I stepped on the path and took a deep breath. It was narrow, unpaved but regularly used. It wound between the sunny hills, in and out of the woods. It would be muddy during rains, and oppressively dusty in the summer heats, but on this bright autumn day it was as pleasant as one could ask for. The trees had lost most of their leaves, and a faint aroma of rot spread from their heaps.

I always get excited going somewhere for the first time. The thrill of the unknown, the curiosity for the unexplored burned inside me, pushed me ahead, but I have learned to tame my cravings. To аnticipate before I experience.

Would there be bandits on this road? Most roads had them. The last place I departed was very unusual in this regard - it had managed to exterminate robbers entirely. Its brutal despotism was worse, though. A cold, hard place, determined to crush humanity out of humans. But there was no point dwelling there now. Living in the past leads only to stagnation and death. The lessons were learned. The only way was forward.

So bandits. Would they be the professional kind, who fed on unsuspecting travelers? Or opportunistic ones, normal travelers themselves unless they could get away with it? Would they treat me differently for being a woman past her prime? 

Another important thing - clothes and jewels. My dress was impossibly modest, covering me from head to toe. It was the only kind available in my previous destination. It was muted gray and black, but of fine silk. Gold and silver rings covered my fingers. Women traveling like this usually had servants. I did not, and would attract attention - but what kind? Would my rich clothes and jewels tempt people, or mark me as someone important and therefore dangerous?

And a thousand other small things. Even when I don’t know the answers, keeping the questions in mind is useful. By guiding me what to look for, I can notice hints easier. The first days in a new place are crucial, and I need every advantage I can get. But this just adds to the thrill. If you are not risking danger and looking carefully, what is the point in exploring?

I looked around. No dense smoke in the distance, no signs of pillage or devastation, just a few scattered clouds in the sky. No people on this stretch of road, either, just birdsong. The world seemed peaceful, yet so alive. A good beginning. I smiled and took another deep breath as well as my first step.

For hours I walked. I met no bandits, only villagers doing their everyday tasks, working their fields or carrying tools on their shoulders. Their features were similar to mine, their skin was lighter, but not by much. I would not stand out, after I had changed my clothes. 

I did not see anyone famished or visibly maimed. Good, there were no recent long wars or famines. None met my eyes. I tried talking to them, nothing more than greetings and well wishes, but got no response. I could not even be sure I used the right language, and it’s better to know such details before someone waved a weapon in front of my face and started giving orders. 

But it looked like the peasants were forbidden to look at nobles. Or noble women. Or foreigners. Would I be forbidden to look at the local lords? This deprived me of opportunities to talk with them, and learn more directly.

I avoided major roads and skirted around villages. It is unwise to enter a settlement before meeting my first guide, as every place has its peculiar customs. Both lords and mobs are quick to anger at the most innocent transgression, and unpleasant to deal with. I try to make my mistakes in front of a smaller, safer audience.

As the sun stretched towards the hilltops, clouds gathered overhead. I grew restless, the night was going to be wet and I had yet to strike a conversation. I was not yet cold or starving, but started thinking of choosing a place for the night. Perhaps a detached farm, or some other small place far away from a settlement? I could spend the night outside, but then my clothes would not be presentable and it would cause more difficulty approaching people the next day.

And then I finally met someone who looked me in the eye. My would-be guide had a weathered cloak to compliment his weathered face, covered with gray dust to match the light gray hair and beard under his hood. Of middle height and middle age, he still walked with pent energy, and carried a tall wooden staff. A chain hung around his neck - the first decoration of any kind I had seen all day. But most noticeable were his eyes. They were clear piercing blue and they never left me as he approached.

“Where are your escorts, lady?” He asked, disapproval heavy in his deep and dry voice. The language was very close to what I knew from a few realms back. I tried to mimic the more unusual intonations.

“I have trusted the wrong people, my lord, and was abandoned,” I said. He looked at me suspiciously, as if getting abandoned was my fault. No knight in shining armor here, but I have dealt with worse.

“It is good to see a friendly face, my lord,” I continued. His face was anything but friendly, but it would have to do. “Could you tell this foolish lost woman of a good place to spend the night? I have wondered for ages.”

