The little songwood tickled Luthr’s cheek, waking him. He looked at the white leaves, glowing blue. A soothing sensation overtook him, though his unease returned once he stood and walked to the bars, ignoring his food and water. He took hold of the bars and stood in thought, looking idly at the fluted columns till his eyes were drawn to the patch of bleak sunlight where he sometimes slept. Gazing into the pale light did little to cheer him, so he went back to his corner, looking at the pile of books he’d been reading. He counted the seconds after hearing the faint creak of the jailor’s door, and Jurat rounded the corner in his near-silent stride. 

As always, he carried two stools which he placed in the cell, and he sat in one, knowing full well that Luthr would remain listless on the floor. 

“It’s spring time,” Jurat said. 

Luthr shrugged. 

“Meaning the caravans are passing by. I thought you might enjoy speaking to people who aren’t me.” 

Luthr said nothing. 

“Don’t you want to at least look at the girls? Caravan girls are always gorgeous. I chalk it up to the traveler's lifestyle.” 

Luthr said nothing. 

Jurat sighed. “If only you would look into the mirror I gave you. You’d see that the disease is gone.” 

Luthr slowly turned his head to Jurat. “Those weren’t my eyes.” 

Jurat leaned forward, somewhat suddenly. “Oh, but they were. And they are still. A disease is an invasion, Luthr, not a native condition. What was in you is gone. See how the little tree has taken to you? Would a songwood show its approval to a man defiled? You are pure, my friend. There’s no need for you to languish here overlong.” 

“But where will I go? You say I can’t return home.” 

“Not yet, Luthr. I didn’t say you never could.” 

“But why not now? You said I’m pure.” 

Jurat leaned back and folded his hands on his knees. 

“There are scars on your mind, Luthr. It will take time for them to heal. Your family will miss you, and maybe even mourn you. But better they deal with temporary sadness now then have you return to them broken.” 

“I suppose you’re right. I don’t want them to see me like this.” 

“You mean to tell me your wife never saw you sulk in all your years of marriage?” 

Luthr grumbled. “That’s not what I mean.” 

Jurat stood and went to the corner, then squatted down and dug through the pile of books. 

“You’re positive you don’t want me to bring you at least one new title?” 

“Would I even understand it? It’s like the words change every time I close them. It’s driving me mad.” 

Jurat nodded. “I recall going through that part of the process as well. But I read in a study, not in a cell. Are all you Iudexes so self-deprecating? You’re meant to judge others, not yourselves.” 

“I’m meant to pass judgement on heretics. And I’ve become worse than a heretic.” 

“And now you are restored. Rise with me, Luthr, and see the sun.” 

Luthr rolled his head over his shoulder and looked at the little tree. Its leaves, dim by day, brightened a little when his breath shook them. 

“There is a grove of such songwoods nearby. You can build yourself a house in one if you wish.” 

Luthr said nothing. 

Jurat stood and was quiet for a moment, then folded his arms across his chest and spoke. 

“This can’t go on. You have one more evening to mope. Tomorrow, we will force you into the light. Unless you come with me willingly. Now.” 

Luthr said nothing. 

He met new people the next morning. Most were of a height with Jurat, though somewhat stouter. One was as tall as Luthr, while much younger and every bit as sinewy. Without him, they may not have been able to get Luthr through the door to his cell. Once they had, the put a cloth bag over his head and tied a rope around his neck. Then they led him with spears up the stairs and out of the cave. 

He felt the warm of rush lights, and frequently slipped on the damp steps. The stair climbed steeply upward for a very long climb, so long, in fact, that Luthr wondered how Jurat never appeared winded when he came to visit. Even downward, such a traverse would be tiring. 

Eventually he began to hear echoes. Mostly of doors opening and closing, and the giving of command. Now and then he’d hear shouting, and once he thought he heard a whip. 

“You can take that thing off him now,” said Jurat. 

The pale sun filled his eyes and he blinked. He truly had become a worm, crawling in the dark. They were not yet outside and even shaded light streaking in through heavy shutters pained him. Luthr looked over his shoulder and saw that they had come along a straight hallway that led to the stairs. 

“Why did you blindfold me?” 

Jurat gave no warning when he opened the door. Sunlight poured in through the door and Luthr fell back. The big man caught him. 

“So you wouldn’t try to run away,” Jurat said, leading him by the arm outside. When they stepped past the threshold, one of the guards dressed Luthr in a long fur coat. 

His eyes hurt, and he kept them shielded with his free hand, only opening them for brief intervals. Luthr led him down a cobblestone road to a plaza surrounded by empty stalls. People milled about, cleaning and raking and mucking nearby stables. The cold air sang with the clutter of chickens and cattle. A middle-aged woman on horseback seemed to be directing affairs. They walked through the plaza to a cottage on the edge of a high precipice. They had been surrounded by trees on all side, but when they came to the porch on the other side of the cottage, Luthr saw clear for miles. They were on a low spur in an ocean of tall mountains. A deep valley cut through them, snaking its way northward for as far as Luthr could see. The shade of the mountains soothed his eyes, so he let them take in the pale sun as it glittered off the ranks of snowclad peaks. 

“I don’t know these mountains,” he said. 

“You’re more than welcome to explore them,” replied Jurat. 

“Then I’m no longer a prisoner?” 

“What do you want to be, Luthr?” 

He gave the question some thought before answering. “I want to be a free and happy man.” 

“Then finish your healing.” 

Luthr nodded. “Very well.” 

