Niah? said Leagh's baby. Niah? Come home, Niah. Come home.

The wasteland was far distant, a place with no paths leading to any bridge of escape, a placedevoid of hope.

She stood, her head hanging, her eyes closed to the soullessness surrounding her, knowing shewas beyond redemption.

When she had been in the joy and hope of her youth, this was not where she had thought tohave ended.

Why, when all she had done was love? Why, when all she had done was fight for the right tolove?

Niah, Niah, come home!

Leagh did not move, nor attempt to protect herself. "Your choice, Rox," she said. "Which baby is to be born? Whose?"

Niah come home...

Roxiah laughed until spittle flew about the chamber in a mad rain of glee. "Time to go, Leagh!"

It threw the hook, and Leagh had to twist violently to avoid it. She staggered, and then fell.

Niah come home...

Come home? Come home? Where was home?

She remembered the place where she had been raised into womanhood: the peacefulenchantment of the Island of Mist and Memory, the companionship of her fellow priestesses, thecomforting roar of the waves a thousand feet below her feet.

Was this home?

Roxiah scuttled over the distance between them, another hook in its hands. "Time to leave, depart, and farewell the scene, Leagh," it said, and, placing one foot on Leagh's chest, raised the hook to drive it home.

Niah come home...

No, that place had not been home, for she had left it.

There had been another home, the house of Hagen in the horror of Smyrton.

There she had birthed her child, her beautiful daughter, Azhure.

And there she had died, burned alive as Hagen poked her further and further into thefire ...

... further and further into the fire ...

... further and further ...

"No!" she screamed. "No! I won't come home! I won’t! "

That is not your home, Niah. Come home. Now, please, you are needed NO W! Come home, Niah,come home.

"I make the choice!" Roxiah screamed. "My baby, not yours!" Leagh raised her arms, crying out, and trying to twist away,

her belly left vulnerable as her arms tightened about her face.

Roxiah chortled with joy, twitching and twittering in its

demonic labour pangs.

It had won. Rox would be reborn.

Niah, please, please, come home now.

She lifted her head, staring at the vision that had suddenly appeared in the wastelandbefore her.

A Woman, standing under the most wondrous Tree that Niah had ever seen.

The Woman was beautiful beyond measure, and so powerful the surrounding wastelandcringed in fear.

The Woman smiled, and tears sprang to Niah's eyes.

"Where is home?" Niah whispered. "Where? Must I fear it?"

"Home," said the Woman, "is where you are needed, and where you belong. "

"Where?" Niah said, her voice a whisper. "Where?"

Again the Woman smiled. "Where you are needed," She repeated, holding out Her hand.

"And where you will be loved. Come home, Niah. "

"I can never be loved," Niah said, now on her knees and shaking with shame. "Not afterwhat I have done. "

"Done? All you have done is to love, and to be deceived in that love. "

"Zenith ..." Niah's voice was now barely audible; her gaze was now firmly fixed in the dustshe knelt in.

"Zenith adores you, " the Woman said. "Trust me. "

Zenith adores me? Niah wondered, hardly daring to believe it. She cannot, not after what Ihave done ...

She looked up as a shadow fell across her.

The Woman, still reaching out Her hand. "Come home, Niah. Come home. There is only onesmall task to be done along the way."

"One small task?"

"One small task for utter redemption, and an eternity of love. Come home, Niah."

And as Niah reached out to take the Woman's hand, the fragrance of the Tree enveloped her.

Roxiah howled, a combination of triumph and the agony of its labouring womb.