Elder Hale felt the flutter in his old heart as he looked around at the circle of wicks before him. Though they were not all his kin, he loved them dearly; to know that they had gathered there to listen to him speak was a great honor. Every year he told three stories during the festival, and this was the first.

He turned his grey head to look at everyone better. Crows and Eyes were sitting far apart, subtle glances passing between them; other tribes were present as well, from the genial Tall Trees to the shifty Black Hands to the calm and placid Deep Waters.

The wicks were in awe of the ancient man, who was renowned throughout the tribes as the greatest storyteller alive. Hale spread his wrinkled, bony hands with the clink of many beads and bracelets, welcoming them, and they looked up in anticipation of the story he would tell.

Calli felt vaguely nervous being in a crowd full of so many Crows and Eyes. Now that she had heard more about the riots and seen how the two groups were with each other, she'd been getting nightmares. She wanted everyone to get along, was that so hard?

She was glad Elder Hale was there. He told the best stories. They were so good she didn't even fidget while he told them.

It was cool beneath the trees.

Tito closed his eyes as he tried to remember past stories told by the aged man. He remembered the feel of his mother's hand stroking his hair gently as he laid on her lap. The sky always seemed bluer then... at least in his memories.

He let out a breath and sat up, looking at the storyteller through a man's eyes... but he still listened with a child's heart.

"In younger times," said the Elder at last, in a voice that creaked like an ancient tree in a windstorm, "the first tribe was lost in the wilderness, in the cold and dark. The howls of the night had closed in on them, and their eyes were blind to the world."

He spoke in Deep Tek, a more ancient tongue than many were used to, but even the younger wicks had heard the old folks speaking in it occasionally. It was the first language of wicks, spoken to set them apart from everybody else in the world.

"Their leaders," he continued, "were three brothers, bonded to each other by the blood of battle, but not born of the same mother. They were the strongest, and the wisest, of their tribe. One night in the deepest clearing of the deepest wood, they conferred with one another to make a plan to lead the others to a better land..."

"We should go North, to the highlands," said Roek, the brave one. "We can fight off the inhabitants of those lands and make it our own."

"We should go South, to the temples of the gods," said Kohore, the holy one. "If we pray for our people, we shall be saved."

"We should go East, to the waters," said Ethia, the wise one. "If we set sail for another world, we will finally be free to begin our lives anew."

Sarinah sat off to the side, wrapped in her traveling cloak, listening to the old man speak. She'd not heard this tale in a long, long time. Hearing the old tek was like hearing her ancestors speaking to her. Leaning against the tree behind her, she closed her eyes. It was getting later and later, and she was beginning to worry about Tristaan. Shouldn't he be done by now? On his way here? Here already? A tight grip of slowly building panic and fear had planted itself in her chest, and it was growing.

Sighing, she tried to focus on the story and block out her worry.



She liked the sound of Roek. A strong leader.

Tito had closed his eyes and was picturing it all as Elder Hale spoke. With his legs crossed, his arms rested on his knees and cradled his head.

It sounded like the most promising choice. Freedom. That was all he wanted. His hands squeezed tightly as he thought about it. The chance to start over?

Ethia the wise... He knew best. Freedom and the chance to start anew was the only hope they had for sure. Perhaps that was why he moved around whenever things got tough and decisions became hard.

Wendy stood, towards the back, looking at the old man curiously. His words ran through her head like water over rocks. She didn't absorb anything, and it only made her feel more disconnected with this place. Will I ever really belong with these people? Petra belongs with Rosie...I can't rely on her help all the time. She said I'm a Hand but...I almost feel more out of place here than I did at Brunhold.

The passive let her eyes sweep over the crowd, and she felt herself in awe of the colours once again. In Brunhold, I had a place... But that was wrong. Her place in Brunhold had been under the shoe of her brothers and sisters. She had been unwanted, uncared for, and beaten. Intolerable behavior. Things may have been easier in Brunhold, in terms of finding out where I fit, but they were wrong. And this place...and these people?

