By Lavie Tidhar

They by no means intended to be heroes.

For seventy years they guarded the British Empire. Oblivion and Fogg, inseparable neighbors, certain jointly via a shared destiny. till one evening in Berlin, within the aftermath of the second one global battle, and a mystery that tore them apart.

But there should always be an account...and the prior has a behavior of catching as much as the present.

Now, recalled to the Retirement Bureau from which not anyone can retire, Fogg and Oblivion needs to stand up to a earlier of bad conflict and unacknowledged heroism, - a lifetime of dusty corridors and mystery rooms, of furtive conferences and blood-stained fields - to reply to one final, most unlikely question:

What makes a hero?

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Why did I break out crying? Why did such a feeling of desolation sweep over me? I'd learned a long time ago that tears were no route to Granny's heart. She would be more likely to stop them with a slap than a kiss. I stumbled to the door, careless of the cold December drizzle and the darkness that had now fallen, wanting only to go into Blackie's byre and lay my head down on her rough warm neck and cry there. But Granny barred my way. " The rough sympathy in her voice was so unexpected that I was shocked into silence.

Even I'm scared of you, most of the time. " She gave me a shrewd look. "Is that a dig at me? I suppose I've earned it. And it's what I would do, right now, if there'd been more in this whiskey bottle to give me the courage. But we'll bide our time on the buckle. The moment for it will come. " Chapter 5 Ebenezer Macbean lived for another six weeks. All that time I watched the comings and goings from the Macbean farm with dread, but as the weeks passed and nothing happened, I began to feel hopeful that Granny had been wrong and that he would live after all.

I held my breath, willing her to go on. She only heaved a sigh. "Your father came and took her. She died. He died. And here we are, you and me. Evil came to me, you see? All my life. Sorrow and death and evil. " I'm not an evil, I thought rebelliously. She read my mind, as she often seemed to do, and jabbed a dirty finger toward me. "You, Maggie, are no evil, but the hope of my life. And I wish good on you. Only good. But you're weak. If they harm you and insult you, you cry and run away. You must turn.

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