Kalenek

Near sunrise on the fifth day, the first red lake came into view. The sun peeked over the horizon and shot an arrow of white light across the glossy surface. Having lived near the Eversea so long, for Kal it wasn’t the vastness of the lake that captured his awe but the stillness and rich color.

“That’s a sight,” Novan said.

“It’s poisonous,” Kal said, not wanting the boy to get too enchanted. “Even to the touch.”

“What makes it so?”

“Evenroot. Magonia’s chief export. They’ve overharvested to the point of spoiling all four great lakes and many of the rivers in this part of the ream.”

“So, anyone who drinks the water must become a mantic or die?”

“There were still plenty of safe reamways here six years ago,” Kal said.

Novan seemed to consider this. “How much farther to Lifton?”

“A few hours. There’s a stepwell near here. We’ll stop for water before entering the city.” Better to have no business in Lifton but to find a mantic and depart.

It was midday when they reached the stepwell. This close to Lifton, Kal had expected it to be overrun with people, but it was deserted. A black charcoal slash on the stone wall said why.

“Contaminated,” Kal said, shaken. He didn’t like seeing a freshwater source go bad. “We must press on to Lifton and pray there’s clean water to be—”

A scream from below straightened Kal’s spine. He met Novan’s gaze.

“I know you took it!” a man yelled in Tennish. “I saw that witch with it.”

“Who? Onika?” a child replied. “She’s not too smart. Probably dropped it somewhere. We should look aboveground.”

“Get me that sack, boy, or you’re dead!”

Novan whispered, “Can you understand what they’re saying?”

Kal drew his finger across his lips and pulled his sword.

A boy scampered up the steps like a nimble squirrel. He was slight, maybe as old as twelve. He caught sight of Kal and slowed, eyes wider than a camel’s as they flicked over Kal’s scars. One glance at Novan and he chose his protector.

“Help me!” the boy cried, running toward Novan. “He’s going to kill me!”

Kal reached out and snagged the boy’s arm. His skin was dark for a Magonian and was covered in blotchy gray patches like a rash of dried mortar. Kal let go immediately, not wanting to catch whatever ailed the boy. “Is he your master?” Kal asked in Tennish. “Your employer?”

The boy hid behind Kal. “He’s nothing to me. Says I stole his sack, but I didn’t! You’re Rurekan, yeah?” he said in the Kinsman tongue. “I can help you. I know the four cities better than the mapmakers. I’m good with animals too. Don’t let him kill me!”

The boy’s pursuer emerged at the top of the steps. The man had short hair, reddish skin, and wore the insignia of a Magonian yeetta warrior, which was a shard club across the Kabar hands. The yeettas had invaded Armania at the end of the Centenary War and slayed thousands of innocents. Women. Children.

Livy and their infant son.

Butchered in their beds.

One blink. Two. Kal felt himself slipping back in time to that night. It was all happening again.

He gauged his enemy. A shard club swung from the man’s belt. The polished length of hardwood was lined with obsidian shards, spaced apart like the jagged teeth of a fang cat. Effective in a melee, but one-on-one it didn’t stand a chance against a sword.

“This ain’t your business, stranger,” the man said in Tennish.

Filthy yeetta liars. Kal charged.

The man dodged Kal, pulled his club, and swung for Kal’s legs, then darted back, lunged, and swung again. Typical. This was how the yeetta fought. They had to keep their distance because one well-aimed cut of the sword could splinter their weapon. But they were quick, and while Kal’s sword had the power to destroy wood, the obsidian shards could decapitate a fang cat with one powerful blow.

Kal made to parry the next swing, but the club reversed as the man twisted and tried to hamstring Kal. Slashed his clothing but didn’t cut him.

The man thrust out, spun into a side cut. Kal parried reflexively, perfectly, forgetting he wasn’t fighting another sword. Had he turned his parry and met the club with the cutting edge of his blade, he would have destroyed it.

The yeetta slid back. Kal pressed forward. Yeetta scum had murdered Livy, murdered their son, cut Kal’s face. They all deserved to die.

A tingle ran up his sword arm.

No! He must end this now. Quickly. Before it happened again.

He went after the man with all the hatred in his heart, pressing forward, taking hard cuts. He drove his opponent toward the half wall until the man’s backswing struck stone. The man faltered, and Kal’s quick downward cut across the neck ended the fight. The man collapsed, dead.

