Hey, sorry about this, but this chapter is the longest one in the story; it comes in at over thirteen-thousand words. At least, at this point, I haven't written a chapter longer than that -- I try to keep them at around half that -- and I cannot conceive of a situation that would require me to write more words than that in a particular chapter. Of course, if you had asked me four months ago if I was going to write a chapter that was more than 10k words, I would have said it was possible, but not likely. If you had then told me that I was going to write a chapter that was over thirteen, and as much as I tried I wouldn't be able to cut it down, or separate it into two chapters, I would have slapped you. Hard. In the face. So my bad. Hope I didn't leave a mark.

A year earlier, Bryson Perdra had been a respectable youth of sixteen summers. He had friends who enjoyed his company and was excelling in his apprenticeship as a blacksmith. Trawn Sema, the blacksmith for the village of Barden, had commented many times that his shoulders were as broad and his arms as thick as any smith twice his age, and he was still growing. His work was not without its flaws, and although Bryson saw more mistakes in his work than anyone else did, Trawn told him again and again that with each hour he spent at the forge, he gained in skill what it would take other men days -- even weeks -- to acquire. Each item that came off his anvil was one step closer to attaining true professional quality. His master often joked that in only another year or two, he could charge visitors to the village to see the youngest man to ever obtain the title of master-smith.

But all that was before his mother got sick. It had started as a slight cough that progressively got worse as the months turned cold. Throughout the winter, she had begun to show signs of improvement, then regress, violently. Each time, the coughing fits would last longer, and would take more of her energy, requiring more and more hours, then days, before she felt her strength return. Bryson had been preparing to move permanently to the small shack built on to the smithy when Master Sema told him to stay with his mother.

"Don't you worry about anything," he told him. "You stay with Tris until the winter passes, and she's back to her old self. I'll take care of everything. But remember that I'm going to work you twice as hard come spring to pay off your debt!" He had tried to sound harsh when he said it, but Bryson could see tears growing in his eyes as the large man turned away.

But the severity of winter died down and was replaced by the newly-born feel of spring without Tris showing any signs of improvement. She would get better, but could never break out of the cycle. Master Sema had paid for every medical treatment available to them, even for some from characters that were a little...less reputable, but nothing seemed to make any difference. The best that they found for her was a tea made from willow bark that helped to ease her pain and, she said, made it slightly easier to breathe during her worst fits, but otherwise did nothing to alleviate the symptoms of whatever had beset her. Bryson was slowly spinning into a deep depression from which he knew he would not recover.

Until abruptly, everything changed. In the future, Bryson would look back, and pinpoint the day when his life went from desperate and hopeless to completely upside-down. Even so, he would consider it an improvement over his downward-spiraling melancholy.

One particularly painful night, Tris continued coughing without respite. It seemed like an hour couldn't pass without Bryson running to the side of her bed holding a glass of water or another cup of willow tea. Her bed had been moved from the bedroom to the front of the house so it could be near the fireplace where it was warm. Even towards the beginning of summer, Tris was susceptible to catching a chill at night. Then, shortly before dawn, her coughing fits ceased altogether. Throughout the whole day, Tris slept. If he hadn't seen the rise and fall of her chest, he would have assumed that she the reason for the silence was her passing. Bryson couldn't even remember her sleeping that long without being racked with coughs at least once. His night stolen from him, Bryson, too, tried to sleep through the day, but had to get up a few times. Once Master Sema had arrived bringing some fruits and vegetables and, as always, another supply of the willow tea that Tris had begun to subsist on almost completely.

Each day, she would eat a few slices of bread and cheese, a bite or two of meat, and a bowl of fruit. She was drinking more tea now than she ever had during the winter, at least three pots a day. But she continued in her assertion that it helped more than any other medicine or magical spell.

There had been knocks at the door twice after Master Sema had left, but by the time Bryson had stumbled to the door the first time, the visitor had left. The second time, it was Kayley Tarfyl, a childhood friend of Bryson's.

Even when they were children, Bryson had felt an attraction to her. Since they were mere children, it wasn't what adults would refer to as a physical attraction, but he was attracted to her, nonetheless. Drawn to her, would be a more appropriate term. She had an energy about her that Bryson found intriguing. As they both grew together, they developed a relationship that was as strong as two friends could be. Later, after they had both put several years behind them, Bryson realized he had a bit of a crush on her that went beyond simply physical attraction. Her long chestnut-brown hair was generally pulled back from her face and tied with a simply ribbon, but whenever she undid the knot and let her hair fall naturally, it flowed around her when she moved as if she were perpetually underwater, yet it still somehow seemed to always frame her face. Never did it obstruct the view of her alabaster skin as if it knew that to do so would be to eternally mar a work of art. Her green eyes, petite nose and perfect mouth couldn't have been placed any better on her face than if they had been planned; indeed, when she cocked her head slightly to one side and pulled up one side of her mouth as if she were laughing at a joke that no one else could hear, she looked as if she were carved out of iridescent marble by a master sculptor.

This time, however, while her mouth was smiling, her green eyes held such sadness that Bryson couldn't look at them for fear that he would break down, sobbing. "Good afternoon, Kayley," Bryson greeted her, trying to avoid her haunted gaze.

"Hello, Bryson. How are you doing today?"

She was doing more than exchanging pleasantries, Bryson understood. She had been raised almost as much by Bryson's mother as by her own parents, and Tris's illness had affected her more than anyone excluding Bryson, himself.

"I'm a little tired; I was awake too long in the night," he answered.

"How is--" Kayley choked and was unable to finish her question.

She didn't need to. "She's the same," Bryson responded. "She's actually been sleeping all day, today. She hasn't coughed once."

Kayley's eyes lit up at the news, losing their all-encompassing depression to be replaced with hope. "That's wonderful!" she said. Kayley, obviously, didn't live with Bryson and his mother, but he kept her as updated of Tris's condition as if she did reside with the Perdras. "How's the fever?"

Bryson shook his head. "No worse than it's been; her head actually feels a little cooler than within the last week or so, but it still hasn't broken."

Kayley nodded. "That's still improvement," she said, and Bryson agreed. "Do you want...that is, do you need anything?"

"No," Bryson told her. "Master Sema has already been by with some fruits and tea. We're okay for a few days."

"Okay," she said, her eyes glistening. "Uh, also, my parents told me to let you know that they think they made too much food for dinner tonight, and you're welcome to come join us. If you want."

Bryson blinked back a tear of his own as he declined. "No thank you. I'd prefer to stay here just in case Mother needs me."

Kayley nodded, bid him farewell, and left. The conversation had drained Bryson so much of his strength that he went immediately to the large armchair near the fireplace, and fell fast asleep.

An hour later, Kayley returned with a plate of roast pork, carrots and potatoes. She explained that her parents had insisted that he eat a hot dinner once in a while, lest he, too, catch his mother's perpetual chill. He thanked Kayley, and acquiesced; Kayley's mother's roast pork was magic, itself.

Bryson invited her to join him while he ate, and she did. Soon they were talking of their childhood together, laughing at the stories they had told each other so many times before. It didn't matter to Bryson that they were all the same, over and over again. For one brief moment, everything was back to normal. Everything was right.

Then his mother started coughing. Bryson sat up abruptly, as if suddenly remembering where he was. He ran to her side and helped her sit up, rubbing her back as her lungs tried, desperately, to expel whatever had invaded them. Her coughs were ragged, raspy explosions, separated intermittently by gasps for air. Kayley excused herself, but Bryson told her to stay. A few moments later, Tris's fit subsided, and she lay back on the bed, her breath deep and, for the moment, normal.

