“It is not I,” Eliel answered.

“Surely—” the Visionspeaker, DraiThias Ra'Vel, began in protest. The Movae Myr Shama ducked her head looking ready to cry and he stopped, took a breath to speak— She held up a wrinkled hand to stop him. Draith looked away because the state of that hand was his fault for not keeping her supplied with everyoung as he'd promised . . . and meant to . . . except . . . he never had . . . until now, too late. This was only his third trip to the Red Desert in all his last thousand years.

“I'm sorry," he said, addressing that issue instead. They were in her tent, flap closed against the early morning sun, which, despite being barely mid-spring, was already fierce on Ti'Ah's desert. Never mind the rest of the weather.

Draith undid the top two ties on his shirt and lifted his long white beard to let some air down it, then rolled his sleeves up—not that they stayed up, they were too full and slithered immediately back down.

“vYou've chosen a bad time to visit," Shama Eliel said with a slight smile to soften her words, "Ti'Ah is upset. Contrary to what they say in outland, we don't usually have two burns and a sand storm on top of summer heat all in a half-dragon's time.”

Behind her words, the sounds of an encore of spring fest filtered through the tent wall: laughter, ReDoe's and several desert riders instruments blending in a rowdy song that, undoubtedly, people were dancing to.

Draith fretted at his sleeves, pushing them up, letting them fall, admiring the deep sapphire of them, trying to think of what else to say. A few notes of The Song of Promise cut across the bawdy tune, meaning one of the cken's promise dancers was dancing a prayer to the gods—usually not directly to Ti'Ah, since the Goddess' answers tended to be a bit fiery, excessive, and not generally friendly.

“One of the Children came to me out of time,” Eliel Timeweaver said, bringing his attention back to her. “I hope to see him again . . . and I hope not to.” She offered a forced smile. “Even a personal illusion wouldn't help any more.”

“You must be—”

“I am not the Light Patternmaster, DraiThias," she broke in. “If I ever could have been, I have too many Shadows now to fit that role.”

He lifted his head. "The Shadow Patternmaster then.”

“Can't I just stay The Timeweaver,” she returned peevishly, tugging her shawl closer about her shoulders despite the heat.

“You—" He stopped as she drew her energy in sharply. “If not you, then who? I hadn't looked for anyone else assuming . . .." He stopped and dragged his fingers through his beard fretfully. “I was sure Tygrae had to be the Shadow Patternmaster.”

“It wouldn't surprise me if he was.” She knotted the fringe on her shawl, then unknotted it. “I should have let myself die when things started to get bad here, then I'd be reborn and just old enough to coax—” She paused and laughed ruefully. “Don't I sound silly now?”

Draith glanced at her in concern. Was she that old? So old her mind was wandering? Even if she wasn't the Light Patternmaster, as she claimed, surely she was something in the Prophecy's unfolding. “vDo you still have the copy of the Prophecy I sent you?”

She fished it out from under her sitting blanket and passed it to him. “I heard you wrote several. Gilth would be surprised.”

“She helped me,” he returned more sharply than he intended. He bent his head over the manuscript, upset to have been sharp with her because of his own fear that she might indeed be getting too old to answer the Prophecy's call—and guilt that it was his fault that she was. Especially as he tended to think of her as the child she had been at the Prophecy's inception.

He smoothed at a wrinkle in the cover of the manuscript. His other question was: Assuming the Children of Destiny had landed safely, (He had yet to hear for sure.) where were they to go first . . . so he could just happen to be passing through and get to see them, just to see them with his own eyes. He needed to know beyond any doubt that they had landed and that the Prophecy had indeed started.

He flipped the manuscript open, squinting in the low light of the tent, and skimmed the first verses. The Arrival should be over, The Verse of the Master Keys was started, he'd already seen Jo'Et'L to prove that. He looked up. “You've seen Jo'Et'L, haven't you?”

“The Fire godling visited me, yes.”

The Children of Destiny should have already met the First Key, and be headed toward the Second Key . . . Ylang, who had, conveniently, planned to scry in Talg this spring fest.

They ought to be just leaving Ylang now or close to it, heading towards the Third Key. Whoever that was. He hadn't been able to even figure a starting place to look for eth, never mind find eth.

He read the refrain:

May eth's choice be ever wise.

This copy had notes at the bottom of the page saying the unscribe was Modair's Key. Meaning eth must be a shaper. Of course! What he should have been looking for was a shapechanging healer. Why hadn't he realized that before?

And by now Modair ought to know who. “You haven't seen Modair lately, have you?”

“Only his moon. No, not in many years.”

He read the next verses, the Verses of Hope: Dance of Hope, Healing of Hope . . . and sighed heavily. “This sounded a lot more encouraging when I wrote it.” He flipped ahead to the Verse of Patternmasters, skimmed it, and found a line to object to, "Broken heart of the land?”

“Here," Eliel suggested.

Draith closed the manuscript with his finger inside and inspected her expression. “Are you serious?”

“I— Yes, Draith, I'm serious. The Dark is here and it is close.”

He glanced around involuntarily. “I hope not.”

“I've lost more questers in the last legend than in the previous promise. My manyson was one of the first; my heart is still heavy over him. I had such hopes for him.”

“I thought Tygrae said he wasn't dead,” Draith objected.

“My scryings show only darkness. If he were not, he would have returned already. Javaet loves the desert as fiercely as Efin ever did.”

“Efin stayed in the temple for the prophecy.”