Kal’s sword fell from his numb grip. He looked down on the yeetta. The blood. Horror pooled within him. Deep breaths failed to calm as he slowly returned to the present.

Again it had happened. He had stepped into a nightmare and killed without thinking. Numb, he scrubbed sand over his blade to clean away the blood—left-handed, since his right hand hung useless. When he finally looked around, the camels stood staring, but Novan and the boy were gone.

He ran down the stepwell stairs, sword in his left hand, hoping he wouldn’t need to use it.

Beneath the ground the air instantly cooled. The river gurgled past. He saw no sign of life, but footprints on the soft silt veered a sharp left along the bottom edge of the stairs. Kal followed them back to the stone wall of the cavern. Up ahead, Novan stood before a waist-high cave, fabric sack in hand.

“He gone?” Kal asked, flexing his right hand as feeling started to return.

Novan gestured to the cave. “Someone’s in there with him.” He handed the sack to Kal. “Looks like turnips.”

Kal sheathed his sword and took the sack, glanced inside. Not turnips. It was filled with small evenroot tubers.

Something tickled his shins. Was he bleeding? He glanced down and froze. A full-sized dune cat threaded itself between his legs, purring like a kitten; its weight and pressure caused him to stumble back a step.

“Hello there, cat,” he said, reaching down to pet it. The dune cat arched its spine into Kal’s hand and twisted through his legs again. Kal smiled, intrigued by the animal.

“That’s mine!” The boy shot out of the cave and grabbed hold of the sack. Kal held tight until Novan pulled the boy away.

“You speak two languages?” Kal asked.

The boy struggled against Novan. “My mother is Magonian, my father Rurekan. Now give it back! My family will starve.”

Kal lifted the sack. “You plan to eat these, do you?”

A nod. “Mother sent us to scavenge, but that yeetta tried to steal it.”

“That yeetta is dead,” Kal said. “Show me your hands.”

The boy’s eyes flew wide. He tucked his hands behind him. “Don’t prune my hands. I’m not a thief!”

“I’m not going to cut you.” The feeling in Kal’s right hand had returned, so he grabbed the boy’s wrist and jerked his hand close. He saw none of the red pustules that normally came from touching evenroot, but his fingernails were rimmed in dirt. He’d been digging. “You’re a liar is what you are.” He threw down the boy’s hand. “You can’t eat evenroot.”

“You know what that is? Oh, you’re right. I’ll tell you the truth.”

“I doubt that,” Novan mumbled.

“If I don’t return with that bag, my sister will be killed. She’s just a wee thing. Three years old. But the blackard tied her up until I harvest a sack of root. He’s too big to climb into the cracks and reach the good stuff.”

“I don’t believe this,” Novan said.

“You offered yourself as a guide if I helped you,” Kal said. “You’ll guide us now. First to clean water. Then to the man you sell root to.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “I can take you anywhere, for a price.”

“The price has been paid with that yeetta’s life,” Kal said. “And I seek no destination. I need to find a mantic.”

The boy gasped. “A mantic? To translate a rune?”

Kal frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Onika! It’s him!” The boy jerked away and scampered into the cave.

Novan crouched outside the tunnel. “His mouth never stops. Reminds me of my little brother. Probably talks in his sleep too.”

Kal squatted beside Novan. Deep inside the cave, the boy had stopped beside a woman. Hisses and indiscernible words floated out to Novan and Kal.

Footsteps brushed the stairs. They both stood and drew their swords.

“Sands alive!” Novan sheathed his blade and ran toward his camel, which was halfway down the steps and coming fast.

“Don’t let him near the water!” Kal yelled. “The poison will kill him.”

“Haht!” Novan grabbed for the camel’s reins, but the beast barreled past, knocking Novan onto his rear. That camel did what it wanted to do, and it seemed to want a swim.

But it stopped suddenly on the riverbank, put its head down near the water, moaned, and drank nothing.

Novan took hold of its reins and pulled back. “Let’s go find a carrot, yeah?”

The camel bellowed, clearly unhappy to be denied his swim and drink, but allowed Novan to lead him back up the stairs.

“Most animals can sense the poison.” The boy ran out from behind Kal and chased after Novan. “Can I feed him?”

