cut or torn.

They are magic aren’t they?"

"They are, You may see Bran, my crow, he hasn’t returned yet."

John helped him, stripping down to the under-robe so he wouldn’t get his tunic damp he helped Daniel get to the warm bath, and made sure he would not fall on the steps before he could relax. John reached down and touched a rune, and the roof opened to reveal Moon Crystal. "This is a healing pool."

Daniel smiled and kicked off. It meant no matter how tired he was he could not drown.

"Shall I bring your food here?"

"Please?"

He nodded and came back shortly. With food. "Honored brother, Can I ask a question?"

"Of course."

"Our family have been friends of the Ink for a long time. For generations we served them, and then the bad times came and there was no Ink to serve. And there are those that say this house-- I have done ill. Can someone be judged for taking the Chameleon brand?"

Daniel had to think a moment, not because he was unsure or even that it was wrong, but he wanted to be understood and being this tired it was hard to order his thoughts.

"I have not been fortunate enough to meet those who have taken the Chameleon. But the Ink does not consider that to be a deficit, or a defect for which a man can be judged. We care more about your character than your gender. My sister is an Inkwalker, one of the best. And many of my brothers were inked as well. Times have been hard, Inkwalkers have been killed. In fact I was nearly killed before you found me. My place of safety, a small natural spring near here was overrun by those who wanted my magic for evil. They did the unthinkable and their creatures murdered my wife, my two children, and my hope."

"Would you ever allow your child the Chameleon brand?"

"If they felt that was the right way to go." He smiled and looked at the young man. "Was this your room?"

"No, my sister’s she liked being a girl, I-- I didn’t"

He nodded. "I am sorry." He smiled. "I can see she meant a lot to you and that her being gone has hurt you. Is she moved or passed?"

"Passed, murdered sir."

"Murdered? Were you there with her?"

"I was sir, but even then I was dressed as I am now."

"That was not my intent child, I did not mean to imply that that hurt caused you to change who you were, I merely wanted to know her. And how she died and if her killer was caught."

"She was beautiful." He went and got a picture. "This was her, and that was me, she was 18, I was not quite eight."

"So its been a year."

"It has. She loved the stars and the sun, and though she bore no circle we treated her like everyone else."

"Your sister was without a circle?"

"When she was young her magic broke and it never worked again, well, no, it only worked once." He looked down and picked at invisible lint on his tunic. "She was able to cast protection on me."

"Before she died so that they couldn’t hurt you." Daniel said. "Her magic was like your own. You are special, very special, you are the only ones who can use the Ink without carrying the Ink. The defense spell you cast was one you had never learned and at least three classes above your level." He smiled. "You used my magic to cast, you borrowed my circle."

"Does that mean my magic is broken too?"

"No, it means your magic is some of the rarest in the world and that you will have an important task some day. I will give you the name of a teacher at a school who knows how to train ’those who borrow’. You will work with the Ink some day, you are not an Inkwalker, but you are the guardian of one." He smiled. "You are a keeper. How is it that your family has forgotten?"

The Inkwalker stayed an entire week, until a pretty woman with the gold and bronze of the sun came to find him. Her skin was dark, the color of burned bread. "Are you ready?"

"Almost. Keira, this is John, he saved my life, and is of the caste of the borrowers."

She greeted him with her hands together and bowed, then shook hands. "It is a big thing, to save an Inkwalker."

"You were waiting because you are still weak."

"Yes." He said quietly. "Keira is like you," He smiled. "I also wanted him to understand that his magic is not broken, he simply can’t use it the same way as most. "Come," He gestured for John to come forward. "You have saved an Inkwalker, and that is a high thing." He placed his hand against the back of John’s shoulder. "Today, I give you the mark of the lily, the sign of those who have touched the Ink, and been touched by it. Keep yourself a righteous man and the Ink will find you someday, an Inkwalker will be your friend and Ally.

And your family, I cannot take away the bad times, but I can bless this house. "This house shall be known as a house of kindness and compassion, what is given freely will come back tenfold, what is taken by force shall corrupt the taker, and return to the victim ten fold on ten fold. And as long as they be righteous men, and keep well the circles, no harm shall befall any to whom they say, "You are welcome here" unless that one means them harm or deceit. And the workers of the night shall never know this place. The water will be clear, the food will not fail, and as much as is up to us, no sickness shall befall."

The Inkwalker clapped his hands. Runes appeared on the house, doors, windows, floor, all things were warded.