Several seconds passed, and no one said anything, no one moved. It was as if Tris's current state was a spell that could be broken at the slightest of provocations. Then Bryson stepped to return to the plate of food Kayley's parents had insisted he eat, but he stumbled, and tripped on the rug in the center of the room. He tried to catch himself, but he was too sapped of strength to get his feet under him. Hitting the ground hard, his head bouncing off the wooden floor, his vision went black. He could hear Kayley's cry of alarm and the sound of her feet as she ran to him, kneeling by his side and picking up his head. She lay it in her lap and asked over and over again if he was okay.

Blinking hard, Bryson's vision returned to him, and he looked up at Kayley as she sat, crying.

"I'm okay, Kayley. I'm fine. Just a little...tired. I'll be fine, really." He didn't get up though, he just lay on the floor. It felt good for someone else to take care of him, even if it was only for a few minutes and the one taking care of him couldn't stop crying.

He looked up at her as she wept. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time. He had always known she was attractive, even when they were kids, and her current level of princess-like beauty had not escaped him, or, for that matter, any other boys in the village. Kayley was constantly fending off advances from other boys their age and even some a little older. Most of the time, all that was needed was a smile and a shake of her head to send would-be suitors away. Occasionally, a sharp look and a firm set to her jaw was necessary to ensure that the rejection was obvious to the more assertive and aggressive ones. Curiously, no one had ever asked to call on her when Bryson was near to her for the previous year or so. Bryson and Kayley hadn't ever started courting each other, but when they were together, everyone seemed to have to hide a smile or a laugh behind their hands when they thought the two of them couldn't see. Even though Bryson was aware of her status as the most desirable young lady in the village, he never considered himself as equal enough to her to begin a courtship. And besides, weren't they too good of friends to do that?

It wasn't her beauty that Bryson was seeing. Nor was it the unexplained force that constantly pulled him towards her. He was aware of all of that. But something about the way she was kneeling with his head in her lap, gently stroking his hair and softly weeping, made him feel comfortable. As if even though he was at home, he was finally home. He reached up with one hand to pull a strand of hair that had fallen across her face and tucked it behind her ear. She opened her eyes and stared at Bryson as he continued to run his fingers through her hair. He knew that his brown eyes mirrored her green; they were full of tears. Then, to Bryson's surprise, Kayley took his upraised hand in hers, and kissed the palm.

There was...something different. Some energy or force that had always surrounded them was dramatically altered. For several moments, they sat like that, Bryson laying on the ground and Kayley's lips pressed against his palm, but Bryson was compelled to do something else. Something more. He reached up with his other hand, and placed both of them behind her neck, then slowly pulled her towards him.

His heart was beating fast in his chest, so fast that he was afraid it was about to burst through his ribs. He couldn't understand why Kayley hadn't stopped them, if for no other reason than she could hear his rapid heartbeat and was concerned for his health. As he pulled her closer, her lower lip slightly parted from her upper, and Bryson could see it trembling. He wanted desperately to stop, to let go of her head, and let everything go back to the way it was, to the way he knew how to act, but he just couldn't. It was like his hands had made a decision, and wouldn't listen to any of the signals his brain sent them.

Then, when their lips were mere inches from each other, he paused. He breathed deeply, and took in her scent. It was...magical. It somehow reminded him of flowers gently swaying in the wind on a mountain's peak in the afternoon sun of a midsummer's day.

"Kayley," he whispered, gently. He was trying to talk to her, trying to apologize, trying to say something, but all he could manage was her name.

"Bryson," she said back. Then, without any help from his hands on her neck, she reached the final inches towards him, gently touching her lips to his. For a moment, it didn't matter that his mother was on her bed, merely feet away from them. It didn't matter that this was Kayley, the girl -- no, the woman -- who knew him better than anyone else in the world, possibly even more than his own mother. It didn't matter that he may have seriously injured his head as he fell. All that mattered was the kiss. The only thing in the world to him--

"Kayley?" asked a weak voice from the bed. "Is that you?"

"Tris!" Kayley exclaimed, breaking her contact with Bryson.

"Bryson," Tris said, sitting up a looking down at him on the floor. "What happened?"

"Nothing, Mother," Bryson said, standing up and holding his head. "I just tripped, that's all."

"You do too much," she said. "What's going to happen when you can't lift your arms anymore? Kayley will have to come over every day and take care of both of us." Either Tris hadn't noticed what they were doing on the floor when she woke, or she had chosen to ignore it.

"I'd do that now," Kayley said, slightly smiling, "but Bryson won't let me."

"That's a good boy," Tris said, smiling. "I love you, both of you." Kayley smiled, and said she loved her, too.

"You have to get better," she said, "so you can teach me how to make your cherry pies. Summer's not going to be the same without them."

Tris laughed, weakly. "Well, don't you worry. Once winter passes, I'll be back to normal."

Kayley looked towards Bryson, but he shook his head. It wasn't the first time she had gotten confused about what season it was. To her, he assumed, everything felt like winter.

"I should go," Kayley said.

"But your parents' plate," Bryson started, but Kayley cut him off.

"Don't worry about it. Finish your dinner, and I'll pick it up some time tomorrow." She smiled at him, and leaned down to kiss Tris on the forehead. "Good night, Tris. Get some more sleep."

"Good night, Kayley. You're not going out in that, are you? Heavens, girl, it's the middle of winter!"

Kayley looked towards Bryson again, and he saw, once again, tears welling up in the bottoms of her eyes. "I'll be fine, Tris. It's warm out, tonight."

Tris harrumphed. "How warm can it be in the middle of winter? Your mother must be--" but she never finished saying what Kayley's mother must have been doing, because another fit of coughs shook her tiny frame. It wasn't as bad as the first, but it served to tell Bryson that the day spent without a single cough was just a fluke; it was not a sign of Tris's body healing.

Bryson walked Kayley to the door, and stood for a few minutes with her, sharing some final words of conversation.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Kayley asked, pointing to his head.

"Yes, I'll be fine." He reached up to touch the growing lump on the side of his head, but immediately pulled back with a sharp intake of breath when merely brushing it sent waves of pain through his skull. He waved off Kayley's attempt to help.

"No, really. It's a little tender, but it's not bleeding, and I'm not dizzy or anything. I'll probably have a headache tomorrow, but that'll be the worst of it," he said, smiling.

"I'm not joking, Bryson," Kayley responded, her eyes losing their warmth and turning to steel, her jaw looking less like a sculptor's masterpiece and more like it was actually made out of marble. "If you don't start taking better care of yourself, I'll be over here every day, making sure you eat all your dinner and wiping your nose for you." She smiled, but Bryson knew she was deadly serious. She would mother him herself if she felt it was necessary.

He wanted to reach out to her, to kiss her again, but couldn't make his body do as he wanted. He tried to speak to her, to apologize for what had happened on the floor, but his mouth wouldn't respond. They stood at the door, staring at each other.

Finally, Kayley broke whatever spell she had been using to bind him in place by grabbing his shirt, and pulling his face to hers. To say that this kiss was less gentle than the first would have been like saying the day was brightest when the sun shone. The second kiss they shared was passionate and animalistic. While during the first one, nothing mattered to them but the kiss, during the second one, nothing mattered to anyone, anywhere, at any time, except for the kiss. It was long, and full of desperation, and need.

Kayley reached up to place her hands on either side of Bryson's face while he, his body finally responding to his commands reached his arms around her to hold her body close to his. He felt like it wasn't possible for them to be too close, or even close enough. No matter how tightly they held to each other, it wouldn't ever be quite as tight as they needed.

