Breathless with fear, Galen sprinted up the curve of the spiral street.

Each level of the spiral was two houses wide, with one house facing the street above and one facing that below. Between every fourth house, a steep, narrow alleyway connected the levels.

Galen hung a sharp left at the first downward alley, leaping clear of an abandoned cart, and then took another left at the bottom.

Behn's house was on the same row as Harrald's, four down, and on the opposite side, facing up. Galen hoped if the strangers had seen which direction he'd run, he could throw them off by doubling back. At the next alleyway, he made a third left and dashed up the steep incline, his muscles burning with the fire of exertion and the tang of rust at the back of his tongue.

Vaulting over the low gate, he ducked down and dashed around the side of Behn's house to the back door. Not daring to call out, he rapped on it with his fist, trying hard to breathe through his nose. No one answered, and Galen cursed as he remembered it was Thrynsday. Behn's father was probably at the temple, and Behn must still be out with Triss.

Like him, Behn was an only child of a single parent, his mother having died when he was young. Children were rare in Dern—in all of Thryn, in fact—and births were cause for celebration. As an unwed man, Harrald had taken great pride in raising a child, and Galen had assumed this was the sole reason for his over-protectiveness.

Now he wasn't so sure, and he prayed to the Seven that the strangers wouldn't hurt him. Harrald was strong, despite his twisted back and missing limb, but an unarmed, one-armed man was no match for five with swords.

Neither—despite Triss's training—was he, and as he heard shouts from the street below, fear spurred him back into action. Quickly, he searched the path for a small white pebble, found one, and set it in the center of the doorstep. Behn would know what it meant. Then he slipped around the side of the house in a low crouch and ducked behind a row of shrubs.

Being built on a steep hill, most houses in Dern had a cellar or a basement cut into the side of the slope. He used Harrald's to store his ingredients and concoct his remedies; Behn's father used his to concoct 'remedies' of a different kind. The rows of mead barrels and brewing tanks offered the perfect place to hide.

When they were younger, he and Behn had often concealed themselves there. It was the one place Triss could never find them during games of 'hound and hare' and, fortunately, there was a secret entrance.

Close to the ground, a small opening covered by a grill of latticed iron provided ventilation for the partially subterranean cellar space. For some reason, the grill had never been properly affixed to the wall and popped out with a good yank.

Galen grasped it and pulled, but it didn't budge. It had been years since he and Behn had hidden here, and the thing was rusted in place.

Desperate, Galen picked up a small stone and knocked it against the side of the grill, wincing at the sharp sound it made. To his relief, the grill came loose with the next hard tug, and he laid on the ground carefully.

The opening was only a little over a foot wide and half as tall. Behn didn't stand a marshmallow's chance in hell of fitting through, now, but Galen still might. Lowering himself to his hands and knees, he stuck one leg through, and then the other, then pushed himself through to the waist.

The floor was another four feet below his dangling legs, and it would be almost impossible to get the grill back in place from the inside, but he and Behn had figured out a trick. Galen picked up the grill, grasped the iron lattice, and slithered the rest of the way backward through the hole. His shirt rode up, and he scraped his stomach and shoulders on the edges of the rough bricks, but he made it through. With his body hanging free, he kept hold of the grill and fit it back in place. Then he let go and dropped to the floor, shaking so hard he could barely stand.

The cellar was dark, the latticed grill the only source of light, and it smelled of a damp muskiness. Galen leaned against the cold stone-brick wall and strained his ears for sounds of pursuit, but he couldn't hear anything past the ragged rasp of his breath and the rush of blood in his ears.

Gradually, his pulse slowed, and his breathing quieted. He heard distant shouts, but it was impossible to tell the direction.

Backing away from the wall, he took stock of the cellar as his eyes adjusted to the dark. It looked much as it had the last time he was here. Behn's father had expanded it over the years, and it was longer and wider than the house above. One half was filled with racks of barrels arranged in neat rows, and four huge copper vats occupied the remaining space.

Galen hid in the far corner, behind the last row of barrels, where he and Behn used to huddle together and giggle, imagining Triss looking for them all over Dern, and tried to put his thoughts in order as the sweat cooled on his skin.

Harrald had told him to run, but now he wondered if he had been a coward to listen.

What had the man said, exactly? That he might be a... p'yrha, and they wanted to take him Jana Val to see if he had some kind of magical ability to restore balance to the world? Or some nonsense like that.

It was ridiculous.

Still, Galen couldn't deny he'd been curious. Would the man have said more, or explained further, if Harrald hadn't decided he'd heard enough?

Galen shook his head. The man had all but threatened to take him by force, and no matter what he might have said to convince him, Galen wouldn't leave.

A piece of Harrald's expertly-made chainmail went for good coin, but it took time to make, and the forge was hard to work with one hand. Without the money from Galen's remedies, Harrald faced a long, hungry winter. And what if he got sick, or hurt his back again?

