By midnight, the dormitory of Hollowbrook House had settled into the sounds of a building full of exhausted first years. Somewhere down the hall a door clicked shut. Somewhere above, someone's new spirit beast was practicing a very small roar. And in the bed across from Alan's, Tobias snored with the contented rhythm of a boy whose ember mouse slept curled against his ear.

Alan lay on his back in the dark, hands folded on his chest like a corpse arranged for viewing, and stared at the ceiling.

-- Is he asleep? -- said a voice inside his head.

-- Which one of them? -- said another.

-- The snoring one. Alan, is the snoring one asleep?

-- Yes, -- Alan whispered, as quietly as he could. -- Tobias is asleep. Please lower your voices.

-- We are inside your skull, -- said the lazy, amused voice. -- It is not technically possible for us to be loud.

-- It is very possible, -- Alan said. -- Somebody was loud at lunch.

-- That was Helga, -- said three voices at once.

-- It is a perfectly normal speaking volume for a blacksmith! -- said the gruff voice.

Alan closed his eyes. -- All right. Everyone listen. I want to do this properly. We should know each other's names before anything else, and I think we should do it one at a time. In order. Without interrupting.

There was a pause, and then, to his surprise, the brisk voice cleared its throat.

-- Very well, -- it said. -- A sensible suggestion. I will begin. I am Valeria von Astraea. Swordmaster of the Dawn Legion. I have been called the Dawn Blade. I severed the horn of an Ancient Demon God, which is a fact you may verify by consulting any text that has been honest.

-- That is not a sentence I can verify by consulting any text, -- Alan said, slowly. -- Every history I have read says the Abyss War was ended by five heroes. The textbooks do not say who they were. They are always drawn as faceless figures in robes.

The silence that followed was very strange. It was not the silence of five people considering a point. It was the silence of five people who had stepped on a stair that was not there.

-- Faceless, -- said the lazy voice. Its edge of amusement had gone thin. -- Robed. Unnamed. Hm. How instructive.

-- I will continue, -- said the soft voice, a shade too quickly. -- I am Seraphina. Founder of the healing arts. They called me the Heart of Salvation, though I have never felt very saved myself. I am glad to know you, Alan. You may rely on me for anything. Anything at all.

-- Oh, -- said Alan, and tugged at his collar in the dark, because the sentence had landed with oddly specific warmth. -- Thank you, Senior Seraphina. That is very kind.

-- Senior, -- said the throaty voice, with relish. -- He called her senior. He is so polite. I am going to ruin that. I am Nyx. The Shadow That Leaves No Trace. I founded the Guild of Hidden Hands, back when it was a gang of six people and a bad idea. You may call me Nyx. You may also call me anything flattering that occurs to you.

-- Noted, -- said Alan, and then, unwisely, -- Senior Nyx.

-- Oh, I am going to enjoy this.

-- I am Priscilla, -- said the lazy voice, with the air of a person dragging themselves into a lecture hall. -- The Witch of the Star-Sky. I have decoded three thousand forbidden spells, and I will want to see your mana structure as soon as it is convenient. Preferably tonight. Preferably several times.

-- Not tonight, -- Alan said, firmly, and was a little startled at his own firmness.

-- Tomorrow, then.

-- HELGA, -- said the gruff voice, bellowing, -- the Undying Forge Flame, and I made every weapon those four are carrying, and nobody has so much as thanked me. Do you have a forge, boy? Do you have any coal? I would kill for a hammer.

-- I do not have a forge, Senior Helga.

-- Then we are going to have to fix that.

Alan lay in the dark and let the names settle. Valeria, Seraphina, Nyx, Priscilla, Helga. He knew the titles from nursery songs and old stories, and every one of those stories had been about a warrior, a priest, a thief, a sage, a smith. Men, always. He had never once imagined any of them would have such distinct, living, exasperating voices. Or that every single one of them would be a woman.

-- Forgive me, -- he said carefully. -- I should have realized. I was expecting something else. Something more... I mean, a different...

-- You expected men, -- said Valeria flatly.

-- I expected nothing at all, Senior Valeria. I am sorry. That was careless.

