On The Edge Of A Dream 1u1k5i

On the Edge of a Dream

Seth Giolle

ISBN: 978-1-257-08048-9

Chapter One Q.419 Fireworks

Ikals lifted his quill from the parchment and cocked his head. His squint was becoming way too practiced for this simple a task. It just wasn’t nearly good enough. He checked the notes he’d scribbled on his pad again, marking the inscription he’d found with the tips of his fingers. He inwardly cringed. He’d made two of the loops too small. Damn! “How’s it going?” “Not good.” Ikals set the quill back in the inkwell with a tired sigh. “This is my third copy, and I’ve yet to get it right. Why’d they have to craft their language with so many flourishes? It’s just so hard to copy it.” He rubbed his eyes and hung his head, then, rubbed the back of his neck. His wide-armed brown shirt, open partway, was held shut just after the elbows to keep his sleeves from his work. He wore an emerald green shirt beneath, and comfortable brown pants went down to brown suede shoes. The shoulder-length light blond hair showed a bad need for combing as he wiped stray ends from his face with the back of his wrist. “What makes this text so different?” Ikals groaned. “Maybe you’re a little distracted,” Plythe suggested, patting him on the back on his way past. “I wonder why that would be?” the old man joked, smiling wide. As he spoke, three horns sounded and people cheered a good distance off. Ikals tried to avoid it, but he gave in and gazed out the window. A cool breeze swept in from over the tiled rooftops with their chimneys and weathervanes. Beyond them, behind the brick clock tower and a sea of other roof tops was the white, curved wall. Trees, green and tall, ringed the stadium, and birds, Etis and Tirf, circled above, swooping down to pick at whatever food the patrons were abandoning inside.

They reappeared a moment later each time with food in their beaks, and there were more horns, and there was more cheering. The stadium was a ways off, but Ikals’ heart was already there, and he nodded glumly. “You might be right,” he itted, blushing, leaning forward on his elbows and staring longingly at the page. “I might be a little distracted. Why can’t we have the day off again?” “Because we’re led by smarter men,” Plythe mumbled with a shrug, “and he pays our bills, so we work while others play.” The old man turned, rubbing his lower back a little, and made his way over to his easel. The sketch he was illuminating was affixed to its wooden backing by way of thin, padded, metal clasps. What had once been a simple ink print was on its way to being a true marvel. Plythe’s work was painstaking work that never got its due respect! Thin, faded grey cloak; open-legged, black pants; blue, buttoned shirt; and thin, white hair, coming down around a wrinkled, well-sunned face – Plythe eased himself back onto his wobbly stool. “Don’t you think I have places I’d rather be too?” he asked, picking up his pallet and brush. Ikals smiled. “I think you’d be here even if they locked the doors and threw you out. I think you’d break back in just to spend every possible day you could here, likely a few beyond too.” Plythe laughed, stopping to cough a little, holding his chest until it was gone. “You might be right, Ikals. I was born here. Did I ever tell you that?” Ikals nodded quietly, holding back a response. “I did,” Plythe continued, breathing in the room. Shelves and tables were heaped with books, scrolls, pens, and ink. Two roll-top desks were near-buried in the corner under stacks of bills, enquiries, and responses. The only clear space was where they sat around a busy, oval table at the centre of the room, Plythe with his easel and Ikals with his podium. There was an old fan lodged in the ceiling, but the gears that had once run it had failed some years gone.

If it weren’t for the fresh air and breeze from the five windows that made up the wall behind Ikals, and two windows on the other side of the room – if not for them, the heat would be unbearable; but, looking around, Ikals had to smile too. It was comfortable. It was home. “My father worked in the stables down below back then.” Plythe slowly shook his head. “You know the stairs weren’t even here then?” he mused, furrowing his brows scratching his chin. Again, Ikals nodded silently. “He had to climb up a ladder, and there was nothing here but hay. It was a barn after all.” Plythe laughed lightly. “After I was born, they worked hard to get something better, and when the Printing Press moved into town, they talked the owner of the stables to give them a piece of the bottom floor. “They did bit parts for the local post that goes around on old desks and uneven tables; not long after, the machines were moved here. When the stables were relocated, the Press took over both floors, and we haven’t looked back since. It might sound odd, but part of me misses that ladder and the smell of horses. Did I tell you about the time I stole one of those horses? I thought I was old enough to run away and live on my own.” “Yes, you did, but tell me again anyway,” Ikals replied, detaching his page and fetching a fresh one. “The sound of your voice is just what I need right now.” Plythe looked from sketch to sheet and nodded. “I didn’t make it ten feet before the horse threw me,” he groaned, laughing, returning to his task transferring image to colour. Ikals smiled while he watched the old man bring a scribble to life with artful strokes, pausing in his speech as he stopped to check on the original, then continuing like he’d never paused. How many images from the old texts had he watched the man illustrate? How many hours a day did the man sit by the fire downstairs wringing out his hands and claiming they were fine, just a touch a cold. On a hot day. It wasn’t the story or the art. It wasn’t the place, its smell or look. Ikals knew it all. He’d heard the tale of the horse theft ten times and could tell it himself.

Every so often when Plythe fell asleep in the chair by the fire, to amuse himself, Ikals would tell it again, just to have it or a different tale done. No, for him it wasn’t the building. It was the man whose life and love were tied to that place that gave the walls life and meaning. That kind of love was infectious. Without Plythe, Ikals wondered if the place and those texts would hold any meaning at all. Of course, Ikals had never wondered about it until Plythe had accepted the latest contracts. Before, there’d been only the greatness of the written word. But now …. “And that was only because my father bought apples from the vendor on a regular basis,” Plythe punctuated with a laugh. Despite himself, Ikals laughed as well. “There, what do you think?” Ikals took up a position behind his mentor. “Nice, but very brown. I thought the trees were in bloom when General Stende was leading the attack.” Plythe made a subconscious glance to the stairs and nodded with a frown. “They were,” he agreed conspiratorially, “but our current, benevolent leader, in all his wisdom, has discovered other truths that say different, so we paint different.” “And we write only his truths,” Ikals groaned, walking back to his podium and leaning against it. “This is wrong. Knowledge should never be allowed to be controlled by whoever’s in charge.” He turned and sighed, gesturing around him. “It should be free, for everyone.” “Again?” Plythe asked with a puzzled frown. “It is for everyone, lad. We talked on this.” “Maybe I don’t get it yet. What Marker Stende wants it to look like, what he wants everyone to know and think, what he doesn’t horde in his private keeping – how is that right!?” Plythe offered a tired, but understanding nod. “We have access to all the information and release what we can,” he impressed. Ikals shrugged uneasily.

“I know you want every house and building to have its own collection of books and the town to have several public libraries, Ikals. I know all this,” Plythe continued gently. “This I’ve heard how many times? Yet again, I’ll tell you the best piece of advice I have to offer: don’t worry about what the world doesn’t know. You’re young. You’ll learn that you only ever know what the people in power want to share, and not only could you never understand all that’s really out there, but what would you do with it?” “Share it,” Ikals replied simply, “through those libraries.” Plythe held up a finger. “We tried that,” he noted evenly. “What happened?” “They burned them all,” Ikals nearly spat, averting his gaze distastefully. “The world wasn’t ready for such access.” “The Faith wasn’t willing to give up control!” Ikals sputtered, going quiet again and closing his eyes. Plythe nodded sadly. “And they are only agents of our world. Aren’t they, lad? Their fear is the same fear the goes through every man and woman out there. The libraries were rushed into being, and for a while, it seemed good, on the surface, but fear was building. And it all came to an end, nearly for good. The Faith’s grip on Millosel has slipped, to every corner of Millosel, our town only a single point. Things are changing, slowly, too slow for some?” Ikals couldn’t argue that much! “Now, we have these private collections,” Plythe noted, “and in time, when we’re ready, the libraries will return. “Until then,” Plythe urged, “we keep the written word alive. Why do you think there are men like Marker Stende? One day, we’ll copy and report everything, exactly the way it truly was. The details are all here, stored,” he mused with a grin, checking the stairs again. “We aren’t stopping the truth, lad,” he boasted confidently. “We’re just storing it safely away until society is ready to know it. On that day, I expect to see you opening your libraries with all the gusto you can find.” Ikals smiled weakly. Plythe shrugged. “Right now,” the old man noted with a resigned nod, “the world only wants to know Master Stende’s version of the truth. They need his

grandfather to have been a glorious leader, a general among generals. With the soldiers changing their charges and all the political upheavals, the people need an icon to believe in.” “General Stende?” Ikals asked, crossing his arms. “The man left his men. He ran for his life. Any good he did freeing the captives from that fallen house was pure luck. Or accident.” “But the world needs stability right now, Ikals. Faith, in its many facets is weak. Politically and religiously, everyone’s vying for power, and the Stardents haven’t won a game in years – something’s bound to break!” Ikals couldn’t help but laugh. Plythe rested his hands on his hips. “They never should have gotten rid of Dank. That’s all there is to it.” Plythe’s smile was warm. “Besides, most of it’s accurate, and if it wasn’t us doing this, well, he’d just find someone else. And what good would that do!? Maybe the written word would die out completely under another quill. That wouldn’t help anyone.” Ikals nodded, but he didn’t like it. There was no proof the general found any old text or inscription to save those captive people. What if what he was copying was pure invention? Not that Stende had any real imagination, mind you. What did it make Ikals if what he was producing was eighty percent honest, twenty percent … something else? Plythe was humming happily as he worked. The horses, men, women, children, and scenery were all coming to life on his sheet, and even against the knowledge of the horrible role he was playing in the masking of his world’s real history, Ikals found his calm returning. “Is his conscience acting up again?” a head asked from the farthest window. “I told him to lose that a long time ago, but he won’t listen to me.” Plythe and Ikals turned to look. Ikals rolled his eyes while Plythe returned to work. “What you doing here, Lomnes?” Ikals checked. “I thought you were working.” “I could say the same,” came his friend’s jovial retort. Ikals smiled and walked over, peering down the trellis to the alley below. Lomnes was dressed in his own scribe’s outfit, like Ikals; only, his shirt was an off-white, his sleeves weren’t

held back, and his hair was near clean-shaven off. “Any chance your break is permanent?” he asked, eye brows raised. “I’ve been given the rest of the day off.” “We have a lot more to do here today,” Ikals rued. “Six pages a day keeps us on schedule.” Lomnes screwed up his face. “And how far along are you now?” “Two to go.” Ikals hung his head. Lomnes sighed. “No chance, Master Plythe, of any reprieve?” Plythe grinned, but the old man shook his head. “They’ll be starting the main game soon. I’ll let you know what happens, score by score.” “Don’t hold anything back,” Ikals insisted. Horns blasted in the distance, triples a few seconds later. It sounded like the whole town was cheering. Not missing a beat, there was hard wrap at the door downstairs, and Plythe stood, motioning for silence, making his way down the spiral staircase. “What is it?” Lomnes asked in a hush. Ikals shook his head for an answer and stood straighter. “It’s good to see you, Master Stende,” came from below, Ikals’ expression going tight. He was trying to accept Stende as a positive in life’s history, but it wasn’t working. Whatever Ikals’ objections, the fact remained that Stende was rich and wellconnected. He was Sathiol’s Regent after all, and with that position, came power. “I’m here for a report.” “We haven’t much to show yet, sir. We only just started really.” A heavy sigh. “Then show me what you have already!” Heavy footsteps followed Plythe up. “Quick,” Ikals urged, motioning for his friend to drop down out of sight. Lomnes nodded and did just that.

Stende, a tall thin man in his forties with thin black hair and curled moustache, climbed up the stairs behind Plythe. He wore a blue silk jacket and pants, black buttoned shirt between, and his expression was quite sour and uninviting. “I offered you my contract because your reputation stands for speed. I was hoping for more.” “We’ve finished ten pages so far,” Plythe was saying as he topped the stairs back into the loft. “That’s good for a work of this size, and the illustrations are elaborate,” Plythe added, gesturing towards the easel and his work-in-progress. “They’re going to add a fair allotment of time to the project I’m afraid.” Stende frowned at the easel. Ikals was almost offended he didn’t even warrant a glance. Of course, it also felt good to feel small. “It isn’t bad,” Stende finally itted. “Where’s your finished product so far?” Plythe moved some half-bound books aside and bent to retrieve some thin wooden boxes from beneath the central, oval table. Stende did eye Ikals for a moment, then, frowning heavily, he walked stiffly up beside Plythe where he spread the boxes out and opened them for inspection. “Each page rests here until we’re ready to bind the finished product,” Plythe explained, lifting the wax paper from the top of one to show the page beneath. “Wax sheets, wooden containers, parchment, and quills,” Stende mused. “I thought you were exaggerating when we first spoke.” He looked around the room with the beginning of a wry smile. “I thought it was for show. Now I see you were serious. Fine, you’ve got your time allotted, but nothing more. I’m under pressure to deliver a new text to the shops in a month, and it had better be done by then! How many copies have you made of these?” he asked, pointing to the boxes. “Ten of each, as you requested.” Stende nodded grimly, eyed Ikals and the room over once again; then, he left, descending the stairs with haste. Plythe saw him out. “Let me know how it works out,” Ikals said as Lomnes’ popped his head back up. His friend nodded and started his descent. Part way down, bright red and green shot up into the sky above the stadium. The

fireworks broke apart into three streams before dying out completely. A whole chorus of horns announced the entrance of the home team! Ikals sighed, and Lomnes nodded sadly. The trellis shook slightly under his weight, and a woman in a window across the alley scowled, but Lomnes kept to his descent and landed, waving as he skipped across between the parked handcarts and down the next alleyway over.

Chapter Two Release

Ikals tried to resume his work with Lomnes gone, but he couldn’t get a sentence down before turning to face the windows. The fireworks were spent, but the cheering rose loud. He heard Plythe clear his throat and turned, clearing his own, returning to his work again. “You have to dip your quill to put it to any real use,” Plythe advised softly. Ikals nodded half-heartedly and did as he was instructed. Plythe, his small brush poised atop a crouched man’s head, let a thin smile escape. “And staring at the parchment doesn’t help any. I hear you need to actually add the ink for it to show.” “Sorry. Of course.” Plythe laughed. “Go,” he urged, sitting back. “I’m not getting any good use out of you today. I likely never was, even before Lomnes showed.” Eye brows raised, he shook his head. “Catch up with your friend. I’m sure he’s stopped to stare at some girl or other along the way. You will be finishing your half when you return, mind you, just so you know, transfers and all!” Ikals only sat there for a second before racing from the room. “Will do,” he cried as he got to the bottom of the stairs, skirted the long metal binder, avoiding the threaders and weavers, nearly knocking some ink bottles over in the act. Hitting the four steps that led to the heavy front door, he snagged his hat from the coat rack and turned. “Just leave the ink out,” he called up, “and it’ll be done, and don’t bother staying up.” He broke through the door and raced down the street. Plythe’s laughter filtered out and beyond. Ikals did find Lomnes trying to woo two women on a street corner by a cosy little café. Neither woman was showing much serious interest, but they were smiling and giggling. It was enough to keep Lomnes happy and involved.

“Come on,” Ikals called, slowing down long enough to pull his friend along after him. “I’ll come back when the game’s done,” Lomnes called back. The women just smiled and waved, then laughed and turned, walking off down a side-street. “They won’t be there,” he grumbled, shaking Ikals’ hands off. “I’ll likely never see them again.” “You never know,” Ikals replied. Terraced, red clay restaurants, honey-coloured wooden houses, and white stone buildings lined the sidewalk up ahead and across the tree-lined street. There were a few people about in each, but compared to the usual fare, the street and buildings were empty. “So he let you go after all, eh? I figured he’d give in. He usually does. You just don’t push enough.” A volley of horns and cheering had them running full out again. “You’ve no idea what pressure we’re under with this new contract,” Ikals noted. They stopped to avoid being run over by a team of horses. The wagon those horses were pulling, and their cursing driver, kept rolling. Lomnes shook his head. He nearly stepped into some fresh fertilizer that had fallen from the wagon, or was it one or two of the horses? He was checking his shoes and pants as he hurried on. “Enough talk of work,” he shouted. “Let’s get going, so we don’t miss the whole game.” “I’ll beat you there.” “Not today.” Ikals held the lead for four blocks until a fruit vendor and her wheel barrow of tomatoes popped out from behind a stall to bar his path. He cleared the wheel barrow evenly. It was the landing he missed. While Ikals skidded and rolled, Lomnes cleared the barrow and kept going. “Not today,” Lomnes shouted again.

Ikals grinned and ran after his friend. They came out into the town square. Red and white smoothed cobble-stone circled the brick clock tower that rose high above. There were layered gardens around its base, and flowers and trees grew in the boxes around its benches and shade covers. Lomnes took a route straight through. Ikals kept more to the benches, then, slipped one block to the right onto a side street that ran parallel to the main road. His path dipped and rose with flat doors on either side. A foul smell came from one place in particular: unkempt refuse. Someone needed to take the garbage out! Red, brown, red, white, white – Ikals kept count of store fronts by colour as he went, noting blocks as well. If he cut back over at the right cross-street, he could escape the business sector which was likely slowing Lomnes down. But if he ran too fast, he’d hit the fish mongers. He could already smell that repulsive odour. Red, white, white, brown … now. Ikals skirted left, neatly side-swiped a tree and bench, and hit full stride again. Glancing back, he noted the vendors and few customers who conversed in the street. Something was wrong. Where was Lomnes? “That short-cut never works, Esha,” Lomnes shouted back. Lomnes was at least a block up! Ikals gritted his teeth. He hated that name. More than that though, he hated that Lomnes might best him! “You’re just too slow. Accept it.” “Never.” He wasn’t going to give up until the race was lost! Ikals managed to catch up, somewhat, but the road was running short. With Lomnes six feet in the lead, they hit the stadium’s surrounding steps and started climbing. Twenty steps opened up onto a wide landing where the fountains, trees, and stadium walls rose. Lomnes finally stopped at the wide, stone arch. Ikals stopped behind him feeling near thoroughly spent! Though he automatically found a few comebacks to try and save his pride, they were stilled on his tongue. Seeing that arch, he just stammered like a fool. “Can’t take losing?” Lomnes jibed happily.

Ikals wiped his forehead, then, shook his head. “You only won because of that vendor. I had you!” Lomnes laughed and pulled Ikals through the arch. Ikals shook his head. It was so much like the one he’d been seeing in his dreams, but it was different too. His arch was taller and thinner, and there were markings around its edge. He felt the fool. He’d seen this arch often enough over the years, any time he’d seen a game at the stadium! Was he going to start quaking at every arch he had to step through anymore!? He briskly shook it off. “How did you get through those people anyway?” Ikals demanded as they mounted the inner steps that took them to the highest tiers. On each landing, the sounds of the crowd intruded; then, mounting the next flight of steps, there was only the sounds of their steps on the stairs. “I smiled, and they parted,” Lomnes exclaimed as they ran, stopping to pant some more at the next landing. “They just like me more. That’s all.” “Or they thought you were deranged,” Ikals suggested, taking his chance to run ahead. Lomnes followed, skipping steps to keep up. They finally came out at the top as the crowd jumped to their feet and cheered. Below, the players in reds and yellows ed the ball along, one man heading it and a woman slide-tackling someone from the other team. Ten feet out, a player took a shot on net, and two large horns blew, one on either side of the field to mark the goal! “Damn,” Lomnes spat. “If the Danstels actually win, it’s because I wasn’t here to cheer them on!” “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that they’re playing the league’s top team?” Lomnes waved the thought off and started pushing his way through the people, both sitting and standing until the friends came to a pair of empty seats that were nearly teetering on the very wall itself. One strong wind might have knocked them off to the courtyard below! Lomnes glued his eyes to the game.

“The Danstels can beat anyone. They destroyed the Cloisters last year. ? And they were apparently the best team.” “Yes, but they had Polkash playing for them. She’s not on their team anymore.” Lomnes frowned, rising to shout, then, sitting again. Below, the player who’d tripped spat out some dirt and chased after the ball. “No difference,” Lomnes insisted. “We can beat them without her.” “Plythe is still rooting for the Stardents.” Lomnes laughed. “Good luck on that one.” The Danstels ed the black, leather ball around. One man flipped the ball over his and the other player’s heads, then, kicked it on ahead. It was picked up and kicked on goal. Everyone stood, Lomnes and Ikals included. The keeper knocked it aside. Amid a mixture of cheers and boos, Lomnes shouted his own share of challenges, and they sat again. “They just need the right heart. That’s all. Oh no, not again.” Minstrels happened by, singing their lot. Some people threw money at them. “I think they play well enough,” Ikals joked with a grin. “I can get them to come closer for you.” Everyone cheered around them, drowning out the minstrels as they ed. Ikals ed in. Lomnes just watched the minstrels leave. “They can’t keep a tune,” he muttered, getting back into the game, yelling along with others as his team stormed down the field. They almost scored, but the defensive line turned them aside. “I don’t mind a song, but I mind when it’s played in the wrong key, and they never learn.” “They just need practice,” Ikals suggested, flagging a vendor down. He dug out a silver coin, and the man ed bone kebobs across. Lomnes’ nose nearly curled into his head.

“How can you eat that shit?” Ikals smiled, then, shrugged. “It’s not as good as home-made,” he replied, picking at a strip of meat, “but nothing ever is.” Thin, gloppy, yellowish sauce dripped down onto the paper plate. Ikals inhaled the onions, green leaves, and vegetables. “Still, you can’t ruin Telcoy.” “But you can ruin your taste buds eating it.” A loud roar rose from below, somewhere between a cheer and massive inhale. Both friends leaned forward to watch the teams run back inside. “Quarter’s over,” Lomnes rued. Fireworks were launched from both ends of the stadium, exploding in greens and blues making wide rimmed circles in the sky. Two green fireworks followed, exploding in a broken stream of sizzling lights until each strand died out. A band came out on the field, and talking broke out around them. Sitting again, Lomnes sighed. “At least they aren’t so bad, still not good. I’ve seen their music. A blind monkey could play it better.” Ikals smirked, contentedly chewing on his meat. “What? There’s the institute in town here where children are learning to play, and they’re better. We write for them too, so I should know. “There’re plans in order to mark a birthday. Did you know that?” he asked. Ikals shook his head, picking at the last of his first bone. “They have us crafting a song for it. I imagine there’ll be a celebration planned as well, some big party of some sort. I think Stende is trying to look good so people will trust him.” Noticing Ikals’ frown, Lomnes smiled. “He’s not so bad.” “I think I could do it better.” “Let’s not get into this again. Here they come.” Ikals paused, second kebob snared between two fingers. Just along the horizon, what seemed like mere feet above the rooftops, five flyers came into view with a large, grey balloon following.

The flyers, bright red, white, green, and orange against the blue above, swooped and swerved. Each rider held tight to their leather harness, and they came together and flipped and turned around each other, separating in a dazzling display that had the crowd on its feet again cheering. The hot air balloon, a long large woven basket with propellers to the rear, that massive balloon lashed above, kept a steady pace. With the flyers performing their acrobatic arts, people began to drop things from inside that woven basket. Small chutes opened on each decorative bag, slowing their descent. Hundreds of the bags were dropped, and white filled the sky, nearly blotting out the suns. These prizes were grabbed up quickly enough by the roaring crowd. When it was all done, the balloon remained above with the flyers putting on a show and the band playing a lively song. Ikals settled back again. “I don’t think it’ll help.” Lomnes shrugged. “You just aren’t happy that you didn’t get one.” Ikals sneered playfully. Lomnes laughed. “It’ll help. It won’t erase everyone’s distrust at how things have been handled, but it’ll help.” Ikals rolled his eyes, then, stopped. “What is it?” Lomnes asked. “Did you see a ghost?” Ikals quickly shook his head. “No, it’s nothing like that. I just thought I saw someone is all.” He looked again between the jumping and moving people. The seat was empty now, but he was sure she’d been there. Why wouldn’t they leave him alone? “It’s nothing,” he lied again. “If you started eating proper food, you wouldn’t be seeing things. That’s what Telcoy does to you. Now, a plate of chicken or loaf. That would hit the spot!” He glanced from one vendor to another, of the many walking up and down the aisles, quickly mounting and descending the tiers. “Not a one,” he rued. “No ale either I see.” “They banned it after last game.” “A few people start a riot, and they blame the brew. It was the pack of idiots that couldn’t handle losing that were to blame, not what they were drinking.” Ikals shrugged. “Stende signed the order. Still like him?”

“Sometimes.” Lomnes focused on the flyers above. “I tried a glider once, made it a few feet. I was told the crash was spectacular. I don’t it: hit my head pretty hard.” “That explains it.” Lomnes slapped Ikals. Lifting his arm to defend, Ikals dropped the plate and food. “My food,” Ikals cried, slapping Lomnes back. “You owe me for that.” “How about some real food?” They started wrestling, bumping into the people in the act. Ikals had a good leg hold too, but the stadium shook, and some people to their left fell over the back railing. Down on the field, two drums fell over with a clatter and thud. “What was that?” Ikals asked, pushing himself free of Lomnes’ arm. “I was imagining it. Right?” Lomnes shook his head. “Nope. Afraid not.” Above, the sky turned white. Something close to a dust cloud, only sharper, took over where the moon, ONW had once been. The shaking returned; only, this quake was more intense. “It’ll stop like the others,” Ikals shouted. Lomnes let his mouth fall open. “I don’t think this is the same as the others,” he returned. “Let’s get out here!” Above, the dust cloud was expanding. Then it was gone. It was replaced by the most spectacular fireworks display Ikals had ever seen; only, the streams and dazzling reds and yellows weren’t dying out as they fell. These streams were getting larger and picking up speed! The first one hit downtown, splitting the clock tower asunder with bricks and machinery flying in all directions! The tower’s point was toppled to puncture a nearby shop, breaking open three surrounding houses, and a large debris cloud engulfed that area of town! The next four hit along the edge of town. Fires quickly grew in their wake. “Let’s get out of here,” Lomnes shouted, this time louder. The panic had spread, and people forced their way into the mass exodus. People were pushed aside and trampled, and two rows collapsed under the collected weight of frightened fans!

“We have to get somewhere safe.” One of the flyers was caught by a falling rock and spiralled down after it, hitting the far end of the stadium. Forty or fifty streams blanketed the sky, and the ground continued to shake. Screams filled the streets, and houses burned. “And just where would safe be?” Ikals barked, still covering his ears, not that it was helping. The whole structure shook, and Ikals and Lomnes fell to their knees. In the middle of that screaming and panic, Ikals looked to the skies. “What’s going on!?”

Chapter Three Beginning of the End

Ikals ed little. There were falling walls, and panicked crowds shoved them aside, and there was such a feeling of great loss. It felt like the world was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it! Something hit Lomnes at one point, while they stumbled through the streets, trying to get back home, to either friend’s home. He fell, and Ikals was pulled down with him. A second later, something cut through Ikals’ pant leg, and a burning sensation gripped his thigh! Ignoring the crying around him and his own pain, he lifted Lomnes’ body against his own and kept going. There was a fragment of silence in his march where they stopped, and Ikals watched the small and large rocks streak the sky. They looked so innocent. But what were they? After that, there was nothing much but hard stone, and then, he found himself staring dazedly at weathered, chipped wood. A heavy cedar scent was all around, and a spring was digging in his back. “Don’t move. It’ll bleed again.” He knew that voice. Ikals tried to lift his head, but it hurt too much. “I said lay still,” Plythe gently pleaded. He wiped Ikals’ forehead with an old cloth. The old man had three heads, and they were all blurry! Ikals instinctively closed his eyes. It was too dizzying to keep them open for too long. “Where’s Lomnes?” he asked through a raspy voice. “What happened?” “Lomnes is fine. At least, he’ll survive though he’ll be needing more rest than you I reckon. Do stay down,” Plythe grumbled, pressing against Ikals’ rising shoulders. Ikals, his world shifting and centre of balance near shattering, decided to concede. “You’re just lucky the soldiers recognized you, or they’d have deposited you.” A tired frown. “Who knows where? Lomnes will be taken care

of. Now stay still while I get you something to drink.” There were distorted sounds, wood shifting, and metal clanging way too loud. A grinding sound followed. Ikals felt wetness on his lips, and he tried to drink. “Now, sleep,” Plythe urged, adjusting Ikals’ pillow. “I have work to do, and I can’t do that while tending to you.” Ikals tried to smile, but he couldn’t. He felt like he was being swept away on an ebbing tide, drawn away, thrown back, ever falling into a deep heaviness. Unable to resist, he let the feeling take him away. Where was he? All around him, wooden stacks lined the flooring. Books filled every shelf, every size, shape, and colour. She was there, a light at the far end, calling to him. This dream was different. Someone else was there, pushing him on, edging him forward. As he reached for her, the dream dissolved into the void of sleep. The next thing he knew, he was still in bed, and the world still turned, somewhat, but his stomach felt better, and he tried to sit. He only made it partway. He fell back and rolled off, falling out of bed! The crash echoed, and Ikals held his ears. He wasn’t sure what hurt more: his ears, his head, or his body! Footsteps echoed from above, and a moment later, he was lifted up and eased back onto his uneven mattress. “You’re supposed to be healing,” Plythe groaned in a sigh. Ikals tried a smile. He wasn’t sure how well it came out, but it hurt to move his head too much, so he let it go. “I’m sorry,” he managed. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.” “Are you feeling hungry?” Ikals shook his head. If he did it slowly enough, it didn’t hurt so badly. “What happened out there? What was that?” Plythe looked to the door to Ikals’ room for a moment, past the threader and other machines that waited just outside, to the windows beside the front door.

“Don’t you know?” he asked. Ikals shook his head again. “It’s like the sky was falling.” “Well,” Plythe reasoned, “I suppose it was. That rain was ONW, lad: the moon.” There was a thought, a spark of imagination, but it didn’t make sense. Ikals tried to find words, but nothing was coming. Plythe nodded. “One of our moons just blew up, lad, and you’re lucky to have made it back alive. A lot of others aren’t so well off.” “The other two moons?” “They’re still up there,” Plythe assured him, patting his shoulder. “Rest a little more. In the least, lay here while I finish up. When I’m done, I’ll start Beginning Meal.” “Beginning Meal?” Ikals mirrored, eyes opening wide. Plythe nodded. “You’ve slept long; still, give me a little more. Okay? I’ll be back.” Ikals watched the man go. He rested, but he couldn’t sleep, and eventually, he had to rise, this time more slowly. He sat for a while before trying to stand. He sat for a long moment after that too. When he finally made it to his legs, he wandered out into the main room and leaned against the door frame. Taking a few breaths, he stumbled on to the window and looked outside. The houses and buildings in their neighbourhood were standing, but the windows in most of them were broken through, and the doors were leaning badly, worse than him. He realized the one house was leaning, and roof tiles were piled high between two others, smoke wafting up from inside. In the distance, he could see more smoke rising, and people walked, huddled and hushed past their door. The soldiers marched in groups and pairs, halberds and swords ready. He looked to the crack that ran the length of their own window pane. Movement caught his eye outside, and for a moment, he saw someone looking back, but a soldier crossed that alley. When the man had walked on, there was no

one there anymore. Plythe found him by the window, curled up carefully in a chair. “Are you hungry yet?” Ikals nodded gently. Smiling, Plythe retired, past the water pump to the cluttered hall that ran between their bedrooms. The hall led onto a summer kitchen that had once been home to the original water trough. Ikals returned to his journal, a thick blue book with curled corners and a faded spine. He’d found the book one day, the day Plythe had found him and taken him in as it turned out. Ikals had pulled it from under his pillow to add the day, and last day’s details, but he’d found the last entry and hadn’t made it further. “Still on arches are we?” Plythe asked, ing over some water. Ikals took it and drank. “I guess,” Ikals replied. “I can’t get it out of my head. I’m even seeing it where I go in the waking world.” Plythe nodded, pulling up a chair and sitting back against the threader. “Too bad you didn’t dream up falling moons,” he mused. Ikals nodded sadly. “The others are fine, in case you’re wondering.” Ikals looked up eagerly. “Tangue was here while you were asleep to see how you were. He’d just left Lomnes, who is still asleep, and Tangue let me know, for you, that Rathol was alright, in case you were worried about him.” “Thanks.” “Do your arches in the waking world have those symbols to them?” Ikals shook his head. He let his eyes sweep across the page again: black sketched runes, glyphs, whatever they were, were drawn around the door. In his dreams, the ones he could at least, the runes were always in the same order, but there was no sense why they were there or what they meant. “In all my research,” he mumbled, “I’ve never found them, and yet, they seem so real, just like the arch itself.” “That’s what dreams are. They’re real to our subconscious minds, and there are many arches in this town. Try to forget about them. Don’t let them bother you so much. There are worse things to focus you mind on now.”

“Like what does ONW blowing up mean?” Ikals joked with a wry smile. “Exactly. I can tell you what the Faith will be telling us. Their kin, all those breakaway faiths, will be saying much the same. They’re going to play on all our fears and make the situation worse.” Plythe walked up to the window with a sharp exhale. “They’ll have us believing that we’re all doomed.” “And if they’re right?” “Well,” Plythe replied, shrugging playfully, “there’s no way of knowing for sure until it comes. So why worry? One good thing is we won’t have Stende riding our backsides for a while. He’ll be too busy trying to manage all this.” “How can you him?” “What do you mean?” Ikals had so many answers to that question. “You our rewriting of history, and you show sympathy for a man who doesn’t care , doesn’t show you any respect that you deserve, doesn’t really care if you live or die, just so long as he gets what he wants. And you defend him. You the man. I don’t get it.” “I don’t the man as much as what he does.” That didn’t make it any better. As if he’d read Ikals’ mind, Plythe smirked. “I that our nation, be it kingdom or province, needs a leader right now. And right now, Stende is that man, so I him being strong to ensure the rest of us strength. I don’t see the man. I see the role he plays.” “So do I.” Ikals tried to escape the old man’s sympathetic gaze. “He isn’t the same man who sentenced your parents,” Plythe continued. “That was someone else, somewhere else, an age ago. There isn’t a day I wouldn’t like to see that man before me for punishment, lad, but he isn’t that man.” “One in the same,” Ikals countered defensively. “He doesn’t care for us. He’ll do what he has to do to win, and hurt anyone who gets in his way, and that’s not right.”

“No, it isn’t,” Plythe agreed, “but it is what it is. Maybe I’m just too old to want to fight life’s battles. Maybe I’ve just fought so many and gotten next to nowhere. Who knows? Maybe it’s a mix of the two.” He smiled at an inward thought. “I was alive when this was the Kingdom of Sathiol,” he noted fondly. “Sathiol and the others: Ammoll, Zilmn, Teshellon. I even knew Qilosh when it was more than just a city. We ranted and raved, and we ran our campaigns to fight the changing tide!” Ikals rested his head back with a smirk. “You haven’t spoken of this before, not ever.” Plythe sighed heavily, his bluster spent. “It’s not a part of my life I’m very proud of, and it’s all history now, because we lost, and I think, looking back, we’re the better for it. It’s funny how time teaches its lessons. We just have to wait until things come, properly, full circle to be able to see why things happen the way they do. “We’re one big kingdom now, one government with Regents like Stende ruling its provinces, guiding. Imagine what our world can accomplish under one banner. Imagine the power a person could have for good in that system. When I say wait for the day when libraries and their like will be open again, I’m not just rambling. You may not approve of the, how to put it, altering of history, and I’m not pretending to like it, but think of the change. When the world is ready for the truth, all the truth we’re storing here for them, us and others like us, the whole world will see it! “One kingdom, Millosel under one rule. I don’t ire Stende. I certainly don’t envy him, but I don’t hate him. He’s making hard choices and paying dearly. In this age, it’s men and women like him that will shape our destinies, and I expect it’ll be men like you who replace him. Don’t hate him. He’s playing his part just like everyone else. “In time, I think, even your parents’ death will make sense, though I’ve yet to gather that one. You’re a good young man. One day, you’ll be old enough to understand.” “I hope you’re still here to share it,” Ikals said, smiling.

“Doubtful,” Plythe chortled, amused, “but maybe. The meat should be ready now. I really am getting too old for this, you know. Did I tell you about the summer we found our back door broken into?” The words followed the man back down the hall and into the summer kitchen. They also wound their way over the rattle of pans and a rather, particularly loud spoon. “There were tracks so large a blind mule could follow them,” he continued with a snort. “That you were convinced it was a monster of some sort,” Ikals whispered where he sat. “That we were convinced it was a monster of some sort.” Ikals smiled despite his pain. Plythe could always do that. He’d always had that gift. The old man’s voice filtered in and out between the sounds of meal prep. Ikals set his head back again, facing the street. “Chickens with their heads cut off.” Ikals turned his head sharply. Pain rippled, but he gritted his teeth and ignored the waves of nausea. “You’re alive,” he said with a stiff grin. He wanted to jump at Lomnes right there, but his friend held up a hand. And Ikals couldn’t have actually moved that quickly anyway! “I’m alive. What else would I be? Eh? No thanks to the architects and city workers though. You’d think they’d know to build their roof tops better!” Ikals smiled. “Sure,” he agreed. “Clearly, they should have expected this.” Lomnes nodded his consent. “Damn straight.” They both smiled. Lomnes was stretched out in Plythe’s old chair with his hands back behind his head. He flexed this way and that until he could better relax. Ikals grimaced. Lomnes’ clothes, like his own, looked worse for wear with stains and rips, and the right side of his head showed a bad bruise and a cut that ran down his neck, even through his hair. Lomnes noticed the visual inspection with a snicker. “I know,” he groaned. “I’ve looked better.” “I thought you were sleeping.”

“So do they.” He flashed a quick, bright smile that had Ikals relaxing further. “I couldn’t lie there any longer. Besides, I had to come here. I can’t quite explain it. I suppose I just had to know you were okay too.” “I am now.” Ikals glanced back outside. “Do you think this is the end, Lomnes? Moons don’t explode every day, and this is only what’s happened here. What about other places?” He set the journal aside and brought his legs up to his chest. “What can we do?” “Survive.” “That simple?” Ikals scoffed. Part of him wanted to cry. He did shiver involuntarily. “I’m scared.” He could allow that confession to a friend. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to look like.” He had to pause. “I don’t want to die.” “You don’t want to look like them?” Lomnes joked. The wry grin gave his face a comical touch. Ikals held off for a moment before nodding. “They aren’t still following you. Are they? At the game maybe?” The expression was old, and Ikals tried to ignore it, but he could never fight Lomnes’ raised brows. Lomnes had held that same expression for five hours once, just to prove he could. “One of them was there, yes,” Ikals itted, “and I think I saw another a while ago, the one with the wavy brown hair and suede jacket.” “The Lord?” “He looks like nobility. He might have been. I don’t know. They never talk, and they’re different than the others; yet, somehow, they’re the same. I can’t explain it. And they just watch or argue amongst themselves. The one with the green eyes and brown hair was at the game. She was wearing the cloak again. I swear she was wearing pants once, no cape or cloak.” “So she likes to change her clothes,” Lomnes suggested with a grin. “Don’t we all?” He set his feet up on a pail. “A healthy imagination is a good thing, really.” “If only that’s all it was.” Ikals rubbed his eyes; only, spirits, regular spirits at least, never changed their clothes. “First, they show up, then, these dreams, and now, the sky’s falling. We’re losing our moons, and the earthquakes are getting

worse. Am I the only one who thinks there’s something wrong with all this?” Lomnes seemed to be considering a reply, but inhaling slowly, he just shrugged. “No,” he grumbled. “We’re all scared.” There was a sound of humming from the kitchen, and Lomnes carefully made his way to the stairs. “I don’t plan on explaining my escape just yet,” he mouthed as he mounted and disappeared up the stairs. Ikals smirked: same old Lomnes. Plythe considered Ikals’ expression for a moment before ing some food over. Ikals enjoyed his telcoy. How could he not? Through it all, he wasn’t alone. He could face anything with the right people by his side, even Stende and his likes. “How much work is there still to do?” he asked, wiping his mouth on a napkin Plythe had supplied. The old man frowned heavily. “A lot. When you’re up to it, we’ll get started.”

Chapter Four People Change

Ready or not, Ikals returned to work. With his new focus, he copied his text error-free. Randomly, while they worked, they’d hear whistles and shouting. Plythe would look up and say, “looters,” or Ikals would smell fresh flame, noting the sounds of a fire hose scraping across stone. It always sounded way too close for comfort. And there were knocks. Eventually, they both gave up going downstairs to respond at all. They didn’t have enough food for everyone anyway, and after a few trips, neither one of them could handle turning another person away. Sitting, staring at his work, half a page of text copied from part of General Stende’s version of the truth, Ikals found his mind drifting to his journal, and he opened it, outlining one of his earlier arches. “Plythe,” he said, “can we talk?” Plythe looked over, scratched beside his right eye and shrugged. “What about, lad?” “About my dreams I’ve been having.” “The arches?” Plythe asked, swivelling around to face him. “Is there something you haven’t told me? Can it wait?” “Yes,” Ikals itted, “but I keep putting it off. It keeps waiting and never gets said.” Plythe smiled and nodded. “Then say it, so it’ll be heard.”

Ikals adjusted his left foot to ease that cramp. “I told you about the arches and runes,” he started. Plythe nodded. “Well, there’s more: there’s this library that I walk through. Some dreams, it’s endless. Other dreams, it’s like I take one step, and I’m at a door of some kind, but I can never what the door looks like or what’s behind it, just that … she’s waiting there, needing me to open it.” Plythe hummed thoughtfully. “And who is she?” “I don’t know.” Ikals couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t even know if she’s a person. Some dreams, there’s something pushing me on, and it frightens me, but there’s always her, a gentle ‘her’, but I never open the door, so I don’t know. It’s just a dream. Right?” “I don’t know,” Plythe replied, smiling at the irony. “Sorry,” he added, Ikals shaking it off. “Are your arches connected somehow? Could this library be your drive for the freedom of the Press?” He tried for more but stopped. Ikals did the same. “I don’t know, but,” Ikals finally replied, stopping to think on how much he wanted to say. He trusted Plythe implicitly. Still …. “What is it, lad? It’s just us here, and I won’t laugh.” The smile loosened Ikals tongue and mind, and he took a deep breath. “I can see people.” Plythe nodded slowly, and Ikals smiled some more. “That’s not what I mean. Of course, I can see people. These people I can see are dead.” “Ghosts?” “Spirits more like, shadows of their former selves.” He smiled sheepishly and waited. Plythe, to his surprise, didn’t laugh or shake his head. “How long have you been seeing them?” “As long as I can ,” Ikals confessed. “When I was young, when my parents were still alive, I being afraid of the oddest of things, and I had invisible friends my father hated, but I don’t ever creating those friends. On the streets, I tried to block them so no one would think I was weird. They’ve pretty much always been there, except for this last stretch. I only see the

same people these days.” “And who,” Plythe asked, taking in a pensive breath, “are you seeing these days?” “You believe me!?” Plythe glanced to the oval table at the centre of the room with a sly grin. Ikals glanced to the same table, wondering what he was missing. The table was a pet project for Plythe, one he’d been at for longer than Ikals had known him. It was a smoothed slice of honey-glazed oak with a black crack running diagonal from its one “corner” to near the other. Two prominent cracks split off towards the other two corners, forming a bit of an off-kilter “X”. Ikals had always figured, what with an assortment of smaller cracks here and there, that the larger crack was like a black outlined sword, and that the two other cracks were two more, just smaller blades? It had always seemed like a neat idea to him. Where those three sword-cracks met, Plythe had hand-drilled a hole, in which he’d fitted an iron washer. That washer had become the axis of rotation, Plythe’s words, not his, for a large iron gear Plythe had procured at great cost. The smaller gears he’d been picking up ever since had been fitted in to connect the central axis to that larger gear in a bit of a spider-like weave. Most of those smaller gears were actually odds and ends Tangue had supplied over the years. Tangue’s father ran a repair shop, trade depot, loan shop, an anything-else business Ikals supposed. He had his hand in just about everything in town. On top of all that, he had lineage back to the lords of old, so there was noble entitlement in play too. Tangue didn’t want for anything. Ikals had always figured he was more of a charity case to Tangue than anything else, but Ikals didn’t care. A friend was a friend, and Tangue had always been there when he’d needed him, for the most part. Either way, learning of Plythe’s pet project, Tangue had decided to pitch in, and he’d been feeding Plythe, through Ikals, random gears that his father didn’t need and couldn’t use. The wooden piece had been sealed, so it wasn’t coming apart, and there was a clear layer of glass across its top, so the table did have a flat work surface.

When he was done, Plythe insisted the larger gear, ed by the interconnected network of smaller gears, would turn, controlled at that point of axis. Whenever Ikals asked him what that would prove, if he was trying to make a time piece to replace the town clock, a rotating table top, or a printing mechanism of some sort? Any time he asked, Plythe would just scratch his head and shrug the question off. Ikals had become convinced Plythe honestly didn’t know why he was so dedicated to his chosen task. Which left Ikals eternally confused as to why he continued it! Today as well, as ever with the table, whatever was really going on with this odd obsession went unspoken. “Why would I doubt you, lad?” “I just, I guess.” Ikals found himself twiddling with his fingers. “I figured I would, so why wouldn’t you?” Ikals felt more reassured than ever having Plythe’s . “They’re old people, cloaks and swords mostly. Think medieval,” he suggested, trying to be helpful, “and they follow me, not talking like all the others. I don’t know what they want.” “And they always want something?” “Yes,” Ikals mumbled, nodding. He rose from his podium and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “They always find me wanting to talk, telling me too much, but this group is different.” “And they’re connected to the dreams?” “I don’t know. I wish I did!” Plythe held up a hand and stood as well, ing Ikals by the window. “I wish you’d have told me sooner. We’ll figure these dreams out. We do have a modest research library here. As for these people, could you draw them for me?” “Why?” “I don’t know. Call it an old man’s fancy. I’m just curious.”

Ikals shrugged. “I’ll try.” Plythe nodded and returned to his work, painting a flock of birds over a battlefield. “And thanks,” Ikals added. Plythe smiled. The only thing was, Ikals mused, that he didn’t think he could draw any of the people. He knew them to see them, but he’d tried to draw them before, and he couldn’t do it. It was like something was blocking his mind from putting them to paper. He just drew a blank with ink in hand. It made as much sense as a spirit that could change clothes! Still, he felt better having shared as much as he did. Things felt lighter somehow. Watching Plythe add the red to the grass, he was reminded of his own work to do, and a wave of guilt washed over him. He returned to his seat and got back where he’d stopped. Ikals was laying out his page, all ten copies, making sure to add the wax sheets in between each, when he heard a different knock from down below. He knew that knock! Smiling, he climbed down the steps, pausing once as his head spun. Seeing Tangue’s face at the door was reward for the effort. “It’s good to see you!” Tangue took Ikals’ arm, gripping it near the elbow and beaming back. “I didn’t know if you’d be up yet,” his friend replied more simply, “but I had to try.” “Come in. Come in!” Nodding wearily, Tangue stepped inside. There was a slight limp to his walk, and his right pant leg was ripped. Adding to Ikals concern, his friend’s hair, once a light blond, was smoky coloured now. It was even seared black in places. Tangue never had a hair out of place or the slightest mar on his vest or slacks. Tangue had to be suffering to be seen like this! It hurt to see his friend in such a state, but Ikals kept his smile anyway. “Nice coat,” he joked.

