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front of the family's cottage, holding out two plants.
    One was called heart's hope. The other was belladonna.

Chapter Four
    I t found Its way to the sea. Taking the form of the well-to-do, middle-aged gentleman that had served It so well in other places, It spent a few days hunting around the docks and alleyways of the seaport. To Its delight, the brutal killings nurtured seeds of distrust and fear that sprang up whenever humans encountered someone who wasn't exactly like themselves. Easy enough to hunt and then feast on the dark feelings shaped by terror — and then be the whisper in the back of the crowd, assuring people that anyone who wasn't them must be evil.
    Easy enough. But not as easy as It expected. There was strong bedrock around the docks of this seaport — a heart and will through which Ephemera manifested the emotions and wishes of other human hearts.
    But what bedrock, what heart? It had destroyed most of the lesser enemies, the females called Landscapers and the males called Bridges. Through Its creatures, It controlled the school where the enemies had gathered, turning their place into one of Its own landscapes. Now the few Landscapers who had survived were contained in whichever landscapes they had fled to, leaving all the other landscapes in their care vulnerable to Its influence.
    But this bedrock did not have the resonance of a lesser enemy. And it didn't feel like the True Enemy, the one called Belladonna. This was something other, something different.
    A new kind of Enemy.
    It had touched the resonance of this Enemy in two other places in this part of the world. It would recognize that heart now if It found the resonance in another place.
    But if It could recognize the Enemy, could the Enemy recognize It, find It?
    As that thought took shape and grew stronger, It lost Its pleasure in the hunt. It didn't want to be found until It was ready to be found — until It had destroyed the Place of Light the True Enemy hadn't yet hidden within her landscapes.
    It left the seaport and flowed steadily north, a shadow beneath the waves. When It wanted to feed, It changed into the form that belonged to the sea, swelling Its size to be able to hunt whatever creatures were available.
    Then It stopped at a fishing village, hungry for more than the flesh It could find in the sea. Slipping into the human minds through the twilight of waking dreams, It found a fear that matched Its sea shape. A diminished fear; a safe fear that produced no more than a delicious shiver. Because the thing that was feared was nothing more than a story now, wasn't believed to be real.
    Pleased by the discovery, It followed the fishing boats the next day, causing no more than ripples of uneasiness as It flowed around and beneath the boats. But It also herded schools of fish into the nets, so the uneasiness that might have kept the fishermen away from that spot was drowned by their excitement in hauling in such a good catch.
    It watched the fishing boats head back to the village at the end of the day, felt the swell of happiness in the hearts of the men
    — and the hope that the catch would be as good tomorrow.
    The catch would be as good. But not for them.
    While the hope and happiness of the fishermen and their families fed the currents of Light, the Eater of the World floated in the water — and waited.
    Ten fishing boats went out the next morning. Five returned home.
    Fathers, sons, brothers. Dead.
    The older men said they should have known something was wrong, with fish practically leaping into the boats to escape some danger hidden in the sea. But no one had imagined something out of the old stories coming to life. No one had considered the terror that would fill a man's heart when he saw tentacles as thick as masts and twice the length rise up out of the water and smash a boat into kindling. No one had considered the anguish of hearing a friend, wrapped in one of those tentacles, screaming as the life was crushed out of him. Or,