His face was blank, but did not give me much hope.

“Forgive me, I forgot my manners,” I said. “My name is Rangda.”

His eyes narrowed. Not with recognition, I am quite good at noticing that.

“I come from very far away,” I added quickly, “I pray it does not mean something silly or offensive here.”

“Rangda is a very unusual name,” He said slowly. I felt a slight tugging at the back of my mind. So this is what his reaction meant. He had some Talent, being able to recognize a True Name, and use it.

“I think it sounds sweet on your lips, my lord,” I said and smiled shily. He looked at me for a moment, thoughtfully.

“Very well, lady Rangda. You may call me Avery.”

Not a True Name, but close to it. Safe to give away, useful to keep. Interesting.

“I know of a place we can rest tonight. I shall take you there.”

“A thousand blessings for you, master Avery!” I sighed with relief. He frowned, unhappy at the foreign, likely blasphemous, blessings. Unfortunate phrasing. I made a note to avoid religious themes in the future - no matter how vague.

“Where do you come from, lady Rangda?” He asked coldly.

“Oh, very far away, master Avery. I don't even know the way. I trusted in unfaithful servants to lead me. It is a long and boring story. I beg of you to hear it after we rest, I am too tired to talk. But I know nothing of this place. Can you tell me more about it?”

He took me to a wide paved road, heavy with evening traffic. It would be safe enough, with a guide who knew what to do. He was stingy with his words, as we walked, speaking about the roads, the local lords and their holdings. He described most nobles confidently, and seemed to know them personally. He picked his words slowly, with great care. But however much he tried to hide it, I could sense he resented the lords.

All this could be useful, but as my companion he was the most important topic and the focus of my interest. Yet he said nothing of himself. This was both unusual and unfortunate. Most men like to brag in front of women, even foreign and old ones such as myself - but not him. Was it in response to my earlier vagueness? Was it the local custom? Did he have anything to hide? I did not ask directly, but tried to piece together what I could from the subjects he avoided as well as from the ones he shared, from the way he shared them, the tone, the little gestures and expressions. I pushed with a few guiding questions to keep him talking. Any information he gave me was better than silence.

Libraries seemed to be his preferred topic. His tone suggested he did not expect a woman to appreciate them, but still I managed to keep him going. I gathered he had walked far and wide looking for arcane knowledge and, judging the use of my Name, was at least moderately successful.

He was explaining about some duke’s particularly ancient and precious scrolls, when a wave of silence washed over us. One moment his eyes were shining looking back at a cherished memory. The next moment he froze in place, listening intently, just as everyone else around. Suddenly people in the distance were clearing the way and we hurried to follow their example. The ditches were deep and muddy, the bushes beyond them - dense and thorny, but people rushed towards them regardless. Within a few heartbeats even the animals and carts were taken away and the pavement was swept clean of all life.

Some people hid deeper in the foliage, others, like my companion, stood before the bushes but with their head down low. The few women I could see lay prostrate on the ground, but did they do it because they were women, or because they were peasants? A noble kneeling when she should stand would attract just as much unwanted attention as a woman standing when she should kneel. Maybe more.

“Should I…” I began but he gestured angrily for me to stay silent, without ever raising his eyes from his muddy shoes. He did not indicate in any way I was supposed to kneel, so I imitated him, standing still with my head bent.

A few moments later I could hear the reason for all this - horse hooves on the stones, coming ever closer. Not a large group, less than a dozen. The horses were not galloping, but moving at a brisk canter. I heard no voices or the clang of armor. I think the riders slowed down a bit when they passed us, I think I felt their gaze on me, but they did not stop.

As the sound of their passing receded I dared peek. At a distance and from the back they looked like normal people. Their clothes matched, a bright blue cloak with a prominent symbol I could not recognize. Perhaps a uniform of some sort, but nothing out of the ordinary for nobility.