“But I always knew where he was—and where his heart lay. Kol'Wyve broke Javaet's destiny. I know he did.”

Draith started to debate that Wyve, Destiny's Mover of the Prophecy, would be dead if his baun-tae was, then just returned his attention to the prophecy. Eliel knew as well as he that one bondmate lost, meant both. Obviously she was determined to be pessimistic even in the face of facts.

He hesitated but skimmed the Light Patternmaster's verse and, for its content against her words, read it to her,

“It is not I.”

Draith sighed sharply, but didn't argue. He checked the Shadow Patternmaster's verse, but it didn't sound like it related, so he didn't read it to her. He skimmed down the page, growling at the Dark Patternmaster's refrain on the way by.

“What?”

He answered, “The Dark Patternmaster's verse. ‘Choose with his heart', it says—Ha!” He grumbled under his breath, then added, "His pattern is secure it says. And here I thought the destiny was on our side.”

“Kyron weaves all four threads.”

Draith muttered in reply. In his estimation, it was time to weave with the Light threads and forget the rest—or the Light and the God's threads. The Gods' Patternmaster now—Who on earth could that be? He asked Eliel . . . anyway.

“My manynephew.”

“Breeve Reven?” Now that surely could not be. Breeve Reven had already done his prophecy bit, he'd broke the Dark. "Oh, no, here's the verse Tygrae has been looking for. (I knew I put it in one version.)” Draith read it, making faces at each line. “He's going to hate it.”

“Is it about Haggan?”

“No.” Why would it be? “No, he's looking for a time dancer—he and Pa'Tl'Lyn.”

“We lost one over the winter.”

"“You what? I didn't know you had any.”

“A potential time dancer, rather. De'Sal. She had just turned five.”

“Five? That's hardly old enough anyway.”

“ReDoe asked, in Ylang's name, if we had one; the Hall knew." She paused, then added, “So I suppose Tygrae knows. At least by now.”

“How did she die?”

“The Dark took her.”

Draith took a breath . . . and let it out. Apparently Eliel was going to blame the Dark for everything.

“I just called Jo'Et'L for you,” Eliel said.

Why? Since Jo'Et'L appeared instantly in the fire pot, he didn't ask.

Eliel gave the Fire Godling a formal greeting, then said, “Draith is looking for the Light Patternmaster.”

“What he ought to be doing is herding those pesky Children of Destiny along the right path!” the Fire Godling answered acerbicly. "The Heart of Hearts says they scattered in every direction but the right one when they left Saith.”

“What were they doing in Saith?” Draith complained. They should have been in Talg with Ylang.

“Trying to get their fortunes read, but the Second Key turned ornery.”

"Ylang?”

“No." Jo'Et'L sat cross-legged on a hunk of peat and pulled out his ever-present pipe. “The Second Key was a scryer at Saith. Rem's sister.”

“Who is Rem? Was?”

“Rem is the First Key, Shoshun was the Second. She died at the end of fest—before she gave the Children of Destiny their readings.” Jo'Et'L paused and lit his pipe. “There is other news you might be interested to know. The First Prince, Kalador Zxylyn, otherwise known as the Runemaster's apprentice, also died at the same spring fest.”

“Good riddance,” Draith muttered.

Jo'Et'L shook his pipe at him. “Take those words back, Hopekeeper; Zxylyn was the Dark Mime”

Draith groaned. “I was hoping none of the codicils would be triggered.”

Jo'Et'L shook his head. “We're up to the third or fourth, if the Heart of Hearts counted right.”

“Third or fourth!" Draith squawked, straightening his sleeves agitatedly. Then he remembered Jo'Et'L's words of greeting and asked, with trepidation, “Where are they then?”

“As I said: scattered all over the place. Though, if the god's love us, your student is headed towards you."

Draith half sprang up, then settled back down, tucked his knees up and hid his face in his arms. “Tell me the worst."

Instead, Jo'Et'L said, “The Heart of Hearts said it wished that whoever had written the prophecy, would have written it in order.”

“I wrote it in the order it was given,” he protested, envisioning, with a shudder, a disconcerting visitation by the Veersastaveer to deliver the complaint in "person". He checked the Fire Godling's expression. There was a twinkle in the bright brown eyes.

“I'll tell the Heart of Hearts to deliver eth's complaint to the UnSeen, then,” Jo'Et'L returned mildly.

“Have you seen my manyson?” Eliel asked softly.

“No, but the Heart of Hearts assured me he was with the Children of Destiny on the ship.”

Eliel blinked at the godling and straightened. “You aren't s—” she stopped and asked instead, “What would my manyson be doing on a ship?”

Jo'Et'L shook his head, then pulled his cap off and set it on his knee. The feather brushed the edge of the fire pot like a wing of flame.

“The Second Key died?” Draith repeated belatedly. Would that have triggered a codicil, too? He flipped through the copy of the Prophecy in his hands, but he hadn't put the codicils in this version. “What about— I had hoped Brithsea would have covered for her daughter . . ..”

“She did: she sent Ylang a message for the scryer, as well as sending the scryer messages directly. Apparently none did any good. Or at least not in the Second Key's case. She did save the Promisekeeper, though.”

“Saved the Promisekeeper?” Draith tucked his head back down against his knees. “I didn't know eth was in danger.”

Jo'Et'L didn't answer and Draith, with a slam of his heart, thought of a new worry, “What about Bi'Am's next key?”