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that such beautiful children had to be their own.
    Camwar had been born to a couple who managed a goat dairy and nut orchard some miles north of Ginkerle-Pale. During his second year of life, a sudden storm brought down a large nut tree directly upon the Vestavrees couple who had been working beneath it. Camwar’s father’s body was found beneath the trunk, and it was assumed his mother’s body had been washed into the river and away by the storm. After the crematory fires had died down, Camwar was adopted by his father’s brother, a cooper well known for his fine kegs, barrels, watering troughs, and bathtubs.
    Camwar’s uncle was generous, thoughtful, and remarkably understanding for an old bachelor. He raised the child Camwar on stories of wonder, on jobs of work, and on music—the cooper’s hobby was creating stringed instruments. Tales, tasks, and songs were suited to Camwar’s age and became more complex with passing years.
    Occasionally a ship would come by; even less frequently a traveler would come down from the mountains. These infrequent visitors always confirmed Everday’s decision to keep to itself. There were still monsters and wars out there, along with a people who called themselves The Spared who were actually slavers. Still, not all that came from outside was rejected merely on that account. A Mungrian ship, for example, brought with it some remarkable maps, new and shiny, with tiny letters and immaculate labeling of places in the style of pre-Happening things.
    â€œThey come to us from the Guardian Council,” said thebearded Mungrian. “Take them. There’s no cost. We are paid to distribute them for the benefit of the people.”
    â€œThe Guardian Council? That’s an old legend, isn’t it. Are they real? Where are they?”
    The Mungrian stroked his beard and pontificated upon the subject: “It is thought The Council may dwell far to the north, for in that land great mountains have risen to hide the pole from the low sun that creeps impotent upon the horizon, and in that darkness something huge has lived since the Happening and now moves southward like a great flow of ebon shadow, into the peopled lands.”
    The people of Everday knew that the world no longer tilted so far on its axis as in ancient times, that the year was now 400 days long, and that summer never came to the far north, but this account of flowing shadow was new to them, as was the idea that the Guardian Council, long a favorite tale of Camwar’s, was a reality. Everday was to hear of The Council yet again. This time the informant came from the northern mountains.
    â€œYou will be visited,” said the Messenger, “by people who will bring you a device. When the device is brought to you, put it somewhere safe, for you will need it when the sign comes.”
    â€œWhat sign?” asked the King, who was always sent for when there was something ceremonial to be done, such as opening the horse fair, or awarding the annual prize for preserves, or welcoming visitors.
    â€œThe sign of the Guardian Council. The sign may come anywhere, wherever Appointed Ones are to be found. The sign will appear suddenly, and you will bring that person to the device. That’s all.”
    â€œWhere did you learn all this?” asked the King.
    â€œDifficult to say,” said the Messenger, rubbing his brow. “The message got passed on to me from someone else, though it originated with the Guardian Council.”
    â€œWhat do you know of this Council?” the Everdayans asked.
    â€œAh, well, little enough, though it is said that Tamlar of the Flames will know the time it is to be convened. Amongthe first to be called will be Bertral of the Book, for it is he who calls the role of the Appointed Ones.”
    â€œHave you seen any of these Guardians?”
    â€œNo.” The Messenger shook his head. “I have seen one of the devices, however, and it is quite