A brief argument upon a hill, in which a resolution occurs.

Slanting rays of sunlight drew long shadows across the overgrown stone path to the well that wound around the tallest of the short hills that dotted the plains.  Small gusts of wind blew the pink petals of the already blooming trees in and out of the long shadows that cut across Mikau's path as he walked, shivering in the brisk morning air.  If he were a better monk he might have been contemplating the duality of sun and shade that he found himself experiencing, warm in the sun for a moment before dipping back in the too-cool morning shadows.  Neither the light nor the darkness would fill the buckets, he thought to himself, and the well water was essential for the morning porridge, which was good enough by monastery standards.  At least the founding brothers had built close to groundwater.  If the walk was longer than the half a mile it already was, one way, than he might be seriously thinking of running away to join the gypsies instead of just wishing he were one.  It wouldn't have been hard to find some, what with the well being a popular stopping point for caravans that didn't follow the river.

The trouble would be convincing anybody to take him with them.  Monks of the Iron Branch were not looked upon kindly by most of the plains-dwellers, which explained the distance between the monastery and the well.  The founders had been thoughtful enough not to park themselves right next to it so as not to drive away travelers.  Mikau knew enough history to know that it was more of a fear of having the place burnt to the ground by angry caravans.  That type of thing hadn't happened in a century, though, according to Father Path.  Mikau had to admit, when he came across travelers at the well in the mornings, they didn't kill him or rob him, so things had improved from the time of the heresy wars.

When Mikau heard voices from up ahead, drifting out of the trees with the bird songs, he was quite sure that it was just another band of travelers passing on to Kuelnas or heading on towards the Raviule river.  When he broke the treeline, walking up the last few steps to the flattened hilltop, he didn't notice anything in particular about the travelers, though they seemed a bit off from the usual crowd.  The horses they rode were midnight black, surely from the southern edge of the plains where the horse-tribes kept their winter homes.  This in itself wasn't too out of the ordinary, since more established travelers tended to buy horses from the horse-tribes if they could afford them.  Kuelnas horses were heartier for fieldwork, but the horse-tribes had bred the best traveling horse there was, and the second best which they would consent to trade to outsiders.  The fact that the men rode expensive horses meant that he could count on a bit of class prejudice, so Mikau decided to ignore them, get his water, and head back to the monastery without staying a moment to catch his breath and watch the rising sun for a minute or two.  Mikau's plans had a tendency of getting spoiled quite often.  This didn't stop him from making them, it just meant that he wasn't all that surprised when one of the five men who were seated around a morning cook-fire yelled over at him.

"Ey, monk."

He was a bit attached to this particular plan of his, if only because he had been having a very bad week recently.  He kept walking, aiming for the well.

"I said hey."

Mikau looked up, half-admitting defeat.  he hadn't said anything yet though, so maybe he could get away with silence still.

"Which way's the nearest farm out here?"

The man had a red beard, cropped short to his face, which had something halfway between a scowl and a smile exposing his whiteish teeth. Mikau pointed out towards the west, then started hooking his bucket to a rope attached to the well.

"How far, around?"

Mikau made a face to himself in the water below, barely seeing his tongue stick out in the dark water.

"A day or so, maybe."

"Damnit, Acadia, we will lose too much time going off that way," said a second, deeper voice from the fire.

"Well, I need a squire, okay?"

Mikau was happy that he wasn't part of the conversation anymore, especially since he could sit and eavesdrop on what might be an interesting piece of gossip to bring back.  The other young monks listened to him when he had interesting gossip at least.

"You don't need a squire to climb a mountain."

"Venjorious is right, it would only slow us down so that other knights could get there first."

A third voice, higher pitch, probably from the blonde, skinny one.

"But what if there's a dragon at the top?  You two have your squires even."

"That's because they begged to come along, not because we need their help."

Deep voice again.  Mikau finished filling one of his two buckets.

"Yes, the prophecy foretold a date a week from now, and if we're not at that mountain we are not going to have a chance at it."

High voice.  Maybe even the older monks would care about a new prophecy, they had been muttering about stars lately.

"I just don't want you two to have an advantage here, since we've formed a fellowship on this, y'see."

"Well, maybe you should have thought of that before we came and got a squire from the city."

High voice.

"You two were the ones who rushed us out without letting me check if I was missin' anything.  This might be the last bit of land left with much chance of finding anybody before we hit the mountain, so why not a tiny little side-trip?  We should be there in time anyway."

"Because it could take longer than we anticipate to actually climb the mountain is why."

Deep voice again.  Mikau finished filling the second bucket, getting ready to head back down the path.

Deep voice continued, "really, if you're so set on a squire, why not just take the monk?"

Mikau froze, an icy feeling flowing through him, even beneath the morning sun.

"Yes, he looks sturdy enough, probably just waiting for an adventure."

High voice.

"Hmm, I take your meaning, even if he is a monk.  And the monastery would just get laughed out of the magistrate's court if they say we kidnapped him."

"Precisely, though I'm sure even those old heretics would appreciate the glory of our quest. Might even make for a redemption verse or two in the epic poem they'll write about us."

Mikau's heart was beating quite fast now.  He was sure that he was about to go on a very interesting trip, whether he wanted to or not.

An Eye on God's Mote.

Glazed with frost that deformed the perfect, blue sphere, the eye of Anuzil sat waiting atop its pedestal.  The view was grand from the mountain peak, any mortal eye able to pick out the shimmering surface of the Raviule river winding its way across the Raviule plains many miles into the distance. Most any way that one could look was the Raviule plains, surrounding the lone peak with golden-green fields, flashing sunlight back upwards.  This day was a calm day, the weather stayed its hand from molesting the eye of Anuzil, though other days it tried with fervor to wrest it from its stone perch that was itself perched upon the grey stone of the mountain, both lightly crusted with the same frost that clung to the eye.

Nothing, in fact had moved the eye in a very long time.  A full millenia had almost arrived where it was unseen in the outside world.  Not for lack of knowledge, at least in the early years.  The eye had seen kings with their pavilions and splendor parked at the base of the mountain, striving with the might of their kingdom to reach the peak, to reach it, but each took a different route to cold, icy death.  The lucky ones eventually made it back down to the ground for burial.  Kavnequeth the Bold still lay at the bottom of a pit whose mouth opened half a mile from the top, forgotten by the world, along with his entire lineage.  The eye still recalled him, could remember the glint in his eye on seeing that pedestal framed in the morning sunlight on a day much like today, watched in pity as he stepped forward onto the snowfield and plummeted out of sight.  It was a first at the time for anyone to get close enough to meet the eye's gaze.

Some others made it closer, after a time.  One even reached the carved stone dais from which the pedestal rose.  He had tried for days to wrench the eye free, hammering at the frost , pushing, finally scratching with his bare hands until he died of the chill.  His body had been thrown off the mount by the winds a week later, bouncing off new fallen snow, leaving a dotted red trail all the way to the bottom.  Nobody mourned his passing, and the eye never heard his name mentioned on the wind.  The only thing passers by called him was "poor soul" or "unlucky bastard" on their way to their own doom among the crags.

For all this time, the eye was content to watch and wait, to bide its time.  The wizard who had put it there had promised that after a time and an age and an era there would have to be some needy fool to claim the eye.  Some talented person with just enough luck and brains and skill to reach the top and slip the eye free.  It had not yet been an era, the eye thought, so it was content to wait a while longer.  It would wait atop its mountain of stone and ice and bone for a true owner to appear again, like the wizard had been.  It was patient, even through its loneliness.