A minute passed, then two. Finally, they broke their embrace, gasping for breath. Bryson was dumbfounded. How could Kayley, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, feel this way about him? He had been told by others that his frame was impressive, but he knew that anyone who swung a hammer every day would develop an "impressive frame." It wasn't anything to even notice, much less care about. Whenever he looked into a mirror, he saw the average face of an average boy. He knew he wasn't ugly, and he wasn't deformed, but that was the extent of his confidence. He couldn't understand why Kayley was kissing him, so he asked her.

In response, she laughed. It wasn't a harsh, derisive laugh. It was the laugh of a sea nymph while playing with schools of fish, or the giggle or a pure-hearted princess. It was genuine and tender. "Boys are silly," was all she said. She walked backwards away from him for a moment, their eyes remaining locked. Her green eyes had always been full of life and love, but now they were joined by something else. Something he had never seen in her eyes before. He couldn't explain it, but they looked somehow brighter than before. Somehow less...afraid? Not quite, but it was as close to an explanation that Bryson could find.

Then she turned, breaking their eyes contact, to watch her step along the path back to the village. Bryson continued to watch her until she turned on the path to walk in between the King's Tavern, the larger of the two inns that served the town, and the seamstress's shop, and was lost from his view.

He closed the door behind her and returned to find that his mother had already fallen asleep. So Bryson sat back in the chair that had replaced his own bed recently, pulled a blanket over himself, and fell asleep.

~ ~ ~

Bryson woke up in midafternoon, feeling more refreshed than he had in a long time. He checked on his still-sleeping mother, and, after finding a healthy amount of color had returned to her cheeks, set a hot mug of willow tea on the small table next to her bed, and then he did something he hadn't done in weeks: he left the house.

The sunlight hurt his eyes at first -- it had been so long since he had seen it, he wondered it if had always been as bright -- but he soon grew accustomed to it. It lit the world in a way that was entirely new to him. He had been suffering a self-imposed exile to within the walls of his home for nearly six months, and he literally had forgotten how the rest of his town appeared. Memories soon returned, however. He spent several moments standing at the threshold to his and his mother's home just staring at the world around him, then stepped forward, and walked down the path leading to town, a cloth-wrapped bundle under one arm.

His mother's home was set away from the town -- she had always appreciated her solitude -- but not far off. It wasn't a walk of more than a minute or two along the path before he ducked underneath the sign for the King's Tavern and was on the main thoroughfare for Barden. Theirs wasn't a large town, but neither was it small, and it was growing. Notwithstanding it's current rate of expansion, Bryson still recognized fully half of the people on the street. Those who knew him and knew of his mother's condition stopped in the middle of what they were doing, and stared.

Bryson was uncomfortable at first, but he soon shrugged in understanding and acceptance, and set about his tasks for the day. He realized, of course, that if the situation was reversed, and he was the normal townsperson going about his normal business, he would probably have stopped and stared, as well. But as soon as Bryson nonchalantly began walking down the street, it was as if a signal was given to everyone that everything was back to the status quo. The regular buzz of conversation overtook him, and the awkwardness faded.

His first stop was to the blacksmith. Master Sema barely looked up from his work at the anvil -- Bryson could tell by the way he was working the formless iron that it would eventually become a shovel -- to acknowledge his apprentice's arrival.

"I was supposed to see you at Spring's birth," he said, gruffly.

"I know, Master Sema."

"Spring's nearly done," he continued.

"Yes, Master Sema," Bryson replied.

"Your ma's still sick." It wasn't a question, so Bryson didn't answer. "I don't want to see you again until she's back on her feet, yes?"

"Yes, Master Sema," Bryson agreed, the words sticking in his throat.

The master blacksmith let the hammer fall on the anvil and it rang like a bell, with the sound of finality. "It is good to see you, though." The large man looked up, and Bryson saw the tears in his eyes that he had been hiding. They stepped quickly to each other, and embraced tightly. Bryson's real father had died when he was very young, and the blacksmith had filled the role of surrogate, and he had taken his role seriously.

"Enough of this," he said, pushing Bryson away from him. "What are you doing here, if you're not going to be working?"

"Mother had a good night last night, and I was feeling better today than I had in a long time, Master Sema, and decided to walk about the town. I have a few errands to run, and thought to come by the smithy. Just to make sure your age hadn't broken your hip or gimped a knee," he answered, winking.

Trawn reached out and cuffed him lightly on the side of the head. For the big man, it was a light slap. To anyone else, it would have knocked them head over heels. As it stood, due to Bryson's lack of sleep as well as the blow to his head the night before, it managed to knock Bryson off-balance.

"Hey, there," the blacksmith said as he realized how much damage he had almost done to the young man. "That never knocked you about before. Are you feeling all right, yourself?"

Bryson nodded, rubbing the still-tender side of his head with his free hand. "Yes, I'm okay. I haven't slept well for the last month or so; I keep waking up and can't find sleep again. I slept wonderfully last night, but my body still hasn't quite caught up, yet."

The blacksmith nodded. "Well, be about your business, and get home with you. Your mother needs you now."

Bryson nodded back, shook the master blacksmith's hand, and left. He was joking about his master's knee and hip, but truthfully, the man was getting older, and his work was always piling up faster than he could get to it, even when he had Bryson's help. He really wanted to make sure that Master Sema was handling everything well in his absence.

After leaving the smithy, he went to the general store. Bryson knew that most of what Master Sema and his wife brought to him and his mother came from the general store, but only recently did Kayley let it slip that Gerald Bronsmeyer, the store's owner, was providing a lot of the food and supplies either at cost, or free of charge. He was stunned at the revelation. He had expected sacrifices from Master Sema as well as Kayley and her family, but he didn't know anything about the Bronsmeyers beyond the fact that they ran their store like it was their own private kingdom. The fact that they were giving discounts to help Tris during her sickness had completely surprised Bryson. He wanted to thank him.

Opening the door, the aroma from a dozen different sources hit his nose. He could smell fresh fruit from the baskets piled his into their own wall right next to the door of course, but he could also smell the fresh-baked bread from just behind them. The wet smell of meat joined it to make his stomach start growling, and he wasn't even hungry. The earthly smell of wood and the tang of steel from the various tools mixed together with everything else to remind him of the many, many times he had been in the store over the years. Each scent had its own story, its own set of memories attached. It was a comfortable feeling.

"We're closing soon, so make your purchases and get out!" came the nasally shout from across the room. It never mattered what time of day Bryson visited the store, it always seemed like they were closing soon.

"It's just me, Mr. Bronsmeyer," Bryson said, stepping around the wall of fruit baskets. As soon as the old man saw him, his face changed from mild annoyance to disbelief to -- something that Bryson was altogether unprepared for -- happiness. His ancient, shriveled, rat-like face split in what Bryson assumed was a smile. He could only assume it was a smile because he had never seen Mr. Bronsmeyers face make that particular expression.

"Ahh, Bryson, my boy! What brings you in town today?"

"Well, Mother's been doing a little better lately. She sleeps through the night sometimes, so I decided to take a walk around town. Also, I came in here because...well..." He didn't know exactly how to thank him for providing him and his mother with food, medicine, and other necessities. Any way he had tried to phrase it in his mind just came out sounding bland and rehearsed. So he kept it as basic as possible. "Thank you," was all he said.

Mr. Bronsmeyer's smile deepened, and he turned a shade of red. First he smiles, then he blushes, thought Bryson. What's next? Tears? He decided to shift the conversation away before Mr. Bronsmeyer did start crying, and Bryson's entire world collapsed around him.