Tangue lifted the over-sized, green jacket up and nodded. “It was my father’s.” Ikals started an instant back-peddle, but Tangue shook his head. “He’s fine. He just doesn’t want it anymore.” Ikals offered his friend some water and led him upstairs. They picked a place by the farthest window and sat back, looking out onto the smoky roof tops, listening to the babble that rose from the streets below. The clock tower was mostly gone from view at their angle. It gave them a better view of the stadium, if that was any consolation. Half of those walls where the match had been played just a day earlier had finally given way and crumbled. The other walls were cracked, but stable. Along the horizon, flyers and blimps hovered. “It’s getting bad out there,” Tangue mumbled in a solemn tone. “There are people walking around spouting beliefs, and they’re gathering flocks. The homeless need somewhere to go, so I don’t really blame them, but they’re going to get caught in the middle.” Ikals figured he was clearly missing the point. Tangue sounded so serious. “I don’t get it. He squinted. “Everyone’s got their own religion. Why would this really change anything?” “Because their own version of Millosai didn’t save them from this,” Tangue blurted testily. “They’re all thinking they had it wrong before and are up for a new fix. I was approached by three groups, and two of them fought with each other - over me. It’s gone beyond words now. It’s getting into fists.” There’d been all those libraries burned in the religious wars, and that led to Ikals’ continued distaste and apprehension for all faiths even today, but somehow, the thought that those same wars might be reignited seemed unbelievable. That had been a long ago! Surely? He didn’t know what to say. Nor did he really know how to react to his friend when he was like this. They shared an awkward silence. “What are you two going to do?” Tangue asked, more introspective once more. “Finish up here. There’s nothing else to do.”

Tangue stepped up to the window. “Most everyone’s leaving Atvian, Ikals. They seem to think it’ll be safer in the country, or maybe they’re just scared.” He tapped the window sill a few times. “I came by, I’ve been coming by.” Another awkward pause. “To tell you I’m leaving.” “What!?” Standing was instinct. Beyond that, Ikals just wavered for a moment before his legs began to weaken, and he sank back down, his mind racing and heart pounding. His body was drained and unwilling. No. It couldn’t come to this! All these changes were happening way too fast for him to cope! “My parents are scared,” Tangue explained, back in his serious voice, turning and sitting on the sill, slouching in the act. “Like everyone else, they just want to be somewhere else. I’m sorry. I don’t want to go. It’s not like we’ll be any safer from falling rocks out there than here, away from any organized help or ready food stores, but.” A pained expression. “I’ve no choice.” “When?” was all Ikals could manage. “Soon. I don’t know. They’re pretty jumpy. I wanted you to have this. I know what I’ve given you isn’t complete, but until we see each other again, it’ll have to do. This way, we kind of have to meet again.” Ikals accepted the small handful of silver gears, swallowing hard. “I’ll see that he gets them.” Plythe was deep into his work and ignoring them, and Ikals wasn’t in the mood to interrupt him just then, so he didn’t. “Rathol’s already gone,” his friend grumbled. Ikals mouth fell open. “On the way here now, I checked in, and the house has been stripped, near bare. They were there a few hours ago. I swear it.” “Not even saying goodbye!?” Ikals breathed, aghast. “I can’t believe it.” “These are strange days,” Tangue rued, playing with his jacket. “People are doing strange things. If I don’t say goodbye, I’m sorry. Just don’t think I’ll forget you. Alright?” Ikals smiled and shrugged.

“Sure. No idea where you’ll be headed?” “None at all.” The hours ed too quickly, and soon enough, Tangue was gone, and Ikals was left to stare out the windows. None of this was fair. But what could he do? “I’m sorry,” Plythe mirrored, sitting beside him. “I suppose you want to go with them?” “I don’t know what I want. I want them to stay. I want to just run and hide. I want things back the way they were, but I know things will never be the same.” “No, they won’t. You’re really not wishing you were with them?” “No.” He meant it. Go or stay, he wasn’t leaving Plythe behind. “No, I just wish things were different. I wouldn’t change the company for anything.” They shared a silent nod. “When I was younger,” Plythe began, stopping mid thought. “What was that?” “I don’t know. I’ll go check it out.” “If it’s more people wanting food, tell them to go away. I can’t do it anymore.” Ikals nodded and walked to the stairs. And listened. It hadn’t been a knock. Something had fallen, broken? But there wasn’t anybody downstairs. At least, there wasn’t supposed to be anybody else there. He eased himself around the turns, checking as he went. The binder was still, its silver casing shining in the suns’ light from the windows. Some of the many metal arms and hooks could be seen sticking out from inside. Had they left it on? No. It hadn’t even been running. The threaders looked like they should, metal teeth filled with string, a semicircle of colourful teeth around an oval disc, all held within the shielded, clear casing. There wasn’t anything to the weavers either. The rooms, floors, and windows were all normal. Maybe they’d just heard things? Things that weren’t there?

He frowned, relaxing. Shaking his head, he decided to check the front door anyway. He went around to where he’d taken to sitting and checked the window. Even the streets were empty now, on their side at least. But at the door, he found shards on the steps. And the window had been broken through. Another noise drew his ear. It had come from down the hall, from the summer kitchen! Ikals quickly armed himself with a broom, wishing it were something else. “We haven’t much to eat!” he called, hoping they’d just leave. “They’re handing it out in the square from what we’ve been told. Start there!” Nothing. Damn. Ikals, broom held as threateningly as he could manage, started down the hall. There were signs where the bags and boxes along the sides had been tipped over and rooted through, and the pots and pans hanging from the ceiling swayed slightly. Only the odd scrape could be heard now, adding an eerie tinge to his walk. When he reached the halls’ end, someone burst from inside, pushing wildly past him! He scooped the broom around and up-ended the intruder, flipping him over to land against the wall, then floor. He then stepped in close and held the broom handle out as it to run him through. “A child,” Ikals spat, looking the boy over. Short, wavy hair; fair, freckled skin; dark, averted eyes – it was the kind of child he’d seen walking with more comfortable parents not long ago; only, then, there’d have been a smile on the boy’s face and a confidence in his manners. The child before him looked ready to cringe or cry, not that either was coming. “You don’t look any worse off than me,” Ikals whispered, aghast. “What are you doing this for!?” Something jabbed Ikals in the ribs, and he turned to block a black poker, coming down at his head. The red-headed teen’s knee got through winding Ikals and bowling him over! Three youth, dressed in a range of pants, shirts, and shoes, all relatively clean

and in good repair, raced over him, and back out through the front door again. More glass was left shattering after them! The boy he’d stopped hadn’t even blinked. He’d just vanished with the others, and the teen, golden buttons on the shoulders of someone else’s brown cape, had actually laughed. “Dear lad,” Plythe shouted, hurrying to help Ikals to his feet. Ikals waved him off and stood, leaning, holding his side. “What was it? Who was it? Ruffians!? What is it they think we have here in a Printing Press!?” “They weren’t ruffians,” Ikals breathed. “They weren’t poor at all. I think they just wanted to cause trouble.” “Thieves then!? In a Printing Press? What’s this world coming to?” Ikals tried to figure out what hurt more: his stomach, his side, or his pride. It was a toss-up, and his headache and dizziness were back, not that they’d ever really left. He didn’t want to think anymore. It was just too much. “We’d better board up the door in case they come back.” “Not in all my days!” Plythe muttered sourly.

Chapter Five Sympathies

“Just go to the square and get what food you can. We’ll be paid soon enough, and then, with the stores open again, we’ll be fine.” Soldiers rode past wearing their cloth uniforms with swords and daggers in place. Ikals looked to them for a moment, poised on the Press’ front steps with his burlap sack in hand. Nodding, he glanced back inside. “Don’t worry,” he assured Plythe. “I’ll get us enough food to carry us.” Plythe nodded worriedly, then, shook his head. “I still can’t believe it’s come to this,” he mourned. “I’ve never begged for food, nor has anyone in my family been asked to. These days are dark. Go. I’ll stay near the door for when you return. You the knock?” “Yes. I do.” Ikals waited and listened as the boarded door was closed and barred and bolted from the inside. And he descended the steps, starting off down the street. Another shop a few blocks up, one that had sold shoes, the same shop that had sold him three pair over the years in fact, was boarded up along the front, at the door and windows, and the scrawled words on the dark green sign out front told everyone to go elsewhere. They weren’t in business anymore. Other shops had simply locked their doors. One of those had been broken into and no one had bothered to fix the door or clean up the glass. Most of the houses and shops he ed were still being used, and people watched him . Some nodded or waved. Others just watched. He made his way down the street in silence, trying to ignore it all, failing all the

while. It had only been a day. Two now? He and Plythe had spoken about how most of the people who’d already left town had been talking about it for a while. The moon exploding had just been the final, and most obvious reason to run, but that didn’t make the sudden disappearance of so many familiar, even friends’ faces any easier to handle. “There you are. I thought I’d never find you.” Lomnes was breathing hard as he caught up, vigorously shaking his body down. “There’s something really weird going on here,” he grumbled. “Something’s just not right.” “You just noticed that?” Ikals asked half-heartedly. Lomnes smirked. He held up a hand to slap Ikals’ shoulder but held back, finally waving it off. “I don’t mean all this,” he groaned, arms open to the slanted doors and cracked walls they ed. “I mean that no one’s talking to me. Even Master Plythe didn’t respond when I asked him where you were. He just mumbled something about change.” “We were just broken into,” Ikals explained. Lomnes’ eyes opened wide. Shrugging carefully, his side still soar, Ikals nodded. “He’s taken it worse than I thought he would. I mean, there’s always been theft in Atvian, but no one’s ever broken into the Printing Press for food. Everyone knows scribes and publishers don’t make enough money to have anything for their own. You know how it is.” They ed a couple fighting over some spare clothing with two children looking on in fright. “It was Master Plythe,” Lomnes mumbled, “after he got you off the street, who got me my position. I owe him as much as you do. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” “So am I. It’s like the thieves these days don’t know honour, don’t know code.” “Stupid punks ought to be taught a lesson.” Lomnes screwed his right fist into his left palm with a grin. Ikals smiled. “I think I’ve got their faces pretty well memorized,” he replied. “I’ll let you know when I see them. How about that?”

“Sounds good.” They walked on, side-stepping a hole that led to many cracks and crumbled stones. The tree that had once been firmly routed by the road was now planted firmly through a wall and an aded room. “What were you looking for me for?” Ikals asked. “Not that I’m not glad you did find me. Why didn’t you change? I may not own too many clothes, but even I got into something fresh.” He posed in his clean pants, undershirt, and shirt for a brief moment. Lomnes bowed low and smiled mockingly. “My lord,” he jeered, laughing and swinging across. Ikals avoided the swipe and pointed back. Again, Lomnes waved the fight off. “It isn’t just Master Plythe that has me bothered. I was looking for you, so you could help me figure out what’s going on.” “What do you mean?” They paused, both of them frowning heavily. They were seven blocks from the town square, and the street, sidewalks and main road were packed with people. Everyone was pushing and pressing forward into the massive throng to try and get ahead with their baskets or bags, and everyone was calling for food! Ikals shook his head. “This can’t be happening,” he grumbled. “How much food do they have to hand out? There can’t be enough for everyone.” “I heard someone talking about how they’ve been taking from the outlying farms by the wagon-full, every day, as we speak, but that being said,” Lomnes mused, smirking comically, “I’m not going to argue with you. This way.” Lomnes led a wide circle around a broken hand cart, a handful of soldiers arguing with its owner to move on as quickly as possible. One of them turned on a youth that grabbled for a cooking pot from the back of the cart and snared her by the scruff of the neck. He called for more soldiers with an angry snarl. While they dragged the screaming child away, Lomnes and Ikals slipped through the crowd unseen to the alleyway behind. Lomnes ducked the black, leather ball that came at his head. Ikals intercepted it with his forehead, bouncing it into the air. He let it land on his chest, then, after it bounced once, kicked it back up, catching it and throwing it back to the group of children at play. “You’re getting slow,” Ikals mused, laughing and walking on.

Lomnes shook his head. “I’m just edgy is all. And you’re lucky I’m tired, or I’d smack you down. You know that.” “Yup,” Ikals replied, sighing. He turned to see the children watching him closely. Rather oddly. “See, even they know when you’re beat.” Lomnes took up the pursuit, Ikals just a step ahead. They gave up the chase when a group of soldiers twenty strong turned on a fish merchant who was shouting at her servant. Their run stopped at a polite walk, all smiles. They walked past the soldiers and merchant as quietly and innocently as they could. Up ahead, across the busy road, where the alley continued, there was the same bottle-neck. No one was getting closer to the town square that way either! Ikals made sure no one was looking and opened the back curtain to a stir fry restaurant. Lomnes stepped through and looked around, nodding subtly. Ikals stepped inside as well, and they waited and listened. There was talking and the sounds and smells of cooking in the next room, and something large was being dragged across the floor in the front room. There was the sound of rats in the walls closer-in, but nothing to warrant serious concern. They shared a short nod, and Ikals traced the lines along the floor until they met the wall, then, stepped back and slid a badly woven carpet aside. He smiled and picked at the metal ring. Careful not to make a sound, he lifted the hatch and motioned for Lomnes to go first. His friend left his watch and quickly descended. Ikals dropped down after him and closed the hatch. The carpet was dragged back into place by way of an old bent nail. “I miss this sometimes,” Ikals whispered, creeping along the tunnel a moment later, stopping now and then to listen for anything or anyone that might be approaching. “All except the smell.” Lomnes did the same and turned to make sure they weren’t being followed. “Cleans out the nostrils!” Ikals smiled. Same old Lomnes. “What was it that you were talking about before?” he asked. “You said things were weird.”

“I did, and they are.” Some rats raced by on the right, and they stopped to listen more closely. When nothing else came their way, they continued on. “I went back home, after we talked before, and it was different. I mean, they’ve never been that welcoming, and home is a bit of a gift of a word, but they’ve always been nice enough.” Ikals nodded. “And it’s a lot better than living on the street. They wouldn’t leave without me. Would they? Do you think?” “No. I don’t think they would.” Ikals didn’t want to ask the next question, but it was coming out anyway. “Did they leave you?” “I don’t think so, but it’s weird.” They stopped again, to inspect a grate to their right. There was talking beyond, and feet came near. They stepped to a side and waited for the feet to . The talking remained. Slouching, Lomnes shook his head. “They don’t always notice me,” he continued, “but if I’m hurt, they usually check in on me, and they deliver soup and food and water, but the door was locked when I got back, and no one answered it for me. I got in through a window, the one above the back sink that I use when I’m sneaking in late, not that it happens much.” “Rarely ever,” Ikals joked. “I know, right!” They shared a grin, but Lomnes’ scowl returned a second later. “I could hear them about, but I couldn’t find them. They didn’t bring me food. It was like they’d already cleaned my room, like I was never there!” Ikals frowned too. “That doesn’t sound like them at all. Maybe they’re moving you to a better room?” “Maybe. I have been asking. A lot. If Master Plythe and you aren’t answering your door, maybe they aren’t answering either. It’s just a lot of weird things all happening at once. It’s kind of got me spooked. The girls won’t even talk to me, the ones I met yesterday before the game? They won’t even talk to me now. Heck, you’re the only one that even gives me the time of day.” “Well, the fact that the girls won’t talk to you,” Ikals mused, “is just proof that they’ve found reason. As for the rest,” he continued with a smile, ignoring Lomnes’ glare, “no one’s acting normal. And you’re always welcome with me.

Right now, I could use whatever company I can get. I know Plythe could too.” The talking had died down, and they gripped the grate from the inside. It was heavier than Ikals ed it, and it dipped badly. Lomnes withdrew his hands and looked at them like they’d been bitten or had gone numb. Ikals leveraged his weight and eased the grate to one side. “It felt like my hand was melting,” Lomnes whispered. “What’s going on here?” “I don’t know. Let’s hurry before they get back.” Lomnes nodded and helped Ikals up. Ikals returned the favour. Lomnes felt lighter somehow. They replaced the grate. Looking around the studio, a mix of pottery and canvas, oils and clay, they located the doors, one out back to the alley and the other into the front room. Lomnes pointed to the ceiling in three places: there were sounds of soft tapping, the heavy click of heels, and the sound of steady kneading. From the front room, there was a ticking sound, but nothing more. A slight of hand lifted the cloth that covered the door to the front room. There were green and purple blankets over the walls and furniture and a thick blue smoke coming from incense pots. The rich scent was a welcomed change from old sewer air! Moving as stealthily as they could, they slipped through the front room and out into the street, mingling in with the crowd outside. “Well,” Lomnes hissed, sighing heavily, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, “that short cut did wonders.” Ikals wanted to scream! Looking up and down the packed street, he realized what Lomnes was saying: they’d only made it three blocks, maybe four, but there was no movement ahead or back from where they were! “At least it did something,” Ikals breathed. “Rathol’s gone.” “I can’t say I’m too surprised. His family was always moving: too much noise and trouble here, not enough access to food and cleaning services. It was always something. With all this, they’ll be long gone alright. Tangue will be close behind.”

“He said as much.” “His father has ties to a farm near Nellot. With food being this scarce, I can’t say I blame them, and I hear the Felige stadium in Nellot is even larger than ours.” Ikals looked the crowd over for a moment. He didn’t know anyone there. He felt like he was being watched, again! He was really getting tired of that. “I can’t leave Plythe alone, and he isn’t going anywhere, so neither am I.” “We stand together, the three of us.” Lomnes smiled wide. Ikals liked the thought, so he nodded whole-heartedly. “Do you think they’ll stick to the schedule?” Lomnes asked. The crowd stepped ahead a half foot. Someone fell to the far right, and a knife was drawn, but soldiers on horseback rode past, stopping to keep the peace. The woman was helped up, and the men smiled anxiously where they stood. “I mean, you don’t need a stadium for Felige. Right?” Lomnes continued. “A good field will do, and right now, Atvian could use some healthy distraction. Did you know that Felige was created by soldiers? Eh? It’s true,” he confirmed with a quick, decisive nod. “It was a distraction for the soldiers while they waited for orders, and it caught on. They started playing between jousts. Once we got through all that armoured period there, and jousting just wasn’t any fun anymore, Felige was open for common play. It started with the soldiers. Why wouldn’t the soldiers keep it up? And a schedule’s a schedule! Must be kept.” Ikals was laughing and rubbing the back of his neck. He couldn’t argue the logic. But he also couldn’t see Stende ing a tournament game any time soon, not until people could walk and stand at the game safely. There was, Ikals accepted, that much reason to the man. But he still didn’t like him. “The Danstels won’t be playing all that soon,” Ikals assured him, “not until things quiet down.” Lomnes yawned. “You haven’t slept much I take it?” “No,” his friend returned grimly. “I get these horrible dreams that I’m trying to avoid. It’s one of those falling ones where you never land?” Ikals nodded his understanding. He’d had a few of those, and he’d hated each one of them. “In this dream, there’re people calling to me, but I can’t make out what they’re

saying, and something’s out there. I don’t know what it is. I’m somewhere cold, and it chills me to the bone. I know it’s just a dream, but I still don’t like it.” The crowd moved another foot forward. They moved with it. Lomnes was keeping to the side so he wouldn’t be run over by soldiers making their patrols. He eyed the horses and their riders spitefully for a moment before settling back against the wall. “I can’t shake my dreams either.” “The ones with the woman?” Ikals nodded, looking over the crowded street again. Someone was watching him. He was sure of it, and for a second, in an opposite alley, he though he saw two people with hooded cloaks, calloused hands, and sword belts. One, he was sure of it, was dark-skinned. The other was white; then, they were gone, and he was left shaking his head. “The ones with the woman,” he agreed, “but is it a woman?” he asked, looking back to his friend. “I have this feeling she’s waiting for me, calling to me, but I have this feeling she’s a part of me, like my breath or the blood in my veins. It’s like she’s a lot more than any woman I’ve ever known.” “And you’ve known of so many?” Lomnes mocked, grinning wide. An old woman collapsed behind them, and the soldiers moved in to help out. The crowd pressed on Ikals and Lomnes. “I’ve known enough,” Ikals countered defensively, then grinning along, “though I’d like to know more.” Despite the close quarters, they both smiled. “Who wouldn’t?” “You have your falling,” Ikals picked up again, “and I have my library, an endless set of archives. It’s … it’s like the whole world’s knowledge all put together in one place, and I’m just walking through it, and it has no end.” “Ah,” Lomnes groaned, “your library dream.” A soft shrug. “And source of my obsession, yes,” Ikals agreed, adding an animated wild grin. “Mock me if you will, but it’s like there’s someone waiting

for me if only I can reach the other side, to get to … something. She’s waiting for me, but something’s stalking me.” He looked around. The feeling of being watched had returned. “Something that wants to hurt us all. It doesn’t make sense, but dreams rarely do I suppose.” “You do know your history. Don’t you?” “I learned to read before you.” “With stolen books,” Lomnes reminded him, “and I could read well enough before we met. I just didn’t like it.” Ikals tilted his head and shook it. “I’ve been listening a lot lately,” Lomnes offered. “Maybe people ignore me more now. Maybe they always did, and I’m just a little jumpy today? Still, they’re talking more now. On the way to your place, I came across some merchants arguing.” He added raised eye brows for effect. Ikals smiled. They moved ahead a few more steps, the crowd spreading out, so they had a little more personal space. Lomnes rested on the piled of crates and loose board. “They were talking about Alshin.” Ikals thought for a moment. “I’ve read about him,” he mumbled. “Didn’t he build something? A building or two? And he had that crazy theory about the stars being out of whack.” “According to these two, he built more than just a few buildings, and if you ask me, the stars, the whole world is out of whack.” Ikals couldn’t help but snicker. “They were saying that Alshin was contracted by the Council of Kings to build something that’s never been mentioned in any history book, and shortly after he completed it, a lot of libraries were shut down, no explanation.” “Before or after the fires?” Ikals checked. “Before, about a decade before I guess. The thing is that they’re convinced he was contracted to build a library.” Ikals cleared his throat. Somehow, it seemed right, but how would he know that? “And with the world’s libraries closing right afterwards, you’d think their books had been borrowed, even copied. The library in your dreams?” Lomnes asked with supreme confidence. “Maybe you’re a prophet and will lead us all to a forgotten wealth of the world’s knowledge.” “I’m no prophet. I just dream weird dreams, which is going around. That’s all,”

Ikals reassured himself, with a momentarily held breath. “It reminds me of one of Plythe’s stories though.” “The one about the earthquake that tried to swallow him?” “No, that one’s good, but no. The one about the dream animals that invaded their shop, back when it had only one storey.” Lomnes smiled. “I like that one too, but if you’re thinking on that one, keep in mind that in his story, and I’ve always wondered how much of his story-telling is based on truth, and how much has been embellished over the years. Anyway,” he said, gesturing with his arms and shoulders, “in that story, the dream animals turned out to be real. Foxes?” “That he had to chase down with a lit roll of paper and ink puffer,” Ikals finished. They both smirked, but Lomnes’ point had been made, and Ikals wondered what was going on. Maybe it was the end-of-days, but if it was, what did that mean? There had to be some way of saving their world. He watched the soldiers drag a fighting duo off, making room for a few more steps. He doubted Stende or anyone in power was going to help anyone. What if he could talk Plythe into leaving? Maybe they could follow his dream and find that library! No, no. He slowly shook his head. Plythe wasn’t leaving. No library, no giant stack of books could make him go. Besides, they were just dreams. “I’m going to head back,” Lomnes said, looking to the house they’d come through. “I’ll get back down and around and meet you ahead. Maybe I can cause a distraction that’ll help you get there faster.” He pushed his way through the crowd, people nearly jumping from his path. They’d kind of moved aside for him before, but this was more pronounced. Lomnes had never liked sitting still, not unless he had a pretty girl to woo. He’d likely find one or two of them, and he’d be held up trying to convince them to follow him, so Ikals wasn’t expecting he’d see his friend all that soon.

Ikals searched the crowd ahead for some sign of release, but all he saw was an endless crowd leading to a ruined square. He couldn’t see any tents where the rumours had it food was gathered and ed out. There was just an endless stream of sad faces and tired bodies. It was no wonder they were all having weird dreams.

Chapter Six Salvation

“There will be a gathering for prayer in the town square later,” the voice shouted through the door. Sitting where he was with his back to the threader, the mirror on the wall angled just right, Ikals could see them peer inside. One person tested the glass like he’d try and climb through. “You’re welcome to attend. In fact, we’d love it if you’d show,” that man added with another loud banging at the door. “We’re always open for those in need, and there’s never been such a great outcry of need as now.” Ikals just took a sip of water. To his knowledge, there hadn’t been anything even near all this before, but that didn’t mean he was going to get down on his knees and pray! “We’ll be back later to see if you’re coming then. Until later.” The eyes and fingers remained for a few minutes after the voice had stopped; then, at last, the small group was gone. Ikals snorted in disgust. “I thought they’d never leave.” Lomnes smiled where he sat, stretched out on the floor in the corner. “You should go,” he suggested. “Take Master Plythe with you. I think he could use the walk.” They both looked up and frowned in unison. Plythe had been pacing for a while. Normally, tired, upset, or frustrated, he could still work. It was something, he’d explained once, that kept him calm, but even now, and for the last two hours, he’d just been pacing. “You might be right,” Ikals itted. “There’s still some more telcoy left?” he offered. Lomnes pretended to vomit, and Ikals smiled. “I even made it extra juicy. It used up a lot of what they gave me, but I couldn’t help it.” He stared at the plate a long moment. “I can’t shake this feeling of fear. I can’t stop drawing,” he added, lifting up his journal to show five new pages of arches and faces,

green eyes, cloaks, swords, and hands, “but it’s not helping much,” he rued. Lomnes remained silent, flicking at a fly that came near. The fly ignored him and landed on the nearby machine. He gave it a nasty look. “It’s like I can’t stop doing something, or I’ll crack. Staring at the stove, I needed to cook, so I did.” “No fault taken or given,” Lomnes said, smiling ively. “You do what you have to to survive, Ikals. If it helps, if they’ll let me in,” he mused, “I’ll bring you my share of food. But you might have to cook something I can swallow.” “You must be getting hungry. I haven’t seen you eat in a while.” “Actually. I’m not hungry.” Lomnes sneered. “Something else to add to my list. Why don’t you tell me about those, and take both our minds of things?” Ikals followed his friend’s finger and smiled. “Tangue gave me those a while back. I thought he’d given you some?” Lomnes shook his head. “Oh, sorry. His father, no, his uncle had them taken. I think they were above Atvian, but it looks so rural that it’s hard to tell, especially the one with the farmhouse. That could be anywhere.” Lomnes wrinkled his nose and looked to the line of photographs above Ikals’ bedroom door again. “I know what I’m looking at,” he groaned, exhaling loud. “Since when did they come in colour?” “Oh. That.” Lomnes laughed. Ikals shrugged. “Apparently, they use the same method we do for paint: flower petals, plants, and natural dyes, overlaying the original with colour. They don’t get much choice of colour he was telling me, but you can get the blues and greens, kind of. I think it makes the pictures somewhat blurry, but I suppose it’ll get better.” “Right.” Plythe stopped his pacing above, turning on the tips of his heels and tapping one foot. “What do you think about Millosai?” Lomnes asked. “With all this stuff going on, it’s gotta be somewhere in there for you.” Ikals sat, looking up. The feet hadn’t moved again yet. “You were there. On the street. You believe, but you believe in whatever you can get and whatever gets you through.” “But you were always thinking.”

“It was a curse sometimes. Like when we were being chased from that factory, for taking their ties?” “Why did we do that again?” Children ran past outside, and Ikals took a bite of his food, washing it down with some water. “We were bored. It wasn’t my idea. Whose was it again?” Lomnes thought for a second, then, shook his head. “Anyway,” Ikals continued, “whoever’s plan it was, we got away, but we shouldn’t have. I always figured fate was at play, and fate demands that there’s some greater force at work, a higher power behind it all. Whether or not that’s Millosai or one of the others the breakaways follow, who knows?” “You might want to decide soon,” Lomnes suggested. “Just in case.” Ikals turned his attention up again. Plythe was sitting now. Still tapping that one foot. “He’s been acting strange lately,” he whispered, “even to me. I don’t know what it is, and that scares me. I’m just not sure I want to know.” “You go ask. I’ll wait here. Go,” Lomnes urged when Ikals shook his head. “If you don’t, he’ll just pace for a few more hours and we’ll all get nowhere. It’s starting to really bug me to see him like this.” Heaving a silent sigh, Ikals closed his eyes. “Fine. You know, after this, I want to walk you home. I want to help you figure out what’s going on. You’ve been here, helping me with my shit, and I’ve been ignoring you.” “And making me smell your awful food,” Lomnes joked. “Go. We’ll make up for that atrocity later.” Ikals nodded and stood, making sure no one was peering in from between the wooden slats by the front door. They weren’t. He played at each step, but he climbed around and up until he couldn’t see Lomnes anymore and was looking out onto the loft. Plythe was sitting on his stool, staring at his hands. The room was just as he’d left it. No work had been done in hours, if not the whole day. “Hey,” he managed, kicking at a loose nail they hadn’t bothered to hammer down, a few years running. Plythe looked up and nodded sadly. “Are you

hungry?” Ikals asked. “I know I don’t cook quite as well as you do, but?” Plythe sighed. “I probably should eat,” he breathed, “but I can’t stomach much right now. Pull up a seat.” He mouthed a few words, eyes downcast. “I have something to tell you,” he finally managed, a little hoarsely. “Come, pull up a seat already. I can’t put this off any longer.” Ikals felt the gravity to his words, and he couldn’t walk. His couldn’t find the strength to slide a stool anywhere. Plythe saw this and smiled weakly. He stood and slid one over for him. “Here,” he urged, “sit here, lad.” Ikals nodded and sat opposite the man, wondering what was going on. Outside, a howling horn sounded, then, seven more: Sectorans, one of the breakaways, one of the more vocal groups. Their intermittent yelps added drama to the horns, but the sounds died down and silence returned until all Ikals could hear was the sound of Plythe tapping the dry wood. “They came by earlier,” Plythe said, mumbling something further Ikals couldn’t make out. “They wanted to speak to you, but you were out getting the food. I just haven’t,” he tried, stopping to wipe his eyes. “I just haven’t found it in me to tell you.” “Tell me what?” “It’s about Lomnes.” Plythe stopped again to stare off into nothing. “I still finding you two, and yes, I knew he was there the whole time, hiding behind that oil can.” He laughed at the memory, but the smile faded as quickly as it had come. “He never could look me in the eye, even when he was trying to be tough.” Ikals felt there was something he wasn’t getting, something, as ever, right before his eyes. “He has a good heart. He always had one. He’s the reason I made it that far alive. I don’t understand. What’s all this about?” More howling horns and intermittent yelps were heard outside through the open windows. Behind them, deep chanting and cracked leather sounded. A moment later, there was only fighting, kicking and punching and something clattering

across the cobblestones. With his attention broken, Ikals hurried to the window and looked down. In the street below, the Sectorans in their white and brown clothes, much like a scribe’s uniform; only, they wore robes beneath the waist, not pants, and there were stripes on their sleeves - they fought with the Luponds in their grey robes, the fronts open to show black shirts and pants beneath. As it was with the food, the soldiers were there, almost out of nowhere, and horses and men separated the two groups, knocking three out in the process. Ikals stepped back from the windows with a deep shiver. Everyone was going mad! Plythe found a decisive foot tap. “I think we should go to this meeting they have in the square,” he announced. “It’s a town meeting by intent. Any religious overtone is extra, and sitting around here isn’t helping any.” He half smiled, wiped his eyes, and stood. “Yes, let’s go to the meeting!” Ikals just watched the old man climb down the stairs. “What were you going to tell me?” he called after him. No answer. “Who came by? What about Lomnes?” he tried again. Still no answer. Ikals sat down in his chair and stared at the unfinished page he’d started, his ink well, his quill, and the page he was copying filled with black on white. “Why do I feel so drained?”

Chapter Seven Confrontation

Boarded windows and empty shops – they lined the street on either side, and the people were as ghosts. Yet, Ikals knew they weren’t. He, for one, would know. The people walked past all huddled together. There were fewer nods, and there was more space given. Old friends spoke like distant family: polite and short, like no one knew what to say to people they’d known for years. Plythe had put on a fresh, white shirt and less-worn, brown cloak. His pants were the same. Ikals had changed his clothes as well, but they were simply cleaner versions of the same. Ikals mused that they walked together, but it was like they were strangers too. Plythe couldn’t look at him without shaking his head, then, walking on in silence. Lomnes hadn’t been there when Ikals had come down. “Why are we doing this? Can’t we just hear about the meeting from someone else?” Plythe mumbled something incoherently. “Can’t sit around,” he added in a whisper. “Got to keep busy. Besides, we can talk better out here, away from … on neutral ground.” “What are you afraid of, Plythe? I don’t understand.” Plythe shook the question off. He just walked on, clearing his throat now and then. Ikals gave up getting his answers. He just watched the people they ed and wondered where Lomnes had gone. Would Tangue be there, or had he already left? “Welcome brothers,” one man called from one corner showing the scribe-like garb, stripes on sleeves, robes below the waste: Sectorans. Behind him, others of his faith ed out pamphlets and texts to ers-by. On the other side of the

street, the Luponds walked in their grey and black, doing much the same; only, the Luponds greeted people with big hugs or hearty hand-shakes, and their smiles were welcoming and warm. There were other breakaways there as well, some crossing words, others sparring with curses, and beyond them all, lining the main square where the ceremony would be held, was the Faith itself with their brown robes and solemn, severe expressions. They received many a contemptuous glare, but the break-away faiths didn’t dare threaten their lines. Soldiers patrolled on and off horseback. The people simply walked through it all. There was a mixture of confusion, fear, and wonderment. Ikals was amazed to find the food lines still open. They were limited to two single lines, so there’d be room for the town meeting, but the lines remained, and he was sure he recognized some people who’d been in line with him before. “Imagine that,” Plythe said, breaking his chosen silence, “they’ve turned the debris into something useful, and Stende actually kept his word: he got the wood on schedule like he said.” Ikals worked his head left and right and see past the people in front of them. The town square had been mostly cleaned up with broken clock tower’s debris having been either dragged or swept aside and put to use. The loose stone now worked as steps and stands for the town’s council and wealthier land and shop owners. They were dressed in all their finery and looking calm and collect, if not a little anxious. A large pile of timber, cut into thin lengths, had been delivered to the right of the square along with wooden crates and leather bundles. Stende himself stood before the town council. He’d changed his blue silk jacket and pants for a more black-blue combination with a lot of buttons. His expression was inviting and open, but as Ikals saw it, he smiled too wide. Ikals looked to the clock tower. With what remained, it was only just a bit tad taller than the buildings around it. Its innards were exposed: wooden beams and slanted brick. What remained was cracked from top to bottom and caved in to

the right of the broken door and along the foundation to its left. The clock itself, what had taken the town so long to get right, was nowhere to be seen. Ikals wondered what house it had fallen into. Maybe they were worried to move it until they’d rebuilt. Would they ever rebuild it? Too many questions. The people were herded behind orderly lines of mounted soldiers who kept them separated. Ikals and Plythe fell in with one of these groups. A warm breeze blew over the crowd, and Ikals took it in, eyes closed, face tilted up, inhaling deep. There was a spicy smell on the air. Someone was cooking fresh bread and pasta, and there was the smell of fish, just a hint. The spicy smell couldn’t be ed for, but that didn’t matter. Ikals watched the Etis flying overhead, wishing he had wings. Then he could both stay and fly away safely from his troubles. He could have the best of both worlds. “What are they doing over there?” he asked, pointing to the right. “It looks like some kind of rite, but like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” The statue was pure onyx with silver outline on a solid oak base. Her head was bowed and hands were clasped at her front, and her robes, carved silky smooth, hung freely around her. At her base, of the Faith laid flowers and food in bunches and baskets while others prayed on their knees. Heads and arms were extended towards Millosai’s likeness. There was incense burning from the corners, and a low chant ed from one man’s lips to the another. “The food and flowers?” Plythe asked. Ikals nodded. “Right now, food and comfort are what people need, so they’ll be altering their prayers and asking for help to feed the needy.” “Doesn’t that make the Faith more about the people, not the faith? Doesn’t that cheapen the rite, to use your religion for your own purposes?” “Some might say so,” Plythe agreed, “but I’m not wise enough to know such things, and I’ve no interest in trying to speak of things I don’t understand.” “Will you finally tell me what’s bothering you?” Plythe closed his eyes. “Look, I

don’t know what it is, but something’s not right.” “I just needed to be somewhere else to tell you is all,” Plythe breathed. “There were too many memories there. It was too hard to even think,” he muttered softly. “You have the right to know, and I won’t leave you wondering any longer, or I won’t ever find the strength to tell you.” Ikals started cracking his knuckles and shifting from one foot to another. While Plythe cleared his throat and nodded to an internal conversation, Ikals scanned the crowd. To escape what he feared the phantom words might be? He wasn’t sure. He knew he wanted to be anywhere else but there. Whatever they were, the words couldn’t be good. Again. The man with the wavy brown hair and suede jacket was there. He wore the buttoned off-white shirt, open at the top, and leather pants, stylish, worn, yet dignified. He was there with a woman, standing on the corner. As always, he was watching him. Like the wind picking up, people ing and blocking Ikals’ sight for only a moment, they were gone. The woman was new this time, and she’d had a feral look to her eyes, protective and dangerous, yet alluring and pleasant. It was an odd combination. “It’s about Lomnes,” Plythe was saying, swallowing often. Ikals snapped back to the moment. Plythe shook his head. “I’m afraid he didn’t recover from his fever.” Ikals froze, not just body. His mind and heart seemed to stop. It was like the world around him stopped too. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “What are you saying?” A deep inhale and exhale. “I’m saying,” Plythe replied, a tear creeping down his cheek, “that he died, Ikals. He never woke up from that hit on the head, when you two were coming back from the stadium. They think he was bleeding inside, but they don’t know for sure. I can still that day I found you two. I wasn’t kidding. It’s like it was yesterday, just yesterday.” Plythe was crying now and wiping his eyes. Ikals wiped his own out of instinct, but there were no tears for him. “He was only acting,” he muttered. “They just think he’s dead because he didn’t want them to know he was alright until he was ready.” Plythe laid a hand on his shoulder. “He was visiting with me yesterday and today.”

“Ikals ….” Plythe whispered, touching his cheek. Ikals stepped back. “He’s alright!” he shouted. “You’re wrong, and I’m going to prove it to you!” He didn’t have to, but then again, he did, to himself more than anything else! Ikals waded through the crowd. He couldn’t hear what Plythe was saying. He couldn’t smell the incense or flowers or food. He couldn’t hear the horns and shouts and babble. All he could hear was his blood in his ears. Fighting against the crowd, he made his way into the alley ways and found a clear run to Lomnes’ house, to where he’d been boarding and working as a scribe to the musicians and writers, and he broke into a desperate run. He just ran and ran and ran until he couldn’t run anymore! But he didn’t make it. His energy and will was sapped by strong shivers, and he stopped. And turned. His heart and lungs ached, and he sat back against the chipped red building behind him. Where he slid down to the cold stones. And tears did come. Why was he crying? Why couldn’t he stop!? Plythe was wrong! Lomnes had been there, talking to him for two days. When everyone else had left, Lomnes had been there. He was alive! But then, a voice was whispering in his mind, putting pieces together – pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t seen. That voice asked him why he hadn’t seen it. He should have known it whispered. Maybe he didn’t want to know! Like a breath, without hearing a sound, Ikals just knew Lomnes was there. He didn’t have to look up. And he didn’t want to. “Hey,” came the dry voice. “I missed you on the walk.”

Ikals took in a steadying breath and lifted his head. Lomnes stood, leaning against the opposite wall: same clothes, same wry expression. Same bruised head. Why? What had Lomnes done to deserve death? Why couldn’t Millosai have taken him instead!? I don’t know, Ikals tried to say. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” The laugh was natural. Everything was natural. And not. “Lomnes,” Ikals muttered, swallowing shakily, stopping short. Lomnes looked around like he was being watched, but the alleyway was empty except for the two of them and some chattering rats. A morthdul, grey and white plumage on a wiry small frame, dropped from the sky to snare two rats before climbing again with its catches. The alleyway echoed with its shrill cry for a moment before going quiet again, and Lomnes regarded his friend again. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Ikals couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak, and hating himself for what he was thinking and feeling, he couldn’t look at his friend anymore. He couldn’t handle the emotion that welled up inside! “Not you too,” Lomnes muttered. “Now you’re going to abandon me like all the rest.” He spat to one side and shook his head in disbelief. “I never would have thought it possible.” “Lomnes ....” “No,” Lomnes hissed, pointing at him with a hurtful sneer, “you don’t get to justify this betrayal, not you, not after all I’ve done for you, not after all we’ve done together!” “You don’t understand.” “I thought I did.” Lomnes stepped back and turned, stopping in his tracks. “I never expected this from you. I thought you were my friend.”

Ikals’ tears streaked his face. Lomnes didn’t know. How to tell a friend what you don’t want to hear? In that instant, he understood Plythe’s resistance, the pacing, the holding back. How did he say what can’t be said? What must be said. “Lomnes,” he pleaded, forcing himself to stand, wavering on his feet, “you don’t understand.” “When everyone else left you, I remained,” Lomnes barked. “I was there for you. And now you, just like everyone else, you’re going to turn your back on me! Now I’m not good enough. Well, damn you!” Lomnes closed the distance poised to strike. “Listen to me, Lomnes,” Ikals begged. “I’m sorry, but … but I didn’t see it. I didn’t, no, I couldn’t see it.” Lomnes’ sneer remained. The hurt in his eyes went deep. Why him!? “It should have been me,” Ikals mumbled, “not you.” “What are you on about?” Lomnes snapped, his hand trembling and face livid with controlled rage. Emotion was saved up, stored, aching to break. Ikals understood that too. Only, he’d never been good at releasing his rage. That had always been Lomnes’ job, to feel strongly for Ikals. That combination, calm and potency, had always made them strong. Together. Was that the tie that bound them after death? “Lomnes,” Ikals whispered, knowing he was right, cursing his own words, “you’re dead.” His friend’s eyes went wide, and he stumbled back. “You’re mad!” “Think about it,” Ikals pressed through gritted teeth. “The doors not opening, people not hearing you, your perceptions changing. Even if they hated you, they’d answer the door. Wouldn’t they!?” Lomnes backed up further. Ikals swallowed slowly, wiping his eyes. “I couldn’t see it,” he murmured, inhaling to curb the flow of tears. “Your strength failing, the grate you couldn’t lift; the women not talking to you; the … people parting for you – I took it like I’ve always taken it. You were always the lucky one, whatever you thought of me. It was you the world liked most!”

Lomnes backed up further yet, staggering an additional step. “You’re mad. You know that?” “Then hit me.” Ikals stood up straight with what strength remained. “Prove to both of us that I’m wrong, and hit me. The old you, the usual you, would have done it yesterday, so do it already.” Lomnes closed his eyes. “Prove me wrong,” Ikals repeated. “Please!” Lomnes was visibly overwhelmed. Ikals could see understanding there, but like him, he could see his friend fighting the revelation. “I’m sorry,” Ikals said again, closing his eyes. “I’d trade places if I could. I really would.” He felt the cold, the displacement of spirit through solid. When he opened his eyes, tears flowing freely again, Lomnes was gone. He frantically looked in all directions and raced both ways until he fell to his knees and let his head fall back, screaming Lomnes’ name at the top of his lungs! There was no answer, no sneer, nothing but warm breeze on his face and a pounding heart in his veins. His whole body felt like one commanding pulse! “Come on,” a voice urged, helping him up onto a sympathetic shoulder. “Let’s get you home.” Plythe waited for a nod, but Ikals couldn’t nod. He couldn’t speak anymore. He couldn’t feel. It was like he’d spent his everything, and he was finally numb. Plythe nodded softly and walked for them both. “I think we both need something to drink,” the old man said, pausing to favour his left leg before walking on. “I have a few bottles stored up. No vandals will ever find them.”

Chapter Eight Sparks

It occurred to Ikals that life was becoming a series of pock-marked framed moments, just highlighted moments with only hazy sleepless hours, disoriented dreams, or numb transient blurs to separate them. Plythe was sitting back in his chair, up against the threader, staring at his glass of red wine. The bottle rested by his left foot. It was already half empty. The first two glasses had disappeared quickly, but this third glass was going slow, and the words were finally coming. “They didn’t want him at first. Did you know that?” he asked. Sitting by the window, Ikals shook his head. His glass was still full. There was no hunger or thirst. There was only the heavy numbness that remained from before. “There were many arguments, but debts were owed. I’d pulled that man from the fire so often over the years! I made Kishmaz take Lomnes in, but he learned to respect the boy. Just like I told him he would.” “That explains my room. I always wondered why I didn’t have as much space as everyone else.” “I never considered locking my doors or hiding my things with you and him around,” Plythe insisted stubbornly. “Kishmaz warned me. They all warned me, but I knew I could trust you two. I don’t know why. I just did.” Ikals nodded. A single tear streaked his face. Plythe closed his eyes a long trembling moment. “I wouldn’t have been able to make this Press work all these years without your help,” he rambled on. “I don’t think I ever told you that before, but it’s true. There are so many things I never said that I wish I had. How did that ever come to ? What if you died or I died tomorrow? We leave so many things undone, thinking there’ll be another day.”

Ikals looked across. So much was unspoken. So much didn’t seem to need to be spoken until it was too late. Plythe frowned and ran a finger around the rim of his glass. “I love you. You know that?” Plythe asked. Ikals nodded, wiping his cheek. “You’re like the son I never had, the son I almost had.” He smiled briefly before the sadness returned. He took another sip and watched the wine swirl around the glass in contemplative silence. “You’re your own person, and I’m very proud of how you’ve grown. I want you to know that.” He shrugged. “Of course, I can’t tell Lomnes that I treasured him too.” “I think he knows,” Ikals whispered, inhaling carefully. Plythe lowered his head. “I’m sure he knew it,” Ikals repeated, making sure to speak in the past for Plythe’s sake. “He did,” came the small voice from the corner. “He does.” “I think we should have a small ceremony of our own,” Plythe suggested, oblivious of the voice and its deflated owner, sitting like a rag doll against the wall, like the weight of the world was crushing him. “The Faith and their cronies would have us do it one way. The others would have their own. I think we should find something that would fit with Lomnes’ thoughts, with his ways. I don’t know what that is though, but we need it!” Ikals nodded. Lomnes touched his head gently, feeling where the bruise still showed, where the debris that had killed him had struck. “Drinking’s a good start,” he muttered. “Can I have some?” “No.” “What was that?” Plythe asked, raising his head. Ikals shrugged. “Just thinking,” he lied. “I think he’d like a story written so people wouldn’t forget him. I think he’d want to live forever through words. And song.” Plythe smiled. “I think you’re right. I’ll talk to Kishmaz. It’ll be done!” “No one will buy it,” Lomnes whispered. “It’ll never sell.”

“It doesn’t have to sell,” Ikals breathed softly. “It’s the effort that matters, not the price others put on it.” Lomnes’ wry smile flashed. Plythe stood, patting Ikals on the shoulder. He then sauntered tipsily back towards the kitchen. “What do I do now?” Lomnes grumbled. “I’m dead. What do I make of that?” Ikals put his glass down on the window sill. “At least take a drink for me,” Lomnes urged half-heartedly. “Tell me what it tastes like.” He glanced around forlorn. “Why am I still here? I thought Millosai takes the dead. The faiths all say that much. It’s one of few things they agree on.” “It depends.” Ikals breathed through clenched teeth. He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat as quietly as he could. “It depends on how you die and if you have some kind of unfinished business, or if you’re too attached to a place or person, you remain until you figure things out.” Lomnes didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue. He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped both arms around them. “Tell me what to do.” Ikals glanced to the hallway. There was broken humming. He looked upstairs to where the bugs buzzed, and he thought of the people ing outside. He thought of the fights Plythe had told him he’d missed when Stende had lost control of the crowd in the main square. They had the wood, nails, and hooks, but they’d need more of each to start the rebuild, and no one was going to pitch in any supplies or money to help out. The religious groups had seized on that. They’d begun accusing Stende of fighting Millosai’s will in all their various ways. It was their argument that the quakes were Stende’s fault. The whole square had been taken by panic. Ikals thought of this, happy he’d missed it, and he shook his head. “I don’t know.” “Well, I wish she’d make up her mind soon and tell me what I’m still here for. Waiting was never my strong suit.” To that, Ikals had to smile, albeit sadly. “No, it wasn’t.”

