The sunstone-lit intersection of tunnels that led to the na’Zhekai’s dormitory, the bathing cavern, the servant’s hall and Sanctuary remained quiet. The Dusvet gypsy brothers paused in the shadows of the dorm hall, glancing around the luxurious grotto of thick ferns surrounding a springfed pool “Look clear to ye, Emaris?” The larger man nodded. “Good. Been gettin’ more difficult ta avoid everyone lately.” He rolled his eyes at his mute brother as he signed. “Feh. Don’t worry s’ much. I’d like ta think I be gettin’ better at keepin’ my feelin’s to m’self. C’mon. Itena’s expectin’ an answer.”

Several measures into the servant’s tunnel from the intersection, they paused by a section of poorly lit corridor, touching the wall beside it to open the hidden door. A chill, unexpected voice startled them both.

“What sort of answer requires you to avoid your tribe?”

Emil yelped and stumbled back as Emaris turned. The two collided and fell over into a tangled pile. “Storm?!” Dressed in black, fiery hair drawn tight against her skull in a severe braid, the Desanti woman crouched in the shadows. Her green-gold eyes flashed ominously as she stared hard at the pair. “Ah, heh heh. Ain’t nothin’ important.”

The man scrambled back on all fours until he ran into Emaris when she leapt at the two, landing scant inches from them. “Do not lie to me!” she hissed. “Is it that Guardian who hides her mark? Is she trying to turn you against the tribe?” Their eyes went wide when she slipped her knife from its sheath.

“What? We ain’t turnin’ against no one!” Both held stock still, waiting, not daring to move, focused on the glimmer of the blade in the dim light.

Storm’s eyes narrowed before she sheathed the knife and stood up. “If you do not wish to be na’Zhekali, I can release you from the bayuli-volsha.” Though her tone was chill, her emotions were not quite concealed. Hurt, grief, guilt trickled out.

“Oh, good gods,” Emil muttered under his breath, both he and Emaris scrambling to their feet. Each man grabbed one of her arms to stop her. “No, Storm, we do no’ want ta leave th’ tribe. That’s th’ reason we were goin’ ta talk ta Itena.” Her eyes looked in theirs searchingly as he explained. “She wanted us ta get fergotten so we could disappear like ‘er and do what we’d done most of our lives.”

“And what was it you did that they would demand you abandon your family?”

Emil and Emaris traded a look, the mute man nodding toward the unhidden door. “C’mon. We’ll explain. But no’ here.” She hesitated until they turned back to her. “Please?” Without a word, she followed them.

STORM’S APPEARANCE FROM the tunnel into Gypsy’s Grotto caused a stir among the gypsies. The children and half of the adults scurried into the sleeping shelters, the rest drawing weapons. The Desanti woman crossed her arms, her expression thoroughly unimpressed.

Both gypsy brothers stepped between the others and Storm. “Hold on!” Emil called. “Do ye really want ta rile up two gods by attackin’ Their chosen?”

In a swirl of plain brown skirts, Itena walked toward them, gesturing to the warriors to stand down. Her dark eyes moved past him to study the Desanti woman. She managed a small, wan smile. “You are angry with me, Githalin Dusvet.”

“Githalin.” The Desanti’s voice held the cold edge of one of her blades. “I will not share a partial title with someone who tries to make my tlisan betray their tribe.”

Emil flinched when Itena looked at him. “Storm, wait, it no’ be like that—”

She spun on the man, her fierce glare making him pale. “Do not say it is not like that! You said she wanted you both to be forgotten. You know I do not forget family. You know I cannot.”

He tried to put his hand on her arm. “Ye know I know, but—”

“But what? She made you consider it! You were avoiding everyone so you need not confess it until too late.” She brushed his hand away. “So you could be ‘forgotten’ easier.” Eyes flashed with hurt and anger. “I made you choose between me and your people.”

“Ye dinna do nothin’ but accept a couple o’ lunks inta yer heart,” he shouted at her. “We are choosin’ you an’ th’ tribe over what we use ta be. Sure, it’ll take us a while ta get used ta bein’ somethin’ different, but—”

Storm interrupted, frowning. “What were you before that you cannot be now?”

Itena studied the three, then turned to her people, clapping her hands. “We have a most esteemed guest! Let us show our respects to the gods and give hospitality to a Dusvet Guardian and Githalin Swordanzen.” She offered a deeply respectful bow to Storm, then gestured to the marble benches around a low rock slab that served as a table. “Please, do make yourself comfortable. I expect your conversation with Emil will take some time.”

“You have been intimate with her,” the Desanti woman stated to the smaller man as they walked.

The smaller gypsy tripped and stumbled several steps. “Ah, well, yeah. Ye know, they ain’t got pleasure houses up here an’ it be a long way down ta Sharindel.” He scratched behind his ear, sheepish.

