Selah stood with her back to the wall. She held her sword in front of her, all her energy focused on its silver blade. The three creatures that surrounded her hesitated as the blade began to glow like starlight.

"Get back," she said in a low voice. She lifted the sword higher and advanced a step.

The pale, shrouded figures hesitated, speaking to each other in high-pitched shrieks.

Selah's sword was forged on The Summit. It was strong and light and luminescent, made from precious mountain metals. Diamonds glittered in its oval, crisscross hilt, and when light shone through the clear jewels, rainbows appeared.

But after a few minutes even its slight weight felt heavy, and Selah's arms wavered.

Selah knew her enemy. One, yet many, the enemy was all part of The Craft, in various forms and shapes. The enemy was relentless and merciless, with one determined purpose: destroy.

She knew she could not let the dungeon-wraiths touch her. But she was tired. She had fought so many battles in the last ten years . . .

She took her eyes off her sword and glanced around the room. It was dark and filthy, damp stone walls and cold, rocky floors. It reeked of things long dead, and even the air pressed against her like a heavy shroud.

The dungeon-wraiths saw their chance and lunged at her. The center one almost scratched her forehead with its claws. Selah focused back on her sword, and it shone like moonlight as it slashed across the dark air and toward the advancing creature. The dungeon-wraith could not bear the sudden blaze across its hidden face. It opened its lipless mouth and screamed in torment, then stepped back. The others followed.

"'Even the night shall be light about me;
Indeed, the darkness shall not hide from You,
But the night shines as the day,'" Selah quoted from The Scroll.

Selah's sword kindled like the sun rising above mountains. The dungeon-wraiths turned and ran from what they hated most.

"In Him was life, and the life
was the light of men
And the light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness did not comprehend it,"

Selah continued speaking, her tired voice sounding stronger with every word. She stepped back and leaned against the wall, her sword pointed downward.

" . . . the light has come into the world,
and men loved darkness rather than light,
because their deeds were evil."

She sighed and bowed her head. The sound of bare feet scuffling over stone came from the back of the room.

"You can come out now!" she called, lifting her head and her sword high again.
"For everyone practicing evil hates the light
and does not come to the light,
lest his deeds should be exposed."

The footsteps hesitated as if afraid, for Selah's sword now shone like white-hot flame blazing upward.

"But he who does the truth
comes to the light,
that his deeds may be clearly seen . . ."

Two voices whispered together, one person shoved the other, and two slavechildren crept out from behind a wall. They were caked in dirt from head to toe, and they both wore bronze armbands that glittered in the swordlight.

"You are a great Warrior," the smaller child muttered--a boy of about eight years, his face turned shyly downward.

"Thank you from saving us from the monsters," the girl added, her age about eleven. She stretching out one curious hand to touch the silver armor that Selah wore. The armor was light and thin, woven like spiderweb but much stronger. Selah bent down and patted the girl's matted curls.

"Someone once saved me from monsters," she whispered.

Suddenly weary again, Selah held her sword in front of her and watched the white hot cool to yellow , orange, and red.

"The Maker is 'A Consuming Fire,'" Selah stated. The children watched wide-eyed as she put her hand on the blade. The flames extinguished, and the sword became solid metal once more.

"How did you do that?" the boy asked.

"This sword was a gift from one who knew The Maker well," she replied, sitting down on the floor and placing the sword across her knees. "The one who forged this sword loved me and taught me many things."

"Where is he?" asked the girl. "You sound so sad."

Before Selah could answer, a voice boomed at the doorway.

"Selah!" Ruel yelled again as he ran inside the room. "How did you get separated from us? You know how dangerous it is to battle alone."

"I know." Selah stood up and slid her sword into the simple leather sheath at her belt. "While you and Muriel were trying to find the Master of this Keep, I followed these two little ones down the corridors to this place. I did not realize they were running from dungeon-wraiths."

"Well, you should be more careful," Ruel stated, frowning. He strode over and held his lightsphere above Selah, checking to see if she were injured.

"I'm fine," she told him, one hand shading her eyes from the lightsphere. "Just tired."

"Too tired," Ruel observed. "Your cheeks are pale, and you can barely hold your sword for any length of time. You are Swordsick. When was the last time you returned to The Summit?"

"I am not Swordsick!" Selah snapped, her green eyes flashing up at him. "I am just tired. And you know when I last stepped through the Portal and felt the soothing snowflakes on my face." She paused and wiped the sweat from her brow, using her white sleeve tinged with dust.

"It is too stifling hot in the valley, even this far under the ground."

"You have been away from The Summit for too long, Selah. The heat inside you is like fever. You must leave these valleys and return to the mountains, or you will have no strength to defend yourself, let alone rescue anyone."

Ruel, a tall, bearded man with curly dark hair that was beginning to show strands of gray, patted the top of Selah's blonde head like she had patted the slavechild.

"I appreciate your concern, Ruel, but you are becoming a nag," Selah declared, pushing his hand away. "You know how many battles remain in the valley, how many slaves must be freed from The Craft. How can I leave ones like these?" she asked, pointing at the two slavechildren who were watching the debate. "Besides, you are not my Commander."

"I know that all too well," Ruel admitted. "But I also know that the One who is your Commander has given me more experience than you have--and some amount of wisdom. You are Swordsick, Selah. Micah asked me to take care of you, and I am trying. But how can I help you when you go off on your own and refuse to listen to good advice?"

At the mention of Micah's name, Selah put one hand on the silver pendant she wore around her neck.

"The Maker's Seal," one of the children gasped as she saw the shape of entwined ovals forming an empty cross when looked at one way and a full cross when looked at another.

Selah stepped back as if wounded and leaned against the slimy wall.

"If Micah were here, I would never battle alone," she said in a voice heavy with sorrow.

