Martha soon relaxed as she got into the routine of pouring ales, clearing away dirty tankards, and wiping down the bar. In fact, she had almost forgotten why they were there. She was so absorbed in what she was doing, that she nearly missed the very conversation that she had been hoping to overhear.

  She was stooping to stack newly washed tankards under the bar when Leena suddenly dropped to her haunches beside her and laid a restraining hand on hers, stopping her activity.

  At Martha’s look, Leena put her finger against her lips, then whispered, “Listen! They’re talking about the poster!” and pointed above her head.

  “No, no,” one was Guard saying, “still haven’t found her. She has vanished in the Sentinels.”

  “She’s probably lost, and will never be found,” surmised another. “Those forests are huge.”

  Under the bar, Martha and Leena shot worried glances at each other.

  “I tell you what though,” continued the first Guard, “If she were my daughter, I wouldn’t want to find her. Talk about ugly!” They moved away, laughing raucously at their wit.

  Furious, Martha leapt to her feet and was about to reprimand them, but Leena jumped up beside her and, grabbing Martha by the shoulders, steered her gently but firmly out the rear flap, where Martha stood shaking.

  “I don’t know if I’m more angry or relieved!” she finally burst out.

  Leena patted her shoulder. “Relieved, I’d say! Come. We must get back to work if we want to be able to come back and serve again next week.” She tugged Martha back into the tent.

  MEANWHILE, THOMAS, Jack and Hank were thoroughly engrossed in the Games. The first few wrestling matches had been amongst a group of eight young men, some of whom had only just started competing in the Games in the past few weeks. They had taken turns, wrestling in pairs within their weight class. In this group, there were three different weight classes. They each had three games within their weight classes and the two highest cumulative scorers would then go through to the next round the following week. Hank explained that the competitors would not earn money for their wins until they reached the second round. The second-round athletes were considerably more experienced than the first round, as one would expect. The competition was a lot tighter, and it was much less common for one opponent to pin the other down.

  Jack was eager to watch some other games, so they moved on, but not before stuffing their pockets full of apples and nuts. They watched some races, then the javelin throwing. They were about to move on to the weightlifting when some women screamed and a collective shout rose from the direction of the tightrope: a walker had fallen off! They were drawn along with the crowd as everybody rushed towards the spectacle. Jack craned his neck above the crowd. A figure lay sprawled on his back on the hard-packed dirt under the tightrope, one leg twisted horribly at the knee. A medic was crouched beside him, but was already shaking his head, indicating that there was nothing to be done. The unfortunate competitor was dead.

  As quickly as it had formed, the crowd dispersed. White-faced, Jack hurried back behind his father and Hank, as they made their way towards the weightlifting stage, talking in low voices. But the sombre mood did not last long, and soon Jack forgot all about the shocking event, as he once more became absorbed by the action around him. The men competing in the weightlifting were so strong! Jack marvelled at their bulging muscles, their biceps as big as a squash, their legs as thick as small trees.

  At midday, they made their way back to the wrestling ring to find Leena's basket or, more importantly, their lunch inside it. There was no sign of the women, but the basket was still there, under the seat where they'd left it. After they had eaten and drunk their fill, they spent the afternoon watching the competitions that they had not yet had a chance to see: fencing, horsemanship, archery and, of course, the beauty pageant.

  Hank also showed them the betting and enrolment tent, at the opposite end of the arena to the Guards' refreshment tent. There they observed many excited citizens stuffing gold into their pockets. There was, of course, an equal number, if not more, dejected and disappointed people leaving the tent, counting their losses. Seeing the gold made Jack even more determined to win some for himself.

  Soon enough, the tenth bell tolled, and immediately the mood in the stadium changed.

  Before he could ask why, Hank answered Thomas.

  “Games are finished—we need to be cleared out by the next bell. Let's wait by the basket for the women folk.”

  As it turned out, the women were already waiting for them.