-- Do not apologize for ignorance. Cure it.

It was a very strict thing to say, and yet it did not sound unkind. Alan found himself nodding in the dark.

-- All right, -- he said. -- Then the next step is practical. I would like to explain exactly what I am working with, so that nobody is surprised.

He pushed up on his elbows, reached over, found a scrap of paper and a pencil on the bedside table, and began to write by the dim blue glow of the window.

-- A first-year summoner at Lumina carries roughly one hundred mana points, -- he said, scratching the figures down as he spoke. -- That is my reserve. It refills while I sleep. To keep a manifested spirit standing in the physical world costs about two mana per minute. Per person. A high-level technique costs between fifty and eighty at once. And, since you are bound to me, there is a small constant draw just from having you in here. I can feel it. A slow leak.

-- Show your arithmetic, -- said Priscilla.

-- A hundred divided by two is fifty minutes, -- said Alan. -- That is fifty minutes of one person standing in the world. If I summon two at once, it is twenty-five minutes each. If I summon all five, it is ten minutes. In total.

-- Ten minutes, -- said Nyx. -- Of five legends. Divided among us. Rent-a-hero, charged by the minute.

-- It is an insult, -- said Valeria.

-- It is a mathematical fact, -- said Priscilla, delighted. -- Look at that. We have been reduced to a rounding error.

-- What is he paying us? -- said Helga.

-- Nothing, Helga.

-- Then he owes us.

-- I thought we were the ones who owed him, -- said Seraphina, mildly, and nobody had a reply to that.

Alan found that he was almost smiling. Then he remembered that five women could see the smile through his eyes, and rearranged his face.

-- So, -- he said. -- We have a shared constraint, and we are going to need a system. But first I should confirm one point. Nobody here can read my thoughts. Is that right?

-- We can see what you see, and hear what you hear, -- said Priscilla. -- And feel what your body feels, a little. Heartbeat, temperature, that sort of thing. But thoughts, no. Memories, no. Only words you form deliberately. It seems to be a limit of this particular covenant. I admit I am disappointed.

-- Good, -- Alan said, and exhaled. -- That helps.

-- Why? -- said Nyx, instantly. -- What are you thinking about that you would not like us to hear?

-- Nothing in particular.

-- That is a lie, -- said Nyx, very pleased.

-- It is a boundary, -- Alan said. -- A polite one.

For the first time since the Rotunda, the voices were quiet in a way that felt considering rather than stunned. He did not know that, behind his forehead, five people were each quietly revising a first impression.

-- All right, -- said Valeria at last. -- A test. Summon me. For five minutes. I want to know how this works in the body.

-- Here? -- Alan whispered. -- In the dormitory?

-- In a closed room. We are in a closed room.

-- Tobias is asleep six feet away.

-- Then do it quietly.

It took Alan the better part of ten minutes of whispering and compromise to arrange the experiment. He drew the bed curtains. He locked the door. He pushed Tobias's chair against it. Then he knelt on the floor, laid his palm flat against the stone, and tried to remember the exact feeling of the circle in the Rotunda.

-- You open the door, -- said Priscilla, helpfully. -- Imagine your soul as a house with a very wide front hall. You call a name, and she walks in.

-- Valeria, -- said Alan. -- Please come out.

The hollow in his chest flared. A white-gold light spilled between his fingers. Something in the room shifted, like air being displaced by an invisible hand, and in the narrow space between his bed and the wall, a tall figure appeared.

She stood with her head slightly bowed under the low ceiling, silver-white hair pulled into a long ponytail, eyes the cold clear blue of a winter lake. She wore a suit of armor so fine it looked less forged than composed, plates of pale metal that fit her like a second set of bones. She was frowning. She was frowning at the room, at the bed, at the window, at Alan, and finally at the ceiling, where her ponytail was brushing the plaster.

-- This room, -- Valeria said, in a very quiet, very disapproving voice, -- is smaller than my armor cupboard.

Alan, on his knees with his palm pressed to the floor, tried to answer and discovered that he was sweating. A cold thin tide was running out of him, as if someone had pulled a plug in the base of his spine. He could feel the number falling. Ninety-four. Ninety. Eighty-seven.

