“In, to your right one step, then take the ladder down.”

Nettle looked at Argoth with disbelief.

“Hurry now.”

Nettle crouched, then twisted through the opening and disappeared into the darkness. Argoth followed. It was a tight squeeze, but just big enough for him. He stood in the oversized space between the walls and shut the narrow flagstone door. Then he descended the ladder in perfect blackness to the hidden cellar below.

Nobody knew about this place. Not even Hogan. This is where he kept his secret books, his weaves, and the implements of his life before the Order.

“Da,” said Nettle in the darkness. “What is this?”

Next to the ladder stood a case with many shelves. He felt for the lamp with a flint striker, then worked the striker until a spark ignited the wick. When the flame burned brightly, he set the lamp down on the small table and motioned for Nettle to take the one chair.

Nettle sat, looking about the room with puzzlement. Argoth noticed his ear had been cut and stitched.

Argoth had used good timbers and brick to build this room. All had been sealed over with a thick layer of white lime render. This kept the room bright. Furthermore, Argoth made sure to lay drainage tiles into the soil all around this part of the house so that all the runoff was taken down the hill and away from this dry room.

There was not much in this close room: a stack of wood next to a small, smoke-blackened hearth; a long, but narrow table; a chair; and two cases for his books and the implements of the lore.

“Son, tell me what River told you.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Nettle said, looking at the plates of inscribed tin that lay on one of the shelves.

“That depends on what you’ve been told.”

Nettle turned back to his father and related everything that had happened since Nettle had left for Hogan’s, the discovery of Purity’s children, the events at Whitecliff, the cutting of his ear. He repeated everything River had said about the Order, about Talen’s days pouring forth, and what happened afterward with the creature.

When he finished, Argoth did not immediately respond. River had taken upon her a right that was his. He had looked forward to testing Nettle and bringing him into the Order. He had planned it for so many years. She had taken that anticipated joy from him, but he couldn’t be angry with her.

“I am a root in the Order of Hismayas,” said Argoth. “And we are not soul-eaters.” Although that’s exactly what he once had been. Bless the Six, but the memory of his years before the Order still pained him. “You will never apply that term to us again.”

Nettle didn’t speak for a moment. When he did his expression and voice were full of desperate relief. “It’s true then, what River said? We do not prey on others. We haven’t stolen Fire?” He was almost pleading to hear that his father wasn’t a monster.

But what struck Argoth was that Nettle used “we.” He’d expected his son to fight against this idea. The Order had to be so careful. They had to teach their children the propaganda of the Divines just as any common parent might teach their children so that no one would suspect them. And Argoth had done his job well. But here his son, his loyal boy, had already decided to follow him, come what may.

Argoth would not betray that trust with prevarications. “I was once a nightmare,” he said. “But then I was brought into the light.”

“I don’t understand,” said Nettle.

“You won’t,” said Argoth. “Just know that I found the right path. And that I do not steal and haven’t since before you were born. And know too that you have a choice. Not all are brought into the Order. Your mother, for example, does not know.” He regretted how he’d misjudged her.

Argoth continued. “I was going to introduce you to everything later. But now that you know the secret, you must make a decision. I’m going to need some help.”

“Father,” said Nettle. “I would never betray you.”

“Hear me first,” said Argoth. “If you join, you will be bound by oaths of loyalty. Oaths that cannot be broken.” And when Nettle joined him at his side, they would go and administer the poison.

Argoth thought of the position he’d put his family in. He hoped they would forgive him. “There is so much to say, but we have no time. We believe the creature was sent by this Skir Master and Lumen to destroy us.”

“Lumen? He isn’t dead?”

“We do not think so.”

Shock shone on Nettle’s face. “But why wouldn’t they muster a massive hunt?”

“A hunt is like beating the bushes in a great ring. If you have enough people to ensure none of the game escapes, then you can close the ring and slaughter the game within the ring at will. But what if most of the game is outside the ring you’ve formed? What if there are well-concealed bolt-holes?”

“Are we going to attempt to escape?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Argoth. “We were going to attack them. Enthrall the Divine.”

Astonishment shone on Nettle’s face.

“Bold, eh? Then we would have hunted down those who could threaten us one by one. But I misjudged. I don’t have the Fire I need. I have no weapon to take to battle.”

“Fire?” Nettle asked. “That’s all you need?”

He smiled at his son’s statement. Fire was not so easy to obtain. “Yes, that’s all,” Argoth said. “A man, any man, can learn to speed, slow, give, and receive the Days of his Fire. I am old, Nettle. Far older than you can imagine. I have secretly given my last days out to the dreadmen of this land. My Fire gutters low. So low I dare not multiply myself for great tasks. And I cannot accomplish the task at hand as a normal man.”

“There is no difference between you and the Divines?”

“Not when it comes to basic principles,” said Argoth.

“Then teach me how to release my Fire to you,” said Nettle.

“That won’t work. To learn that very elementary skill can take a very long time. Weeks. Sometimes months.”

“But Talen sat at the table with River doing just that, opening and closing his doors, Fire pouring off him.”

“Talen is not what he seems,” said Argoth. “Besides, even if I could teach you in a matter of hours it would be too late. It takes too long to transfer the quantity I need.”

Nettle pointed at a pine rod lying in the case. “That’s a filtering rod, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said Argoth. “Something from before.” He’d kept all the old implements around to remind him of those former days, to remind him what he was so that he could never forget how the Order had changed him.

“Do you know how to use it?”

“It has been a very long time but yes I know how.”

“Then take the Fire from me.”

“Son,” Argoth said. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Do I have enough Fire to supply your need?”

“Yes, but that’s not-”

“Then use it, Da.”

He was so brash. He had gotten his clan wrists this year, but he was still a boy. “Nettle, I swore never to take Fire again. Only to receive it from those who freely give. If I take your Fire, you will be changed. When you forcibly take Fire, you cannot avoid also taking portions of the person’s soul. You take their memories. You take the force that controls the very nature of their bodies.”

He continued, “This is why many who go to the temple to make an offering claim to feel as if they’ve lost something. But it is not an effect of being touched by holiness as is claimed. It is the effect of having your Fire ripped from you. The Divines are no better than soul-eaters-both are thieves. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Do you know why some die on the altars? When the Divines take a great quantity of Fire, they will simply drain a man until he dies. Because if they were to stop short, we’d all see the effects of someone having so very much of their soul leached away into the rod. You might become a drooling invalid or a wild man to be roped and chained. You might lose all memory of us. No one can predict the full effects of taking the quantity of Fire I need. It cannot be reversed. At least, none know that lore.”