"I'm in a bit of a buying mood, Mr. Bronsmeyer. What do you have that's new, that's fresh, that's...adventurous?"

The aged store owner raised an eyebrow in perplexed thought for a moment, then his eyes widened. "I have just the thing."

Reaching underneath the counter, he lifted a small, egg-shaped yellow fruit and held it up in front of Bryson's eyes. "This was given to me by one of my sons. Or son-in-laws. Or grandsons. I can never keep any of them straight. But whoever it was said that it's the fruit of a tree that only grows high in the mountains, away from any civilization. It flowers just for a few weeks each year, and only yields fruit but once every five. And even then, it's only if the conditions are just right. The fruit needs to be taken from the tree under the light of a full moon. Try harvesting too early, and it tears away the bark from the tree, making it bitter. Wait until after the moon starts waning, and the fruit has already fallen to the ground and rotted. If the fruit is even taken during the day when the moon is full, it gets bruised and crushed. It's quite the ordeal to even find the fruit let alone harvest it, but amazingly, once plucked from the tree in the correct conditions, the fruit stays fresh for months. Unfortunately, regardless of how fresh it is, half of the fruits still taste like rotten eggs once you peel and bite into them. And it's impossible to tell which ones are going to taste that way, so they're impossible to sell."

Bryson's mind could see the picture that Gerald Bronsmeyer was painting with his words. On a clear night, the full moon blazing down, a soft hand reaches up into the tree and, feeling more than seeing, finds one of the yellow eggs, and gently twists it, pulling it free from the branch. After reverently setting the fruit with others in a small basket, the hand returns to the tree, looking for others. Almost more like a religion than agriculture. "What do the other half taste like?" Bryson asked

Gerald Bronsmeyer licked his lips, and answered. "Heaven."

Bryson considered the fruit, appraising it with his eyes. After several seconds, he asked "How much do you want for that one?"

Gerald looked at the fruit, looked back and Bryson, then back to the fruit. "Without knowing its true value, I couldn't charge you more than...eight copper pieces."

Bryson knew without a doubt that, even with its ultimate worth in question, the store owner could easily charge ten times that. But the point was moot. "I don't have that many coppers," Bryson said.

"Well, perhaps I could let it go for--"

Bryson cut him off with a raised hand before Gerald surprised both of them and haggled down his own price. "What I mean is...oh, forget it." Bryson reached into his pocket, and pulled out a single gold piece, and slid it across the counter. Gerald only stuttered, unable to speak coherently. "My mother and I haven't spent any money in six months. Don't worry about it; we have more money saved. And besides," he continued, "it's the least I could do." He took the fruit from Gerald after the man acquiesced to the trade.

"You'll tell me how that fruit tastes, yes?"

Bryson nodded, smiling. "Of course I will." He wished the old man a good evening, and left the store. The sun was setting, and Bryson was treated to the most beautiful sunset he had ever seen. The flaming rage of the oranges and yellows were calmed by deep, vibrant purples that shot out from the west. A soft pink had settled across the entire sky that helped the purple to further sooth the angry reds. Interspersed throughout were light, smooth clouds that floated in place, relaxing on a slowly darkening sea of color. As he walked down the street, a mysterious yellow fruit in one hand, an object wrapped in a piece of cloth in the other, he knew that it didn't matter what the fruit actually tasted like. It was going to be absolute heaven.

It didn't take long to reach the last stop on his day's journey. Barden wasn't yet so large that one couldn't cross from one edge of the town to the other in fewer than a few minutes. Within moments, he was knocking on a door as the last rays of sunset faded into twilight.

"Bryson!" exclaimed Kayley Tarfyl as she opened the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," he answered. "Mother seemed to be doing well after your visit last night, I was getting a little...feverish after being in that house for so long, and I had to return your parents' plate to them," he said, holding up the cloth-wrapped dish he had been carrying under his arm.

"You're just in time, then. Father caught a half-dozen hares today, and Mother had been stewing them for hours. We were just about to sit down to eat."

"But I was just going to--" Bryson started to object, but Kayley cut him off.

"Mother wouldn't hear of it. If she finds out that you were here, and left without dinner, she'd break everything in the kitchen she could before sending Father out to drag you back here by force. This way's much easier," she said, winking.

"Well, umm...alright. I suppose I must. For your kitchen's sake," Bryson responded, smiling, as he let himself be led into the house.

The dinner proceeded much like the one from the previous night with Bryson and Kayley reminiscing of the days and years they had spent together. But this meal was accompanied by the entire Tarfyl family. It had always just been Bryson and his mother at his home for meals, so he wasn't used to the raucous atmosphere that accompanied the Tarfyl's family dinner. Kayley's widowed aunt, her grandmother, parents, older twin brothers, younger brother and younger sister provided enough noise to overpower a military engagement, Bryson was sure. But somehow, it felt comfortable. There were three or four different conversations going on at any given time, some spoken, others shouted, and as soon as the two little ones had finished their meal, they immediately left and continued the activity in which they had involved themselves before the call to supper had interrupted them.

Whatever it was, it included them chasing each other around the house, first the brother chasing the sister, then vice versa. Every few minutes, they would argue about who was cheating and who was following the rules, but no matter how closely Bryson paid attention to their game, he couldn't determine which rules, if indeed any existed at all, either one was keeping.

The noise didn't bother Bryson, though. He was used to a more solemn, solitary life, but the idea of having a family that felt and sounded like it was six times as large as it was in actuality made him feel...connected. It wasn't chaotic, because throughout the entire evening, there was a feeling of love that permeated each word and action. It wasn't that he and his mother didn't love each other; it was simply different.

After helping Kayley's parents clean up after the meal, Bryson asked them if it would be okay if he and Kayley left for a few minutes. They gave their permission, and Bryson stepped out with Kayley on his arm.

"Has your mother really shown that much improvement since last night?" Kayley asked as the door closed behind them.

Bryson shook his head. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"Well, it's not that she's shown improvement. She has good days, and she has bad. It's about the same as it's always been, but for since last night, I've been feeling...different. About everything. Somehow, I know she's going to be okay. I don't know how I know that, or even what that means," he said, shaking his head again. "But somehow, somewhere deep inside me, I know she'll be okay."

Kayley smiled, and pulled Bryson's arm closer to her. "That makes me so happy to hear you say that, Bryson. Even if it doesn't...I mean, even if Tris..." Her words caught, as they so often did when she spoke of Bryson's mother. "What I'm trying to say is that no matter what happens, you mother wants you to be happy. I've seen it as we talked before she got sick, and even the few times I've seen her in bed, I know that she doesn't want you to burden yourself with her so much."

Bryson nodded. "I know, and I've recently realized that. And Kayley..." He stopped speaking, and they just walked together in silence. A few moments later, he snorted.

"What?"

Grinning, Bryson gestured back the way they came. "Nothing. It's just that I've forgotten what an experience it is to eat with your family."

Kayley groaned, and smiled. "I'm so sorry. Usually Nikki and Walter are better behaved than that," she said, apologizing for the two youngest Tarfyl children.

"No, they're not," Bryson corrected her. "But that's okay. That's just your family. That's why I wanted to walk with you this evening, to talk about your family. I never knew my...my father," he told her. She nodded, waiting for him to continue. "I've never really had the family experience that you've had. But I want to. As strange as it sounds, I want your family. I love my mom, and I wouldn't trade the experiences I've had with her for anything in the world. But I want to, I don't know, add your family to my own."

