“I understand your disappointment,” said Barl Lindin, into the shocked hush. “But I promise, I have no more secrets. And I promise this, too, that even if Morgan did not pose a danger, still the people of Lur would be in dire peril. But with your help, I can save you.”

“So you claimed before, Mage Lindin,” said Chaffie, sharply. “Now you’d best explain.”

Nodding, Barl Lindin clasped her hands before her. “With Doranen magework I can create a wall around Lur that will keep Morgan, and all those other warlike nations, at bay. And with that same magework I can tame the weather to my hand. I can make sure your land never suffers drought or famine again.”

Jervale startled, pricked by memory. A wall around Lur. That golden shimmer in the mountains. And the lush, green hills, the fields heavy with grain.

“She’s telling the truth,” he said quickly, before there was more shouting. “I’ve seen it.”

Chaffie stepped forward, waving at everyone else to keep them quiet. “Jervale, isn’t it? From Toblin hamlet, out to the west?”

He swallowed, his mouth dry. “That’s right.”

“And you’ve seen this? How have you seen it?”

“I… don’t rightly know, Elder Chaffie.” He could feel the Doranen mages looking at him, and the amazement of his fellow Olken. “I’ve been this way my whole life. I see things, dream them, then they happen. I’ve seen Lur more lush and bountiful than it’s ever been, safe, and I know it’s because of these mages. I know we have to trust them, for if we don’t, there’ll be strife.”

Chaffie looked him up and down. “You know that, do you? You’d risk your life on it?”

He made himself look at wide-eyed, staring Bannet, and then searched for the other five Olken he’d seen in his dream. Finding them, one by one, he felt that odd, inward click that told him yes, don’t be frighted, you tread the right path.

“I would, Elder Chaffie.”

Chaffie snorted. “You would. And tell me, Jervale… why should any of us believe you?”

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-eight

Jervale wanted to look at Barl Lindin, but didn’t dare. Instead he looked at the crowd of Olken gathered to hear the Doranen. Felt the dizzy twist that told him another knowing was on him, and pointed at a woman seated a handful of rows behind Bannet.

“You there. You weren’t s’posed to speak for your village, but the man who was chosen upped and broke his leg.”

“Is that true?” said Chaffie, her thin, worry-worn face sombre.

The woman nodded, wary. “Aye. But I’ve spoke on it. This Jervale could’ve heard mention.”

“I didn’t.”

Chaffie folded her arms. “Can you prove it?”

No. He couldn’t. For the first time in his life, he willed his inner voice to whisper. Waited… waited…