“We are not, my lurik. That is the answer. That we are not, just as we are neither cows nor thistles. We are the Servants. We stay to the path. We are the path. The path we walk is for the good of the world.”

“When we serve the world, we serve ourselves.” Dwalia and Odessa spoke these words in harmony. “The good of the world is the good of the Servants. What is good for the Servants is good for the world. We walk the path.”

Their voices ceased, but they stared at Vindeliar almost accusingly. He lowered his eyes and some of the brightness went out of his face. He spoke in a measured cadence, words I was certain he had learned from his cradle days. “He who leaves the path is not a Servant but an obstacle to the good of the world. An obstacle in the path must be evaded. If it cannot be evaded, it must be removed. If it cannot be removed, it must be destroyed. We must stay to the path, for the good of the world. We must stay to the path for the good of the Servants.” He took a huge breath at the end. His round cheeks puffed as he sighed it out. His lower lip remained pushed out in a baby’s pout and he looked at the mounded blankets, not at Dwalia.

She was relentless. “Vindeliar. Has anyone seen a festival for you on this part of the path?”

“No.” A soft, low denial.

“Has anyone ever seen, in any dream, Vindeliar merrymaking at a festival?”

He drew a short breath and his shoulders slumped as he said, “No.”

Dwalia leaned toward him. Her kind look was back on her face. “Then, my lurik, there is no festival on Vindeliar’s path. For Vindeliar to go to a festival would be for Vindeliar to leave the path, or bend it awry. And then what would Vindeliar be? A Servant?”

He shook his blunt head slowly.

“What then?” She was remorseless.

“An obstacle.” He lifted his head and before she could press him, added, “To be evaded. Or avoided. Removed. Or destroyed.” He dropped his voice and his eyes on that last word. I stared at him. I had never seen a man who believed so completely that someone who apparently loved him would kill him for breaking a rule. With a cold rush up my spine, I discovered that I believed it, too. She would kill him if he veered from the path.

What path?

Did they think I had a path? Was I in danger of veering from it? I shifted my stare to Dwalia. Would she kill me, too, for veering from the path?

Dwalia’s gaze snapped to mine, and I could not look away. She spoke softly, kindly. “It’s why we came, Shaysim. To rescue you and keep you safe. Because if we did not, you would become an obstacle to the path. We will take you home, to a safe place where you cannot leave the path by accident, nor change it. By keeping you safe, we will keep the path safe and keep the world safe. As long as the world is safe, you are safe. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Her words terrified me. “What is the path?” I demanded. “How can I tell if I am staying to the path?”

Her smile stretched. She nodded slowly. “Shaysim, I am pleased. This is the first question we always hope to hear from a Servant.”

A lurch and my belly went cold. A servant? I had seen the lives of servants. I’d never imagined being one, and suddenly knew I never wanted to be one. Did I dare say that? Was that leaving the path?

“So, to hear it from a shaysim of your years is remarkable. Shaysims are often blinded to the idea that there may be a path. They see possibilities, and ways that lead to so many divergent paths. Shaysims born out here in the wide world often have difficulty accepting that there is only one true path, a path that has been seen and charted. A path that we all must strive to bring into the world, so that the world may be a better place for all of us.”

The understanding of what she meant rose in me like a tide. Was it a thing I had always known? I recalled with clarity how the beggar in the marketplace had touched me, and suddenly I had seen an infinity of possible futures, all depending on the decision of a young couple I had glimpsed in passing. I had even thought to nudge the future into a direction that seemed wise to me. It would have involved the young man being murdered by highwaymen, and the woman suffering rape and death, but I had seen her brothers riding to avenge her, and encouraging others to join them, and how they had made the highways safe for travelers for decades after their sister had died. Two lives gone in pain and torment, but so many saved.

I came back to the present. The blankets I had clutched had fallen away from me and the winter cold gripped me.

“I see you understand me,” Dwalia said in a honeyed voice. “You are a shaysim, my dear. In some places, they would call you a White Prophet, even if you are not nearly as pale as one of them should be. Still, I trust Vindeliar when he tells me you are the lost son that we seek. You are a rare creature, Shaysim. Perhaps you have not realized that. Few are the folk who are given the gift of seeing what may be. Even rarer are the ones who can look and see the tipping points, the tiny places where a word or a smile or a swift knife set the world on a different course. Rarest of all are the ones like you. Born, it would seem, almost by chance, to folk who do not know what you are. They cannot protect you from making dangerous mistakes. They cannot save you from leaving the path. And so we came to find you. To keep you, and the path, safe. For you can see the moment when all things change, before it happens. And you see who it is, in any cycle, who will be the Catalyst for that time.”