Kayley stopped walking, and Bryson stood next to her. "Bryson?" Kayley asked warily. "What are you--"

"Do you think..." Bryson said, cutting off her question. "I mean, would you...some day... Kayley, could...we have a family like that, one day?"

Kayley's jaw dropped. "Are you...?" She stopped talking, either unable to finish her question or unwilling to listen to the answer.

"No, no, not right now, no," Bryson answered, raising his hands in front of him as if to ward off her question. "I have nothing to give, nothing to provide. Well, not yet, anyway. The question I'm trying to ask, I suppose, is would you be opposed to you and I, one day, having a family?"

Bryson didn't know from where the words were coming. It wasn't something he had thought about, and it certainly wasn't anything they had discussed in the past. People had talked, and friends and family had joked, but it wasn't anything they had every seriously considered. But after the two kisses they had shared the previous night, lightning had shot through his body every time he remembered them. Simply closing his eyes resulted in the images from his memory playing over and over and over again. When he pictured how they had been, his body and soul both warmed as if he were standing next to a fire.

For several minutes, the two of them stood in the empty street, the stars in the night sky looking down over them. The full moon was bright enough for Bryson to see tears dripping from Kayley's eyes. Another brief moment passed, and Bryson was afraid that he had done something wrong. Then Kayley threw her arms around his neck, and kissed the side of his cheek, and his ear, and his neck.

"No, I wouldn't be opposed to that," she said, between kisses. "I wouldn't be opposed to that at all," she whispered into his ear. Finally, she turned his head towards hers, and their lips met again.

Their third kiss was as dissimilar to the second kiss as the second had been to the first. While the first had been gentle, yet full of apprehension, and the second had been urgent and savage, their third kiss was motivated by every experience they had shared, each and every day they had spent together over the years, and at the same time was looking ahead, seeing the tens of thousands of days and millions of kisses they would share in their future. It was as passionate as the second kiss, but controlled, as gentle as the first, but without fear or anxiety. When Bryson would think back to their first kisses, it was always the third that stood out in his mind as his favorite; Kayley would always answer that the second kiss was the one that was heads and shoulders above the other two.

Although before the previous night's events, he and Kayley had never really shared any intimate moments, Bryson had always felt like Kayley complemented him perfectly. As if he was everything she wasn't, and she was everything he wanted to be. Almost like they were two halves of the same person. He had often heard adults and the elderly admonishing the younger generations to marry their best friends, and he had never had a closer friend than Kayley, nor could he conceive of ever finding someone who fit with him more perfectly.

"I don't want to spend any more time without you," Bryson confessed when they broke again. "It's like, when you're with me, I have more strength. I can face anything. I don't know if... I'm afraid that if I have to take care of Mother without you there helping me... Whenever I look towards the future, it looks like an open, black pit, or rather the mouth of some great beast, ready to swallow me. But when I'm with you, I see light. I see hope. I don't want to see that pit anymore." Tears were flowing freely from Bryson's eyes; he hadn't even realized he was beginning to cry. "I don't... I can't handle it."

Bryson fell to his knees in the middle of the street, pulling Kayley with him, as he cried. He sobbed like a child, calling out for his mother. Kayley just held him, and cried along with him. Her fingers were interlocked behind his neck as she held his head close to hers, as if simply by being close, she could take his sadness and despair away from him and into herself, to make his burden lighter by sharing the load.

A few minutes later, after they'd had a chance to catch their breath, Kayley kissed Bryson's face where his tears had fallen. Each time she kissed his tears away, he felt lighter, stronger. "I'm never leaving your side again," she whispered. "I don't care what happens or how long it takes, I'll be with you every single day. You'll never have to be alone. You'll never have to face this by yourself ever again."

They cried again, but this time their tears were not of pain or desperation, but the tears of two who could see light after years of darkness, of people who, after believing all hope was lost, finally see a glimmer of promise, of even the slightest chance for happiness.

Finally, the alleviation of so much pain and pressure turned Bryson's sobs into laughter, and Kayley followed. They held each other for several minutes, crying and laughing, sitting in the mud of the Barden's main road. When their strength returned to them, they stood and, still occasionally chuckling, walked back to Kayley's home.

As they arrived at Kayley's door, Bryson stepped forward to kiss her. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, smiling.

The smile that had been pasted on Kayley's face for the last several minutes vanished. Bryson could almost hear the SNAP as the muscles in her face instantly went from happy to angry. No, angry wasn't the right word. Enraged. Reflexively, he took a step back.

"Wh...what--"

"What are you talking about, Bryson Perdra?" Kayley put her hands on her hips, and stared daggers at him. "Where on earth do you think you're going?"

"Uhh...I'm going home. To my mother?" Bryson shrugged, unable to think of a better answer to suit her reaction. He was afraid saying anything else would further infuriate her.

"By yourself?" she asked, her voice rising. He cringed away from her, frightened that she may, at any moment, hit him.

"Yes?"

"And what happened to me never leaving your side again?" The daggers left here eyes, but were replaced with blazing hellfire.

"What? That? You didn't actually mean--" This time, Kayley really did hit him. Hard. But it was in his shoulder, and working at the forge had developed his muscles in his shoulders and biceps to the point that they were as coiled ropes, or steel bands. It had, most likely, hurt her more than it had him. But her point was made.

"I made a promise to you," she said, the fire leaving her eyes, but disappointment starting to take its place. "If you would treat it so lightly, then maybe all the promised I made to you don't mean as much as I thought they did."

Bryson desperately tried to back-step his way out of this trouble. He stuttered and stammered, trying to find the words that would allay her upset feelings toward him.

After letting him twist in the wind for a minute, Kayley laughed, leaped up to him -- he was a good head taller than her, and she was one of the tallest women in the village -- and kissed him again. He caught her as she began to fall, and he held her suspended above the ground as she continued kissing him.

"Oh, Bryson. Boys are so stupid," she said, revealing that she was merely playing with him. The relief was so great that he almost dropped her to the ground.

"I'm serious, though," she continued. "I am going with you. I need to take care of you, and help you take care of your mother."

"But your parents, and the town, what will people say?" Bryson protested.

"I couldn't care less what other people say. And my parents, well, I'm sure they'll understand. I just need to grab a few things."

Dumbfounded but following her lead, Bryson let her down. Taking his hand in hers, Kayley opened the door to her home and stepped inside.

The two littlest ones must have been put to bed because they were nowhere to be seen. Her twin brothers and grandmother were sitting on some pillows around the fire, but her parents and aunt were frantically sitting down with them, as if they were previously somewhere else but needed to be at the fire. Bryson raised an eyebrow as he considered them; her mother and aunt looked normal, but her father appeared as a small child caught stealing a cookie before dinner. He looked sheepish and embarrassed.

Kayley smiled and nodded to them as she stepped around them towards the bedroom she shared with her aunt and grandmother. Bryson felt uncomfortable as he stood alone by the door. No one said anything to him. Indeed, they didn't even seem to look at him. But somehow, he got the impression that he was being watched by all the them. The grandmother was different, though. She stared straight at him, as if she was looking through him. If she looked upset or angry, he would have left right then; he would take Kayley's wrath over that old woman's steely gaze, no question. But she was smiling, almost laughing. So Bryson assumed that they had walked in on a conversation that...what? Was embarrassing? He couldn't decide what was making the family act so unnatural, but he concluded that it was innocuous. But still, no one spoke, no one moved. The only sound in the room was the crackle and pop of the fireplace.

Kayley exited the room a couple minutes later, and it was as if the house itself exhaled. "Mother, Father," she said to her parents as she returned to Bryson, turning to face them while standing by his side, holding his hand, "I'm going to be living at Bryson's mother's house. She needs more help than Bryson can give her, and, to be honest, he needs some help, as well."

