He was aware of a strange vertiginous sensation, and he felt a little lightheaded. Whatever it was, it had snapped him awake with a jolt, and he was apparently feeling its aftereffects. It hadn’t been a nightmare. He had been sleeping soundly for a change, after a long day on the trail. He rubbed his forehead, moist with sweat.
“Sorak?” Ryana poked her head out of their tent. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
He frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he said in a puzzled tone. “Something woke me up, but I have no idea what it was. It was as if—” Suddenly, the jolt came once again, even stronger this time, and he staggered, as though struck from behind. For a moment, his vision swam, and he shook his head and blinked to clear it. When his gaze focused again, the campsite was gone.
He stood motionless, feeling confused and disoriented. One moment, he was looking at the caravan tents and the watchfires by the cargo, and the next, he was standing in the middle of a street in an unfamiliar town.
Neat rows of one and two-story adobe buildings lined both sides of the dirt street, which curved away from him around a bend. The time of day had not changed, but everything else had. He stood frozen to the spot, startled and unable to comprehend what had happened. It was as if he had suddenly been transported to another place.
He spun around, looking for Ryana, but though she had stood just behind him a moment earlier, she wasn’t there. The tent was gone, as well. What he saw instead was the dark mouth of a narrow alleyway between two buildings… and just inside the alleyway, he saw a large figure standing in the shadows, partially concealed from view.
From behind him came the sounds of footsteps. He turned around again and saw another figure, wrapped in a dark cloak and walking down the hard-packed dirt street, heading directly toward him. The stranger’s path would take him right past Sorak, the mouth of the alleyway, and the shadowy figure waiting in ambush.
Sorak opened his mouth to speak, to warn the approaching man, but no sound came forth. The man kept on walking steadily, right toward him. He gave no sign of being aware of Sorak’s presence, just as he was completely unaware of the ambusher. He was only several feet away now and coming straight at him. Again, Sorak tried to speak, but no sound came out. The man in the cloak passed right by him, mere inches away, but apparently without seeing him. And as he drew even with the alley, it happened.
A powerful arm snaked out and grabbed the man’s cloak, jerking him back into the shadows of the alley. Sorak heard a startled gasp of surprise, followed by a brief cry, and then the sickening crunch of the man’s spine being snapped.
The body collapsed to the ground, lifeless. No, it hadn’t simply collapsed, the killer had thrown it, tossing it into the street at the entrance to the alleyway. The murderer stood over the hapless victim, but Sorak could not see the killer clearly. He was dressed in a long, ankle-length black cloak with a voluminous hood that completely concealed his features. The killer reached inside his cloak, and Sorak saw something white flutter down on the body. A veil.
Abruptly, the killer turned, and Sorak thought he was about to see his face, but his vision blurred again, as if he were looking through shimmering heat waves, and the peculiar falling sensation came over him once more.
Sorak shook his head and blinked, and when his vision came back into focus, he saw several guards sitting around the watchfire, talking quietly among themselves. He was back at the caravan campsite, and someone was shaking him.
“Sorak! Sorak!”
It was Ryana. He turned toward her, a confused expression on his face.
“Sorak, what’s wrong?”
“I… I don’t know,” he said slowly. He shook his head to clear it. “What just happened?”
“You seemed to go into a trance,” Ryana replied, looking at him with concern. “You stumbled and grabbed your head, as if you had been struck. You looked as if you were about to fall, only you didn’t. You simply stood there, motionless, staring off into the distance. I spoke to you, but you acted as if you couldn’t hear me. Your eyes were open, but it was as if you couldn’t see me, either.”
“I was standing right here all this time? I didn’t… go anywhere?”
She stared at him, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I just saw a man killed,” he said.
“What? Where?”
“I… don’t know,” he replied, frowning with confusion. “One moment, I was standing here, looking at the watchfire, and then the next…” He told her what he had seen. “It was like a dream, only I was awake… or was I?”
“You had a vision,” said Ryana.
He frowned. “How can that be? I am not villichi. I do not have the gift of Sight.”
“One does not have to be villichi to have the Sight,” Ryana said. “Anyone can have the talent, but it is very rare, even among villichi. I have never had it, nor did any of the other sisters, but Mistress Varanna said she had it sometimes, though she could not control it. She said no one can. It simply comes upon you. You saw something that has happened somewhere else… or is about to happen.”
“I tried to warn the man,” he said, “but I could not speak.”
“You were not there,” she said. “You couldn’t have warned him. It was a vision. You were right here all this time.”
He shook his head. “But it makes no sense. How could something like this happen all of a sudden? I thought people who had the Sight were born with it.”
Ryana shook her head. “No, it comes when a child starts to mature.”
“But I am not a