Chapter Nine Meaning

“Hey, you’re right,” Ikals was saying. It took real patience to keep the telescope on its uneven tripod perfectly still. They stood on the roof of the Printing Press. The ladder up was well hidden from the common eye. It led through the wall in the downstairs hallway. More accurately, it led up through the wall to a small hatch that opened up near the centre of the roof top. From that vantage point, they could make out much of the town, and they’d been up there cataloguing the damage Atvian had taken when ONW had blown up. At least, Ikals was cataloguing. He still wasn’t quite sure how to consider Lomnes. He was there, kind of. Yes, he decided. Lomnes was there, dead or alive, whatever. Shaking the confusion off as best as he could and swallowing the creeping sense of loss that hung in the air, Ikals focused on the town square again. “You’re right,” he repeated, “the fountain is gone. I was there with Plythe for that meeting, and I never noticed that. I didn’t notice all those pot holes and pock marks in the roads either. Interesting how you don’t see something sometimes until it’s pointed out to you.” “True enough.” Lomnes was walking around in a figure eight, pausing often to flex his legs or ankles. He paused to flex his fingers and stare at them. “I fell in one of those holes, I guess. Can I fall now? Does it work that way?” “I don’t know.” “Come on. You for one should know.” The laugh just came, and Ikals stepped back and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sorry,” he replied to Lomnes’ hurt expression, “I didn’t mean that badly.”

Lomnes frowned. “I’m taking everything badly these days. Death isn’t what it’s made out to be!” “I don’t suppose it is.” Ikals gritted his teeth for a moment. “No spirit has ever explained anything about death to me. All they ever do is blurt, if not vomit out a life story or tell me about their missed wishes. Or they just want to cry.” Ikals cringed from the memories. “I know how they feel,” Lomnes sulked. He dropped down onto some stacked newspapers with his shoulders slumped. “It’s like my mind is falling apart Ikals. We talk about friends you say I know, and I don’t them, and I haven’t been dead that long yet.” “I know,” Ikals noted sadly, sitting as well. “I don’t Rathol. I know I knew him, but talking now, here and now, right now, I couldn’t tell you what he looks like or what he sounds like or anything!” A troubled squint. “It’s like he’s the ghost, like everyone’s left me, and I’ve already started forgetting them. But without them, I’m incomplete! I’m like a puzzle falling apart, not whole, not real, but I feel so real.” Lomnes tried to briskly shake his head, like doing so would put everything back into place. “I feel like I’m still alive. I can open doors, somewhat. I’m not falling through the roof! What do I make of that!?” Ikals closed his eyes. Lomnes lay back and watched some birds fly past. “Why am I here with you? I never considered anything between us unfinished business. If you say that’s why I haven’t ed beyond, then what haven’t I done, and how am I supposed to know what that is?” “Maybe it’s just something you figure out as you go,” Ikals suggested. Inside, odd and awkward as all of this was, he wished Lomnes would never figure it out, but that would be selfish, so he didn’t say it. “Can you cry?” Lomnes tilted his head to fix his friend with a quizzical expression. “I mean,” Ikals explained, “all these years with spirits finding me, they were so emotional, and it was like they were going to cry so often, but it

always turned to ive aggressive venting or anger. The quiet ones just, kind of faded, but they returned. I … I just always wondered if they’d already cried it all out, or do you need a body to cry?” Lomnes struggled with a response. “I’ll let you know.” Nodding, Ikals retook to the telescope. He carefully wiped his eyes, pretending there was an eyelash there. There were more tears coming, but he had the feeling that if he let it go now, he wouldn’t stop. He’d just fall apart, and that scared him more than anything else that was going on. “I wonder what direction they’ll bring the food in from,” he said to change the subject, clearing his throat as he spoke. “Plythe said they were gathering it from the farms – it’s got to be from south or west, so I’m betting west: the road’s wider out west.” “But a lot of the soldiers are housed in the south,” Lomnes pointed out. “They’ll bring it in where they can more easily protect it.” Ikals nodded. It made sense. “Didn’t we meet at the fountain?” Ikals screwed up his face. “I’d spotted you earlier than that,” he mused. “You were following me, and badly at that.” “It kept your eyes on me, so Fewger could get your wallet.” Ikals’ eyes grew wide. Sputtering, he shook his head, then, pointed across. “You were involved in that!?” he blurted, Lomnes returning a grin. “That was my father’s money! I got in a lot of trouble for losing it! He didn’t believe that someone stole it, and I didn’t believe it myself to tell the truth. As I recall, you convinced me at the fountain that I had lost it.” He cast bitter eyes to his friend. Lomnes, the grin fixed, shrugged. “It was business,” he joked, “nothing personal.” “And why did you shadow me the other times? I got the feeling you wanted to be my friend. Maybe I was wrong.” “You see.” Lomnes rose to a sitting position, arms around his legs. “This is why I never told you. Well, that and I did feel bad for you. Fewger was thrown out of town, and he was the only one who know about it. And then that thing with your

parents.” Ikals carefully inhaled. “I did buy you some ice cream, before it all fell apart and since.” “With my money,” Ikals rued. He held the frown for a few seconds before rolling his eyes. “Never trust a thief. Right?” “Right,” Lomnes agreed. “For what it’s worth, it was Fewger’s idea.” Ikals returned his attention to the telescope. “It was,” Lomnes insisted. “I was only, what, six? Do you really think I was coming up with the plans back then?” “You were seven, Lomnes. We were both seven.” Ikals thought of the children who’d broken into the shop. What future did they have? What innocence would remain? There was so much looting going on around town. It wasn’t a life he wanted for anyone. Plythe had gotten them free of it, but how many lives had been taken on the street, were being taken on the streets even now? “I’m sure you had a hand in planning it,” Ikals grumbled, “but don’t worry. That money wasn’t what really mattered anyway.” “It never is. People just get hung up on it.” Ikals scanned the alleyways and streets. He stopped and watched. There she was, but she wasn’t alone. The woman in the hooded cloak, tan coloured shirt and pants, and fine, black leather boots. And green eyes – she was standing with the other two: hooded cloaks, calloused hands, and sword belts, white and dark skinned. A moment later, she was gone. They were all gone. He stepped back and thought for a moment. No, they weren’t just gone. Looking down, he stretched out his fingers and started mimicking her movements, just before they’d vanished. “What are you up to?” Lomnes asked, one brow raised. “It’s something the woman with the green eyes does before she leaves. At least, I think it’s leaving. I never really thought about it before now, but she’s been moving her hands like this, kind of.” He swivelled his hand around and flicked two fingers forward, twice, then, balling his fist and thinking. “It’s something

like that.” Lomnes bowed his head. Stretching, arms out wide, he shook his head. “Do the others do it?” “I haven’t seen them do it. Maybe she’s the one that calls them back, taking them away with her when their time’s up.” “Back to where?” “I don’t know. I had another dream about them. They were in the library with me, watching me. Whatever’s going on, they’re definitely involved. I get this feeling that they’re helping her, but if they’re helping, and I’m supposed to do something, why don’t they say something to me? Why keep quiet and just watch?” “I just realized something,” Lomnes blurted. “You’ve been seeing these people.” Ikals nodded, wondering what Lomnes was getting at. “Well, this thing the woman does would suggest they aren’t even dead. Wouldn’t it? And why haven’t you been bombarded with all the spirits from the people who just died? There’s got to be a lot of them out there.” “I thought about that.” Not that Ikals had a solid answer for that one either. “Maybe there’re too many of them, so none of them can get through. Or maybe these people are responsible for that too.” “Ikals!” came Plythe’s shout from inside. “Come down here please.” “I’ll meet you down there,” Lomnes said, laying back again. “I want to watch the birds a little longer.” “Why?” Ikals asked, looking up. There were three Etis above, swooping. And circling, somewhat. “I’m trying to figure out if they can see me,” Lomnes explained, resting one foot on top of the other. “Or are they just hovering because you’re here? Maybe their senses are more acute than the living human’s.” Ikals nodded. “Okay.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Partly, he was curious himself, but mostly, he just found the concept too strange to properly

answer. “And Ikals?” “Yes?” Lomnes tilted his head to the side and thought for a moment. “You do want to leave. Don’t you?” Ikals looked down for a moment, unable to respond. “That’s what I thought.” “I won’t leave him,” Ikals muttered, “no matter what my mind is telling me. I don’t chase dreams at the cost of the living. That just doesn’t make sense.” “And it’s scary.” Ikals shivered playfully to hide an honest wince, and Lomnes grinned. It was a trained exchange, and it worked. At least, it kept Ikals from thinking too seriously on what his friend had said. Ikals climbed down the ladder, closing the hatch after him. Reaching the bottom rung, he stepped back and slid the hallway wall shut, moving boxes and shoes and items back in front again. He found Plythe by the front door pulling his heavy green coat on, peering out through the cracked, front windows. “Going somewhere?” Ikals asked. Plythe turned and nodded. “Yes, the food you got from the lines isn’t enough. We’ll need more.” Ikals felt a wave of guilt. How much meat and extras had he used in preparing his Telcoy? “If they’re short on gelrip, we’ll just have to settle for pasta or fish, something that’ll last longer.” Ikals winced at the thought of eating fish. Some staples were best left to bad memories. “How about I go?” Ikals suggested. “It’s my fault for not getting enough in the first place,” he lied. “And you’re better at the copying than I am. What with all the work left to do …” Plythe was laughing and shaking his head. “Okay, okay,” Ikals itted, “I just don’t like fish.” Plythe’s laughing slowed, and the old man

shrugged. “Fine. It’ll give me a chance to chase those raccoons out.” “Raccoons?” “I’ve been hearing them in the walls,” Plythe explained, sighing heavily. “Raccoons don’t usually live in walls,” Ikals corrected. “Well then it might be squirrels again. You’re sure you closed the hatch on your way down?” Ikals nodded. “Whatever it is certainly can’t be as bad as those hooligans you ran into.” “I thought they were gone.” Plythe shook his head and turned, pointing across the street. “There,” he said, “inside Leinze’s old shop. “There’s usually one about. I think they’ve turned it into a headquarters. I don’t suppose Leinze would mind. It’s not like he’s using it anymore, but I’d feel better if they weren’t so close.” Ikals stepped up to the window and inspected the shoe store, kitty corner to the Press. It had been a metal works to the stables when Atvian had been young, and the flat, built-upon symmetric store front was the proof of it, even with the more modern paint and tiling that had been added to its exterior over the years. The windows and door were all boarded, like so many of the shops and homes, but corners of the wood looked chewed on. Holes were large enough for a pair of eyes, and there was movement behind the wood. “I’m not sure how they found a way in,” Plythe continued slyly. “Through the back? Who knows? Stende sent his soldiers in, and they can’t be found.” “Hiding is the first law of survival,” Ikals noted, nodding solemnly. “I think this group is trouble.” Ikals smiled at the thought. “Lomnes and I did what we had to to survive before we met you,” he itted, ashamed of the thought. “What they did, breaking in and all, was simple.”

“Yes, but you and Lomnes were two of kind,” Plythe countered, resting a hand on Ikals’ shoulder. “You two had heart. I could see it in your eyes. This group, this leader of theirs, the one that hit you – he likes it, and that will transfer to the others. Maybe I’m wrong,” he added, scratching the side of his right eye. “When you return, use the back way, and make sure you aren’t followed.” Ikals nodded, crossing his arms. “And we’ll be locking and double barring the door,” Plythe insisted. “In fact, you should go out the back way. It’ll draw less attention to us. I hate being so secretive,” he muttered with a tsk. “Now, on to those squirrels.”

Chapter Ten Tensions

Ikals wound the way down the hallway after Plythe watching his mentor tap the wall with the broom. He only went so far as to grab the food bag before retreating and heading up stairs. He paused to peer out the front, wondering if anything had changed across the street. It hadn’t. “What are you looking for?” Lomnes asked beside him, “and what’s he doing downstairs?” “The thieves that broke in here are hiding out over there, in Leinze’s shop, and he thinks we have squirrels. Did you close the hatch on the way down?” What was he asking? Ikals closed his eyes and bowed his head. It was going to take some getting used to things; then again, how did Lomnes move around? “I don’t know,” Lomnes itted. “I was just, here, now. I’m not even sure I used it. I didn’t think you guys had squirrels.” “I don’t think we do, but Plythe’s hearing has been going, in phases, in and out, and I’m thinking that maybe he’s half hearing you.” Lomnes smiled at the thought. “Come on, we’re headed down town again for more food, and let me know if you see any of the thieves. I want to know he’s safe here. Worse comes to worse, we take care of them.” Lomnes nodded. He did laugh though. Ikals offered a puzzled expression. “I’m dead,” Lomnes noted with a wry smile. “What am I supposed to do?” “Scare them?” Ikals suggested after a long, drawn-out breath. “Move a stool in front of them.” He stopped again to shake his head. “I don’t know. You always did have a good scream.” Lomnes glared at his friend. Ikals was smiling as he made his way to the back window and climbed out onto the trellis lattice, checking first that no one was looking. He did risk one look back to see Lomnes turned away, arms crossed,

head angled high. Lomnes’ anger dissipated pretty quickly. He’d find him. The window was closed and locked through a sliding bar. The wench was turned, and inner lock bolted down. Drawing his locking tool back, the sliding bar was slid back into place, and the window looked fully secure once more. Hitting the ground, Ikals checked the way again. Satisfied he hadn’t been watched, he took off down the alley way they’d used just two days previous. Somehow, it felt like it had been a lot longer than that. “That was uncalled for,” Lomnes said a few minutes later, shaking his head rigidly. “There are certain lines you just don’t cross. Right? Right.” Ikals tried to hide his smile. It wasn’t working. “I mean,” Lomnes continued, “it wasn’t even me. The woman we were lifting found me out and screamed. That’s exactly how it was. Dristan twisted it completely out of context and painted it over to make me look bad! You know that, and you know how I feel about it.” “Would some of my money make you feel better?” A couple and some merchants walked past on both sides, looking at him strangely a moment before continuing on, guardedly. Ikals was starting to not really care if people thought he was funny for talking to himself. They couldn’t see or hear Lomnes, but he could, and he decided that he wasn’t about to give up friendship for sanity. “That’s what this is about?” Lomnes scoffed. “I told you already. I didn’t know you then. You were a mark. I did what we did to other people a hundred times over. Don’t pretend you’re so innocent. How would they feel about you? Eh? Not so indignant now. Are we?” Ikals sighed. He had been thinking about that. “I was like him, Lomnes. I was just like him once.” “Like who? Dristan? Never!” “No. The child who broke into the Press, the one I upended – I was just like him in that square, before everything crashed.”

“We all were,” Lomnes assured him. He bowed mockingly at a pair of finely dressed women who ed. They, of course, didn’t see him and regarded Ikals with disdain. Lomnes stuck out his tongue and held up his nose after them. “What’s your point?” “That I’m different. I didn’t see it.” Ikals stopped and turned, gesturing wide. “We moved, and I spent some years here. I thought I knew this town; then, they were sent off to die, and I was alone.” “And I took you in.” Lomnes bowed as he spoke. Despite the hurt connected with those words, with the death of his parents and loss of the life he’d once known, Ikals smiled. “Yes,” he agreed, “you took me in, and I owe you a lot for that. I wasn’t an angel. I feel no qualms about that, but I looked at that kid and didn’t connect. I saw him as someone who had no business breaking into someone’s shop. I didn’t see me, but I was like that. Yesterday, you thought of using the tunnels to get ahead in line. I didn’t. And when we came out into their house, I never even thought about taking anything, but when we were living on the street, it would’ve been the first thought on my mind.” “So you’ve changed?” Lomnes scratched the back of his neck. He then looked up and around and stretched a few ways. “What’s your point?” he asked again, still flexing, in smaller, more particular ways. “That I still feel like I did on the street, some days, I guess. But I’m not the same. Maybe I’ve been a scribe so long that I just didn’t notice the change.” Ikals shrugged. “It’s just a shock to me is all. I guess. I can’t say it isn’t a good thing. I just,” Ikals started, stopping to consider Lomnes’ odd flexing. His friend was now bent over, moving his shoulder blades forward and back. “What are you doing?” Lomnes paused to clear his throat, then grin smartly. “I thought I felt something,” he explained. Ikals rolled his eyes and started walking again. “I am dead,” Lomnes noted sulkily. “I shouldn’t be feeling anything.” “Don’t scream about it now.” “Oh,” Lomnes countered, squinting his eyes, “brave words from the King of Squing.” Ikals, blushing hard, turned, open mouthed. Lomnes was grinning

wider as he strutted past, tilting an invisible hat. “You started it,” he added, adding a skip to his step. “And I can find worse,” Ikals replied. “And you do sound like a girl when you scream. Accept it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, for a girl.” Lomnes made a fish face, with sounds. Ikals smiled, and Lomnes laughed. “I hate fish,” Ikals spat, laughing now. “And I swear they hate me.” “I don’t blame them. I would too after what you did.” Ikals took off in pursuit, Lomnes running ahead. Their chase lasted three blocks until Ikals gave it up. There were too many wagons and horses to avoid at the cross streets anyway. Lomnes wasn’t even breathing hard. Ikals shook his head. It wasn’t fair. “What route do we take?” he asked as they veered towards the main street. The food lines were just as full, if not fuller than they’d been before, and today, everyone was a lot more guarded and letting no one past on either side. There wasn’t going to be any easy fit from someone’s front door. Lomnes held up a finger and disappeared down the side of the line. People stepped aside as best they could; others just shouted at the person next to them to stop what they were doing or shivered badly. “That feels weird.” Ikals turned with a start! Lomnes stood there, shivering more fitfully. “But it works. The worst part though,” he added, looking around, “is I don’t know how I got back here. I just did. It could be a really neat thing if not for the freaky nature of it.” Ikals nodded sympathetically. “What did you find?” he asked. “It’s tight all the way up, and the soldiers have mounted patrols every ten feet now. Anyone gets out of line, and they’re in a bad way. I was thinking from below, but the grates are all covered, no chance.” “Shit,” Ikals breathed, wrinkling his nose. “I was so hoping to smell horrible for yet the next soltie too.” Lomnes crossed his arms, Ikals grinning playfully. “So we get in line like everyone else?”

“No, we take it.” Ikals shook his head. “You aren’t that far changed. Are you? Would you see Plythe starve because of your principals, newly found? Waiting in line, that might happen.” Ikals thought about it for a moment. They could steal the food, sneak around, and with Lomnes’ help, it would likely work, but … no. Plythe wouldn’t want that. “I think I have changed too much.” Lomnes sighed. “Damn it. Me too.” Ikals smiled. “Let’s get in back,” he said, “before the line gets too long.” They found the back a block later and angled themselves towards the side of the street so Lomnes could be there, untouched. Ikals hated to see him walked through, shivering like he did, and Lomnes liked the added arm space, leaning against the barred and boarded door of a tailor’s shop. “How many people do you think have left already?” Lomnes mumbled. “Maybe a quarter?” Ikals guessed. “We saw as many wagons heading out of town. The rest are all in hiding until the worst blows over.” “Or they’re in this line.” “Or in this line,” Ikals mirrored. “Do you those stories we used to around?” Lomnes nodded solemnly. “Quite a few of them had to do with the end of things. There were a lot of lines in those stories.” “All the better to pick pockets and get rich off simple folk,” Lomnes agreed. “As I recall, you always came up with the more fantastical of the lot: adventures, dragons, whatever you’d picked up in the latest, literary find.” “I always returned the books. Did you know that?” “I did, but no one else figured it out. A thief with a conscience isn’t that well received in a guild.” Lomnes angled his head and screwed up his nose, mouth, and eyes. There were fingers involved too. Ikals turned to face the man directly in front of them. Women and men to his left and right were talking in hushed tones, but their eyes never remained on him.

This man, taller and stronger by build, was staring right at him. “Is everything alright?” Ikals asked, tapping his lip pensively. “Would you like to get in on this? There’s always room for another voice or two. Can you stand on one foot though?” The man nearly shrunk back, and the crowd parted. Surprised that it had worked, Ikals shrugged contentedly and stepped past the two rows that had opened up. Lomnes, laughing profusely, followed and found his own place again. “I can’t believe it worked! We tried that how many times growing up!?” “And were faking then,” Ikals mused. “Interesting how things work out.” The man now in front of them, a shorter, sheepish-looking man with a large wife at his side, turned and regarded Ikals with a confused expression. “Hello,” Ikals said, grinning wide. Lomnes just started laughing again. They gained near a block before the people stopped caring if he talked to himself or not. Ikals was almost relieved. Lomnes was annoyed. He gestured across the crowded street. “Looks like they found someone else to wonder about.” Ikals followed his friend’s cue, and he didn’t like what he saw. The other person was clearly inebriated from the whiskey bottle he was swinging around and belches and insults he kept spewing at those around him. Packed in like they all were, it wasn’t going to end well. “Lead us out of here,” Ikals said in a shaky breath. “Quickly.” “What?” “We need to get out of here!” Ikals repeated hastily, looking around for an escape route. “Before it starts.”

“Again, what?” As Ikals feared, fighting broke out. That drunk started wailing on the first person to stand his ground. An elbow hit someone else who bumped another, and two days of anxious fear erupted, rippling like a wave of madness through the crowd! Those who weren’t fighting cowered or tried to run, and panicked trampling began. Ikals and Lomnes ran with Lomnes in the lead. The people parted after he ed, and Ikals kept tight on his heels! A foot caught Ikals on the back, and a heavy basket was swung up into his left shoulder. He was running fast enough to take the hit at the wrong angle. His weight shifted, and he flipped to a side, crashing into a clay flower pot and skidding painfully along a raised step! The shouting and screaming shook his hearing, and things were flying around him. His head feeling heavy, body aching, and suns’ heat growing – he tried to rise, but something landed on his back, and he dropped down again. The man who’d landed on him rolled off, clothes ripped and mouth bloodied. Balling his fists, he waded back into the riotous scene! “Stay with me,” Lomnes urged beside his ear. “Don’t out. Someone died during the last riot. ? And without me, you’re the only one left.” Ikals knew his friend was wrong, but he didn’t care, and something metal flew past his ear and stuck into the house behind him. He lifted himself up on his elbows and started to crawl, Lomnes urging him along the whole way. Ikals followed the side walk up to a raised porch and shouldered his way through the split wood and inside, under those oak steps. He shoved the rats aside, ignoring their bites and squeals. Lomnes swept an arm over them, and they scurried off, leaving Ikals alone. Ikals sunk down on the exposed earth and rolled onto his back. Someone crawled in behind him, and he almost kicked him out, but he moved his feet instead, and the youth curled up into one corner. Ikals let his head down again. “It doesn’t look like we’ll get any food today.”

Lomnes, crouched by the opening, eyeing their guest cautiously, frowned. “Not likely,” he agreed. “They’ll have locked down the crates and pulled them inside. No one’s getting food except Stende and that council of his. One of the ones that got you?” he asked of their stowaway. Ikals thought it over: the scarred chin and hungry brown eyes. The worn brown coat and over-sized grey shirt might have belonged to one of the others that had run past. “I don’t know,” he itted. “Maybe.” The youth stared at Ikals like he was looking at a mad man. Ikals was sure that if the boy could safely run off, he would. Lomnes spat to one side - quickly checking to see if anything had actually come out. Sneering, he shook his head. “I say we get some answers out of him while we’re here. He’s wearing an old woman’s clothes. He knows something.” Ikals wasn’t about to force an answer out of a frightened child, and Ikals knew well enough that Lomnes, for all his talk, wouldn’t do it either. “Let’s get out of here.” Lomnes turned sharply. “And show him the way!?” Ikals nodded. What choice did they have? And maybe, given the same chance he and Lomnes had received, the youth might turn around. Or maybe he’d just steal more. At least he deserved the chance. Lomnes, still crouched, walked up to the house wall and felt around. “This isn’t as easy as it looks for the dead,” he grumbled. Ikals rolled to face him and nodded. Sore, partly winded, and bruised, Ikals helped find a that moved. The went in, then, slid to a side. Lomnes crawled inside. Ikals did the same. Ikals poked his head back out a moment later and regarded the youth. “Are you coming?” he asked. The youth, maybe nine or ten, just stared back. “Wait here if you like,” Ikals added, someone landing above and shaking the wood, streams of dirt and dust falling from above. “It’s up to you, but the door’s closing fast.”

Another collision sounded, and some of the wood cracked overhead. The boy scurried into the door after them. Ikals closed the door and set off down the tunnel, stopping only to motion for the boy to follow him. Lomnes was scouting ahead. “Where are we?” the boy asked, looking around anxiously. “Old sewers,” Ikals explained, “mostly unused anymore. Atvian’s been through quite a few rebuilds. At one point, there was a street above us, and this was a storage for ground water and waste. It was the main throughfare for the city connecting to all the smaller drains, but they built a better road where it is now. Houses went up over top of the existing foundations to save resources. They still used these tunnels for storage for a while.” Light came in through grates on either side and above. Perfumes and food scents met the nose, and the boy moved, fascinated, from one to the other. “Why don’t they still use them?” he asked. “The rat problem, and then they just forgot about them. A friend of mine found them. We used to use them to get around a lot. Our exit’s up here.” The boy nodded slowly and followed, but he kept his distance. “We should lock him down here,” Lomnes suggested, returning. “The way’s clear.” Ikals nodded. “Good, and no, we won’t do that. Help me with this.” The youth stepped up beside him, and Ikals paused. He’d meant Lomnes, and Lomnes was there, but an extra hand wouldn’t hurt. They lifted the iron grill up, and Lomnes climbed through. A moment later, the other two waiting silently, the youth wondering what they were waiting for, Lomnes returned with a nod. Ikals lifted himself through, then, helped the boy out. The youth froze, shivering badly. They were standing on a butcher’s cutting room floor. Hooks hung in lines from the ceiling, and the wall was filled with cleavers and

curved knives. For added effect, the floor was stained red beneath them, and an odd smell of flesh was in the air! None of it was helping ease the boy’s nerves. Ikals lowered the grill back into place as quietly as he could. Unfortunately, it did make a sound, and the arguing in the next room stopped. Ikals almost dragged the boy out through the side door between houses and around the corner, hiding them behind bushes seconds before two large men raced out! Something moved across the street, a person disappearing down the opposite alleyway, and the two men chased down the alley after them! “Well,” Ikals joked, “that wasn’t too bad.” The boy was gone in a flash! Lomnes patted Ikals’ shoulder. “That was a good thank you for you.” “As much of one as I’d have given me,” Ikals itted. He looked back towards the fighting. There was a lot of it, and some of that brawling was expanding in their direction. Anger was spilling out against the store and house fronts too. A fire was kindled in one, and windows were shattered in others. The bitterness was carried in the fleeing eyes. “Let’s go warn Plythe,” Ikals whispered. “He should know.” To this, Lomnes had no retort. He just nodded and kept pace.

Chapter Eleven Force

They cut off the main road a few blocks short of home and came up the back way behind Leinze’s shop. There, they waited and watched. There wasn’t anything to be seen, but the second story window in the back was open with a cloth curtain waving on the wind, and there was the smell of cooking from inside. The shelving and counters that had once lined the walls and back rooms were out back, scattered and broken, and the earth where a garden had once been was trampled under. The rows where the food had once grown were bare. Had Leinze taken his bounty? Or were the current residents to blame? “How many do you think they are?” Ikals asked in a hushed voice. “Can you find out?” “Just pop in?” Lomnes asked with a smile. He regarded the shop for a moment, then, shook his head, the smile gone, wiped clean off his face. “I, I can’t,” he replied, shaking his head, confusion settling in. “I don’t understand it, but I can’t go there. It’s like there’s a wall. I don’t understand.” Ikals sighed. “Then we’ll set up on the roof and keep watch,” he suggested. Lomnes nodded, and they worked their way around Leinze’s, always keeping an eye out. They crossed the road three houses up between the slanted hedges and old gnarled rose bushes, and they snuck into the Press through the back, up the trellis again. Inside, Ikals froze, listening for something. Like a shadow, Lomnes was beside him. He looked around and shrugged. “What we waiting for?” he asked. Ikals gently shook his head. “Plythe isn’t working,” he whispered, feeling the need for silence. “And I can’t hear him downstairs. He shouldn’t be sleeping.”

“Maybe he’s out.” Ikals frowned. “No. I mean, maybe. He talked about getting the song going for you, but I don’t think so. Look at the desk.” He gestured to the central, oval table top. “The boxes aren’t straight, and some of the pages are out from between the papers.” Ikals wanted to run over and fix them, but Plythe wouldn’t have left it that way, and that meant something had happened to him! Ikals’ mind was painting the worst picture possible, so he shook his head. Maybe he’d just lain down for a sleep. He kept telling himself that as he crept downstairs, pausing often. On the way, he felt his worst fears taking shape. The boarding around the front door was loosened, from the outside, and part of the left, front window was shattered. A trail of broken glass played out on the floor. There was more than one hole! Ikals bolted down the stairs and searched his and Plythe’s room. He turned to run down the hallway when he heard a groan and headed for the threader instead. The metal fingers were lifted, just enough for a person to see in between. Plythe sat, slumped under the main, back against the wall facing the windows, and he didn’t look good! “What happened to you?” Ikals demanded, kicking a rock aside as he knelt by his mentor’s side. “Who did this to you!?” Plythe opened one eye, the less bruised one and tried to smile. He groaned lightly again and slumped further. Ikals felt a tear fall as he anchored himself under Plythe’s shoulder and tried to ease him out into the open. He only got Plythe that far, crunching on the glass underfoot. “I’ll give you a hand there.” Plythe became very light, and Ikals looked up into a stranger’s visage. The man, tall with a clean-shaven face and short brown hair, wore a soldier’s uniform. He had dark green and black pants and a red strip along his shoulders to show his rank. Someone else took Plythe’s other arm, and they carried him into his room. Ikals just stood there watching them do it. What had just happened? Where had they come from? It felt so unreal! “Tell the doctors he’s here, and tell them to hurry.”

Footsteps echoed out the front door, and Ikals turned, balling his fists. His target was Stende, standing there in what had to be his grandfather’s highly polished, brass buttoned uniform, replete with two sword belts, a ridiculously silky sash, and an ivory horn! Not to mention that insufferably arrogant air! Ikals didn’t notice the soldier to Stende’s left, not until the man’s hand came up to grab his wrist and twist the arm around, pushing him hard into the nearest machine! He heard a crunch and fell, winded but still angry. He wanted to kill Stende! He wanted to rip him apart piece by piece for what he’d done! The soldier drew his sword and levelled it on Ikals while the other two hurried in from the bedroom. “What are you on about, boy?” Stende asked, raising one eye brow to consider Ikals’ crumpled form. “You did this,” Ikals shouted, trying unsuccessfully to rise. “You hurt him, and I’m going to hurt you!” He almost managed to stand, but the same soldier dropped him to the floor with an elbow to the back. Ikals felt his back explode. He couldn’t cry out. For a long moment, he couldn’t even breathe! “You think I did this, boy?” Stende barked incredulously, laughing out of spite. “And then what? Came back to help him live? If I wanted him or you dead, you’d both be just that.” Ikals closed his eyes. But!? “He came with an argument of thieves across the way again, so we inspected. Again!” Stende leaned on the door frame in disgust. “There’s nothing there but holes, empty broken holes. Whoever was there is long gone. The state that place is in, it should be burned but for the houses on either side, so don’t blame me for your ills!” he spat, turning on a heel. “The last thing I need or want is for that old man to stop his work.” Stende spat to one side and stepped outside. The soldiers followed, leaving Ikals to gasp and wheeze. Vision was a little shaky too, but he could still hear well enough, and he was sure he could make out Lomnes snickering to one side.

“I don’t know what you were thinking,” Lomnes was saying a few hours later. Plythe hadn’t woken up, but he was breathing, low. The doctor had come and gone, and he’d said Plythe would survive, but he’d be sore for a while. He’d given Ikals some pills for his pain before leaving. The pills numbed the pain, yes, but Ikals’ leg, side, stomach, and back still hurt a lot not long after. When each pill wore off, he was acutely reminded of the last two days. He was reminded of how stupid someone can be. Sitting in the corner of Plythe’s room between a pile of atlases and a gaudy oil lamp, Lomnes sputtered with an amused expression. “A guy like Stende doesn’t leave survivors,” he continued. “Why would he have done it? And what hope did you have against his soldiers? What were you thinking!?” Ikals glared across, the old anger back. It simmered down a second later, and he looked back to Plythe, checking the damp cloth on his forehead to make sure it wasn’t too cold. “I wasn’t thinking,” Ikals breathed, touching his own side gingerly. “Someone hurt Plythe, and he was there.” “Your favourite target,” Lomnes added. Ikals wanted to snap back at Lomnes, but he couldn’t. He was right. “Maybe. If it wasn’t him, it was someone else, and I think I know who that is.” Lomnes nodded. “I know you can’t follow me, but I have to do this. They have to pay for what they did to him.” “You never were in for violence, doing it that is.” “I can’t let them think this was alright,” Ikals countered sharply. Again, the bitterness faded as quickly as it had come. “Some things have to be. You know they’re over there, just waiting for the soldiers to leave.” “I know, and I know you’ll be outnumbered. If you go in after them, they’ll just take you apart, unless you more about your fighting than I do. What good will letting them beat you up do? What do you have against their numbers?”

Ikals smiled. “How about two days of anger, fear, and frustration and a lifetime of debt.” Lomnes allowed for a moment’s thought. “That ought to do it.” Nodding, Ikals checked the cloth again. “I’m sorry, Plythe. I have to do this.” He closed his eyes and mouthed something unspoken. Standing, he looked around. And smiling, he picked up the broom, left leaning by the door. “Let’s get some raccoons.” The trip across the street was quick. Ikals used the same route they’d just taken across, by the slanted hedges and old, gnarled rose bushes, and Ikals wound his way in behind the shop again and watched for a moment, planning his entry. There was an anger still driving him, smothering his calm. He knew he should turn back around, but Stende and his soldiers weren’t going to do anything, and he couldn’t let Plythe’s pain go unanswered. What had he done to deserve that!? How could he justify doing nothing!? He couldn’t, not this time. Not anymore. He eyed the flattened garden and scattered, wooden bits strewn about behind the house, and he looked to see where someone on watch might be hiding. The back door was tightly shut. How had Stende’s men gotten inside? Through a window? Or had they been searching the wrong house all along? Ikals shook the thought aside. It didn’t matter anymore. An odd detail. Ikals somehow, for some reason, realized Stende hadn’t had a weapon. It was odd because, why did it matter? And why did it occur to him crouched by that bush? And yet, it occurred to him that the man that was always presentable following strict procedure, dressed like he was General Stende leading a fictitious war campaign against villainous hordes. Had been unarmed.

Ikals grimaced and forced himself to focus on details that actually mattered! Second story window - Ikals decided he’d go in that way, clear out the top floor and move down; then again, starting up from below might do the same. He slumped to the ground and swore. “You can’t do it. Can you?” “I want to,” Ikals breathed. “I want to more than anything.” Lomnes nodded quietly. “And that scares you,” he suggested, peering around cautiously. “It always did, so we always did this sort of thing for you. If Plythe was here, he’d tell you to give it up. You know that.” “I know.” But he had to. “I can’t sit by and do nothing, Lomnes. That man did so much for me, for us, and what they did to him can’t be forgiven.” “I wonder. Were all of them involved? Or just one?” Ikals screwed up his face. “It matters,” Lomnes insisted. “I want to see justice too, but I think I’ve been hanging around Master Plythe and you too long because I don’t think you need to hurt all of them.” “Now you’re telling me they can be saved?” Ikals joked sourly. “Like that one downtown that you didn’t want following us?” Glancing around again, licking his teeth, Lomnes slowly exhaled. “Yes, well, there was him, but you were there to keep me from myself. If you’re taking leave of your senses, I guess I have to be the conscience this time.” Ikals considered Lomnes with interest. “What?” Lomnes asked defensively. “Nothing,” Ikals lied. “It’s just that I think death becomes you.” Lomnes sputtered for a moment before pointing at the ground. “You might want to switch up the broom for that metal pole on your way in.” Ikals was sure there were other words his friend wanted to say, but Lomnes, it seemed, was taking the high road. Either that or he was saving up his real counter for later. “And don’t get killed. If I’m tied to you, and you’re dead, that just gets twice as

confusing. And don’t try anything fancy. It’ll just make them run. Bring them to you.” “Frontal then? Not the windows or basement?” Lomnes nodded. “The door looks solid.” “It isn’t. We tied our doors the same way: lift and away. When it gets tough, push towards the door jam.” Ikals thought for a moment. They had done that. He wondered what other old tricks these thieves were using. Realizing he’d be found out anyway, he popped one of his pain pills, stood and started towards the shop. When he reached the broken counter, he switched the broom for the pole. It was iron, about five feet long, and had a nice weight. To his surprise, Lomnes was still with him, silent and hazy, but present. It made sense. Ikals could be wrong, but he thought he understood what was happening. Reaching the door, he tested it, and like Lomnes had said, it wasn’t as strongly fastened as it looked. Once released, the door flung open with a clatter that echoed through the neighbourhood. Nodding, Ikals stepped inside. He found himself inside a dingy, barren back kitchen with at least ten varieties of mushroom growing along the inside wall. There were pock-marks in the grey plaster lower down, and the vanilla flooring had been badly cracked. Footprints led further in through the grease stains and spilled, chalky food. Ikals nodded, pole in hand, and continued on his chosen path. There were stairs to the upper floor which Ikals ignored. And a small store room that was in complete shambles. The front room was in as good a shape as the kitchen. Some shelving remained, pulled back, but not completely off the walls. With what was gone, there was a fair allotment of space. Paint and paper hung where the grey plaster had been revealed. Wobbly stools were gathered to one side around a small fire. Those shoes that had made up the

fire were charred beyond salvation. It was odd to see the outlines where shoe boxes had been on display. Their outline could still be seen around the room in places. It was like the store hadn’t given up its old profession yet, no matter what its human host had in mind. Ikals stopped by the only remaining counter, jutting out from the left wall, and considered the silence. There was a soft tapping from upstairs, and it sounded like claw marks in the walls and from below. Racoons? Squirrels? Or messages? “I’m looking for the people who hurt my friend.” Ikals spoke loud enough to be heard on all floors. The stairs to the roof, he imagined, were in the wall in Leinze’s place as well, but a rope had been lowered from a hole in the ceiling. “I don’t care to bother anyone else,” he continued evenly, meaning it, “but I will defend myself.” Floor boards creaked in the back kitchen. He had to it that it honestly sounded like raccoons outside. “He didn’t hurt anyone, and you had no right to do him any harm!” Stale air. Ikals ducked and turned. The wooden board went too high and missed. The boy who’d swung kept running, and Ikals brought his foot around, tripping him up mid-run. The boy sprawled out on the floor, board clattering off to a far corner! Swivelling, Ikals blocked the metal hook from his side, kneeing the girl hard. Stepping back, he swung down and knocked the girl unconscious on the floor. He checked both: dusty brown hair and dark black. No one he knew so far. They were older, eleven or twelve. A quick check found where the wall had been pushed out. It made an effective door, and he could smell rotting jams and broken preserves from below. Closing the door, he stuck a bit of wood in it to keep it shut. “Once you give me the one who broke into my shop and hurt my friend, I’ll go,” he shouted. The smell of body odour was multiplying. They were coming in unseen, but

heard, from the kitchen. Others gathered to his left; how many cellar doors had Leinze had? They were more like raccoons than not. And the rope was jiggling, and the floor boards lifted to his right. Too simple. “There’s a code to thieving,” he said, trying to appear blind to where they were coming from. “You don’t hurt old people, and you don’t steal from people who don’t have enough for themselves, and you don’t terrorize the neighbourhood that feeds you.” “I guess we don’t know your code,” someone jeered, far off, yet near. “Get him!” The clothes’ stand, sharpened on one end, sliced the air at his ear. Ikals turned and kicked the boy back, the stand ricocheting away! The metal pole caught the boy in the head, and he dropped to one side. Pausing, in his attack, Ikals released one hand and elbowed a stray head. He then swivelled around the other attacker he’d blocked and swooped the pole around and under, taking out her legs. The youth went down and arched her back, mouth open, eyes wide! Rising, hearing the footsteps draw near, Ikals spun the pole around in a wide arch, connecting with two heads and one shoulder. The five youth, nine to ten, maybe eleven years each, who’d appeared from the floor and hall either fell or fled to the shadows. They watched him carefully, holding what looked like knives and sharpened wood. The wooden hatch he’d blocked was finally pushed open and two more climbed from within. Ikals did the count: seven with two more stirring beneath him. “Took you long enough.” Lomnes didn’t answer. He still looked a little pale, and he regarded the converging youth closely. Ikals recognized the boy with the scarred chin and hungry brown eyes from downtown. His worn, brown coat and over-sized, grey shirt were dirtier now. The boy with the short, wavy hair; fair, freckled skin; and dark eyes was there too, hiding in one of those shadows, but his clothes looked beyond repair. Four of them took another step forward, and Ikals swung the pole around again, clipping one above the ear. He stepped back and thrust low, catching an older boy in the stomach, knocking him back and down. A quick step brought the pole

around again, and Ikals considered his next words. “Is this all you’ve got!” he challenged, forcing a calm demeanour. Image, presentation, and intimidation were each and all tools and weapons. They needed to see that he didn’t mind hurting them. They needed to see that he was stronger than the person they were already following - but different, strict, yet fair, but most of all, he needed to be strong. “Out of food, low on clothes, short on manners – where will you go next!? What will you do when everyone moves? Don’t go downtown, or they’ll eat you alive.” Another child moved, and Ikals side-stepped the attack, turning and swinging across. The boy went down and rolled. Ikals closed his eyes. He wasn’t built for this. He was angry and bitter and scared. He had all the right reasons for a vendetta, but he wasn’t built for violence. He couldn’t show it. He had to appear strong. Fair he reminded himself. He was being hard and fair. That was his motivation now. He could work with that. “You need a plan,” Ikals barked, clearing his throat, “one that will feed and clothe you but not ruin your supply.” He could feel Lomnes nodding, remaining silent. “You need to organize.” “We need nothing from you,” came the voice again. A portion of wall was kicked in further down, and the red-headed teen stepped out from within. Though the younger children’s clothing, skin, and hair had fallen to dismay, this teen’s brown cape with its golden buttons was in perfect repair. His pants and shirt, blue and white, were equally impressive, and somehow, it looked like he was being very well fed. He played with a sword while he walked. The hungry eyes and anxious bodies around Ikals scurried back into shadow, some eyeing Ikals angrily, others looking around, uncertain. “You,” Ikals breathed. The teen smiled. “Lost your broom?”

Two of the youth laughed. Ikals took in more details. One button was missing. And, Ikals could be wrong, but there was a bruise on the teen’s left cheek, faded but there. This one had a master that wasn’t very pleased with something he’d done. “We’ve got our plan,” the teen spat. “We certainly don’t need you.” “Funny,” Ikals joked, “but you seem to be the only one prospering from this plan of yours. What about them? What do they get from your deal?” “Whatever they want.” The teen settled dark eyes on Ikals. “We share with those who succeed. Jolki got some extra food today, thanks to his work in the lines. Yesterday, it was Rethlen. Work hard and be rewarded. Do badly and die. That’s life!” Work in the lines? Ikals found the irony too open, too easy. “As my mentor was fond of pointing out, that’s a life untended. That’s a life where only a few survive, and those few never survive for long because there’s always someone bigger who cuts them out.” “We’ve got a sponsor,” the teen teased with a sneer. There were nods and smiles, but there were averted eyes as well. “We don’t need you!” the teen repeated. “You weren’t supposed to die, but accidents happen.” Ikals caught that one. He wasn’t supposed to die? “Who hurt Plythe?” The question was a threat, and the teen unconsciously stepped back. “The old man didn’t want to play,” the teen growled. “But don’t worry,” he added distastefully. “We have our orders. Now, let’s get down to it.” Ikals cracked his neck, then, nodded. “And when I beat your ass,” he said, sneering, “things are going to change.” The teen laughed, but Ikals just sighed. “You’re gone for one,” he groaned, “and these kids are going to learn how to do things right.” “And you think you can do it?” came the counter.

In the background, Lomnes echoed the sentiment. Ikals ignored both. “He knows tunnels under the town,” Jolki, scarred chin, hungry brown eyes, muttered from the side. The teen turned on the boy with a vicious glare, and Jolki shrunk further back. “I know a lot more than that,” Ikals insisted, smiling at the irony. “I was a thief once, growing up on these streets, after my parents died.” More nods and averted eyes. “I’ll show you what I know. I’ll start with you.” The teen grinned nastily. He made a cross-cut between them and drew a knife from behind his back. “Go ahead and try it.” The teen came at him with a downward stroke of his sword. Ikals blocked it and kicked out. The teen turned and swung across the chest. Jumping back, Ikals evaded the attack, stepping in with a jab. The teen turned past and along the pole, swinging again. While Ikals ducked the sword, the knife came up, nearly sticking him through! Ikals switched sides on the pole and back handed the teen to one side. The sword came up and around as the teen peeled away, taking a few strands of Ikals’ hair. The pole fell to waist height, and Ikals pressed on, jabbing the teen at the hip and head. Their watchers split as the teen collided with the wall and fell, hissing, to his knees. Ikals, breathing hard, made sure none of them were going to turn on him and stepped back to the centre of the room. Even with his latest pain pill, his ankle was sore. The leg throbbed where some glass had cut him, and his stomach and back were crying out in pain! Taking in a steadying breath, he swallowed and shook it off. “A sword doesn’t make you big,” Ikals near spat. “I don’t know about that,” Lomnes chided, circling behind him. The youth he ed through nearly curled up and pushed back from where he walked. “His left leg is sore. Use that.” Ikals nodded. “Recognize that blade?” Again, a sour taste rising, Ikals nodded.

The teen stood and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “You’re going to pay for that!” The sword struck from the left, knife held ready. The blade was blocked, and another strike spun from the right. Screaming angrily, the teen shifted his footing and thrust in. Ikals turned from the attack, placing his left foot as an anchor. The pole came around and took out the youth’s legs. Before he could land, the sword falling from his grip, the teen turned, and Ikals stepped around, kicking up with his left leg. The teen flew from the mid-air kick and bounced off of the remaining counter, skidding and rolling with the sound of a knife, scattering across the floor behind him! He came to stop against the opposite wall, face down and groaning softly! Ikals checked his shirt and skin. HIs shirt was cut, but there wasn’t any blood, and his body was still very sore, but he’d live. Ikals considered the youth around him carefully. They weren’t g up to be on his side, and he didn’t blame them. For all they knew, he was just like their disgraced leader, and survival required sacrifices. “If you want to keep following him,” Ikals said, motioning to the teen where he lay, trying to rise, “then go ahead, but don’t come near our shop again.” He made sure to label his tone with as much malice as he could. It seemed to be working. “But if you want another way of getting by and getting food, get rid of him, and we’ll talk.” Ikals scooped up the sword on his way out, collecting the teen’s knife as well. He leaned the pipe against the wall, and he left the way he’d come.