“I cannot fault her for a lack of taste in mates.” She sat stiffly, fixing her raptor-hard eyes on him. “But it gives her no right to steal from my tribe.”

Emil sighed. “She wasn’t trying t’ steal us. She was offering t’ help us be what we canna be no more.”

“Which is?” She looked at Emaris as the man signed for several moments. Her head tilted to one side, puzzlement supplanting anger. “Ghost guard? They serve the Seeing One?” Both nodded. “Why didn’t either of you or Mureln tell me? If I had known, I would have told you being part of my tribe would harm your duty to another god.”

“Well, see. We ha’ never told him until a few months b’fore we went ta get our Guardian marks.” Emil leaned forward, elbows on knees. “And was only b’cause it slipped out.”

“You were brothers to him for ten years and you hid this from him?” She looked down, thoughtful. “That explains the tension among you back then.”

“Yeah. He were right pissed at us. Thought we dinna trust ‘im, but it weren’t that a’tall. Th’ duty of th’ ghost guard is ta see, not be seen. Keep things in balance where we ken wi’out bein’ discovered. Since, ye know, some ain’t too happy about bad things happening, and will start expecting good things all th’ time.”

Her eyes searched his speculatively. “They are marked as Githalin are?”

“Nah. It be more upbringin’ an’ a way o’ life, ye see. Not everyone be cut out fer it, since it usually means leavin’ the rest o’ th’ clan. We got lucky, findin’ Mureln ta travel with.” He glanced at Itena.

“Seers are those who are given the blessed mark of the Seeing One,” the woman stated, holding up her right palm to display the metallic symbol of an eye. “Those who would receive the Timeless One’s blessings are known as Oracles.” She placed a silver tray with several cups and a carafe of water. Taking a sip from the container itself, she poured for all four of them.

Storm picked up her glass, sniffing briefly before drinking. The three gypsies waited until she spoke again, letting her process what she had been told. “All my life, I was taught it was a sin to hide what you were. As if the blessings of the gods were a mark of shame, not honor.”

Itena smiled a little, cradling her cup in her hands. “I think They would prefer to have Their servants seen. Unfortunately, divine marks draw attention and change behavior as a result. Those with something to hide may hide deeper or become hostile to the mortal servant. For those such as us, it is better to be able to be visible or invisible at will.”

“And they make it impossible to hide.” Storm sighed, closing her eyes. “As does a soul bond to a tribe.”

Emil reached out, squeezing Storm’s hand. “I tol’ ye. We be makin’ th’ choice ta stay wi’ you an’ th’ tribe. Family be more important.”

She pulled her hand away, avoiding his gaze. “Duty comes before everything! You had your duty to the Seeing One before you became na’Zhekali. I have no right to expect you to give that up.”

With a growl of frustration, Emil grabbed Storm’s wrist. “Stop it! Duty to family is just as important as to any god!” He met her glare for glare. “Emaris an’ I brought ye here because ye be family an’ th’ gypsies here be family.” His voice softened. “I trust ye both. An’ I am not turnin’ against m’ people. We just ain’t gonna be able ta go ‘round unnoticed.”

A wide-eyed child carrying a bowl with breads and cheese approached, looking between Emil and Storm. “Couldn’t your family learn to be ghost guard, too, Githalin?”

The woman shook her head solemnly. “I must obey the laws of the Heart of Desantiva. It will be difficult enough when those come in conflict with the Timeless One’s demands one day.”

“Well, see, that be th’ main reason why we dinna talk ta ye,” Emil told her. “We know ye do no’ like people hiding who they be. Especially hidin’ divine marks. We dinna want ta make ye angry.”

“I do not. But if concealment is encouraged by other gods, it would be arrogant of me to criticize those who follow Their edicts.” She sighed, closing her eyes. “The na’Zhekali are no longer only Desanti. I must learn about and understand the new gods.” She got to her feet, setting the glass down. “Forgive me my temper, Emil, Emaris. When you are ready, I will undo the bayuli-volsha and free you of my curse.”

Both men jumped up, catching her arms to stop her. “Storm! Why are ye being so boneheaded? I already said we—”

“You must stay here to see your child born,” she stated. “You may as well hold to your lives as ghost guard, since gypsies can know of them, but the rest of us cannot. I cannot forget family.” Calloused fingers brushed his cheek with a touch that spoke farewell. “But I will keep your secret.”

All three stared at her as she headed out of the tunnel. Emil met Itena’s, her eyes dilated and her hand on her abdomen. Emaris caught his brother by the arm before his knees gave out, helping him onto to the bench then signing to the child. He bobbed a bow. “Yes, Dusvet! I will find the strongest alcohol we have!”