“I’m second in command of the Velieri Protection under my father. I could have prevented it had I known what they were going to do.”

“You’re second in command?”

He nods. “Leigh’s duty and loyalty to the Powers and Prophets has always been far greater than his love for his son. He didn’t tell me anything that they had concluded about you, and that last morning . . . was the last time you and I were together before the execution.”

Not too far away some books on a shelf catch my eye. In only moments one of them is in my hand. I read aloud the header etched on every page: “The Chosen Prophets.” I look at him, “You’ve told me nothing about them.”

Arek turns to the first page. “The original prophets were chosen for their discernment. Each one was an inspired teacher, believing in miracles and the Divine. They believed that seeking money, power, and greed pushed you further from happiness. However, just like everything else, men become corrupted by selfish desires. What once began as a quest for safety for the Velieri people turned to a means of wealth, and complete Power.”

“Yet you remain loyal to them? And abide by what they say?”

“I believe there are still Prophets and Powers that are good and seek truth and peace. However, those few can’t lead the whole. If you say anything against the few, you’re dead. Do you understand?”

“So Navin is right to rebel from the Prophets?”

“No. Navin’s true goal is decimating an entire group of people. That’s what he wants. He’s used the guise of freedom for an agenda. We have to play the game, Willow. Until we find the checkmate.”

“And the Powers?”

“The Powers represent the Velieri territories and are supposed to trust that what the Prophets say are revelations from God. But they are secretly divided, just as the Velieri people are.”

“So why don’t they want Navin and Japha killed?”

“Bribery, power, control . . . Navin has made alliances and deals with many in power. Besides it’s sad to say what some will believe about a group of people just because of one misguided man. The Ephemes are not bad people and they don’t all deserve to die. Yet you tell people lies enough, they might believe them.”

Again, my fingertips push the papers until they are a mess across the table. Several very old papers written in another language come to the surface.

“What is this language?”

“It’s an ancient language that the old Velieri use to hide conversations when they are being persecuted. It seems a bit medieval to use, but in some cases, we’ve had no choice.”

“I understood it in my dream.”

“You did?” He looks at me with a sideways glance. “Leit yi advalecia ei?”

At first it sounds like gibberish, but closing my eyes helps. “Say it again?”

“Leit yi advalecia ei?”

“Yes.”

Arek raises the back of his hand in front of his mouth and I try to read his eyes, but as usual, it is nearly impossible. The tug of war is real even for him. Is he happy that I can understand? There’s no way to tell.

“Sped fitmon,” I finally say when he hasn’t said anything.

Then his expression changes from reminiscing to worry to, it seems, resolve.

Standing, he nods. “Our choice now is just to be one step ahead of Navin. The Prophets and Powers have given us a week, so we wait.”

“And when I remember?”

“There’s no stopping it now.”

Hours later, when Arek and I have dressed and are belted in the belly of the plane, an airport comes into view outside my window. Flat green land borders trees and homes with the quiet runway sitting directly center of it all, and it makes me take a curious second look. One wing drops, then the other sways as the pilot descends to the familiar land.

San Francisco has been my refuge all my life. I was aware of the irony that a city that never sleeps gives me comfort and I used to have zero desire to travel. Yet the deeper we delve into this world, the less homesick I feel, and it occurs to me that quite possibly, somewhere deep within, these people and these places are becoming less than strangers.

Scouring the view for some sign to know where we are, it occurs to me that it isn’t needed. I pull out my iPhone and quickly type in Kagoshima airport in Japan. Instantly, that’s when everything becomes clear, as the view out my window pops up on my screen.

I know this place well.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Across the jet, Briston paces back and forth with his phone to his ear. Everyone else stands with their bags ready for the doors to open. Yet he has fire in his eyes while battling someone on the phone, until he turns and notices my stare. My expression makes an impression, so he immediately hangs up. With his head cocked to the side, he walks to me.

For a moment we say nothing.

Finally, his blue eyes dig into mine as he nods with understanding. “Arek told me. There’s no expectation, Willow. I’m simply here to keep you safe until we know what to do next. You are my daughter, but I don’t need you to act like one.”

“Thank you,” I answer quietly.

In short minutes we exit the large jet onto the open runway. Several small planes are lined up to leave, but for the most part it is a quiet day for this airport.

Two well-dressed men of clear Japanese descent wait patiently off the runway with three cars lined up behind them. Briston and Arek hurry over, leaving us all to follow behind. They embrace these men and exchange a happy conversation for several moments as Sassi stops me far enough away that everything they say is out of ear shot. Kilon and Sassi stand on each side of me, studying the surroundings with their hands on their guns.

“Sassi?” I say quietly. She looks at me to let me know she is listening, but then continues to keep her eyes aware. “What are you to me?”

“Your personal security. Since you were a young teenager.”

“My bodyguards? Why did I need that?”

Sassi says nothing.

Just then Briston raises his hand to call us forward and soon I am nestled between Arek and my father in one of the vehicles that drives smoothly around the curves of the Kagoshima countryside. Mesmerized by such a beautiful but unexpectedly familiar place, I tune out everyone in the car for the twenty minutes it takes to follow a winding road up the hillside. To our right are rows of farmland, edges caressed by the ocean; we are wrapped in the foliage of a forest to our left.

Small roads lead us through weeping trees where moss grows on nearly everything and hangs from branches extended over wildflowers.

“Kagoshima is beautiful,” I whisper.

Arek rubs his forehead with surprise. “Did we tell you about this place?”

I look at him, “No.”

He nods. “You always thought it was beautiful.”

Soon the jungle reveals several homes tucked deep within the dense forest by allowing just the highest tips of the traditional Japanese curved roofs to peek out. The cars are climbing a steep grade, rocking back and forth over roots and rough terrain. Then just as we turn a sharp curve, a long driveway leading to a large ornate red and black house appears. Several people in black uniforms who look like chefs found in a kitchen are standing with their hands straight down and slightly crossed. When we come to a stop, before anyone can exit, these people hurry to gather everything and everyone from the vehicles.

As my feet touch the gravel, there are so many sounds to take in. Several species of birds call to one another, frogs release deep guttural croaks, and a high-pitched sound calls that I can’t quite figure out at first until I see a small monkey swing from branch to branch. Compared to where we have just been, this place is much warmer so each of us begins stripping off our outer layers.