More importantly, people did not dare go back on the road for a few minutes after the echo of hooves was gone. My guide had not mentioned any conquest, rebellion or even raiding - nothing more violent than duels and tournaments. I had seen no gibbets or other signs of grisly executions. But you don’t instill such fear and respect with a kind rule. Maybe the methods of intimidation were in the settlements I had yet to see. The riders wore no visible armor or weapons - they were not afraid. Whatever tension hid beneath the surface, the realm appeared prosperous, peaceful and safe. Even the trade carts had no armed guards.

My companion was twice as grumpy after we resumed our journey. At the start I did not know if he was shaken from the encounter or just angry he had muddied his feet. It was hard to tell, because he took it out on me and refused to answer any more questions. He acted like he was doing me a great favor, and in a sense, he was. But he also treated me like I was ungrateful, like I was a spoiled child he had to endure. Not what I look for in a local guide. I could be doing the same things on my own - follow a road and do what everyone around me was doing.

More worryingly, apart from the latest tantrum, his disdain for a woman traveling alone seemed cultural, not personal. Replacing him was unlikely to solve the problem, and ditching him entirely would probably make it worse. On the bright side, peasants were glancing in my direction now that I walked by his side.

So I resigned myself and kept observing. He walked differently now, pushing rudely through everyone, daring them to confront him or else step aside. Was he… imitating the riders? Was this envy? It would explain why my company and walking on foot suddenly angered him. They were reminders of what he wanted, and was denied - a horse, a free road, an important task, admiration. Did he ever possess these and lost them? No, knowing what to look for, I could see the life spent trying to prove his worth, the decades of rejection spilling out of his eyes, seeping in his gait. The fear that recognition might come too late in life, or not at all. The pain fermented into petty aggression.

I was unusual enough to spend the evening with me, even if he would not talk. He thought something might come out to justify the effort of traveling together, just barely. The feeling was mutual.

At long last we reached a small hamlet with an inn, just as the last light was fading from the sky and raindrops started falling. The inn was a long wooden building, squatting next to a river. As we approached, I took off a silver ring with a transparent stone and offered it to my companion.

“My lord Avery, I know nothing of prices and dealing with innkeeps. Please, can you take this and pay for our rooms on our behalf?”

He made no motion to take the ring, and looked slightly insulted.

“Why would you pay for my room as well?”

“If it wasn’t for this foolish woman, you would not be here, with this expense. Please, my lord, this is the least I could do for you.”

He hesitated, but ultimately nodded and took the ring. He negotiated for adjacent rooms on the second floor, and food. The ground floor was a smelly, crowded, rowdy place, the type that I avoid whenever possible. The food we were served disgusted me and I excused myself without touching it. My companion glared at me from under bushy eyebrows as I muttered something about being exhausted. His gaze followed me as I climbed the stairs. Perhaps it was rude to leave without eating, or he expected me to ask for approval. Or he worried about something else entirely.

The rooms were small, with a single narrow bed and a chair. The ceiling was low and the walls too thin to stop the cold. The single window was closed to keep the night out, and the wind was beating raindrops on the shutters. A dry place to spend the night, not to live. If you wanted more, you were welcome to stay downstairs and spend your coin, or sleep outside. As someone who had spent many nights under the sky, I appreciated the roof and walls, such as they were.

I wondered how long he would take, and I heard his hurried steps up the stairs just a few minutes later. But then he surprised me - he entered his own room, not mine.

He took out stacks of thin black candles out of his bag and lit them in a circle. How romantic of him! He even drew lines and symbols on the floor with chalk. When satisfied with his work, he placed a chair in the middle of the circle, turned to the door and spoke in a loud, clear voice.

“Rangda, come to me.”

He expected me to open that door, confused and unable to resist him. Instead, I stepped out of the shadow behind him.

“I am here, Avery.” The words were cold, flat. Gone was the vulnerable tone, the desire to please. He had lost any pretense, why should I keep mine?

He jumped as he faced me, his calm momentarily broken. Now is your chance, take it! But he regained his composure almost immediately, and pointed.

“Rangda, sit on the chair.”

He was leaning into my Name and the command with all his mediocre Talent, his boundless ambition and, I have to admit, his considerable willpower and ego. He held no doubt I would obey. I was tempted to play along, for a moment, but then I slipped out of Rangda. A hint of a smile passed my lips.

“I think not.”

