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Why were all his recent visions from the time after he’d lost Owyn at the temple? He longed for the memories of the happier times they’d spent together—the memories that had sustained him when he’d been a prisoner on Ea’nu.
    Ian brushed Taren’s tears away. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you. Not this time.”
    Not if you can help it. Taren knew that. But he also knew that should the goddess will it, as she’d done before, Ian would leave him alone. He sighed and shuddered.
    “Tell me, Taren. Please.”
    “There’s nothing to tell.” Taren settled into Ian’s arms as they lay back down on the bed. “I dreamed of the stone. Of leaving the island for the last time. I knew I’d never return.” He’d been old. Not frail, but his body had ceased to heal as quickly, and he knew death would take him soon. He’d wanted to die. Death meant that he’d rejoin Owyn in the afterlife. An end to his lonely existence.
    Ian held him tighter. Taren found it easier to forget the memory of that vast emptiness when Ian held him. Easier, but he still could not forget it completely. What if they were doomed to repeat the past?
    “It won’t be the same this time,” Ian said, as if he could read Taren’s thoughts.
    Taren prayed Ian was right.

Three

     
    T ARENKNELTby the ruins of the temple, as he had each day for the past three months. He wasn’t sure why he kept coming back. “You’re searching for something,” Ian had told him as they’d worked to rebuild the foundation of the cottage on the bluff. “A heading in the storm. It’s only natural to ask for the goddess’s guidance.”
    Taren told himself he didn’t need the goddess or the gods to show him his purpose. He wasn’t even sure he believed they existed. And yet here he was, prostrate once again, imploring her for help. More than anything, in acknowledging that he’d lived another life as Treande, Taren feared he might somehow lose himself. And with that fear came restlessness. Questions.
    “Back again?”
    “Obviously.” Taren didn’t mean to snap at Vurin, but he tired of the man’s paternal manner and preternatural ability to sense when he was troubled. Why couldn’t Vurin have been a seer instead of an empath? At least then he might be of some use to Taren and could tell Taren what he should be doing instead of wasting his time here. But perhaps Vurin’s empathy was what made him such a powerful leader for the mainland Ea.
    Vurin chuckled. “Not finding your answers?”
    “If I’d found them, do you think I’d still be here?”
    “Perhaps you aren’t asking the right questions.” Vurin bowed to the remnants of the ancient altar and pressed his palms together in supplication. “Or perhaps you aren’t listening to the answers.”
    “Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me, then?” Taren turned to face Vurin. In the fading afternoon light, he looked far more ancient as shadows settled in the lines around his mouth and eyes.
    Vurin sat on a rock and smiled. “You want to know who Treande was and how much of his soul still inhabits yours.”
    “I….” As always, Vurin’s ability to know his thoughts disturbed Taren. “Yes. I want to understand why I keep dreaming of him. What purpose the dreams serve. What I’m supposed to learn from them.”
    “No doubt you do.”
    “Tell me more about him.” When Vurin regarded him with a knowing smile, Taren added, “Please. I need to understand.”
    Vurin took a long breath, his eyes closing momentarily as if he were gathering his thoughts. “Walk with me,” Vurin said. “There’s something I’d like you to see.”
    “All right.”
    Vurin gestured to the road that led out of Callaecia. They walked for several minutes in silence, the only sound the screeching of gulls from the water and the rustling of the leaves in the breeze.
    “You know that Treande led our people to Ea’nu,” Vurin said after a while. “He helped them settle the island colony and build the great temple