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speckled rat. I believe you have met him. In your fenced-in Dreamfield.”
    â€œIt’s not possible.” The healer sighs, slumping down on the log.
    â€œIf you wouldn’t mind,” Willum asks, indicating she might want to move.
    As her seat begins to roll beneath her, she bolts up again like a startled frog. When a fanged figure emerges from the exposed ground, the Dirt Eater stumbles back, gasping, “Blood Drinker!”
    Mabatan scowls at the terrified healer. “This is Mhyzah. She’s Hhroxhi. We’ll be traveling with her now. And you will want to keep your ignorance to yourself.”
    Willum gently carries Stowe over to Mhyzah, who takes the sleeping girl and disappears into the hole. Then, with a firm grip on the Dirt Eater’s arm, he murmurs, “After you.”

THE RAT
    THE EARTH’S FORESTS WERE REPLENISHED. ABUNDANT WILDLIFE ROAMED THE LUSH UNDERGROWTH AND THE WIDE GOLDEN VALLEYS. BUT THE EYES OF THE PEOPLE SHOWED NO INTELLIGENCE. THEY PERISHED BEFORE THE BEASTS DEFENSELESS. ALL THEIR DREAMS HAD BEEN TAKEN FROM THEM.
    â€”ROAN,
VISION #117, YEAR 7 A.C.
DREAMFIELD JOURNALS OF THE
FIRST INNER CIRCLE
    R OAN WALKS ALONG THE VOLCANIC ROCK, to where a dozen younger Apsara perfect their swordplay . The women dodge one another’s blows in a mesmerizing dance. The blades never touch, though the sharp whirr of the steel leaves no doubt what would happen if they came into contact with skin and bone.
    Inside the temple, several dozen more of Kira and Ende’s people are seated cross-legged on the floor in deep meditation. Here the only sound is their perfectly coordinated breathing, the exhale and inhale so exact that it slits the air with the precision of a calligrapher’s brush. The Apsara’s discipline dwarfs that of the Brothers: it’s no wonder they’re such formidable fighters.
    Standing before a heavy stone door, Roan waits. He knows that Ende will feel his presence and the door will open when she’s ready. He doesn’t wait long.
    The room is so gracefully appointed it exudes serenity. At its center is a simple table, perfectly proportioned, the wood grain curved into a vibrant spiral. Two cups are set on it; made of fine white clay, they appear strong yet delicate. Even the bamboo mat Roan sits on is woven in a way that soothes the eye. The woman herself embodies the room’s perfection: lithe, long limbs rippling with muscle, her aging face both beautiful and wise, her smile an invitation but also a warning.
    â€œYou have lost the clarity you experienced after your last ordeal,” she says, pouring Roan some tea. The scent of spearmint rising from it calms him.
    â€œI realize it’s important to put the past to rest, but seeing Wolf and Asp and Stinger, hearing their voices…I just don’t know if I can do it. They came to the Caldera with the intention of serving me but now, with the added problem of Asp—”
    â€œYou overestimate your obstacles. Keep in mind, Roan, that you are not being asked to forgive the Brothers or even to understand them, but to lead them. Accomplish this and you may also be able to guide them, in thought as well as action, and prevent the anguish you experienced from becoming another’s.”
    Roan shudders.
    â€œIt may be distasteful to you, Roan of Longlight, but it is not an unworthy endeavor.”
    â€œI had a vision—”
    Ende holds up her hand, stopping him. “I am not the one to interpret your visions but I do know to whom you must speak.”
    Roan extends his awareness beyond the room, hoping to get a sense of what awaits him.
    â€œNo, no,” the ancient warrior sighs as she takes a sip of tea. “You cannot meet him here. Rat awaits you in the Dreamfield.”
    At the mention of the creature, Roan’s stomach flips. “Large, with brown speckles?”
    Ende puts down her cup. “Ah, you remember him. He thought you would.”
    How could