“A small token can weigh more than a star.”

  William Crockett, paternal great grandfather of Davy Crockett

  The Long Quiet reported.

  PRIMARY SUBJECT: David Crockett

  DESIGNATION: Duu’ra candidate

  OBSERVATION: Future Timeline Shared

  RISK: Disruption

  QUIETUS PROTOCOL: ENGAGED.

  PREDICTED OUTCOME: The Duu’ra will emerge

  STATUS: WATCHFUL

  And now…

  Behind Davy, Rebecca lay unconscious on the floor. He hadn’t noticed; distracted.

  Around his hand, a faint green light pulsed, steady and slow, like a signal through thick fog. He stared down, breath snagged like it didn’t want to move.

  The braid around his wrist gave a sudden twitch; then a flash, bright and green like summer lightning. As it cracked across the space between fingers and skin, the braid came loose, like it knew the time had come.

  The silver dollar slipped free, span once on the stone, the ridged edge humming, then fell flat; Lady Liberty gazing up at him with a quiet knowing in her eyes.

  Davy blinked, sat up. His hand felt heavy. He opened it slowly.

  A single mote rested in his palm.

  Green. Luminous.

  Cold, but not lifeless; beating like it had its own heart, as if echoing something deep within.

  There was a sensation, faint and unplaceable, like remembering the shape of a face in a dream you once knew well. He picked the mote up, gently and felt its weight. Not in his hands but a weight in the decisions he knew he had to make.

  Just for a moment he could see with absolute clarity the paths open for him to walk.

  One, a memory half-remembered.

  The other a path walked in another life, yet to come.

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  Either future could be made, but the journey must be walked alone.

  The choices didn’t drift or vanish like the others had. They waited for his decision, like he had all the time in the world, and maybe more.

  He turned his attention to Rebecca, sprawled just beyond him, unmoving. He crawled over, reaching instinctively for the comfort of the coin at his wrist.

  Gone.

  So was the braid.

  What had felt like a tether was now undone, freeing him to remake the future.

  His hand brushed the stone floor again, and something cool met his skin. The silver dollar.

  He picked it up, relieved. Lady Liberty still watched.

  And in that moment the decision was made with reinforced purpose. He slipped the mote into his shirt pocket without thinking. Not out of fear, or even curiosity; but something quieter. A choice made because it belonged there.

  With a sigh, Davy put the coin alongside the mote in his pocket.

  He then gently lifted his other lady and carefully carried her out of the cave.

  His clothes were in shreds, blood dripped from his nose, and he could hardly walk.

  As he emerged into the light of day he saw greys everywhere. Some sitting alone, some in groups, kits played, others just idled but there were hundreds of them.

  Upon seeing him, they all stood, a silent wall of reverence, their hands shading their eyes.

  A gesture he’d only seen Rebecca use before. The quiet hum rose, neither prayer nor chant.

  Something older; something instinctual.

  It sent a shiver down his spine.

  He could also hear a low guttural whine, a barely perceptible overlay that pulsed, its volume oscillating. It wasn’t shrill but a gentle peaceful sound.

  Davy placed Rebecca’s limp, lifeless form on the rocky shelf outside the cave and wept.

  He stood there, looking down at her like time had quit moving. Then he knelt beside her inert body and slowly, very slowly brought his hands, trembling up to his face shading his eyes.

  The Diri felt awkward, unnatural, but something deep inside him, something he couldn’t name, told him it was right.

  He then pressed his forehead to the ground, feeling the cool dust cling to his tears.

  From around him, the greys’ hum grew, harmonising with the rhythm of his heart, or maybe setting it.

  Her body lay still, the rise and fall of breath absent. The hum of the greys swelled, then faded.

  The air was thick with waiting, as if the whole world had inhaled and refused to exhale until she did.

  Then, a tremor. Her fingers twitched, and her chest rose as she slowly, raggedly inhaled. Davy let go of a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

  “Rebecca,” he whispered, his voice rough.

  Her eyes opened, and when she looked at him, it wasn’t just her; there was something ancient, all knowing in her gaze.

  He’d seen it before. Wisdom.

  She sat up and looked around, and recovering quickly swept her gaze over the quiet forms of gathered kin. “This is our mob,” she said. “All of them.”

  Then, turning to Davy, her voice lowered. “They came to see if you’d pass. Not just survive, but stand and stare into the Void; right at the fault line between light and dark. To see if you could walk that thread without falling, without failing.”

  “Did I?” He hadn’t meant it to come out that way, but the worry was sitting in his gut.

  She laughed, but it wasn’t the easy sound he’d heard before. Her eyes sparkled, wet with tears, but something in them shimmered deeper; ancient.

  “Well, you’re still here, aren’t you?”

  She smiled soft, like she knew something the stars had told her, but she wasn’t saying.

  “There are threads most never see. But you Davy, you’re starting to. That’s why they came. Why I watched.” She took a deep breath and started to rise.

  “I thought you were dead,” concern evident in his voice.

  “It’s a difficult path that we walked. From sacrifice comes strength.” As she spoke, Rebecca reached out and laid one hand on the space above his chest, near the green mote that lay dormant in his pocket.

  She then projected her voice for the mob to hear, “Only those that see the weave get to pick where the cut falls.”

  Her words lingered, filling the silence surrounding the mob, not a word spoken. They waited. And watched.

  Davy shivered, though there was no wind. He was unable to say which thread he was walking now, or if it had been walked before.

  But he was beginning to feel its pull; no longer as a single path, but as a web stretching across the void, each thread humming with possibility. Paths open to him, some not walked and others, pasts he couldn’t bury; they all pulled at him now, new choices yet to be made.

  And he sat at the centre of the web, feeling the vibrations across time. He didn’t yet know which direction was forward, or whether forward even meant what it used to.

  They walked back to the valley, accompanied by the whole mob, just ambling along. Time and space had begun to tilt, offering choices Davy could sense, almost feel; yet most remained just out of reach.

  Tremors, vibrations across time, tugged at him as if something was waiting just out of sight, calling his name and not in a good way.

  He was distracted, too much swirling around in his mind.

  “Feels like something’s loose and ratlin’ around in my head.”

  Rebecca moved closer, “You Ok?”

  He nodded, aware for the first time that his choices rippled along threads with a weight that pulled at the fates.