Parno exchanged a look with Dhulyn, who shrugged. There was no good news to tell this boy.

“Our Brothers are always with us,” Parno said gently, crouching down until he was on Jerrick’s level. “Hernyn Greystone the Shield is with us in Death.”

Jerrick Mender’s lower lip disappeared, and he nodded, blinking.

“Will you be able to help us, Jerrick Mender?” Dhulyn asked.

The boy squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath that shook a little on the way in. “I think so,” he said. “My Mark’s new, but my mother was training me since I was little.”

Parno patted the boy on the shoulder.

It had taken what felt like hours to convince everyone that what she’d suggested could be so, and at that, Dhulyn was sure they were willing to try only because no one could think of something else to do.

“Look,” she had finally said. “It’s Mar that I keep seeing in my Visions-has been right from the start and the same Vision over and over. When Mar is in the room, my Visions are clearer, have more detail, even when I’m using the vera tiles. And it was Mar that Gun kept Finding, not because he was tired and wanted to go to bed, but because he was looking for the Lens.”

“There is one thing,” Parno said now, making room for Jerrick at the table with the others. “Now that we know what the Lens is, what are we going to do with her?”

Dhulyn looked at Gun and nodded. “There’s one of each of us,” he said. “It’s common for Finders, Menders, and Healers to work together; and Sortera remembers working with a Seer, years ago. With her experience to guide us, we should be able to unite our Marks, and using the Lens…” He looked at Mar and seemed to gather strength from her nod. “We’re going to call the Sleeping God.”

“Oh, good,” Parno said. “I was afraid we didn’t know what we were doing.” Dhulyn rolled her eyes.

“I suggest we use the drying shed,” Sortera said. “It’s the largest space that’s not in use at the moment, and whatever happens, there’s not much there to damage.”

At this time of year, the drying shed was almost empty, the larger stores of food long since used or moved to more convenient places. The air smelled clean, and slightly spicy from a few bundles of herbs still hanging from rafters high overhead. They stood on a stone floor, so perfect and smooth that Dhulyn knew it for a relic of the Caids. The drying racks, empty now, had been folded and stacked against the walls.

“In my Vision,” Dhulyn said when she found everyone looking at her. “Mar was standing, holding the hands of the people next to her.” Mar took hold of Gun’s left hand with her right, and offered her left hand to Jerrick. Dhulyn shook her head. “But the vera tiles have the Lens in the center and the rest of us around her…”

Sortera was nodding. “Take Mar’s left hand in your left, Jerrick, now give your right to Dhulyn Wolfshead. And you, Gun, give your left to me. See now, we’re all connected.”

Mar nodded. “It’s like the start of a country dance.”

“There was a dance in my youth,” said Sortera, “so many years ago now, that began like this-”

“The Market Dance,” Parno said. “You remember, Dhulyn, I told you my sisters used to dance it.”

“The Marked Dance.” Both Dhulyn and Gun spoke at once. “But with the Lens in the center,” Dhulyn continued, “not the Seer as you thought, Parno, my soul.”

“It is possible,” Gun added.

Parno pulled the chanter of his pipes from his belt. “Do you remember the tune, Sortera? What?” He looked at the faces in the form. “You’ll need to focus on something and the music can be just as old as the dance.”

Sortera shut her eyes and began to hum a tune. Parno frowned. At first, it seemed the woman’s age was against them. Like many elderly people, her voice had lost its ability to modulate itself into notes, but as she hummed, her body began to move in time to the beat, and after a few more tuneless notes, the humming grew stronger, and the notes more distinct. He began to hear hints of the tune and it seemed familiar; much like the one Dhulyn had been humming for months, but also like the one he remembered from his own childhood. Parno lifted his chanter to his lips and began to play. Like all these tunes from round dances, the same short, bouncy melody repeated itself over and over.

“Hey.” Jerrick laughed. “I know this song. My father taught us this game when I was little.” His feet began to move in short skipping steps, and under his breath, he began to sing,

“Sweeping Lad, Sweeping Lad,

Brushing up and down…

Gundaron the Finder frowned. This wasn’t going to work. Nobody had taught him a game to this tune when he was a boy. Stop it, he thought. He couldn’t be the only one who stood apart, the only one who wasn’t doing his best, who wasn’t helping. So he didn’t know the game, so what? He could Find it. He relaxed and let the others lead him, trying to match his pacing to theirs. This was a line, very twisty but just a line, like in the Library in his head. The steps were simple enough. Across and through, let go Mar’s hand, turn and catch Dhulyn’s, while Sortera was turning and catching Mar’s, having let go of Jerrick-he stumbled. Just let it happen, trust them, don’t think about it too much.

Gun shut his eyes, let the music wash over him. Saw a page with writing. No, not writing, musical notes. He could read them like words, and, under his breath, he began to sing,

“Leaping Lad, Leaping Lad,

Where have you been?

Leaping Lad, Leaping Lad,

Step right in…”

Sortera the Healer remembered the dance very well, and laughed aloud with the ease that her feet found in flying through the measure. The circle of the dancers turned, and she threw back her head, remembering. Sunny afternoons, the vault of the sky turning above her as the dance went ’round.

“Sleeping God, Sleeping God,

Only you can know, we are where you go

Sleeping God, Sleeping God,

In our hearts we know, all around we grow…”

Dhulyn the Seer thought, of course, this is why the game and the song, and the dance has survived, and all children know it. In case we should need to call the God. She thought how much the dance was like the Shora, or how much the Shora like the dance. The same steps over and over, again and again, until you could do them automatically, blindfolded. Her pulse slowed, her breathing became regular. She could feel herself falling into the familiar trance, the dream state of her Sight. She Saw the dancers and the dance. The calling of the God. Someone was singing, words that matched the steps of the Shora, the steps of the dance-

“Weeping Lass, Weeping Lass,

Hold with all your might

Win your heart’s delight…”

Mar was smiling and humming, her feet moving naturally and freely as if they already knew the steps. Of course they do. She remembered the old game well. She’s dancing.

“Sweeping Lad, Sweeping Lad,

In and out he goes

Can we really know…”

Except Mar sang “Weeping Maid, Weeping Maid,” and Dhulyn heard “Leaping Lad, Leaping Lad” and Gundaron heard “Sweeping Lass, Sweeping Lass,” and they all heard “Sleeping God, Sleeping God.”

The right words Found, the steps of the measure Mended, the faulty heartbeats Healed, the Sight cleared, and all