“The rescuer needs to be rescued,” a woman said.

The voice sent a chill up Kal’s arms. He turned around. Beside the cave stood a young woman. She had white skin, hair like wheat, and eyes like diamonds. Was she a spirit? A mantic who had binged on evenroot? Surely not. Such a person would have died.

The woman looked at him—or through him—as if she didn’t see him at all. He marveled at the gem-like quality of her eyes and studied the rest of her. She wore the traditional kasah of the mother realms, this one blue and yellow. The baggy way she had tied it around herself did nothing to hide her curves. A surge of attraction ran through Kal and he looked away, surprised at himself.

“You saved the boy?” she asked.

The mesmeric sound of her voice made him shiver. “My name is Kalenek Veroth. Who are you?” Better question, what are you?

“Onika.” She smiled, shy and young, still looking through his soul. “It’s nice to finally meet you, rescuer. Now, we must hurry. The Lowerworld grows weak with thirst. Soon it will level the mountains and swallow the land.”

Every word gripped his nerves. Was this magic? “Are you a mantic?”

Onika laughed, a deep, enchanting sound, and her smile and joy were so pure, Kal knew he would keep her safe even at the cost of his life. Nothing mattered but that this woman live.

“I’m a prophet. My foreknowledge comes from Arman alone. I need no ahvenrood to see what he shows me. If we hurry, we can reach the lake before sohar and hire a barge.”

“And where are we going?” Kal asked.

“To Kaptar, to the man who will translate your rune. Then to the sea.” She put her fingers in her mouth and whistled sharply. “Rustian!” The dune cat bounded out of the cave and to her side. Onika set her hand on the animal’s head, and together they set off for the stairs.

She was blind.

Kal had seen mules trained to guide the blind—once seen a dog—but never a cat. In fact he had never seen a domesticated dune cat of any kind.

He followed them up the steps, admiring how she and the cat moved in sync, oddly thankful she couldn’t see his scarred face. “How do you know I seek a rune translation?”

“Arman showed me.” She said this without a shift in her stride or a twitch of her head. No point, Kal supposed, if she couldn’t see.

The boy ran down the stairs to walk beside Kal. “I’m called Grayson. What happened to your face? My parents gave me up, afraid of my rash. I don’t blame them, though. I bet people are afraid of you too. I sure was. We’ve been waiting for you all year. Onika thought you’d come by now. Expected you last spring.”

“Grayson,” Onika said.

“We’re going with them, aren’t we?” he asked. “I thought you were sure.”

“We’ll talk of this later,” she said.

So many questions flooded Kal’s mind. He would really rather talk of them now.

They reached the surface. Novan stood feeding his camel a carrot. He saw Onika and stared, lips parted, brow furrowed. A narrowed glance to Grayson. “This your baby sister?”

“Onika is my friend.” Grayson took Onika’s hand and led her around the wall, then stopped and bent over the yeetta’s body.

“Is she a ghost?” Novan whispered to Kal.

“Says she’s a prophet. Says we’re to take her on a barge across the red lakes to Kaptar where we’ll find a man who’ll translate the runes.”

“That’s quite a journey isn’t it?”

“A few days depending on the wind.”

“You believe her?”

“I don’t know,” he said. All he knew was that feeling of needing to keep her safe. “But if she knows a mantic . . .” He walked toward them. Grayson, who was now crouched beside the yeetta, pulled his hands from the man’s pockets and popped to his feet.

“How can we be sure your man is in Kaptar?” Kal asked.

“Oh, he’ll be there,” Grayson said. “Can’t be anywhere else ’cause he’s in prison with Dun.”

“Our friend Dunmore was captured by Tennish mantics,” Onika said. “Jhorn freed him. They made it back to Magonia but were taken prisoner in Kaptar. They’re to be shipped back to Tenma for sentencing next week. Unless we help.”

“We’re trying to slip in and out of this realm quietly,” Novan said. “We can’t walk into a Magonian prison.”

At Novan’s logic, Kal’s resolve to follow her, even die for her, snapped like an ironwood branch.

“I know you’ll help us because I’ve seen it,” Onika said.

Her voice brought back the lenitive feelings. Kal needed to take care around this woman. He waved Novan over to the camels to discuss the situation.

“She claims she’s a prophet, so we’re supposed to believe whatever she says?” Novan asked.

