They left Tafersit before dawn the next morning, climbing higher into the Rif than Abchiti had ever ventured. The path his father led him on was not marked on any map—it wound between peaks that seemed to shift and rearrange themselves when Abchiti was not looking directly at them, and more than once, he was certain they had walked in circles, only to find themselves further along than expected.
"Where are we going?" Abchiti asked as the first light of morning touched the highest peaks around them.
"To meet someone who has been waiting for you," his father replied, which was characteristically unhelpful. "She has watched over this region since before Tafersit existed. When the power began to stir in you, she was the first to know."
"She?"
His father did not elaborate.
By mid-morning, they reached a small valley that Abchiti was certain had never been seen by modern eyes. It was sheltered on all sides by towering cliffs, accessible only through the winding path they had taken, and in its center stood a structure that defied easy description.
It might have been a house once, or perhaps a temple, but time and nature had long ago transformed it into something else entirely. Vines and roots had grown around and through its walls, not destroying but rather incorporating the building into the landscape, until it seemed less like a human construction and more like a natural formation that happened to have once been shaped by hands. A stream ran through its center, disappearing into the earth on one side and emerging from the rock on the other, as if the entire structure sat atop a portal to underground waters.
An old woman sat by this stream, her back to them, her attention seemingly focused on the water's flow. She was small, her frame suggesting great age, and her hair fell in a white curtain that nearly touched the ground. She wore clothing that could have been from any century in the past millennium, layers of wool and cotton that seemed to shift colors as Abchiti watched.
"You have brought him at last," she said without turning. Her voice was surprisingly strong, clear as the water she studied. "I had begun to wonder if you would delay until the darkness consumed everything."
"There was much he needed to learn first," Abchiti's father replied, and there was a respect in his tone that Abchiti had never heard before. "The awakening is not a small thing. He needed to understand what he carries before he could face what is coming."
The old woman turned then, and Abchiti found himself staring into eyes that seemed to hold depths no human eyes should possess. They were dark, almost black, but within them he could see reflections of things that could not possibly be behind him—mountains and valleys, rivers and caves, the entire sweep of the Rif as if viewed from impossible heights.
"So," she said, studying him with an intensity that made him want to look away, though he found he could not. "You are the one the mountain has chosen. I had hoped for someone older, more seasoned. But the land does not always choose for convenience." She sighed, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than lungs. "Come, child. Sit. We have much to discuss, and there is less time than I would like."
Abchiti glanced at his father, who nodded almost imperceptibly. He approached the stream and seated himself across from the old woman, the pendant beneath his shirt humming with what felt like recognition.
"Who are you?" he asked, then immediately wished he had phrased it differently.
The woman smiled, and despite her strange appearance, the expression was warm, almost grandmotherly. "I am called by many names, but you may call me Tasaft—it is the old word for the juniper tree, which is fitting, for like that tree, I have stood in these mountains for a very long time. I am what remains of the Imzurien's presence in this region—the last voice of those who came before."
"You are... one of the Ancients?"
"I was once fully human, as you are," she corrected. "But I was chosen, as you have been chosen, and over the centuries, the power has changed me. What you see before you is what your own future might hold, if you survive long enough to claim it." She leaned forward, and Abchiti felt the weight of her gaze settle upon him like a physical force. "But we will speak of that later. First, you must understand what you face. The awakening of your power is not a random event, Abchiti. Something has stirred in the east—something that has been sleeping far longer than your gift. And it has woken hungry."