Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone makes bad choices. The point isn’t to avoid having to choose, but to learn from our mistakes and make better choices.

Even after riding all morning, Wendell could still see the haze of smoke over the horizon. His mind kept bringing up images of burning homes and screaming people. Flashes of women running through the smoke, children crying for someone to help them. Wendell hadn’t said anything to Evan, or to his family the entire trip. Miriam had tried, many times, to start a conversation. She wanted to know more about him, where he was from—asking questions as if Wendell had been born on this world and lived here all his life.

He’d refused to reply.

What can I say to these people? he thought. He glanced over at Miriam, who was tending to the mare, gently stroking its neck and speaking softly to the beast. What can I say to her without exposing myself more than I already have? How does she know so much about me? Wendell’s hand absentmindedly went to his chest. His fingers felt the hard ridges of the gem under his shirt. What did she see? Did she actually see anything? Does this become visible when I’m unconscious? The possibilities worried him.

Not that Wendell had believed coming to this world was without risk or danger, but he never imagined he’d be separated from his own party. Where are you guys? Did you make it to the Keep ok? Is Chuck safe and sound? The possibilities weighed heavily upon his mind and nearly crushed his chest. Did you get him help in time? Each question pricked his mind with doubt and anxiety. The biggest question nearly suffocated him.

Why did you guys leave me?

Wendell watched the young blacksmith. Evan was tall and broad, with dirty blonde hair, almost brown. Every move he made was deliberate, bold and full of energy, as if he was made of the very metal he shaped. Even though Wendell didn’t know what to do, he felt responsible for Evan and his family.

There seemed to be a permanent scowl tattooed on the blacksmith’s face.

He’s worried, Wendell observed. He is out of his element, just as much as I’m out of mine. It made the situation even more stressful. He had no real idea of what was going to happen once they got to Til-Thorin, or whether they would even make it to the Keep safely. There was no telling where the enemy was. The only logical conclusion Wendell could come to was, the closer they got to Til-Thorin, the more likely it would be that they’d run across the enemy’s path.

He moaned to himself, Then what?

“Wendell?” Miriam called out, “Would you help me for a moment?”

Wendell stood up and brushed himself off, “Sure.”

Evan had left Hiram sleeping on the large stallion. The animal’s body warmth had kept the boy from shivering, and he seemed comfortably draped over the wide shoulders.

“I’d like to lie Hiram down and check his bandages,” she said.

Evan walked over, lightly pushing Wendell side. “I’ve got it.”

“No,” Miriam said firmly, “I would like Wendell to help me.”

Wendell wasn’t sure what was going on. The young blacksmith glared at him, huffed, and marched away. Wendell looked at Miriam, confused.

“Please, just help me get him down. I’ll take his legs, you support his shoulders.”

They laid Hiram on the grass, in the sunlight. His light shivering quickly subsided. Livi had silently perched herself on a small, dead tree nearby. She let her bare feet hang inches above the dirt and grass, staring at her brother as their mother checked Hiram’s bandages.

“Well,” Miriam breathed, “at least the bleeding has stopped.” She looked up at Wendell, her smile week, but sincere. “I appreciate your help. It makes a great difference.”

How could I make any difference? I haven’t done anything.

Miriam’s eyes caught the shifting emotions of the smiley face on Wendell’s T-shirt. She watched it, fascinated for several moments, “It’s your presence.”

The smiley face froze in place as Wendell looked at her, utterly confused. “My presence?”

Miriam nodded, re-wrapping the dirty bandages around Hiram’s chest with a new set of not-as-dirty bandages. She gave a fleeting glance in Evan’s direction, then leaned closer to Wendell. “The gem. It helps him. Hiram.”

What does she mean, it helps him? That doesn’t even make sense.

Hiram winced as his mother’s fingers pushed the bandages firmly over the wound in his back.

“Help me here,” she said, her hands steadying her son’s shoulders. Miriam reached out and took one of Wendell’s hands and guided it to the wound. “Just place your hand right here. That’s it, right there.” She looked up, a little more life in her smile, “Just your presence, Wendell, has a healing effect.” her head wobbled from side to side, “Or rather Ithari’s presence has a healing effect. And Hiram needs all the help he can get.”

She finished wrapping her sons wound and stood up. Passing Wendell, she gave his shoulder a little squeeze.

Livi just sat there, now staring at Wendell.