Wendy's eyes flashed, briefly. Petra has been kind. Jerzy has been kind. I may not fit here exactly, but... it is my home, for now. They've accepted me even though I...don't have magic... She blinked, her eyes wandering back to the old man. His voice almost sounded as if it came from the trees themselves.

I wish I knew what he was saying...

Calli let the Deep Tek float over her, suspending her from the flesh and all that went with it. She'd heard the story before and she always wondered at this point why the brothers hadn't just decided to all go West, so they wouldn't have to disagree. She looked to the side and saw a slightly confused looking woman with blue hair. Calli nudged herself closer to the chip.

"Hesta." She said quietly. "It's a pina strange hearing him speak, isn't it? Always makes me get goosebumps."

Eriyenna had settled in a less crowded spot on her own, Bright-eyes curled up contentedly behind her and a journal in her lap. Festival stories were always amazing inspirations for some of her best music throughout the year. She took notes, sketched drawings, wrote down chords that struck her during the telling.

Deep Tek always stirred something dormant and growing in her heart. It made her smile without knowing it. There was something about the old ways that very much called to her - waking and sleeping.

Wendy looked down and the tips of her ears turned red, "Aye. Like..." She shrugged. She couldn't come close to describing it, "I don't know what he's saying at all but I like his voice. It's um. Old..."

Well I've never been the poetic sort. Wendy thought ruefully, and gave Calli a tentative half smile.

Jerzy looked over at Wendy, noticing she looked a bit out of place. Normally he wouldn't interrupt, but...

Tapping her on the shoulder, he whispered in her ear, and began translating Elder Hale's words so that she could understand. As a young wick, his grasp of Deep Tek was shaky, but he knew the story well enough.

----

Elder Hale smiled at his children, and continued the story.

But the brothers could not agree, and in the end, they raised a hand to one another. This had never happened before in the history of the tribe, and everyone was quite saddened by it.

All at once, the great spirit of the forest looked down on the brothers, and was displeased. There was a great clap of lightning and a roll of thunder, and the skies parted so that moonlight could shine down on Roek, Kohore and Ethia.

"Brothers," said the voice of the forest. "Because you could not choose in peace, I will command you to go West."

The brothers all looked around and trembled, frightened of the spirit. They did not want to hear the words, but they could not deny the power of the spirits and the gods.

"But O spirits," they protested. "Westward, the lands are filled with the Ekk. They will tear our flesh and eat our memories."

"Fear not," said the spirit, "for I have called away the Ekk to clear the land and set a path for you. Travel now to the West and seek out a new life."

Hale paused. In his old age he always assumed that the younger generations had been schooled in such matters, but he did not know for sure if everyone present knew the terminology he was using.

"The Ekk," he explained, "are the hatchers."

The crowd smiled and laughed a little, amused by the Elder as well as their own misunderstanding. He answered their smiles by crinkling the corners of his eyes, which sparkled with mirth.

Calli smiled back at Wendy. She didn't really have a way with words so she didn't quite recognise that Wendy had been grasping for another word.

"Oes, I know what you mean." And she did, she still had her intuition.



Calli's mouth opened in a wide grin. She'd been right! She laughed along with everyone else when Elder Hale explained what the hatchers were. She'd never seen one, though she had heard that they were scary.

Viator followed the story with closed eyes, allowing the storytellers words to carry him away from the wick encampment, to ages of lore and the beginnings of all that he knew.


Oh, Darkeu, Horute, Gammer... ye'd have loved this 'un, lads. Should be ye instead o' me listening here. But them pirates... he shook his head, ridding it of their smiling, jovial faces. Wick lads of the first rank, all of them. Darkeu especially, he'd been one of the handful to guess the reality behind Viator's life, and still been as a brother.

If only ye'd listened to me like ye did afore ye knew, Dar. Shaking his head, he stared into the flames. Ye'd be here wit me, drinkin' and smilin' at the witches. Ye have more right than I ev'r will.