"If Micah were here, he would not let you stay in this place," Ruel observed, kneeling down beside her.

"But he is not here, Ruel. Why, oh why?" she asked. Without realizing it, she was biting her lips until they bled.

"After all this time, you still don't know the answer?" he wondered, surprised at her question.

"No. I do not!" Selah shrieked, her voice as shrill as a hawk flying toward its prey. The birthmark on her cheek turned red, her eyes narrowed to slits, and she raised her arms in frustration--like wings fluttering.

"How could a great leader and Warrior, who was never hurt in battle, be slain by an illness? And how could our unborn baby die, and I survive--with pain constantly to remind me, and the fear that the illness will return hovering over me like an avalanche? And how could Evergreen, our beautiful daughter, be kept in a sleep from which we cannot rouse her? And I can find no cure, though I know that--behind some door, in some place--lies an antidote for the Plague that Regan spat upon us."

Selah touched the spot at the back of her neck that constantly ached, then stared helplessly at the man beside her.

"I do not know the answers to all your questions, Selah. I do not know why some were spared The Plague while others suffered. But I know that Micah did not leave you uncared for."

Selah rubbed her hands together nervously and muttered,

"I know you try to help. But the pain--and the memories--and the terrible longing--never leave. Yet my hurts cannot compare to theirs--" she pointed again at the children-- "and all who still are slaves to Regan and The Craft."

"You cannot be expected to rescue them all," Ruel observed, his voice wanting to bring laughter. He set down the lightsphere with his big hands, reached into his traveling bag, and pulled out a crystal vial that glistened with a yellow liquid. Carefully he pulled out the stopper, lifted Selah's blonde locks, and placed a drop of Mountain Daffodil Oil on the back of her neck.

"Strange that all who were affected by The Plague were branded with a small white scar--shaped like the necklace Regan wears," Ruel commented as he examined Selah's wound that never fully healed.

He removed his hand and gently laid Selah's head against a partially clean spot on the wall. Her face, which had been tense with frowning, relaxed after a few moments, and she dared to close her eyes.

"I see you've found more slavechildren to rescue," a voice called from the doorway. Muriel, Ruel's mate, entered the room. She stood nearly as tall as a man, her head covered by a silver helmet, her long black hair flowing from beneath it and down her armored back.

"This has got to be one of the worst Keeps we've ever been in. We must get out of here before those dungeon-wraiths return. Selah, where is your helmet?"

"I lost it in the last battle," Selah opened her eyes to reply as she touched the soft blonde strands on her vulnerable head.

"And your shield?" Muriel inquired like a mother.

"Folded, in my traveling bag," Selah replied, patting the blue velvet bag that hung from her shoulder. "I had no time to use it against those creatures. I barely unsheathed my sword before they attacked."

"Did one of them touch you?" Muriel asked, starting to examine Selah's face.

"No! Now you two leave me alone!" Selah yelled. She stood up, grabbed both slavechildren by the hand, and stomped out into the hallway.

Muriel and Ruel stared at each other. Ruel lifted one eyebrow in annoyance, and Muriel patted his arm,

"We tried," she said as they followed Selah.

"And we cannot give up," Ruel added. "I promised Micah to protect her--a promise that gets increasingly harder to keep." He paused and then added,

"And though the healing drops provide relief from the pain, their effect is temporary. She needs true healing."

"She will hear the wisdom in your words and return to The Summit," Muriel assured him. "Wait and see."

"I just hope it doesn't take much longer," Ruel grumbled as he walked beside his mate.

Selah waited for them to join her.

"I am not stupid," she announced. "I don't enjoy fighting evil. Muriel is right about this being one of the worst Keeps we have seen in any of the desert valleys." She paused and waved one hand at the filthy stone walls and floor. "But at least this evil is undisguised. It does not pretend to be anything other than what it is, so we can more easily find it."

As she spoke those words, a small, misshapen thing scurried across their path.

"What was that?" Muriel asked.

"It looked like a cross between a man and a rat," Selah replied, frowning. "The Master of this Keep has been crossbreeding."

Selah started to take her sword out, and the creature cowered in a corner.

"Leave it," Ruel commanded. "It seems more pathetic than dangerous. We must leave this place."

Without waiting for a reply, he led the small company of Warriors and children down the hallway, holding the lightsphere high above his head, to show the way.

Selah followed without question, and before they had turned a corner, she saw the rat creature scurry down a hole in the wall.

They passed through a large round room that held a pit of fire in its center.

"No wonder it is so hot here underground," Muriel observed. "The dungeon has its own furnace--for what purpose, I do not want to guess."

"The dungeon-wraiths probably fled into the fire," Ruel stated, walking to the metal railing that surrounded the pit and peering into the red and orange flames. "I've heard that their essence, beneath their hooded cloaks, is pure heat--black fire that holds no light."

"That is why they have no faces!" Muriel exclaimed.

"Yet real fire is beautiful, though it can be deadly when it consumes," Selah remarked, remembering the verses she had recently quoted from The Scroll. "Look at the brilliant green, yellow, red, and even white colors that dance together like something alive! See how it licks along the sides of the pit and sends up sparks to float upon the air! If the dungeon-wraiths escaped here, they went into the dark void between the flames."

Selah walked to the pit and leaned over its edge, toward the fire that rose up from hundreds of feet below the dungeon, from caverns deep within the earth, from unknown fuels forever burning.

"Don't get too close, lest it singe your hair," Ruel warned her.

Selah stepped back a little, still watching the flames. "There is some secret here that begs an answer. It seems as if the fire is speaking, that it--itself--is not evil, that it was created by The Maker for good, yet used by evil."

"Yes, most of the lights we use today, in our homes or travels, are pure flame, like those found in lamps or torches," Muriel agreed.

