Last night I had a dream – a dream so vivid and memorable that I can not doubt that it was real. I was at the monastery, and for a moment, believed that we had returned, but then, somehow, I knew it was only a dream. The glade was fresh and clean, much in contrast to this village, and I could smell the summer grasses that grew close around the pond. My master stood by the pond, and complained to me about the trouble he was having catching fish with his aged hands. He asked me to help, and I approached him, but soon forgot to do what I had come to do, as one does in a dream.
My master asked what was troubling me, and I told him of the Tracker's death. He said he had received my note, and had been told the same by the Infiltrator. I expressed my feeling that our mission had come to an end. How could we succeed with seven, when the enemy was only before subdued by eight?
His answer surprised me, but soon I understood as well as if I had thought of it myself. Our mission had not failed, he said, and we were not to return to the monastery. The Tracker's death was a tragedy, but we must continue, even if there are seven, six or only one. With the Tracker gone, we must each be part Tracker to fill the gap. He was right of course. Even though it will be more difficult, we must succeed. The enemy could control the world before we could train another eight. Finally understanding the time I had wasted sulking in my depression, I assured my master that, even if I were the last remaining, I would continue the mission to completion.
He asked me what else had been troubling me, and I told him of my journal and the assassins. He was concerned at this news, and reminded me that although our enemy could not detect us using magic, our possessions were not safe from his gaze. That opened up two possible courses. Should we flee as far as we could, so that, though our enemy could locate my journal, we would still be safe, or should we retrieve the journal, and prevent word from spreading farther than it already had? My master said this could be an opportunity. If our enemy were watching the assassins, or if he were in control of them, they could lead us to him. Then, once again, understanding came to me. Rather than fleeing to keep hidden, we can approach the enemy so quickly that he will have no time to prepare for our arrival.
My master then asked me to grab a fish that had surfaced, and when it was nearly in my hand, I woke.
I feel a good deal better than I did before. Our mission has not failed, although our task will be far more difficult. We will find allies in time who may be able to fill the Tracker's part, or we will fill the part ourselves.
The Infiltrator and the Empty Hand dreamed similar dreams, and the Empty Hand assured us that this had indeed been our master. I do not know how he knows, but I have learned to trust him in these matters. The Infiltrator gave our master news, and our master accosted him for neglecting his skill with the rapier, though his weapon, like mine, has always been the quarterstaff. Were it not for the Empty Hand's assurances, this would immediately have raised my suspicions, but, master or not, he allowed me to continue in our mission, and for that I am grateful.
We now leave to meet with the priest and the traveling companion we had seen so little of these past days.