No; no matter what his true origins might be, Harrald was his father, and he'd been a good one—better than many blood relations could claim. Galen could only hope the strangers were honorable enough not to hurt an old man, and would leave him alone. And maybe, in a day or so, they'd give up their search, and go away.

He leaned his head against the wall and shut his eyes, playing it over again in his mind. The stranger's name, Sevhalim, echoed in his ears. It wasn't a Sakkaran name, or Pyrran. It was...

Well, it was strange; and that, too, made him curious.

Galen had no means to measure time, except his innate sense of it, and the measure of light that filtered in through the iron grill. He peeked between the barrels, every so often, and soon estimated that an hour had passed.

He relaxed a little. Unless the strangers had the authority, and the will, to search every house thoroughly, it seemed he would not be found.

Then again, Triss had revealed that she'd known all along where he and Behn were hiding, and simply hadn't bothered to look for them. She was three years their senior, and while they were best friends, sometimes she'd found the two younger boys 'pestiferous.' When she did, she'd propose a game of 'hound and hare,' and play a few rounds, until—inevitably—they'd decide to use their secret hiding place. Then she'd go about her day, while Galen and Behn giggled in the dark until they got hungry and bored.

And 'hungry and bored' described Galen perfectly, as the light faded with nightfall, and true darkness crept from the corners of the cellar, until he could barely see his hand in front of his face. He wished he had a lantern or a candle, and he wished that Behn would hurry up and get down here.

Maybe he couldn't, for some reason; or maybe he hadn't seen the stone; maybe his father had got home first and swept it off the step. It was a stupid, childish thing, but it was the only thing Galen could think of in his panic.

Unfortunately, the cellar door was always locked, as it contained a small fortune in ales and mead, and Behn would have to use his father's key to get in. As for Galen, the only way out was the way he'd come in—if Behn failed to appear.

He dozed fitfully. It was cold, and he covered himself with a few old burlap sacks for warmth, but there was nothing to ease the hunger. He hadn't eaten since breakfast.

A creak of hinges and footsteps woke him, and he blinked in the pitch-black darkness, hardly daring to breathe.

"Gale?"

Behn's whisper set his fears to flight, and he sighed with relief.

"Over here."

A light appeared, and Behn rounded the row of barrels, carrying a large sack.

"Gale! What in the hells is going on? Are you okay?"

Behn rushed forward, dropping his burden and kneeling by Galen as he pushed aside the burlap sacks, his round face pinched with concern.

"I'm okay," Galen said, sitting up and grimacing as his stomach reminded him of its emptiness. "Did you bring any food?"

Behn nodded and rummaged in the sack, drawing forth a surprising array of fare. There was a whole loaf of seed bread, six apples, a large wedge of cheese, two hard-boiled eggs (still in their shells), and a cold cabbage and mushroom pasty. Galen grabbed the last of these, as it was the most perishable, and bit into it with relish.

As he did, he eyed the rest of the food, as well as the other items Behn produced from the sack, which included a thick blanket, a filled waterskin, and a pail. It looked like everything he'd need to live down here for days.

"Behn... What is all this?" he asked.

Behns' brows pinched. "Don't you know? I mean, isn't that why you're here?"

Galen shook his head, confused. "I don't know what you mean. Listen—some strangers came to my father's house, and they said they want to take me to Sakkara. To Jana Val. It didn't seem like they'd take 'no' for an answer, so Harrald... distracted them, and I ran. This was the only safe place I could think of."

Behn nodded, his blue eyes wide in the gloom. "I know. Everyone knows. Gale—those 'strangers' have been all over town, looking for you. Triss and I heard it on our way back up from the docks. Triss said to stay away from your house, 'cause it might be 'suspicious association,' or something like that, and then I saw the stone and knew you must be hiding out here. But I couldn't come earlier, 'cause my dad's home."

Galen squinted. Behn has said all this very quickly, and not all of it made sense.

"What does it matter if your dad's home?" he asked.

Behn shook his head, and moved closer, as if afraid that someone might overhear. "They offered a reward for you, Gale," he whispered, "to anyone who helps them find you. Two thousand silver crowns."

Galen choked on his pasty, and Behn patted him unhelpfully on the back. When he could speak, he rasped, "What?"

"Yeah, and I mean, I trust my dad, but..." Behn shook his head.

Galen didn't blame him. For two thousand silver crowns, he wouldn't blame Behn if he turned him in himself.

"So I had to wait 'til he went to bed," Behn continued, "so he wouldn't suspect anything, you know? Then I gathered all this stuff. You might have to stay down here a while." He bit his lip.

Galen shook his head, his mind racing. How long would the strangers wait? Would he still be in danger after they left, or would things blow over? Most importantly–

"Is Harrald alright?" he asked.

Behn nodded. "Triss checked on him earlier. Rode by on her patrol and made it look like a routine stop. You know—'How goes it, Citizen?'" He rolled his eyes. "She said he seems fine."