"Remember The Maker's words, that He came to:

" 'Give light to those
who sit in darkness
and the shadow of death,
To guide our feet
into the way of peace.' " (Luke 1:79)

"And He told those who follow Him:
" 'You are the light of the world.
A city that is set on a hill
cannot be hidden.
Nor do they light a lamp
and put it under a basket,
but on a lampstand,
and it gives light to all
who are in the house.' "

With those words, Muriel took a piece of wood from a bracket in the wall and lit it with the edge of a flame.

"Our way ahead may be dark," she suggested at Ruel's surprised stare. "And though we have a lightsphere, this fire may be useful."

They left the furnace room and entered a very dark corridor. Ruel led the group with the lightsphere, and Muriel came last with her torch. The lightsphere cast an even, white light in a circle around them, but the torch flames flickered in the stale air.

"What makes the lightsphere glow?" Selah asked as she walked behind Ruel, the slavechildren silent on each side of her. "It burns no fuel, is cool to the touch, and goes out when not needed."

"I am not sure," he replied patiently. "The secrets that made it are lost to us, and there are few lightspheres left in our world. That is why only those who travel to or from The Summit may bear one."
"And The Summit is always our destination, though we may be long in returning," Selah sighed, thinking that Ruel was right about her need to go back.

As they walked, they entered an area of marble stone walls and ceilings--gray mixed with black and white.

"Look how many doors there are on either side," Selah commented. "They are all closed." She felt an intense urge to stop at each one and try its rusty handle. Muriel, walking behind Selah and the two children, placed her hand on Selah's shoulder.

"Haven't you tried to open enough doors in the last five years?" she asked.

Selah released her hold on the slaveboy and brushed Muriel's hand off.

"I have tried many doors, and none of them has held the answer I am seeking," she whispered as if only to herself. "Yet I cannot give up hope; I cannot stop trying." She grabbed the boy's hand again, stopped suddenly in the corridor, turned around, and said to Muriel (as if to an enemy):

"I would stop and try each door here--and beat it down with my sword if I had to--if I believed a cure lay in this place. But you and Ruel are correct in your statement that we should leave, and I long to see the sun again."

Tears sprung to Muriel's eyes at the harshness in Selah's voice.

"There was a time when you did not blame your friends for your enemy's doings," she said, but Selah did not hear. She had hurried to catch up with Ruel's swift pace. In the distance sunlight shone through a doorway--the promise of light at the end of a long and exhausting night.

The band of Warriors and slavechildren reached the sun-drenched desert. After the darkness of underground tunnels and the soft glow of flames and lightsphere, they had to cover their eyes for a few seconds before they could bear the intense light. They stood in the heat, staring at the ruined Keep where no Master inhabited the broken halls and towers. Then Ruel shut the metal door that formed part of the outside wall and sealed the way to the dungeon.

"Whoever was Master here left suddenly, without bothering to take his dungeon-wraiths, rat creatures, or prisoners with him," he commented.

"Something happened here--a battle," Muriel added as she surveyed the heaps of stone and dust.
"We have no record of The Maker's forces attacking this Keep," Ruel continued, scanning a document that he pulled from his traveling bag.

"Who would have ruined this place?" Selah wondered. She still held the hands of the slavechildren who were afraid to say much of anything.

"Perhaps another Master wanted to take new territory," Ruel decided. "And, once he won the battle, he decided to destroy his prize instead of rule it, not caring what still lived beneath the surface."

"We heard some terrible sounds above," the slavegirl ventured to say. "The other slaves managed to escape, but those dungeon-wraiths kept us from leaving."

The slaveboy nodded his head in agreement.

"What horrors have you seen with your young eyes?" Selah asked them, not expecting a reply. She unslung the water bottle from her shoulder and gave the children a drink. They gulped down the tepid well water which was nothing like water from a freeflowing stream--but better than any they had drunk in weeks.

"How long ago do you think the battle raged?" Selah asked the girl.

"Two weeks. I counted the days by etching marks on the stone wall of our cell."

Selah remembered how Micah knew when the sun rose and set even though he was deep in a cave and could not see it.

"How can you tell that a day has passed?" she wondered.

"Silver Fern has a way of knowing when the world is dark or light above us. We have not always lived underground. Once we lived in a place of islands and the sea," the boy announced with the hint of a smile. He was feeling at ease with Selah, perhaps remembering his own mother. Selah smiled fully at him, and he smiled fully back.

Selah turned to the girl. "Silver Fern. That is a lovely name. I have a daughter about your age. Her name is Evergreen. She has red-blonde hair and green-blue eyes, and she was born by a mountain lake."

"And she is sick," Silver Fern said, sadly shaking her head.

"You listen well."

"Our land, from which we were taken two years ago (I counted the days then, too), is nothing like this desert. It has rivers and bushes and all kinds of spreading trees--and vines and flowers growing everywhere--and rain and waterfalls and lakes and forests of ferns. The fern trees grow taller than you, and their fronds spread out like hands. Beneath their green tops they shine like silver. Our people bend the ferns to show the silver side, and point the tips to mark a path through the forest. Moonlight makes the silver ferntips glow so all can see. My people say that the seeds of the silver ferns can heal any illness."

Selah wet part of her cloak and wiped the dirt from the girl's face. Bronze skin and deep brown eyes gazed back at her, their lashes thick and curly. A spiral design of black dots curved along the girl's chin. If her hair were washed, its black curls would reach past the girl's waist. She wore the remnants of a skirt printed with big red flowers, and her feet were calloused and bare. Silver Fern stared up at Selah, unafraid and curious.

"I have a mark on my face, too," Selah said, brushing her fingertips over her birthmark. Mine is pink."

