69 Ishalem, Ra'vir Compound

Though he was only eleven years old, Davic had already achieved great things in his life. After living with Prester Ciarlo for months, pretending to be a faithful Aidenist (and loathing every minute of it), he now recognized how clever the Teacher's training had made him. He had never lost sight of the truth. Now, thanks to the boy's information, Kel Unwar was off to capture Prince Tomas—what a devastating blow to the enemy that would be! And Davic had made it possible. A true blessing from Urec!

Before setting off in his warships to go after the prince, Unwar had sent Davic to the large new ra'vir camp established just south of Ishalem. Accustomed to taking care of himself, the boy needed no escort. He eagerly looked forward to announcing his triumph to the Teacher himself.

When he approached the outskirts of the mock Aidenist town, two horsemen on patrol challenged him. They wore yellow sashes across their chests and bright yellow olbas. Davic held up a sealed letter of verification from the provisional governor. “I am a ra'vir returned from my mission. I need to see the Teacher.”

The guards inspected Unwar's letter, conversed with each other, then handed back the document. “Congratulations. The soldan-shah will be proud of what you've done. We will take you to the Teacher now.”

“I'll go there myself, without an escort.” The boy gave them a disarming, waifish grin (something the Teacher had taught him), and it worked as well on these Urecari men as it had on the fools in Windcatch. “Let this be a surprise.”

He bounded into the faux Aidenist town, saw the boys and girls like himself, unremarkable street scamps, all supposedly orphans—and they were in fact orphans, because they'd been rescued from 'Hook parents who would have raised them to be damned. Davic knew none of the other children, because all of the ra'virs in his training group were already assigned to various Tierran villages, some even to Calay.

Most of the children stolen from Tierran villages did not survive ra'vir indoctrination. Any boys or girls who clung to their false beliefs, or who wailed in despair at having lost their former lives, or who refused to accept the Truth of Urec—those were killed, often as practice victims for the other children. Ra'virs learned early on never to consider unbelievers as God's children. Only the best candidates—the smartest, the purest—survived their instruction. Oh, some tried to trick the Teacher, secretly keeping their Aidenist beliefs, but the ominous silver-masked figure always found them out.

During his years of indoctrination, Davic had suffered beatings and bruisings, even broken bones, but he had recovered, and the ordeals strengthened him. He had deserved those punishments because he had made mistakes. His errors were not intentional or deceitful, but mistakes were nevertheless a blot in the eyes of Ondun, and the boy had learned never to make them again.

Given his success, Davic was sure the Teacher would dispatch him to Tierra on another assignment, though he longed to stay here in Uraba with people he understood. He wanted to worship freely, wear an unfurling-fern pendant for all to see. He didn't want to have to pretend, but he was a master at it. Ondun would reward him, either in this life or the next.

As he made his way to the Teacher's permanent headquarters tent, he realized for the first time that he looked forward to seeing the fearsome figure. Approaching the tent, Davic straightened his clothing, smoothed his hair, adjusted the concealed knife that the Teacher himself had given him on his graduation. A ra'vir must be ready to fight for his faith at any time.

Preoccupied with his triumphant news and anxious to deliver his surprise, Davic parted the tent flap and bounded inside. “Teacher, I have returned!” He did not try to suppress the excited grin on his face.

The Teacher spun quickly with an indrawn gasp and bark of anger. Davic saw the silver mask lying facedown on a small table, the black cowl slipped down to the shoulders.

Davic stared, paralyzed with shock, then slapped his hands over his eyes—but too late. He recoiled, trying to drive away what he'd just seen. “I'm sorry! I did not mean to look!”

The Teacher snatched up the silver mask, pressed it back into place, adjusted the robes and cowl once more. “You should not have come here.”

Davic kept his eyes averted, his face flushed with shame. “I merely wanted to report to you. Kel Unwar sent me here.” A deep-seated fear bubbled like lava in his stomach: for this error, he knew he would suffer far more than a thrashing. “I didn't mean to… I will never reveal what I have seen!”