Hahaha, oh spirit, why'd you not watch over yer lads like ye used to? While ye were clearin' th'land o' hatchers ye coulda at least gotten rif of the damn gollies an' pirates an' all else that raises a hand to 'em? A hand rubbed at the compass on his glove, the other discreetly cupped around a bauble in his pocket. Mayhap ye'd have saved more'n wicks.

He watched the fire, and in it he saw Adalare. Ye need t'go back, lass. Yer not welcome here. Moving to stand behind Wendy and Jerzy, he lightly rested a hand on the girl's shoulder.

Slim had positioned himself rather near the speaker, sensing an Event in the making. The respect the crowd showed kept him from asking any questions, although he clearly understood not a word. He had spent the first few moments trying terribly hard to make sense of it. The he'd realized the futility and decided to simply enjoy what he could of the performer's skill.

The rhythm spoke to him in its own way and Elder Hale's control and skill with his instrument could teach even an old hand like Slim a few things about performing.

Wendy smiled gratefully at Jerzy and turned back to the old man, her eyes slightly unfocused as she tried to concentrate on the old man's voice and on what Jerzy was saying at the same time. She felt a hand rest on her shoulder and turned to glance at Adalare. She raised her own to cover it momentarily before putting it back.



That doesn't clarify things... "What're hatchers?" she asked Jerzy in a whisper. She'd never really caught on at Brunhold to what exactly they were. Other than the occasional threat...I hope the hatchers eat you for breakfast! she knew nothing about them and had never thought to ask. Some sort of animal?

Hal was tired. He had spent the entire day lost in a frenzy of color, noise, and other wick-y things. He had been searching for the rest of the circus crew, but had been unsuccessful in his search. He had reached the point where all he wanted to do was sit in silence. To that end, he had wandered for the most quiet spot he could find and soon found himself in a circle of silent wicks, all listening to one man.

Hal couldn't understand a word he was saying. But it didn't bother him much. The soothing sounds of this one man's voice meant more to him than all the wick's bands on Surwood at that moment. He settled in on the outskirts of the circle.

Sarinah smirked. The hatchers were stuff of childrens stories, but not because they were false. Because they were terrifying. Threatening a naughty child with a hatcher in their kint was a good way of keeping them in line.

The woman was drifting closer to sleep listening to the man's comforting voice.

Jerzy whispered, "Beasts. Terrible beasts." He did not specify, but from his voice Wendy could tell that the subject was one he would rather avoid.

---


So the brothers talked among themselves, and argued further, and their anger at their fate knew no bounds. They had been commanded to go West by the spirits, but they were greatly afraid for their families. They thought that perhaps the gods had been mistaken, and they decided to defy them.

There was a gasp from the crowd. It was obvious that the listeners were not all surprised; most of them had heard this story before, but the gasp added a certain element of theatrics to the story.

They each took their families and headed off in the direction they had chosen, splitting the tribe in three. This was very sad for the tribe, because the families had intermarried and there were many who were related to all three of the Durgs. But they chose sides, as they must, and there were many tears shed as the brothers went their separate ways.

Roek headed North, to the Tors. His journey led him to many great adventures with beasts and man alike; he fought valiantly, and kept his family safe. But they were very sad, for they were alone.

Durg Kohore headed South, to the Temples. His tribe prayed day and night for safety, and they too were kept safe. But still, they were very sad, for they were alone.

Durg Ethia headed East, to the water. The way was unknown to them, but they used their knowledge of the earth to keep themselves safe. But still, they were very sad, for they were alone.

One day, a great storm overtook the kingdom of Anaxas. It covered the Tors, and the Temples, and the Waters; it flooded the rivers and made the ground to beaten mud. The forest became impassable, the field became uncrossable, and the river became unfordable. And all three tribes were stopped in their tracks.

Something in the way he said it chilled Wendy's bones, and she bit her lip with a small frown. Still...I would like to know.



Serves them right. For not listening to the Gods... her thought trailed off, and she half wondered if that's what she was doing. Defying the gods? Was it so wrong to desperately want what she couldn't have?