He moved into the cottage that day. The bedding laid out for him under the moon was now his. He chose the room with the tallest windows to sleep in, and he was given as a gift a collection of tools which he went to work with right away. He felled a tree, cut into firewood and built himself a blaze. For supper he foraged, as he had yet to fashion the tools needed to hunt. He was given a kettle and a small cookpot by a wizened crone after clearing her roof of branches knocked down by the wind, and after a thin stew of mountain herbs he went to sleep. 

The morning came quick, and he felt renewed when he stood on his porch, bathed in the raging hues of the alpenglow. He made another stew, this time with more flavorful herbs and a few beets he managed to find. Once fed, he found a stream to bathe in, then made a list of things he would need to make or acquire. He found that trade and barter were the way these people lived by, and a man as strong as he had little trouble finding services to provide in such a rugged clime. 

The first thing he attended to was food. He earned a clutch of eggs by helping a pair of boys dig a latrine, and after getting some protein in his belly had the energy to help a man level the earth where he planned to build a kiln. A full day of work saw him in possession of a finely crafted bow and a quiver full of well fletched arrows, not to mention a side of beef and a basket of potatoes. 

He woke early the next day, well before the sun, and after a quick meal began his search for game. 

The pale sun had yet to rise, but its sleepy flames brewed a warning glow beyond the mountain peaks. Luthr kept himself in shadow, stalking between the trees and underbrush. He saw the silver stag atop a flat boulder, and raised his bow thinking it was simply an albino, or a common hart painted false hues by the pre-dawn shimmer. But it was no ordinary deer, and he held still, straining against the draw weight of his bow. In the end he lowered his arm, though he kept his arrow notched. The deer watched him with glowing eyes. He crept closer, his curiosity winning over his caution, but the deer bounded away before he moved a full step. 

I’m hallucinating, he told himself. 

The sun had just begun to spill over the mountains when he found his kill. He was a big buck with a trio of proud antlers. The settlers were grateful for the meat, offering him all manner of goods or services in return. He gave a whole leg and haunch to an elderly couple who offered to clean his house for him. 

“We’re so idle anymore,” said Arla, the wife. 

When he’d loaded up his yard with lumber and fabrics, and his larder with butter and oil, he boiled himself some eggs and went out again, returning this time with a younger, smaller kill. That he kept for himself, and spent the rest of the day sawing the lumber he traded for into planks. By week’s end he had himself a smokehouse and a chair to sit and read on in the evenings, though he continued to sleep on the floor. Another week gone, his smokehouse was full and he built also a work bench and for felling several trees and chopping them down he was given a lathe. By the end of the month his cottage had been turned into the central hub in the settlement for woodworking and hunting. The last month of spring, he lived off his stores and worked on a project he kept secret, while his neighbors made use of the targets he set up in his yard so they could help bring in game. It was a young boy, not yet ten years old, who discovered his secret project. The child had loosed an arrow on accident, and, while searching for it under the house, discovered a whole in the floor of Luthr’s workshop. He did not recognize what he saw the man crafting when he poked his head through the hole, but when he told his father of it, the settlers agreed that Jurat should be told. 

Luthr nodded when he saw Jurat at his door. 

“Can I go back to my family now?” Luthr asked, bypassing any sort of greeting. 

“I’ve heard things that suggest you’re not going to wait for permission.” 

“I feel a lot better. My mind is clear, my body healed.” 

Jurat nodded. “There is a final test. If you insist, we can administer it now. But perhaps you’d like to finish crafting your rifle first?” 

“No. I’ll take your test and be on my way.” 

More guards than he knew were gathered in the mountain hall. The doorway he had exited from so many days before was barred behind him, and more guards lined up inside the facility as Jurat led him down the hallway he had previously been led up. Jurat carried a torch, and they soon were in near darkness as they descended the stair. They led him to a tunnel large enough to host several prison cells. 

“It seems,” Jurat said as they walked between the caged doors, “that one who was never kindled cannot benefit from our master’s gifts.” 

Luthr had been keeping his questions to himself, wanting to avoid what he thought would be the wrong kind of attention. But now, there was no holding his curiosity in. 

“Who is your master? I’ve heard no talk of our High King among my neighbors. In fact, I’ve heard no talk of anything at all but the daily affairs of life.” 

Jurat gestured to a cell. These cells were not like Luthr’s. They were proper jail cells, walled on all sides, with iron doors and only a small, barred window. Luthr stepped to the window and looked through. She was no older than six, and stood in the center of the room, lifeless as a corpse, a ragged doll hanging from one dirty hand. Her gown was soiled and threadbare. One eye was swollen shut. The other was filled with a lifeless coal. 

“You keep Unkindled here?” 

“Are you so surprised? We kept you.” Jurat asked. 

“She’s from the south, where the songwoods will not grow?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why do you keep them alive.” 

“For the same reason we kept you. We wish to cure them.” 

Luthr’s jaw tightened. “Who is your master?” 

“Prince Einsof. The exiled heretic is our master, Luthr.” 

The men were both quiet for some time. The girl eventually sat on the floor in the corner of her cell. She sat there motionless, save for a rocking motion that seemed to take hold of her body from some unseen hand. 

Luthr clenched his fists. He knew there was no way he could escape. Still… 

When he woke, he was in terrible pain, and could feel that several of his ribs had been cracked. He dealt far more than he received, though. The heretic’s men learned respect for the title of Iudex that day. 

He looked around. It was dark, but groping along the floor he felt the familiar tray of water and bowl of fungal gruel. He took a sip of water and settled in his corner by the little tree.