Chapter Twelve Allegiances

“What are they doing now?” Ikals smiled. “Watching us.” Lomnes nodded, then, laughed. “I can’t believe they actually turned that one out. I’ve never seen someone run so fast, and with such a limp.” Ikals stepped back from the telescope. “I feel bad for doing it, Lomnes. I know it had to be done, I guess, though Plythe would have turned the other cheek. But it won’t stop because you don’t face it. I still feel bad. I mean, that kid was just doing what he knew. I can’t blame him.” “Not his reasons,” Lomnes agreed, “but his methods needed correction, and you teach well, better than I ever expected. Where did you learn to fight like that anyway?” “Watching you.” Lomnes smiled. He took a moment to stand and look out over the neighbourhood. “Your conscience will be your undoing,” he finally noted, “but I think that was what Master Plythe saw in you that day.” Ikals nodded. “Always back to that day,” he said. “Isn’t it funny how one day can change you? And become the focal point of your whole life.” Lomnes nodded pensively. He looked up and frowned. Looking up himself, Ikals smiled. “Did you ever figure out if the birds can see you yet?” Three Etis and one morthdul circled above. Lomnes licked his teeth. “I think they can, somewhat,” he replied, “but I don’t think they see me like you do. I think it’s more like Master Plythe hearing raccoon scratching instead of my voice and footfalls. I think they sense something is standing here and want to know what it is. Did you ever figure out why I couldn’t could go in Leinze’s? I’m still stuck on that one.”

“I hadn’t been there before.” Lomnes’ exhale was exaggerated. “What!?” he barked, offering a bewildered expression. “What does that have to do with it? I was there. I bought shoes there.” “But I didn’t. I never went in there. I think Plythe bought me a few pair from him, but I got my shoes closer to downtown. Leinze always charged too much. It seems that you’re tied to me,” Ikals explained, figuring he was right. “And if I haven’t been somewhere, you can’t go there. Until I get there.” Lomnes seemed like a statue before shaking it off. “That sucks!” he managed. “You clearly don’t get out enough.” Ikals couldn’t help but laugh. “Clearly,” he agreed. “Here comes the guest of honour. We should get downstairs for the show.” Lomnes followed his friend’s finger and noted the soldiers and Stende riding down the street, coming their way. “It’s time to earn our keep,” Ikals added. He felt his side and shook his head. “If you want to help out, don’t hold back. Alright?” “You were doing fine on your own.” Ikals reached the hatch and turned, frowning heavily. “He nearly gutted me. How is that doing fine?” “You’ll live.” A heavy sigh and roll of the eyes, Ikals started down, closing the hatch after him. They’d searched out the walls and foundation. There weren’t any holes or tunnels in the Press. Still, there was a chance, Ikals mused, that there actually were raccoons or squirrels about, and he kept an eye out for any signs of them as he descended. So far, so good. Reaching the bottom, he stepped out and quickly closed the door. The usual clutter was put back into its place, and the hallway looked like it always had. Nodding, he limped down the front room, and sat in a chair by his bedroom door. Plythe was there, sitting quietly by the window. His bandages needed changing, and he sat on a horrible slant. He looked so old. Ikals couldn’t help but wipe his eyes. He couldn’t handle seeing Plythe like this.

As if he’d read Ikals’ mind, Plythe glanced over. “I’ll be fine,” he whispered hoarsely. “You just sit there and let me do the talking.” The finger came up to stop Ikals’ pleas. “Let me do this,” Plythe repeated. “You’ve done quite enough already. This is my fight now.” The door, repaired somewhat, burst inward, and Stende strode in, looking around distastefully. Most of his soldiers remained outside. Ikals recognized the three that came in with him. “You wished to speak to me,” Stende groaned, turning to face Plythe. “I take it you’ve finished then?” he added with a mocking smile. Plythe shook his head. “We’re behind actually.” Stende’s upper lip curled, and his lower jaw extended. “Then why aren’t you working?” he snapped. “Your lackey attacks me, and you bother me with no good reason! I have better things to do, old man, than stand here being insulted.” Plythe nodded and bent, revealing a hidden compartment under the chair. From the loose floorboard, he drew the sword Ikals had taken from the teen and sat back again, stabbing it into the floor beside his right foot. “I actually called you here,” Plythe said, pausing to steady his breathing, “because I thought you’d want your sword back.” Stende, to Ikals’ surprise, went silent For a few seconds. “I’ve never seen it before. Should I have?” Before answering, Plythe cast Ikals a troubled expression. Ikals knew that look. He didn’t like what he was doing, but Plythe did return his attention to Stende and sat as straight as he could. “Because it’s one of yours,” the old man replied, gesturing to the handle. And to Stende’s militaristic garb. “It has your mark on the guard.” Stende laughed and took the sword up, inspecting the underside of the guard. “So it has. Where did you get it from?” “A youth, a teenager who’s been causing trouble in the neighbourhood.” Stende

smiled wide, yet stiff. Ikals was sure he felt the man’s eyes on him. “A thief no doubt,” Stende joked. “He was smart enough to steal it from one of my men, no doubt.” “Doubt,” Plythe countered gently. Stende’s eye lids drew closer together. “I defended you,” Plythe continued, “but with this news, I don’t see how I can anymore.” “I’m so hurt.” “You will be if it gets out,” Plythe assured him. “You see,” he said before Stende could counter, “the youth didn’t steal the sword. You gave it to him as payment so he’d lead a group of runaways and homeless for you, so you could have the chaos you so desired.” “Men have died for suggesting less,” Stende hissed. Nodding, Plythe shrugged. “I’m sure they have, but I have the kids your lackey was leading, and they’re more than willing to tell everyone what you’ve been up to.” Stende was slowly grinding his heel into the floor. The soldiers didn’t look like they knew what to do. “If any of them go to the collective faiths,” Plythe added, scratching his left cheek, “you’re finished, Stende, and you know it.” “You’ve no idea what I’m doing, old man!” “Oh, yes I do, actually.” The chair groaned under Plythe’s weight. “The town’s in chaos, and you need order, but you can’t just out the food normally, and everyone can’t get the food they need. If you did that, the old power structure would return, and it was shaky for you before. And the faiths have gained strength through all this.” “If we regain balance,” Stende spat, not attempting to conceal his contempt, “they’ll start their religious wars again, and Atvian will be a battle ground like so much else of this world. Atvian will tear itself apart at the seams!” “And you’ll lose control,” Plythe conceded, “but to cause riots and destroy store fronts to meet your ends is just plain wrong, Stende. To use children as your soldiers is even worse.”

“I’ll do what I have to.” “Not anymore you won’t.” Stende stepped in close and looked to the sword in his hand. Ikals wanted to attack, but Plythe waved him off. “If I die, Stende, your secret gets out, and the faiths and your own council, through your own soldiers, will kill you.” The man eyed the soldiers suspiciously. “I have some changes for you, Stende.” “I’ve never seen a person’s face turn that red before,” Lomnes whispered behind Ikals, leaning in the doorway to his room. Neither had Ikals. Plythe ignored the sputtered attempts at speech. “Wagons,” he explained. “Wagons,” Stende blurted, turning and attacking the threader with a wide slash. The metal sparked, and Plythe nodded. “Yes. The food can be delivered, street by street on wagons, ed out under guard, protected the whole way.” “I need those men to guard my house,” Stende breathed angrily, turning back and glowering down upon Plythe. The old man simply smiled. “For some extra food, I know some of the town’s youth that will scout and work hard to keep the wagons safe. They’ve already agreed to help out in fact, and they know some secret ways someone can come at you. At least, they will soon. They’ll be more valuable to you than any soldier ever could.” “You’ve no idea what you’re doing!” Stende pointed the sword. “You’re killing yourself asking me to do this. There are towns engulfed in flames out there, and you’d have me do the same here!” Plythe shook his head, and Stende stood still, bitter eyes trained on his adversary. Ikals expected him to run Plythe through, but instead, Stende turned to the door and laughed. “Sleep tight,” was all he said. Ikals followed the soldiers out, closing the door after them. “I want you to go too.”

“What!?” Ikals asked, taken aback by the mere thought. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to fight him, but!” Plythe shook his head. “I’ve been holding you back, lad. I’m old, and I’ll get better from all this, but there isn’t much future here.” Sad eyes fell to wrinkled hands. “You have your dreams and destiny, and you owe it to yourself to find them.” “I won’t leave you.” Tears were falling, and Ikals made no attempt to stop them or wipe them clean. Plythe smiled. “I’ll miss you too, but think of you arches and runes. And those people. They’re waiting for you to start your journey, lad. They’re signs of a prophecy. You’re destined to do something great. Our world is dying, and it’s calling you, and prophecies are best handled in good time. Waiting never helped anyone.” Ikals hung his head. “I know you feel you need to be here, Ikals, and I love having you here with me, but there’s something greater out there for you. I can feel it. In truth, I’ve known it all along, but I was afraid of this moment too,” Plythe confided guiltily. “Don’t worry about your new flock,” he insisted before Ikals could ask what his mentor meant. “I’ll see to it they’re taken care of, and don’t worry about Stende. I can handle him. When I finish his texts, he might not offer me more work, but life goes on.” “You can’t ….” “I can,” Plythe insisted. He stood, albeit shakily and rested a hand on Ikals’ shoulder. “I don’t like his methods, but we need stability, and until we have someone better, he’s all we’ve got, so I’ll work to build the man up.” Ikals nodded, wiping his eyes. “And I’m not sending you away to stay. I expect you to return.” For Ikals, like it had been when he’d realized Lomnes was dead, it felt like his voice and breath were being smothered. It was like all strength was gone from his arms and legs, and he was just propped up on air. He was worried that air

would give at one point, and he’d just fall to pieces, unable to ever rise again! “I want you to find your library, and yes, legends tell it was built.” Plythe patted Ikals’ cheek. “I’ve been doing my research, you see, and apparently, according to layers of myth and legend, the world built one shared library before the Faith fell into in-fighting, before the fires and calamity that shook our society. There’s no mention that library ever fell to flame, and if I were the Faith, I’d brag about such a feat or be making it my headquarters, and we don’t have either.” “But,” Ikals tried. Plythe shook his head and took Ikals by both shoulders. “You’ve ed me all these years, lad. It’s my turn do this for you. We both need to accept that you’re meant for something bigger.” But could he? A voice told Ikals he had to. And he wanted to. But his fractured mind told him he’d never make it alone. His heart wasn’t even beating. He could feel it breaking, but he couldn’t feel its beat in his chest. “I want you to find what you’re looking for,” Plythe urged. “I want you to live and come up with your own stories to tell when you get old, and don’t worry about help. They’re there. Those people you’ve been seeing – I’m sure they’ll be there to help you along. That’s usually what it means when they watch, if not guard you.” Ikals hadn’t considered it that way. “They’ve kept your mind safe from all the recent dead. Haven’t they?” Plythe asked. “Trust them. Trust yourself.” “I’ll be back.” A whisper, barely audible. Plythe nodded sadly. “And I’ll look forward to it, lad, with all my heart.” Plythe took Ikals into a hug and patted his back. “Just take care of yourself out there, and don’t let that blasted squirrel lead you astray. Hear me?” Ikals’ eyes went wide. Sitting in the background, Lomnes looked up, shocked. Stepping back, Ikals shook his head. “You knew?” “I did. I suspected. With what you told me and how you’ve been talking to yourself lately, who else would he haunt but you? Could even death keep the two of you apart?” Plythe joked. “Not likely. He’s a good young man, but he’s

impetuous. Together, you’re strong. Don’t forget that.” “I won’t forget,” Ikals breathed. His arms and legs felt like lead, and he swore his heart wasn’t beating. Wiping his eyes again, he shook his head. Plythe took him by the shoulders and led him back towards the hallway. “I have my old pack in here somewhere, and I have maps. We’ll plan this together, including that return trip. I have a friend you can visit on the way to refill your reserves. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten like you’ll have to on the road. You’ll have to adjust again. Did I ever tell about when I thought I’d left home for good?” “Yes,” Ikals whispered half-heartedly. Lomnes nodded. “Three days in the bogs, falling in three times,” Lomnes added. Plythe shrugged. “I was gone three days, falling in three times,” the old man said, Ikals and Lomnes smiling, “and it wasn’t until I hit that first stretch of solid land that I knew where I was, and I went home as quickly as I could.” He knelt to route through a top box. “They’d changed the locks, of course,” he added with a frown, “just to make a point.” “I didn’t think they locked stables,” Lomnes noted quietly. “Weren’t they all open-air back then?” Ikals nodded, but he didn’t interrupt. He let Plythe talk, however inaccurate the story was. He wanted to hear the man speak. He needed to memorize that voice. He didn’t want to consider a life outside of the Press and Atvian, but it was true that something was drawing him out. There was something he was supposed to do. And he’d have to leave to get there. How come the first steps were this difficult? “Ah, here it is,” Plythe said, standing from his third box with a battered, black, metal pack in hand. “The bag needs to be repaired, and the straps are weak, but we can fix that. There isn’t much food. We’ll scrounge what we can.” “I can get some on the way out,” Ikals insisted, both hating and loving the words. “You’re sure you’re going to be alright here? You’ve seen better days!”

Plythe laughed. “I have, but this way, I can collect new stories you don’t know yet. We can swap.” Ikals found a smile at that. The old man patted his shoulder and started off again. “My sewing kit is in my room. The extra straps are upstairs, under the table. How about you get those for me?” Ikals nodded and slowly ascended the stairs. He stopped to watch Plythe for a moment fiddling through some boxes on a far shelf. The straps were where Plythe had said they’d be. Why they were there Ikals didn’t know. He didn’t really care either. Ikals told himself he wouldn’t be long, and Plythe would have a dozen new children to take care of now. A dozen thieves to take care of him in return, and none of them had heard his stories before, so his mentor would be back in his hay day. But that made none of this any easier.

Chapter Thirteen Departures

“I’m sure he’s fine.” The town of Atvian was just a silhouette between the Tanss mountains, the Kinov towers, and the plains. From their position on a rocky outcrop, a hundred or so feet from what looked to be a forest with no end, Ikals could make out a few fires in town, but there were no finer details anymore. The earth had shaken some more. He’d felt it. Lomnes had turned anxiously like a wind had picked up, but had known no tremor. But Ikals had actually felt it. What had the quake done back home? They were only a day out, almost, and he couldn’t make out where the Press was anymore. He had no idea how Plythe was doing, and he felt so bad knowing that! “We have to go back,” he whispered. Ikals couldn’t help but play with the necklace in his pocket. They were two silver gears used as pendants to a duller, more common chain, one that had apparently belonged to Plythe’s father. These gears were a little larger than anything Tangue had shared, and they were etched upon. There was some kind of small faint writing engraved into them that Ikals couldn’t make out. This work hadn’t been done recently. Plythe had insisted Ikals take the necklace, to him. He’d glanced to the oval table and his gear project with a resigned expression. And nodded more confidently. And, this part had truly puzzled Ikals. And he’d said that he hoped Ikals could solve and understand what he’d spent half a lifetime trying to figure out. He’d also ed Ikals a small blue hard cover book of poetry and bade Ikals to do him proud.

Lomnes, pacing off to a side, shook his head. “He wanted you to come here, and you needed to come. Those brats can take care of him, and we know he can manage a child well enough.” He tried an air punch, but Ikals’ mood had it held partway. “Come on,” Lomnes urged, “we’re here. We’re finally free!” A wobbled head. “Well,” he groaned, clearing his throat, “you’re free. I feel somewhat leathery and can’t breathe right, but I’ll make it through. Where are we headed again?” Lomnes rambled on in anxious manner. “Where are those people that have been haunting your steps? Are you sure we can trust them?” Ikals couldn’t help but figure they were an odd pair for a quest: a hero who didn’t want to leave home, but knew he … should? And the spirit of his dead friend who was anxious enough for ten of them about leaving but, almost out of the blue, claimed he couldn’t have remained a moment longer. With no clear quest to mention. Ikals couldn’t skip that rather important point. “No, I don’t know they’ll help us, but Plythe thinks they’re trustworthy, and there are the dreams.” Ikals rubbed the bridge of his nose before pointing to the west. “That rise in the land, marked by those twin peaks,” he said, nodding like he was speaking to a child, adding a smile for added effect, “leads to Tahee Llom Gorge.” He didn’t mention, ‘through that dense forest’ because he was trying to avoid thinking on that one. He’d been on nature walks, just never this close. And that forest did look like it never ended – which just terrified him a little more than he felt comfortable itting. Lomnes, if he noticed Ikals’ mockery, ignored it. On the mention of Tahee Llom, he crossed his arms and tapped one side of his lips. “Can we go there?” he asked with a grin. “With all this shaking, a gorge isn’t the place to go. It’ll be Tahee Llom Valley by now.” Lomnes shrugged, and Ikals studied the folded map Plythe had encased in clear film for him. “South west, according to this map, leads to Imol Alo and, past that, to Elimn.”

“What are they?” “Places. Apparently Plythe and his father used to trade with Imol Alo, but he went on about prices and stock, not anything very helpful.” Ikals turned the map a few different ways to make sure it was right-side up. “There are no details to this thing, so I don’t know where the rivers and lakes and gorges are really. Will we hit a swamp on the way?” he wondered out loud. “I never thought to ask about all that.” “And you’re reading it right?” Lomnes’ smile was exaggerated. Sighing, Ikals shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve had as much experience out here as you at this point.” With Lomnes stretching out his legs, Ikals looked back towards town again. There was still so much sadness in thinking about what he’d left and at the state he’d left it in. What if the thieves didn’t listen to Plythe? What if that teen returned and killed him this time!? He so wanted to run back home. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t just that he felt pulled out to do something better. It certainly wasn’t just that Plythe had told him to leave, though the man’s word did mean a lot to Ikals. It was also that he did want this adventure. He did want to see the world. And he really wasn’t planning on being gone long. He was coming back to share his stories with Plythe. He vowed that much! But to return, he had to leave, so with a heavy heart, he turned from the town yet again, fearing it might be his last goodbye. He hung Plythe’s gear necklace around his neck, tucked those gears inside his shirt. And walked on. On towards that forest he couldn’t escape because he’d have to go through it to get anywhere else. “Better not be bears in there,” he grumbled, “or I’m turning back.” “If they give you the chance,” Lomnes joked, fading in and out before vanishing, his words becoming a distorted mumble, then fading as well.

The fact that Lomnes couldn’t be anywhere Ikals hadn’t already been meant Ikals was alone for the most part. It had only been a day like this. What was it going to be like for a soltie? For longer? Ikals shuddered at the thought! He pulled out the blue hard cover book Plythe had given him and carefully leafed through it as he walked. The font and ink were completely new to him, and the typeset and quality of paper was old. With the way the paper was glued to the inside of the cover and by the silky string used to mat that glue down, Ikals figured it was at least a century old, but with no author or date, he couldn’t pin it down any better. And the poetry itself was really strange. Most of it was just a collection of words. “Pine, Cherry, Spring, River.” A lot of them were like that. Some of them were just a list running down the page. Others had the words in the corners of a non-existent square. He was really starting to wonder why Plythe had felt this book would help him on his trip! “I went for a walk today,” he read, rambling along. “It was a lovely walk, so some would say. It was better than the walk I had yesterday. But not as nice as that of tomorrow.” He frowned. At least that one had kind of rhymed. The hours stretched on, and the suns shifted in the sky. The dimmest of the three was above now, so the world was a lot more foreboding than he liked. And it was approaching end of day, so he was naturally yawning more than was helpful. As Ikals saw it, one moment it was near midday, with his stomach growling, and the next, he could see stars against the soft grey sky! The air got so chill that he had to hug himself for warmth, but he couldn’t stop out in the open. The cold would kill before he woke, his body picked apart by the winds that picked up, tunnelled it seemed by those tall mounts. Even now, his hair and

clothes were rifled, and cold swept down to chill his spine! He fished out a jacket Plythe had loaned him. It was some kind of tan leather, and it had a beige lining and a hood. He decided to put it to use! As he reached that forest at last, and stared in between those tall trees with their patchy bark and bristling branches, shadows shifting uneasily beneath those boughs, he realized he wasn’t any safer in there. But he’d be warmer. Which would be a sour win for a tooth-gnarled corpse! Grumbling about his horrible choices and wondering yet again why he was doing this, and if dreams really were this powerful, he grimaced and struck forth. He hiked hesitantly several feet in, then a few more. Worrying over the coming dark, and turned off by a rather foul urine smell, he circled back to the open plain, then, catching sight of some colour, pushed his way through thick brambles and between spindly stalks. He came out into a fair-sized clearing with purple thistles and dropped to his knees. With all his body had been put through of late, as aching and exhausted as he was from so much hiking on his first day, he didn’t collapse, but he was damn sure he’d sleep well when sleep finally did take him!

Chapter Fourteen Fate

Facing a dead fire pit, subconsciously massaging sore feet, Ikals picked up his journal. It was mix of moon and dim sunlight, with an added cloud cover, so the pictures were hard to make out, but he was trying to stay awake as long as he could. There the arch was, traced over again and again. The runes were there too, pointless symbols in all likelihood, but they called to him as much as the woman in his dreams. And that library that just might really exist. Same old questions: what if the people had been stalking, not guarding him? What if the dreams weren’t prophecy, and he’d just die in the wilds, eaten by wolves? He couldn’t stay awake forever! “Some more fish?” Lomnes asked. Ikals shuddered. “Eat. You need your strength.” “Yes mother.” “And don’t forget to make you bed.” Lomnes had delivered the line with a straight face. The birds were circling again, and he was now staring straight up. “I need a bow to kill those things,” he mumbled. “They’re really starting to get to me. Correction: you need a bow.” Ikals itted that hungry or not he did need to eat. “How about some bread,” he suggested. Abandoning his aching feet for the moment, Ikals pulled his pack to him. A bed roll and rain jacket had been tied on top, and the main and side pouches were filled with food, but they required cooking.

Which would require a fire. The fish, a joke he was hoping, was wrapped beside everything else. He just hoped the fish wasn’t tainting everything else with its foul taste and worse smell. “I could throw the stupid fish out,” he offered. “It might take them off your trail.” “I’m not eating,” Lomnes mumbled, “and it wouldn’t work for long.” Ikals sneered: lucky him. He sifted through the roots, vegetables, meat, and fruits, dried and otherwise. They were all pre-wrapped by Plythe’s steady hand, double-wrapped in some cases. It wasn’t much, and it had to be rationed. It wasn’t the first time he’d be eating a little when he wanted a lot. It was just that he wanted a lot. He wanted a lot of things he couldn’t have, and food always made him feel better. He stored the blue hard cover book and his journal in a pair of inside pockets of Plythe’s jacket. He’d been wondering what he’d use them for, and this kept both of them close. He returned to his quest for food. “We’d better hit farmland soon,” Ikals mused, shivering fitfully. He bit down on some dried gelrip. “Or I’ll starve to death before I get anywhere.” Eyes returned the lifeless fire pit again, massaging his left foot some more. “I could try again I suppose - before I freeze to death.” The jacket’s lining only did so much for warmth. “Sure,” Lomnes joked, “it’ll take my mind off that howling.” Ikals offered Lomnes a scowl before conceding the point. He’d been working on ignoring the howls. And he’d been doing quite well. It rose and fell in choruses, from two directions. They might be coyotes or wolves. He didn’t want to meet either. “I don’t like wolves,” Ikals noted uneasily. He turned his pack around and made sure the long knife Plythe had found for him was within reach. “Why do they

need to be out here? Can’t they find a good home somewhere else?” Lomnes thought for a long moment. “No,” he finally replied. “That took too much thought.” “I know.” Ikals smiled, then, cringed. “What if his friend moved? What if there isn’t a farm waiting for me to restock? What if it’s there but the man doesn’t Plythe? And I’m sitting here, hoping something like a spirit finds me to tell me where to go to find some mythical library that shouldn’t exist. I’m beginning to feel like a fool, Lomnes.” Lomnes smiled, shrugging innocently to Ikals’ followup glare. “You could argue.” “I could,” Lomnes agreed, “but what fun would there be in that? What if they’re jaderr or kilvat? They live in these woods too.” Ikals opened the wrapping a little more and pull out some more dried gelrip, and he massaged his foot further, thinking, ever thinking, and then cursing himself for thinking too much! “I don’t like wolves, kilvat, jaderr, or kilvat,” he proclaimed. “They don’t like you much either.” Lomnes looked around sharply, stepping back from the campsite a little and crouching. Ikals just froze, pulling the meat from his mouth. Wavy, brown hair; black, suede jacket; smooth, blue shirt; black, leather pants; and shiny, black shoes – he was standing there where no one had been before, and Ikals had no clue what to do! Someone had finally come, but what if they were wrong, and he wasn’t there to help at all? A sword hung, sheathed, at his back with red images painted on its hilt. The blade otherwise had a black handle and long blade. He carried it like he knew how to use it too. Ikals tried to avoid looking at it or the dagger set above his right hip. The sword hadn’t been there for this man when he’d seen him in town. Ikals was sure of that!

What should he say to the dead? After so many years, Ikals still wasn’t sure. No spirit had even been clear on that point either! If this man was dead. “Who are you?” Ikals ventured, falling on the old staples. “What do you want?” “The Lord someone?” Lomnes breathed, still looking around anxiously. Ikals nodded as subtly as he could. “I’d say to share your fire, but I don’t suppose that’ll do me any good.” Ikals considered the fire pit again and averted his gaze. “How about some conversation instead?” “Who are you?” Ikals repeated, stiffly, drawing the long knife from where it sat on his pack. “What are you?” he added, guarded. “I’m a traveller,” the man explained. “Call me Ethan. Most people do these days, and I was a Lord, but that was another life time.” He glanced smoothly to and from Lomnes. “Can you use that thing?” Ethan asked before either Ikals or Lomnes could interrupt, motioning to the knife Ikals now held. The howling around them rose, then, fell again. To nothing. “It won’t do much if they find you, not if you can’t properly wield it.” Ikals grimaced. It certainly wouldn’t do anything against this visitor, so he sheathed it again and shook his head. “You’re late,” Ethan continued evenly. “It’ll make things difficult. The path will be more perilous for you, and your skills are minimal. You even took the wrong road out. It took me too long to find you.” “The path to what?” Lomnes demanded. Ethan smiled warmly, then, looked around, distracted by the wind. “The library,” Ikals added quietly. “Yes,” Ethan replied, nodding slightly. Ikals felt elation that he’d been right, that this quest was a quest and not a pointless hike to his death, but he couldn’t show that much. He was too scared to know what to properly say and do, so he maintained the safer, quiet demeanour,

unsure if even that was best. “You need to find the library. From there, you’ll find her. At that point, things can be explained. Can I sit?” Ikals sighed. Did he have a choice? He gestured the stones he’d managed to set around the would-be fire, and Ethan bowed his head, taking a seat and crossing his legs. “The obvious questions?” he teased. Ikals attempted a smile. It came out rather awkward. “Do I need to ask them?” Ethan smiled smartly. “Not really. We’ve been watching you, and I think I can guess what you want to know. You’re sane, and I am dead, like the others, like your friend there.” “Ask more,” Lomnes breathed, moving in behind Ikals. “Why can’t I see him!?” “You haven’t ed yet,” Ethan replied, drawing a small silver box from his belt. He took a striker and flint from within and glanced upwards, judging the wind. “There should really be a wind breaker,” he suggested, “but this will have to do for now. We’ll teach you how to pick a better campsite.” He struck the flint, and sparks flew. Two more strikes, and the wood had caught. It was more smoke than flame with the wind near blowing it out. “Wrong wood too,” Ethan rued. “This will burn up too quickly and leave you nothing but ash. You’ve much to learn.” “What do you mean that he hasn’t ed?” Ikals blurted. “Why don’t I get sick to my stomach near you, like I do with other spirits?” Spirits had always left Ikals feeling sick, and with a pulsing headache! A month back, a year? It had been changing for a while he supposed. The spirits had kept showing, but less so, and they’d stopped bothering his head, and his stomach hadn’t reacted at all. He’d been staying with Plythe a while by then, but he didn’t think that had anything to do with it. At least, he wasn’t sure how the Press or Plythe would be involved. Leaving Atvian, it had felt like he’d been stepping from a bubble, like he’d stepped through, or was it from, a safety zone into somewhere more normal. Did that mean the more sickening, normal visitations would start again? If he could figure out what he’d found in Atvian, at Plythe’s shop maybe, he could avoid a lot of discomfort to come!

“And if you’re dead, how can you start fires?” Ikals added eagerly. Ikals felt an excitement growing. This man knew what was going on. He had the answers he needed, and he was finally sitting right in front of him! Fear was fading. It was transforming, and the mind was opening up. “I am dead,” Ethan replied evenly, “but we’ve found a way to return here to help you, while retaining some manner of physical form. That process is why my presence doesn’t affect you as it would with others. As for your friend, he hasn’t ed beyond, to the Auswix Chaz, so he won’t have a sense of those who have, and his bond with you negates the same sickly feelings.” Ikals hadn’t actually wondered why Lomnes’ presence hadn’t been bothering him. He’d just accepted it as such. “On second thought,” Ethan mumbled, “these skills can wait. We should set you up with a proper campsite first. After that, when I return, or one of the others, we can work on fire lighting, hunting, and the rest. You’ll need them all if you’re to survive the trip.” “I thought you were here to help me?” They weren’t going to stay with him!? “I am here to help,” Ethan replied, “and the others will in their own way. Oh, don’t let my brother show you sword work. He’s not as good as he thinks, and no matter what he’ll tell you, that’s not a skill you need for this. He just won’t listen to reason.” He shook his head sadly. “He never really did listen. We’re here to help you help yourself. Consider us as guides, not caretakers, and things will make more sense.” “What about her?” Ikals asked. There was such a hunger for answers! “Will she be here to help me?” Ethan leaned forward, using one stick to adjust another, keeping the low fire alight. Ikals found himself leaning in to feel the heat. It helped, a little. “She’s always been there for you,” Ethan answered, “and of course, she’ll be here now, but will she be walking out in human form to help you? No,” he chuckled. “That’s not her way.”

“Who is she?” Lomnes asked. “Can we know that much?” Ikals had been working on a theory since that meeting in the town square with Plythe, from watching the Faith run their ceremony with the food offerings. “Millosai,” he wagered, Ethan bowing his head. Lomnes closed his eyes, and Ikals smiled. So the Faith had actually gotten something right? “So she’s really real?” “Oh, she’s real, and she’s waiting if you’re ready, if you can make the trip. How about we have a look around? Out here, the wolves will find you, but there are trees in this area that they don’t like the smell of. For now, they’re your best bet. There are other tricks we might use, later. First though, the trees. This used to be a Trilopi Grove. Did you know that?” “No,” Ikals replied honestly enough. He copied text for a living. How would he know about forest groves? “They’re great trees, but they’ve all died out, or been cut down in this area.” The fire flickered badly and nearly died. The wind let up, and Ikals, shivering, watching his breath, fed the fire some more dry grass he’d found. “I’m not even sure there are any left actually,” Ethan mused, shrugging. “The world’s changed a lot since my time.” Lomnes moved between them, bending to one knee. “What’s it like in the, what did you call it?” he asked. Ethan adjusted the wood. “The Auswix Chaz, the Spirit World, where all things go when they die,” he explained. The flames had gone under the new fuel. And the grass pretty much just made more smoke, but Ikals could still feel warmth, so he wasn’t complaining. “Let’s see what you have around here,” Ethan insisted, looking back to Ikals, then, standing. Ikals nodded slowly. He stuffed his loose shoe back on and followed the man from the pit. Lomnes, mouthing words that weren’t coming, was only a foot behind Ikals. “You’ve picked a good area if nothing else.” They walked out into the low brush, then, pushed on into the thin forest beyond.

The forest had felt a lot tighter when Ikals had been fumbling through it alone, but now that he had two companions, it felt a lot more spacious! Animals, squirrels and birds, fled from them. Spiders in their lace-like webs just watched as they wove their way past. “These here are Lomthan Trees,” Ethan explained, pointing to their right. “Their sap gets under their paws, wolves, jaderr, whatever, in between their claws, and they don’t like that. You can see it there on the leaves and along the branches.” Ikals could kind of make out the outline of sap. Sort of. The forest canopy did make a dimly lit sky even shadier. “All things but me,” Lomnes whispered sourly. Ikals considered his friend for a moment before glancing back around. “I can see it alright,” he lied. If what he was seeing was sap, in their diminished light, then the sap pretty much coated the tree in its entirety. “I don’t want to touch it any more than they do.” That was honest enough. “Why didn’t I ?” Lomnes demanded. “You’ll make it there,” Ethan called back, already looking for more trees. “The almost-mouldy smell can be rather annoying. These here trees are Killsor. They’re distant cousins of a sort, similar enough, but not. You can recognize them by the three points on the leaves and how brittle the stems are. They burn well, and their roots, if you can get at them, are good to boil. They do taste as bad as Lomthan smells though, just to warn you.” Ethan knelt and looked ahead, between the trees. He pushed on. Ikals couldn’t help but think about the fire they’d left behind. And how he had to stuff his hands into his sleeves and keep those hands in his armpits for warmth! Couldn’t Ethan come back in a few hours and do this, with new fire!? “But what’s it like there?” Lomnes pressed. He brushed past Ikals, through the branches and around the trees. “What happens in the, the Auswix Chaz?” “What about the fire?” Ikals asked, looking at Lomnes irritably. “Even with what’s apparently easy burning wood,” he grumbled, “the wood doesn’t want to light for me.”

“There will be time for that.” Ethan stopped as the ground dipped into an earthen wrinkle. The wrinkle rolled down ten feet before rising on with further forest. “What the Auswix Chaz is like is different for each person. It depends on how you’ve lived and if you the Trial of Millosai. Everyone ends up there. How you end up and where and how you live in the life beyond depends on you, your life, your actions.” Seemingly satisfied he’d covered all the details, Ethan motioned to a grove of light green trees a hundred feet down the next grade. “Those over there will be good if it rains,” he noted. To Ikals, the way those trees huddled in close, with the others trees leaning out, it was like the others were scared of them, or they were scared of the others. “Where will I end up?” Lomnes mumbled anxiously. “I haven’t always been a great person. I’ve done things.” “Their layering of branches is good to keep you dry,” Ethan continued, smiling patiently, “but be careful: the animals, wolves and kilvat included, use them too. We’ve all done things,” he added, turning to Lomnes. “That’s why you’re judged on more than one part of you, on the true you, not just the surface acts.” “Lomnes, please!?” Ikals pleaded softly, Lomnes returning a sneer. “So camp away from them in the rain?” Ikals asked, ignoring his friend. “Good idea. You’re learning already.” “I have questions too,” Lomnes insisted. “I know you do,” Ikals breathed through gritted teeth. “Then let me ask them!” Lomnes snapped, turning on his friend. “This isn’t just about you, you know!” “There, down that hill,” Ethan said, frowning, glancing warily from one to the other. “You see those red trees, the ones that spread out and bow? They have strong branches. If you need to hide, climb up there, and the wolves won’t get you. They’ll surround you and wait you out, but we’ll be back to scare them off. Ah,” he noted, looking to their right and nodding. “That time already.”

A woman stepped from between the trees. Those green eyes nearly glowed beneath her hood. Her sword was carried at her hip along with small blue vials and several brown pouches. The shirt and pants were a light brown, the vest, darker, and fine leather boots, laced up the front, came up over her calves. “But where do I want to go when I get there!?” Lomnes pleaded. Ikals gritted his teeth. “Who is she?” Ikals asked, nudging his friend, as best as he could nudge a spirit. “Her name’s Aliis,” Ethan replied, smiling politely. “She’ll be around. Tenredt is the place to aim for, Lomnes, but not now, not until we fix the world at least. Wait,” Ethan urged, holding up hands to stop both of them. “I have to go now.” “But how can you be here?” Ikals pleaded, stepping after Ethan as he walked towards the woman. “What power do you use to stay here, like you do? Who is Millosai? What’s really going on here, and what do you all really want with me?” Ethan stopped. “Survive your first sleep,” he replied. “Then we’ll talk.” Ikals felt like everything he’d once held onto slipped from his fingers! He just watched the two of them fade. Vanish. Into nothingness. Ikals had marched himself out into the middle of nowhere to be eaten by wolves – for this!?

Chapter Fifteen Destiny

“I can’t believe you cut me off!” Lomnes shouted, slapping Ikals across the shoulder angrily. Ikals tipped over and fell, nearly slipping into a roll. “Me?” Ikals shouted back, more out of shock than anything else. “He only had a short amount of time, Lomnes!” “I know that.” A chorus of howls rippled through the forest, making Ikals’ skin crawl. “They’re finally talking to me, Lomnes,” Ikals shouted, trying to block out the fear that gripped his mind, half rising, “and you go on about all that other stuff that doesn’t matter.” “Not to you,” Lomnes spat, slapping Ikals again and knocking him back down, “clearly, but I’m dead. that? I can’t forget, not like you!” “Lomnes,” Ikals breathed. Lomnes just turned and took a few anxious steps. “Sleep well,” he grumbled bitterly. “I’m going somewhere else. I don’t know how I do that yet, thanks to you, but I’m going there anyway, alone!” “Lomnes,” Ikals cried after him, standing and hurrying after his friend. But Lomnes had now vanished too! Ikals stopped and sunk to his knees. The damp breeze and these few revelations chilled him to the bone. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he shouted, looking about frantically. “Lomnes!?” All Ikals could see was forest and the gathering of silver-lined clouds above. All he could hear was howling and the wind, and he had no idea which way was back to the campfire! “Lomnes?” he called more softly, afraid of his own voice and what it might

attract. “I’m sorry.” His voice dwindled with the wind, and he looked around, hugging himself more tightly for warmth. The howling was drawing nearer, and the leaves and underbrush were crunching the way they shouldn’t crunch. Fear gripping him fully, he fumbled back to camp. He cursed his stupidity at not marking a trail! It took three dead ends and many squinted forced-calms before he, surprised by his own shit luck, stumbled back where he’d begun. He could see the pack and his food, his only food, and he plotted his trip back to those trees Ethan had pointed out, even the syrupy trees if need be. But in truth, he didn’t get there. He had no clue what tree he actually found because the wolves could be heard attacking smaller, yelping animals and pushing through heavy brush. Panicked eyes finally just selected the nearest, spurred on by the shrillest dying wail so far. And he climbed for his life. He broke ten branches on his way up, only stopping when the tree started to lean. He clung, and the tree waved. But it didn’t break. They were beneath the tree. He could see shapes in the shade. He could hear sniffing and scratching. They were as large as he was! He clung tighter.

How had he slept? Ikals awoke with a start! His pack was lodged five branches down on a slant, snagged by a gnarled notch. Ikals’ arms and legs were wrapped around the tree trunk tight. And he cried. “Don’t worry. You’re still alive.” Lomnes? Ikals wiped his eyes and looked about. “Where are you?” he begged to know. “I can’t see you.” “Somewhere a lot more comfortable than you,” came a dry response, no joy, no joke. “I don’t know what to do, Lomnes,” Ikals confessed with a quivering voice. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m scared, more scared than I’ve ever been before, and I feel so alone.” “I know the feeling.” A rock skipped across dry ground, and feet padded softly after it. Sniffing. Scratching. They were still there. Waiting him out. “After so much doubt,” Ikals whispered, leaning his head against the trunk, trying to adjust how he sat, “I wanted more answers. What am I doing here? I wanted some answers, Lomnes, not more riddles.” “Well, at least you’re alive to answer them,” came Lomnes’ hollow voice in the endless, cold dark. “At least you can go anywhere you want, not just where someone else has walked, not just ….”

The voice died, and Ikals feared Lomnes had left again.

“I couldn’t make it far.” Another rock careened across the ground below, crashing through some dry brush. There was clear bitterness the words that frightened Ikals more than the wolves and his own troubles.

“I’m chained to you, Ikals. I have no life anymore except what there is to this. Whatever you call it. You have a great adventure to live. I have what’s left behind after you. I’m sorry if I’m holding you back. I’m so sorry if I want something for myself. You’re scared. Guess what? So am I.” “You kept joking,” Ikals mustered. “I don’t like feeling this way. Alright!?” Another stone. A sharp rebound off a rock. “I don’t like not having any control over anything. You want your answers? So do I, and I have as much a right to them as you do.” “I don’t know what I’m doing, Lomnes. What are we doing out here? I’m not ready for this. I don’t want it.” “It’s too late now for both of us.” The wind howled and shook the trees. Ikals held on tight! “I know why I don’t cry.” “Why’s that?” Ikals asked, praying the wind would stop. It did ease up, and he leaned his head against the trunk again. “Why don’t you cry?” “There’s no point. It’s too late to change anything.” “The optimist,” Ikals mused solemnly.

“The whiner,” came the sour, and delayed, retort.

Ikals couldn’t help but smile. He wanted to cry some more, but maybe Lomnes was right. There was nothing he could do. And he enjoyed the banter. There was something comforting in it. “We’re both idiots, Lomnes.”

“You first.” “You last.” “You’re such a child.”

Lomnes still sounded bitter, but the Lomnes Ikals had always known was still there, just buried under a mountain of emotion and loss Ikals couldn’t even begin to comprehend. “You first,” Ikals teased again. The silence didn’t settle so long this time. “Just get some sleep, and stop annoying me, and don’t snore like you usually do.”

“And don’t fall. You’ll make it too easy for them.” Ikals certainly wouldn’t want to do that.

Chapter Sixteen A Path

Ikals had a fitful sleep. When he awoke, he’d listen, praying for nothing. But at each such moment, he’d see shadows moving under his tree and those around it. And he’d fall back into restless sleep once more. The final time, he couldn’t see anything, so he climbed down a few branches and waited, listening some more. He even sniffed at the air, wondering if he could pick up a scent, wet dog or something. Anything? Nothing but tree and chalky earth scent: no scratching, no sniffing, no crunching. Maybe they were finally gone after all. He climbed down a little further, angling, weaving between the brittle branches. One of them broke off and dropped to the ground. Something, he wasn’t sure what, more of a purple blur than anything else, was on it, then, gone again! He decided, however sore and cramped his arms and legs were that he’d stay right where he was until help arrived. How long would that take? The man, Ethan, hadn’t said that much. Fighting the branches, he climbed back up and pulled the pack to him, tightening it around the trunk. Trying to make himself comfortable was impossible with two small branches poking into his side. It was even worse than the spring in his mattress back home, but he pulled out some jerky and his journal. Biting down on the jerky, he opened up the journal and shook his head. “What are you?” he asked, arm looped around a large knot, his finger tracing a rune in the dim light. “What do you mean?” One looked like a key, different though, larger end on the opposite side. The second rune, well, it didn’t look like anything. There was the rune that looked like an eight, just not ed. It was all a puzzle with no clues, and his help had

left, somewhere, back to the Auswix Chaz he supposed. “Are you down there?” he asked, not sure if Lomnes would answer even if he was. “I am.” “How many are still there?” There were footsteps below. A soft yelping followed, and something ran off. A silence followed that crept into Ikals’ bones and unsettled his mind. “Three of them, further on,” Lomnes finally replied. “You can come down now.” There was no joy in Lomnes’ voice, and there was no eagerness to Ikals’ climb down. He eased his pack down after him, several branches scratching and swiping at his face. On the ground, he knelt and looked around, uneasy. Lomnes stood where the fire had been. It turned out Ikals really hadn’t gone that far into the forest to get away. Lomnes pointed to the east. “That way. You can check if you don’t believe me.” Ikals lowered his head. “It isn’t that I don’t,” Ikals started. “If it’s about yesterday.” “I’ve been feeling a lot lately,” Lomnes interrupted in a low grumble, “a lot that I haven’t been sharing.” He still looked the same, same dirty clothes, same bruised head, but his expression was flat; his voice, lazy. “You know what you said about the dead you’d met being all emotional?” “You said you understood,” Ikals ed. Lomnes nodded softly. “It’s like I want to scream and shout and let loose. It’s like a lifetime of emotion’s all draining out of me. Maybe it’s all the things I did feel but never expressed. I don’t know.” “Like Themial Freas?” Lomnes frowned. “Like her. I suppose.”

Ikals carried his pack over to the soft earth and dropped it near the scattered fire pit. “How about you get all the questions when he returns,” Ikals suggested. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to step in. Okay?” Lomnes nodded silently and turned, gazing over, back towards Atvian. Ikals looked the other way. “Should we wait for them?” Ikals asked, “For whoever comes,” he added morosely. “All ten minutes of advice,” Lomnes teased dryly. Ikals grimaced. Maybe his street sense was returning after all. If you sat on the street, waiting to be fed, you died. In the wild, it could come sooner and hurt a lot more. “I can’t just sit here and wait. There’s got to be something to do.” The cold wind returned, and Ikals hugged his damp jacket tight to stay warm. Looking up, the dark clouds scared him. “I need some wind blocker and fresh, good fire wood. Maybe I can make it to a dry place before it starts to rain. Can you scare the wolves off for me?” “Depends how many there are.” Ikals hadn’t thought of that. Ikals waited for him to tell him it was safe to go on, which was slow in coming. Finishing off the last of a pear Plythe had stored for him, Ikals set out. He stopped at the more edible, and flammable Killsor tree Ethan had shown him. It looked so different in daylight, but it smelled the same. Drawing the long knife he’d brought, he set to work. He lashed together some branches, large and small, attaching them behind the main pocket. He also fished out some of the roots. It wasn’t long before he understood what Ethan had meant about it not being easy. The ground fought him. The roots recoiled, pulling away from him, and they were strong, not easy cut. It was like they didn’t want to die either. He also cut some ferns, growing up along one tree before hiking on with Lomnes making sure the way was clear. They made licorice from ferns. He was hoping these were those ferns. On the last hill, where Ikals had stopped the day before, Lomnes hung back. “You’re on your own from here, again.”

“I do wish you could come,” Ikals said, meaning it. Lomnes nodded. “I know. I’ll be along.” Standing there, Ikals plotted his route, down past the grove of light green trees, down the next hill, near where the red ones grew; then, beyond where the land rose again. Looking to the horizon and those twin peaks, he wondered how far away they really were. How long a trip would it take? The farm land was said to be a few hours from Atvian. Plythe’s friend had his farm on the outlying grounds. He might even reach the farm before anyone found them! He could be sleeping in a comfortable bed instead of shivering up a tree, hoping to avoid becoming a wolf or kilvat’s meal before help returned. He started down. The ground was soft underfoot, and the brush continued with the ferns and brittle branches above. On some trees, there were curled leaves and ready buds. On those trees, there were also scratches, and the earth around the roots had been dug at by small claws. Adding to Ikals’ unease were the prints that led up to and away from the roots. He waited and listened. There was the sound of sniffing on a warm wind. Lomnes’ image appeared weakly beside him, and something ran off to Ikals’ right. Nodding, Lomnes blinking hard, Ikals rose and started off again. If the animals feared ing through Lomnes like people did, he might just make it. Ikals wound his way around a small pool surrounded by white stones, pausing to drink some and fill his flask, the one he’d emptied a half day from Atvian. He assured himself, he’d make this water last longer. He was learning. There were tall slanted trees that blotted out the suns above and wide leafy branches. There were cedars and elms, and there were trees like the ones he’d been shown the day before that he’d never seen or heard of before, and there were holes, small ditches that appeared from nowhere. Birds chirped on the branches above, and spiders spun their way down from above. Ikals kept track of it all, pausing every so often for Lomnes to catch up and make the area clear.

