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gathered at what must be the home of a relatively affluent person. There were men and women, old and young, most of them dressed like middle-class commoners, like those who had come to him for Confessions before. Only, this time they were the ones asking questions, and he was supposed to answer and bare his mind and quintessence before them.
    As if they could make him.
    The Order of the Mother. They believed that Mierenthia, the land itself, was alive and that it should be worshiped as the Mother of all living things; that the Master was nothing more than a long-dead human who had defied her. They claimed that one day the Bers and Mentors would fall, and she would be back to save those who had remained faithful to her. Or, at least this was what Maxim had known about them, which was what they had been and had believed in two centuries ago, when the last of them had been caught and burned by the Bers. The other thing Maxim knew was rumors that now, in these times of fading Magic and disappearing order, the Order was once again active and that if you wished to be one of them, you should seek them in the Warehouse District of the Steel Factory.
    Mierenthia, alive. Mentors knew no such thing—but they did know that other things, Lost things, might be alive, and that these should be kept away from the world.
    Few could find the Order, according to Maxim's intelligence, and it was unclear who those few had been so far. It might be just a rumor, Maxim had said. But it was not. In the dark, devastating forest, Dominick had found them himself.
    Even though they had blindfolded him before bringing him here, in this house with soft chairs and flower-patterned wallpapers, he knew that he was now far from the Steel Factory. The house itself was evidence enough of a better-faring neighborhood, but what was more important was that he could not feel the Factory and the surrounding desperate shadows any longer.
    They watched him now, some faces hostile, fewer faces welcoming, others full of doubt and fear. The hostile ones he understood, for a Mentor knew how people who strayed from the path would still fear the forest and feed their courage with resentment. He understood those who feared and doubted, too. They lived on an edge, looking up to this Mother of theirs, but sometimes still looking up to the Master; now, when they had seen a Mentor here in this place, their tiny safety niche was disturbed and they were confused. Fighting the hostile ones would be easy, straightforward. They would convert back or break. The doubting ones were more of a challenge. As for the welcoming ones—they were the ones to truly beware.
    "Brother." This was the voice of the man who had met him and Calia and Gerard in the shady warehouse lane. It was a soft and quiet voice, but it carried a certain power that made others strain to hear him.
    "A Mentor, or should I say, a former Mentor, amongst us. The Mother's love is growing stronger, then, even in this accursed city of steel, stone, glass, and mortar, even in the temples, the foul fortresses of him who defied her. We are humbled."
    " We, " the man said, even though some grim-faced, stiff-bodied, narrow-eyed people did not look humbled in the least. What right do you have to talk on their behalf, Dominick wondered, and then suddenly a realization hit him. How many times had he proclaimed the rejoicing of his congregation at Confession time, in the House of the Master? Had they truly rejoiced at the prospect of whipping?
    But it had been different. They must rejoice, for it was the right thing, and he must talk for them, for the Bers had chosen him to be a Mentor. Dominick knew life and the world better than them all, whereas this man here was just a human like them.
    Then again, was it truly different? And how much should one trust the decisions of the Bers, those who were right now letting the Factories die and who could not even keep the samodivi away any longer?
    Dominick watched the silent figures before