“You’ve been dreaming as well,” a voice said from the dark. Hope was still awake. Rafe was hardly surprised. “I’ve been sitting here watching you. Trying to come to terms with things, with what I know. Trying to work out what to do next. You’ve been dreaming and talking in a language I haven’t heard spoken in my lifetime, and you sit there awake and now you’ll tell me you’re just a farm boy, you don’t know what I’m on about. I can understand your confusion. But I also sit here confident that I have a miracle sleeping in my bed. And that miracle is the future.”

“You gave me something to make me sleep,” Rafe said, the intended anger failing to come through.

“You needed to rest. You’ve been through a lot, farm boy. And there’ll be more to come. You need your strength, your energy. You’ll need your wits about you. There are people who would do their best to hurt you, some who may want what you have for their own. Many who’ll believe they can use you.”

“Like you?”

Hope was silent for a long while, motionless in the darkness with moonlight kissing the fringes of her face. Rafe could just make out the tattoos now, and they shifted as if she was smiling, frowning, smiling again.

“I’ve already told you that I’ve been waiting for a long time,” she said. “But now you’re here . . . I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know.”

“Where are my clothes?”

“I’ve washed them for you. They’ll be dry soon. Don’t go!” Her voice changed instantly, from calm to pleading. “Rafe, don’t leave me. I’ve waited so long, I want to help you, I want to be with you for as long as I can. To see it happen. To be nearby when it happens!”

“When what happens?” Those voices again, whispering at the fringes of his mind as if plotting amongst themselves. This time he smelled the bitter mineral breath of the underground. Or perhaps it was only a waft of smoke from the dying fire.

“When you finally realize who you are.”

“I’m Rafe Baburn. I feel like I’m going mad sometimes, but I know who I am. I’m Rafe Baburn, and my parents are dead.”

She did not reply for a long time, as if sitting there in the dark trying to decide just what to say. Rafe hugged a blanket around him and sat there too, comfortable even though he could see little. Hope—this witch, this whore—had drugged him and stripped him, but still he was sure that she meant him no harm. If she did, she’d had ample opportunity to hurt him while he was asleep.