Kayley's mother and father both rose and walked over to where she and Bryson stood, but her brothers, aunt, and grandmother stayed seated. They were all smiling, as if they were all sharing the same joke. The beaming grin on her grandmother's face looked even wider than before, if that were even possible.

"For how long?" asked Kayley's mother. Bryson was a little surprised that no one was raising an objection. After all, even with Tris's marginal presence, it was still Bryson and Kayley sharing the same home.

Kayley shrugged. "Until Tris is better. Or at least showing improvement. At that time, we'll..." She paused, looking up towards Bryson. "Readjust," she finished, returning her focus to her parents.

Bryson was expecting loud arguments for the contrary. He was waiting for something to be thrown from across the room towards his head. A half-dozen people shouting curses at him would have been normal. There should have been even one person raising an eyebrow in obvious concern.

What happened, instead, was acceptance. Hearty endorsement, even.

"Take care of her," Kayley's father told him while shaking his hand firmly. Bryson wasn't sure if he was talking about Kayley or Tris, but he nodded his head anyway, unable to speak.

Kayley's mother was much more emotional. She grabbed Kayley and hugged her close, whispering in her ear. Kayley was continually nodded or shaking her head, saying "Yes, Mother. Yes, Mother. No, Mother" in response to the admonitions.

Then she grabbed Bryson. He was entirely too tall for her to be able to whisper in his ear, so he thought he was safe. Little did he know that whenever a woman in this family wanted something, she got it, no matter the cost. It was a lesson he had begun learning all-too thoroughly.

She pulled roughly at the collar of his shirt, bending him down until his ear was next to her mouth. "You know what to do," she said. "And what not to do. Don't you dare slip on either one of them." Bryson, still mute from the shock of the situation, nodded.

With that, Bryson and Kayley waved to her family, and stepped out of the house. As the door closed behind them, he could have sworn that he heard loud peals of laughter ring through the house. He would have stopped and turned, but Kayley was already pulling him forward.

A few minutes later, they arrived at Bryson's home. It was much, much later than Bryson had wanted to return from his errands, and he was afraid that his mother had awoken and panicked when she found that she was alone. But when he opened the door, he saw that his fears were unwarranted. Tris lay, as always, in her bed, close to the fireplace, sleeping.

Immediately, Bryson set himself about his usual night-time tasks. After placing the moon fruit -- as he had begun to call it in his mind -- that he had purchased from the general store, he put a pot of water on the fire for tea, checked his mother's blankets and nightshirt to make sure that they weren't dampened by sweat, and gently lifted her head to replace her pillow. Then, almost as if he had forgotten he wasn't alone, he turned to Kayley.

"Umm, I guess I should tell you what I'm doing." He stepped around the room, gesturing to the different items as he spoke about them. "The willow tea helps to lessen the severity of her cough, so I make sure she almost always has a hot cup at her side. She can catch a chill really easily, so we pulled her bed out to be close to the fire. Unfortunately, that means that she could sweat too much, so I always make sure the fire is hot, but low. Also, to double-check, I feel the bed to make sure she's not sweating. And finally, every night, I switch her pillow so that her head is always raised as much as possible. She needs to be able to breathe."

Kayley followed him around the room as he spoke, nodding at everything he was saying. He could see in her eyes that she had never really thought about everything that went in to taking care of Tris during her illness. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he tried to assuage her fears.

"It's not that much. Mostly, I just try to be here for her when she has her coughing fits. The rest of the time, I'm just making sure she's comfortable. I think about what I would want if I were in the same situation."

Kayley nodded in understanding, then looked back to Tris. "Should we wake her to tell her I'll be here from now on?"

Bryson was surprised. He hadn't even considered it, but mostly because he hadn't even known Kayley was going to be living with them less than an hour ago. "Yes, yes I suppose we ought to."

They both stepped over the the side of Tris's bed, and Bryson reached out to gently nudge her. "Mother? Mother are you awake?"

Her head lolled to one side, then back to the other as her body was pushed back and forth on the bed. Slowly, her eyes opened. At first they were unfocused and looked everywhere. A few moments passed, though, and they rested on Bryson. She blinked once or twice, as if reminding herself of where she was, and reached up for her son's neck. Hugging him tightly, he helped her to sit up so she could speak easier.

"You're back," she said when she was sitting up after she greeted Kayley. "I woke up earlier and you weren't here. I was worried, but I figured you were just in town."

Bryson hung his head low, ashamed that he wasn't around when his mother needed him. "I'm so sorry, Mother. I just...you were sleeping so soundly, and I had to--"

Tris cut him off with a wave of her hand. "No, stop. I was worried at first, but when I realized you were probably in town," she said, gesturing knowingly towards Kayley, "it made me happy. It made me feel like I'm not a burden."

Bryson shook his head. "No, no Mother, you're never a burden. You've taken care of me for so long, it's only right that I'm here to take care of you when you need it."

"And besides, Tris," Kayley said, entering herself into the dialogue. "I'm going to be here to help from now on. Bryson and I..." She paused, looking up to Bryson, putting her hand on his shoulder. It was as if she was trying to decide exactly how much to tell his mother. Bryson's eyes widened as he realized the conversation could easily go in a direction that would make him very uncomfortable. The two of them weren't betrothed. They weren't even courting! They were just very, very good friends who had recently developed -- or discovered -- a deep emotional connection with one another, and had talked about it. He wasn't regretting their conversation, nor was he rescinding his offer, if, in fact, "offer" was even the correct word for it. He just didn't want others to get the wrong idea. Like the Tarfyls, most likely he thought to himself with an inward groan.

But Kayley, either recognizing his apprehension or agreeing with his assessment, did not embarrass him. "We're going to be here to take care of you together. After seeing Bryson yesterday and a...conversation today, I realized just how much weight he's putting onto his own shoulders. And it's not because he doesn't want to take care of you, Tris." As she spoke, her hand slowly trailed down his arm from his shoulder to take his hand in hers. At first, Bryson was frightened at what his mother might think if she saw such an overt display of affection between the two of them, but then he decided that he liked it, so he wouldn't worry about it. He concluded that his mother likely was going to see many displays of affection between the two of them, so it wouldn't hurt anybody if she saw them simply holding hands.

Kayley continued speaking. "He loves you! But the burden is more than just taking care of you. When you had your coughing fit last night, I could see in his eyes that the true weight, the real pain, is all emotional. Anybody can come in and help you sit up, prepare your meals and your tea," as if on cue, the teapot in the fireplace began whistling. Bryson took it off of the fire and began preparing the willow bark to steep in the boiling water while Kayley and Tris kept talking. "What's truly difficult, and what weighs Bryson down the most, is how helpless he feels. How he can't do anything to actually cure you."

Bryson stood at the table, considering Kayley's words. They were all true, and he hadn't ever admitted any of them with her. He hadn't even admitted them to himself. But he knew as she said them that she was right. The fact that no matter what he did, she wasn't getting any better was the true burden. How hadn't he realized it before?

"Oh, Bryson," said Tris, tears in her eyes. "Come here."

Bryson felt tears of his down fall from his eyes and begin rolling down his cheeks as he walked quickly to his mother's side while Kayley took his place preparing the tea. Tris held out her arms, and Bryson fell into the type of hug that he hadn't received for many years. They wrapped their arms around each other and he cried like a small child. She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed his head as he sobbed, and told him he was going to be okay.