“That much is certain.” Tugging the gloves back on, the Teacher grabbed a long knife from the table and brandished it. “As a ra'vir, you know it is vital that secrets be kept.”

“I will keep the secret, Teacher—as I have kept all the others. I swear it on the Golden Fern!”

But the dark form was already moving with deadly swiftness. The long knife sang in a swift arc.

Davic's reflexes kicked in. He had spent years undergoing the Teacher's own training, and he knew how to defend himself. Instinctively, the boy whipped out his own blade and met the Teacher's, edge to edge. They danced, parried. Davic could not read the Teacher's face behind the silver mask, but he knew a cauldron of anger must be simmering there.

He had done a terrible thing. He had seen what he should not have seen. He had committed a terrible mistake, and he deserved to be punished. But the Teacher had also trained him to protect himself. Davic ducked and spun nimbly, remembering his incessant training, avoiding the other blade again and again.

The Teacher jabbed, slashed, breathing heavily behind the silver mask. The boy whisked his knife back and forth, keeping his opponent at bay, but afraid to do any real harm. “I'm sorry, Teacher! I am sorry!”

The Teacher's blade came dangerously close to sticking him, but the boy squirmed, ducked backward, then slithered close to the cumbersome dark garments that hindered the Teacher's full range of motion. He spotted an opening and could have slashed his opponent's forearm through the dark sleeve, but instead he retreated to the tent flap, still holding up his blade. “Teacher, believe me! I meant no harm. I came only to deliver vital information—I was excited. I did not mean to intrude.”

Still keeping the dagger raised, the Teacher paused. “What information?”

Anxious to be pardoned, the ra'vir boy told his tale in a rush of words. The Teacher listened and nodded. “I am proud of your accomplishments, Davic, and I will speak to Kel Unwar about them myself. Prince Tomas will be a fine prize—if your information is accurate.”

“You'll know the truth of that soon enough. And I… I will tell no one what I have seen.”

“Swear it!” The voice sounded sharper than the honed dagger blade.

“I swear! In the names of Urec and Ondun!”

The Teacher raised the dagger in a silent salute. “Very well, I believe you. You have done a great service for Uraba. I have tested your determination, your faith—and you proved yourself worthy.” Placing the dagger back on the table, the Teacher took a seat, turning the implacable blank mask toward him. “Now go blend in with the ra'vir recruits. There is a bunk for you in the third barracks. Rest and recover. Soon, I will find a new mission for you.”

Joyful and relieved, Davic bounded out of the Teacher's tent and went to join his fellow ra'virs.

That night in the barracks, gliding through the shadows, the Teacher moved along the line of beds, inspecting the faces of the Tierran children. So innocent looking, yet so deadly. Because the young ones worked so hard on their training and believed in their mission, the ra'vir trainees slept well.

Content to be back in Urecari lands, Davic sprawled on his pallet, face turned up, mouth slightly open; periodically, he let out a faint snore. Looming over the narrow bed, the Teacher regarded him for a long moment, then extended a gloved hand to pour a small pile of white powder onto the open palm. Moving with utter silence, the Teacher lifted the silver mask, held the powder close to Davic's face, and blew sharply. The powder clouded around the sleeping boy's head. Automatically, Davic inhaled, snorted, and began to cough.

The Teacher straightened once more and replaced the mask as the boy's gasps and struggles awakened other ra'vir children, who were startled to see the dark figure in their barracks. Davic jerked and convulsed. After several long choking gasps, his eyes bulged, and he stared up at the featureless silver mask. He clawed at his eyes, his throat… unable to believe what was happening—and then slumped back. His last breath came out in a long, wet rattle. Davic twitched a few more times before he lay still.

All the other children had awakened and now stared in awe and fear. Masked in shadows, the Teacher did not speak until Davic had fallen silent in death. “His faith was insufficient.”

The dark figure turned and stalked out of the barracks, leaving the dead boy in his bunk, and the ra'vir children stared after the receding form.