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Excerpt of Sci-Fi novel called "the Kindred and Other Tales"

The Guardian of the Watch stood at the doorway, straining to see the sun as it set. He knew he had only one chance at this, and he had scanned the horizon all year, in preparation for this day. He had to pick out a small, flickering pinprick of light that settled just above the horizon, and he had to do it before the darkness came.

At dark the fog and clouds would become so thick that it would be impossible to tell if the beacon was there or not. For five days they had sat, if it went much longer, the Kin would call for a break from the stricture of the regime. If the sixth day passed and the kindred had not come, the Watch were allowed to eat and drink. And every night thereafter until the kindred came.

For a moment he wondered if there was some debt that kept the Kindred from coming, something that kept him out here in this cold, white expanse that was as silent as Diwa's shroud. He shivered slightly, he dared not even think that name too loudly, and stepped another few paces from the door so that the food scents wafting out wouldn't torture him and wake the cold beast in his stomach.

Hunger was an unwelcome guest on this watch, and he took a mouthful of the bitter watch tea to warm himself. Strictly speaking a kinsman could live off of Watch tea, it wouldn't be a good life, but he could. Normally, as most teas were, it was cut down with sugared water, or broth to make it drinkable, this, on the other hand was full strength watch tea, as bitter as Tandara's refrain, and twice as black.

His hand tightened on his belt where he normally carried his dagger; as the sun sank lower as if he expected the six ethereal figures to walk out of the mist in front of him. He knew he had only minutes to offer the fire back once he saw the beacon was lit. This one small thing, offering fire to a traveler, was a big part of the ritual that called the six.

Jason pulled his cloak more tightly around himself as he scanned the snow. The wind had suddenly gotten unnaturally cold. Somewhere on the wind he could hear a melody, he prayed was just Carlo with his flute, but in his mind he knew that death walked these snows. Diwa was always the forerunner. He came to see, to make sure that the Kindred would be safe. It was at his signal that the fire would be lit.

Jason soon found himself staring at a white clad figure in the snow. He wondered how long he had been staring. The

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