-- Four minutes left, -- Valeria said, and looked down at him. Her expression changed. -- You are pale.

-- I am fine, -- said Alan, with the smile.

-- You are not fine. Your pulse is bad. -- And then, with the flat decisiveness of a woman who had spent her life making decisions on the wrong end of a battle, she said, -- Dismiss me.

-- But there are still four...

-- Dismiss me. Now.

Alan let go. The light folded back into his chest. The tall figure thinned like smoke and was gone, and the silence of the room was the silence of a place where something large had just left. Alan sat back on his heels, gasping.

-- Eighty-one, -- he said weakly. -- Eighty-one. It used nineteen in under two minutes.

-- That is because you were nervous, -- said Priscilla. -- Your emotional state modulates the draw. Fascinating. We will graph it.

-- We will not, -- said Alan.

-- That was an excellent decision, Valeria, -- said Seraphina, warmly. -- You were very brave to stop him.

-- I was not brave, -- said Valeria, gruffly, from somewhere inside Alan's chest. -- I was efficient. A commander who burns her supply line in the first hour is not a commander. Frost.

-- Yes, Senior Valeria?

-- That boy snoring over there. He is the only reason your door is still locked. Do not forget it.

-- I will not, Senior.

It was oddly gentle, for a command. Alan had the odd sensation of being judged by someone who intended to keep judging him until he was better. He found, to his surprise, that he did not mind.

He crawled back into bed and lay panting. The ceiling swam. And through the haze, he realized that one of the voices had not spoken in a while. He heard it a moment later, mild and warm and infinitely patient, close to the front of his mind.

-- Alan. Are you hungry?

-- No, Senior Seraphina. I am fine.

-- You have not eaten since noon.

-- I had a roll.

-- That is not eating, dear. -- A pause, soft as a hand on a forehead. -- I can see the hallway through your eyes. Would you like to get something? I can tell you where the kitchen is. I am looking at the corridor right now. It is empty.

-- That is very kind of you...

-- Do you need anything else? Water? A blanket? You looked cold, when Valeria left. You keep shivering.

-- I am all right, Senior. I should sleep.

-- Of course. Of course. -- Another pause, and this time something moved under the warmth, something quiet and thin as wire. -- But you will not go out into the hallway tonight, will you? It is dark out there. I would prefer you stayed where I can see you.

Alan stared at the ceiling. It was a sweet sentence. It was said with enormous gentleness. And yet, just beneath the sweetness, there was an edge to it that had nothing to do with kindness, a very small, very clear note that said, I would like to be certain.

-- I was not planning to, -- he said.

-- Good. -- And the warmth returned, rich and mild. -- Stay in my sight, dear. Everything is safer that way.

-- She did not blink once, -- Nyx murmured, somewhere in the back of his head. -- I counted.

-- I beg your pardon? -- said Seraphina sweetly.

-- Nothing, dear. Nothing at all.

Alan pulled the blanket up to his chin and decided, firmly, that he had imagined the entire exchange. He did not know that it would be the first of many nights on which he made exactly the same decision.

-- All right, -- he said, once the voices had settled into a tense, watchful quiet. -- I would like to propose something. A system. Otherwise there is going to be a mutiny by Tuesday.

-- We would never, -- said Nyx.

-- You would, and you would enjoy it.

-- Fair.

-- I am proposing a duty schedule, -- said Alan. -- A written agreement. One summoning per day, in rotation. One of you out for the whole of my daily allowance, or a few short shifts when it is necessary. Monday through Friday, each of you gets a day. The weekends, we will figure out as we go.

-- And who decides the order? -- said Valeria.

-- I do. I have drafted it already. -- He held up the scrap of paper in the dark. -- Monday, Senior Valeria. Tuesday, Senior Priscilla. Wednesday, Senior Seraphina. Thursday, Senior Nyx. Friday, Senior Helga.

-- Why am I last? -- said Helga.

-- Because the forge needs coal and I need to find a forge, and that will take until Friday.

-- ... That is actually a reasonable answer.

-- Why is she Wednesday? -- said Priscilla. -- Why is anyone Wednesday? What is the criterion?