On one of his last rises, before he hit the red trees, before the land started its rise up and up again, he noticed how the howling circled. The animals weren’t converging, whatever they were, but they seemed to be following him, and the ditches became more numerous, and larger. “Traps?” he asked himself. “Can wolves dig traps?” Was there a larger trap just waiting under the next copse of trees? Ikals knelt and judged the distance: twenty feet to the red trees. If he could make it there, he’d be safe from attack. “What’s wrong?” Ikals nearly jumped out of skin! He turned around sharply, teeth barred, eyes wide, and heart racing. Ethan, crouched behind him, smiled. “Sorry. What are you thinking? Why not just go for it? It looks innocent enough.” He was dressed differently now: the fine, conservative Lordly dress had been replaced by a hooded cloak and worn vest, shirt, and pants, but the sword was the same, still strapped to his back, and the calm, confident, aristocratic air hadn’t disappeared. He wasn’t alone this time. Behind him, two others knelt, one with a smile; the other, a foreboding glare. The man who was smiling leaned as he knelt and rested an eager hand on the hilt of his sword. His blade hung, angled, from his right hip, and he had a curved knife already drawn. There was something about this man’s sword. The golden butt and decorations on its hilt reminded Ikals of Ethan’s: bard-worthy. Swords that were that ornate tended to appear in songs like the ones Lomnes had copied, the kind that told of legendary feats and other myths no one believed anymore. But paid to listen to. This was the man with dusty brown hair, calloused hands, light brown cloak, and

worn leather boots that had appeared in Atvian to watch him. There was a willingness, an invitation to do battle in his eyes, but he wasn’t a threat to Ikals. He could tell that much. The other man, younger, Ikals had seen around, usually with his dark-skinned friend. This was the man who glared at him with spite in his eyes. He wore a sword too, but his wasn’t drawn. He was, however, fingering the blade in his right boot. Like the others, he was dressed light in earthen colours, and his hood was back. “Too innocent,” Ikals replied, glancing ahead again, happy to avoid whatever he’d done to bring on such a baleful glower. And wishing he knew Ethan, man or spirit, well enough to call him out for nearly giving him a coronary! The man with dusty brown hair cleared his throat. “You can introduce yourself,” Ethan grumbled. The other man shrugged playfully. “This is my brother, Elin,” Ethan said anyway, smiling politely. Elin bowed his head. “Grocia,” Ethan added, thumbing to the rear. Grocia offered no bow. He just watched Ikals. “Pleased to meet you all,” Ikals supposed. “So,” Ethan continued, “what’s so wrong with all this?” He pointed towards the forested, rolling drop before them. “What’s so wrong with innocence?” “It’s rarely true,” Ikals replied, more bluntly than he’d planned. Maybe his street mind was returning too easily. Ethan and Elin nodded solemnly. “I saw some trees on the way here,” Ikals explained. “They were slanted, but their roots were strong. They reminded me of some fruit Plythe used to buy for us, the rippling skin, bumps like numbers.” “The Sideous,” Ethan offered, “an apt description. And how do they fit in here?” “Those slanted trees ahead don’t look like them.” Ethan blinked rather oddly. Ikals had a feeling he was suddenly quite wrong, but he cleared his throat and decided to go on anyway. “There were ditches and holes back there, not far back. I think they’re trying to dig traps for me. If those aren’t Sideous Trees ahead, but they’re still slanted like that, maybe they’ve dug some traps, and the trees are falling into them.”

He smiled and looked across to Ethan. The brothers looked to one another. Ethan then glanced back to Ikals. “No,” he replied matter-of-factly. Ikals closed his eyes. “Nice try though.” “There aren’t any animals or creatures left in these parts that dig traps,” Elin noted. “Whalms did and do, but they’re more westerly than here, so you’ve nothing to fear there.” “Whalms aren’t real,” Ikals blurted, squinting, looking, again, from one man to the other. He was avoiding acknowledging Grocia. The stare was too unnerving to meet. “They’re just tales parents tell their children around camp fires, stories older children tell the young in the gutters to scare them. Don’t leave us, or the whalms will get you!” Ethan and Elin shrugged again. “They aren’t real,” Ikals repeated, softer now. “Are they?” “We’re real.” Elin dared. “And we’ve been dead, at this point, four hundred years, or do we count that mishap in between?” “That doesn’t count,” Ethan argued stubbornly. “We still died four hundred years ago, but it’s not important here. Don’t go on like this. You embarrass yourself.” Elin laughed, Ethan rubbing the bridge of his nose. “There are no animal or creature-made traps ahead of you,” Ethan insisted, turning back to Ikals again. “You can trust us on that.” “Then what is it?” Lomnes fazed in and out, becoming a transparent form. Grocia and Elin looked up as Lomnes solidified, looking around like he’d been rendered momentarily blind. “He needs to talk to you, or one of you,” Ikals urged. “It’s kind of important.” Ikals knew full well he couldn’t make Ethan, Elin, or Grocia help his friend, but he could ask and hope they’d maybe help Lomnes figure things out. Ethan smiled. “As you wish.” When no one made any move, not even Lomnes, Ikals felt incredibly awkward. They were just, staring at him! Did he have something on his face? “So what is ahead of us then?” Ikals asked, needing to avoid whatever it was that was going unspoken. “Teach me.”

“You see those red trees I was talking about before?” Ethan checked. “I was heading towards them,” Ikals replied evenly, digging into the earth at his right foot while he spoke. “They were part of my plan, by the green ones, through the reds in case animals came after me, so I could climb them, and then, up and out.” “It’s a good plan. They’re called Dreanse.” “Dreanse,” Ikals repeated. “Yes, and they only root themselves somewhere strong. These other, random trees you see before you,” Ethan mused, “like a lot of them in this area, don’t need too much to their growth, so they’ll sprout anywhere. Dreanse are different. That means this area was once rich and fertile.” “But they’re leaning and falling over,” Ikals joked. “So something’s happened to change all that,” Ethan agreed. “All their richness has been drawn elsewhere, so they’re dying. What you have before you is a form of sinking sand.” “Sinking sand?” Ikals mumbled in return. Elin nodded. “The bonds that otherwise make the land firm fall apart,” he took over, “and the weak trees fall over and die with the earth caving in under them. Sometimes it’s because of an earthquake or such, but in this case, it’s those trees, the Estemareth,” he said, pointing to their left where the light green trees stood. “They’re even worse than the Dreanse. They drain the very life from the earth to survive until the earth caves. In the end, the Estemareth are taken down with the rest, and balance is restored. It’s only about halfway through now. Those smaller holes you found back there were early warning signs.” “The best part,” Ethan said, pointing across the dip, “is that you have Dreanse to aim for. Because you know they only grow on firm, solid ground, you know that if you can get there, you’re fine. All you have to do is make it there without falling into the sinking sand.” “And dying a slow, suffocating death,” Elin mocked, Ethan slapping him across

the shoulder. Elin raised one brow, Ethan frowning. Ikals bowed his head. “And how do I do that?” he asked, hoping they’d offer to carry him across. Both men just glanced back. “I have to find my own way. Don’t I?” They nodded rather simply, and Ikals shook his head. Guides, not caretakers. Right. “I could have figured that much out on my own.” “Yes,” Elin figured, “but you can’t handle them and the trip alone. Can you?” Ikals wondered what the man meant until he saw the shadows shifting under the trees. “What are they? Wolves? Jaderr?” “Bit of both,” Ethan replied. “They’ll fight over you. We’ll use that to our advantage. You find a way across, and we’ll deal with them. You’re not ready to handle both yet. No one’s expecting miracles after all.” “That’s good to know. Just a trip across unstable earth above a sinking pit of darkness,” Ikals mused, “with no one giving me any really useful pointers. How hard can it be?” Again, Elin laughed. Ikals wondered if he could trade these guides in for new ones! He looked to Lomnes who looked as lost as he felt. His friend still wasn’t fully material; thus, he still couldn’t even speak. Sheathing his knife, seeing no use for it in what lay ahead, Ikals stood and considered his route across. He decided to go from tree to tree cautiously at first, ground level, skirting each larger, climbable trunk. He was trying to pick the trees that looked strongest. And for a while, things were good. Though his foot had sunk down a half inch one step. At the third tree, he decided he’d been right in desiring a trip over, not around. Estemareth dotted the forest ditch left as well, for however far. He might be an hour, maybe longer trying to find an alternate route. He could end up trying to survive another sleep in that forest if he didn’t get somewhere safer before end of day. That was to be avoided! At the fourth tree, his foot sunk a little deeper, and he heard something racing

out from the brush. Pulling himself free, he started a panicked climb! The grey, grisly wolf leapt, snarling and biting out. Ikals lifted his feet, and the wolf struck tree! Ikals continued his climb. He only stopped when he heard the second howl. Looking down, he saw a purple animal with a blue, fanned tail facing off with the wolf. Not caring who was going to win, he climbed further up. Just as the tree shifted! He clung to the trunk for his life! Ever so slowly, the trunk and branches slanted dangerously low, and howlsturned-yelps stopped below. Now, only the purple animal paced between the lower leaves, barking softly, then rising on its hind legs in anticipation. Could jaderr climb? Did Ikals really want to learn that answer just then? Elin’s blade came from the shadows, and the animal crumpled on the spot. “You might want to jump to another tree,” he suggested, turning in a circle. “We’ll distract them.” Ikals nodded and looked ahead. He and Lomnes had climbed to a few windows and along some ledges in his time. All the while he hesitated, the tree further slanted, so he sized up a branch in the next tree over, and finally, drawing up the courage, he speed-walked across one extended limb and transferred across to the other! Ikals felt quite a fair bit of satisfaction! Until that next tree started to slant in turn. Ikals gritted his teeth. They had warned him. Down below, he could see steel flashing, and animals cried out in pain. Silence

would follow soon after. And someone, Elin he felt sure, was laughing and drawing them on. Ikals made it one more tree over without too much effort, but this latest tree started sinking, and the next was just out of reach. Worse, his fingers were starting to slip. He heard the smooth swipe and cut of sword, no pause or break and no dares or boasts: Ethan. Grocia, the quiet one, came out into a break in the foliage below, a grey-white wolf leaping at him from the left. Almost as quick, and a lot more decisively, a small brown hound leapt up to intercept, and the two animals went down together with the hound on top. Grocia ducked under another animal’s attack and swung out, opening its underside. Shaking his head, he walked on, the small brown hound following faithfully at his heels. Ikals frowned. How come they weren’t sinking into the earth? Cursing his luck, Ikals leaned out from the tree top. Angling his body towards the next tree, hoping his plan would actually work and that he’d misjudged distance, he decided to jump for it anyway. Letting go and kicking up, he twisted and grasped for the nearest branch. He missed. He hit the ground hard and sunk up to his knees, hurriedly digging himself out and scurrying back up to safety the next tree on! He scraped three branches and broke five more on that new climb. His shins and forearms felt raw, and his face felt like it was bleeding! And this tree dropped two feet into the forest floor too. Ikals just held on and hoped for the best. With the tree angling slowly down and groaning badly, Ikals scurried up and leapt across to a new one, then, kept on going as quickly as he could. It was too late to avoid hurting himself, and he just wanted to get it over with! It turned out several other trees hadn’t grown a convenient distance apart either, much to Ikals’ irritation, so he had to jog and dodge his way over sinking, sucking land before bolting up for the closest semblance of height advantage. He was down to his hip the once, and a jaderr blurred past over head as he ducked!

On the second last tree, a short, green tree with a rounded crown, he didn’t catch his hold, having hoped to finally get off the ground again. He landed face first into the soft earth. The tree tipped towards him, and he rolled, his body falling further in as he carried on. The tree collapsed into two others and groaned, inches from his face. A hand gripped his right shoulder and hauled him to his feet, pushing him on. “Don’t stop now!” Ethan urged, turning to protect his flank. “You’re almost there.” Ikals spotted four wolves, and there were two of the purple jaderr behind them. He stepped back, his feet sinking into the ground. Swallowing his fear, he turned and tried to run. There were howls and snaps and short, exact slicing sounds. Something was breathing on his neck one second; then, it was gone, and something hit his back! He started to run faster, tripping to his knees. There was crashing and a loud yelp. Ikals was up and stumbling on a moment later. He reached the red Dreanse trees and started to climb once more. He paused partway on those wide stable branches only when he figured he was finally high enough to do so! The animals were gone. Their bodies remained, of course, including the one of the many that had nearly got him. When nothing new came at him below, he climbed back down and sat. Because his body told him to. They hadn’t said what he should do when he got across. He was certainly tired of trees. “I can’t stay still,” he mumbled, urging his body to move again. “I need a more defensible position. I need a good shower and a doctor.” He cringed. And he grimaced, and he forced himself to stand again. He found a rocky trail leading up to what appeared to be a dry riverbed. So he followed it. There were yellow flowers. And good wind cover. At the first rise, he plunked himself down again. There was a collection of mossy flat stones under overhanging branches, and pink flowers in clumps. The smell was quite pleasant.

It felt like something was stabbing him in the back, so he removed his pack. He managed a meagre drink from his canteen, ed in trembling hands. Though he felt like might vomit. Or just black out. “That was fun,” Elin boasted, laughing as he climbed up the dry river bed. He dropped to the ground and rolled his right shoulder around. “I miss all this.” “You would,” his brother groaned as he climbed up past him, still sheathing his blade. “How are you doing?” he checked with Ikals. “That fall didn’t look pretty.” “Which one?” Ikals grumbled, pretty much stammered. He shrugged, instantly regretting it! The sharp pain was doubled, in several places. He started working them out as softly as he could. “That could have been better,” he groaned sourly. “Was there some other way across?” “Yes, but you seemed decided. What could we do?” “Say something,” Ikals suggested, still massaging his back. Grocia and the small, brown hound came up the river bed and stopped beside Elin, Grocia standing and looking back upon where they’d just been. The hound came over to sniff Ikals. Ikals offered her his hand, and the hound licked it, tail wagging. The hound then returned to sit loyally beside her master. “It was fun,” Elin insisted stubbornly, despite his brother’s disapproving glower. “Can we do it again?” “No.” Ethan, if nothing else, offered Ikals an apologetic frown. “We need to help him set a good camp. Then, we’ll chart what route he can take tomorrow when his trip really begins.” Ikals closed his eyes. It hadn’t started yet?

Chapter Seventeen Blue Stone

“Your map’s incomplete.” Ikals wanted to scream! “I know that,” he breathed. Ethan offered him a sidelong glance. “Sorry,” Ikals groaned. “I never thought I’d need more than what’s here. I think Plythe figured I’d come across his friend my first day out. And that his friend would help with the rest.” Ethan thought for a minute before considering Ikals’ map once more. “We’ll do what we can with what time we have left to help out. You’ve got several options available to you that take you to and through that farmland you’ve been looking for.” He tapped the map Ikals had brought. “You see these hills just east of here, along your current path?” “Yes. They’re hard to miss.” Ikals was trying to keep sarcasm from his voice, as hard as he was fighting that scream, but he was exhausted, or was he past exhaustion? He was very sore and more than just disillusioned at how his adventure was developing just then. Ethan nodded absent-mindedly, ignoring any negative undertone Ikals had let slip. They’d made camp another rise above where they’d first stopped. There were two Lomthan Groves around the uneven, lumpy grass. Traps had been put into place between the other trees - traps Ikals had been shown quickly, traps he still had no clue how to do on his own. They’d done other things to keep the animals at bay as well, but Ikals had been too overwhelmed to exactly what. Now, a small fire was burning, and Elin sat speaking with Lomnes off to one side. He was laughing and smiling a lot. Grocia quietly brooded at the fire with his hound by his side.

“Your best bet is to avoid those hills,” Ethan continued. “There are gullies filled with dead ends and too many twists. It’s easy to get lost in there. You wouldn’t know you were off track until much too late. No, you should skirt around them and head along the foothills on the other side, here; then, head north-west. Do you know your directions: north, west, and east?” Smart laughter slipped out. “Not really.” Ethan allowed a pained expression before rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Then we’ll focus on landmarks. You know those peaks, just beyond?” He pointed. “I’ve kind of been heading their way,” Ikals itted. Where Lomnes and Elin spoke, Lomnes sat back looking quite stunned. Ikals glanced over for a moment, Ethan drawing him back to the map again. “One of them is Dwarf Peak, the right-most one,” he explained. “If you head between them for now, you’ll be fine. After that, we’ll guide you more left. There’re no clear markers to use here, but when you get past those hills in front of us, we’ll give you a better line of sight for your north from west.” “Are you sure the gullies are that hard to manage?” Ikals asked. “The hills aren’t even so high up. It would be faster to go straight through them.” Ethan shook his head vigorously. “No, don’t even try. Go around. We’ll be back before you get too far if we can.” “You still haven’t even explained how you all can be here yet,” Ikals pointed out, a little testily, resting his head in his hands, “or what I’m supposed to do. I find this library; then.” He had to stop and grimace. “What do I do?” he demanded, exasperated. “She’s there, I guess, but why is any of this happening to me!? What’s so important about me doing this?” “I can’t explain all that yet,” Ethan replied, holding up a hand to stop anything more. “The explanation would involve a lot more answers that we don’t have time for right now. Reach the door, and we’ll give you those answers. I can promise you that much.” Ikals felt so wasted. “Will I like the answers?” “I’m not sure. There are things at work beyond what you can see with your eyes,

Ikals. To say more would just confuse you with details that make no sense just now. Just make it to the door. Focus on that.” “And the moon exploding and falling from the sky, killing everyone?” Ikals asked. “This involves that. Doesn’t it?” Ethan nodded, very slowly. “Is our world ending?” Ikals had to ask. “Are we all dead?” “That,” Ethan replied, ing Ikals back the map, “depends on things I can’t control, things not any one of us can control. I have no answer for you beyond that if you trust in Millosai, there’s always a way.” “I don’t even know Millosai.” Ikals frowned. He watched Lomnes for a moment, his sulky frame leaning back against a tree. Elin was trying to comfort him, but it didn’t seem to be doing any good. “She doesn’t seem to have done Lomnes any good yet,” Ikals noted softly. “I’ve always felt there was something, someone more than just what we have here and now, but I’m not very religious. Never have been.” “You just have to be willing to try,” Ethan reasoned. “As for your friend, she will help him when she can, but he has business here. He’s assigned himself a duty, and his spirit won’t release him to her. She can’t do anything until he lets go.” A brief expression of unease showed, and ed. “We need to go again. I’m sorry.” “One more question!?” Ikals urged. Ethan bowed his head. “What does he have against me?” Ikals whispered, thumbing towards Grocia by the fire. Ethan sighed. And carefully licked his teeth. Sadness crept over him. “The future holds so many uncertainties, Ikals. You are the key to many of them. Some possibilities,” he mumbled, “aren’t so good. Some lead to outcomes none of us want to consider. Grocia is worried you’re the key to an end he can’t accept, but can’t fight, and he doesn’t like that. Most of us have found ways of dealing with our lot. For instance, my brother’s found his old hunger for adventure.” Ikals couldn’t deal with this! There was no way he could be in any way that important to anything! He was a scribe, a street waif, and an orphan. Nobody had any right putting this much weight on his shoulders! “You?” he asked shakily.

“I’ve set myself the task of helping you get stronger,” Ethan replied after a few failed attempts. “So that you can find us a better outcome.” Ikals nodded, extra slow. Way too much to deal with, but it was too late to turn back. Still another question was there on his tongue. “What about the woman, Aliis?” Ethan’s considered this question with a side-long glance to Grocia. Ikals found Grocia glancing back. There were so many things unspoken. Ikals felt like he’d go mad! He was supposed to be the hero, but there were worlds of secrets being kept from him, secrets that he figured were essential to him actually saving anyone! “You’ll have to ask her that when she stays for longer than a few seconds,” Ethan finally replied. The man’s frown suggested he wanted to say more, but that it would be out of place for him to do so. This was clearly yet another mystery Ikals had no choice but accept. It was so defeating, and Ikals slumped forward. Ethan stepped back, Elin looking up and tilting his head to one side. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to over again soon enough,” Ethan assured his brother mockingly. Elin mockingly bowed his head in turn, Ethan rolling his eyes. “Brothers,” Ethan groaned. “Don’t have any. They’re not worth the trouble.” After they’d gone, Ikals poked at the fire, trying to soak it all in. He finally decided he didn’t want to try to figure things out anymore. Lomnes quietly drifted off on his own. But Ikals couldn’t do nothing. It wasn’t his nature. He was tired, far too tired to walk, so he built up a second fire near the first and tried lighting it. Their flint, like their ability to look and act real again never remained when they’d gone, so Ikals was left with sticks and rocks. By the twentieth failed attempt, he just found himself more tired. “Living on the streets didn’t prepare me for this,” he grumbled. He poked the fire some more and thought of home. “What are you doing right now, Plythe?”

He didn’t expect an answer from the flames. And he didn’t get one. He pulled out the blue hard cover book Plythe had given him and read a few more poems. He leafed ahead at one point and inspected the inner lining once more, hoping Plythe had inserted a secret note of some sort, but the book was unblemished, and there wasn’t anything for a book mark to suggest any one poem he was supposed to read. So he returned to where he’d left off and resumed his slow trek through the collected words. “Ocean calls to me,” he read. “Forest covers me.” Ikals frowned heavily. “They’re more like broken journal entries than poetry. The next one had a title: Alynn’s Road. “My heart is full of dread. My feet can’t find the road, but what’s to come calls me on, so ahead I must go. When the road gets long, I won’t forget. This home is where I belong.” This was a song Ikals knew. He’d heard an older woman singing it to her granddaughter, and he’d instantly fallen in love with it! “I know you’re there beside me now. I know you’re there forever more. I know that when the time does come, your hand, your smile, I know you’ll find my door. When the road gets long, I won’t forget. This home is where I belong.” He traced the remaining verses with his eyes. And heart. There were whole verses the older woman hadn’t sung, and he loved them too. “But this book’s author surely didn’t come up with this song,” Ikals professed. “It has full sentences and follows verse.” The opposite page had his answer. There, written more plainly in the book’s more common style was this author’s version, or was it thoughts on the song. “The road is long, but the heart goes on. Never far from home.” In this case, Ikals was kind of impressed. It wasn’t as good as the song, but it was concise and captured what the song was about. He watched the flames burn down until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He was soon fast asleep. His dreams took him back to the library, and he found himself

tracing steps over smooth wooden flooring. Looking up at the stacks, he saw so much history on those endless shelves. In this dream walk, he stopped. A text, an old green text bound with loose brown twine caught his eye. When he opened it, he wasn’t looking at a page - he was standing at the archway: a series of stones amid tall columns with the suns beating down. There was something he was supposed to do with it. But what!? There were other dreams of running and falling, and there were teeth and claws in the growing din, and he awoke with a start in the middle of a downpour feeling hot breath on his neck! Ikals quickly rolled over and ran under cover of the nearest tree, just as the sky glowed white, five streaks of sheet lightning flashing overhead. Loud thunder followed, leading to a series of howls and yelps, the only thing that saved his life! Ikals remained frozen in the lower branches. He dreaded climbing another tree so soon after that last fiasco. “I don’t think they like lightening,” Lomnes observed disionately from above, sitting with his legs hooked over a thick branch. “Neither do I,” Ikals hissed. “Why didn’t you wake me when it started to rain!?” Lomnes just pointed as three separate, single, white fingers flashed in the distance, rolling thunder cracking seconds later. “That one was pretty close. As are those howls.” Ikals heard them too. “How long was I asleep?” he asked, working to steady his nerves. “If they’re not back when,” Ikals started, stopping suddenly as one howl was cut short by a loud snap. A winding cry followed a moment later. “The traps,” Ikals whispered, looking around for his pack. Steeling himself against the rising howls, he crept down and out to the wet fire and wetter pack. He pulled his long knife free and glanced around. Another trap was triggered, and a pair of bitter yelps resounded. Lightning raced across the sky, and thunder exploded nearby! The sounds of a tree splintering sent Ikals

back towards the tree for cover. “Get down!” Lomnes shouted. “Roll top.” Instinct and training kicking in, Ikals turn on his side and rolled. The knife came up. To his utter shock, it actually stuck! He let go and scurried back. The wolf, a skinny, brown-grey thing snapped out at him. “What have I done?” he blurted, scurrying back some more. “What you needed to,” Lomnes said, sounding shaken himself, “and I don’t think it’ll be the last. You might want that knife back.” The howling had changed. Ikals, breathing hard and looking about in a fright, could hear the remaining traps being triggered. The howls sounded more for communication than simply making sound now, and the ground crunched. Twigs snapped between the steady drumming of rain from above. The problem was his knife was still attached to the wolf that still struggled to get at him, still growling and eying him darkly, sizing him up for beginning day’s meal! Two things happened at once. Ikals saw seven shapes emerge from around him. And lightning struck the camp site. The blinding light and equally blinding thunder tore at the ground and threw him back! With earth mixing with the rain, the sound of his own heart beat mixing with disorienting blurs of movement, Ikals tried to stand. He fell to his knees and cupped his ears. There was only fright and flight, and Ikals stumbled from camp. Soon there was only forest. With the sense of being constantly followed, he kept hidden as best he could. When his balance returned to some semblance of normalcy, he started making better ground, though he was still stumbling and keeping his hands over his ears. Full sight had returned, slowly, but hearing was still a distant reality of what it had once been. The rain pounded around him, and he slipped as he climbed until he finally reached where he couldn’t climb anymore. Still in the grips of panic, he found himself further terrified by what he saw before and below him.

Sheet lightning in a dazzling display lit up the sky! How long had he been climbing? He wasn’t sure where he was anymore. The only things he recognized, somewhat were the twin peaks; only, they were a long ways off and a long ways down! What he’d known and seen as hills opened to a vast mountain range on the other side with an innumerable series of purple, blue, and white gullies. It was otherwise just shades of grey. And it all led down over twenty or thirty stages of sharp peaks, sheer drops, and meaningless holes. The thunder rolled, and more lighting flashed. He could see this single strike connect out on the plains beyond, where the mountains finally levelled out and hit earth. It looked like fire. With a growing sense of doom, he slowly turned. His vision had returned well enough to see the smoke rising where he'd battled the sinking ground, where a forest fire had started, and he could see a wave of bounding shapes, propelled either by fear or hunger. Headed his way. For once, he was glad he couldn’t hear their cries clearly. The hollow version he now possessed was bad enough! Don’t take the gullies and hill. He’d been warned, but then, what now!? And how? Lowering to a crouch, he started over and slipped. Wet rock and loose clay took his feet, and he skidded down, hitting his side twice before tumbling into a pile of wet wood. Two wolves rolled after him, crying strangled cries as they sailed over and continued on, dropping into whatever lay below. It sounded like long drop. Cradling his side and being careful to not meet the same end, Ikals crawled until he found what looked like an easy way down. Using jutting rock to descend, he hurried in case he was still being pursued. The rain ran down the hill under him, and fear locked itself further in. Against the wet, dark sky, he reached a slippery ledge and, going down on all fours, he edged himself along it.

When he reached solid, flat rock, lightening flashing high above, he saw only more stone reflected around him. There were high-reaching walls on either side and endless rock leading otherwise, somewhere. Avoid the gullies. Shivering badly, he stumbled on, drained, well past frightened, jumping at the slightest sound! All he saw and felt was an endless myriad of choices. He slipped and slid, ripping his right pant leg. Ikals forced his legs to keep moving while the rain drenched him through. He was lost, and he knew it. Wolves were the least of his fears now. Then again. He turned at one outcropping, looking out upon a grey world. A damp wind played with his hair and collar. It was all so dismal, but there was a smell on that wind. Looking back up the mountain gullies, he shook his head and sneezed. Something was there. Whatever it was wasn’t a wolf or jaderr, and it was silent like the shadows that filled in all the gaps in between. Swallowing hard and wiping his nose, he crept on, cautious and quiet. Inside, he knew he couldn’t fight it. He’d lost his only weapon, and he was too wet to do more than stumble and fumble along. As if to prove a point, his feet gave way, and he was sent sprawling on his back, skidding around a curve and into a stone wall! “Don’t go in the gullies,” he breathed, clutching at his side and rising sluggishly. “Where am I?” Something grabbed his right foot, and he turned, kicking back. All he saw for sure was something black, and there spikes that ringed what looked like ears. It had piercing, blue eyes! He couldn’t fight, but he could try and run. Finding strength in fear, he fled down one path and up another, climbing where he found a studded wall, and hid when he heard something approaching!

He lay still and waited for the sound of feet to . Then he stumbled on through the rain and darkness until he couldn’t run anymore; but he walked. Amid the rumbling sky, he found music. Walking, winded, sore, and frightened, he heard a song that lured him on, up a short rise, where he found a blue stone. It was flat and oddly shaped. Then, he saw more. They were laid out around wilted, charred flowers, and a few, smaller ones led further up. It was like a trail. He so wanted to climb it, even through the foul stench that clung to the air. Though there was wariness, there was a lift of fatigue. Something strong seized him around the chest and pinned his arms. He fought, but whatever had him was too strong. He did manage to shift his weight, and they both toppled. His mysterious attacker was quick to recover and was soon upon him, pinning him against wet stone. The piercing, blue eyes stared down upon him, fierce behind the tip of a drawn sword, the metal tip digging into his neck! “He’s scared,” a woman said, a steady hand touching his attacker’s sword hand. “He’s not thinking straight.” “I’ll show him how,” his attacker breathed, grinning darkly. Lightning flashed, and this attacker’s face, hands, and body were engraved onto Ikals’ brain: half his face was darker than the rest, not that any of it was less than dark blue. He bore no hair, just small, black spikes around his ears and down his neck. For clothing, he wore a long, dark, hooded coat with comfortable shirt beneath. The woman wore a leather vest and gauntlets with a silver chest plate and shoulder guards, tied tightly into place. She wore a black cape over her shoulders and down her back. Long black hair clung to the back of her neck and shoulders. “ElnTelse,” she urged, keeping her hand in place to stop his, “this isn’t the place to settle things.” Smiling politely, the woman turned her attention to Ikals. “How about you try and run with us, not away from, or she’ll get you for sure.”

“She?” Ikals stammered, unclear on what exactly was happening. Something cried above, a black shape moving through the clouds. The woman nodded. “Yes,” she replied. “Now get up and stay between us, and do as we say, and you might survive this day. Let him up,” she instructed, turning back to her companion. “He’s no good to anyone dead.” ElnTelse snarled, flaring his eyes wide, but he removed his sword, almost grudgingly. In fact, Ikals felt sure he didn’t want to remove it at all. “We’ve no time,” the woman quickly added. “Get up. I’m Shanea, and we’re here to help you.” Ikals felt frozen to the spot. “Now?” she groaned. Ikals, more out of concern for his safety, though still afraid for his safety, stood and followed, and the strangers kept a close guard. Another cry from above added speed to his step, the others quickening their pace in turn. Looking up, the shadow, lightning flashing, its thunder rolling seconds later, showed wings and a long, studded tail. But that wasn’t possible! Shanea steered them through a winding trail, cutting through a jagged gully, before pulling him under an overhang with ElnTelse kneeling, sheathing his blade and drawing his bow. An arrow was quickly notched. The shadow circled above, ever so elegantly until it rose out of view into the clouds once more. Ikals closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. “What is that?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Shanea shrugged. “A dragon, of course,” she replied in a whisper, “and she has very good hearing. They all do.” Ikals shook his head. “I mean … him.” Shanea smiled, ElnTelse tilting his head as if in response. “Have you never seen a Shewesse?” Shanea checked. Ikals looked at her in wonderment. “This is your first crossing with us,” she remarked to her companion. “I thought your kin were still alive in this age?” “Not many,” ElnTelse rued dryly, “and they don’t associate with other races, not

that there are more than humans left now anyway. If he’s an example of their best stock, I don’t blame them for avoiding detection.” “He’s scared,” Shanea reminded him. “He’s hardly at the top of his game. Are you hurt?” Ikals nodded, his side aching at the question. “And wet,” Shanea breathed. “If we can’t get you in beside a fire, you’ll die of sickness, and that can’t be had. The others will find us below, so we make our way down. If you don’t want her to find us,” she said, pointing to the clouds, “you’ll choose to trust us. I know that’s a lot coming from a complete stranger and someone even more alien to you, but you’ll have to trust me and ElnTelse. Can you do that?” “I don’t know,” Ikals replied honestly. She smiled and bowed her head. Ikals was going to say more, but there was growling, and faces emerged around them. Wolves and jaderr crept forward. And there were kilvat: brown animals with ridges running up and along their backs, bright white eyes against the dark. “Don’t do anything,” ElnTelse urged, holding up a hand, Shanea automatically placing a hand on Ikals’ chest to still him. Her other hand went to the sword at her back. ElnTelse looked to the nearest purple animal and stared fixedly into its eyes. “The jaderr, wolves, and kilvat are only loosely controlled and manipulated in this world,” ElnTelse explained quietly. “I can get through, but they can still choose to attack us, me as well, and this storm already has them jumpy, so don’t give them more reason to see you or any of us as a meal. Surely, you can do that much.” Shanea leaned in close. “He’s actually quite nice and polite when you get to know him,” she whispered, “and I’m sure he’ll come around. Just don’t kick him in the face again. Okay?” Ikals nodded guiltily. He watched ElnTelse in his intense stare wondering what was happening. Without explanation, the animals turned and left, and ElnTelse hung his head. “They’ll keep their distance,” he grumbled, “but they won’t help us. They’re leaving. I suggested a safe route. I suggest we find another.” “You can talk to them?” Ikals asked in awe, still wary of the Shewesse, man, whatever he was.

ElnTelse sneered mockingly. “How perceptive.” “Come on,” Shanea mumbled. “You heard the man.” Shanea in the lead, the three of them moving through the gullies, from cover to cover, they started a slow trek down. The rock gave way at one point, and half the mountain, half of what Ikals could see from his vantage point at least disappeared from view in a large avalanche, or was it a mud slide!? All he knew for certain was that it meant a lot more walking as they backtracked and found a different way around. At one point, Ikals saw a large dark cloud in the distance. It was like the whole of the sky in that direction was under the worst storm anyone had ever seen! Lomnes was there a few times, his chalky figure appearing beside them, but mostly in that backtrack. ElnTelse threatened to attack him at first, but Shanea stopped him, and they talked quietly, then nodded in private agreement. After a tiring climb down, they reached bottom, Ikals nearly slipping off sheer drops in places, ElnTelse leaving him to dangle the once. They’d come into a rough, shorter set of foothills, and they made camp under a dry, stone structure. It looked like someone had been building a house and left the walls open, or had their structure simply fallen to the elements? Certainly, the hills couldn’t have created a thick, smooth stone roof and s on their own. “Dragons aren’t real,” Ikals found himself saying. ElnTelse looked up from his post by one of the s. “Tell her that.” “No knowledge of Shewesse,” Shanea rued, “or belief in dragons. The others.” She paused, ElnTelse glancing over. Ikals figured the pause meant she’d misspoken, about what he had no clue, but she spoke on fluidly enough a quick moment later, so he figured he’d imagined the slip. “I thought there’d be some who still believed.” “I’m learning a lot of things I thought were fake are actually real,” Ikals replied, hugging himself for warmth. He could feel his two books in their inside pockets and prayed they’d survived his latest panicked flight. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking to ElnTelse. Who nodded in return. “I know I can’t know everything

yet,” Ikals added, “but can either of you tell me something? Why me? I’m not made for surviving all this. Why wasn’t someone else given these dreams? Why can’t someone else be your key?” Shanea inhaled deep. “Prophecies are rarely ever explained. Those they involve are chosen by higher powers, far beyond any of us. Not even Millosai controls or can explain that part.” “There’s a power above Millosai?” Ikals was aghast! Shanea seemingly added this to her list of things Ikals should have already known, but there was a patient concession in her sympathetic eyes. “There is a power flowing behind and through all sparks, behind and through all worlds, Ikals. That power determines your destiny, not Millosai. She isn’t a goddess. She certainly isn’t above all that.” Not a goddess!? Ikals found the thought more than troubling. He was racing. He was struggling to meet her. She was a goddess. She was a deity of supreme power. Wasn’t she!? She’d created them all. Hadn’t she? “Let’s start a fire,” Shanea continued. “Ethan and the others will find us soon enough. Let’s give them a sign to work by. Maybe Elin can follow that much, if he’s even willing to it he got lost back there looking for you in the first place, which I know he won’t.” ElnTelse smiled, and Shanea imitated slapping someone hard. A few times over. Ikals just hugged himself tighter and prayed he’d wake up from one of his sleeps in his own bed where all of this will have only been a really bad dream!

Chapter Eighteen Direction

“You couldn’t find the trail,” Shanea teased. She twisted the branch around. She essentially knotted it around itself, pausing to show what she’d done to Ikals. Ikals nodded. He also squinted slightly. It looked simple enough, but so did the fire-lighting. Elin leaned back against a nearby tree and hung his head with a wide grin on his face. Shanea sighed. “You just won’t it to it like I knew you wouldn’t.” The other two stood just outside the stone shelter Shanea and ElnTelse had found, comparing thoughts. Shanea had insisted, instead of simply standing and waiting for them to make up their minds, to put their limited time to good use, so she’d dragged Ikals just off to one side where a small wood grew. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. “We were busy fighting off the jaderr,” Elin countered, opening his arms wide. Very dramatically. “And we secured his pack. A person isn’t much without his pack.” Ikals watched Shanea’s hands closely as she stretched the branch out, across the trail, and anchored it into the ground with a second stick, testing out the pull to make sure it was good. Ikals nodded and tried his own. “The pack was empty by then,” Shanea groaned, looking up and over, shaking her head pitifully, “and the fabric’s all chewed. He’ll need a new one anyway, whether you saved that one or not.” Elin shrugged and laughed like those weren’t details that actually mattered. Shanea returned her attention to what Ikals was working on. “Give yourself more room before knotting it around,” she suggested. Ikals nodded and tried again. “As for killing the jaderr,” she added, looking to the sky playfully, “a swordsman of your skill shouldn’t have found it very hard to kill blind animals

in the middle of a storm.” Elin was laughing again. Ikals stepped back, and Shanea inspected the trap he’d laid. “Not bad.” The branch flicked back and snapped, its stem flying off into the brush. “But you’ll need to be careful not to overdo the arc.” Ikals grimaced. His body was sore. He was tired, and he couldn’t seem to do anything but get things wrong! Giving up, he sat and sunk his head in his hands. “What is it supposed to catch anyway?” he asked. Shanea thought for a moment. “Rabbits,” she replied. “Ganee, shlet, and birds, those you can attract to the ground. They’ll be caught by this snare as well.” “It can also be used for warnings,” Elin added in, crossing his arms. “It won’t stop a larger animal, but if you have bells or noise-makers of some sort on you, you can attach them and know when something’s approaching while you sleep.” Ikals nodded his understanding. It made sense, but where would he get bells? “The movement and sound of branches snapping will work as well. The one you made would do the trick and might even scare the smaller, more fearful animals off.” Shanea noticed Ikals’ frustration and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing fine,” she insisted. “This is a beginning. With practice, you’ll be able to hook up several traps to the same and create the illusion of numbers from all around camp, orchestrated by a single trigger.” Ikals liked that thought. “Will it work on dragons?” Shanea and Elin both smiled. “No,” Elin replied with a smirk. “Your best bet, now that she’s caught your scent, is to avoid all mountains, and that makes your remaining trip across more challenging, doable, but a bit longer.” “So that’s what they’re talking about over there?” Ikals asked, groaning and rubbing his right foot. “Too bad I don’t have a glider. I could just fly there.” “You’d opt for an airborne route with a dragon on your trail?” Shanea joked, eyebrows raised. Ikals groaned further. “How about we try again?” she suggested. “When you’re ready, we’ll move on to something else.”

“While he’s doing this,” Elin murmured slyly, motioning mischievously aside. “We should be here to help,” Shanea interrupted, grinning coyly back. “Some men never grow up.” Elin shrugged. “Why would I want to?” She rolled her eyes, and they kissed. Breaking apart, Shanea shook her head. “It can wait, love. There’s no rush right now. How about you go make sure they’re not just going on about nothing? You know your brother.” Elin nodded, and they kissed again. Standing, he sighed and climbed back up to where Ethan and ElnTelse spoke, pointing and shaking heads at random. Ikals brought another branch across and tried another snare. The knotting was easier. But the anchoring wasn’t. The branch snapped up and caught him in the face! He lost his balance and fell back, cursing his own stupidity. Shanea snickered, Ikals glaring across. “You used to be a thief?” she asked. He nodded. “So you’ve had experience living on the street then?” “Yes.” “The wild isn’t so much different.” Ikals rubbed his nose and sat again. “I’m serious,” Shanea insisted. “What you need to do is learn your basics. After that, a rope is a rope. It’s used the same here with a thin branch or ready vine as it is in a city. Learn to weave the rope; learn to manipulate the branch; and you’ll be fine. With this snare, with fire even, all you need to do is learn how to make the spark, how to bend the branch only so far back. With those basics, a branch snare, a pit trap, anything out here will come. Just don’t give up. You did wound that wolf.” “I was lucky. It pretty much killed itself.” “Maybe,” Shanea conceded, “but it’s a beginning. Practise this often enough, and you won’t have to rely on accidents when you’re alone next.” Ikals smiled and nodded. Crouching forward, he searched for another branch. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Grocia and the woman, Aliis, lower down where a wide trail began. The landslide the day before had cleared a path straight

down, out onto the plains. They patrolled that newly-opened path, speaking quietly with one another. “What was the big black cloud I saw yesterday? It wasn’t rain. It was a lot darker, and it looked like it was coming this way.” “That would be ash from one of the dozen or so volcanoes that erupted in your much more southern ocean when the moon exploded. I don’t think the ash cloud will reach us here, but it’s definitely covering a pretty large area.” Ikals had read about volcanoes, and he hoped they’d all stay to the south. “What were the blue stones?” “Magical markers. There are dragons in your world, mostly in the north, in Tieh, but there are some, those that had Riders once, that built their nests in the other ranges. The stones lure prey to them and create illusions to confuse the mind and hide her lair. People could walk right past and never even know there was a cave there, as long as the dragon isn’t hungry of course. Try not to worry about all this. Just focus on the task at hand.” “You’re all staying longer this time,” Ikals noted softly. “Longer than before at least.” “It’s never the same.” Ikals caught this slip more consciously. It was never the same; before, she’d said something about “the others”. They’d done this before? They worked on his snare for a while before the arguments rose behind them, and Shanea left to help settle things. Ikals took the chance to flex his feet and test his ribs. They still hurt, but they weren’t too bad. Lomnes sat quietly to his right. He hadn’t spoken much, and Ikals had given up trying to start a conversation. When the argument behind him broke apart, Elin laughing, ElnTelse heading off for shade, and Shanea hanging her head, Ikals decided to them. “What’s going on?” Ikals asked, looking from Shanea to Ethan and Elin. Ethan crossed his arms. “We’re trying to find you a safe route across where we

can help guide you,” he explained, smiling politely, casting his brother and Shanea superior glances. Elin leaned over and patted his brother’s back. “He wants to send you back, along the mountains to where you began,” he simplified, laughing more. “No thanks!” Ikals blurted, meaning it. “It’s the only way,” Ethan insisted stubbornly. “We can’t follow you out on the plains, not from this vantage point. I know you want to visit the farmland, and I understand why, but.” “He won’t survive the walk back through the foothills,” Shanea interrupted. “She’s just trying to figure out what we are right now. We can’t protect him from her for long here, and we won’t be able to protect him back there. The direct route is his only hope of getting away.” “We’ve already seen what can happen when he’s on his own,” Ethan breathed. “He needs to get to the library. Is there an alternative? Really?” Shanea threw her hands up, and Elin shook his head. Ikals blinked hard. “You’re all talking like it’s up to you where I go, and maybe I’m to blame for that.” Ethan rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I thank you all for your help, and I look forward to more, but I’m going to the farmland to let Plythe’s friend know he’s alright and to find a warm, soft bed for a day or two.” “Ikals,” Ethan whispered, pausing to phrase his words. “You don’t understand.” “No, you don’t! It’s my life.” Ikals looked from one to the other, finding power in the words. “Why didn’t you warn me about the dragon?” he asked. “Why didn’t you say, ‘Don’t go through the gullies because a dragon lives there and will try and eat you?’ Wouldn’t that have been better?” Ethan weighed the question for a moment, hesitating on a few different replies. “Cause you either wouldn’t have believed me, or you would have gone so you could see one,” he replied. Regret and pain were evident in his voice. Bad memories? “I was hoping logic would hold this time.” It was Ikals’ turn to stall. “No,” he finally stammered, chin held high, “I wouldn’t have gone to prove anything. As for the other, well, I don’t know if I’d

have believed you or not. And the storm didn’t really give me much room for logic. Did it?” Ethan slowly shook his head. Ikals sighed. He still felt anger at being held out of the loop. And for having everyone else planning his life for him. And omitting important details! But that being said, he kind of liked and hated it. He tried to focus on the decision to come, the one he was definitely going to be a part of. He had to take some charge. He had to! He weighed fear against duty. Duty won out. “I’m not going back,” he confirmed. “I’m going to see what’s out there and find Plythe’s friend. Follow me if you want, but I’m going that way, whether you like it or not.” Ethan rubbed his nose further, Elin slapping his shoulder rather smartly. “The mighty lord has fallen,” he mused, inhaling and exhaling deep, highly satisfied. “Put in his place by a boy, finally. I’ve been waiting for this moment for two lifetimes!” “I may take you up on your offer,” Ethan warned, stabbing a finger his way. Elin bowed low, what Ikals was starting to see as a mocking, daring gesture for Elin. Exactly what kind of history did this duo have? “Just say the word. You know I’ll win.” “You know I’m better, Elin.” Ikals’ thoughts turned inward. He’d never wanted to be a hero, and he hated thinking about whatever it was he was going to be asked to do. He’d get to the library, yes, and he’d finally get a complete explanation; then, he’d decide what he’d do next. It was his life, not theirs. It was his decision. Shanea turned Ikals so he was facing her. “You know what you were asking me?” she checked. “About how come we’re not always around for the same period of time?” He nodded half-heartedly. “Well, it’s all based on magic. We’ve found a way to focus our energies, and Millosai’s, through the existing magic or

spirit energy in the area. Atvian, due to the quakes and fires, was home to many spirits. We used their energies to enhance our own.” “That’s why they weren’t bothering me in town anymore,” Ikals wondered, Shanea nodding, kind of. “In part, yes. They’re fine and regaining their spiritual selves as we speak,” she assured him. “Close to this range, we’ve been sapping dragon magic to stay present. We’ve been more physical out here than we could be in town in fact. We couldn’t even speak in Atvian.” She allotted a pointed nod. “Ethan has a point,” she added more seriously. “Crossing the plains from here, there aren’t many towns, so few people will have died along your path. That means there’ll be much less magic or spiritual energy around you. If you get in trouble, you may very well be on your own. Your friend will be trailing, but if there’s trouble, you won’t even have him. Are you ready for that?” Ikals looked over to where Lomnes sat, gazing off in the other direction. It wasn’t like he was much company or help anymore anyway. “I don’t have any choice,” he replied, knowing it to be true, at least, feeling it to be true. “I gave Plythe my word, and there’s no chance I’m going to pick up hunting, skinning, and cooking soon enough to survive otherwise here. I need the food they can share with me there.” “Then it’s settled,” Shanea announced, facing the other two. “He’s heading northwest.”

