He turns his head an they smile at each other. That secret smile they got jest between the two of ’em. It makes my insides go all funny. He takes her hand an kisses it.

Well, he says, everythin’s set. It’s all fixed. The lives of everybody who’s ever bin born.

The lives of everybody still waitin to be born, says Ma, layin her hand on her belly.

It was all set in the stars the moment the world began, says Pa. The time of yer birthin, the time of yer death, even what kinda person yer gonna be, good or bad.

What am I gonna be, Pa? says Lugh.

Oh, yer one of the good ones, says Ma. She strokes Lugh’s face, smilin at him. My beautiful golden boy.

An me? I says. What am I gonna be, Pa?

Pa don’t answer. He gathers me into his arms, hugs me in tight to his side. His heart beats into me, strong an steady. I breathe his warm, safe skin.

We’re flesh an blood an heart an soul. The four of us. Now an always, till the end of time.

Suddenly a star goes streakin across the sky.

Lugh points at it. Look, Saba! A shootin star!

We watch as it slashes through the darkness. So bright. So fast. Gone so quick.

I tug on Pa’s shirt. Pa? You never said. What’m I gonna be? Good or bad?

He kisses the top of my head. Whispers in my ear, so’s only him an me can hear.

You, my darlin daughter, are gonna be somethin else entirely.

I open my eyes. I’m lyin curled up on my side on the floor of Auriel’s tent. Nero’s tucked hisself between my chin an my chest. Lugh sleeps like he always does. With his head hidden in his arms. Pertectin hisself, Ma used to say. They’re silent, him an Tommo an Emmi. Deep in the black of slumber.

The rain’s stopped. It’s night. Stars twinkle through the smokehole.

Auriel’s awake. She sits in a small rocker beside the firepit, starin into the low flames. She’s wrapped in a dark shawl. Tracker’s head rests heavy on her feet. His great paws twitch in his sleep.

Ancient wolfdog dreams, she says.

She didn’t look, I didn’t make a sound, but she knew I was awake.

He lived with our friend Mercy, I says. Far away from here. It was strange. He jest showed up. Led me right to you.

We speak in low voices, so’s not to wake th’others.

He’s been hangin around the edges of the camp fer a while now, says Auriel. I wondered about him.

I thought Mercy might be here, I says.

The dog comes an goes, she says. No one claims him. But he’s chosen you. He runs with you now. The wolfdog an the crow. Fit companions fer a warrior.

I ain’t no warrior, I says. I’m done with all that.

I drape the blanket around my shoulders. I scoop up Nero an go sit on the ground across from Auriel. I hug him to me, buryin my nose in his warm feathers. He grumbles a bit, but don’t wake. Auriel reaches down, takes a pinch of somethin from a tin beside her an throws it on the fire. It flares blue fer a second. A strange, sweet smell starts to wind around the tent.

She turns her head an looks at me. You was dreamin jest then, she says.

Not a dream, I says. I was rememberin. Somethin Pa said to me once. A long time ago, when I was a kid. I fergot all about it.

Our eyes meet in the firelight. Hers so pale an wild.

There are some people, she says, not many, who have within them the power to change things. The courage to act in the service of somethin greater than themselves.

To change things, I says.

Through their actions, she says, they can turn the tide of human affairs.

They, I says. You mean me.

The Tonton grow in strength an purpose, she says. They have a new leader, a man of vision. The Pathfinder, they call him.

The Pathfinder, I says.

A new leader fer the Tonton. I git a sudden, clear picture in my mind. Of DeMalo at Pine Top Hill. Turnin his back on Vicar Pinch, ridin away before the battle started, takin a good few Tonton with him. But that don’t mean he’d take over. Jest that he warn’t willin to put his life on the line fer a madman. He’s probly long gone.

Day after day, people arrive here, says Auriel. All with the same story. They’ve had to flee their homes. Run before they was killed by the Tonton. They’re grabbin land. Any earth good enough to work, any clean water. Then they move their own people in to work it – Stewards of the Earth. Any day now, everythin east of the Waste’ll be in Tonton hands. New Eden, they call it. An they decide who’s allowed to live there. Who’s good enough to live in their new world.

I done enough already, I says. Hopetown’s gone. Vicar Pinch is dead. All I want is fer you to fix me. Make me myself agin, so I can go west with my family. So I can be with Jack. He’s there, waitin fer me.

She throws another pinch on the fire. We all got our parts to play in this, she says. Him, yer sister, yer brother, Tommo. The wolfdog. Me. Nero. Long before you was born, Saba, a train of events was set in motion.

You mean fate, I says. I don’t believe in it.

Not fate, she says. Destiny. I’m speakin what my guides tell me, what I see in you. Fer you, Saba, all roads lead to the same place. It’s better you act now than later. Many people – not jest now but still to come – many people need you.

The same thing Pa said to me, jest before he died.

They’re gonna need you, Saba. Lugh an Emmi. An there’ll be others too. Many others. Don’t give in to fear. Be strong, like I know you are.

You an I got much to do, says Auriel, an very little time to do it in. But first, you need to sleep. She stirs the flames. The sweet smell grows stronger.

My eyelids start to droop. I lay myself by the fire, me an Nero. I close my eyes. My bones sob. Throb. I’m so weary with tryin to hold myself together. Tryin to hold back the darkness.

The heavy hands of sleep soothe me. Smooth me. Ease me down.

I look down down down to the bottom. To the ancient bed of the lake. Where the dark things crouch. Where the old things wait. Where they crouch an wait . . . fer me.

Don’t be afeared. Auriel’s voice whispers inside my head. I’ll be right here, walkin with you in yer dreams. Fer in our dreams we find ourselves. Who we were. Who we are. Who we can become. Sleep. Dream.

A old man stands by a twisted tree. His skin gleams, a rich nut brown. His white hair coils down his back. We’re alone, him an me, on a wide, flat plain. No hills, no grass, no life. There’s a darkenin sky. The wind blows hard. The tree shines silver white.

I never seen him before, yet I know him. I know him fer what he is. Warrior. Bowyer. Shaman. He holds a bow in his hands. It’s white, like the twisted tree. Pale, silvery white.

An I know why I’m here. What to do.

I go to the tree. I crouch. I wrap my arms round the trunk an pull. It comes easy. No roots. As I lift it free, I can see what lies beneath. A gravepit. A body. Somebody dead, laid out in the pit full length. The head’s bin wrapped in a dark red shawl. The body’s dressed in armour. Rusted an battered, a warrior, then. Man or woman, who knows?

I look at the man. He nods. I kneel. I draw the shawl away.

There ain’t no face. Jest a shape. A blank. Smooth as the smoothest stone. An stone to the touch, too, cold an hard. No eyes, no nose, no lips.

Then the shaman’s gone. An I’m alone. The tree bursts green with leaf. Its branches, its trunk, alive an new.

I hold the white bow in my hands. An the wild wide wind mutters my name.