Francine opened her eyes to the sight of treetops swaying against a field of starlight. That wasn’t right. Mister Hildesman had said they would reach the city by nightfall.

Wait, Mister Hildesman! The hawks had attacked him. Was he okay? She tried to sit up and check, but discovered that she was wrapped in the rain cloak the trapper had loaned her. Craning her neck, she saw that someone had tied ropes along the outside of the cloak, wrapping her from shoulder to knee so that she could only bend her whole body like a serpent. Turning her head, she could see a campsite set up on her left. Mister Hildesman’s old kettle was placed on a flat rock near the dying remains of a fire.

“You’re awake,” she heard the gruff voice of Mister Hildesman from somewhere past her feet.

“Mister Hildesman?” She asked. “Why am I restrained? Did I hurt myself running from the hawks?”

“Not near so much as you hurt them.” Mister Hildesman sounded angry. Why was he angry? They were both okay. Wait, was he okay?

“Are you okay? I saw the hawk going for you, and then everything is a blur. I don’t…did you scare them off?”

“You blacked out towards the end. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Francine focused. The hawks had approached and Mister Hildesman told her to hide. She did, but when she heard their whistling shriek and the crackle of his bolter she had crawled out to see if he was okay. Then…there was a hawk with a woman riding it? They had started to dive for her, and then the voice that had been following her said something. Then, she had woken up.

“There was a woman riding one of the hawks. I thought they were going to kill both of us.”

Mister Hildesman leaned forward into the small arc of vision she could manage from her bundle. “Francine,” he started. She thought he seemed less angry now. What had happened? “You didn’t tell me you were Marked. If we had made it to the city and we didn’t openly declare it, do you know how much trouble we could be in? Hiding a Mark still holds a ten year sentence!”

“I’m not Marked, though. I…I’m not! I’ve always followed the teachings of the Order! I couldn’t be. I’ve never even seen a heretic!”

“It doesn’t always happen to heretics,” Mister Hildesman said, softly. Francine wasn’t even sure if he was talking to her. He seemed to be staring into the forest.

“How, then? I thought only heretics knew how to do it.”

Mister Hildesman turned toward her, then back to the forest. “That’s what most people think, but it isn’t the truth. Or at least it isn’t the whole truth. The Order recognizes that the Mark can appear on others. It’s rare, but sometimes someone in the city gets it or a babe is born with one. Just…appears there by chance. They have to turn themselves over to the Order, but they aren’t tried for Heresy if they follow the rules. Far as I know, most of them end up as Brothers and Sisters eventually. It’s not polite to bring it up.”

“And you think I have it now?”

“Nobody can do what you did without the Mark, Francine. It’s not natural. You shouted a bird out of the sky. I found its body. It’s…dangerous. And using it is supposed to do unpleasant things to a person.”

“But I didn’t have it yesterday! So we just tell the Order and then I can stay in the city until Uncle Pin finds me.”

“If they believe us. Francine, the Mark lets people do unreal things with Tessenium energy. But they need a battery, or ash bark to chew, or some way to get that energy. And they need it after they get their mark, not before. What you did, you shouldn’t have been able to if the mark was new. Frankly, I’m not sure you should have been able to do it at all. I’ve never heard of anyone with the Mark being able to shout harder than a bolter shoots. The Order is going to assume you’re a heretic.”

“But…do you believe me?”

Mister Hildesman sighed, then stood and began to undo the ropes around Francine, releasing her arms first and eventually helping her unsteadily to her feet.

“Yes, I think I do. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Kid, I knew you were running from something horrible and I didn’t want to pry and whatnot, but if there’s a chance it has anything to do with any of this Mark business, I think it’s time you told me your whole story. I made tea.”

“Tea?”

“So you can drink it.””

“You mean…you aren’t going to drag me to the city and turn me over like a Heretic?”

“Not right away. But you have to tell me why you were out here in the woods for eight days, and what had you so scared you wouldn’t tell me about it right away.”

Francine felt her eyes burn with tears, and took a deep breath, trying to banish them. One slipped free to roll down her chin. “Okay. Please don’t tell my uncle when he finds me. I…I want to tell him myself.”

Mister Hildesman nodded, seating himself on the other side of the fire. Francine settled down, draping the rain cloak over her shoulders like a blanket, and took the tin cup filled with tea that he handed her. “I was telling the truth, before. My farm is north of the city. I don’t know how far, other than that it’s more than one day by cart. We didn’t see a lot of visitors.

