The two began running, Leda suddenly noticing the weight of her burden. She could hear their pursuers crashing through the trees behind her. She dove down a side path and hunched down in the undergrowth. She lay there as their dark feet faded on towards the river. Now that she was above ground, they would be weaker. They wouldn’t pursue for long.

She continued on the path, alert to every flutter of a bird’s wing. The trees rattled in the brisk wind. The sun began to set as she dragged Marten along. They stopped and she set up camp at a lake. The water was clear and cool as ice. Fish swam just below the placid surface, but a soft white fog hung over it. Leda was suddenly aware of her hunger. A sharp, intense pain. She hadn’t needed food while below, the air seemed to be full of any thing she might need. It was a fully self-sustaining environment. But the above-world air didn’t offer this gift. She rummaged through the bag she had left with Lireth. Two slices of dried fish and apple were her dinner.

After eating she lay down and let sleep wrap her in its relaxing folds.

The next morning broke crisp, clear, and cold. As the sun brushed her face, she woke, thinking it was all a dream. She had never gone below and Marten was still alive. She was not the Illilam. The Shadow Sliders were still mysteries. But at the sight of her dark bundle, those hopes vanished. She felt the tears stealing into her eyes. Then they fell, unheeded, to the ground. Her tears poured out until she felt empty and void of tears. She felt as if she would never be able to cry again, but one tear rolled down her face in protest. It was telling her that this sorrow was only one of many in her life. There would be more, she would cry. Life wasn’t always fair; often it was bitter and unforgiving.

She walked and stood by the edge of the lake. The morning sun couldn’t burn through the mist on its surface. She held the sword lightly in her hand and the mist climbed up slowly spreading its tentacles along the blade. Then the mist began tugging at it. She gripped it tightly. Then, from the lake, came a voice. “You have done well. You may let it go.” The voice was strong, deep, and, somehow, old. She saw the form of a man in the mist, standing on the water. His deep, cerulean eyes regarded her kindly and she knew it was okay. He was an Ancient. It was okay. She let the blade fall, but instead of plummeting to the water, it was carried away by the mist. In her mind she could fell the cool, good presence of the man on the lake.

“You have done well. Thank you.” His eyes locked on hers. She felt as if someone was looking through her thoughts. At first she was scared, then relieved. His eyes changed from kindness to sympathy. “Your reward,” he said, then vanished. She felt confused, then turned back towards camp. Lireth was conveniently sleeping. It had only been for her to see.

The camp was quiet. There were no piles of riches, no suddenly forgotten facts. At first she thought forgetting would be the most gracious thing, but as she kept expecting her memory of the past days to vanish, she felt dread. She didn’t want to forget, it was her lifeline in tragedy’s stormy sea. Then a soft groan broke through the cold morning’s silence. She looked around, but saw no one. Then she noticed the soft rise and fall of Marten’s chest. He was alive. She ran over and pulled the cloaks from around him. All his wounds were healed and his eyes opened as if he had been sleeping. For a moment she believed maybe he had been. In the darkness she could have missed it, but it wasn’t true. This was her reward.

“Leda?” he asked questioningly.

“Yes,” she said. She could feel the tears coming back to her eyes, then flooding her face. Her vision blurred as they poured out of her eyes.

He sat up and looked at her, then he wrapped his arm around her and pulled him towards her. He laid her head on his shoulder and softly stroked her hair. “Its all-right, don’t worry. Its okay now,” he murmured softly.

She looked up at him from her tear stained face and couldn’t believe her eyes. He leaned forward and their lips locked in a kiss. This one not of goodbye, but of joy and meeting. Not another thought that it was a dream passed her mind. It was all real. He pulled away and looked at her.

“The worst part is remembering it,” he said.

“But it is also best,’ she said softly. He smiled in answer.

They stood and looked out. Leda noticed the mist had vanished. Not a single tendril remained. She heard the trees talking and understood that it was joy they spoke of. They had witnessed the returning of an ancient.

Eventually the vulmar woke. Are we ready to go? Lireth didn’t seem to care that the dead body was alive and breathing. Maybe she had known the ending all along.

“Yes, Lireth, we are going.”

Marten looked puzzled and Leda turned towards him. “There is much I will explain, but let us begin first.” They set off and Leda began recounting her tale. They bypassed the town and headed towards their home, a small cabin out in the woods.

As night drew closer, they made camp and had their dinner. Fish, apple, and hard bread. Leda would prefer to avoid fish the rest of her life. Marten dropped off to sleep quickly, but Leda lay awake. She watched how the shadows of the fire played on his face and for once, didn't think of the Sliders. She snuggled up beside him and as he slept, he looped his arm over her shoulder.

She realized something as she lay there awake. She was done. Her journey was finished, and, though she would always be the Illilam, her duty was done. Yet there was one thing more important than anything else to her at the moment. She was done seeing shadows.