He slung the bag over his shoulder.

“This might even be fun.”

“Keenin,” Alaban said, stalling him. “You know that you don’t have to come back.”

Keenin smiled to himself. The old guy was too cynical for his own good. He looked Alaban in the eyes.

“Then give me a year. Don’t give away my spot till then. And if my mom shows up, you tell her she made the right choice.”

“So will you."

"Keenin let's go!" Lester called from outside. 

By the time Keenin got to the bottom of the steps and saw Lester waiting by the front door beyond the gathering of concerned villagers, he had decided. He lifted a hand in acknowledgment and went to open the pantry door. He pushed aside some small bags of flour to reveal the latch in the rough plank wall and just like any other day he went out and quietly shut this door behind him. The tail end of the horse was two arm lengths away. He envisioned riding it. Instead, he moved on.   

As Alaban had said the people didn't pay him attention as he took his time and when he got to the oak tree sadness again filled his heart. He wanted to stay. His hand was shaking when he picked up a brach to start digging and every gouge into the earth was like a self-inflicted wound. At last he pulled out the red tufted Yan plant by the roots and clawed the dry earth until his hands couch the edge of a metal object.  

It had taken too long to unearth and not wanting his final choice to escape to be undone Keenin recklessly stabbed around till he got the cylinder out and popped open the lid to see there was parchment inside. And this must have been the map. 

"Is that something valuable?" a quiet voice asked behind him. 

It was Keln, the leader of the thieves. Against the backdrop of houses, his former boss stood filing his nails with a knife as though the weapon was a joke. 

"If you like dried pork," Keenin noted. "Then I guess it counts as valuable."

"Then what's in your bag?"

"Stale bread."

"And your pockets."

Keenin put the cylinder in his bag and gripped the handle of the pistol. He pulled out the gun and pointed it at his former boss. 

“The war criminals were more honorable,” Keenin said. “They kept to their word.”

“Different profession,” Keln said. “But now I see you really are running away. If you hand that over you can come back. I'll tell them your betrayal was part of our plan to get that old hero's treasure."

"You better let me go Keln. You aren't the only one looking for me today. I'd rather see you arrested when the white knight comes to find me," Keenin said. 

"What a bluff," Keln said. "I bet that gun isn't loaded either." 

Keenin pulled back the loading lever on top.

"I won't miss you," Keenin said. 

“Keenin!” Renaldo yelled.

Keenin and Keln looked to the side. The knight sat tall atop his white horse further down the tree line, looking unfairly imposing as the sunlight glinted from bits of metal armor on his shoulders and shins. Renaldo must have circled around the village.

Keenin forgot about shooting Keln. He plunged into the forest behind him, stuffing the gun back into the bag as he ran. He heard Keln curse and the pounding of a horse’s hooves, but focused on pushing through the brush.

Keenin heard the rustle and snap of twigs when the horse began maneuvering through the trees behind him. The trees weren’t thick enough to slow it down. Keenin had the urge to take the map from the canister so that he knew where he was going, but it would have slowed him. He knew that the forest was thicker deeper inside so he kept moving forward. He even changed his direction to throw the trail, but no matter what move he made the horse and rider followed. Either the man had amazing eyesight to pick out the fresh trail or he had the special ability to see exactly where Keenin had moved. Keenin started to think the plan was a failure until he charged down a slope and accidently walked into the Basalt River that ran west out of the mountains and past the farms. Keenin used the current to propel him downstream. His wet clothes and the sack were a drag, but he found some brush by the bank to hide in. The horse and rider approached the river.

Renaldo immediately turned his head to look downstream. He turned the animal into a slow walk near the bank, but soon stopped and retraced his steps. 

“If you are here,” Renaldo Ecclestone said, “Know that your life will be as unpleasant as it is for all with the knowledge of magic. As you try to marvel in your gift people will hate you. As you try to bring balance people will use you. Our city would take care of you and your friend and provide you with peace. This is your last chance to reveal yourself.” 

Keenin stayed still. It was time for others to stop controlling his life. 

“You are lucky I don’t go back on my word,” Renaldo called. “I shall be taking your friend as he wished. See what treatment you receive and find us in Meladona if you will.”

Renaldo turned his horse from the bank and rode back through the forest. Keenin was alone. He swam to a clear part of the bank and climbed out of the river. He looked through the contents of the bag.

He pulled out the cylinder first and pried off the lid. Inside was a map kept dry and safe by its metal casing. When he unfurled it, ink bubbled to the surface. Alaban had been telling the truth. 

It was time for him to go.