Two things occurred to him while he knelt by his mother's bed, weeping. One, the absurdity of the situation almost made him start laughing; he was crying while his mother, the sick one, was telling him that everything was going to be okay. And two, he couldn't count the number of times he had cried over the last day or so. It was as if he had built up a dam to hold back his emotions -- all of his emotions, including the good ones -- and it was starting to crack. Each time a new piece crumbled, a new gout of emotions shout out of it. His biggest fear was that before too long, the entire dam would come crashing down, and all the emotions he had been holding back for the last two seasons would explode out of him all at once, uncontrollably.

As Bryson was calming down from his most recent emotional break, and Kayley was bringing the prepared tea to set on the small table by Tris's bedside, it happened. The catalyst that would flip Bryson's world upside-down, pull it inside-out, and alter it to the point where it was unrecognizable. The single event that would change his life forever. When he considered everything that had happened for the days leading up to it, he could see how situations and events were lining themselves up for him to be prepared for the way everything would be transformed. Every decision he made, every action he took, everything in his life was building up to this one point.

A knock sounded at the door.

At the time, Bryson thought nothing of it. It was not yet particularly late, and although the house was set outside of the village itself, it wasn't so far off that people didn't occasionally drop in. But later, Bryson would realize the importance of that single night-time visitor.

Kayley started towards the door, but Bryson stopped her. "I'm okay to answer it," he said, wiping the last of the tears from his cheeks as he stood. "Make sure my mother has everything she needs." He stepped towards the door, and opened it.

The man standing on the other side was as nondescript as anyone Bryson had ever seen. He was of average height, average build, and dark features, but that could have been due to the lack of light.

"Hello, Bryson Perdra. I have heard about your situation, and I was curious if I could lend my assistance?" He held out his hand for Bryson to take, and, cautiously, he did so. The first specific thing about the stranger that Bryson would be able to recall later was that as he grasped the other's hand, it trembled. It was then that he noticed that the man's entire frame shook. It was very slight, almost imperceptible, but he constantly shivered, as if with cold.

Notwithstanding the man's mysterious appearance -- or even more strange continuous shuddering -- Bryson immediately trusted him as soon as he shook his hand. Well, he wouldn't say that he trusted him, but neither did he fear him. He stepped to the side to allow the man in. Perhaps he was from some warmer clime and the late-spring evening temperatures were too low for his constitution. If so, Bryson felt that the rules of hospitality required him to allow the man a seat as close to the fire as possible.

Bryson walked to the chair that he had been using as a bed so he could sleep near his mother and took the pillow and blanket off of it. As it was the nicest chair and closest to the fire, he gestured to it for the man to sit. He folded the blanket and placed it and the pillow at the foot of his mother's bed while the stranger sat in the chair.

"Mother, Kayley, this is..." Bryson was about to introduce the man, but it occurred to him that he didn't actually know anything about it. "I'm sorry, I missed your name, sir."

The man waved off Bryson's apology. "I gave you no name, for I have no name to give. I'd forgotten the name my parents gave to me long before you were born, Bryson." Bryson cocked his head to the side, curious at the man's statement. He didn't appear to be that much older than Tris, so the idea that he had forgotten his own name at all seemed unlikely, let alone forgetting his name before Bryson was born. He was reminded of the way the man constantly shook and decided that he was likely much older than he appeared in the dark.

"I do, however, have a title, given to me by those who have cast me out. As we speak further, your understanding of my title may become clearer.

"I am the Exile."

From the moment the man spoke the first word, Bryson, Kayley, and Tris were held in rapt attention. He held them bound in place like a fireside storyteller, relating legends and songs from hundreds, even thousands of years in the past while traveling a great distance in order relieve his companions of the stress of the journey, even for just one night. Upon his naming himself "the Exile," he paused, looking at each of them in turn.

"Because of my beliefs, I was cast out from my people. They named me the Exile, and prohibited me from enjoying their fellowship for all time. But it is because of these beliefs that I believe I may be able to help your family. Your mother needs a healing touch that comes from beyond this world's understanding. But please, sit. My story's rather long to tell."

Bryson hadn't realized that both he and Kayley were still standing, he was so enraptured by the Exile's words. Kayley, too, shook her head and seemed to return to her senses. Bryson stepped to the table, picked up the two wooden chairs, and took them to the front room, setting them next to Tris's bedside. Bryson and Kayley sat, taking each others' hands once again.

"Are you a mage?" Bryson asked. They had asked Healers to help, but the few that had passed through were not of great enough skill to heal Tris. Doctors were even more perplexed by her malady, but similarly as ineffective.

"No, I'm not a mage. Nor am I a doctor. I have no training nor experience in healing, wielding great magics, or performing any task beyond that of a normal human. But I have something that no one else has ever offered: hope. A hope born of a new perspective.

"I was cast out from my people because I believe that the world is preparing for a change. There is a force that exists d that will penetrate every nation, every government, every people of the world, and bind them together as one. The day is soon coming that a new reign will be upon us, a new world order. On that day, a new period of peace will spread to cover the entire world. Marvels that today we find incomprehensible will be commonplace, even mundane."

For a moment, the power the Exile had held over Bryson waned, and he objected. "Other men of religion have already been here to preach to us. They were even less effective than the mages and the doctors. At least they tried something. The preachers just..." He trailed off as the Exile held him in place with a stare.

"These other men, did they offer to heal your mother?" he said after a long pause.

Bryson looked to Kayley, then towards his mother, new tears forming just at the memory of the pain the religionists had brought.

"No," he said. "No, they either said that she didn't believe strongly enough to heal herself, or that she had done something terrible in the past that was too wicked to be forgiven." His lip pulled up into a snarl as his sorrow was replaced by anger. It grew into a rage the more he thought about it, and he was afraid he was about to lash out, but the Exile continued, and his calming influence relieved Bryson of his ire.

"The difference between those other men and myself," the Exile responded, "is that I do not promise to heal your mother. In fact, I don't think she can be healed. Not by men, anyway."

"Then what use are you?" Bryson retorted, his anger returning. It grew neither as swiftly nor as strongly as previously, but it remained even when the Exile fixed him with his gaze. Kayley patted the hand she held, and lifted it to her lips, kissing it gently.

"Bryson, Love," she said. "Come back. He wants to help, he thinks he can help. Let him try."

Love? Did she just call me 'Love'? Her words and show of affection were every bit as effective at calming him as the Exile had been earlier, but it may have been a side effect of the confusion he felt at her term of fondness. Bryson nodded and smiled to her, thanking her silently. They turned their attention back to the Exile.

"There is a woman, a goddess, who walks the streets at night. She gives power to the impotent, strength to the diseased, and freedom to the captive. She is a friend to the recluse, and confederate with the outcast. There is no one who stands above Her, yet no one who lies beneath Her. Even though She is greater than all the kings and rulers of the world, emperors, magistrates, sovereigns, monarchs, lords and ladies are all the same to Her as the lowest, most debase human beings. They are as children to Her, and She exists to help us all, for She, too, was cast out from among Her people, Her family. She aided a woman who was called traitor by Her people, but who She called friend, and for that She has been hated, and pursued for all time.

"But the night comes when She will defeat her enemies and destroy mankind's perception of truth and principle with one single blow. Those who believe in Her will be called up to rebuild the world, and no more will war, sickness, poverty, and subjugation be permitted to exist in the new world. Classes are a disease, a blight upon this land, and after Her final victory, they will no longer infect us so. Her world will exist without classes; no man or woman will consider themselves higher or more entitled than any other. Everyone will work together for the increased health, safety, and happiness of the whole, rather than the individual. A perfect utopia, and She will rule the night. As queen. As Mother."