-- Alphabetical in reverse, by a seed I chose arbitrarily, -- Alan said, with the tired patience of a boy who had designed a seating chart at a funeral. -- It is arbitrary, Senior Priscilla. That is the point. I did not want anyone to think I was favoring one of you over another.

There was a very small silence.

-- He did not want us to think he was favoring anyone, -- said Nyx slowly, as if turning over a rare coin.

-- That is either very honest or very frightened, -- said Priscilla.

-- It is both, -- said Seraphina, quietly.

-- Article One of the Agreement, -- said Alan, ignoring them, because he suspected that if he looked directly at the warmth in his chest he would lose the thread. -- Each person is entitled to her scheduled day. Article Two, unscheduled summoning requires consent from both sides. Article Three, the mana allowance is fixed at the amount I specify, and no one will exceed it, ever, no matter how interesting the temptation. Article Four, any person may call a halt for her own safety. Article Five, nobody harms anyone in this agreement, including me.

-- That is a very short list for a very large number of problems, -- said Valeria.

-- It is a first draft, Senior.

-- It is a decent first draft, -- said Valeria, after a moment, and the grudging approval in her voice went through him like a second pulse. -- Fine. I accept it. Sign it.

-- How? -- said Alan. -- I have only paper.

-- By soul, -- said Priscilla. -- It is quite simple. You speak the agreement in your own voice, we answer in ours. It is a minor covenant, a handshake in the old language. It will not bind us. It will only make us feel bad if we break it.

-- That is the best kind of contract, -- said Nyx, charmed.

So Alan read the Agreement aloud in the dark, in a whisper so quiet that even the ember mouse across the room did not stir, and one by one the five voices answered. Valeria, flat and formal, like a commander countersigning a treaty. Priscilla, reluctant and curious, as if signing her first contract with another human being. Nyx, with a flourish. Helga, gruffly. And Seraphina last, with a warmth so deep and so slow that it felt like the sound of a very old bell.

-- Agreed, -- she said. -- Of course. Agreed, dear. I think it is a lovely agreement. I intend to keep every article.

Alan felt the Agreement settle into the walls of his soul like a final stone into an arch. It was a very small thing, a paper written by a first-year boy on the back of a laundry list. But it made the whole chaotic mess feel, for the first time in a day, like something that could be survived.

-- That went better than I thought, -- he said, and let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for six hours. -- Thank you, all of you. I know this is not what any of you expected.

-- No, -- said Valeria. -- It is not.

-- No one has ever asked us what we thought of the arrangement, -- said Priscilla, in a strange small voice, as though she had been surprised into saying it.

-- Well, -- said Alan awkwardly. -- I am asking now. It seems fair. If I am going to carry five people around, I would like to know what they would prefer.

Silence again. Not stunned silence. Something else, something that had warmth in the corners. Alan could feel it as a faint temperature change, as though the room had gained half a degree.

-- You are going to be exhausting, -- said Nyx finally, and there was no mockery at all in it. -- I can tell already.

-- I will do my best to be less so.

-- Do not, -- said Seraphina softly.

Alan lay back down. He turned his face toward the wall. He had one more thing to say, and he had been circling it for hours, because it was the most important thing and he did not know how else to put it. He made his voice as light as he could.

-- One last item, -- he said. -- It is not part of the Agreement. It is only a plan. Whatever caused this seems to have been a mistake, a glitch in the Awakening Rite. It means none of you chose to be here. So I will find a way to undo it. There must be a rite for unbinding. Once I find it, I will release you safely, and you can go back to rest. You will not have to live in my head any longer. And I can go back to being, ah, a very quiet person. That is my intention. I wanted to say it plainly.

For a long moment, nobody answered.

It was the longest silence of the night. Alan could feel it pressing outward from the center of his chest like a held breath. He had the vague, uneasy sense that he had said something he did not understand, in the way that one can walk through a room and step on a sleeping animal's tail.

Then, from somewhere very near the front of his mind, a voice said, very softly, warm as honey and very slow:

-- How interesting.

It was Seraphina. She was smiling. He could hear it. He had no idea why it made the back of his neck go cold.