He smiled at her, but her expression didn’t change. I wonder what’s wrong with her? She understands everyone just fine. He smiled at her again, this time holding his expression and then widening the goofy grin. Livi didn’t smile back, but he did get her to raise one of her eyebrows.

“But this is stupid!” Blurted Evan, “Everyone we know is traveling east.”

Evan and his mother were standing between the horses, Miriam speaking in quieter tones. Wendell tried not to stare, but it was difficult not to with the blacksmith’s outbursts. He knew they were talking about him. The young blacksmith shifted his weight from foot to foot, antsy and irritated. He rotated his wounded shoulder, rubbing out the soreness with his good hand.

“But we don’t know anything about him mother!” he complained.

“I would appreciate it,” she responded calmly, “if you would keep your voice down and not get so excited.” She stepped forward and placed her hand on Evan’s chest, “That young man provided us with comfort through the winter, sharing his gold AND may I remind you—that he accompanied you into the village, into the fire, into the danger.”

Evan’s face looked as hot as a forge. The lines in his forehead crinkled into lightning bolts, shooting down between his brows. “Danger that HE brought upon us!”

“How can you even say that?” his mother rebuked, “You have no sure knowledge of the circumstances that brought him here. Do you?”

“No, but I –“

She poked her son in the chest, “Don’t know a thing!”

The outburst startled Evan. He took a step backwards, into the stallion. The horse shifted away from him, but his mother pressed forward.

“You, young man, need to stop making assumptions and start using your heart! Wendell has done nothing but try to help us, and even left the village when you shunned him…”

Wendell was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Even averting his eyes, trying to ignore them didn’t make much difference. Miriam and Evan were talking so loud, he couldn’t help but cringe.

“We are going to Til-Thorin,” she stated flatly, “It is the safest place for us.” She looked back and pointed at Wendell, “and it is where HE needs to go.” She leaned forward and gently poked her son’s chest once more, “So, until you marry and officially take your place at the head of this family, it is I who decide where we go and what we do, not you.”

Wendell didn’t dare look up. He didn’t want have anything to do with a family quarrel, so he concentrated on the boy lying in front of him. Hiram’s breathing had eased, thankfully, and his body relaxed in the warm rays of the late morning sun. There was no reason to stick around and listen, so Wendell stood up and removed himself.

They’d stopped at a small grove of trees, to conceal the horses from any unexpected eyes that might be looking for the. He walked over to the far side of the grove, weaving through the trees until he was out of sight. The temperature quickly changed in the shade, but it didn’t bother Wendell. He found a large moss covered rock pushing its way out of the ground, nestled against a gnarled old tree. He sat on the stone and leaned against the bark. The peace and quiet eased his mind. His fingers absentmindedly slipped into the pockets of his jeans as he leaned back. The soft cloth of the coin pouch rubbed against the tip of his fingers.

Then Wendell remembered.

Leaning forward, he reached around to his back pocket. He felt the edge of the fold of the letter and pulled it free. There wasn’t a grain of dirt, not a soil mark, not even discoloration on the surface of the paper. He ran his fingers over the center crease of the letter and smirked. I almost forgot about you.

He unfolded the paper, and held it up to his face, letting his eyes drift over the words. Wendell tried to imagine what the hero was feeling, where he might’ve been and what might have been going on around him, when he wrote the words he was staring at. Every curve, every hesitation, showed in the ink. Even the small hints of faded finger marks spoke volumes of emotion in the document.

Be patient with others, my son, for few will understand the path you will be forced to walk.

You have no idea. The problem is, I don’t even understand the path I’m being forced to walk! He shook his head, feeling disgruntled. I don’t mind doing something hard…but can’t I at least understand what it is that’s expected of me?!

Trust no one but the Gem. Through her, you will learn the truth of all things. This is your only true protection. Listen to that inner voice that whispers to you.

Wendell had to laugh. What an understatement! No one understands me, he thought. Now I’m here, all alone, not sure what to do next and…he hesitated. WHAT inner voice? I talk and wait for Ithari to say something, ANYthing…but I get nothing! …nothing at all. He shook his head. This is stupid. I’m not the one this letter was actually addressed to. I’m the fill in, not the main event.

Not your own, but that voice which prompts you to do only what is right, what is true and just. Ithari cannot lie and she will not falter, so long as you serve her with a pure heart.