Chapter Nineteen Quakes

Ikals left later that day. He followed a winding river through what was left of the foothills with their random groves and hard, stubby ground. The river kept going where the land slide path ended. Then, they were gone. Lomnes was there still, partially, and Ikals wanted to wait for him to solidify, but Lomnes shook his head and motioned ahead. With a heavy heart, knowing more was wrong than he could solve or begin to understand with his friend, he set out onto the stubby hard plains with its wiry green grass and patch-work, earthen splotches. There were trees, but not many. Ikals, out of instinct, headed for them whenever he could. He started a steady weave from top to bottom. At least, he considered it top to bottom. There was a slant to the ground leading down to that river where it continued on its slow, trickling way out from the foothills. The majority of what trees there were grew along that river. Ikals stopped at a gnarled grove at a point where the river widened. There were several small islands out there in the water that might work for fishing. They’d found a fishing pole the once in Atvian. They’d put it to use in the old bog outside of town but caught only old shoes and a rusty can. And a music box that he’d spend near a year trying to get working. The memory made Ikals smile. Twenty trees clustered around an overgrown rock. He stopped to sit and take a drink from his canteen. At least it had survived the camp attack and fire. “Couldn’t be,” he mused, looking up into the nearest tree. “You don’t grow out this far. Do you?” He looped his leg around the tree and started to climb, easily reaching the twisted, top branches and seizing his prize: the orange-pink fruit, Calendes, was

his favourite! They arrived fresh in Atvian only rarely, and they always carried a hefty price. To find them growing wild, on such a tree, in such a devastated place – it was a real bonus! He bit into it and chewed. Disgusting! He quickly spat the bite out and took a look at the Calendes Fruit in his hand. The core he’d bitten into was pitch black, and there were black flecks throughout! It was the sourest thing he’d ever eaten! But the Calendes Fruit was the sweetest, softest fruit! Normally. “This can’t be.” Ikals dropped down and took a few steps, picking up his canteen and discarding the fruit. The river, the trees, the fruit – they didn’t belong on the plains. The lumpy land wasn’t supposed to be there either. According to Plythe’s description, the farmland was only a few hours from Atvian town limits. He’d omitted mentioning the mountain range and had likely caught a wagon ride part way – and not mentioned that detail. His memory had been going, so Ikals easily forgave that. But still, the land was different, not just from what Plythe ed, but from what it ought to be. “It can’t mean,” he groaned. “It does.” “Where are the farms?” Ikals asked. “This land isn’t lush or fertile. What happened to the all the rich farmland and endless fruit groves we grew up hearing about?” Lomnes smiled mockingly, then, reigned in any comment he was about to make. “Looks like the quakes shook them up.”

“Ruining what it didn’t outright destroy,” Ikals mumbled, eyes downcast. “And we were living on what they could produce. What do they have left to live on after Stende had carted their best away?” A howling chorus echoed from the hills, and they both looked that way. “Not again,” Ikals hissed. “There has to be someone else they can come after!” “You’d better run,” Lomnes said flatly. “That’s a lot of them.” Ikals counted, then, wished he hadn’t. “Too many,” he rued. He took a quick of his options, and his eyes and mind went to that wider portion of river and the islands in the middle of all that water. “I’ve another idea.” Taking a quick breath, Ikals jumped into the river and began to swim. In mapping out the tunnels under Atvian, his two main roles had been finding things that might be of use and figuring out which tunnel went where. He’d learned, exploring those sewers, how to avoid and navigate undertow, and a few seconds later, he surfaced on an island, just in time to see the first of the coyotes arrive, the first of thirty, from behind and beside. The pack sniffed at the shoreline and called back and forth. It was a mixture of a howls and barks. Three of them fought over the fruit he’d discarded, and one of them jumped into the river to get to him. The brave coyote was swept away while a small fight broke out over the food. Ikals was safe, for now. Lomnes watched it all, nodding, almost smiling. Ikals accepted his friend to process things, but there was only so much give before Ikals demanded to know what was bothering him. “Learn the basics,” he whispered, watching his opponent. He had done that enough on the streets, timing movements, learning habits, seeing if his targets owned anything that might help them out. In this case, he watched how the coyotes ran, walked, and communicated. He studied how they worked as a group and looked for weaknesses. He tried some whistles. It made sense. They seemed to use noise and sound to

find each other and prey. And people used whistles to call and stop dogs. It didn’t have the desired effect. They just started working to get across the river to him all the more! Five more were swept away. Another almost reached his small island before being taken down by the undercurrent as well! He stopped his whistling. “Your pitch is too low.” Lomnes knelt, the coyotes avoiding him. He thought for a second before summoning a resonant, straight note. The coyotes shifted about restlessly with one more trying the swim across. Lomnes changed his pitch and tried again. This time, two coyotes bowed their heads and covered their ears while the others howled. Smiling, Lomnes changed his pitch once more. Ikals couldn’t hear anything, but they ran off. The coyotes picked up a frantic pace and were gone! “How did you do that?” Ikals asked. “Their hearing’s sensitive. Too high a pitch and they can’t stand it. You’d better go. They’ll be back soon.” He waved off Ikals’ thank you. The powerlessness returned. There was such sadness, such struggle in those eyes. “It was your idea,” Lomnes noted solemnly. “Just go.” “What’s wrong, Lomnes? What did they tell you that’s got you this way?” Lomnes looked across, so forlorn, so angry, yet also so despondent. He just shook his head and faded from sight. Wanting to shout, settling for a low growl and clenched fists, Ikals kicked at the earth at his feet. What could he do!? Lomnes could be the most stubborn, pig-headed, obstinate person Ikals knew. He felt certain he was still there, just keeping unseen! But Ikals conceded that his friend was right: the coyotes would return, so swearing heavily, he carried on. First, however, he broke off a solid branch and, using his long knife, another good rescue from his thunder storm fiasco, he removed the twigs and notches.

Satisfied, he found some vine and lashed the knife to one end. It wouldn’t be super strong, and the knife might not remain attached for too long, but it was a weapon. And it looked more threatening than when he’d just had a knife to wave around. He gathered up extra vine for the trip so that he might learn how to weave it into a rope of some kind. The day wore on hot and dry. All three suns were out today, and there wasn’t much of a wind. The grass was wilting, and chalky earth showed in textured designs. As neat as some of those raised patterns were, he just ended up emptying his canteen all the faster! He stopped to fill his canteen again before cutting inland the way Plythe had told him. ‘Two farms from the riverbed, twelve posts over.’ Was the slanted, chipped, wooden marker a post? There were remnants of fencing attached to it, but the fencing was broken through. There was no livestock on the other side now, and what lay beyond didn’t look too good. The first farm house looked like the roof had fallen in. Machinery had been abandoned in the open barn, and the lot had been left to yellowed stalks and wind-blown doors. That was one post. Eleven to go. Seven posts on, he stopped under a wide birch tree and picked at some berries growing there. Clearly, not all of the fertile land had failed, but even this far along and in, other than small trees and the odd bush, fields weren’t showing much in the way of crops. He swallowed the berries down hungrily and took some more. “Right over left, left over right, shift,” he mumbled, setting to work while he ate. He wove the tightest weave he could with the vines, but they kept breaking! He paused, then, tried yet again, more carefully, not fighting the vines as much as

working with them, and he finally produced a weave of sorts, just nothing he’d brag about to anyone. With a frustrated sneer, he tied it to the end of his new spear. Though it wasn’t much of a trophy. “I see you,” he whispered, watching the large spider waving in the soft breeze above. The breeze was another welcomed change as the day drew on. The spider’s web above spanned five branches, and there were six cocoons wriggling, waiting for ingestion. Two looked like birds, but the others could be anything. Normally, Ikals would be scared, but he was studying the insect. He was learning the ways of the wild, so he stayed and watched and wondered if he could take something from the way she hunted and moved. And could he use spider web as a weaving? Something brushed his leg, and he looked down, wanting to scream, but he didn’t. The small black snake wrapped itself around his right leg, its tongue flicking out. It then detached itself and slithered off into the grass. He hadn’t reacted. He wasn’t a threat or meal, so it left him alone. At one point, near the beginning, Ethan had told him he wouldn’t need fighting skills to get there. He’d been wrong, of course, but still, there was something to be said for that logic. Avoiding trouble meant no need to fight, no need for the danger that would draw on panicked runs and long fearful waiting periods. And no need for rescue. Sitting there, stretching a few different ways, he closed his eyes and was quickly asleep. His dream was distorted. There was the library again. It was comforting to be there, but he wasn’t alone, and this time, it wasn’t his escort that he felt. It wasn’t a nameless woman beckoning him on or some other presence stalking him. No, this time, he saw bodies. They were on the stairs and crumpled into corners, and they stared at him. They reached for him. And he knew it: they were at the door. They’d be there when he found the door to. To where? In the middle of that question, he awoke.

And shook his head clear. They’d yet to tell him where the door even took him. To her, to Millosai – but where was that? Standing, avoiding another snake that had neared, maybe the same snake, he picked up his spear and handful of berries and hiked on. His stomach was growling badly by the tenth post. At least, he figured it was the tenth post. There hadn’t been numbers seven and eight, not for the large tear that ran where they might have been. The distance was right, so he counted them anyway. He picked at some strawberries he found growing around the tenth post and walked on, wiping his brow and gripping his spear for security. The fields could be better identified this far in with standing fences and yellow stalks. Elsewhere, what could be watermelons or pumpkins grew, and in one place, only in one place, far to his left, just beyond a wide ditch, there was colour. Something blossomed a bright pink. At the twelfth post he stopped and looked beyond the fields to the buildings in the distance. It was a barn, a two-story house, some sheds, and an outhouse. They weren’t as sturdy as those in the city. They were more of clumsy oafs compared to the expertly designed store fronts and decorated towers. These were large, weathered pieces of lumber hammered together, monsters dating back to a bygone era. And these buildings, unlike the others, had refused to die even against the shifting world itself. He figured the Press, in its day as a stable would have looked much the same. “The road is long,” he mumbled, “but the heart goes on. Never far from home.” He’d pulled his books out at one point, and the blue hard cover book had been soaked through. He’d had it open to dry, a few pages at a time. He was bound to try and save what he could of the poems. His journal wasn’t all that much better off. Sighing, he nodded and started towards the main farmhouse. At least he’d made it somewhere he’d wanted to be. In all his quest that had been and that was to be, what was apparently his prophecy, it was the only place he’d actually wanted to find.

Chapter Twenty Spirits

Ikals, tired, sore, near-starving, and dirty, wondering when he’d been anything but, found the farm house near a half-hour later and stood cautiously outside its back door. The windows were either slanted or broken. The house otherwise showed no obvious sign of damage, but the door was closed tight with a heavy, iron lock on the outside. The general feel he had for the place was that they didn’t want visitors. The nearest shed was wide open displaying various farming implements, differently-sized axes, and a few yellowed bales of hay. The cool breeze was the only thing welcoming about the place. Nothing moved. And he could sense them: the spirits, not his self-appointed guides, but the random spirits that had always searched him out. He had a dull ache in his head, starting behind the temple. He couldn’t see them, but they were there, and he knew they sensed him because they were drawing closer. “What do you want here!?” Ikals turned to find a tall brawny man standing behind him with a broken axe handle in hand. He wore a sweaty red tunic, a throwback to bygone days, over heavy blue pants. His face was wind-blown, and his hands and arms showed the score of many a hard day’s work. Two men, younger, but equally built and wearing similar garb, stood behind him and to the left carrying a shovel and a sickle. “Speak!” the tall brawny man demanded. “You’re standing on my land, and I’ll know why.”

“I’m looking for shelter and food,” Ikals replied uneasily. Not only could he feel the creeping sensation of the spirits getting nearer, but none of these men looked like they cared who he was or why he’d come. “My mentor,” Ikals continued, “Master Plythe Deran Schooes, told me his friend lived here, and that if I ed this way on my journey, his friend, Jor Del Lomb would offer me a place to stay and food to eat. He mentioned a debt of feed, two soltie’s worth.” The man frowned, seemingly weighing Ikals over. The pair behind him shared silent thoughts while the man spun the broken axe handle around. From the corner of his eye, Ikals saw a woman, young, maybe twenty, wandering, lost. One side of her head was dented in. Her clothes were soiled and ripped, but they were pretty and elegant in a simple way, and she was pretty, if not innocent. He turned his mind away and tried to ignore her. “I am that man,” Jor Del Lomb said guardedly, “but I don’t know that name.” “He said you might say that, so he had me bring this along.” Ikals angled his make-shift spear towards Jor so he could make out the long knife on its tip. “He said you’d it well since it was yours. It’s the one you gave him so he could make the trip back home that day, and he told me to thank you, that it came in handy more than once.” Recognition flared, and Jor smiled smartly. “How could I forget?” he groaned. “Oh the mischief we got into that summer!” A click of the tongue and dry chuckle. “I know your mentor, but it’s been an age.” He sneered, playfully though. “He wore a jacket just like yours. We weren’t much taller or older than you.” Further memory wrinkled the man’s brow. “As for the feed, I won that back the next hand with a pair of nines, despite his claim that I was cheating. He even gave me a left hook when I refused to pay up. Of course, we were both stinking drunk at the time,” Jor mused, “but I won that pot fair and square.” An older woman with a girl in tow stood behind the distant pair. Her front was opened, not bloody, but he could see organs, and the child was very pale. Ikals blinked hard trying to block the images from his mind. The three women, child included, were all looking at him, pleading with their eyes, yet avoiding the men. They were either afraid of them or careful to not insult. Ikals did his best to

hide these thoughts and maintain a pleasant, simple expression. It wouldn’t do if these men thought him mad. “The fool showed up here,” Jor rambled on, ignoring any uncomfortable expression Ikals did let slip, “worked for near on a season, then just up and refuses to stay another day. Something about his father being angry with him if he was late. My father found it irable, which was rare for that man.” He sized Ikals up again, with less scrutiny. “The knife is yours to keep. There’s fresh blood on it.” “A wolf’s,” Ikals explained guiltily. “It gave me no choice crossing those mountains back there.” “A good use then; no shame in survival, lad.” Jor thought for a moment. “We haven’t much food, but we’ll find enough for you, for a day or two. I’m afraid I can’t find much more than that, not these days.” “I thank you for that much, and I’ll work for it, with the axe or, whatever I can do,” Ikals offered. His stomach growled. He felt weak from lack of eating, but wasn’t going to be rude and demand anything, certainly not for free from people with little to less. “For now,” Jor replied evenly, “we’ll eat. Then, we’ll work out some way for you to repay us. Do you have no pack?” Ikals shook his head. “You are from Plythe,” Jor joked. “Neither did he, and he left with none but clearly survived the trip just fine, as I’m sure you will. Where are you headed?” Ikals paused. “I don’t know,” he itted. “They haven’t told me that yet.” Jor’s snicker was entertained. “Yup. Just like him. Come. Let’s eat.” Plythe hadn’t mentioned he’d stayed there a season, and Ikals had a hard time imagining Plythe as a gambler. He didn’t even put money in the lottery. And he barely even touched the wine he kept in store. What else about Plythe was Ikals missing? Jor and his friends led the way into the farmhouse, unlocking and pushing the heavy door aside, motioning Ikals further in. It wasn’t much, like the outside, but it was stable, which was a lot considering the rest of the farm.

They had a long crude table with seven heavy wooden chairs around it and an old wood stove to one side. Make-shift cabinets and cupboards, long and short, led into a low pantry where mostly-barren shelves showed and mice gathered. Beyond the kitchen, worn chairs huddled around a propped wagon wheel melted over with layers of differently-coloured candle wax. Three fat candles were stuck into the centre of all that, those layers dripping down to the earthen floor. There were skins hanging on the walls with helmets and tools. For bedrooms, small cramped side-rooms showed single and double beds. Another woman sat in one of these. She watched Ikals closely, but he couldn’t look back, not after the first sight. Her clothes, a hand-maiden’s, dirty layers over a worn green dress and head covering, were matted with blood. He hadn’t seen the wound. He couldn’t see the wound for his own mind’s sake! Meal was prepared: stew, basic meat and broth, but it was treated like an exotic treat for royalty. For drink, homebrewed wine was brought out for Ikals’ pleasure, though Ikals was sure they were drinking it for their own pleasure more than his. The bread he was informed was running low and might not last the soltie. More was to come, but that had been a while back, so they weren’t expecting fresh loaves any day soon. The potatoes, Jor assured him, would be ready in a few days. That would be a welcomed change. The other two were introduced as hired hands, men who’d married Jor’s daughters, heirs to his land when he died, what was left of it at least. They didn’t talk much. The meal came to an end, short as it was, and Jor and Ikals were left alone with what remained of the wine while after-meal chores were done. “What can you do? What do you do for your mentor exactly?” Jor asked, savouring every drop of the drink in his cup. Ikals smiled sheepishly. The wine was sour to him, but he wasn’t going to complain. It was warming, and he was full for the first time in what felt like forever!

“I copy text and do research,” he replied. “Research?” Jor asked quizzically. “Text?” “Plythe is Master of a Printing Press,” Ikals explained. “He took me on as his apprentice. I help him draft and copy texts for the people who pay our bills.” “So he finally moved up in the world, just like his father wanted.” Jor swirled the wine in his cup around for a moment before speaking more. “A Press was his father’s dream, not so much his son’s, not that Plythe would ever have itted it to his old man. That’s why he came out here: to get away from his father’s short-sighted dreams, as he put it.” “In the swamps?” Ikals asked. He had to know the truth on that one. Jor’s smirk was comical. “Do you see swamps around here, lad? I grew up around here. We’ve never had swamps!” On second thought, the man frowned. “But memory is a tricky thing. He told you there were swamps?” he checked. Ikals nodded. “I doubt his trip here was his first attempt at freedom. More like it was his longest, and his last I’m betting. “Near the end,” Jor reminisced nostalgically, “we had one of our arguments over man’s control over his own life. That was normal enough with him. He always liked his long words,” Jor mused dryly. “I was just happy to argue, about anything really. Then he wakes up one day, carves a bunch of circles into our beams, and declares he’s had a prophetic dream about his purpose, about the fate of things to come if he didn’t return to his family.” Finishing his cup, Jor filled it again, offering some more to Ikals. Ikals declined respectfully, and Jor shrugged, filling his cup with its last. “My father bought the cover story, what I told you outside. It made Plythe’s leaving easier, and my father never knew half of what we got up to. All’s the better for it!” He grinned contently. “No, Plythe confessed the truth of it to me later down the road. Of course, he never told me what the dream was about.” Jor chuckled, taking a slow sip. “But it must have been a strong one. He nearly didn’t take the knife you now carry; such was his pride. That, until this day, was the last I’d heard of him. You’d know more of his prophetic dream than I would I suppose.”

Ikals had a feeling Jor was digging, hoping to solve a mystery that had dogged him since Plythe had left those years past. If only Ikals could help him out. “He never mentioned it,” he replied, red faced. “Well,” Jor groaned, disappointed but clearly not surprised, “I’m sure he had his reasons.” Ikals tried a nod, but it was half-hearted. “So you’ve never chopped wood then?” “Not really, split it once, but I’m afraid my skills aren’t very … rural. Sorry.” Jor waved the apology off and thought for a moment. Sadness showed in the lines of his face and how slowly he drank the last of the wine. “Can you sew?” he asked quietly. “Yes, but.” “Our women were killed in the shaking,” Jor noted, stopping to wipe his eyes. Ikals thought of the spirits he’d been seeing, the same ones he saw now in the side room, in the pantry, and by the main door. His eyes quickly went back to Jor. The man didn’t notice any shift in line of sight. He was too focused on his empty glass and a distant memory he saw there. “Millosai keep them,” Jor whispered. “Atvian takes our food. The quakes kill the rest, and we’re left to suffer, paying taxes for no good reason, no good calling. We’re falling apart in more than just wood and crops.” Jor shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Our clothes need tending to,” he quickly added, smiling stiffly. “Though I wouldn’t normally ask a young man to do such a thing, my fingers don’t like the needle. Mend our clothes, and you’ll have a bed for a soltie if necessary and what little food we can spare. Two days to a soltie – that’s a fair deal, best and only one you’ll get in these parts these days!” Ikals couldn’t refuse. “Thank you. I’ll take it.”

Jor nodded, satisfied, or he was just ready to move on to another topic. “You can bunk in the barn,” he said. “I think we have extra blankets, not that we need them these days. The rivers fill, and the heat vents below us rise, bleaching the land. “Feed and bleach – it doesn’t make sense to me, but I’m sure Millosai has a plan. I’m sure she’ll save us somehow. Come. I’ll show you to the barn first, show you where you’ll be sleeping.” Standing, Ikals did look around. The women were there, but where was Lomnes? Alone. Again. Both of them. Was this Plythe’s dream? Why hadn’t Plythe said anything about all this? Was his mentor’s prophetic dream the reason he’d taken them in? Thinking back, Ikals had to it that whatever Plythe had said, he and Lomnes hadn’t been different from the others at all. Plythe had to have known all along. “What happened to your face?” Jor asked absent-mindedly, standing sluggishly. “Argument with some trees.” “The trees always win, lad.” “Not if you shear branches off in your climb. And subsequent fall.” Ikals didn’t really figure he was right, but the man smiled, chuckled, and asked nothing further. Jor led him across the ten feet to the barn and gave him the two-minute tour, if that long. It was a big building with stalls for gelrip, that were apparently all dead. They’d just eaten some of the last of their meat. Jor was hoping to trade his crops for more animals, but he didn’t seem too confident it would work. There was an upper mow on either side where hay, fresh and old, waited. There were brown-smeared pails, old rags, tarnished bail hooks, a few brooms, and other odds and ends. And that was it that for the barn.

“This?” Ikals checked, tapping the one post.

Jor glanced back with a smart grin. “Don’t know how you spotted it, but that’s one.” Jor rubbed the post further up, tapping at a few more places. He then brushed away at some of the cross beams in the nearest stalls. “Here they are!” he joked. “Went around carving circles everywhere! I swear he lost his mind, the dumb fool.” Ikals traced the carving Plythe had made in this man’s post so long ago; only, it wasn’t just a circle. There were small nicks, almost teeth, carved outward around each shape. They weren’t circles. They were gears! He thought of the gears on the chain around his neck and wondered what this meant. “Why don’t you leave?” he asked. “There doesn’t seem to be much here anymore.” Jor smiled and nodded, then, shook his head. “They’ve said the same,” he itted, motioning to the field where Ikals could see one of the others tilling dead crop and planting more. “But I can’t. I won’t leave this land.” Jor strode up to the barn door and leaned, arm out, against it. “I can still feel her. My wife’s here, and my daughters. My whole life, living and dead, back five generations is here.” He turned and smiled. “I’ll never surrender this land for anything,” he whispered, inhaling and exhaling deep. “I’ll see to it the clothes are brought here for you to repair and some thread and needles my wife used.” It came on Ikals in an instant! Jors left, and Ikals recoiled. His stomach turned, and his temples throbbed. He wanted to cry out for the man to return, asking more questions, expanding on spent points, anything, but what else was there to say? And the women came on too quickly, filtering through the walls and rising through the earth, and they spoke, if that’s what it was, to him, all at once! There were so many thoughts and words that all Ikals heard and felt was a

debilitating, thrumming wail! He drew further in and held out his hands. “Please,” he pleaded, “stop. I can’t, I can’t understand you.” They pressed in around him and spoke as one, shifting through one another even. Ikals felt the journey’s strain add to the mix. It was like his mind was being stretched too thin, and his body gave! The world went black.

“How long have I been out?” Lomnes, sitting back against the wall behind him, looked over as if broken from internal thought. “Less than an hour. They wouldn’t give you up. They were just hovering around you. I had to make them leave, but they aren’t far. They’re never far, are they?” “No,” Ikals groaned, “they’ve never spoken so many at once before, and these ones are too, too fresh,” he managed, having trouble forming solid thoughts. “They’re just too emotional.” Ikals rubbed his temples to ease the pain. It wasn’t really helping, but he did it anyway. “Where’ve you been?” he asked, sighing heavily. “I looked for you. I was here for long enough before they found me, Jor and the other two. And their women,” Ikals added regretfully. “What’s going on, Lomnes? Please, talk to me. Maybe I can’t help or understand what’s going on, but let me in. Please.” Lomnes slowly shook his head. Lifting himself to his knees, Ikals looked around. The women were around him. They were faint, but they were still there. Lomnes snorted. “I’ll be around,” he said. “Lomnes!” Ikals pleaded. Lomnes just shook his head and faded. And Ikals was left to stare at the raftered ceiling. Where was Millosai? Should he be looking down, left, right? Did he need to look anywhere in particular to speak to her? Did he even need to speak at all!? All he wished, well beyond his own fears and worries, was to know what he could do help his friend – even when his friend didn’t want anything from him!

But he didn’t know the words to use to speak to her. “You don’t need words.” “Who?” Ikals asked, jerking his gaze toward the door. She was sitting there, Aliis. With her arrival, the three spirits were fading from his mind. Aliis wore her sword on her hip. It was a simple blade with a black handle and silver hilt and knob. Her hood was down, and her cloak, pants, and boots were earthen colours. The boots were a far better quality than the rest. Those green eyes near glowed against in dim of shade she’d found. “What do you mean?” he asked. She smiled. “You don’t need to speak to her with words. She can feel your thoughts.” “So you can read my mind,” he mused sourly. “Great.” Aliis stood from the heaped harnesses she’d been sitting on and glanced around. “We can’t read your mind,” she replied, frowning. “This place isn’t much. No,” she added, glancing back at Ikals, “you just have the look of a frustrated person trying to talk to Millosai. I’m sorry if I was wrong.” Ikals rubbed his temples further and slid himself back to sit against the wall where Lomnes had been. “You weren’t wrong,” he grumbled. “I was trying to talk to her, but I don’t know the words, so it doesn’t matter.” “Just use your heart. Speak, think, and feel, and she’ll hear you.” Ikals brought his knees up to his chest. “Can you tell me something?” he asked. “If I can, yes.” “What’s going on with Lomnes? He won’t talk to me, but he’s been talking to you guys, and I want to know how to help him.” Aliis nodded pensively, Ikals resting his head back against the barn wall. “I’ll walk across the world,” Ikals continued, feeling his eyes tearing up. “I’ll fight the wilds to get there and find this damn library, and I’ll get through the

door! I’ll do whatever. I don’t care about that. Understand?” He buried his face his knees, then inhaled deep, hastily wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. “I just want to know what’s going on with my friend.” “You will find the library,” Aliis said, taking a few steps. “I believe that much. I think you’ll do it.” Ikals didn’t mean to be rude, but he wasn’t impressed, and his expression showed it. She knelt on one knee and picked at the hay on the flooring. “He’s tied to you, Ikals. Do you know what that means?” “That it’s my fault he didn’t over?” Ikals replied with a sneer. Aliis shook her head. “No. He’s tied to you because he feels the bond with you is too great. He is choosing to not let go because he feels owing to you.” “I don’t see why. I’d be dead if not for him. I owe him,” Ikals argued obstinately, “not the other way around.” “Well,” Aliis mused, smiling patiently, “he doesn’t see it that way because he obviously feels he owes you a lot. He has something big to do to equal that debt. I haven’t been the one speaking with him, but this isn’t the first time.” She stopped mid-sentence, then, swallowed and smiled. “When you succeed and reach the door, he has no link to this world.” “What are you talking about?” It was too much. Now, Ikals felt like there were too many emotions to understand anything! Aliis sighed and stood. “He is bound to help you succeed,” she explained. “He, by his own honour, heart. And soul, by his very spiritual existence now, is bound to see that happen.” It started to make sense. The weight of the revelation sunk Ikals’ shoulders. The very air he breathed weighed at his lungs. “There’d still be enough of him to though, right?” he asked, dreading the answer. “Not usually,” Aliis replied, “not when there’s this strong a bond.” She paused to

think on what she’d just said. Or, Ikals figured, to try and find a nicer way to not completely crush his heart! “But considering things, maybe. I don’t know.” “When he succeeds in helping me,” Ikals breathed, hating the words, “in all likelihood, he becomes nothing, not ing over. And not finding any rest in the beyond?” She didn’t nod or shrug. And didn’t even attempt a reply. No wonder Lomnes was there, but not there, helping, but alone. At least if Ikals died and failed, maybe, Ikals figured, Lomnes might just switch to being a regular spirit? “So why are you here now?” he asked, washing his face with his hands. He needed to think! There had to be a way to save Lomnes and reach the door. He set his mind straight, pushing his fear and guilt down. He would find a way of saving his friend! “I’m not in any danger. I made it alright.” “We wanted to know how things were going, and there was only energy enough here to allow me through. I wasn’t even sure I’d make it.” “Jor’s wife and daughters died in the quakes,” Ikals breathed. “They’re the ones you’re blocking. They want something. I couldn’t tell what.” Aliis walked back to the door. “I imagine they want their men to leave,” she mused, leaning against the frame. “I know I would. There are healthier farms to the west needing able bodies where these men could start over. It’s pride and misdirected loyalty keeping them here, but I could be wrong.” Ikals wasn’t listening, not really. It was like the words just drifted past on a faint breeze. These spirits used those of the recently dead to sustain their presence in his world. What if they used the same energy to sustain and Lomnes!?

Chapter Twenty-One Sparks

Jor Del Lomb hadn’t been kidding: there was a need for clothing to be mended. Ikals scowled at the britches, shirts, socks, and other garments Jor found for him to repair, but he’d agreed to help, and he wasn’t ready to go on yet, so he built up a makeshift table in the barn and got to work. For the most part, Aliis shaved and dried reeds, cutting marks into their ends while they spoke, but she stopped every so often to look up. Ikals looked up as well. Once, he thought he saw the sky blur, but when he’d looked again, it was normal. “A prophecy isn’t designed for one person, per say,” Aliis was saying Ikals’ second day on Jor’s farm. She’d taken to working with a staff of her own, something she’d returned with on a hike while he’d been working. It was somewhat flat though, so more of thin rectangular staff. She was looping a fine rope around one end. “A prophecy is designed for a character type, a person who can wield this or do that, not Sam or Joe who can wield or do.” Ikals held up the shirt he was sewing. It was so thread-bare he could see two suns and one moon through it. “So it doesn’t need to be me?” he asked, glancing across to the vacant stall where she worked, cross-legged on the hay. “Someone else can fulfil the prophecy for me?” “No,” she replied rather flatly. Ikals lay the shirt back down. Tying off her lashing on one end, she started doing the same on the other. “Millosel needs saving. There isn’t time for anyone else of prophecy to attempt it. You’re the one, Ikals. I’m sorry. That’s a horrible weight to give anyone, but it is what it is.” Ikals checked all corners. Lomnes was sitting above, leaning on a window frame, showing no response. Just gazing outside. Ikals nervously patted his work table. Not yet, not ‘til they were alone.

“Where is this library,” he asked Aliis, “these archives? No one’s told me that much.” “Did you ask?” Ikals had to it that he hadn’t. “Davergen.” “Davergen,” Ikals breathed, his mouth falling open. Lomnes glanced back over his shoulder. “No one goes there anymore,” Ikals groaned, aghast. “Not even a thief can properly make it in those streets. There’s a joke going around Atvian that, this new single kingdom they’re pushing on us? Granted, with the moon blowing up, no one’s talking about it anymore, but still. The reason the single kingdom won’t hold is because they chose Davergen for its capital. The bulk of all the unrest, riots and political actions, and all that? That’s because, or was because?” Ikals was getting confused talking in both past and present tense, so he decided to just talk like the whole political restructuring was still going on. “It’s because of Davergen. It’s not that anyone thinks this change will really do anything significantly good or bad for any of us little people. Go ahead and it make it one kingdom. Why not? Maybe Plythe sees good things in it, but he sees good things in most everything. Most of us don’t care. Davergen!? Nothing can survive in Davergen long.” Aliis smiled and laughed. Her fingers moved deftly through her weave. She made triangular and circular designs in her lacing, shapes meeting and crossing. It was simple, yet amazing. “Davergen’s been the centre of this world,” she chuckled, “since it began, even when the world didn’t know it. I know it’s seen better days, and things will be even worse now, but they built the archives under Davergen. We can’t change that fact.” She finished her woven lashing with quick precision. He’d seen her do it, but still, he couldn’t tell where she’d knotted it or where it all, either top or bottom, started or ended. Aliis considered her own work closely for a time before seeming to deem it acceptable. Was it a staff after all? It wasn’t just its thin

design. Why would she be carving a groove mid-shaft? It kind of looked like a hand grip. “How long do we have?” Ikals asked. “Before the end? For me to get across?” “Not long, a soltie or two unless we want to cut it short.” “To make it that far!? I’ll need a horse. It can’t be done!” Aliis didn’t answer. She wove her lashing up to the bottom of one groove and lashed a similar pattern in once more. She then shifted to the top of the opposite groove and carried on without hesitation. “If I could get a wagon to hook up to the horse,” Ikals suggested, shaking his head in dismay, “maybe it could work, but that’s a long way to go. The man, Ethan, said I’d waited too long to start. Why didn’t he just tell me to turn around!?” Ethan kept his secrets. His brother Elin seemed to just want war. Shanea had been nice enough, but she’d only half-answered his questions. Then kind of said more Ikals conceded. The others either wanted him to fail or had tried to gut him, and Aliis was just bluntly telling him he had maybe, what, ten, sixteen days to get halfway around the world! This had to be a test. Or punishment. Millosai was punishing him for not going to the festival and praying like that man at the door had said he ought! Which brought Ikals back to the start. Having wished he’d never asked for any answers whatsoever! “Things will find a way,” Aliis urged, seemingly completely ignoring any or all of his frustrated antics and exasperated gestures. “We’ll see what ElnTelse can do about a horse.” Ikals slumped back in his chair unclear what to do about anything. A horse offered hope. And he was speaking to a spirit. About a goddess. Who wasn’t a goddess like everyone believed. He grimaced. Nope, he wasn’t opening that one again! The whole point of hiking across the known world to a slummy hole was to find the library and meet her. That demanded some faith, right? So he’d try harder to keep some!

“A horse would work,” he agreed, stiffly. This had to be a test. A damn hard one. He’d better be ing! Ikals needed something simple. Make that a lot of things simple, so he started sewing up the hole in the armpits of his thread-bare shirt in hand, then, mended the buttons with the crude selection Jor had found for him from his wife’s supplies. Between buttons, he watched Aliis work. What was she working on? When her weaving was done, Aliis inspected her designs and lashing once more before laying the length of wood down and standing. “I’ll be back,” she announced, walking stealthily from the barn. No one else could see her. Who was she hiding from? He made sure she was gone before glancing up to where Lomnes sat. “They can be here from beyond,” he started, speaking a little too anxious, too quick, so he forced himself to continue more slowly. “You can use that same energy they use. I’ve been watching the holding spell she uses to keep them here. I can teach it to you! They can use it on you when I, when I get there. Or maybe you can use it yourself, you know, if they refuse.” Ikals had no reason to distrust the others. He just didn’t want to take the chance they might not want to help in this. Lomnes, sitting above, just shook his head. “It won’t work,” he countered sadly. “It’s okay. I’m coming to with this. I don’t like it, but I think I’m finally accepting it for what it is: fate.” “Well damn fate and prophecy then!” Ikals spat, fixing Lomnes with a determined glare. “If Millosai wants me to do this, she’ll have to help you get across, free as you wish, or let Millosel be damned ‘cause I don’t care about Millosel if you can’t find some peace, not if you’re the price I have to pay!” Lomnes’ smile was disbelieving. But being a smile, it was heartening. “You’d let Millosel be damned for me?”

“I would,” Ikals replied evenly. He would, for his friend, yes. “Why are you so bound to me, Lomnes? Why this much? I don’t get that. What did I ever do to deserve this much loyalty?” Lomnes glanced back out the window. “Master Plythe saved me from the streets, Ikals, but he only did that because you talked him into it. And on the street, as much as you think I was saving you, it was the opposite.” “I’d have been dead if not for you.” “And I’d have become just like the others, just like that punk you fought in Lorenz’s shop, if not for a kid who showed me that there was something more than the next scrap of food.” A guilty squint. “And you allowed me forgiveness for thing’s I’ve done.” A wave of painful memory distorted Lomnes’ expression before he blinked wide to clear it. “You convinced me about learning, about a chance at, at dreaming, and then you and I met Master Plythe. And all the rest.” “So I’d say we’re even,” Ikals breathed, wrinkling his nose in thought. “You decide what’s enough. Right?” Lomnes shrugged and laughed, shaking his head. Ikals sighed. “Getting me safely to this library will be a monumental feat. You heard her: Davergen! Get me there, and count that as enough. I beg it of you! I don’t want you to fade into nothing, not after what you’ve done for me. Please, consider that enough and over just in case we can’t find another way!” Lomnes smiled. “You’d better not give up, oh chosen one,” he said in a high, aristocratic voice. Ikals smiled too. Lomnes’ air was forced, but that meant effort, and it fuelled Ikals’ more positive mood shift. “What’s she making?” Lomnes asked. “I don’t know.” Aliis reappeared at the door with feathers and something that looked like undone rope in hand and took her place in the stall with the wooden shaft once more. She drew a dagger from her boot and cut off tufts of the feathers, artfully crafted to exact copies of the one before. There were reds, yellows, and greens from the multi-coloured feathers she’d gathered.

Ikals finished the shirt and wiped his hands on a rag. He suddenly realized how dirty and worn his own clothes were. And how badly he smelled! How long had it been since he’d had a bath? He promised himself another swim, preferably with no coyotes on the other bank, and with some soap. Really soon. He pulled a pair of blue pants to him and forged ahead. Having found some renewed peace with Lomnes, feeling some measure of hope restored, he found a lot of energy to spend! He repaired the ripped crotch and patched the knees with renewed interest. He even patched his own clothes and repaired his ripped pants leg while Aliis fitted sharpened tips to the small reed shafts: arrows. Ikals finally understood what she was making! The feathers were for the arrows not doubt. The grooves on the thin shaft were for a hand grip, and that rope, unbound, if it was rope, was for the string. It was a bow! “Come here,” she instructed, waving him over. He crouched down beside her. “Take these,” she instructed, ing him the unbound strands. “You’re going to craft your own bowstring and learn its power. That’ll help you more than just watching me do it.” “I’m not that good at it,” he warned her. She smiled knowingly. “I’ve seen what you did for your staff,” she agreed, laughing a little. “Have faith,” she added. “With hard work comes great things.” That said, she guided him through a weaving he hadn’t even see before, stopping often to pull down and strengthen his work as they went. Quite often, his fingers felt like they would bleed. They were so sore, or would they just fall off!? Still, she pushed him on, and slowly, the string, too wide for use, took shape. The odd thing was that there was an extra length in each round he tied that wasn’t being used for anything. When he’d made his weave four feet, she stopped him and had him hook the tied end. That extra length he hadn’t been using was hooked to a nail on a post.

Using the other end of that strand, he pulled, and she drew his weave out, up and down. The whole, thick pattern was sucked in on itself, Aliis leaning in to add Pressure to his draw. The strain was breaking the skin on his rather dry fingers! She looped and knotted the string, then, they drew it even thinner, and she wove the knots in on themselves more until they were simply part of the now fully reinforced, t strand that was the bow string! “Now,” Aliis said, taking the string from him, “we just need to prepare the bow for moulding.” “Can’t you just add the string?” Ikals wondered, staring at his hands. They ached where they weren’t numb! “With some materials,” Aliis replied with a tsk, “yes, but this wood, to make the final product strong, needs to be eased into shape. I’m not simply making this bow to hit a target. Anyone could craft that weapon.” “Then what are you making?” Ikals wrung out his hands as best he could. He used a water trough, filled up at the beginning of day for his drinking and washing water, to clean them. “You need a bow that will kill what you hit. You need a bow that doesn’t require a skilled bowman, just someone who’s hungry.” She smiled at the thought. Ikals figured he liked her thinking. “That weave you just did wasn’t normal, Ikals. It’s something the Shewesse taught me. This sinew will flex with you as you use it and learn your style.” “Sinew?” he asked hesitantly. Aliis shrugged. “I found some coyotes on the way here,” she explained matterof-factly. “They’d been killed by something big.” A dragon? Ikals was going to ask, but then decided not to. “There’s an oil they secrete that’s all natural. It’ll keep the string fresh and strong.” She hung the bow string from a different nail and stretched it even tighter with a separate length of rope. Satisfied it wouldn’t go limp, she started easing a bend into the wooden bow itself. Ikals wiped his hands on a shirt that was beyond repair and sat again, finding his place.

He worked on the clothes, and she manipulated the bow with a practised hand. He also broke off to turn pages in his two books every few minutes, like he’d been doing all along. They’d been propped carefully near the old fire can in the corner. With a low heat, the pages were more fully drying out. Like the hard covers, both books and their pages held a new warp, and they bore a badly coloured stain in general, but with the right loving attention, they were still legible. Conversation dwindled. For his part, Ikals pretty much just felt all talked out. He’d finished two baskets full when Jor returned to check on his work and deliver some food and fresh water. “Don’t tell my wife,” he mumbled with a chuckle, “but your handiwork is better than hers.” Ikals nodded sadly. Jor considered the state of Ikals’ clothing and gestured to the baskets. “Get something better for you to wear,” he offered. “There are bound to be extras.” Ikals had no idea what to say, so he just nodded his thanks. “End of Day Meal will be late today,” Jor added with a tired grunt before Ikals could respond. “The water tank’s busted again. If we don’t fix it, our fields won’t have any irrigation, and on their own, in this new climate, that would be their death and ours.” “I can help if you like,” Ikals offered. Jor glanced around the barn, at the blankets Ikals had piled up for sleeping in the far corner, at the half-finished bow and arrows. “I don’t need more hands,” he replied, “just more supplies. I thought you were a scribe,” he added, raising one brow. Ikals cleared his throat. He was trying to figure out what to say. Aliis had paused in her work and was looking at him quizzically, a grin steadily spreading. Invisible to Jor, she didn’t exist in his eyes. Ikals had to come up with some story to a new found skill he didn’t even possess. “I read about weapons crafting in one of Plythe’s texts,” he lied, rather badly. “I’ve been trying to recreate it though I doubt I’m doing archery any great credit. I figure I’ll need all the help I can get out here.” “You’re right there,” Jor agreed, smiling slyly. “Plythe was full of surprises too,”

he noted, looking back at Ikals. “I should have known you’d be the same.” Ikals opened his mouth to speak, but Jor shook his head. “I’m not asking any more, lad. Your secrets are you own to keep, as were your mentor’s.” He turned and made it to the door before Ikals stood. “Can I ask you about your wife?” Ikals asked, unsure he should. Jor stopped and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” Ikals quickly added. “Forget about it.” “No, no,” Jor replied, half-turning back around. “I have many memories, good of course, of my wife. I don’t mind sharing them. What is it you wanted to know exactly?” “What did she look like?” Jor smiled warmly. “Long blond hair, beautiful blue eyes, and a song bird’s voice,” he said. “She could melt a man with one touch. She had no business here on this farm. She could have had any man, but she chose me for some reason. I’ll never know why.” Ikals placed her: the woman with the child. “How did she die?” Jor looked away for a moment, and Ikals was worried he’d asked too much, but Jor didn’t walk away or cry. He just stood there a moment in silence. “She fell carrying our youngest from one of those sinkholes,” he finally explained. “Our daughter had fallen in. They were almost clear when the retaining wall gave way.” He blinked hard and shook his head. “I haven’t been back there since. I’d rather her as she was, rather them as they were with the youngest singing and the other two cleaning the house or dancing or decorating the walls. As long as I hold onto their memories, they can never truly die.” “Our hearts hold onto our loved ones even when they’re gone so that we’re never far apart.” Ikals smiled. “That’s what Plythe would say.” “He was the man for words.” “I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Ikals added softly. Having been given a limited time frame, charged by a renewed sense of direction, Ikals wanted to resume his trip as soon as he logically could. “I thank you for your help, but I must be on my

way.” “Also like Plythe,” Jor returned, grinning again. Jor left, and Ikals sat, slumping down into his chair. “What’s wrong?” Aliis asked. “You look troubled.” “I think you’re right. I think the women want their husbands to leave, but he won’t listen to reason. He won’t leave her, but he can’t see her. There isn’t anything I can do for him or them.” Aliis returned to her work without an answer. As did Ikals. Some hours later, they broke their respective solitudes, and Aliis instructed Ikals on stance and form, footing, line of sight, and shoulders. She showed him how to draw the string back and hold his breath. She fired off a few arrows before letting him try. He missed the hay bail each and every attempt, so they tried again. From the basics on up. On breaks, he practised his lashing and tied himself a nice grip on his staff. Plythe’s knife was cleaned, sharpened, and slid back in its sheath, where it belonged, and his thick branch was free to work as a safer melee weapon, one where he couldn’t accidentally cut his leg open swinging it around. Like he’d been worried would happen if he’d kept using it as a spear. He’d never even used an actual spear. He could at least manage a staff in a fight. She looked his weaving over and added her own fitted groove, and he redid his efforts. A few swings told him the balance was way better than with any metal pole or broom, but nearly every swing had him near pitched off his feet! “Widen your stance,” Aliis advised. “It’ll allow you to work with the increased weight. It’s the weight that adds pull and draw to the spin. That’s what’s putting you off balance.”

Ikals thought about it for a moment, then, nodded. He did as she advised, and it helped. “Keep with the basics. You can’t learn it all at once.”

“Still hoping to save me?” Ikals nodded. Sitting in the tree above him, Lomnes smiled. “What if you can’t? What if I’m destined to just die and become nothing? I was born nothing. It’s almost poetic I should end that way.” “I’m supposed to have faith in fate and Millosai,” Ikals insisted, swinging his long knife around, trying stabbing and thrusting moves as part of his strokes. “Do you our talk on top of the Press? I always have believed in something. Ignoring all the babble the Faith and their likes spew, it’s been Millosai all along. “Do you know where I can get horses around here?” “There were tales of great horsemen at Tahee Llom Gorge. Apparently, sounds that run through the gorge resonate in perfect harmony. There’s a reason I wanted to go there. Kishmaz told me about it. The other scribes told me about the horses.” “You’ll get your wish.” “I thought it wasn’t safe,” Lomnes mused, clearing his throat and adding a smooth, guttural sound. “Eh?” “It isn’t, but I checked the map. Tahee Llom is on the way to Davergen, and if we’re out of time, we’ll need a direct route. That takes us through Tahee Llom. And I need a horse.” “We,” Lomnes mirrored with a smirk. Ikals couldn’t help but like the sound of that. “Did they tell you what was beyond the door?” “Didn’t you ask her?” Lomnes teased. Ikals didn’t bother answering. Lomnes had been there. He knew full-well Ikals hadn’t. “Sort of,” Lomnes replied uneasily. “Something about another Spark, not the Auswix Chaz, but somewhere else. To be honest, I had other things on my mind, so I wasn’t really listening to that part.

“We,” Lomnes mirrored again, full of deep thought. “Okay. I’ll give you a chance. I’ll give your faith a shot. I’ll get you to the library and your door, and you take it from there. Will you be alright after that? Really?” “I’ll be fine,” Ikals lied. He had no clue what waited beyond, but he needed Lomnes to let go at the door. He needed Lomnes to truly accept his peace! “I’ll miss you, but who knows? You might end up where the door leads. We might be seeing each other again before you know it.” Lomnes nodded softly. “Maybe,” he whispered. “A lot of people need saving and healing. We need to give it to them. And to us, and we’ll do it together - you and I against the world, Lomnes, just like the old days.”

At end of day, sitting up by the fire, Ikals brought the gears Plythe had given him out to look at. The books had been secured back inside the tan jacket which Ikals had reinforced with extra stitching, and he had secured a new, cleaner pair of pants and a much cleaner shirt. Staring at the gears carved into the wooden beams had given Ikals an idea. When the firelight reflected on an angle just right, those wood-carved gears became a lot more clearly defined, and just like those gear shapes carved into wood, it worked for the metal gears too! The reflection of the firelight caught on the etching made into the gears. What was nearly invisible in plain light was visible in the shadow that flame created! He found his eyes tracing words around each. Ikals grinned wide, but then frowned heavily. This was amazing. It was the finest engraving work he’d ever seen, but it wasn’t English, and it made no sense! He turned each gear around, following the circular path each side of the gear offered, then turning the gear over and following the other side along. It’s not just that they weren’t English. Which gear was he supposed to read first? “Following standard notation,” he quietly reasoned, “the capitol is the first word. The commas and periods, accepting Plythe had these made, are what they are. That’s an old symbol for continuance,” he mumbled, glancing from one gear to the other, “so you’re what I read first from the capitol’s side. Then you, around on this one.” He paused to scratch his head. If he was right, he knew the order he was supposed to read the words in, but they still made no sense to him, and he needed to keep them close enough to the fire to have its reflection, so the lettering would remain clear. Which made it rather warm to the skin. “Ei Takose. Ei Kato.” He switched that first gear over. “Konch, Istune, Fiarr, Solw, Miffo. Kostel-lare. Tont.” Those last two words seemed to be written as a command of some sort – to control the previous list with all those commas? “Kordonna Ei Thio,” he read on, switching to the second gear. “Kordonna Ei Itoo. Kostel-lare Ato.” On to the second side of that second gear. “Zeene.

