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the glittering object arcing through the night air with a sputtering hiss. There was a thud, a roar, and the house burst into a ball of flame. An invisible wave of heat shook the tree as the forest was lit with a garish orange light. Enoch’s own scream was drowned out by the hungry noise of newborn flames.
    “Master!”
    “I’m right here, boy. Stop shouting and climb down. We’ve got to head for deeper cover—they’ll be down here soon enough to see if they finished the job.”
    Scrambling, practically falling down, Enoch hit the ground a few seconds later.
    “When I saw the explosion, I thought you were inside. I . . . what were you doing?”
    “Retrieving what is ours.”
    Enoch noticed that he carried a bulging sack over his shoulder. He shot his master a questioning glance.
    “Move it, boy! I’ll tell you along the way. We need to get going—they’ll not wait long to search through the ashes.”
    With that, Master Gershom strode off quickly through the trees, moving with that familiar quickness which belied his size. Enoch scrambled after him, head spinning.
    Raiders, giant monsters, our house destroyed like a moth in a candle flame!
    It was more than he had experienced in his sixteen years of life, yet Master Gershom spoke as though it were just another sheep to shear.
    I should be that focused. Enough whining for me tonight. Focus!
    Searching for something to concentrate on, his eyes rested upon the bulging sack his master carried.
    What would Master Gershom think so important to remove from the house?
    As he pondered the question, he sized up the dimensions of the bulky shape bouncing against Master Gershom’s broad back. He caught a pattern in its weight and balance.
    “The Unit. You removed the Unit from the house, but why? It was broken—they couldn’t have wanted to steal that anyway.”
    “Smart lad,” grunted Master Gershom, shifting the sack to his other shoulder. “I retrieved the Unit. Now think—what would somebody searching for us want with it?”
    Enoch rolled his eyes. Master Gershom was always testing him, but now hardly seemed like the time. Well, it would keep his mind from dwelling on those flying monsters, the explosion, the only home he had ever known reduced to embers.
    No. Just think.
    What would somebody want with the Unit? All it contained in its dusty memory spool was a bunch of old poems and books, immunization and breeding records for the sheep, a seed inventory, and . . . and fairly recently it had contained a glowing inhuman face which had spoken to him.
    But I never said anything about that to him.
    “You think my accident caused this?”
    “I fear so, my boy. Your new . . . talent . . . is not something new to this world. It is rare nowadays—some would happily say extinct, but there was a time ages ago . . . well, all I know is from old stories. There are those who would do anything— anything— just to have you at their command. And those are the ones who wouldn’t kill you on sight. Recall your recitings? What does line three of Rephidem’s Lament say?”
    Enoch thought for a second, scratching an insect bite on his ankle as he climbed over a fallen saproot trunk. The leaf had fallen off of his foot some distance back, but that was all right because the bleeding had slowed. Enoch found the page in his mind and quoted.
    “And oh, our sorrow when the Ironwed fell; oh, the sadness of the day when none more could walk within. Yet they, the Worldbreakers, were despised amongst men.”
    Enoch paused.
    “What is a Worldbreaker ?”
    Leaves crunching underfoot, Master Gershom walked on. The question remained floating in the air. Enoch stared at his master but continued walking. He felt cold despite the exertion.
    “Enoch, my boy. This talent is something intrinsic to your race. To your kind. I was sworn to your parent’s banner, but I had no idea that—”
    “My race?” Enoch interrupted, “What do you mean by my race? Are you saying my parents