"It glows red when you are angry," Silver Fern declared. "My mark does not change color."

Silver Fern traced the spiral pattern beneath and above her lips. It was made dot by dot, with human hands. Silver Fern slowly reached up to touch Selah's birthmark.

"Why, it is shaped like a baby's hand!" the girl exclaimed, and Selah began to cry.

"I have never seen a slavegirl like you," she whispered, wiping her unexpected tears on the hem of her tunic. "Perhaps you are the treasure I sought behind a closed door. Tell me about your people and your Land of the Silver Fern."

"Perhaps that should wait until we get to safer ground," Ruel interrupted. He had been pacing along the broken wall and felt uneasy with every step. "We may not be clear of the enemy."

"Yes," Muriel agreed. "We must leave this evil place before those dungeon-wraiths return--with reinforcements."

Ruel led the way past the walls and tottering towers, toward the vast desert and the mountains that seemed like mere hills in the distance. By sunset they found a small oasis--a shallow pool sheltered by ancient palm trees whose trunks were covered by dry brown fronds that used to be upper boughs. Selah began to examine one tree's odd skirt while Ruel and Muriel set up camp. Before Selah realized it, both children had jumped into the pond, clothes and all.

They splashed around in delight, making too much noise for a band of Warriors in enemy territory.

Selah noticed the worried look on Ruel's face and started to quiet the children, but he said, "No, let them play. I will go to that pile of rocks and keep watch with my Looking Lens."

Muriel nodded in agreement as she set out items for their dinner: a vial of nectar to refresh their strength, a bundle of dry bread to satisfy their hunger, and a bunch of sweet dates gathered from the old palm trees--for dessert. She did not seem to mind that Selah was spending so much time with the children.

I have five of my own healthy ones, waiting for me back at The Summit, Muriel thought as she watched her friend laugh for the first time in months. Selah was leaning over the pond and splashing back at the Silver Fern.

The little boy came out of the pond first, the water revealing that he looked much like his sister, though smaller and thinner. His face was the same color, and a similar black-dot spiral adorned the right side of his face, from his forehead to his chin. His chest was bare, and his tattered breeches cut off below his knees. Selah dried him with her cloak, set him beside her, and gave him his dinner.

"This is better food than we have had in months!" he exclaimed between mouthfuls.

"What is your name?" Selah asked.

"I am Te Hiko, 'Lightning,' son of the Chief," he replied proudly. "We speak a different language in my land. We learned your language from the other slaves." He pointed to the water and said, "Wai. That means 'water.' In our language, ponga is the name for 'silver fern.'"

"Interesting," Selah replied, watching Silver Fern still floating on the pond. "I wonder why she likes our version better. It does sound more like poetry . . ." Selah turned toward Te Hiko and asked,

"How does your sister know that my pendant is The Maker's Seal?"

"We know all about The Maker in our homeland. The words for "our home" are Te Papa.

"Does 'The Maker' have a name in your language?"

"Yes, but I am tired of trying to remember. Would you pass me another piece of bread and some dates?"

Selah served him more food and ate some herself.

Muriel brought the watchful Ruel his dinner and remarked,

"I have not seen her eat so much for a long time. These slavechildren are good for her. I am glad she found them in that ruined Keep."

"Yes," Ruel agreed. "Strange how the path you least expect to go somewhere may bring the greatest aid."

Muriel stood next to her mate as he ate his food. "I too am longing for our own children and The Summit. Perhaps we may return soon."

"I think that first we must help Selah with another task," Ruel replied, resting his arm over his mate's shoulder. "But it will not be long before you too can laugh with our little ones among the mountain lakes."

Silver Fern finally decided to come out of the water. She sat down beside Selah and laid her hand lightly on Selah's arm.

"I am sorry you lost your mate. Once I heard our Master speak the name of Micah. He must have been a great Warrior."

Selah rubbed the back of her neck, trying to calm a sudden pain.

"What was your Master like?" she asked.

"He was old and dirty and foul-mouthed, and he barely knew how to protect his Keep," the girl replied.

"You know much that regards me, little slave-child. We must speak of these things. But first let me free you from your armband."

Selah gently touched the wide bronze band on the girl's upper arm.

"You were a slave once, too," Silver Fern observed at the look of remembrance in Selah's green eyes.

"Yes. And I was freed by Micah who loved me and led me to the mountains. In front of a band of travelers, he touched me and sang these words."

Selah stood above Silver Fern, lifted her hands high, and sang a song that the child could not understand, in words older than any language, as old as The Scroll itself. And Selah's eyes glowed like stars in the twilight, and her fingertips lit up with light, and she reached down and touched the bronze band on the slavechild's arm. Instantly it cracked in two, from top to bottom, and fell into the sand.

As Selah had done once by a desert oasis, Silver Fern fell asleep, tears on her clean brown cheeks.

"The children have both fallen asleep," Ruel noticed as he sat down next to Selah. She was cradling Silver Fern's head in her lap and stroking the girl's long black curls.

"I released little Te Hiko from his armband, and he was asleep before his head hit the traveling pillow we spread out over the desert sand," Ruel chuckled.

Selah almost laughed with him, and for awhile she forgot about the pain at the back of her neck.

"Muriel, good mother as she is, is holding the boy like you are holding the girl. They have not known a mother's comfort for at least two years. I wonder if their parents are slaves, too, separated from them."

"Perhaps their parents are dead," Selah suggested in a weary voice.

"Well, I am not sure which islands they are talking about," Ruel ignored her pessimism and pulled a map from his traveling bag. With the lightsphere hung on a palm frond, they both could clearly see the markings on the old parchment. It showed Regan's Keep, the very center of the map, surrounded by deserts (dotted by an occasional oasis or Keep) on three sides that led to the frayed edges--and then nothing. No sea, no islands. The fourth side showed the way to The Summit--Date Palm Oasis with its large pool, the hills with their oak groves, the higher meadows, the caves, the Highlands, and the Moors leading to ???? and Mountain's Gate. Above that was Evergreen Valley with its lake and waterfalls, and above that the steep climb beside the River to Summit's Arch.

