I used to think that glory came to you after you did something, but now I understand that it comes first. Glory picks you out and strengthens you to do what must be done. Now I understand, the legend comes first. It is written. It is the beacon that pulls you out of the dark. The hand of glory unlocks all locks. It opens all doors and unravels all knots. It sheds a light that only I can see. It keeps the awoken awake and keeps the sleepers asleep. My first night with the hand on my arm, I went to bed so uncertain and afraid that I was shaking. I lay on my back, afraid to turn on my side, thinking I was going to vomit if I did. A painful sweat burst from every pore, it was like I was creaking with that antique electricity again. I didn’t fall asleep, I didn’t drift off uneasily in the old way. Instead, my soul pulled free of my body. It slept, but I stayed awake. The moment my soul got clear, the pain stopped; it was exactly like sliding into a pool on a hot day, except that the medium I joined didn’t have the weight of water —it was lighter than air, a light I couldn’t see, not yet, but that I felt sure I would learn to see. I felt my hand of glory taken by another hand that held it and drew me along. I felt the burning itch there where it joined my wrist, and I feared that something was trying to pull it off, and I would rather have died than let that happen—I wanted to double around my hand of glory like a cat coiling around a mouse, but the tension in my arm was not fierce, not predatory at all. The fear left me.