“She knew about the rune,” Kal said. “This mission was dangerous from the start. But this woman could take us to one who could give us the answers we seek with no trouble.”

“Breaking into a prison is more trouble than facing a mantic,” Novan said. “Plus a blind woman and a boy won’t be much help in a fight.”

That much was true.

“We already know the boy tells lies,” Novan said. “They could lead us anywhere. Could be they mean to rob us. Besides, if they sell evenroot regularly, they should know a mantic nearby. I think it’s a trick.”

Why hadn’t Kal thought of that? “Smart thinking, Novan. We’ll continue on to Lifton. Surely we’ll find a mantic there.” Yet disappointment weighed down Kal’s shoulders as he approached Onika. He hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since Livy died six years ago. That Onika had captured his attention seemed important somehow. Though from the way Novan was watching her, it could be like that for every man. Perhaps she was a witch. Had put a spell on them both.

“I thank you, Miss Onika,” Kal said, “for your offer to help us find your mantic friend, but we’ve decided to try our luck in Lifton.”

Onika frowned, glassy eyes narrowed. “Do be careful, Kalenek Veroth. A yeetta warrior was killed today, and many will be looking for his murderer. Grayson said you killed him. Once I tell the sheriff, word will spread, and they’ll hunt you down with magic.”

Such a threat from a young woman surprised Kal. “Blackmail is a risky way to deal with armed men, Miss Onika,” he said. “I could kill you both now and end my trouble.”

“But you won’t,” Onika said, focused on the air between them. “You’re both far too honorable.”

Novan snorted. “Wish we could say as much for you.”

“I do regret this course of action,” Onika said, “but my offer has not changed. Once the men are free, Jhorn will translate the rune.”

Kal weighed his options. It could very well be that Onika was bluffing. Yet it mattered not. It was dangerous enough to travel in Magonia, even with the pastone. It would not do to have people looking for him. “Novan, there’s rope in my saddlebag. We’ll have to tie them up.”

“Not me!” Grayson sprinted away.

Onika merely stared at Kal with those fathomless eyes. “Your realm is in danger. You must take word to your prince if your people hope to survive the coming destruction.”

“Soothsayers have been predicting the fall of Armania for centuries,” Kal said.

“You’re a broken man, Kalenek Veroth. The past haunts you, benumbs your sword hand, but there is one who can set you free, who can help you find sleep again.”

If she had stabbed him he would have been less shocked. “Who do you work for? Captain Alpress?”

“Liviana trusted in Arman. So did you once.”

“Enough!” Kal grabbed her arms and squeezed, shaking her. “What did Arman ever give Livy? A torturous death by depraved yeetta witch slaves, that’s what.”

“Sir?” Novan set his hand on Kal’s shoulder.

Onika’s glassy eyes stared at his throat, her brow furrowed, her lips a trembling frown.

Kal released her, took two steps back. His hands had left red marks on her pale arms. How could she know such things? Livy’s name . . . his hand . . . ?

She looked through him then, fierce and terrible. “Wail, for the day of destruction is near!” Her spellbinding voice seemed to come from inside Kal’s head. “Arman is about to destroy the earth and make it a vast wasteland. He will devastate the surface of the land and scatter the people. The foundations of the earth will be violently shaken, broken up, collapsed. Mountains will tremble like a tent in a storm, fall and not rise again.

“The earth will be void, swallowed into the sea, the land washed away and withered. Throughout the land the story will be the same—only a remnant will endure, like stray grapes left on a vine after harvest. The remnant will set sail and begin anew. In northern lands they will give glory to Arman. In the lands beyond the sea they will praise his name.”

A silence followed that was greater than any Kal had heard in his life, as if even the insects, birds, and wind had all paused to regard this woman.

Novan made the sign of The Hand.

Prophet indeed. A chill snaked up his arms. “When would you like to leave?”

Grayson led them back the way they’d come. Onika refused to ride. Humming an eerie melody, she walked beside Grayson, and the dune cat leaned against her left leg. Kal and Novan rode behind the odd threesome. The red lake came into view again, but this time they headed toward it, keeping to the outskirts of the city. Soon the walls of Lifton rose up on their right. Shadows of clouds muted the heat of the sun and reflected off the scarlet surface of the water.

“What a sight,” Novan said.

