Malfi eased quietly through the dark. He was close to his goal and he could feel himself holding his breath. If he moved too soon, gave away his plan too soon, he would loose. He was young and hot-blooded, testosterone fueled and ready to fight for what was rightfully his.

Just a few more feet … then …. Malfi used every skill he had been taught. He gathered himself, ready for the coming confrontation.

Something heavy crashed into him from behind, the sheer weight knocking him off his feet. He screamed defiance and rolled, shaking his assailant off. Malfi sprang up and crouched, ready to launch his own offensive. With a snarl he rushed forward and knocked his attacker down.

They grappled desperately, each trying to gain a death grip on the other. Pain ripped through Malfi’s sides and he barely deflected a deadly lunge for his jugular. Both combatants were breathing heavily and each sensed this would be a fight to the death; no quarter given.

Blood ran down Malfi’s head and into his eyes. He shook it aside and leaped away from a deadly slashing strike. Too enraged now to consider running away, the foes leaped forward and collided in mid-air.

Ripping and tearing at each other, they crashed to the ground, separated and collided again. Malfi was overmatched in weight and experience, but he had the recklessness of youth and an indomitable will.

It was not enough. He felt his vision darkening and his grasp slipping. His had been a short life, fiercely lived. As he sank into unconsciousness he opened himself to oblivion.

Hard, calloused hands closed around his limp body. A stocky woman bent over Malfi’s body. Flat, unfriendly eyes, assessed his condition. She prodded him roughly. The old witch squatted on her haunches and communed with the earth around her. He was dead, or as near to it as made no difference. But Yaggi listened to the murmuring sounds around her and made a choice.

Malfi was so cold he thought he would die of it. He had felt something plucking at his mind. Seeking … consent? Malfi resisted at first, but his will was weak and he curled into a fetal ball and let the mist engulf him. There was pain in the mist and frightful visions. Sometimes he thought he heard voices. He didn’t understand what was said to him; didn’t know whether anything *was* said to him.

In the end he gave himself up. Malfi dreamed.

Yaggi inhaled the pungent vapor rising from the bubbling pot before her. She hummed and stirred the dark, steaming liquid. Her mind expanded, the universe unfolded for her and time passed before her fixed eyes.

She chanted quietly and the paths ... the avenues ... opened before her. She propelled her disembodied will deep into the sleeping mind.

"Yes, yes there it is; the core." The taste of triumph was sweet in her mouth. The chant became a mere hum. She had him; he was hers to command.