The way he said 'Mother' gave it much more weight than a simple title of motherhood. The exile said it as if that were Her name, a title of motherhood -- of Motherhood -- that encompassed the whole world. Every family, every nation, and every people.

"Why night?" Tris asked, her voice straining, from her bed. Bryson pulled his chair to sit even closer to her, and ran his hands through her hair. She closed her eyes and laid back as the Exile answered.

"For the same reason I only bring word of Her at night," he said. "Only in the darkness can the light you shed be seen and appreciated. I am a lamp seller, and no one buys lamps in the afternoon."

Bryson nodded. Something about the way this man spoke made...sense. He had always been concerned with why some were permitted to due of starvation in the gutters while others had trays and platters stacked with more food than they could eat in a week brought to them on the backs of slaves. The only difference Bryson could see between them was an accident of birth. He and his friends and neighbors all lived by the sweat of their brows, and it seemed logical to assume that was the way it should work for everyone. There was simply no justice in the world in which he lived, but he accepted it as a simple tragic fact of life.

Besides, as long as he continued creating quality work at the forge, he would continue to eat and live comfortably, so he saw no reason to challenge the system. But did his acceptance and complacent attitude make him as responsible for the pain and deaths of those living in the streets as were the kings and rulers who maintained the current system of injustice? He furrowed his brow and tried to contemplate the philosophical ramifications of doing nothing simply because he was unaffected.

He failed -- his mind simply wasn't designed to pursue thoughts of such depth! -- and voiced his concerns to the Exile.

The old man laughed. "No, lad. You're not responsible for the state of the world. In fact, you're already doing nearly all that would be asked of you in the new world. You use your skills and talents to improve the lives of those around you, you do your best to do right by your family and neighbors, and, when the opportunity presents itself, you unquestioningly allow an old man to warm his tired, old bones by your fire."

They all chuckled at that, but the Exile soon became serious again. He no longer had the same air about himself as when he was telling the story, but returned to how he presented himself when he first entered.

Standing and walking to Tris's beside, he reached out to touch her forehead. "Now, I said I cannot cure your mother, but that doesn't mean I can't help her. The reason why I originally believed in and followed the Mother was because I have an ability that is unique among my people." As he spoke, he drew his finger across her forehead, down her cheek, across her chin, and back up again. He began tracing shapes and symbols on her face, and Bryson imagined that everywhere his finger touched her, a line of light appeared briefly before fading.

"I have an ability that is similar to the Mother's, but not nearly as powerful. I cannot take the sickness from her, but I can take her pain. I'm able to take the pains and emotions of others into myself, then purge them."

Bryson's jaw dropped. "Why can't you do it with the sickness itself if you can do it with pain?"

"It's not quite the same," the Exile explained. "Your physical and emotional pain are very near the surface of your...essence. It's like scraping the cream off the top of bucket of milk. If it's completely settled, then no more cream will rise to the top. But as long as there is any cream left in the bucket, you will continually have cream. I can scrape the pain off the top of your being, but as long as the cause of the distress still exists, what I do is only temporary. The cream will continually rise to the top."

For a few moments, no one spoke. They simply watched as the Exile continued tracing lines and drawing shapes on Tris's face. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing was relaxed and controlled.

"What do you mean that you take her pain into yourself?" asked Kayley.

"Well, quite simply, I--" He was unable to verbally explain the process, but he effectively showed them what he meant as his body was doubled over in raspy coughs that scraped his throat. He fell to his knees, and Bryson went to his side, resting his hand on the man's shoulder. The Exile pushed him back while shaking his head, indicating that he didn't need any assistance. It was only for a brief second, but when Bryson's hand was on the other man's shoulder, he felt him shaking and shivering many times worse than before.

He takes their pain into himself, Bryson thought. How many hundreds or thousands of lives worth of pain has he felt?

After a minute, the coughs passed, and the Exile stood. He looked to Tris for a moment, then nodded. "She should be free from the coughs and the chills for a week, maybe two. But they'll return. They'll always return."

Bryson was dumbfounded. A week? Maybe two weeks?! This is a miracle! Bryson fell on the man's neck, hugging him, weeping one final time for the night.

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you." Bryson was unable to say anything else, and he felt like no matter how many times he thanked the man, it wouldn't be enough. Kayley was right with him, her arms wrapped around the two of them, crying as well.

"How...how on earth can we repay you?" Kayley asked when they had recovered themselves.

"You've not been listening, then? I require no payment. As it is within my power to momentarily heal the sick and wounded, I do so. To keep my abilities to myself would be irresponsible, even criminal according to the governance of the Mother's rule." He smiled at them, and they almost cried again, but controlled themselves.

"What do we do now? You can't just stay here, healing my mother every week or two until the day of Her coming," Bryson pointed out, already converted to the belief in the Mother.

"No, truly not. But I can stay with you for a time, doing my part. You can help me spread word of the Mother's coming. As I've found in many villages past, there are always those willing to listen to the preachings of believers. All I ask is that you allow me to reside here, surreptitiously. As there are those who pursue the Mother, there are also those who pursue me. If they were to discover I lodge here, I'm afraid your safety would be forfeit."

Bryson nodded. "Anything. Stay here as long as you like, and we'll never tell a soul. We'll preach of the Mother until the end of time to prepare for Her coming."

The Exile nodded. "Very good. Also, do you have any place in the house that isn't visible to the outside? A room with no windows, or a cellar? If someone does investigate without your knowledge, I would prefer to have a way to protect our confidentiality."

"Yes, there's a cellar. And it's inaccessible from the outside, as well." He stamped his foot down on the rug on which they stood, and a hollow thump sounded in the room. He bent down and curled up the corner of the rug, revealing a trap-door. "We seldom use it, so generally we just keep the rug over it to keep it out of view."

"Perfect," commented the Exile, smiling. "Bryson, Kayley, Tris," he said to Bryson's mother as she had once again awoken, looking more hale and full of color than she had in months, "I believe your life is about to change for the better."

And that was how it began. Since then, each night Bryson and Kayley scoured Barden, searching for signs of the Mother. As the Exile had told them, although the Mother had not yet claimed Her right to lead -- She would not "rule," but guide, instead -- the world, She still could be found, walking the streets at night, search for those who needed Her divine interposition. So they looked, and looked, and looked, but never found anything. The Exile had told them not to hold on to the hope that they would find Her, but instead never lose the faith that She would help them if found. They could look every night for a thousand lifetimes and maybe find Her but once. That chance, though, slim as it was, was enough for Bryson to unremittingly search each night for Her presence. The Exile said that She would stay in a given location for a few days at most, helping all she could, before moving on to Her next destination. There were, after all, too many people in the world crying out for Her hand to stay anywhere. And because of her pursuers, she couldn't make her position known for too long, as well.

Something, though, gave Bryson hope. So each night for an entire season, he and Kayley would walk arm in arm, up one street and down another, searching for the tall woman with black hair who could heal the pains of the world, and each morning at dawn, return home unsuccessfully. This night was no exception.

They opened the door to find Tris asleep, peacefully, on the bed. The rug was pulled away from the trap-door, indicating that the Exile had already gone under to sleep for the day. They had decided early on that, in order to keep his presence a secret for as long as possible, he would sleep during the day, and come up at night the regale them with more stories of the goddess, the Mother. He had seen Her but once, but he always seemed to arrive in cities and towns either just after She left, or just before She arrived. Bryson felt a burning hope grow in him stronger than ever before. He knew that they were going to find the Mother, and She would heal Tris. Then they could all follow Her wherever She went. As a family.