“What is it, Master Heln?” Onika called back.

“I was remarking on the beauty of the red lake,” Novan said.

“Aside,” Onika said, and the dune cat leaned hard against her leg, pushing Onika’s steps to the right, giving the camels room to come abreast. She glanced up toward Novan, almost on target. “Will you describe what you see?”

“I can try,” Novan said. “Do you understand colors?”

“I went blind when I was seven,” Onika said. “I remember colors.”

“The water is scarlet except where the sun touches it,” Novan said. “There it’s golden, almost orange. Fluffy white clouds have passed in front of the sun, which is low on the horizon and completely opposite the town clustered on the shore. Walls the color of the sand surround buildings of the same, all but the roofs, which are red-clay tile that match the water. The lake is so massive, I can’t see the distant shore. Only the gleaming sun hiding behind the clouds.”

Onika smiled. “I can see it.”

“That’s not all, Miss Onika. It seems as if the town and the sun are shouting good midday across the expanse, but it might be the distance is too great for them to hear one another.”

Onika chuckled, but it ended in a forlorn sigh. “They can hear each other well enough, Master Heln. The sun warns the town that today might be peaceful, but disaster is coming. After the sun sets a third time, the red lakes will rise up against the land and wash it with poison that will bleed into the reamways below. Many will die. We should fill our jugs before boarding the barge.”

Her words made Kal’s mouth run dry. “Does it matter which barge we take across?”

“Bargeman Wymer is expecting us,” Onika said. “He’ll take no other passengers.”

“How can he be expecting us?” Novan asked.

“I spoke to him yesterday,” Onika said. “We were going to sell the ahvenrood tubers to the yeetta soldier to raise funds for the barge and to bribe the Kaptar prison guards.”

A ridiculous plan for a blind woman. “I see that worked well,” Kal said.

“It was a mistake to try to rush the prophecy,” Onika said. “I should have trusted Arman. He brought you to me, as promised.”

Had he? Kal wasn’t so sure.

They followed the city wall until it stretched out into the lake like a jetty. Grayson led them along the shore, far enough away from the water to keep their feet dry.

They came to a fenced stone house that had been built on the edge of the lake. Behind it, a barge bobbed on the water’s surface.

A red-skinned man opened the gate for them. “Made good time, I see.” He was white-haired with a row of crooked teeth. “How long till the shaker comes, Miss Onika?”

“Hello, Wymer,” Onika said. “Two full days will pass before the ground will tremble with the morning sun.”

Wymer nodded once. “If we’re quick, we’ll make it.”

“You believe her?” Kal asked.

“I always believe her,” the old man said.

“Wymer,” Onika said, “this is Kalenek Veroth and his backman, Novan Heln.”

“How do, Misters? Fancy a float across the Upper Sister, do ya? Bring your beasts back.”

Kal and Novan led the camels after Wymer to the dock. Gulls soared overhead. The wind was cool and fresh. Kal glanced over the edge of the dock to where the reddish water rushed up the sandy bank, spread thin, and sizzled as the foam sank into the sand. The grasses around the lake were yellow and shriveled. Kal didn’t relish the idea of riding over poisoned waves.

The barge was twenty paces long with rails along both sides. It had a small wooden barn in the center and rows of wooden crates on either end. Kal was glad to see water and other provisions already stocked. They loaded both camels into the barn, Kal’s beast groaning and straining the entire time while Novan’s pranced on as though he rode a barge every day. Both were shackled to keep them still while on the water.

“We ready to go?” Kal asked once the job was finished.

“Soon as my watermen show,” Wymer said. “Takes four to push this load.”

Kal left Novan and Grayson in the barn and found Onika sitting with her dune cat on a wooden crate at the bow of the barge. Kal sat down away from her, in the far left corner, pondering her prophecy and trying not to think about her strange beauty.

A few minutes later, four men boarded. They wore long-sleeved tunics and gloves to protect themselves from any splash from the poison water. Wymer came out of the barn and greeted them. The men picked up longpoles from the floor along the rails, and Wymer untied the barge from the dock. At the captain’s word, the men pushed off. Once they were floating lazily away from the dock, two of the men went around to the other side. All four spaced themselves out like wheels on a cart, put their longpoles over the rail, and began pushing.