Teetillo. Elgolne Chi Ne.” And that was it. Both gears had been read. So what did any of it mean? Ikals leafed through the book on poetry he’d received, but those words didn’t show up anywhere. Were the words from an old language maybe? Plythe had had someone do such a wonderful job engraving the words on the gears. They clearly held some measure of importance.

Chapter Twenty-Two Tahee Llom

Ikals left before the others awoke, and they awoke on the farm quite early. In truth, he couldn’t sleep. There was too much to do and plan, and he had a horrible feeling he’d wasted too much time in Atvian. He should have left a lot sooner, though it would have meant leaving Plythe sooner too. The climb along the river was steadily upwards. He stopped to practise his archery and general combat and eat some of the food he’d saved up for the journey. He even packed some berries and fruit he found along the way, the good ones that hadn’t grown sickly after the changing land got their grip. When he was in one place for long enough, Lomnes solidified and corrected his footwork when he fought, commenting on hand and shoulder work as well. He couldn’t do the archery much himself, but he understood stance and flexibility in general. Turning around near mid-day, Ikals found his mind reeling. The grade had been steadily rising, yes, but that much? The farmland that served Atvian and its general region was in fact a large valley sandwiched by the mountains that he’d come down before and the plateau that he now stood upon. Inside, for just a moment, he felt like a giant! Turning back around, he frowned, suddenly feeling very small. The hill ahead wasn’t done, and he wasn’t even halfway to Davergen yet. He hit the summit of that particular climb some hours later and dropped into the nearest slice of shade feeling thoroughly exhausted. The staff, bow, and canteen all felt heavier than anything he’d ever carried, and he rested. When he could move again, he looked back at the farmland and wished them well. Taking a few more drinks from his canteen, he turned forward and found himself looking out on a rocky plain. In the distance, far in the distance, was a dark cut in the land: Tahee Llom Gorge. From the distance, it looked peaceful and stable, but he doubted it would be like

that up close. Looming behind Tahee Llom, stabbing up into the sky, was Dwarf Peak, the right side of those twin peaks. The more left-wise portion, as he could tell now by colour, was actually part of a mountain behind Dwarf Peak, not connected at all with its mate. Wasn’t his left peak part of the mountain range that ran around the inlet from the Coloured Seas that led to Davergen? The walking became slower as his feet, hitting mostly rock, became much sorer. Muscles showed their fatigue, and his food dwindled and ran out. He was becoming very tired of being hungry! To his surprise, a ing wagon allowed him age. “Where are you headed?” the driver asked. His wife watched Ikals closely, and Ikals felt sure she had some kind of weapon in hand, so he made no quick moves. He just sat against the wagon wall while it rattled along for as far as they’d take him. There were crates and bundles stuffed in tight with barely room for him! The pig snorted, and the fertilizer sacks smelled horrible, but Ikals made no complaint whatsoever. “Davergen,” he casually replied. The couple had a hushed discussion and cast Ikals a doubting eye. “Why ever go there?” the woman hissed. “There’s nothing good to that town. Anyone will tell you.” Ikals smiled. “It’s a long story.” He laughed at his own joke since there was no way they’d get it. “I don’t even understand it all,” he itted. They took him a good distance before turning off. He watched them carry on a moment before retaking his hike. They’d spoken of a new town people had started with thick walls and an underground reservoir they were sharing. They didn’t like the new leaders, but food was short everywhere, so they didn’t figure they had any choice. Feeling he had just as little choice, he forged on. Coming upon a grassy hill, one of the few, he stopped still and smiled. Kneeling,

he removed the bow from over his back and drew an arrow from his quiver. In his mind, he traced the movements Aliis had shown him. He notched the arrow, held the bow’s grip tight and straightened his arm. He took in a breath and drew the string back to his cheek. The arrow fell off his thumb. Closing his eyes and cursing inwardly, he tried again and took aim. The rabbit, a small grey target not thirty feet ahead, looked up and sniffed at the air. Ikals imagined the arrow hitting its target clean and pinning the rabbit to the earth beyond! He imagined the taste of meat going down and smiled broader. He’d finally hit his practise targets. He could do this. Ikals knelt there, releasing his first breath, then, taking in another. The rabbit didn’t move. Why did he want it to? Why couldn’t he kill the thing!? He’d eaten gelrip and chicken. He liked meat well enough, but Ikals itted to himself that this meat had large eyes and looked way too inoffensive to be a meal! He relaxed his arm. Thinking on it again, just to prove his point, he drew again and took a different aim, planting the arrow in an earthen mound beside the rabbit. The rabbit shot off and was gone in an instant! Ikals nodded. Sure, he’d been aiming for the other dirt patch ten feet closer, but at least he’d hit something. Right? The arrow had stuck. But the rabbit had fled. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t hungry enough to kill a smart animal for food. There were always roots and berries. And he retook his hike, now nursing an aching, exhausted body. And a wounded pride. The suns burned high in the sky, and the two remaining moons followed him. He had a feeling there was something else amid those soft, white clouds. He had a

feeling that dragon was still following him, but what would she be waiting for if she was up there? And he’d heard the mind was one of the first things to go when you’ve gone without food for too long. He’d seen enough children go mad living on the streets, so he figured it was true enough. Next thing he knew, he’d start talking to some invisible friend only he could see. The thought made him snicker, almost uncontrollably. Still, he had a feeling of being watched. His legs weak, stomach aching, and breathing broken, he spotted another rabbit further on. For all he knew, this was the same rabbit come to fulfil its first rightful place on his menu. Or maybe that was just hunger in rabbit form, and he’d finally flipped!? Just then, Ikals wasn’t sure. Either way, he decided that pity was for people who weren’t hungry. He drew his arm back and fired. The arrow hit a nearby rock and ricocheted off somewhere else. A second arrow snapped, hitting a dry patch ten feet in front of the thing. The rabbit just looked at him, its nose twitching. Ikals felt like he was going mad and fired of three more arrows, missing by a wider margin each time! Dropping the bow, he charged the small animal with his knife out. “You’re mine,” he breathed, eyes wide. It waited for the last few feet before turning and hopping into a small burrow and disappearing underground. Ikals fell to his knees and hung his head, stabbing his knife into the ground after it. He’d been outsmarted by a rabbit! At least Lomnes hadn’t arrived yet to see him, or he’d never hear the end of it! With the suns beating down and hunger pulling at his stomach, he screamed before pulling his knife free, spitting on the burrow, and trudging back for his bow and staff. He could only find two of the arrows he’d fired. That left him five. Great. And no food to show for it! Growling, he picked up his path again. Ikals came to a stop further along, was it hours, he wasn’t sure. It might by end of day for all he knew! Sitting on one of four flat rocks, the scraggly, greenish-

yellow grass poking through cracks around him, he looked out on Tahee Llom Gorge. The actual town of Tahee Llom had once spanned both sides of the worldfamous gorge. A suspension bridge connected both sides to a central, stone pillar, hence, one side of the gorge was connected to the other by that central point. Ikals wasn’t sure why his mind kept replaying that one point except that, well, he couldn’t see that central pillar anymore. There was rubble down below nearly clogging the gorge where the bridge might have been. Some of the shapes were square in nature. They could be fallen houses that had tipped or been dragged down. From where he sat, still too far off, Ikals wasn’t sure. The walls of the gorge itself looked strong, but he had a bad feeling about that too. From his distance, several hours out, he could see groups of people on the plains around the town, and there was movement of some sort within. Ikals decided to avoid the crowds if possible. As for horses, the only reason he might approach the people of Tahee Llom, he couldn’t see any, but there were farms to the far right. They were equally well-off as the ones around Atvian. But they might have some. He mused that he might have to steal one, but shook his head. No, he’d pay for one. He’d … earn it. Somehow. He might have to go back mentally to who and what he was to survive in a fight, but he didn’t want to steal again. He’d risen above that life. But then, he hadn’t expected he’d ever want to kill a rabbit for food either. “Are your morals getting in the way again?” Ikals frowned. Lomnes was blinking in and out behind him, then, becoming a weak solid. “I’m just trying to figure out who to approach and how,” Ikals countered cheerfully, too much so. He sighed and toned it down to a resigned voice. “I’m just trying to figure out how we’re going to do this,” he tried again. “What do you think?”

Lomnes pointed to the gorge. “I want to go there.” “I need food and a horse first,” Ikals reminded him. Lomnes shook his head. “You’re taking your chances finding and getting either. They’re scared, those people, just like everyone else. They won’t share, so you’ll be forced to steal or find what’s fallen. If you’re looking for fallen food and goods, look in that gorge, but be careful. Other people will have the same idea.” “And things,” Ikals rued, “may have not stopped falling yet.” Ikals gathered up his gear. He was tired, yet again, but his hunger drove him on. He found mushrooms and fallen baskets on the way. People who’d fled had left their goods behind. There was bread a handful of greens there. It all tasted bad, but he ate anyway. Becoming sick versus starving – no lasting debate. The closer he drew in to Tahee Llom, the better he could make out the details. The town had collapsed on both sides of the gorge. There was smoke from where fires burned, and screaming filled some quarters. His sense of alarm was raised when he saw the soldiers out in force. They drew invisible lines and kept the peace, brutally in some cases. Considering the riots and looting that must have occurred, and the unrest that must have risen, Ikals didn’t think more of it. He focused on the gorge itself. There were stress marks and broken exposed heat vents. He picked his way down a dozen or more wider ledges by way of hand holds and crumbled, granite slides. He stopped amid the cool, loose shale and looked around closer still. And he heard it. “Are they voices?” he whispered, smiling. They were beautiful, and they drifted past like music on the wind, but there was a harmony that mixed bass and treble, and the notes and words became one fluid experience that wove a lyrical path, merging one sentence with another, merging thoughts into fluidity. It was beautiful! There were spirits. He could feel the distant dead, below, a lot of them which made him wonder what was going on,

but this wasn’t them. This was something else entirely different. “It’s the gorge,” he figured. Lomnes inhaled deeply behind him as if trying to inhale the sounds. “It’s carrying the voices from above,” his friend said iringly, mesmerized. “But not just the voices from today. Voices from the past as well. They’re kept alive and going down here.” Ikals shook his head. Gorges didn’t hold voices from the past. It wasn’t possible! But then, how could he explain what he was hearing otherwise? “How does it all work? Why haven’t I heard of it all these years?” Lomnes’ laugh was one of satisfaction. “Because it’s a well-kept secret,” his friend gloated. “There are leagues of learners, writers, and musicians. They’ve been around for generations, and they all have their secrets, like you and this library we’re looking for.” “And the music elite told Kishmaz?” Ikals joked. Lomnes shrugged. “I think he likely overheard it when they didn’t know he was listening. The gorge up top is known by everyone, but musicians keep the secret of the sounds this far down. Deeper still, it’s more moving from what he said. We need to go further down.” “There’s no way down past here other than falling.” Just then three rather human shapes did drop into the gorge from above. Ikals stared at this in alarm, then glanced up to watch a group of men retreat from view! “It’s what they do,” Lomnes mumbled. “Kishmaz talked about this too. The gorge is considered special to them, so they offer their dead to it.” “Which is why I feel so many spirits below,” Ikals grumbled. “Even after death, the spirits cling to their gorge? I think I’d have floated on when I realized I was surrounded by a hundred thousand other spirits that had yet to over.” “Me too,” Lomnes agreed.

Ikals set his staff and bow to one side, letting the music drift through him and soothe his mind. What he’d come after, food, supplies, something of physical use – it looked like he’d have to go into town for all that after all. But it hadn’t been a failed attempt. Not if it had made Lomnes smile. “I’m sorry, Lomnes.” “Don’t be. You got me this far.” They sat and listened for a time before Ikals climbed up again and along a lower ledge, just a few feet from the one side of the gorge. He paused and watched the gangs loot the town while the fires burned and soldiers confronted the bandits. He could smell the food. He was so hungry! Creeping slowly along that ledge, he found a drainage pipe and crawled inside. Not long after, he came out to street level and looked around. To his surprise, from inside, Tahee Llom looked a lot like Atvian, and he wondered how Atvian fared. More importantly, he wondered how Plythe fared. Was Atvian tearing itself apart as well? The street was slanted with spilled clothes, treasures, and baskets slowly rolling towards the gorge and broken bridge posts. There were people about, but they fought amongst themselves. Soldiers rode past dragging ruffians off, and he hid under the loose grate, hoping they’d leave. His target was a bakery across the street. Maybe they’d left something behind. With the coast clear, he lifted the grate and climbed out. He hadn’t the chance to lift his bow and staff after him. The grate slammed shut again, and a small group of dirty, crazed people were upon him carrying clubs and broken handles! He ran, tripped, and scraped! The group laughed and jeered, some looking to the grate he’d climbed up through, but a horn drew them all back, and they scurried

back into shadow, seven soldiers riding after them! In the confusion, a bruise forming on his forehead, Ikals crawled into the bakery and slid hastily into a corner in case he wasn’t alone. He remained there for some time. Listening to the screaming. And shouting. He never should have come into town! “There’s cheese over here.” Ikals looked across where Lomnes sat, crouched by the window, pointing beyond, to a spot against the opposite wall. A worn brown bag was crumpled under a fallen shelf. Something was inside. “When I say so, get across. The back room’s clear. I already checked.” Ikals nodded and waited. “Now.” He crawled for his life, reaching the opposite shadow and digging his hands into the bag! There was cheese, beautiful, orange cheese! It was more beautiful than any sound or laugh! He took it by the handful and dug for more. There was bread, and he ate that too; then, he crawled over where Lomnes kept watch and peered outside. “I can’t stay here.” Lomnes nodded. “I know. There’s a cellar to this place. I’m guessing there’s food down there. Get some. I’ll lead you back out. We’ll make camp outside of town.” Ikals smiled and nodded. Lomnes hadn’t sounded so confident or in charge for a good while. It was a nice return! The cellar door was well hidden. It was behind the corner in the back room, and he lifted it carefully, making sure the shop’s owners weren’t inside. Down below, he found hams and jellies and preserves, and there was bread and yeast and flour! He ate some ready fruits and nuts while checking on his options. He then stocked up on what he could carry in a small brown sack, including some cured meats, and left, closing the trap door tightly again, in case he ever returned. But for retreat?

The street was host to a clash between looters and soldiers. The ultimate winner was unclear at that exact point. Though looters made use of rudimentary weapons, garbage cans and shovel handles, they had numbers on their side. Ikals was still in survival mode. His mind was racing, and he filtered through all the possibilities burning themselves into his brain. “There must be another sewer opening nearby,” he reasoned. “I’ll go down there and back track, pick up my things.” Lomnes seemed to be considering other options but couldn’t find anything better, so he finally just nodded his . They crept out the back door with Ikals in the lead. He found a broken grate and dropped through. The food was left with Lomnes in charge, ready to defend it as best he could. When his staff and bow were collected, Ikals returned, and they left town, coming out the other side and heading further west. They made camp in a thicket. There was a small clearing within and thorns above and around. And Ikals ate cured ham, rich pastry, a shepherd’s pie, and two dozen strawberries! And he slept, and he dreamed. He was in the library again. He was looking at the text, the one he’d seen before, but it wasn’t his hand reaching for it. Someone else with greedy eyes was pulling it out. What did this development mean!?

Chapter Twenty-Three Divine Luck

“What time is it?” Ikals asked, shaking his head wearily. “About mid-day I suppose. You should see this.” Ikals sighed. He yearned for more sleep, but he crawled out from the thicket chewing on some cheese. The thicket, he learned, having missed this fact the day before, was on a small hill, and it looked down, he discovered, coming up beside Lomnes, upon a small ranch. It looked like several ranchers and farmers had merged into one group to create a t venture here as well. They had crops growing, so they were doing something right! There was neighing coming from the largest barn. Was this shit luck or design? Ikals’ first impulse was for pure luck, but he’d been told to believe, so he wasn’t really sure which anymore. “You know I haven’t ridden much,” Ikals mumbled with a frown. “They have wagons.” “And guards with axes and spears,” Ikals groaned, pointing to the men and women on patrol around the outer fences. They had him outnumbered thirty to one, no, thirty-seven to one. Ikals sat and had a bite more of cheese, wondering why he hadn’t thought to take the wine he’d seen under the cellar steps. “And I’ve never hitched a team to a wagon before, so I’ve no clue how to do that.” When he’d suggested a wagon to Aliis, he’d assumed it was understood he wouldn’t be hooking any horse up to it. He couldn’t even do a proper weave yet. He had no clue what knot you use for a horse’s harness! Or how to tie a saddle into place for that matter.

Unless a tame horse trotted up to him already saddled, he was pretty much done for! “You can’t phase through and scare off that many people for me maybe?” Ikals asked softly. “Maybe I’ll have to walk the whole way after all.” “Maybe not.” They both turned. There, four feet back stood a Shewesse, but Ikals felt certain it wasn’t the same as before. Like ElnTelse, half of his face was black against the dark blue of his skin. Black spikes grew around his ears and down his neck, and he was tall, nearly a foot taller than Ikals. A short, curved sword was sheathed behind his lower back: gold hilt, red handle, and a black winding grip that ended in a golden butt. A long sword, its handle a mirror image of the first hung from his right hip. It was a bright marker against the light brown of his hooded cloak and leather pants and boots. “I finally talked them into giving me a chance to be useful.” The Shewesse looked to the sky and smiled wide. “I’ve missed this place. I travelled the gorge only once, but it makes an impression on a person. Ressal’s going to be so jealous he didn’t get to come!” he added, laughing lightly. “He was convinced number thirteen was an unlucky number.” Number 13? Ikals wondered. Thirteen what? “Who are you?” Ikals asked. “ElnTelse, I think I just said his name right, I don’t think you’re him. If I’m wrong, I’m sorry, but.” The Shewesse held up a hand. “I’m not him though I consider the comparison an honour.” This Shewesse came up beside them, Lomnes backing off a few steps. “He was the first. Did you know that?” Ikals shook his head. How would he know that? “My name’s Wishan. I believe some others were following soon. I just couldn’t wait, and Locishles couldn’t put up with my pacing anymore. She nearly kicked me through the doorway.” He laughed again and considered their view with keen interest. “So you want a horse,” Wishan mused, nodding. “I can help with that. They

don’t listen to us as well after we’ve ed ElnTelse told me, but I could lure one out. You would have to master it, of course. Can you ride?” Lomnes rolled his eyes, Ikals ignoring his friend’s grin. “Not really,” Ikals confessed. “There was this rather old mare a farmer had. He did deliveries for us, and he let me lead her around. I rode her twice, but I don’t suppose any horse that tame will be corralled down there.” “Likely not,” Wishan agreed, a little too jovially, “and any horse that old won’t be much good to you, but we can find you one that isn’t too anxious or too young. Pretend you’re lost and want to get names and directions, draw them to the closest fence. That way, they won’t be watching the horses too closely to notice me taking a look around.” “They can’t see you, Wishan.” “But they can hear horses moving about and neighing, and they can come to investigate, distracting a rather tenuous connection,” the Shewesse pointed out simply. The logic was undeniable, so Ikals shrugged. “Alright.” “Leave everything here,” Wishan instructed. “You don’t want to draw too much attention to yourself. We aren’t here to fight, just to procure you a ride. When we’re done with it, the horse can be returned.” Ikals looked to Lomnes for advice. Lomnes just shrugged helplessly, so Ikals nodded. “Alright,” he repeated. “Let’s do this.”

“Hello!” Ikals shouted, walking down the hill to the reinforced, wood-slat fence. Three guards turned as he spoke. Two others turned to watch him draw closer a moment later. They wore a variety of shirts and pants, none of it matching, all of it either over or undersized. He supposed closets had been raided and clothes had been allotted on availability. Still, Ikals mused, they looked a little ridiculous. If it weren’t for the weapons, he’d likely be laughing.

“Could you point me to the person in charge?” he added, trying to look as innocent as he could. He could see Wishan jump the fence to his left, but he kept his eyes trained on the three approaching guards, two men and a woman, clubs and pitchfork in hand. The one eyed the shared crossbow leaned against the wooden post closely. “What do you want!?” a shorter man with stubby blond hair growled, weighing his pitchfork as he walked. The woman sneered. “There’s nothing here for you,” she spat, sizing Ikals up, then, surveying the horizon behind him. “I just want to talk,” Ikals insisted, coming to a stop and leaning on the fence. “That’s all.” “Back off,” the shorter man snapped. Ikals stepped back, frowning, hands and arms up. The crossbow had been taken up, and a bolt was being loaded. And they stepped in closer as he’d expected. From the corner of his eye, Ikals saw Wishan slip into the red barn. The horses shifted around in their stalls, some neighing. A few guards in the background nearer the stables and main house started that way to check things out. Thinking fast, Ikals cleared his throat. “My friends and I are looking for some food, and we’re willing to work for it.” The guards closest to the fence looked to the horizon warily while those in the background paused, doing the same on their fronts. Ikals smiled inside while putting on the most innocent face he could for his audience. “Don’t worry about them,” he added, shaking his head. “They’re sleeping. I can’t get much of it lately myself. Considering how much space you’ve got for yourselves here, I was hoping you’d be looking.” “There isn’t any work anywhere here,” the woman scoffed, motioning to the hill he’d come down. “You’d best be off.” “I mean you no harm,” Ikals professed. “None of us do. We’re good families just looking for a fair chance. Marie is a top-notch cook, and Frita is the best

blacksmith I’ve ever known. Her father taught her everything he knew, and she’s even better than him, and we had cattle back on the farm, so we’re not new to hard work.” There’d been this one day, on the street, where he’d been able to talk a store owner and stock boy out from their store to argue with him over watermelons, which they didn’t even sell. That had actually been most of the argument in fact. While they’d argued though, his friends had stolen most everything else that was light enough to pick up and carry! It had taken quite a few years to gain back the trust of that same store owner after Plythe had taken him in. He figured this was the same reason he and Lomnes had never truly been above suspicion any time they’d visited the marketplace, even when he paid for food up front. The taller man, twice as strong as the other two, barred his teeth. “Listen to the woman, friend,” he growled. “Be on your way. We don’t want trouble, but we’ll return anything you and your friends have in mind!” Ikals opened his mouth to speak, just curious what they’d do. They struck defensive poses, and Ikals sighed, shrugging. Even he knew when to call off a show. So he retreated to the foot of the hill. Those guards couldn’t see Ethan standing there in his silver armour: breast, chest, arm, and hand plates on rich, brown leather, but Ikals could. Ethan’s sword with the red emblems hung from his hip, and his eyes were locked on the people inside that fenced compound. His brother stood beside him in a cloak, light brown pants, and dark brown leather boots. His hood was down and sword sheathed on his back, but he had his dagger in hand. He looked quite disappointed that no one was following Ikals. ElnTelse was there too with one hand on his hip, just to the left of his sword hilt. Shanea crouched further up the hill with Aliis. The women were speaking softly and pointing randomly to the ranch, nodding or shaking heads every so often. Ikals stopped, looking from one person to the other. “Hi,” he said, smiling.

“Ready for war?” Ethan didn’t look impressed, but Elin smiled. “Where’s Wishan?” Ethan asked. “Inside the barn last I could tell,” Ikals replied, turning and pointing to the wooden structure. At this, the guards, the front ones still watching him closely, looked around as well, then, back again more anxious than before. The woman in the compound squinted to Ikals’ right, and Ikals looked there as well. Seven Etis flew and hovered in a wide arc around the tree where Lomnes leaned, looking up in disgust. “What’s Wishan doing?” Ethan asked, smiling politely. “Getting me a horse. He said I’d have to master it myself but that he could manage to get one out as long I distracted them for him. Why are you all here, absorbing spiritual energy, but Lomnes isn’t affected?” It hadn’t occurred to Ikals to ask before. But somehow, just then, it seemed important. Ethan exhaled and shook his head. Elin just ignored the question, pointing to the barn. Ikals shrugged and looked to the barn again. There was movement inside, but it didn’t look like Wishan. It looked like horses were getting ready to make a mass exodus all on their own! “He’s tied to you,” ElnTelse explained, coming up beside Ikals. “We’re tied to you as well. That gives your friend the same energies and presence as us when we’re here, not diminished or blocked, but empowered.” The Shewesse didn’t look happy or angry. He didn’t look … anything. Was this happy for the Shewesse he’d kicked? Was this ElnTelse’s way of getting his revenge? By making Ikals uneasy standing this close? Ikals stepped to a side as casually as he could, just in case. ElnTelse inhaled deep, seemingly satisfied by the effect.

“What’s Wishan going to do?” Ikals asked, clearing his throat, as subtly as he could. “I’m not sure,” ElnTelse replied flatly. “He said he’d get you a horse. I imagine that’s what he’s doing.” “And freeing the others for cover,” Ethan suggested, frowning deep. “These people will follow, which will draw on more trouble than we can handle. What was he thinking!? Why not wait until some of them were asleep!?” “Because,” Shanea urged, standing beside Aliis, “they likely are half asleep.” Ethan cursed Wishan’s impatience. Elin, ever the opposite, grinned. “Have you been practising with the bow?” Shanea checked, raising one eye brow. Ikals looked to the thicket. “How good’s your shot?” “Not the worst if the target isn’t moving,” Ikals groaned, feeling horribly selfconscious. Elin laughed, waving a hand as Ikals shot him a hurt glance. Aliis rose and pointed to the distant farm house. It looked a bit better than Jor’s though not by much. It was a two-story house, mind you, and it looked like it had just been given a fresh coat of red pain. “Could you hit that bell over there?” she asked. “I don’t know. Couldn’t one of you do that.” Aliis shrugged. “We could, but I want to see if you’ve been practising, and we’ll be aiming a little to the left, to those chicken coops and that water tank. You’re drawing their attention for us – unless you’d rather the more difficult targets.” Ikals quickly shook his head, and Aliis smiled. ElnTelse took up a position at the top of hill, drawing a bow and notching an arrow. Aliis, remaining where she was, did the same. Where had their bows and arrows come from? Ikals found it troubling that he could accept, albeit not understand, how they could just produce weapons from thin air. Clearly, their carried weapons were mostly just for show, maybe an image they produced from mind, summoning needed interactive weapons as needed.

They made the afterlife seem almost appealing: appearing when wanted, fading or interacting at will. And then, of course, there was the eternal life, beyond life. The only drawback as Ikals saw it was that a person had to die a hero to live it. He wasn’t that eager to embrace what the afterlife seemed to offer if the payment was death, not just yet, not while he still had life yet to live. He climbed the hill and took up his bow and arrows. He just hoped the bell had never met the rabbit. “It won’t be enough,” Ethan was saying down the hill, his brother at his side. “It’ll draw them off if done soon, but they’ll just run back, and it doesn’t take thirty-seven people to deal with some busy chickens. We’ll need more if this is to work.” “The fence will need to be weakened if not broken through,” Shanea agreed, drawing her sword and ing them. “Leave that to me.” She kissed Elin, the pair locked in a deep embrace for a long moment, before she split from the group. Elin watched her go, smiling, his eyes tracing her form from the legs up. “That’s my girl,” he cheered. “That leaves the main group to us,” he added, looking to his brother. “Grocia and Eltoq are going to be upset they stayed back. What’s our plan? Lop off their arms and legs?” He grinned wildly, Ethan’s glower more than disapproving. “I’m just kidding.” “Such a child.” Elin crossed his arms and frowned playfully. Ethan rolled his eyes. “How about we just knock them down and play ghosts. That shouldn’t be too difficult.” “Bet I can do better than you.” “Not likely.” Elin laughed as they strutted off, Ikals closing his eyes. “What about me?” Lomnes grumbled. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t go near the place until you’re there, ? I could rattle the fence,” Lomnes suggested with a sour grumble. Ikals grinned. “How about you steady my nerves. Talk to me. Do something to keep me from screaming.” He checked distance and wind. He saw the others

doing the same and tried to do it himself. They were waiting for him. He knew that, and so much weighed on his shot. This anxiety wasn’t going to sharpen his aim! “Just imagine you’re back by the river,” Lomnes offered, “shooting at hay or trees. Make it a tree, actually. Hay slides.” “A tree,” Ikals muttered, nodding weakly. “Yes, and keep your breathing steady, in and out evenly. Know you can do this for that horse, for your prophecy, for us.” For us. Yes. Ikals nodded more confidently and drew the string back. The arrow felt light on the string. The wind brushed his cheek and played with the trees. The thicket smelled of goose berries and rabbit fluff, and coarse spiny vine sawed against one another. He could also hear the barn and houses groaning in the distance. Aliis hadn’t shown him how to judge distance or wind. Lomnes guided his straight arm up and to the left, moving behind him to make sure the shot was true. “When you’re ready,” Lomnes whispered. “Relax. You’ll do fine. Just close your mind to anything but the bell and arrow, and let it go.” As easy as that? Ikals took a steadying breath and held it, slowly blinking; then, keeping his arm still, he released the bowstring. The string snapped sharply, and the arrow was gone with a shrill whistle! He watched it go. It was like time had stopped. Dull twangs were there, and quick movements flashed around him, but his arrow was primary in his vision and mind. It just hovered there. How long did it fly? It felt like forever. It felt like he’d only just let go, yet a quick moment later, it struck the farmhouse door, ripping through the screen and digging itself deep inside! A chorus of breaking glass and clattering pans was heard, each one louder than the other! A more subtle sound of breaking glass followed, and a dog started barking.

The people below had started shouting a charge to get to him, having noticed him draw his bow and fire, but they didn’t have a chance to respond. A split-second later, the chicken coop door latch was broken apart with an arrow planted through it, cracking the frame and releasing the door and the chickens from inside. The water tank cap, a small grey spout and fastener on a large, rusty tank to the right of the house was simply, suddenly gone, and water started spilling out onto the dry earth beneath! “Not the bell,” Lomnes whispered, “but effective just the same.” Ikals groaned and shook his head. The ranchers were rushing around trying to catch the birds and dam up the water. Armed men and women reinforced the fences and manned the windows. There had to be seventy or eighty, maybe more! Ikals couldn’t believe his eyes. It was like a bee hive when shaken, no, no, more than one hive! The barn doors broke open on both ends, and horses poured out into view. Men and women rushed to stop them, but those people fell over or collapsed, knocked aside or tripped. Ikals could see Elin sliding and rolling, standing and running, then tripping some others. Those that got ed him were clubbed by a heavy stick, part of the fence he’d picked up on the way. Some of the guards stopped to watch the stick swing on its own, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Ethan’s swings allowed more runners through, but he needed less tries, and the people he knocked down weren’t getting back up again. With the horses fleeing in all directions, no one noticed the fences fall beside the barn. Few noticed the horses that escaped through that exit, and no one noticed Wishan as he ran beside them, shouting joyously and loving every minute of it!

Chapter Twenty-Four Haste

“Hold on a moment.” “I’m not the one wanting to bolt,” Ikals protested, sitting uneasily atop a young, brown horse. It flicked its tail left and right and neighed briskly. The head and black mane tussled as it turned to look at Ikals in the saddle, then, return its attention to ElnTelse who held the reins in a firm grip. Ikals felt his stomach doing loops! Fear crawled under his skin, and his mind raced. What if the horse ran in the wrong direction? What if it bucked him and ran off with his bow, staff, and food? What was he doing!? “I know,” ElnTelse mumbled. “I was talking to the horse.” Ikals grinned stupidly. “Oh.” “You’re going to be fine,” Aliis reassured him, patting the horse at the neck and rubbing its spotted nose. “He’s young, but he’s tame enough. Once you’ve earned his trust, you two will make a fine team.” “Back onto that,” ElnTelse broke in again with a frown, “there are a few basics we can get into you to save you some trouble.” The horse shifted under Ikals. The animal had a mind of its own, and there was power in those legs. It was that second mind that Ikals didn’t like, nothing personal. “First,” ElnTelse droned, “no sudden movements. You need to relax and act relaxed. If you can do that, the horse will relax.” Ikals figured ElnTelse was trying to drill the whole “relax” thing in, hence the repetition. “Part of every horse’s training is to react to its rider, be it sudden jerks or pulls on the reins, even prodding along the flanks. Don’t react suddenly unless there’s an

emergency. If you’re looking forward and studying the terrain and route we’ve plotted, you won’t have any emergencies. No sudden movements. Clear?” Ikals nodded stiffly. That had been a lot, and he hadn’t understood it all, but he really didn’t want it explained again, and he was sure he got the general message, albeit just not all the reasoning. “The general rule is to look three seconds ahead,” Aliis said with a smile, the expression calming Ikals a little. “You’ve got plains ahead of you, so you’ll be able to plot any changes with good time. If you’re veering left or right, use the reins and gently guide the horse left or right. If you plan ahead, there should be no serious issues.” Ikals felt an urge to blurt out anxious laughter. Had any part of his trek from Atvian, in Atvian for that matter, gone smoothly and as planned so far!? “Trust the horse,” ElnTelse added, patting down his side of the horse’s neck. “Just like dogs, they have better hearing and smelling than we do. If it stops and lifts its head, lift your own and listen. If it refuses to move, get off and scout around or walk it. Treat it like a friend. You wouldn’t push a friend where they weren’t comfortable going.” “It depends what’s chasing me.” Aliis laughed more naturally. “That would count as an emergency,” she agreed. “Sit square and deep in the saddle,” ElnTelse continued his lecture, “keep your feet deep in the stirrups, and if you come across an emergency, grab a hold of your saddle horn and hold on.” “And trust the horse,” Ikals breathed, ElnTelse and Aliis nodding simply, like it was nothing new. Nothing new for them, Ikals reasoned. He slowly exhaled and looked to the left. There, against the last of the trees, what he could see at least, behind or ahead, Wishan and Elin stood with their arms crossed comparing notes on their successful raid. Shanea hung on Elin’s back, blowing in his ear and stealing kisses now and then. Ethan brooded a ways off trying to ignore them.

“Wishan isn’t what I expected,” Ikals found himself saying, wondering if he shouldn’t have a second later. ElnTelse turned to look that way as well. “He’s unique amongst us Shewesse. He’s embraced his emotions fully, more so after death. Locishles had a hand in that, of course. You should see the two of them together. It’s quite a show.” “Hey now,” Aliis joked. “Love does wonders for some people.” ElnTelse’s stare was dry, and Aliis looked to Ikals. “You should go now before that storm hits. Those clouds aren’t getting any better.” Ikals glanced in that direction and nodded. The white had turned a dark grey, and they were multiplying, having already covered up two suns and one moon. If he was right, he had a few hours lead. With the right wind, he’d keep it. “Do you want to ride?” he asked Lomnes where he sat, digging a foot into the earth. Lomnes shook his head. “I’m going to wait. I’ll return to the gorge for as long as I can before you’re out of range and I have to follow. I just want as much time down there as I can get.” Ikals smiled. “Go for it.” He liked that look of wonder on Lomnes’ face. He only wished he could stay longer to give his friend a soltie or two to explore and enjoy the gorge to his fullest satisfaction. Five days – he couldn’t believe they were only five days out of Atvian. It felt like longer. His guides had shared thoughts and now gave him seven days left to reach that door. He hadn’t even asked for a recount! “I’m not pushing the pace to begin with,” Ikals insisted. “That’ll give you a little longer.” Lomnes nodded and faded. “What are they going on about over there?” he asked, looking from ElnTelse to Aliis, taking the reins and striking a confident stance. He didn’t feel confident, but he felt the need for show. “Elin keeps saying something about a fight?”

“He thinks he can beat his brother,” ElnTelse explained. “Feet deeper in the stirrups.” Aliis nodded. “Angle the feet a little,” she added, patting his right foot when it was better positioned. “They fought once, but they never got to finish. Elin’s always figured he’s the better fighter and would have won. Ethan’s never given him the chance to try and prove that claim.” “Is he right? Is he better than Ethan?” “Does it matter?” ElnTelse barked, stepping back. Aliis stepped back as well. “No,” Ikals conceded. But he was now very curious just the same. “What do you think?” Aliis asked. Ikals thought for a moment. “Ethan,” he finally decided. “They’re both good, from what little I’ve seen, but Ethan’s more calculating and exact. Elin, and I mean no disrespect, but he’s a little wild. I knew a person like that once, brilliant and fast and all that, but he burned himself out showing off. The guards just waited for him to tire, then, picked him apart. We never saw him again.” “That’s Elin,” Aliis mused, laughing lightly. “I’m not sure which one’s better, but who knows? If Ethan gives in, you may know with the rest of us. We’ll reconnect when we can though not in these numbers. There simply isn’t a large enough number of spirits for that until you reach Davergen. But someone will be along.” Ikals flicked the reins softly. The horse didn’t even look at him. Make like you mean it, Ikals told himself. He flicked the reins again, and the horse took a step, then stopped and glanced back. Shaking his head, Ikals flicked again and brought his heels in hard. The horse shot forward, nearly throwing Ikals off! He gripped the saddle horn and held on, but the horse slowed and stopped, starting a turn. He angled the horse’s head west again and kicked his heels in more gently, making cheek noises like he’d seen the others do. Grudgingly, the horse started a slow trot towards Davergen. Ikals, realizing he’d

been holding his breath, released it and wiped his brow. “Good boy,” he said, carefully patting the horse’s neck. It was a boy. Right? Did horses get offended about remarks like that? Ikals closed his eyes and shook his head. Walking would almost be more worth it! He finally got the horse up to a speed near a gallop at one point, but then geared things down to where he could ride without white knuckles. To his surprise, the horse snorted and flicked its head and tail in disgust. Clearly, it liked speed. “Should I be surprised?” Ikals mused. “Get us over this rise, and we’ll see if we can open it up again. Ok?” The horse kept at a trot, the tail flicked, and the horse eyed him a little less judgementally. Did the animal understand him? Ikals needed some water. As he tipped the canteen up, he paused and slowly lowered it. Someone was there. He could feel them. Rounding a low rock, the ground fell away to the right, leading to a flattened bit of wood and reed. At first, that’s all he saw, but then, he noticed the bricks and clay and recognized a sunken foundation. There was a family there, crouched and wandering and digging into ghostly dirt. They must have died under the roof as it fell. Wide, scared eyes searched the horizon and found him. And they started forward. “How about that speed now?” Ikals urged, digging his heels in and grabbing the saddle horn. The horse responded, and he let it run long after they’d lost the spirits. He didn’t need more to think about, and he was sure he couldn’t help them. The horse slowed to an abrupt stop. The stop was sudden enough for Ikals to slip off! He slid left and dropped to the ground. The horse cantered off towards a small

stream while Ikals rose, thinking dark thoughts. “Grab the reins,” he whispered to himself, omitting curse words with great effort. “Grab the damn reins!” He flexed his back, picked up his fallen flask, and followed where the horse had gone. Kneeling, he filled the canteen and took a drink, filling it more, then, stoppering it. “You’d be fine without me,” he said, taking a hold of the horse’s reins so it couldn’t get away, “but I’d be done-for without you, so you’re not going anywhere. Here me?” he asked. The horse snorted, uninterested, and Ikals moaned, rubbing the small of his back. “As long as we know who’s boss,” he grumbled. The horse snorted again, and Ikals figured he'd lost that argument. He just let the horse drink. When it was ready, the horse shook itself down and turned to head back to Tahee Llom. Ikals pulled it back his way and started it on a walk. “Not yet,” he insisted, patting the horse’s neck down. He was tempted to rub its nose, but would the horse let him? He decided not to just in case. “You need to get me to Davergen first,” he added. “Then, you can go back there, not that I understand why you’d want to. I think I could make a good master.” Getting no response, he shrugged. “We may even become friends.” The horse nudged his side a few times, and Ikals ed what he’d been told. He dug some treats out from the saddle bags that they’d found for him and started walking again while the horse ate out of his hand. He was getting hungry too, but he could wait. The horse stopped and refused to budge. Ikals pulled, cursed, and stomped his feet. He was in line, to the left of Dwarf’s Peak. What was wrong with the animal!? “Come on,” he spat. The horse pulled back. “Stupid ….” Ikals bit his lip. Trust the animal, he groaned. Trust it to play along so it could get food and

water, and then, stab him in the back when he was finally, properly on his way! Ikals looked to the horizon with a grimace. “Stupid animal,” he muttered. “What’s so wrong? If I’m supposed to trust you, if there’s something so wrong with straight ahead, what is it? Why can’t I see it? Eh?” The horse didn’t explain, not that he’d expected it to. It just refused to move. He tried to lead the horse to the right, then, a little more right. Finally, the horse walked with him, and Ikals mounted, awkwardly. He got better seating in the saddle once up, ignoring the horse’s nasty look and humorous whinny. “Let’s see you climb up on something twice your size,” Ikals rued. “That would be interesting to watch.” He glanced back, lost in thought. What was he missing? Rocks and earth, dark and light brown, and random patches of light green, wiry grass – that’s all it was. What did the horse see in all that to cause such strife? Rocks and earth. Dark and light brown. Rocks. Ikals shook his head and pulled back on the reins. The horse came to stop and flicked at flies. They weren’t rocks. The stones were nearly at the centre of the dark brown earth in each case. That dark brown was the exact shape of, Ikals could barely think to consider it, houses. Those stones were angled, no, pointed in some cases, flat in others: posts and chimneys. Sinking sand. Shifting earth. There had to be three homesteads buried there, not twenty feet off. There was such loss to that thought, but the deadening feeling in his chest came from the knowledge, more so, that there was no sensation of spirits hungering for him. There were no dead down there. Not yet ... Twenty feet away, alive, but beyond reach, well beyond help. How many days had they been without food and water already? He could dig at that much ground for days with his knife, and he’d just be too late to reach them.

Ikals was sick of seeing death and loss and having no way of changing things! He kicked the horse into a gallop again and angled them back towards Davergen. He wanted to get to the place where he could actually make a difference! There was a series of sinkholes that followed but no one had died here. It looked like a well and some wagons had spilled and been swallowed up, but there were dried tracks and ruined clothes to show where survivors had climbed back out. He came across a few fallen houses that hadn’t collapsed yet too. He supposed this had been the centre of this town once, what was left of it. Before he could reason out any sense of the town name or any sense of where survivors had gone, his horse stopped again, again flipping him off. Ikals gripped the reins, flipping over the horse’s head and hitting earth! It didn’t hurt as much as he’d thought it would because he didn’t stop there. The earth gave way, and he found himself hanging by the reins! Floundering dangerously above a newly formed pit. The exposed stone around him had wooden beams and strung wire. He figured it had been a mine maybe, however long ago. It must have run under this whole area. The mine had been long since abandoned and built over, and the quakes had opened them up again. They hadn’t trained him for this! He gently urged the reins to hold and horse to stay right where it was! But then rethought that decision. Staying where he was, he’d eventually let go and fall, so remaining there, hanging queasily like he was, was not a good plan. He took in some deep breathes before smiling wide and urging the horse back. When he got the chance, he planted his feet and started climbing. The horse seemed to understand. It pulled and stepped back with him and Ikals climbed up the drop and back up onto solid land. Smiling and blinking, and taking in large, thankful gulps of breath, Ikals thanked the horse profusely! The ride after that was a mixture of speed and caution, but they were still heading west. The twin peaks, Dwarf Peak more than the second, were larger on the horizon. Had there been dwarves once? Was that myth a lost reality as well?

Ikals found his mind dancing around so many questions. Stopping to camp by a small, deep pool and a healthy patch of green, aiming to give both of them a rest, Ikals detached his bow and staff for practise, waiting for Lomnes to catch up with them again. Lomnes had phased in and out a few times throughout the ride, but never for long. A tinelle came into view in the distance, and Ikals lifted his bow. The tinelle’s ears propped up, and wide black eyes darted his way. The slight body was frozen and ready to bolt. Another question came to mind: as much as he knew how to eat meat, rabbit, tinelle, gelrip, whatever, however hungry he was for fresh cooked meat, how did a person skin an animal? Wasn’t there some way of doing it wrong that he didn’t want to learn the hard way? Ikals notched his arrow and took aim. Holding his breath and clearing his mind, he let go of the string and watched the arrow plant itself in the earth just before the tinelle’s front feet. The tinelle bolted like a spring released, and Ikals lowered his bow. “You missed,” Lomnes noted, hands on hips behind him. Ikals nodded. “I was trying to. I just wanted to know if I could hit near my target.” “And did you?” Ikals dug into the saddlebags. Making sure the horse was staying put, leaving a small bag of feed for it to eat, Ikals started towards where the tinelle had been to retrieve his arrow. “I’m not sure,” Ikals itted. It hurt to walk. The pain was lessening the more he rode the horse, but soar walking muscles had become sore riding muscles, which almost hurt more. And he did use some of the same muscles for each! He couldn’t walk normally no matter how hard he tried, not in comfort. And his back and arms were as tired as his mind and legs. It all added to an awkward

slumping step. Ignoring Lomnes’ laugh, Ikals kept walking as if it didn’t hurt and every step was as natural as could be. “Can you tell how close we are to that Peak?” Ikals asked. Lomnes, still grinning, shook his head. “Not really, but I couldn’t make out those stone buildings up around it before, so you’re a lot closer now. I’d be more concerned about those foot hills. They look like they’re collecting their own cloud cover, and they’re no prettier than the ones following you.” Pulling his arrow out of the ground and wiping it off on his pants leg, Ikals compared. Both skies, the sky two or three hours behind and those over the drawing foothills. They were both quite dark, and in each, he could see lightning flare. They might rain themselves out before he reached them, but he doubted it. A cold, damp wind played with his matted hair and wind-swept clothes. “Are you sure that’s a storm ahead?” Ikals asked. “What if it’s her? What if it’s the dragon, covering some attack she’s just waiting to launch on me?” “So ride more north and give it a wide berth,” Lomnes suggested. “You know where that’ll take you close to.” Ikals thought for a moment before shaking his head. “Nellot,” Lomnes groaned. “It takes you close to Nellot.” Ikals smiled. “Tangue,” he breathed. “His family had connections with Nellot. He might be there.” Lomnes nodded. “But they don’t want me going too far north,” he noted softly. “There’s a wooden bridge that crosses the Coloured Seas that separates the Isle of Tchro from us. It’ll be faster if we make for a straighter line.” “But more dangerous,” Lomnes reminded him, “unless you want to meet the dragon, of course.” Ikals shook his head briskly. “I didn’t think so.” Ikals turned and fed his arrow into the quiver again. “There’s more than that though,” he said, walking back to Lomnes. “It’s like when they described the hills and gullies as being too confusing to navigate. Instead of telling me there was a dragon perch in them. It’s like they’re omitting something big here too, and that scares me. Why are they so sure I’m going to die, Lomnes? Especially

that Ethan – he’s so frightened I’ll fail.” “Aliis said there’d be no time for someone else to fulfil the prophecy. Maybe that’s all there is to it.” “No. It’s more than that.” Ikals was sure of it. He dug into his saddlebags for his food, stacking a few pieces of bread with cheese and a handful of fruit bites he’d cut before leaving. “I can’t explain how I know it,” Ikals rambled, chewing a few bites. “I just do. It’s almost like ….” He stopped and lowered the stuffed bun. “Like he’s seen people fail before me.” Ikals’ breath escaped him. It would explain why they weren’t telling him everything. They’d said too much before, or not enough, and that person had died! Ethan was being super careful because they were down to him now, so he couldn’t go off saying anything without being so careful in every word! Aliis had said how another person could have fulfilled his prophecy. Shanea had mentioned “the others”. Wishan had mentioned an unlucky thirteen. Clearly others had already tried! “I’m not the first one, Lomnes.” The thought chilled him. Those others had to have been more skilled than him, and they’d not made it. His old sense of despair returned. What hope did he really have after all? “Don’t think like that.” “But I’m right. Aren’t I? Did you know!?” “No, but that doesn’t matter.” Lomnes slapped his hands before Ikal’s face, to wake him from his frightened stare. As it had many times growing up, Ikals did snap out, and he stepped back in a more attentive state. Still more than a little unnerved just the same. “Even if you’re right,” Lomnes argued, taking full control of the conversation and keeping Ikals eyes on his lips, “don’t think on it. Consider it one of those things you’re not ready to deal with yet and just focus on getting there. For Us,

!?” He glanced down and wobbled is head. “And be careful; you’re spilling out the other end.” Ikals looked down where bread, fruit, and cheese had fallen to the ground. He quickly folded up the back end of his bun and tried to express thoughts that weren’t forming proper sentences, no matter how hard he tried. It had been a long ride. He could be imagining it all and just putting in a theory that explained the unexplained. It could be nothing! And he didn’t want to know this truth, if he was actually right. Lomnes was right there too. “Thanks,” he finally mumbled. “Maybe you’re right.” “You know I am. Head more northerly, or more southerly even; cut through the desert and around the tip. And eat fast. That storm’s not slowing any.” “Yes, mother.” “Close your mouth when you eat.” Ikals made overly-dramatic chews that had Lomnes imitating a gawking beast. Ikals never could figure out the animals Lomnes mimicked. In this case, the arms flapped, his eyes were crossed, and he stalked around with a gaping mouth, so he figured it was a bird. Though birds usually didn’t drool so much! But it got Ikals laughing, so he appreciated the effort! When the horse was rested and weapons practise had been had, they were off again. The storm front rumbled behind them, and the wind carried a damper feel. The horse picked up an easy gallop, and Ikals leaned forward in the saddle, finding speed a good comfort. There was that feeling of being followed. His eyes went up, but all he saw was darkening skies and lightening far up there in the highest of cloud layering. They edged to the south of Dwarf Peak and gave the near foothills as much space as they could. On ing, Ikals noted the large, detailed buildings carved into the side of the Peak, built just in off the winding path that led around to an even larger, columned building near the top. If it weren’t for that anxious feeling of being

followed, Ikals knew what he’d do. He just wasn’t sure which building he’d explore first. Needing security, he considered drawing his bow, but he couldn’t hit an unmoving target standing. What good would he be on horseback when everything was moving, including him? He’d have just as much luck with the staff for that matter, so he just gripped those reins and thought dry thoughts. Eyes darting to all sides, they raced on, ea now and then, but keeping a good pace otherwise. Rain started to fall, and a cold wind swept across, chilling under his jacket and brushing his face. The darkness descended and brought on harder rain. Fiercer winds whipped down from above, and the horse faltered in its step. Ikals just prayed the horse wouldn’t slow or stop, not with the growing threat in his mind. He could almost smell the sulphur and feel its draw on his senses. It felt like it had in the mountains. It was like he was following those blue stones again without a will of his own, like she was weakening him and waiting to pounce. Waiting for just that one moment to lean in and take her prey! He snapped from his reverie and dodged left, jerking the reins sharply while gripping the saddle horn. He didn’t need to look. He didn’t want to look. The horse dodged under him, and the beat of powerful wings pushed them down, nearly causing the horse to stumble and fall! The horse reared its head back and picked up a panicked gallop, and Ikals leaned further forward, digging feet in, praying he wouldn’t fall with all his might. Sharp claws snapped shut just behind them, and something came down just inches from his back! The wind pressed down upon them, then lifted. Ikals risked a look up. She was large! The dragon’s wing span was more than ten houses wide, and large sharp claws came from powerful legs. A long, green tail trailed behind with a pointed tip. The head swayed from side to side, dark ridges running from behind the angled

nose to a spot before and around sunken ears. Opening her hungry jaws, the dragon swivelled in flight and let out a nerve-wracking wail. Her eyes were locked on him and his horse! No stopping at Nellot. No straight-on ride through. They’d never survive the ride. He needed cover fast! Wailing again, the dragon swivelled, turning right side up once more, and began another run on them.