“Work was normal farm stuff. We grew mostly for ourselves. A little extra let us trade for what we couldn’t grow. Fabric, needles, tools, metals. Our wall was earth and stone, like the Order recommends. Pops was real proud of the wall, said his great-great-uncle designed it hisself, after he retired from the Order of Artificers. It was sturdy. Kept heretics out. Rarely saw a direbeast.

“Twelve days ago, we got a visitor. It was exciting. They said they were traveling north beyond the forest, and had seen our walls. Asked to stay two nights in exchange for doing some work. Pops and Ma agreed. First night was nice enough. We got stories from the city and the other farms. But the second night,” she shuddered under her blanket, then gulped some tea. The memories danced around her like cruel specters from an ancient story. “The stranger opened the gate and let in a whole bunch of heretics. They…they started setting fire to everything. And…and that’s when I first heard the voice.”

“The voice?” the trapper asked. Francine nodded.

“It was like a woman was speaking to me from the next chair, but I’ve never seen her face. She introduced herself, all formal and polite. ‘Greetings, Francine. You may call me the Listener.’ I plumb fell out of my bed. That’s when I realized everyone was screaming and panicking. The woman told me that if I grabbed my backpack and boots, she could help me find a way out of the farm before the heretics killed me. I believed her, for some reason. She told me when to hide, which way to turn, which carts to stay clear of. Next thing I knew, I was out in the woods with a sack of food and no idea where to go next.”

Hildesman held up a hand to interrupt her. “The heretics. Did you get a good look at any of them?” Francine nodded again. “They all wore big animal skins with the fur still on and had a bunch of teeth and fingerbones sewn to them. Smelled awful, too. I don’t think they ever properly scraped the skins.”

Hildesman absorbed that information for a moment, then gestured for Francine to continue her story.

“For eight days that voice was my only company. The Listener woman, that is. I never saw her, but she would whisper in my ear about dangers or safe places or just to see me jump out of my skin. I got the feeling she liked me, after the first couple of times she saved me from blundering into a glassflower glade or a den of angry badgers.

“Sometimes, I would have dreams about her. She always looked the same to me. A tall woman, taller than you. She wore a long dress with sleeves that went past her arms. But she didn’t seem to have a proper face. I remember one dream, I asked her about it. She said her face had been buried under stones, and she needed my help to get it back. Started to promise me things. It scared me, way more than her not having a face ever did.

“Then I found your camp. The voice woman stopped talking to me and I was ready to call it lost for good. Until the direhawks came. She said me a poem then, and told me I only had to ask and she could save both of us from the hawks.”

“Do you remember the poem?” Mister Hildesman asked.

Francine shook her head. “I think it went a lot like that chant about heresy. You know the one, ‘Three and three and three…’?”

Then the voice whispered in her ear, and as it spoke, Francine realized she was following along, reciting the words so Mister Hildesman could hear them.

“Three and three and three again,

Our creed and realm and form.

Tombs of stone were laid on us,

Our sister’s mask and shame.

Yet we liv’d, outside the cell,

And dreamed of our return.

Champions now each we raise,

To fight our war once more.

‘Til the four and four in stone,

Imprison us no more.”

Mister Hildesman had dropped his tea and drawn his hatchet by the time Francine finished. For her part, the instant the last word was from her mouth, she slapped both hands over it and flung herself away from the fire.

She resolved not to speak. Eventually, Mister Hildesman broke the silence.

“We can go to the Order. They might be able to help. But in your situation…” he left the outcome unsaid.

“Or, there is one other person I know. She lives outside the wall. She used to be Order herself, until she retired. She’ll know most of the saame lore they have about the old heresies. Possibly more. I can take you to see her instead. Your uncle won’t know where to find you, but she might be able to help you with this situation with the heretics and the Mark.”

Mister Hildesman began to stow the mess kit, everything carefully buckled inside another piece. “I’ll leave the choice to you, child. It’s not an easy one for one your age, but I feel that it isn’t mine to make.”

Francine thought about it the rest of the night, scarcely sleeping for the Listener’s gentle voice singing in her ear. When morning came, she had an answer ready. She told Mister Hildesman. He set a path, and by noon they had found their way to a stout stone-and-brick building set against a small cleft hill. Mister Hildesman knocked, and an elderly woman, but still strong and graceful, opened the door.

Mister Hildesman shook her hand, then introduced her to Francine. “Francine, I’d like you to meet the woman who taught me my trade. This is Missus Gertrae Follickken. Teach, this is a stray I found on the trail. I was hoping you could help her with something.”