John’s family still lived in the same modest house. They were honest men, righteous men according to the ways of the Ink, and well protected. John became an officer of the law, Cog-bound as they were called. He signed on as soon as he turned nineteen, and had been there nearly ten years, and one day, a year before, he had come across a police officer breaking the law, he stopped him and threatened to turn him in. Things would have gone well for him except the police chief was murdered that day, and so there was no one in office who knew the boy.

They transferred John to Cold Iron. And for a while he thought that the Inkwalker was wrong. But John would learn that the Inkwalker was rarely wrong. And he would be one of the few to talk with death and live.

#

"The kid hasn’t said a word since they brought him in."

"Would you?" The voice was a rich baritone. "You are treating him like a criminal, has anyone asked if he was ok? If he needed food? Water?"

"He killed a man, Inkwalker."

"I know what the child has done, and I know more than that. The magic tells me why."

He walked in and the child looked up, seeming surprised that the man sat down next to him with a thermos and poured him something that smelled like soup.

"Is this my last meal?" The child asked.

"Why would you think that?"

"I killed him with my magic and you are Inkwalker, I heard them say so."

Inkaru smiled. "Child, we cannot judge you for what you have done. You were defending yourself, and it was not really your intent when you cast that spell to hurt him, you were just trying to keep him from beating you and your sister."

He put his hands around the cup and took a sip as the man talked. "How do you know that?"

"The magic speaks to us. Just like it told us your name is Sebastian, and that until today you had never been able to use that spell, it’s not within your normal type of magic."

He nodded. "They don’t believe me."

"We do. And we can tell you why that happened."

"Is my Magic broken?"

"No, child. Your magic is just a very unique type. You are a Keeper. You can use Inkwalker magic without wearing ink. And that thing he was stealing, that was your mother’s ink. Your sister was supposed to carry it, but the Becomer attack hurt her so badly that even Ink magic can’t help her."

He nodded. "That’s why he always hurt her, cause she couldn’t fight back."

"And, without understanding that you were doing exactly what you were supposed to do, protecting a seven, you reached out and cast a spell way above your class."

"So what is going to happen to me?"

You are going to care for your sister, and when she has a child, they will become Inkwalker. Or, if she doesn’t, as sometimes happens, you will keep her Ink until you find a Seven."

He had been nine the day he had killed his step-father for hurting his sister. But he would do it again in a heartbeat. The Inkwalker took the terrified boy in his arms, and for the first time in his short life, he felt safe. He smelled that sweet, safe smell that everyone associated with the Inkwalker. And there was heat for a moment. "If you ever need me I will be there before you call for me."

Sebastian had only heard that scream once before. It was his sister screaming and it was the scream she reserved for Becomers. That high, full-throated scream of terror. He was there with a clap of his hands and the world twisted around him dropping him almost on top of the Becomer. With a sweep of his hand he had a blade and swung at the Becomer. The blade touched it and it went down and stayed down. But the damage was done.

His sister’s arm and side were bare to the bone, her lungs struggling to breathe. Everything from shoulder to hip on her right side was bone and sinew.

That smell was there again, that safe smell that told him the Inkwalker was here. A hand went to his shoulder and the next thing he knew, he felt himself being guided to the ground. And the last thing he saw, and the only thing he remembered of that night to this day was seeing the Inkwalker. The attack was gone, just a memory of terror, a scream from he didn’t know who, and the Inkwalker was there.

"Sebastian, I know you don’t really know what to do with yourself right now. But I had a thought. Living in this house, as much as you love it, and I’m not asking you to sell it, but its not doing you good right now. You need a place to feel safe and recover." Sebastian still flinched at screams and the injuries he hadn’t remembered getting still hurt him.

"So I wanted to offer you a place where you know you will be safe so you can heal." He put a hand to Sebastian’s chest. "Heal here."

"Ok, where do you want me to move? Another city? Where will I be safe? Where can I go that they can’t follow me?"

"I want you to live at the Gardener’s house in the Moon Garden." Daniel said. "Risen and Becomers can’t come within a hundred yards of the place."

"You want me to watch the Moon lilies?

"Yes. And I’m sure we will find you a Seven, when you are ready."

The gardener’s house was in the circle of protection, nothing evil could come there, and maybe, for the first time in years, he could sleep without the nightmare of the shadows moving.

"I think that would be a good thing."

;>;;;>;;;>;;;

Next Chapter: Shum Najl Aibna (Son of an Unlucky Seven)