Selah traced the path to The Summit with her index finger. Ruel noticed that she no longer wore any rings.

"Perhaps the islands are on the far side of The Summit," she guessed.

"Or on one of these desert edges because our map is incomplete," Ruel suggested.

"How are we to know?" Selah asked. Then she took out The Scroll and read some familiar words:

"Ask, and you shall receive.
Seek, and you shall find.
Knock, and the door will open to you."

For a moment, Selah's face shone with new energy--a glow that had not been there for many months.

"Now I understand better your obsession with doors, Selah," Ruel admitted. "It seems to me that you must choose carefully which door to knock upon."

"Silver Fern said that the plant which bears her name has seeds which can cure any illness. Perhaps, if we return the children to their homeland, we will find an antidote for Regan's Plague and free all who have been taken by it--including my own child."

"Perhaps. Silver Fern is young, yet she seems to hold a kind of wisdom. We should first take the children to the Summit. Maybe we will find a better map--and a cure for the Swordsickness that makes you feel like a slave again."

Selah rubbed the back of her neck. "How did you know I was feeling like a slave--a slave to pain and sorrow, to weariness and memories?"

"We have all been slaves, Selah."

"Except Micah. He was the Master of all the Keeps."

"And he learned to be a servant."

Just speaking about Micah made Selah's head ache.

"Sometimes the pain goes form my neck to the top of my head. Sometimes it radiates to my feet, and every step is like walking on swordblades," Selah confided.

Ruel nodded his head as if he understood. Then he reached into his traveling bag, took out the crystal vial, and placed another drop of liquid on the back of Selah's neck. She took a deep breath, stretched out her arms, and cuddled next to Silver Fern. Within moments she was asleep, her breaths matching those of the child.

For most of the night, Selah did not dream. Toward the early morning hours when the stars tilted toward the west (though few were visible through the desert haze), Selah dreamed of Micah.

She was standing on The Summit--in a field of snow. In the distance lay the frozen lake where she and Micah had danced together the day she stepped through Summit's Arch. A cliff of smooth ice--which she had never seen before--rose above the frozen lake on the other side. Selah trudged through the snow, her boots making deep marks in the powdery surface. She went to the lake's edge where her old white-booted ice skates lay waiting. She sat down in the snow, took off her traveling boots, and laced on the skates. She stood up and stepped one silver blade upon the ice, and then the other.

With an ease she had not forgotten, she stroked over the ice to the cliff. The blades made a clicking sound as she marked the surface of the ice, and the wind brushed her red cheeks and ears. She stopped suddenly, the blades cutting deep into the ice and making crystals fly about her. She stood within inches of the cliff that rose high above her--so high she could not see the top--so high that it was ringed by stars.

She looked inside the ice, and Micah appeared within its frozen depths. He looked the same as when she first saw him, his curly hair and beard red, his eyes a piercing blue. He held his hand up, rosy despite the cold, and his mouth parted as he spoke:

"I have not left you forever, Selah. You are not alone. Remember the lesson at the Oasis and take heart. Before Time unwinds, we will unite. Seek the Cure for Evergreen and all who suffer from Regan's Plague. Go to the Octagon Room in Regan's Keep. Do not touch The Crown of Celestia, no matter how its beauty draws you or who asks to put it on your head. Open the Crystal Door. You hold the key to Aotearoa--The Land of the Long White Cloud. Follow the path of the Silver Ferns. Harvest their spores."

"Learn the Story of The Long-Lost Lands. Sail across the water between two islands. Find the Silver Waterfall and add it to the Golden Vial. Then walk to mountains ever covered with snow. Climb Aoraki, the highest peak. Mix its glacial ice with the fern seeds and silver water. Find the first flower of spring, the flower of hope, the yellow daffodil which rises from the snow. Its heart is like a trumpet, sounding forth the battle won. Mix its petals in your vial, and you will have a Cure . . . "

His voice started fading, as did the light in his eyes. He placed his hand on the ice, from the inside. Selah placed her hand over his, hoping to feel the warmth of his skin, but the layer of ice separated them and burned cold into her palm.

"How can I remember all this?" Selah asked.

"Write it on your parchment," Micah replied. "I know that you have been keeping our story on Selah's Scroll." He smiled, as once he had done when the wind blew across his face--as he stood with Selah upon a rocky ledge in the mountain rain.

"Accept the help of friends, no matter how small or strange they appear," Micah whispered. "Do not be afraid, do not hesitate, for you will never walk alone . . ."

"No!" Selah yelled. "Do not leave again!"

Snow starting falling around her, sticking to her hair and eyelashes. The snow stuck to the wall of ice, turning it white. She could no longer see Micah.

She held up her hand and stared at the snow crystals as if they were another message from Micah, as if they hid great meaning in their glittering six sides.

"Selah! Why do you cry out?" Muriel asked as she shook her friend. Selah's eyes opened to the first gray light of dawn.

"The snow," she said. "The Crystal Door!"

Selah sat up and rubbed her eyes. The colorless desert landscape ripped her from her dream.

"How can I remember all that he said?" she asked, reaching for her traveling bag. While Muriel watched curiously, Selah wrote letters on a roll of parchment. She squinting to see in the half-light.

"Who said?" Muriel asked when Selah had finished and set down her long-plumed pen.

"Micah. He came to me in my dream, on The Summit, in a wall of ice. He said that we must go to Regan's Keep, to the Octagon Room. There lies a Crystal Door for which I have a key!"

