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Sandseeds’
    protective magic watching me for signs of threat. Gathering magic, I projected a
    thread to him, revealing the muscles and bone underneath Marrok’s skin. His injuries
    pulsed with a red light. His cheekbone had been shattered and some bone fragments
    had gotten into his eye, affecting his vision. Small dark growths of an infection
    dotted the ruined area.
    I concentrated on the injury until his pain transferred to my own face. A sharp
    needle of pain stabbed my right eye as my vision dulled and tears welled. Curling
    into a ball, I pushed against the onslaught, channeling the magic from the power
    source through my body. The flow chugged, and I strained. All of a sudden the
    current of magic moved with ease as if someone had removed a beaver’s dam,
    washing away the pain. Relief swept through me. I relaxed.
    “Do you think that was a good idea?” Leif asked when I opened my eyes.
    “The wound was infected.”

    “But you used all your energy.”
    “I…” I sat up, feeling tired but not exhausted. “I—”
    “Had help,” a voice snapped out of nowhere.
    Leif jerked upright in surprise, but I recognized the deep masculine tone. Moon
    Man appeared next to the fire as if he had formed from the rising heat and ashes. His
    bald head gleamed in the sunlight.
    In deference to the chill, Moon Man wore a long-sleeved tan tunic and dark
    brown pants that matched the color of his skin, but no shoes.
    “No paint?” I asked Moon Man. The first time I had met him he had coalesced
    out of a beam of moonlight covered only with indigo dye. He had claimed to be my
    Story Weaver and proceeded to show me my life’s story and unlocked my
    childhood memories. Six years of living with my mother, father and brother had been
    suppressed by a magician named Mogkan so I wouldn’t long for my family after
    Mogkan had kidnapped me.
    Moon Man smiled. “I did not have time to cover my skin. And it is a good thing I
    came when I did.” His tone conveyed his displeasure. “Or you would have spent all
    your strength.”
    “Not all,” I countered, sounding like a belligerent child.
    “Have you become an all-powerful Soulfinder already?” He widened his eyes in
    mock amazement. “I will bow down before you, Oh Great One.” He bent at the
    waist.
    “All right, enough,” I said, laughing. “I should have thought it through before
    healing Marrok. Happy now?”
    He sighed dramatically. “I would be content if I thought you learned a lesson and
    would not do it again. However, I am well aware that you will continue to rush right
    into situations. It is weaved into your life’s pattern. There is no hope for you.”
    “Is that why you sent for me? To tell me I’m hopeless?”
    Moon Man sobered. “I wish. We had heard that the Soulstealer had escaped
    from the Magician’s Keep with Cahil’s help. One of our Story Weavers scouting in
    the Daviian Plateau sensed a stranger traveling with one of the Vermin.”
    “Are Cahil and Ferde in the plateau?” Leif asked.
    “We think so, but we want Yelena to identify the Soulstealer.”
    “Why?” I asked. The Sandseeds didn’t waste time on trials and incarceration.
    They executed criminals on capture.
    However, the Daviian Vermin had been very hard to find, and they had powerful
    magicians. The Vermin were a group of Sandseed youths who had become
    discontented with the Sandseed lifestyle of keeping to themselves and limiting
    contact with the other clans. The Vermin wanted the Sandseed Story Weavers to use
    their great powers to guide all of Sitia and not just the inhabitants of the plains.
    They had broken from the Sandseed Clan and settled in the Daviian Plateau,
    becoming the Daviian Clan. The plateau’s dry and inhospitable soil made farming a
    nightmare, so the Daviians stole from the Sandseeds, and earned the nickname of
    Vermin. The Sandseeds also referred to the Vermin’s magicians as Warpers, since
    they used their magic for selfish reasons.
    “You need to