  Before they could ask how things had gone for them, Martha whispered, “We have news of Freya! She hasn't been found, but is missing in the Sentinels. That's all we found out.”

  Hank pondered before responding cautiously, “Well, at least we know for sure that she hasn't been caught yet. Come, let's go now—we can talk more at home.”

  A half hour later, they were all sitting in Hank and Leena's living room. Martha and Leena described how they had managed to get into the serving tent and the conversation they had subsequently overheard.

  Thomas, too, protested at the comment about Freya's looks, but Hank, taking no notice, announced that there was nothing for it, but they would just have to wait until the next Games to find out anything more.

  Nobody felt it necessary to mention the possibility that Freya might never be found.

  Chapter 11

  The Games

  The week passed with painful slowness. They were so anxious for the next Games that time dragged even more than usual. But finally, the day arrived.

  Martha could hardly contain her excitement. Full of anticipation, Leena and Martha once again presented themselves at the Guards' tent, whilst the men occupied themselves with the serious business of enjoying the Games.

  Jack had decided that he was most suited to wrestling, so they made their way to the ring and struck up a conversation with some of the men who were standing watching.

  “If you want to wrestle, there are practice sessions during the week right here in the arena—as long as you can convince a trainer to take you on,” said Hank.

  “This must be your lucky day,” said a burly chap standing nearby. “My name is Orn, and I happen to be a trainer. I'd be most pleased to train the young 'un here.”

  “That's great,” said Jack. “When can we begin?”

  “Tomorrow,” said Orn, “between the eleventh and twelfth bells.”

  Thomas stepped in. “But what do you charge?”

  “Just a small fee.”

  The knot of excitement that had been growing in the pit of Jack's stomach suddenly evaporated at the mention of a fee. He had no money! Reading the look of dejection on Jack's face, Orn quickly offered a solution.

  “You can train for free on one condition: you give your first winnings to me, no matter how long it takes you to win.”

  Jack could not believe his luck, and Thomas agreed that it was a good bargain. So it was with renewed enthusiasm that they observed the wrestling matches at hand, and they had a most enjoyable day.

  But it was a dejected Martha that greeted the men at the tenth bell. Although they had had no problem being able to gain entrance to the ale tent and serve as before, this time they did not overhear one snippet of conversation about Freya. There were no words of comfort that anyone could offer her, for they were all thinking the same thing: if she had not been found by now, surely she could not have survived? They walked home in silence, and in the subsequent days, Martha slipped once more into depression.

  FOUR DAYS LATER, MARTHA, Thomas and Jack had barely returned home after another hard day’s work when Leena came knocking. She burst in the minute Thomas opened the door and waved a poster in their faces. Martha and Jack came running at the sound of raised voices.

  “What is it?” Thomas asked.

  “It’s another WANTED poster!” Leena exclaimed, as she spread it out on the table. “Hank printed it today.”

  The others crowded around, staring at the poster. It was a man. He looked youngish: older than Jack, but younger than Thomas. He had a moustache and neatly cropped beard. He had long, wavy, dark hair, which flopped into piercing eyes.

  “Who is he?” Martha asked.

  “We don’t know,” Leena replied, “but look at those words!”

  Martha read them aloud: “Goes by the name ‘Saff’. Thought to be an accomplice of the dangerous girl with one eye.”

  Thomas whistled between his teeth. “By the Land! He’s helping her.”

  Martha looked with renewed hope in her eyes at her husband. He placed a comforting arm around her shoulders and gave them a squeeze.

  “Cheer up, my love,” he said. “Only three more days to the next Games.”

  THREE DAYS LATER THE families found themselves once more joining the throngs entering the arena for the weekly Games. Martha felt a mixture of anticipation and dread, hoping against hope that she would hear something, but at the same time fearful that she would once more be disappointed—or, worse still, that she would hear something bad. Still, there was only one way to find out, so she entered the ale tent for a third time with determination.