Selah paused, frowning. "I'm not sure exactly where the key is, but it has something to do with snow," she added. "I'm sure that, when the time comes, I will find it. My traveling bag always did provide what I needed for the moment."

"Well, I'm glad to see you excited about something and not so weary," Muriel observed as Selah rolled her pen into the parchment and stuck it into her traveling bag. The sky had turned a sick orange color as the sun tried to shine through a thick layer of haze.

"The haze has gotten worse of late," Ruel announced as he walked up to the women. The children were still asleep where they had reclined the night before.

"Yes, Regan is pouring more poison into the sky, as he has into the water and the soil," Muriel replied. "The only good thing about that is that the sun does not shine as intensely as when Selah was still fetching water from the well outside Regan's Keep."

"Yes. We still have all the heat but not as much glare," Selah smiled. "Did you hear me telling Muriel that I dreamed of Micah, and he told me to go to the Octagon Room in Regan's Keep?"

"So you're not going to The Summit first, for rest and healing before returning the children to their land?"

He gazed at the northern horizon. He longed for the mountain and its fresh, cool air . . . and the children who would run to him, throw their arms around his legs, and call him "Papa" again.

"The door to their land lies in the Octagon Room. Their land also holds the antidote to Regan's Plague--the seeds of the Silver Fern, as the girl who holds their name told us. And I must learn the Story of the Long-Lost Lands so that we can defeat Regan and free the desert forever."

"Sounds like quite a challenge. Go straight into Regan's own guarded stronghold, to his inner, secret room . . ." Ruel placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and nervously drummed his fingers along the metal.

"What? You're not up for another battle, Ruel?" Selah teased, drawing her own sword and frowning at its dull appearance. "Have you become Swordsick?"

"Any Warrior would be, who has dwelt long beneath this relentless sun," he replied.

Muriel stood beside him and stroked the side of his face with her fair, long-fingered hand.

"I think Selah is right about the direction we should take. We have long avoided confronting Regan at his own door."

"And for good reason!" Ruel declared.

"You know that, since we found out about the Octagon Room, we have secretly wondered what lay hidden there," Selah stated.

"And better left uncovered," Ruel retorted. He stared at the sunrise, which was still masked by haze but now a burnt orange color, deeper and more fire-like.

"Yet 'the light must pierce the darkness,' " he quoted from The Scroll. "And I can think of no darker place than Regan's Keep."

"We are best suited to go--as a small offensive, by stealth and cover," Muriel observed. "No army could conquer Regan's strength."

"The Maker must go with us--to prepare the way," Ruel added.

"And so He will," Selah assured.

Ruel took out his sword, which was chipped and dented by much use, and lifted it toward the western horizon--the direction of Regan's Keep.

"Then let us go," he commanded, and the two woman went to stir the children, feed them a hasty breakfast, and begin the long journey across the desert.

They traveled many days across the desert, sometimes finding an oasis to camp beside, and sometimes not. Despite their bare feet, the children proved to be good hikers, and they did not complain about having to walk all day. But by nightfall they were ready to make camp, eat a quick meal, and fall asleep on the traveling pillows that fit so amazingly into the traveling bags, not seeming to take any room at all among the other mysterious and ever-changing contents. At dawn they awoke, ate a quick breakfast (also from the traveling bags), and began the long trek beneath the hazy sun.

"Why do we not travel at night when it is cooler?" Silver Fern asked after several days of relentless heat.

"Because we could not sleep during the daylight, and we need our rest," Ruel replied.

"And there are strange creatures that patrol the desert at night," Muriel added. "That is why one of us must always keep watch while the others are sleeping."

"Regan and his Craft-slaves are ever vigilant," Selah added. "Always roaming about like beasts searching out new prey."

"I thought we were the slaves," Silver Fern observed. "And they were the Masters, yet it seems they must do certain things."

"You have wisdom, Silver Fern," Selah answered, smiling at the girl who was not much shorter than she. "Those who serve the Craft are truly slaves, though they often do not know it. The only thing Regan understands is power. In wielding it over others, he becomes its slave."

"Then there is no hope for him, that he will change," Silver Fern commented as she kicked up sand.

"Micah had hope even for Regan," Selah responded. "Though I do not share his optimism. I think Regan would die before he would yield to another above himself."

"Perhaps you are right, Selah," Muriel agreed. "The essence of The Craft dwells deeply in Regan."

"Yet we may never be sure he is beyond hope," Ruel interjected. "Though I do not know why we are discussing these matters. As it is, we are headed for Regan's Keep, and we can be sure he will oppose us if he discovers our presence."

The band of travelers thought about Ruel's comment and trudged along in silence, wondering if spies lurked beyond the blank horizon.

After a long morning of flat sandy areas with no vegetation, the desert turned changed. Smooth sand dunes rose one above another, and the company had to climb them one step at a time.

"The sand is so deep!" Te Hiko complained as his leg sunk up to his knee. He took another step and fell flat on his face, spreading out his arms as if in surrender.

"Our Land has nothing like this," he managed to say as he spat out mouthfuls of course golden sand.

"There is nothing we can do to change our surroundings," Silver Fern scolded him. "So you had better just get up and hold my hand."

Te Hiko glared at her and rose to his hands and knees. Ruel reached down and pulled the boy to his feet.

"You may ride on my shoulders," the big Warrior offered.

Te Hiko smiled and climbed aboard, careful not to let his dangling legs touch the hilt of Ruel's sword. Ruel's silver-webbed breastplate and helmet shone brightly in the glaring sun.

"Kia Ora--thank you!" the boy exclaimed. His sister sighed and grabbed Muriel's outstretched hand.

