She stepped back, turned to her mother. “Mom.”

“This is from your dad and me.”

Fallon reached for the chain that held what she knew was her father’s wedding ring and her dad’s St. Michael’s medal. Tears and love flooded her throat.

“I’ll always wear it.” She slipped the chain around her neck. “Always. Mom.” She fell into her mother’s embrace. “I love you. I love you so much.”

“I love you. I’ll think of you every day, and count the days off until you’re home again. Shine bright, my baby, and I’ll know. Send me a sign,” Lana whispered.

“I will.”

Fighting tears, she turned into her father’s arms. “Daddy. I love you.”

“If you need me. Listen.” He cupped her face, lifted it. “If you need me, call for me. I’ll hear you. I’ll come to you. I’ll find a way.”

“I’m not afraid because I have you. I’m not afraid because you love me. I’ll come home.” She pressed her cheek to his. “I swear it.”

She grabbed the reins, launched into the saddle. “My fifteenth birthday, don’t forget. I want presents.”

She set Grace into a trot. Mallick, already mounted, rode up to her, gestured south.

She turned, one more look, saw her family standing together, close, touching, in front of the house where she’d been born.

Colin straightened his shoulders, sent her a snappy salute that made her lips curve, her eyes blur.

She lifted her hand into a wave, then turned her eyes south and urged Grace into a gallop.

Mallick let her set the pace. He could give her free rein for a few miles, see how long it took for her to steady herself. And his sturdy old bay could handle the run.

They passed another farm, smaller than the Swifts’, where a woman and a skinny boy dug for potatoes. They paused in their work, and in the few seconds it took to thunder by, Mallick felt a wave of longing from the boy.

For the girl, and for what the boy saw as freedom.

They galloped on, past a scatter of abandoned houses with lawns gone back to meadows. A few sheep grazed on the rock-pocked hills, and their elderly shepherdess stood on a mound with an old-fashioned crook in one hand and a rifle slung over her back.

The image of her, gray hair under a worn cap, the rough gray rocks pushing out of the green, the white sheep mindlessly cropping, brought him a quick, unexpected tug of nostalgia.

When Fallon slowed to a trot, then a walk—more for her horse’s sake than her own, Mallick concluded—she turned for the first time to look at him directly.

“I want to know where we’re going.”

“A day’s ride and a bit more, to a place where you’ll train and learn and grow.”

“Why are you the one to train me?”

“That is a question I can’t answer. Why are you The One? We are what we are.”

“Who gave you the authority?”

“This you’ll learn. Who is the shepherdess?”

“Her name’s Molly Crane.”

“And what is her power?”

If she wondered how he knew old Molly had power, she didn’t ask. “Shapeshifter.”

“How many sheep was she tending?”

Fallon answered first with an annoyed shrug. “Maybe ten.”

“ ‘Maybe’?”

“I didn’t count them.”

“You have eyes. How many did you see?”

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t look, so didn’t see. Fourteen. One stood behind a rock, and the pregnant ewe carries two.”

Grief and nerves fought a bitter war in her belly. Her sharp, slapping tone to an adult would have earned her a rebuke at home.

But she wasn’t home now.

“What difference does it make?”

“Another time you may see the enemy. How will you know their number? One may hide behind a rock, another may conceal two others.”

Angry, aching, she sneered at him. “The next time I have to fight sheep, I’ll be sure to get the full count.”

Mallick gestured east. Far over the rolling hills, crows circled. “They know the waiting time is done. You’ll be hunted, from this day until the end.”

“I’m not afraid of crows.”

“Be afraid of what rules them. Fear can be a weapon just as courage. Without fear there is no prudence. Without prudence there is recklessness. With recklessness, defeat.”

“What rules them?”

“You’ll learn.”

With that, he urged his horse up a rise and into the trees.

The air cooled, and though she’d never traveled this far from home, the scents of the forest had a comforting familiarity. She passed some time watching for tracks, identifying the deer, a lone bear, a coyote, and a pair of raccoons that had passed over the rough trail.

They crossed a narrow stream where water bubbled and spilled over rocks. A wild turkey called as they veered east.

“How many deer were in the shadows by the stream?” she demanded, adding a cool stare when he turned his head to study her. “What if they were enemies? Would you know their number?”

“Four does and two yearlings.”

“What’s the difference in the yearlings?”

Amused, Mallick answered, “One is a young buck, the other a doe.”

“Besides that.”

Now his eyebrows lifted. “I cannot tell you.”

“One has a sore left front leg. He’s favoring it. Didn’t you see the tracks? Isn’t it good tactics to know if your enemy’s injured?”

“You have a good eye for tracking. If your aim is as keen, we’ll eat well this winter.”

“My aim’s true. My father taught me.” She lifted her hand to the chain around her neck, found comfort there. “I can still go home. I can change my mind and go home.”

“Yes. You could live out your life there and never truly become. And the world would bleed around you until even what you love drowns.”

She hated, hated, hated knowing—somehow knowing—he spoke absolute truth.

“Why do I have to be The One? Everybody’s Savior? I didn’t screw everything up, so why am I supposed to fix it?”

“Mae gennych atebion y tu mewn i chi.”

“What? What language is that?”

“I said the answers are inside you.”

“That’s just the same as saying I’ll learn. It’s not an answer.” However much she wanted to dismiss him, curiosity poked at her. “What language is it?”

“Welsh.”

“Is that where you’re from? Wales?” With the question she tried to form a map in her head, place it exactly. She loved maps.

“Yes. Do you know where that is in the world?”

“It’s in what was Great Britain, with England on one side and the Irish Sea on the other.”

“Very good. Your geography skills are accurate even if your language skills are poor.”

“Why would my parents teach me Welsh? They don’t know Welsh. And anyway, it’s not like I’m going to just drop down over there.”

Fueled by anger, aching, and now insulted for her family, her words shot out like barbs. “And they taught me plenty, me and my brothers. How to read and write and think. We learned science and math and history, how to read maps, how to draw them. Maybe we couldn’t go to the school in the village very often because Raiders and Dark Uncannys could come too close. My dad fought them to help protect our neighbors, and he and Mom taught us how to fight, too.”

“They taught you much, and they taught you of the light and of the earth. And a most important lesson. They taught you loyalty. You learned it well.”

“You don’t learn it. You are or you aren’t.”

He smiled at her. “However we might disagree, know I am loyal to you.”

“Because you have to be, and that’s different.”

“You’re right,” Mallick said after a long moment. “But my loyalty remains.”

She rode a few miles, stewing, until the questions just pushed out of her.