His eyes widened. His Talent had failed - the source of his pride and sense of superiority. But I think it went deeper. A woman refusing a man’s command is hard on the ego. It is not culturally acceptable in most places, this one included. The power of cultural norms is often attributed to natural laws or magic. Seeing them broken is shocking, like seeing water flow upslope. His shock was very pleasurable. I can take my joy from things both expected and unknown, but this man did not like surprises. I waited for him to gather himself and open his mouth in anger before I stepped forward.

“Aelferaed, sit on the chair.”

Another shock. The strange foreigner not only refused him, but knew his Name. I smiled a bit more. I had just shown him how to resist, if he cared to look and imitate - he had to change his core essence so the Name would not fit any more. I can understand not being a fast enough learner - few were. But he had failed to prepare a line of escape, or even a defensible corner - neither in his room, nor in his mind. It wasn’t surprising he hadn’t found success in life, it was a wonder he hadn’t found his doom by now.

He tensed his muscles as if I would drag him by my own physical force. Which was silly. Maybe he had used Names before, but had never had his Name used against him. I used his own limbs, and sat him on the chair, none too gently.

“Aelferaed, what were you going to do with me on that chair?” I smiled wider, my voice rising in mock innocence.

“I would ask more about you. Take your jewels. See if you had any relatives that could pay ransom. Or influence in any court which I could join as a Magus. Check how far I could make you go with your Name…” His voice shook, as the words were forced out of him against his will. The usual plan, then. Squeeze me dry of all use.

“Aelferaed, who taught you about Names?”

“Magus Thomazs Corvenus,” He said through clenched teeth.

True Names are so unlike normal ones. Written down they are useless. With many people sharing Names written the same, one Name will not give you power over them all. It takes more than mere letters and sounds to convey the essence of a being. Names are most potent when spoken by their holder and heard by someone with a Talent. Told by another person, the strength of the binding depends on how well the speaker knows the name holder… among other things. This name tasted like a dried leaf. A True Name once, now it held no purchase - its holder was long dead.

“Aelferaed, did you murder Thomazs Corvenus?”

“No.” The word rang true, but hollow. He was involved somehow. It did not matter right now.

“Aelferaed, what did Thomazs Corvenus teach you about names?”

“He told me to protect my Name. He warned me never to use another’s Name. It’s dark magic. Forbidden.” 

Ah, so this realm had some norms regarding Names. But poor Aelferaed thought his greatness should not be contained by these conventions. He thought of them as limitations, not guardrails. My smile widened some more.

“How did you learn my Name?” He grunted.

“You spoke my True Name. You summoned me, and unveiled me. You pulled me with your will. Did you not think this would link us? You invited me in your mind. Did you not think I would look around once I entered?”

No, eager to command, he did not think. My smile stretched even more.

This was a game I loved. As we talked, my smile had widened gradually, from normal to grotesque to inhuman. I watched for that moment of sudden realization. Yet Aelferaed kept denying me. With all of his heart he wanted to believe I was just some strange foreigner, someone he could handle. His ability to reject reality was astounding. So what if my mouth had grown far too big? Foreigners were supposed to be strange! Even as I approached him, and opened my mouth, for a few moments he held firm against the glittering rows of needle-sharp teeth. And then finally the dam of disbelief broke, and he was truly afraid. The fear in these eyes tasted so sweet!

“I have used your Name, and invited you to my mind. Say my Name,” I whispered in his ear.

He did not want to. He refused to even see my new Name, had closed shut his inner eye and his mind. That would have helped him, if it wasn’t too late, if I wasn’t there already. He fought me with everything he had, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Aelferaed, say my True Name.”

As he uttered it, he recognized it. My fame had overtaken me to this world, after all. I allowed him a few sobs of terror. It was the last sound he would ever make. I am a being of many Names and many Selves, using them as needed. But that night, I showed him my innermost Self, and told him my innermost Name, which, in a sense, are one and the same thing.

I left the little empty room, early before sunrise. I wore his cloak, and his chain, and his staff, and his face. But the slight smile was all mine. This was a good world. Perhaps I would stay here longer. I took a deep breath and walked into the morning.