"These sand dunes do not last forever," Ruel reminded the Company. "When Selah, Muriel, and I traveled over them before, to reach the remote Keep where we found you two, we noticed that the dunes did not last more than a mile or two."

That mile or two seemed much longer as the Company struggled up dune after dune, sometimes losing their footing and rolling down the other side. That proved uncomfortable for Ruel and Te Hiko, who landed at the bottom of a very high dune, legs and arms entangled in his sword hilt and traveling bag.

"That was fun!" Te Hiko yelled when he climbed upright. "Let's do it again!"

"I don't think so," Ruel responded, dusting sand off his traveling bag and slinging it back over his shoulder. Te Hiko decided to walk on his own for awhile, reluctantly holding onto his sister's hand.

"Creep," she muttered when he fell and pulled her down with him.

"Silver Fern, don't call your brother names," Muriel snapped.

"Aroha--sorry," the girl replied, lowering her eyes in shame.

"Overall, they are very well behaved children," Selah defended them. "After all, their father is Chief of their tribe."

"Yes, and I would give anything to be under a waterfall right now," Te Hiko stated. "Like the ones that splash beside the fern trees and flowers of our Land."

As Ruel had promised, the sand dunes eventually ended, and the desert became its usual flat, faceless appearance. As twilight gathered around them, they found no oasis or palm trees where they could camp.

"We will have to sleep in the open," Ruel stated after scanning the horizon in a complete circle, using a Lens from his traveling bag. Muriel looked over at him, her eyes tugged by worry.

"We are in such a vulnerable, open area," she sighed, also setting down her traveling bag. Neither Warrior removed a helmet.

"If Regan is scouting for us, he will find us--wherever we are," Selah declared. She did not take off her traveling bag. The other two Warriors immediately picked up their own bags again.

"Do you feel him hunting us?" Ruel asked, having learned long ago that Selah could was somehow connected to Regan, sensing his purpose or presence.

Selah did not answer for concern about scaring the children, but she did give Ruel a look that confirmed his own suspicions.

"I will take the first watch," Ruel said as the two women sat down and brought out food for the children. After everyone had eaten crackers, raisins, and cheese, they sat in a circle with their backs together while Ruel stood, watching.

Several hours passed. No one but the children slept. Selah had just closed her tired eyes when Muriel nudged her shoulder.

"Ruel sees something," the taller woman whispered.

Selah rubbed her eyes and stood. The children, exhausted from their hike, simply lay back on the sand and continued sleeping.

Muriel stood and walked over to Ruel.

"What do you see?" she asked.

"A darkness darker than the moonless night," he replied. "Over there." He pointed toward the east, the direction of Regan's Keep.

Selah took out her own Lens and saw the shape that moved under the veiled stars.

"Those are not wraiths," she decided. "They are soldiers--Regan's soldiers--and he is leading them."

"We did not expect to enter his territory unchallenged," Ruel remarked as he unsheathed his sword. Muriel and Selah did the same. They were wearing their silver-woven cloaks because of the cool night, and they pulled the hoods above their helmets.

"These cloaks will render us almost invisible," Muriel whispered. "But the children have none, and Selah still has no helmet."

"I never could see well with a helmet on my head," Selah whispered back. She reached into her traveling bag and pulled out two spidersilk cloaks--and spread them over Silver Fern and Te Hiko, who had awakened at the sound of worried voices. The children fastened the cloaks at their necks and pulled the hoods over their heads as well.

"These cloaks may not hide us," Selah stated. "It may be time to confront our enemies."

The three Warriors stood in a circle around the children, their swords drawn in front of them. As if knowing when to blaze with light, Selah's sword remained dim in the dark that was broken only by the distant haze of stars.

"They are coming closer," Ruel warned.

"If only we had a place to hide!" Muriel whispered. "How can a small band like us face Regan's army?"

She was remembering ten years ago when Micah and Ruel had fought Regan's army under a full moon that had shone on the soldiers' armor. Muriel had stood with Selah and the other women, in a circle around the children of The Band.

"The Maker helped us then, and He can aid us again," Ruel said as if reading his Mate's memories.

Selah, strangely calm, lifted her free hand and called out to The Maker in the words of The Scroll:

"Consider and hear me, O Lord my God;
enlighten my eyes, lest I sleep
the sleep of death."

Te Hiko reached out and touched Selah's waistbelt, and Silver Fern wiped stray tears from her face.

"The waiting is worse than anything," she whispered.

The little Band of Warriors and children did not have long to wait. The Company of Darkness descended upon them before Silver Fern's tears could dry on her face.

As Selah had predicted, Regan was at the head of the Company.

"At least it is a small detachment and not the whole army," Ruel murmured. "There must be only fifty men."

"Fifty against three--that's fair," Selah spat out bitterly. "Perhaps I will not have a chance to follow Micah's instructions. I do not care. If I die, I will join him."

"Do not count on dying yet," Muriel chided. "You cannot mean that with all your heart, as Evergreen still needs you--as do we all."

Selah's throat tightened, and she could not reply.

The Army made a tight wedge in front of them. Regan strode forward, his silver hair and eyes visible above his moonstone necklace.

"I hear that you plan to invade my Keep," he smirked, raising his crystal sword. Selah's sword blazed with light that went through Regan's sword and lit up his beautiful and terrible face.

"I am tired of fearing you!" Selah yelled. "You have taken Micah and our son--and rendered Evergreen helpless. You have taught me all about pain, but The Maker means to turn your evil efforts into good."

Regan's soldiers advanced a few steps but Regan held up his hand to stop them from surrounding Selah and her Band. Ruel, tired of waiting, charged at a Captain who wore a scarlet helmet. The man fell beneath Ruel's first swordthrust, and several soldiers converged on Ruel. Muriel ran to her Mate's aid, leaving the two children unprotected.