“Pure heart?” he scoffed out loud, “Seriously.” Wendell didn’t know anyone with a pure heart, least of all himself. No one’s perfect. I didn’t grow up in a monastery, I grew up in world with gangs, music videos, pornography and skimpily-clad women next to every checkout counter. Pure heart? He clenched his eyes tight. If it said not-completely-corrupt heart, or trying-really-hard-to-be-decent heart, THEN I could see some value in this. Some hope.

Not that Wendell had sought bad things. No, he loved his mother and honored his father. He always tried to treat girls with respect because they were someone’s daughter and eventually…would be someone’s mother.

He scoffed again.

This is stupid. No one thinks like me. This letter isn’t going to help me with Ithari—because I’m not that guy.

He looked at the words again. Eyes lingering.

As you love her, protect her, honor her…and sacrifice for others, her abilities will unfold unto you.

When your hearts become one, so will your power.

“But, you chose me, Ithari.” He pulled at his collar and whispered, “Silmä inakmään.” With a shimmer, Ithari came into view. Even in the shadows of this shirt, she was beautiful. Perfect. There was something…comforting about seeing the hero gem. Wendell didn’t feel so…alone. Maybe that was the point?

“You said I was acceptable.” He looked up into the trees, the yellow and orange leaves glowing in the light, “So maybe you’re the perfect one, not me. Maybe it’s being united that makes me perfect?”

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Wendell froze. For moments, he was almost afraid to move. His eyes darted around, ears straining to pick up the sounds around him, but that’s not where it was coming from. It was more of a warm sensation than a sound. Tingling from the back of his head, down his spine and into his limbs. He could feel it through his chest, his heart and mind. Calming him. Expanding his mind.

He gripped the letter tightly in a fist and whispered, “Is that…you?”

Tha-THUMP-THUMP!

Again the calm, warm feeling tingled through his body.

His hands shook with excitement.

“There you are,” grumbled Evan.

It startled Wendell and immediately, the calm feeling vanished and anxiety. No, no, no! I was just…

“If we’re trying to stay concealed, it’s not the brightest idea to go wondering off.”

Wendell folded the letter and slid it back into his pocket as he stood up. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”

Evan grabbed him roughly by the arm, holding him fast. “No, you weren’t, which is why I wanted a word with you,” he glared, “alone.”

Wendell yanked his arm away and stepped back, creating space between them. The blacksmith was much bigger than Wendell’s best friend back on Earth. Not taller so much as muscular. Something a hard life of physical labor would surely develop. “What do you want?” he said matter-of-fact.

“To know what you’re playing at?” Evan replied. “If the creatures that destroyed my village, my home, are on their way to Til-Thorin, then why are we traveling there? Why not flee? There are many other villages with men who can fight better than the old farmers from my valley. We could even take the long western path and work our way into Andilain through the desert. I’ve never traveled there—but my father told me about it. Why put us at more risk?”

Wendell bit his bottom lip to keep from snapping back. He held the blacksmith’s gaze and measured his words. “Because I’m not trying to avoid the enemy, Evan. I’m trying to beat them to the Keep.” How do you explain this to someone so determined to hate you? “I came with King Robert and several others, including the Evolu, and I was separated from them.”

Evan laughed openly, “You? Came with the King? How stupid do you think I am?”

Wendell folded his arms, “My opinion of that is growing as we speak.”

The blacksmith made a fist and shuffled forward, just as Livi wandered into the clearing. Evan stopped.

She stared at her brother blankly.

“Then we need to get started,” Evan grumbled. “I traveled with my father to Woodside for years, so I know the paths to get there at least. Mostly hunting trails, but they’ll cut a lot of time. We can ride along most of them, lead the horses along others—but I don’t want Hiram to have to walk.”

Wendell’s expression softened, “I can support that.”

Evan looked from Wendell to his little sister, holding out his hand. “Come on, Livi.”

The child didn’t move.

Reaching down and grabbing her hand, Evan started to pull her long, but she wiggled free and backed away.

His cheeks flushed, the muscles in his jaw bulging.

“Fine,” he whispered poignantly…and marched back towards the horses.

Wendell felt a knot in his stomach. There’s got to be more to him than what I’m seeing. His mind rolled back to fighting the Vallen soldier together. Then it dawned on him.

Jess, he remembered. She didn’t make it.

Wendell felt a small hand slip into his, grasping his index and middle finger tightly. He looked down to find Livi standing next to him, watching her big brother march through the trees without looking.

“I sure hope my friends are having more luck than we are,” Wendell whispered out loud.

Livi looked up and Wendell…and grinned.