“Is it this shallow all across?” Kal asked as Wymer joined him at the front.

“Nope. They’ll switch to sweeps when it gets deep.”

They slowly picked up speed, and the city of Lifton came into view around the jetty wall. Hundreds of piers and docks branched out over the surface of the lake. Boats, barges, and reamskiffs sat tied to them, waiting for someone to take them on a voyage. Most of the boats were wood—Magonia had several huge forests in the south, which provided a sizable logging industry. But this close to Rurekau and Tenma, many of the boats were poured stone, which came from a special white sand only found around volcanoes. It produced a substance much lighter than concrete or bricks and was used for wagons, boats, and Rurekau’s famous stoneclad warships.

Kal was thankful they had bypassed Lifton. It was a better city than Hebron, but trouble dwelled in cities. Kal was glad to have avoided it.

Novan exited the barn and joined Kal, leaning on the side rail and gazing out at the water. “I can’t get over how big it is,” he said. “It’s like the Eversea without the waves.”

“It has some.” Kal looked over the side at the waves that curled and broke against the side of the barge. “They’re just not as big.”

“It smells like rain instead of salt water.”

“I do like the smell,” Kal said. “Pity we can’t swim in it.”

The farther they drifted, the smaller Lifton became. By sunset there was nothing to see but water and sky in every direction.

That night, the watermen took shifts to sleep so that two could continue rowing. Novan volunteered to take a shift.

“Many thanks, Master Heln,” Wymer said, “but my passengers should rest and enjoy the journey.”

Kal liked Novan, but sometimes the boy was a little too good. Novan left Wymer and approached where Onika sat, her dune cat curled in a ball at her feet.

“So, what’s the cat’s name?” Novan asked.

She jumped a little, glassy eyes staring into nothing. “Rustian.”

“How did you train a dune cat?”

She lifted her chin and turned her face in Novan’s general direction. “I didn’t. He’s always been with me.”

“Someone must have trained him,” Novan said. “Sand cats are wild. I had a friend who got attacked by one once. Stepped on a den of kits.”

“Any mother would attack someone who stepped on her babies.”

“I suppose. Does it bother you to speak Kinsman?”

“It is Jhorn’s language and therefore my first choice. We rarely speak Tennish.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Can I pet him?”

“You’ll have to ask him. I’m not his master.”

Novan squatted at Onika’s feet and reached out. “Mind if I pet you, Rustian?”

He must have succeeded, because Kal could hear the great cat purring all the way across the bow. Onika and Novan laughed, and the scene looked to Kal like the makings of a happily forever. Jealousy twisted his stomach into a stone, which only made him angry. He was a fool to waste soft thoughts on the prophet woman. He rolled over and desperately sought sleep.

Kal woke with a jolt, still smelling the reek of blood from battle, dagger in hand, uncertain where he was. The rhythmic glub of sweeps in water brought him back. The barge. He was in Magonia. At least he hadn’t screamed when he woke.

“Is your sleep troubled often?”

At Onika’s voice, Kal started and sat up, which made his head spin. It was pitch black. He sheathed his dagger. “How do the watermen know where they’re going?”

“The Kaptar watchtower is lit,” she said. “They simply follow the light.”

Kal scanned the darkness until he saw what she meant. A small yellow flame burned in the distance, no bigger than a spark from where they sailed. “How did you know it was there?”

“Grayson told me.”

Silence stretched between them, and Kal had the sudden urge to please this woman, to earn her favor. “Miss Onika, I’m sorry I grabbed you earlier.”

“You’re a broken man, Kalenek Veroth. Until you heal you’ll continue to risk hurting others. Arman warns you by weakening the source of your violence, but you press on to do the will of hatred. You must submit to him in order to be free.”

Kal had no response to that.

“You should speak with Jhorn about the war,” Onika said. “Many soldiers survived with physical wounds that healed, but they never knew to heal the wounds inside. Jhorn learned to do both.”

Kal’s heart pinched. Any other time he would have ended this conversation, but the darkness hid his fear of the subject. “How can anyone heal a wound inside?”

“I know not. You’ll have to ask Jhorn.”

“And will I learn?” He felt bad the moment he put her to the test, as if she were a possession to perform on demand.

“Someday. But not for a very long time.”

Kal squeezed his right hand into a fist, testing the feeling there. “We’ll see.”