Darkness surrendered as suddenly as it had arrived.
Then came the light - it was never painful, only startling.
No matter how many times it happened, the passage refused to become familiar. Birth had nothing to do with it. It resembled possession more than awakening. Another mind receded, pulled downward into a silent place, while his own memories rose like something long submerged.
He opened unfamiliar eyes.
Red robes.
His hands moved instinctively through the pockets before thought had caught up with them.
The small carved idol. The leather satchel. The glass vial.
He stopped breathing for a moment.
Vlastimir.
Fortune had shown him a rare kindness.
He had never chosen the body into which he awakened. Kings, beggars, shepherds, children—chance alone had always decided. Yet now he found himself wearing the very man who had pursued him across the mountains.
His fingers tightened around the satchel.
The tincture had survived.
A plan began forming before the dizziness had fully left him.
A Face Without an Owner
He looked down the hillside - his former body lay twisted against an outcropping of stone, one hand still clutching the iron spike buried in its chest.
He watched it without grief, which surprised him less than it once had.
Over centuries he had learned to abandon bodies as travelers abandon worn boots. Attachment had become impractical.
Yet another consequence lingered : he no longer possessed any certain image of himself.
Mirrors had become unbearable.
Whenever he tried to imagine his own face, countless others crowded forward instead—young and old, scarred and smooth, bearded and clean-shaven, all dissolving into one another until nothing remained but movement.
He could remember hundreds of lives. He could not remember what he looked like. Perhaps, he sometimes wondered, he had never truly known.
Becoming Vlastimir
Ayberk climbed down beside him.
"What do we do?"
The young man's voice carried real fear.
"We do not know where he is now," Vlastimir answered.
The lie came easily.
"He could be anyone."
He looked toward the circling hawk overhead.
"He could already be a hundred leagues away."
Inside, another voice urged caution.
Become him - become Vlastimir before someone notices he is gone. He reached carefully into memories that were not entirely his own, feeling for familiar gestures, familiar expressions, the rhythms of another man's speech.
There would be no second chance. The Order had prepared for failure. Every member understood the covenant. If the Shining One ever entered their ranks unnoticed, all witnesses were to die before the knowledge could escape.
Cosimo's work depended upon ignorance.
An Unnecessary Witness
"Clear the road," he said.
"Everything else waits."
Ayberk nodded.
Vlastimir's eyes drifted toward Nazli.
She stood quietly behind the wagon, looking back down the road from which they had come, unaware that Melek already lay dead upon the hillside.
His fingers brushed the glass vial inside the satchel.
Only a single drop had once turned a dog to stone.
The men who captured him had never understood its strength.
He withdrew the bottle unnoticed.
Half its contents disappeared into a sack of dried figs and walnuts.
He uncorked a bottle of rough port with his teeth, drank deeply, then leaned casually against the wagon, chewing from the untainted handful hidden in his pocket.
Nazli looked over.
She smiled politely.
A smile offered to the wrong man. He held out the sack and she accepted it without suspicion.
The change was almost merciful: one breath, one startled widening of the eyes, then stillness. The expression of realization remained forever fixed upon the gray stone that had once been her face.
Loose Ends
Ayberk and Kuzey returned as though nothing unusual had occurred.
"The road is clear."
Vlastimir nodded toward the wagon.
"Load her carefully."
Neither man questioned him.
They laid the stone figure among the cargo beneath folded sacks.
As the wagon rolled westward, Ayberk accepted the wineskin when it was offered.
Then the figs.
Kuzey accepted both with his usual uncomplicated gratitude. Several miles later Vlastimir halted the horses.
The hatchet fell only once. Kuzey never saw it.
A few drops from the vial transformed flesh into stone before blood could spread across the road.
The valley fell silent again.
The wind lifted the edge of his robe and for a long while he simply stood listening. The hawk still circled overhead. Nothing in the world seemed to acknowledge what had happened.
Stone proved heavier than flesh.
He shattered Kuzey's body against roadside boulders before casting the fragments into the ravine.
Ayberk followed. One burden became many smaller ones.
When the work was finished, sweat darkened the collar of Vlastimir's robe. He rested a hand against the wagon, then slowly lifted the canvas flap.
Nazli lay beneath the travel sacks exactly where they had placed her.
Even in stone, she seemed to be watching him.
For the first time since awakening, he found himself unable to meet her eyes.