  By now she was quite familiar with the tasks she needed to perform. She could easily listen in on the Guards’ conversations without missing a beat. And just as well, as the new poster was causing as much interest amongst the Guards as it had for Martha. She had not been there long at all before a Guard down the far end of the bar called out to a colleague.

  “Oy, Froot! What about that new fugitive then?”

  The Guard called Froot was deep in conversation with some others, but was obviously pleased with his popularity as the source of information about this new development. He stopped, mid-sentence, and announced loudly, so that all in the tent could hear, “Well, I certainly know all about it, lads!”

  Martha sidled closer to the action, but she needn't have bothered being so cautious, as nobody was paying her the slightest bit of attention.

  Seeing that he had an audience, Froot continued. “That's right! This chap in the poster, apparently his name is Saff, grabbed that ugly girl right from under our noses six days ago—in the Elmwood square!”

  More heads turned towards Froot, and a murmur went through the tent. Martha clapped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from making a noise.

  Froot nodded at the crowd gathered around him, pleased with the reaction he was getting.

  The first Guard called out again, “Well, if 'e was in the middle of the square, how did 'e manage to give us the slip then?”

  Others muttered and shook their heads, obviously agreeing with this sentiment.

  Froot stared around at them all with a mysterious smile on his face. Slowly quietness spread over the tent, so it was to a rapt audience that Froot delivered his punch-line: “Well, he's a Transient, isn't he, and he just vanished into thin air with the girl. Poof! Right in front of hundreds of people. The Master's right furious, he is!”

  A collective gasp went through the tent, but then everybody broke out simultaneously into loud speculation.

  “What? A Transient? Thought we'd wiped 'em out a thousand years ago!”

  “Why would a Transient rescue that ugly girl?”

  “Elmwood! How'd she get to Elmwood from the Pit?”

  Martha’s head was spinning and suddenly she had to sit down. She hadn't understood half of what the Guard called Froot had said, but she did understand that a week ago Freya was still alive, and she had been rescued by this mysterious Transient fellow, Saff. She closed her eyes in gratitude and let out a huge breath that she didn't realise she'd been holding.

  Suddenly Leena was beside her, helping her to her feet. She was smiling broadly and squeezed her hand.

  “You all right?”

  Martha nodded. “I am now.”

  They went back to serving ale, but it was so hard to concentrate. She couldn't wait to tell Thomas and Jack all they had heard.

  That evening, once more gathered in Hank and Leena's living room, they went over and over the conversation that Martha and Leena had heard. Nobody knew what a Transient was, but it didn't really matter, because he had rescued their Freya. How Freya had made it through the Sentinels to Elmwood they couldn't fathom, but there it was: she'd turned up in Elmwood and been rescued by this Saff person. And now she'd disappeared again, but this time she had someone helping her. But who could he possibly be?

  Chapter 12

  Saff

  For Freya, disappearing into thin air was not nearly as magical as it looked to the throng around her. One minute she had been standing on a stage in the middle of a crowd of jeering townspeople, ducking cabbages and potatoes. The next she was struck heavily in her chest by an invisible force that left her sprawled flat on her back.

  That force had whispered urgently into her ear, “Don't scream,” and had picked her up and flung her over his shoulder as he leapt off the far side of the stage, sending people flying when he landed in their midst. Before they realised what had happened, he had pushed past them and was sprinting away down a narrow side street.

  The people were in a riot of confusion and, whilst some just stared in astonishment, a couple of others with their wits about them had grabbed each end of a long rope and were running in the direction Freya had been taken, hoping to trip the invisible girl. But their efforts were in vain. Freya was by now safely inside the house of Saff the Watcher.

