She knew better than to push any harder than that. “Good. Now, my dear, I must spread myself about a bit. I’ll see you in class.”

And leaving him to think about Maris, she hoped, she joined Hayne Jarralt and the others, whose enthusiastic greeting chased away the shadows of pain… for now.

Nine days after hearing the Doranen’s sorry tale from Barl Lindin, and then not another word nor even a glimpse of them, the Olken gathered in Gribley were starting to get restless. Elder Chaffie had already broken apart two brawls, and was threatening to send the next troublemakers back to their home villages.

Nursing a half-mug of cider in a corner of the village’s smokey alehouse, Jervale let his head rest against the wall behind him and drifted his eyes nearly closed. Nine days since he’d confronted Barl Lindin in the woodland. Nine days since he’d dreamed… or slept well, because of it.

“Jervale! There you are.”

And that was Bannet, shifting his way through the midday crowd to join him. Bannet, a good man, a new friend, who was part of his last dream. The only part of it he recognised. The five other faces he’d dreamed… he didn’t know them. He’d seen them round about, they’d all come to Gribley from villages scattered the length and breadth of Lur, but he didn’t know them. Not to trust. And yet there he was, dreaming them, and his nagging inner voice wasn’t nagging any more, it was shouting.

These folk are Lur’s future. And when it’s time, you’ll know.

But time for what? He didn’t know that. He wasn’t even certain he wanted to. He was tired of secrets. Even more tired of waiting. And as for his dreams… He felt sick to his stomach. What was Barl Lindin doing? What was taking her so long? Should he go and find her? Perhaps she needed his help, perhaps for all her fancy Doranen magework the magic of Lur was too wild for her taming.

What am I meant to do? I don’t know what to do!

“Jervale?” Bannet slid onto a stool opposite, and thumped his own mug of cider on the rough bench between them. “Is aught amiss? You look like a man with a mortal bad bellyache.”

Should he confide in Bannet now? Was this the right time? He didn’t know. His inner voice was silent.

Best I follow Bene’s favourite saying, then. When in doubt, don’t.

He picked up his mug and took a comforting swig of strong cider. “Nothing’s amiss, Bannet. Save I’m weary of being such a long way from home. It’d be easier to bear if the chiming stones were more reliable, and I could have a word with my Bene and Tilly.”