"No!" Selah screamed. "It is not justice to send so many against so few--against children. If you have any honor, fight me alone."

"Honor?" Regan asked, stepping toward her.

"Perhaps you do not understand the term. Then let us call on Justice," she replied, her green eyes blazing. "There is such a thing as justice, and you must feel it now." Selah raised her blazing sword higher, stepped forward, and plunged the glowing blade into Regan's chest.

He looked at her with complete surprise, clutching at the blood that seeped through his fingers.

"I underestimated you, Little One. You have learned the use of your sword well," he gasped. His army fell on Selah as Regan reached into the bag of herbs her wore at his belt--to stop the bleeding with his Craft.

Ruel stood up, his arm bearing a long gash, and Muriel wrapped it quickly with some cloth. The army, as if connected only to Regan and his defense, had forgotten about them. They surrounded Selah, who stood near Regan in the midst of their circle, her blood-tipped sword still glowing like fire.

Ruel and Muriel reached the children, who were hugging each other. Some of Regan's soldiers noticed and went after them.

Ruel and Muriel touched the tips of their swords together, and something like a crystal cup covered them so that the soldiers could not penetrate its glistening perimeter.

"What Craft is this?" one soldier yelled, bringing his heavy sword down upon the strange shield so hard that it fell out of his bruised hand.

"This is not Craft, but The Maker's protection!" Muriel replied.

"Oh, may The Maker protect Selah too," Silver Fern pleaded, wanting to run to her new friend and pull her into the cup's oval shield.

Selah heard Silver Fern and yelled, "If I am to serve a purpose in this world, He will." She stepped toward Regan. He towered over her, bent as he was with pain. His right hand still held his crystal sword even as his left hand clutched herbs against his chest.

"Shall I cut off your head and finish you and all your evil now?" Selah asked him, raising her sword with both hands, high above her head.

"Do as you wish," Regan spat, his silver-blue eyes narrowing.

"First you must tell me why you have pursued me and my family all these years--why you killed Micah and our son."

"That, my Dear, you must find out for yourself," he replied. "Our story has not ended."

Several of his soldiers were within striking distance of Selah, their swords raised.

"Why did you bring your army across the desert to fight us?" Selah asked.

"Why do you think?" Regan spat. "You have become quite the intelligent woman, reading and learning always. Do you think I knew nothing of your plans to enter my Keep?"

"Even wounded--perhaps mortally--you do not answer my questions," Selah lamented. "Will you never relent?"

Regan said nothing.

Selah turned around to face the soldiers--who lowered their swords.

"Never have I seen such power from one so small," Regan commented as if to himself. He raised his bloody hand as a sign to stop his soldiers from attacking. "The Maker is indeed with you and your friends. Do you hear the sound of hooves upon the desert sand? Even the Red Horsemen come to your deliverance."

"Tell me!" Selah screamed, her swordtip against Regan's white throat.

"I will . . . grant your one request . . . though I do so out of generosity, not fear or pain," Regan could barely say the words.

"Then there is still some hope for you," Selah whispered, moving her swordtip an inch from Regan's throat.

"Do not depend on that idea, Selah of the Sword," the Master of the Craft declared, standing straighter, his wound sealed so that the bleeding stopped. "I know that you are Swordsick and would not likely kill me, though that task may prove more than even you can do."

A sudden pain shot through his chest, and he grasped at it again.

"I killed Micah and your son because they belonged to you, and you are part of a greater story than you know. You should have been mine--and borne my sons--and worn the Crown created for you alone to wear."

"What is the Crown of Celestia?" Selah whispered, almost not wanting to know. "Micah warned me not to wear it."

"He warned you for now. The time may come when Micah or The Maker will command you to put it upon your golden head . . ." Regan stumbled as he took a step toward her, as if he would gather her in his arms.

Selah wanted to yell at him again, to demand an answer, but she could only stand there and watch Regan, tears on her cheeks--for whom, she could not tell.

"The Crown of Celestia is The Crown of Stars," he answered at last, stopping short of touching Selah. "It is the knowledge of how to journey to them, past the Portal on The Summit, far into the vast expanse."

"And to The Newmade City, to The Maker's very throne," Selah added, suddenly understanding. "That is where you wish you could sit yourself, and rule more than just this wasteland desert."

Regan said nothing, but Selah could read the confirmation in his unblinking eyes. After a moment something in him sighed deeply, as if a long-held plan had passed into shadow.

"For ages members of The Craft have gazed upward toward new Domains to conquer," he admitted as the sound of horses galloped nearer. "Someday you may travel there, Selah of the Stars, and I will follow close behind."

"You insolent . . ." Selah could not find the word to describe him. "You know I could kill you, Regan. But would that end the pain?"

Enemies stood poised for battle, and neither side lifted a sword.

"I cannot do it," Selah sobbed at last, letting her sword fall into the sand. It still bore Regan's blood upon its tip and partway up the blade.

"You are correct. I am Swordsick, and killing you will not bring healing."

Ruel wanted to yell out "Kill him! Kill him! Stop the evil of his Craft!" but he could not, as the shield around him kept in all sound.

Regan, wounded more deeply than Selah had realized, fell to the desert floor. His army gathered around him, and Selah picked up her bloody sword and walked back to Ruel, Muriel, and the children. As she reached them, the crystalline circle around them vanished. The Red Horseman and his riders rode toward them like a desert wind. Large hands reached down and picked up each weary Warrior and child, settling him or her upon a sturdy horse--and rode across the starlit desert toward the dawn.

Selah and her friends did not remember being carefully lowered on the shores of an oasis, given healing nectar, and left to sleep beneath palm trees while the sun rose high and set again. Then came the dawn, new strength for the journey, and a course eastward across the sand.