There was a movement in the blackness behind me; a grating like a footfall on a stone. I hesitated and stood still. There were wolves in the mountains, and I had heard reports of lions.

Slowly I turned around. A man stood there, a little way beyond the garden. He was holding a flaming torch, and his robes were vivid blue where the flamelight fell on them. His clothes were different from any I had seen. He wore a long tunic down to his knees, trousers of the same fine weave, a wide belt and high, painted boots. I could not see his face; it was all leaping shadows and scarlet light, and his hair was a golden river down to his shoulders.

“Woman?” he called, and my heart leapt and my knees turned to water. I looked behind me, and all around. I was alone. He had addressed me. Me. Woman.

“God,” I said, and collapsed on the ground. I was trembling uncontrollably, and my head spun. My wits left me.

“Come here, woman,” he said.

In a spinning, dazzling, glorious daze I got up and went to him across stones, cabbages, kohlrabi, and icy dirt. I stood at last before him, and he held the torch out between us and examined my face.

Even in the torchlight, I saw the colour go from his. “You are Quelled!” he cried, astounded, seeing my brand.

I looked into his brilliant eyes, blue and mauve in the light, and I wept. “My lord,” I choked, “I lied. I didn’t know you were listening. I am harsha. I am sorry.”

He smiled, briefly, as if amused. “I think there is a misunderstanding,” he said “I was looking for a woman.”

I bent my head. Never had my soul gone so far so fast, from ecstasy to desolation, heaven to deepest hell. Still he looked at me, and the only sound in all that dark, still morning was the crackling of his torch, and the high singing of the wind in the distant mountain peaks.

“I was sent to find a woman,” he murmured, “and I find you. How do you explain that, Elsha, daughter of the Quelled?”

“I do not know, lord.” My voice sounded small and despairing. I felt vegetable leaves rustle under my boots, and was distressed. I remembered my place, my trouble, my work. I looked along the mountain path towards the mine. A single torch burned on the path, moving, and I knew it was the overseer. My head dropped further, and I murmured, “I have to go, lord. I must work today.” I began stumbling backwards away, as quickly as I dared.

“Wom— harsha!” he called. He took a step towards me, his face agitated and flushed. “Harsha, I must speak with you!”

I looked towards the mine again.

“Are you alone in this place?” he asked. “Please. This is of the greatest importance.”

I tore my eyes off the mine and the distant waiting torch. “I am alone, lord,” I said.