Does Alioe really-- are we meant to be hurt like this? To be alone like those tribes?

Wendy closed her eyes tightly and reached out to hold Viator's hand tightly. If freedom was defiance, so be it. "Sometimes even the gods must be wrong..." Wendy whispered more for Via than for Jerzy.

As the crowd gasped, Viator managed to hide the grin that threatened. Good on ye lads. Gods wot don't allow th'livin' to make their own decision ent worth their pedestals.

He doubted his opinion of things was a popular one; superstition without faith was uncommon amongst sailors, and here, listening to the tales of gods and goddesses, he wanted to crack jokes at the supposedly all knowing's expense. Ent a god yet made worth the respect an awe o' men an women.


Something in him almost understood what family meant. Almost. On the open ocean he'd had his lads, but they weren't family, they were more a surrogate friend group. Childhood was long enough ago that it didn't matter, and the only thing between had corrupted the word past all repair.

Viator looked down at Wendy again, ages of loss seemingly regained in the small, oddly-clothes passive. Mayhap not all is quite so lost.


So? They made their decision, ent any going back once ye forge ahead. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he passed a thumb over the smooth backing of a pendant. Ye just move on and ye never look back.


Viator looked soberly down at the girl and folded her in a hug, chin resting on her shoulder. They're wrong an awful lot of th'time, dearest, he mused. We're just th'pawns t'be played with.

Finally, when the storm seemed at its worst, a great mist enveloped the three tribes.

The older members of the crowd, perhaps remembering this part, began smiling grimly and nodding to one another in an infuriatingly superior way; it made some of the very youngest wicks giggle with amusement.

In this great thick mist, the Durgs began to regret their decisions, but none of them knew what was happening to the other tribes. So they wandered aimlessly, calling out for their family. A whole week passed, and some began to feel ill with tiredness, but none of the Durgs would give up until they had found each other once more.

On the morning of the tenth day, the Durgs awoke, and in despair cried out "Where is our home? Where is our family? Gods, spirits, deliver us!"

Sarinah mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter.

"You have no home. Your family is gone." Silencing herself, she opened her eyes and stared into nothing. She realized that was herself. Homeless, and abandoned by her family it seemed. Something stirred. Anger and an idea. She would talk to the tattooist in the morrow. Settling back again with her jaw set in defiance, she closed her eyes.

"Oes, now they ask," Wendy growled sarcastically. I've never defied the gods. Unless freedom was defiance...and if that was the case... Her face set stubbornly, Then I will never ask to be delivered.

((really sorry for the wait, guys.))


Suddenly, continued Elder Hale, suddenly, the mist began to clear. One by one, the tribes began to see the faces of their brothers and sisters, and then each other; the kin of Roek, and Kohore, and Ethia gathered together in an embrace.

"Never, never leave us again!" they cried, clinging to one another.

But even greater wonders awaited them. As the mist receded, the tribes looked down and saw a vast valley spread out beneath them. It was lush and vibrant, with forests and rivers and fields, and the mist could not reach them in the low land.

All at once, the three brothers raised their hands and praised the spirits of the world, calling out to the gods to thank them for the great gift they bestowed upon the people. They would remain wicks, the people of the earth, but they finally had a home in which to rest.

Soon, the valley became full of life and song. The wicks set down their kints and built homes, and although the tribes remained divided, they were one. They called the city Anhau, which means Our Home, and built a great stronghold in the valley. The city of Anhau would remain forever, against incredible odds, a testament to the strength of our people and the love of the gods.

As the story came to its conclusion, there were several wistful sighs in the audience. The gathered wicks began the traditional clap, in which everyone held out their hands for their neighbor to pat. The result was a softer sound than normal applause, but it resounded with approval.

Jerzy held out one of his hands to Wendy and the other to Viator, grinning at both of them.

Wendy stared at Jerzy's hand for a moment before awkwardly patting it, following everyone else's example.

"Thank you for telling me the story, Jerzy." Wendy mumbled.