Antiphon by Ken Scholes

felt a pang of panic seize him.
    Don’t go.
    And even as he thought it, that older part of him stirred again.
What is this that you feel?
It was deeper than memory, stronger than instinct, and it pulled at him with a gravity he had not expected. Still, he set it aside for now.
    He forced his arm still, the hand dipping into the gentle waves, and beneath his skiff, the ghost moved in a widening circle, rolling as it did, before it shot southeast—a streak of light within the water.
    Vlad opened his mouth to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. More than that, he realized—it was more a sob than a gasp, and that knowledge rattled him.
    Don’t go.
    Fast as it had fled, the light returned, wavering beneath him again, and for the faintest moment, he felt the cool electric tingle as one tendril brushed his hand. It pulsated more urgently now, and a new compulsion seized him.
    Hooking his foot under the rowing bench to anchor himself, Vlad stretched over the side of the boat to dip his face into the water, forcing his eyes open to take it all in.
    Its song was everywhere around him, and the light drew nearer for a moment before fleeing again.
    Vlad raised his head, drew in a deep lungful of air, and reimmersed himself.
    He counted to five, and just as before, the ghost was back and all around him.
I could give myself to it,
he thought.
I could let go of the bench and join it here and never leave.
    But even as he thought it, he knew it was not the path for him, despite deep longing. That part of him that had ruled House Li Tam with iron resolve, making and breaking the leaders and houses of the Named Lands, knew with certainty that something suspicious and ancient and more powerful than any compulsion he’d ever known now gripped him, and rather than being satisfied by at last finding what he sought, he was instead more curious and more compelled by this longing.
    Withdrawing his face from the water, Vlad watched as the ghost once again fled southeast only to return.
It means me to follow.
    But he knew that for now, he wouldn’t. For now, he had learned what he needed to and would return to the Blood Temple, take his breakfast, and meet with Baryk as soon as the warpriest was awake.
    Tomorrow, he would return alone. He would do the same each day after. And in a week’s time, he would gather what remained of his family and would sail southeast . . . though it made no sense to do so.
    Yet I will do this.
    It broke his heart open to set himself firmly again on the rowing bench. He felt that pulsating ache moving and twisting across the deep, dark waters of his recent losses and was surprised at the tears that now coursed his cheeks.
    It is as if I am in love,
Vlad Li Tam thought with a rising panic that threatened to capsize his understanding.
Winters

    The young Gypsy Scout stationed near the door ushered Winters into Rudolfo’s audience chamber just ahead of the prisoners, and she slid quietly into the chair provided for her in the corner of the room. Already, her stomach knotted at the thought of this afternoon’s meeting. She’d sat through hours of interrogation that morning, breaking only for lunch. Rudolfo’s questioning was skillful, even courteous, but what she heard from her people—what she saw upon their faces as they proclaimed it—chilled her.
    She smoothed her plain dress and forced herself to watch when thewomen were brought in. Their hair was cut short, and the lines of ash and mud upon their faces were drawn in a more deliberate pattern, like the woman who claimed to be her older sister. Their feet were bare beneath the robes they wore. They walked with their heads held high and their shoulders back, and they met Rudolfo’s eyes with their own, and with the confident smile of peers. They inclined their heads slowly and sat in the chairs he waved at.
    “I hope,” Rudolfo said to them, “you enjoyed your lunch.”
    They nodded, and the one who had kept silent through most of the morning session