  It had been an extremely strange sensation, feeling that she was being carried, but unable to see even herself, let alone whoever was carrying her. However, the minute they were inside the house, with the door locked and the blinds shut, both Freya and her rescuer became visible again. Not that she could see much of the figure in the gloom. But he soon lit some candles, and Freya immediately recognised the face that the glowing stone had revealed: the same neat beard and moustache and the unmistakable, intense eyes.

  Freya was so excited that the words tumbled out of her mouth without thinking.

  “Oh, I'm so glad I finally found you! You are Saff the Watcher, aren't you?” she babbled.

  Saff apparently did not share her excitement. He untied her wrists, then sat down at the table and indicated for Freya to do likewise.

  “Yes, I am,” he stated, “but who are you, and why do you have Merald's stone?”

  Deflated somewhat, Freya sat down. “Oh yes. Well, I'm Freya and ...” Her voice trailed off as she recalled the horrific murder of the other Watcher, and suddenly she was overcome with emotion. As tears welled up in her eyes she stammered, “I ... I didn't know his name ... the other Watcher. But he saved me! He gave me the stone and told me to find you here, in Elmwood!”

  “So,” said Saff sadly, “Merald is dead. I thought as much. You had better tell me what happened.”

  Freya briefly recounted her adventures of the past months, beginning with her family being Selected. She decided to omit her discovery of the tablet and its mysterious glowing messages for the moment. Her voice was pained, as she told him about the interview with the official in Targa that resulted in the revelation that she was adopted, and that her real mother was from the province of Yaw.

  At this, Saff stiffened and a look of understanding crossed his face, but Freya paid it no attention and continued describing her subsequent captivity. As she told him about the cave people, he leaned forward, his eyes registering surprise. When she described the stone glowing in the caves and seeing his face in the greenish light, he nodded, but said nothing. When her voice grew quiet as her story drew to a close, he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin, thinking.

  Just as Freya was wondering whether she dared interrupt him, he abruptly placed his hands on the table and pushed himself upright.

  “You must be hungry,” he declared. “I have much to tell you. But let us first eat.” He indicated a door she had not noticed. “I expect you will want to use the washroom.”

  He strode over to a cupboard and took out a towel. Handing it to her, he asked if there was anything else she needed. Shaking her head, Freya thanked him and gratefully made her way into the small but clean room.

  By the time she had freshened up, Saff had set the table with a simple meal: bread with cheeses, ham, fresh fruit, and cups of ale. Suddenly feeling hungry, Freya sat down gratefully.

  Saff studied her for a moment, then announced, “I think I shall start with ‘the Prophecy’.” He took a huge bite of bread and chewed thoughtfully.

  Freya followed suit, looking at him expectantly.

  He swallowed, washed the last crumbs down with a swig of ale, then in his deep, sonorous voice he chanted:

  That which was lost a millennium or more

  Shall be found again by a Daughter of Yaw:

  One who cannot see, yet is not blind—

  If they seek, they shall find

  The Path to set all mankind free

  Straight through the heart of tyranny.

  There is no need to see to believe;

  There is more than one way the truth to perceive.

  Once finished, he took another bite, but Freya was left with her mouth agape: Daughter of Yaw! Cannot see, yet is not blind!

  “I ... I ...” she stammered, but her throat had gone dry and she couldn't get the words out. She took a gulp of ale and tried again. “That prophecy is about me!” she finally squeaked.

  Saff nodded gravely in agreement.

  Chapter 13

  Explanations

  “We Watchers have been keepers of the Prophecy for over a thousand years,” Saff explained. “We have been on the lookout for a 'Daughter of Yaw’ who cannot see, yet is not blind—you—since we first became trapped in Medar. That is why we call ourselves Watchers.”

  “How many Watchers are there?” Freya asked.

  “Now only five—no, four of us remain.” Saff winced, and a trace of sadness crept into his eyes. “We have concealed ourselves in various towns and cities throughout the Land—Rube is based in Yawbridge, Paz in Trence, and Thyst in Varton—watching and waiting, communicating with each other through our talking stones.”