Galen sagged with relief. He hadn't realized how worried he'd been. He eyed the rest of the things Behn had brought him. "Doesn't your dad come down here every few days, to check the barrels?" Galen asked. "And what's the pail for?"

Behn shrugged, "I'm in charge of checking the barrels at this phase. He only comes down once a week or so. As for the pail..." Galen saw his cheeks flush even in the dim light. "Well... you know." He glanced at the array of food, and Galen caught his drift.

"I didn't think I'd be staying here that long," he said, feeling his face heat. "Behn..."

"Don't worry about it," Behn said, brushing aside the momentary awkwardness. "You're my best friend, Galen, and you're worth a lot more than a few pounds of silver."

-✵-

Three days later, Gale woke to the sensation of someone shaking him, but when he opened his eyes, he saw he was alone. The shaking, however, continued for several seconds more before subsiding.

In the stillness that followed, he heard distant shouts and screams. Scrambling from beneath his blanket, he went to the wall with the grill, and hoisted himself up to look out, but all he could see from that vantage was the bottom of the shrubs and the side of the neighboring house, beyond.

He dropped back down and began to pace, waiting for Behn to bring him news.

It was another three hours, at least, before he did. Behn looked harried, his round face pink and his straw-colored hair damp with sweat.

"What happened?" Galen asked.

"'Nother tremor," Behn said, flopping down to sit with his back against the wall.

Galen joined him, though mostly because his own chilled body craved the warmth emanating from Behn's.

"Bad one," Behn continued. "Part of the temple caved in. People are saying it's..."

He paused, and Galen looked at him. "What?"

Behn swallowed. "People are saying it's the will of the gods. I don't know how the rumor got started, but... people are saying it's 'cause someone's hiding you, Gale. They say you're a witch, and Thrynis will shake Dern to ground unless you're discovered, and..."

He didn't need to say more. Galen understood. He shut his eyes and took a breath.

"I'll leave," he said.

"What?" Behn sat up, alarmed. "Gale, you can't! You'll–"

Galen shook his head. "I can't stay here, Behn. It's too much risk. If someone finds me, you and your father–"

"We'll be fine!" Behn insisted, grabbing his arm. "You won't be found, and if you are, we could say we didn't even know you were here!"

Galen's face twisted, and he looked away. Behn was kindhearted and generous, and as such he imagined everyone else was, too. Galen knew better.

"Can you bring me some more food?" he asked.

Behn brightened and smiled, thinking Galen meant he'd agreed to stay.

"Sure! And more blankets, and a pillow, too. And a lid for the pail." He wrinkled his nose. He'd only been able to visit Galen once a day, and that hadn't always aligned with the course of nature.

Galen returned his smile. "Thanks, Behn. You're a good friend. You and Triss. Tell her I said so, okay?"

Behn nodded, patted his shoulder, and pushed himself to his feet.

"I better get back upstairs," he said. "Dad's at the temple, helping with repairs, but he'll be back any minute. I'll bring you the food an' stuff tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Galen agreed, keeping his tone light and giving Behn what he hoped looked like a smile. "See you then."

-✵-

Behn was as good as his word, and brought Galen enough food to last him a week, if he was careful, along with an extra blanket, a candle, matches, a book (of brewers recipes, but a book, nonetheless) and a rough lid for the pail.

Galen was grateful for it—grateful for his friend, most of all—but the food was the only thing he'd wanted.

He'd spent the last six hours fashioning a rough pack from the burlap sacks, and now he filled it with the lighter, less perishable foods—bread, fruit, and a piece of hard cheese.

Then, he waited.

He figured the very early morning would be the best time to slip out of town. He knew at least two places he could get over the wall without passing through a gate, and then he'd head upriver to the ford. He'd cross on foot, then cut across the plains to the woods. And from there...

Well, he hadn't thought that far. He'd make it up as he went.

He waited, not daring to sleep and miss his chance, until the first cock crowed, a few hours after midnight.

Annoying birds. Dawn was hours off, and people would be burying their heads beneath their pillows, trying to ignore the screeching sound. And meanwhile, Dern would be as quiet as if ever got.

He rose, hoisted his makeshift pack, and rolled an empty barrel beneath the grill. Climbing atop it, he shoved at the rectangle of iron lattice, and after a few attempts, managed to knock it free. He shoved the pack out, then pulled himself up after it, and wriggled through.

In the open, he blinked against the brilliance of stars and breathed deep lungfuls of the crisp, clean night air. Three days in a cellar had been quite enough.

He missed his room, and he missed Harrald; but these thoughts brought a new pain to his heart. If the strangers wanted him so badly, surely they'd be watching his father's house.

He could not return, even to say goodbye.

Instead, he turned his steps towards the downhill slope and set off for the wall.

He hadn't gotten far, though, when a low rumble reached his ears.

Confused, he paused and glanced up. The sky was clear—not a thundercloud in sight.

Then he felt the first tremor roll beneath his feet; then a second, and third, each greater than the last. And then everything around him began to shake, and chaos was visited on Dern.