Chapter Twenty-Five Dragons

Keeping his legs tight against the horse’s sides, Ikals wondered why he hadn’t kept his spear. Even if there was no way a simple blade would pierce a dragon’s hide, at least he’d have more to do then duck and pray he’d see another day! Flame was sent down in separate fire balls that exploded on the earth and painted the ground in red streaks. The dragon also lashed with its tail, making holes in the earth from above. The horse never slowed down as it wove a path around the fire and away from the slashing tail. While the horse kept them alive from the dragon’s aerial attacks, Ikals did his best to dodge those talons and legs that forced him down in the saddle and pummelled his back and arms. The fireballs dug into the earth, and a wide ditch collapsed in his path! The horse rose into a jump and leapt over the gap. A wide-eyed Ikals made sure to have a solid grip on the saddle horn, shivering badly. The horse landed and kept on with its gallop after a quick second’s readjustment. The dragon was upon them a moment later, and the weaving began once more. Ikals tried to bend back and release his bow from its ties, but he had no good opportunity, and there were even more jumps that had him gripping the saddle horn and leaning down in the saddle, praying to Millosai with heart, mind, soul, with everything he could think of! Words didn’t come, mind you. He couldn’t form more than a soft mutter, “Don’t do that again.” Followed by a quiet and heartfelt “please?” Giving up on gaining a weapon, knowing well enough that his knife would be useless, he looked ahead and saw two groves along his path, twenty feet apart. A river fed them from the top of Dwarf Peak. Being the only two groves for miles, they were easy to spot, and Ikals yearned for their cover.

ElnTelse and Aliis’ instructions played in his mind. He nodded to that internal discussion and pulled the reins to the right, angling them slowly towards the trees. The horse fought any change at first, but slowly, it did heed his guidance. The dragon kept up sweeping runs and finally pulled up as they entered the first small wood. Inside, the horse cantered back and forth anxiously, too agitated to do more than catch quickly-drawn breaths. Reaching back to the saddle bags, Ikals untied the bow and fed an arrow onto the string. Five arrows – what could he do with five arrows!? Try to survive. He tied the quiver to his right leg and patted the horse along its neck. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Good work, but we’re not done yet.” The smell of burning wafted to the nose. The tops of the trees were being sheared off! “Think you can get us to that second grove? Then to those foothills and mountains beyond? I’m sure there’re places that are safer to hide in up there.” Eating a few bites of food, Ikals edged the horse towards the other end of the grove. He allowed a break for his mount to stop and drink from the river. Rather. Anxiously. Smoke was rising from their left, and a shower of branches and leaves filtered down from above! The dragon suddenly dropped upon them, tangled in the broken branches and looped vines, breathing her flame and crying viciously as it fought to get to them! The horse ran with Ikals holding on with his right hand, his bow and notched arrow held ready in his left. They cleared the grove and galloped on. The dragon’s cries kept the horse at a gallop, and Ikals did his best to measure distance with his eyes: twenty feet to the next grove, through it, maybe ten minutes, if not less, a hundred feet beyond? There was a clear path up through the foothills. They were close enough for him to see that much, but on the plains, distance was still hard to gauge. Amid the billowing flames behind them, the dragon broke for open skies, bits of tree flying up around her. She caught up with a vengeance and renewed her attacks, adding in a spinning run where the wings and head came around as it hovered above!

Ikals hunkered down, and the horse ran through it, but the dragon didn’t relent. She just kept drawing closer. Holding his bow tight, he aimed up as she began another . The arrow bounced off her back, doing no harm, but the dragon stopped its attack to rise back into the air and started dropping again instead, pulling up bits of earth when its talons missed their mark. They did seize the horse the once, but the saddle bags were too slick, and they were released. The horse landed hard and stumbled for a few steps, but whinnying loudly, it recovered, head shaking briskly and returned to a defiant speed. Ikals fired two more arrows as the dragon dropped. He was sure one of them hit near its right eye, but even if it did, these attacks weren’t slowed for a second. They hit the second grove, and the dragon lifted up again. Like before, they stopped, drinking and waiting. Ikals couldn’t stop shivering. “What’s she up to?” Ikals wondered. The cries and sheering that had begun had halted, and the grove was covered in silence. Ikals checked his notched arrow. And the two that waited to be fired. The horse lifted its head, and Ikals nudged it forward. He had a feeling the horse was about to drop from exhaustion. He knew the feeling, but this wasn’t the time. “Not here,” he whispered. “I know you’re tired, but this is a trick. She’s just waiting for us to lower our guard. Maybe she’s crawling in for all I know.” Was he being paranoid? He could hear cracking and rustling from all sides, but what did that mean? “The foothills,” he added, determined. “We have to reach those foothills. Come on. We can’t stop here.” Shaking its head sharply, the horse obeyed, and Ikals shifted slowly in the saddle as the horse walked towards the other end of the grove.

Did dragons crawl? How would he know? Ikals steeled his mind. He couldn’t stop his fingers from trembling! There was a loud crash to their left, and the horse’s head and ears came up, its walk picking up a little. “That’s the spirit,” Ikals mumbled, exhaling a held breath. “Straight ahead. Are you there, Lomnes?” He looked around, but he couldn’t see him anywhere. Another pair of eyes could really come in handy! “Damn.” A series of loud crashes sounded behind them, two trees breaking loose and falling into the fray, and the horse bolted forward! They raced from the grove as the dragon tore out into the open sky above. She flexed her wings and quickly ed them, turning and dropping to block their path! Ikals fired at her straight on, letting two arrows go in quick succession. He surprised himself at his aim and speed. The arrows hit the dragon’s neck, and she lifted her head to avoid them. The horse ducked its head, Ikals laying forward. They raced under the lifted head and beneath the body and wings, out the other side and picked up speed once more! Turning, notching his final arrow and firing, Ikals saw the dragon turn to breath out fire. The arrow nicked a tooth. It looked like that. Either way, the fire breath was held, and the dragon paused. In that small break, horse and rider gained some ground, and Ikals grabbed a hold of the saddle horn, hoping for a speed not seen before! Distance, Ikals found, didn’t matter one iota. There was simply up, down, left, and right. And those foothills they were aiming for. The dragon returned to its original attacks, randomly adding in sweeping rolls and grabbing drops. The horse, with Ikals holding on tight, kept up its weaving run, and beyond all reason, they reached the foothills of Dwarf Peak and started a rapid climb. Ikals steered them under the first strong overhang, towards a large wide cave, and the horse gladly listened. Five feet in, it stopped and unceremoniously sat, then, lay down on its side and wheezed!

Ikals, having quickly jumped off before the horse had lain down fully, hurried to the animal’s head and rested a trembling hand on its neck. He listened to the animal’s laboured breath and watched the irregular blinks and nervous twitches with a fear in his heart! “Sleep,” he urged, hoping that’s all that would happen. “You’ve earned it.” The horse neighed, and struggled to stand, but it did give up and lay its head back down, and Ikals focused on the surrounding darkness they’d found. He wasn’t even sure how deep the cave went. He could hear thunder rumble, and rain pelted the stone outside. He noticed the wetness on the horse’s coat. He then noticed how wet his clothes were and wondered how he’d missed feeling the rain that whole time. Steps. Someone was approaching! Laying his bow down, he drew the long knife from his right boot where he’d tied its sheath. And stood ready to defend himself and his horse. “Who’s there?” he demanded. “Show yourself!” Three men stepped into the light. The lead man, heavy set with a hunter’s garb and bitter, watchful glare, aimed a crossbow at him. The other two carried swords, and there were others behind them, some armed, some not. They were mostly settlers, farmers, families, and they were scared and angry. All that was obvious from initial observation, and they far outnumbered Ikals, but he didn’t care. He didn’t lower his blade. “Ikals!” someone shouted. He knew that voice, just like the knock. “Wait. Don’t shoot!” “Tangue,” Ikals breathed, unbelieving. He was so happy to see his friend alive and running from behind the others! Was this real? Ikals found himself physically and mentally spent. It looked like Tangue, but did he trust his own eyes?

Yes, he decided; this was really happening. There was no way he’d think to manifest his friend in the middle of nowhere having just narrowly escaped being eaten by a dragon! Tangue’s limp had gone, and he wore better clothes, though still not top of the line. His blond hair was cleaner. Those seared parts were now a dusty grey. The over-sized, green jacket was the same. A knife was tied to Tangue’s right hip, and he bore some fresh bruises by his right eye and along what Ikals could see of his friend’s neck. “What are you doing here?” Ikals stuttered, unsure why he was laughing. “I could ask the same of you,” Tangue returned with a smile and a hug. Ikals returned the gesture as best he could. He was too stunned to do better. “The last I saw of you,” Tangue joked, stepping back considering Ikals with a snort, “you were sitting safe and healthy in Atvian. You stink!” Ikals sniffed at his pits. “I was meaning to change that,” he insisted, both friends laughing. Ikals glanced back outside. Where had the dragon gone? Was that danger past? Could he relax now? Tangue knelt and rubbed the horse’s nose and neck. “He needs food, drink, and rest. Where’d you get a horse?” “It’s a long story,” Ikals mused. The people, armed and not, were slowly filtering back into the darkness. “How did you get here? I figured you’d be in Nellot by now.” “I was,” Tangue whispered, sighing heavily. “They’ve gone mad, Ikals. They think they can steal the blimps and flying machines and fly to safety from whatever’s happening here. They’ve gone mad!” “Everyone’s gone mad, Tangue,” Ikals rued. Tangue had no idea! “They’ve got soothsayers and their lot saying TsoNilk’s been shaking,” his

friend ranted on. “They claim there’s a prophecy and that it’ll blow up next. Then Tsy Tchay will go. All three moons! They’re talking about the end of the world, Ikals.” Ikals sat and tried to still his hands. It was like his heart wouldn’t slow. And he couldn’t stop shivering, but he wasn’t sure if it was shock, fear, or pure adrenaline. But he squeezed his hands and arms, trying to keep them still. It was helping, a little. “The higher they get in the sky, the closer they’ll get to the falling fire,” he muttered, shaking his head more. “What good would being airborne do then? You’re better off without them.” “Yeah, exactly!” Tangue blurted, a touch of bitterness creeping into his voice. “Come on. We’ll get some feed and water for your horse. There’s a place in here where the river pops up. Our horses have died or run off, so we’ve plenty of extra food for him. He’ll be fine. We won’t be gone long anyway.” A wary squint. “You don’t look good. Do you need a towel, something warm?” Ikals didn’t want to leave the horse alone, but he was out of feed for the horse, and he did want to get away from the mouth of that cave in case the dragon returned. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Lomnes materialize and nod, signalling that it would be okay. “Yeah, sure. Let’s see what you’ve got going here.” His shivers were subsiding. His body was slowly accepting that his life wasn’t in mortal danger anymore. For now at least.

Chapter Twenty-Six Illusions

Leaving the horse in Lomnes’ care, Ikals followed Tangue back into the depths of the cave they’d found. Near a hundred people were camped out around low fires in a large cavity inside the mountain. They were bundled up in old blankets and spread out over the flowing rock as the cave fell back into a large underground quarry of sorts. A steep climb led down to a deep, clear, glittering pool of bright blue in the middle of it all. “Crystals under the water,” Tangue explained as they climbed carefully down. “I’m not sure how they work, but everyone has their own answer. None of them agree with one another.” Ikals smiled and Tangue shrugged. “The water glows and helps give light. And it’s warm. It’s kind of like the salt baths for that matter, so it’s kind of soothing. That’s all that counts,” his friend added. “Have you heard from Lomnes? Do you know how he fared?” Ikals stopped at the shore to that pool and thought for a moment. How should he respond? What would Tangue believe? His own definition of real had been so challenged since leaving Atvian. He felt confident Tangue was in no way ready for the truth. Tangue had yet to even ask what had chased Ikals and his horse into the cave for that matter, or what had given him such a bad tremble, which he was still working out of his arms and hands. Tangue, Ikals figured, couldn’t handle and didn’t want an honest answer. “He’s been around,” he finally replied, licking his teeth. “We’re on the same track, but not always together. I guess you could say we’re covering each other right now.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly. “Weren’t you always?” Tangue joked with a smile and a quick laugh.

Ikals nodded softly. He didn’t really want to be more wet but warm and soothed sounded good. And really, could he get more wet? He removed his shoes and jacket, making sure the books in those inner pockets at least avoided further damage. He made the conscious decision to store them in the saddlebags from now on. They’d be better protected from the elements that way. He also removed his knife and sheath, and he stepped into the pool, splashing the water up and instantly feeling warmer! “Did I tell you? Feels good.” “You did.” Ikals sat to consider his reflection. The scratches on his face were still there, but not so prominent. His hair was a complete mess, and his eyes made it look like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His arms now bore some fresh bruising too that he was sure he’d feel soon enough. He couldn’t looking or feeling this bad even when he was living on the streets! He lay back and let the water seep into his pores. Now if only they offered him a bar of soap! “Tell me more,” he managed, aching for sleep. “How did the madness drive you and your family from Nellot?” Tangue sat, on rock, and exhaled sharply. “They attacked the main air base,” he explained. “Nellot’s essentially one large base for launching and landing air ships. The surrounding towns attacked us! Those that couldn’t fight just cowered. Some of us ran for it. It was horrible to see, Ikals. There were fires and buildings collapsing. Two of the blimps tried to get away, but someone must have ignited their gas. They went up in flames. One of them crashed in the middle of the fighting. I can still hear the screaming. I keep imagining the people burning.” He stopped and took a few steadying breaths, visibly affected by his own words. “We just hide here now, but even that’s not helping.” Ikals had no idea what to say, so he said nothing. “How much longer do you think we have?” Tangue asked, staring off into nothing. “About six days,” Ikals replied absent-mindedly. Tangue blinked wide before fixing a bewildered stare on Ikals. Ikals tried to laugh it off, but it was weak. “Don’t ask,” Ikals urged. He couldn’t get too

comfortable, or he’d fall asleep, so he grumbled, achy, stiff, and sore, but he sat again and climbed from the water. Now if only Tangue had access to some kind of air dryer so he could dry off. “You don’t want to know. Where’s that feed?” Tangue considered his friend carefully for a moment, but he shrugged it off. “This way.” They made their way through the make-shift tents, some better off than others. Tangue’s family was settled in on what looked like a ledge that had once overlooked the whole of the underground. They had a small mound of rags and blankets a few people were distributing by some kind of system Ikals couldn’t gather. They also had some material goods and food, stored, guarded, and equally ed for by their own appointed marshals. It seemed rank had followed Tangue’s family from Nellot. People even bowed awkwardly as they ed. His mother, blond hair braided and tied back, clothes only slightly spoiled, would nod in return. She smiled politely at Ikals as they approached. “His horse needs feed,” Tangue explained as he rooted through his family’s more private goods. There were wooden trunks and woven baskets in there buried beneath a layer of concealing cloth. Tangue pulled out a feed bag, and tossed Ikals a towel for drying off, which Ikals was happy to make use of. Tangue’s mother was about to speak, but didn’t. She just sat up against the side of the rounded tent and nodded weakly, her son pausing to kiss her cheek. Ikals watched the exchange with unease. Tangue’s mother hadn’t ever been overly emotional, but this was downright broken for her. A light snoring came from inside the tent, interrupted by short bouts of wheezing that instantly caught Tangue’s attention. With a troubled frown, he turned and motioned for leaving. Ikals nodded, bowed as he backed up, then, followed Tangue away. “She hasn’t spoken since my father fell off his horse,” his friend whispered as they made their way back towards the front of the cave, keeping his words soft so none of those that followed them could hear. “And she doesn’t sleep much either.”

“Your father?” Ikals checked. “He isn’t good. Let’s talk about something else. How about your trip across? Why aren’t you still in Atvian for that matter?” “Something else you don’t want to know,” Ikals breathed. Tangue’s reaction showed sudden offense, which made Ikals blush. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ve been hiking mostly, cutting through the farmland and Tahee Llom Gorge, and a lot of open plain in between, not to mention a few hills.” He mentally added in confused spirits, violent street urchins, a swallowed village, and an angry dragon. “We ed Tahee Llom in our wagon on our trip out. It was bad then. I’ve no doubt it’s worse now. As for the farmland, it’s bad all over, and those wagon loads the towns keep wanting aren’t moving anymore. Everyone’s out for themselves, and the towns are self-destructing. Where’s Plythe? Is he behind you?” “No,” Ikals whimpered. “He stayed.” “Oh. Sorry.” “Me too.” Some people parted and ran back as they approached a gathered line. Ikals sped up and found the horse unharmed, but many of the people who ran back shivered badly, and Lomnes looked a little too satisfied. He was perched before the animal like a wild cat. The bow lay to Lomnes’ right. Not the place or angle how Ikals had left it. Cursing their stupidity, Tangue looked back and closed his eyes. “I didn’t think they were this hungry,” he groaned bitterly. There was a pause, and looking back to the horse, Tangue screwed up his face. “What stopped them?”

Ikals couldn’t help but grin. “Let’s have that feed,” he suggested, changing the subject. “Is there grass around here?” Tangue ed the feed over, and Ikals propped the bag up for the horse to stick its muzzle into, which it sluggishly did. Ikals lovingly rubbed its nose. “Not unless you want to go back down,” Tangue noted, looking back to those faces that weren’t fully fading into dark this time. “People keep wandering off, Ikals. There were more of us when we got here, but they just keep leaving, and they don’t come back. They never come back.” Ikals looked to the cave opening and darkness beyond worriedly. “Some say we’re cursed, that the death we tried to escape followed us. I’m just worried we’ll go mad too, like the people in Nellot.” “Was there a day or more where no one left?” Ikals checked. Tangue thought on that one. “I suppose. Why?” Maybe the dragon wasn’t there just for Ikals? “Cause I think I know what’s been hunting you. It isn’t madness, but she is hungry.” If the dragon wasn’t there just for Ikals, then she likely wasn’t the same dragon as before. It was possible he’d just stumbled into another dragon’s hunting ground! And raced his way inside one giant mountain lair! “She chased us here, Tangue.” Correction. “She herded us here. Now she has us all in one place, just ready for the eating.” Tangue sneered, clearly wondering about Ikals’ sanity. “A dragon,” Ikals explained. “I’m talking about a dragon.” “Dragons aren’t real, Ikals! You need some sleep.” “I do, badly, but there’s no time for sleep, not for any of us. I need to track ahead. Can you watch the horse a little longer?” Ikals asked, looking to Lomnes. Lomnes nodded. “I can do that.” Lomnes smiled, amused at Tangue’s blank expression. “The little lord’s never considered legends worth their measure. You’ll have a hard go convincing him.” Ikals winced. “I know, and if they’re all mad here, you’ll have your hands full

until we return. I need a path through. We need to get to the door before it’s too late.” “Go,” Lomnes urged. “I’m on watch. Leave the feed and canteen. It’ll be thirsty too.” Ikals nodded and ed the canteen over. Lomnes took it and looked over at Tangue. The blanched face was growing ever paler. The eyes were fixed on the hovering canteen and feed bag that was being moved as if by unseen hands. “Go before he faints,” Lomnes groaned. “I can’t watch both of them properly. Even I know that much.” “Do you think they’ll find us again?” Ikals asked, thinking of his guides. Lomnes seemed to understand. “It wouldn’t help if they did,” he replied dryly. Ikals nodded, resigned. Not against a dragon, no. Shanea had said as much the once. The towel was folded and left to one side. Ikals figured he’d need it again soon enough. And he shrugged, nodded, and stood. He needed Tangue to understand a few things, but he couldn’t say any of it with other people listening in. “Let’s go,” he said to Tangue, smiling cheerfully. Doing his best at a smile at least. “We need to talk.” Tangue just blinked. Was he even breathing? Ikals pulled him along, and looked out into the storm that still brewed. “There’re some good overhangs up ahead. We’ll keep to them as we go. I can walk the horse that way too, so with any luck, it might just work.” Tangue didn’t speak. He just kept his space. Ikals led out into the storm and back under the next available cover, ever looking up and ready to do whatever, even if nothing, in their defence. Tangue crouched further in, looking about warily for a moment before fixing Ikals with a more cautious stare. This place was as good as any. “I can speak to the dead, Tangue,” Ikals breathed, unable to keep eye in

case this went as poorly as he expected. It wouldn’t change anything if Tangue didn’t believe him, but he still wished he would. “Of course you can.” “It’s true,” Ikals spat, suddenly angry. The anger faded as quickly as it had come. This was why he hadn’t told anyone but Lomnes, in all those years. No one wanted to be different, not like this! He swallowed his next few words and came up with better ones. “I’ve been seeing and speaking to spirits for some time,” he explained softly. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d believe me.” Ethan’s words. Ikals closed his eyes. He certainly couldn’t blame his guides for not telling him about the first dragon now! “And Lomnes?” Tangue asked. “Dead. He’s watching the horse.” Tangue laughed. Nerves or disbelief – Ikals couldn’t tell which. “And you’re going to tell me Plythe’s here too? Should I wave or shake hands!?” More words swallowed. Ikals closed his eyes hard for a moment, then, turned to face his friend. “Look, I don’t need you to believe me, Tangue. I’d like you to, but you don’t have to.” It was Tangue’s turn to stare out into the rain. Thunder and lightning cracked and flashed. Close by, a landslide sounded, and dust rose to their right. “We need get back under cover,” Tangue muttered, reserved, ignoring Ikals’ gaze. “I’ll find you somewhere to sleep.” “I’m not lying, Tangue, and there’s a dragon out here killing your people. You’re in danger. You have to leave. We all have to leave.” Tangue laughed bitterly. “There’s no dragon, Ikals. They’re not real! Right now, we’re our own worst enemy. People are going crazy and doing horrible things!”

He stopped talking, and his lips twitched anxiously. He clearly could neither express, nor wanted to even think about what those exact horrible acts were. “Let’s get back already.” Ikals didn’t move. Tangue left on his own.

Chapter Twenty-Seven Finished Business

“What did you expect?” Ikals was slowly rubbing his temples, eyes downcast. “What did you find anyway?” Ikals sat at a small fire he’d constructed in a depression near the cave lip. The wind blew past, and the flames flickered. His damp clothes fluttered, and their cold sunk further into his damp flesh. He shivered and shook his head. “Not much, and I don’t blame him,” he muttered, watching lightning flash. The thunder followed, but no stones fell. He applied the towel to his hair a little more and washed his face from the fresh spray. “I wish I could disbelieve me too.” The horse nosed Lomnes, and he reached across to rub just behind the chin. “You’re one animal I don’t mind seeing me,” he mused with a sigh. “No easy, covered way out from here then?” Ikals shook his head. “The way only goes up, covered, yes, but then it hits a lot of open space, and with this storm cover, and all the peaks and crags, she could be anywhere up there, just watching and waiting. And we’re not even into the full mountain yet. There’s no back way out of here.” He scowled. “And back down has no cover whatsoever.” Ikals had had a new thought on his scout after Tangue had left him. He was tired of leaving people to their deaths, and it was clear his friend didn’t believe him, nor would his people. Even pressed as he was, this time, this place, he’d make a difference! “We have to take her out before we move on. I have a plan, but I can’t do it alone.” “Name it,” Lomnes vied, looking across with conviction. Ikals smiled. “I wish you could help, but I need more than one friend, and I’ll

need arrows and spears and a net. You don’t have them on you?” Lomnes grinned smartly. Ikals rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t think so.” “I might be able to find them.” Ikals and Lomnes turned to find Tangue standing there. Behind him, the usual eyes peered out from the dimness. “My mother’s gone, and no one can find her.” Ikals hung his head. Tangue took a few tentative breaths. “I never thought you mad before. I don’t know what to make of this.” “I’m not mad, Tangue, just in a rush. The only way to help your mother is to kill the dragon.” Tangue screwed up his face, fists on his hips. “Tell the others it’s something else if you like. Just get me what we need. Believe something else if you like for that matter. I need arrows, spears, nets, and help.” And a miracle. “When?” Tangue blurted, eyes closed. “Ten minutes before your mother walked off,” Ikals replied evenly. Tangue looked across, and his gaze hardened. Ikals wasn’t sure if he’d jump him or not, but Tangue just nodded and turned, disappearing back into the darkness and shambles further in. “He never did like the strange.” Lomnes shook his head. “Too glued to image, but that’s already some change. That’s a good thing.” “True,” Ikals mused. “That coat doesn’t yell nobility.” They both smiled. “Do you mind staying with the horse again? He needs rest, and I don’t think you can scare off a dragon.” “I could try,” Lomnes argued, puffing up his chest. Smiling, he deflated it again. “I’ll wait here, but I’m only going to wait so long. Hear that? I never have liked sitting around and waiting. It just isn’t me.” “I know, and thanks.” Ikals rose and held his bow ready. What good would it do? He didn’t even consider his staff to be of any use for this hunt, but he felt the need to bring the bow. If for no other reason than to give him some sense of power.

Ten minutes later, he was leading a group of hunters out from the cave and along, under a series of overhangs. Tangue, when he’d returned, a dagger in hand and crossbow on his back, had quietly informed him that they believed cougars were snaring people and that Ikals had seen where the cougars had made their den. With everyone’s hunger at the level it was, the hunters had jumped at the chance to in, but they weren’t going to listen to either Ikals or Tangue if they found no game, so this was all or nothing. Ikals might not even be able to draw the dragon out, so he was preparing himself for that possibility. What did the dragon have to lose in staying hidden like it had from the Nellot party so far? If she was smart, she’d sit and watch, and enjoy the show. He had to draw her out somehow, or nobody would believe him! Beyond the first solemn whisper, Tangue hadn’t spoken since. Ikals mused that his friend’s silence seemed to be a mixture of disbelief and anger. Was he upset Ikals hadn’t told him? Was he afraid it was true, that his fear of the world ending wasn’t just paranoia? The stone path wound around and up Dwarf Peak between those ornate stone buildings, seemingly carved from the mountain itself, all poised on different levels of your climb. Between each was sheer cliff face going up one side, up the core of the mountain, and jagged stone on the other, which was there Ikals figured to keep hikers from tumbling to their deaths several hundred feet below. This was the case except where the path turned around the mountain to open up to a panoramic view of the stormy world around them. Stopping before the first turn, Ikals considered the ribbed, core cliff face and outer, jagged, stone walls. He’d been hoping to trap the dragon with the nets, then, drop the cliff down on top of it. Gravity and sharpened stone could deal the dragon its death that they could not. This place was about as good as any. It had places to duck and hide for cover, and ages of erosion had produced some dangerous overhangs high above, but

how could he explain that plan with the cougar cover story holding? He wasn’t at all sure about that part. The hunters whispered angrily behind him, and Tangue took their complaints quietly, sneaking up beside Ikals and looking at him expectedly. “Have them spread out on both sides,” Ikals suggested. He wasn’t sure what else to say. A second thought came to him. “Tell them I’ll stir up the cougars. I’ll climb up here, and get at them from behind, and I’ll lead them back down for the kill. Just have them ready, and I’ll do the rest.” “Why not just keep walking around to get up there?” “Because I want to get up at her from behind,” Ikals reasoned. It somehow didn’t sound so wise when he actually voiced the thought out loud. Especially since she might not even be up, exactly there. And it was going to be a tough climb. He also wondered if it was right to refer to a dragon as either “she” or “it”. Shanea had called the dragon a “her”, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to think of the beast that was trying to kill him in human , even if he just had. “Will that work?” “It might,” Tangue whispered. “Where’s my mother?” “I’ll find her. I’ll try at least. Just wait here. Alright?” Tangue nodded uneasily, and Ikals stared at the cliff wall wondering if he’d truly gone mad. Talking a deep breath, he started his ascent. It wasn’t going to work! He’d only made it maybe seven feet, and his bow kept catching on every crag and callous on the rock face, and it was awful trying to reach and extend his arms with a tight string stretched across his chest! Hissing angrily, but then swallowing his pride, he climbed back down and removed the weapon. And handed it over. “Hold onto my bow. Please?” Tangue did, and Ikals retook the wall.

He’d have to find even more of that inner strength Plythe had always told him was “immeasurable when truly believed in”. The whole trip was about belief, Ikals mused. The trip was a test for that matter if he was right. He refused to fail Lomnes, Plythe, or Tangue. And hoped Millosai wouldn’t fail him. Below, the hunters spread out under the available cover with spears, bows, and nets at the ready. Two hunters settled under where he’d climbed, clearly undecided on whether or not they trusted Ikals to do what he’d promised. Tangue remained undercover and out of sight. Ikals climbed head on against the pouring rain. When the stones didn’t allow for an easy grip, which was pretty quickly on, he spread his arms out more and edged his way further up. Grip slipped more than stuck, but he gritted his teeth and kept climbing. A small ledge came into view, and he scrambled onto it. “A water chute,” he chattered. Water pooled at his knees and feet, and the wind picked on that dampness to chill him badly, but he refused to curse it. The alternative was way worse. The quakes must have broken some kind of internal drainage. His fingers near numb and body shivering, Ikals started crawling up the slanted slope while water streamed past him. He was grabbing ribbed stones where needed, which made his climb a little easier, and he finally succeeded at reaching the source: a ninety-degree water fall that split into his and five other, smaller chutes. The water that fell was issued from a perfectly round stone hole above, and those shoots were equally perfectly moulded grooves in rough stone. There were painted marks on some of the stones before him in a language he didn’t read, but they were numbers and letters. He could tell that much. Some human builders made the same for width and number of struts on their materials. He’d come across it often enough on his swim-ventures of the Atvian sewer system. Some of the climbs he’d done then hadn’t been dissimilar to what

he was doing now for that matter. They’d just involved more down than up. These marks were reminiscent of what the Atvian engineers had left behind. This was internal piping. More to the point, this piping junction, from his limited understanding of plumbing, should be about twenty feet inside the mountain for these stone buildings to have had access to fresh water. Give another ten or fifteen feet from the building to what had been the original cliff edge? How much of the rock face had broken away in the shaking to have exposed all this!? No wonder the cliff face that was likely once smooth was now a jagged and much more sinister-looking thing! There was something there. He could feel it. It was more real than paranoia, more concrete than sight or sound. Lightning streaked, cutting the dark billowing clouds in five! Rolling thunder echoed more than once. Ikals knew he had to take the chute, which became a cracked stone pipe, to his left. Two sheer drops were avoided, and three slides nearly took him down to his death, but he finally stepped up onto a level low shelf. It had been a balcony that once looked over an internal hall. Part of the railing remained as well as the feet from a long-gone stone bench, but the doorway it connected with had caved in. There was a stone tableau on the wall, a piece of a stone mural he supposed. He could make out an arm and part of an axe. A dwarf? And he spotted them: blue stones, collecting under a small, over-flowing pool. They led up a trail to his left, along and between deep water-filled indents like ancient steps carved into the cliff wall that continued up to an even higher balcony that likely didn’t exist anymore. Knowing nothing but the sweet song in his head, Ikals stumbled and climbed on and up. There was no hunt. There was no wish to kill. There was merely the yearning to reach the top and follow that song that beckoned him. A shrill whistle had him dropping to his knees. Flashing silver filled his mind, gears dangling on an old chain, and he crumpled, pain rippling through his

stomach! He looked up feeling alone and lost! Releasing his stomach and head, he stared up at the rain and tried to form a clear thought. None was coming. It was like looking out from a dream, half-awake but half something else! A different, looping whistle brought his head left, and he saw Lomnes perched on a small shelf beside him, one eye brow raised in distaste. Memory flashed again. His stomach hurt less, and the images made sense. He heard the guards shouting and saw the hatchet fly, grazing his head and sending him sprawling to the cobble stones, skidding painfully into the fountain’s base! The potatoes had fallen in dull thuds, then, rolled on in silence. He’d seen the foot come up into his stomach, pain reaching places he hadn’t known existed. How often had they kicked him? He didn’t know. They’d left him for dead that day, and he’d thought he would die, but Lomnes had found him, the day they’d really met, not thief and naïve mark, but as equals in the struggle for survival. “How?” Ikals muttered numbly. “I’m not sure,” Lomnes grumbled, still looking quite disappointed. “I think it’s our bond. Did I pick the right tune? You are snapped out of whatever spell you were under?” Ikals tried to think on what he’d been doing the last thirty feet. The song was there still, but it was further back, hiding behind pain and fear. “What was I doing?” “Following stones,” Lomnes explained smartly. “What are you doing here? I thought you were watching the horse?” “I was, but the horse has a mind of its own.” Ikals nodded knowingly. “Whatever that Shewesse was telling it back at Tahee Llom has really stuck. He wanted to come here and stand below. I think he’s playing bait for you, but I could be wrong. I don’t know horses that well either.” Ikals stared at Lomnes wide-eyed. His friend shrugged. “What’s the plan, Ikals? You are the one leading after all.”

“Right,” Ikals replied softly, adding a few pointless blinks. He noticed Plythe’s necklace was hanging out and slipped it back inside his shirt. “I was going to draw the dragon after me and lure it down there. And drop a rock on it.” Lomnes nodded mockingly before rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I can draw it out,” Ikals assured him, taking a close look around at where he’d ended up. In his dream-like state, he hadn’t been paying much attention to anything. Where he was now, the rock levelled off with rounded edges. He’d found an old fountain half buried in the wall! A broken path, a turned stone staircase, led ever up to a series of even more ledges until, forty feet up, the summit loomed. There was a tall rather dwarven building carved into the mountainside up there. It was rather close to the edge. Far closer than he’d have built it. Lighting flashed in the background for effect. Of the overhangs above that overlooked the path below, some were full spires while others were either deathly splinters or small stone twigs in the grander scheme of things. They had to have been columns, arches, and internal s, from the buildings that had been shaken down during the quakes. They just had yet to give up on the view. “This all looked a lot more breakable from below,” Ikals grumbled sourly. But his grimace smoothed out to a more confident grin after a moment’s revelation. “I can draw it out,” Ikals repeated. “And be eaten.” “Can you do your whistle and break one of these things off?” Ikals, pointed at the nearest overhang, the second ledge up that stuck out above. It became a more significant spire that thrust out from the cliff wall and loomed over the tense, quiet scene below. It was the widest of the lot. “You that one kid that could scream so loud he broke glass?” Lomnes frowned. “Lonce always broke the glass in secret,” he groaned, “to

make him feel better.” Ikals scowled. Really!? It had sure fooled him! “But I’ve heard it does work,” Lomnes allotted, with a wince. “I’ve never tried. Maybe. Sound isn’t that simple though, not what I know of it. My whistle might be good for coyotes and you, sure, but.” Lomnes screwed up his face. “Rock? If I can get the right pitch, if it’s already loose maybe, ready for a landslide but needs a final nudge? If this even works, what if I bring down more than just that spire? Where do you plan on being?” he asked, squinting painfully. “On the spire,” Ikals replied with a deep swallow. “There are other rocks to stand on,” Lomnes pointed out. Ikals nodded. “That’s the other part of my plan, one I’m adding to as I go.” Lomnes laughed, then stopped and motioned for Ikals to go on. Ikals sighed. “The horse might bring it out, but I’ll be up here making it angry. We just broke its magic. The dragon can’t hurt you, but it’ll want me all the more. You bring down the spire and all the other rocks around here, trapping its wings like those branches in the groves back there. We’ll push it down to the nets and spears. With any luck, it’ll be wounded to the point where we can kill it and end this thing. That way, we can get along, and Tangue and the people of Nellot live to tell the tale. Simple.” “And you?” Lomnes asked. “What about you, Ikals. You need to live too. Did you forget that part?” “I haven’t, but I was about to walk up to its dinner plate willingly, Lomnes. It’s likely up in that building up there wondering where I am, or maybe that’s just where it leads its dinner before feasting. Either way, it’s got to be watching. We won’t have this chance again. Maybe I have gone mad. I don’t know. I have to do this, Lomnes, mad, deluded, or otherwise. No one else even believes in dragons anymore.” “You’re starting to sound like them,” Lomnes groaned. “This is likely why I came up with all of our plans on the street.” He grumbled under his breath. “Fine. I’ll bring down the mountain for you, but you’d better not die. I refuse to be stuck with your corpse for an eternity. You made me a deal, to get to the library and free me. I’m holding you to that. Renege, and I’ll haunt your spirit

until eternity ends!” “All five days of it?” Ikals joked. Lomnes grinned. “Yes!” he replied pointedly. “Go. Do this already before I change my mind and stop you.” Bowing low, Ikals started up the side-turned steps, nearly missing the last grip and sliding back down! He waited for his nerves to settle. It wasn’t like he had any real grip, and most of each foot was resting on air. He edged up to the ledge above before climbing anxiously on, up to the one above it. His hands lost grip and he reached out for a crevice, digging his fingers in and holding on for dear life! When his vision returned and breathing was even, he pulled himself in and repeated the effort. Now on the proper ledge, he eased himself along the ledge until he met that spire and slowly lifted himself up properly onto it. “Too late now,” he whimpered, standing, balancing, near-paralyzed. He carefully crept out towards its tip. There were cool designs carved into the spire of short people fighting what looked like overly large boar that couldn’t possibly be real. It was almost fitting a spire carved with war might become his weapon against the dragon. The spire became too thin for any more inching along, and he turned to look up. He was clear for twenty feet. There was enough room for a dragon to swoop in, so where was she!? He could see the horse looking up from below. The hunters were looking up too. Ikals spread his arms wide. “Hello,” he shouted. “Where are you already? Here I am. Come and get me!” Nothing. Ikals spied Lomnes above. Why was he waving his arms like that? “Come on you big lizard!” Ikals shouted. “If you don’t hurry, I might slip; you’ll lose your dinner. What do you think about that!?” Again, Lomnes was waving his arms, now more frantically. What was he on about? Ikals nearly slipped on the wet rock, steadying himself with care. Shaking

his head, his body shivering badly, he looked around. There was a smell on the wind he didn’t like. His mind near-froze. Frantic waving? Bad smell. He put two and two together, and looked up again, then left and right. The clouds were super dark. Lighting flashed, thunder rolled, and the rain fell. It almost looked like one of those clouds was coming his way. And it had a wide wing span! “Not yet,” Ikals whispered, hoping Lomnes would time things just right. “Soon. She’s got to get closer for this to work.” Would it work? He shook his head. He had to keep his thoughts on the moment, not worries or theories, but on actions and in the moment. In the now. “Ten, eight, five feet. Be ready, Lomnes. Now!” Nothing collapsed, and the dragon came on, muscular talons reaching out for him. And her hungry mouth snapping! Ikals crouched. The sound of stone rumbling filled his ears much deeper than thunder, and instinct, that survival draw kicked in. Without knowing how, his body falling, tumbling and turning in the air as the gulley floor quickly approached, his right hand found a grip, and his body snapped to a stop. Rock, a lot of it, and a wailing dragon tumbled past him! Rain. Cold, numbing wind. Fatigue. Ikals tried to keep his hold, but he couldn’t. His fingers lost their grip, and he turned as he fell, dropping once more into the chaos below. The dragon lay on her side and belched out flame on one overhang, two men running from cover. There were spears launched, and two nets had taken hold. The rocks and spires had badly scarred one wing, but the dragon was far from done for. She brought her head back and pumped her wings hard, breaking the netting to lift a few feet. Ikals landed into the scarred wing, and she crash-landed again, Ikals rolling off and onto wet, dripping stone! Arrows flew, but the dragon shook off its attackers. More flame was summoned, and the dragon launched herself back off into the sky, fading in a bitter, painful

cry! Ikals rolled onto his back and tried to figure out if he was dead or not. He could feel his fingers and legs, and pain had settled into his lower back, a lot of it, and Tangue was there holding his arm with a worried look on his face. Nearcrippling pain flowed through Ikals, and he let out a deep, echoing scream from the depths of his lungs. Tangue pulled back and stared down in fear.

Ikals was still in pain when they left, but he couldn’t afford to wait, so he pushed on. They pushed on. Tangue and his mother, who someone had found wandering down the rounding path from above, walked beside him. The others either walked or were carried behind them, in wagons, on stretcher, or on foot. Ikals was the only one riding. The horse had, of course, been smart enough to move off when the dragon and spires had come down. Lomnes had been there when Ikals had awoken the second time, laughing and imitating the look on Ikals’ face as he’d fallen. He’d had a good imitation of the expression Tangue had used too. He was following now, Ikals figured. He’d finally catch up, but they couldn’t wait. The dragon would return, and she’d be angrier and hungrier than before. “So you can see spirits,” Tangue mumbled, low and subtle. Ikals smiled, then, nodded. “That explains why you kept talking to yourself.” “That was just me talking to myself,” Ikals itted, Tangue nodding simply, too easily for Ikals’ liking. “But yes, I can.” “And you’re headed to Davergen to find a library that doesn’t exist?” Tangue joked. He looked up and around anxiously. The rain had stopped, but the clouds remained. Ikals shivered and tried to wring out his shirt some more. It didn’t do any good. He’d been given a fresh change of clothing, but it looked so much the same that it was like he hadn’t changed at all, and it had rained on their leaving, so he was still cold and damp, fresh clothes or not. But he’d had a good meal, and they’d found him proper boots to wear which would make any future trek more

comfortable. There was that. “It’s there,” he insisted. “I just have to get down to it. There’s our bridge. Across from that and through those mountains on the other side is Davergen. With your noble status, the castle will accept you, and you can barter for housing for your people.” “Me too,” Tangue agreed solemnly. “Do you need more help? I could leave someone else to help my parents.” “No. Thanks, but I have help. I need luck.” Tangue smiled, and Ikals smirked. “Take care of them. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be knocking at your door looking for a place to sleep soon. I expect a good bed for all this.” “You’ll have it, and then some.” The bridge spanned the wide expanse of water. It was a sturdy, wooden suspension bridge that swayed with the wind. Ikals dismounted, ignoring his aching, throbbing muscles, and walked the horse on. He reminded himself the first step was always the hardest. What followed was just destiny. And after all he’d seen so far, he felt sure Davergen had nothing to compare.

Chapter Twenty-Eight Davergen

“You should be sleeping,” Lomnes whispered. Ikals found a smart grin. No one else could hear Lomnes. Why would he need to whisper? Ikals glanced around studying the sleeping camp and its slumbering inhabitants. They’d made it over the bridge and through the opposing mountains as quickly as they could. He’d gotten one sleep in at one point, which had been greatly appreciated. Once clear of the mountains, they’d made camp on a green hill overlooking the city of Davergen, surrounded by forest on two sides and a river on another. Tangue was amongst those lost to dreams, Tangue and his family. “I can’t sleep right now,” Ikals whispered back, yawning wide. He ignored Lomnes’ frown, rolling over to face Davergen again. “Is Atvian going through this too?” he asked, aghast at the thought. Ikals tried not to think about it, but he couldn’t help but imagine the Printing Press as a pile of rubble with Plythe’s body somewhere underneath. Those street children would be running around Atvian with all his valuables, what little he had. Davergen’s factories were flame on its more southerly point. Its slums weren’t that much better off. The flames were just a little more sparse is all. Their port wasn’t too badly off, but it was well guarded, hence why military craft still floated. Lomnes pointed out the nearest knot of streets down there, one of many. A mob moved through past the broken homes. Most of them screamed at the tops of their lungs, and the others broke everything that hadn’t already been destroyed.

One house was holding out with boarded windows and armed men on defence, but against those numbers, Ikals didn’t give them good odds. He closed his eyes for a moment and shifted his line of sight, pointing to the opposite end of town. Lomnes gritted his teeth and angrily shook his head. Surrounded by patches of green and wealthier, equally crammed in slums, was the Felige stadium, what was left of it. Stress marks ran from top to bottom. On one end, chunks of wall had fallen out to crush people, fountains, and carts below. Water spurted from broken water mains, and flags and banners had been ripped loose and burned. Windows were gone. Paint had been applied with horrible, ill-fated messages scrawled on stone. Similar defacement was visible all over Davergen, as were similar mobs and scenes of violence. The only hope for law-abiding people rested in the soldiers that patrolled on horseback and foot. They seemed to be coordinated from both the Castle and port authorities, depending on what area of town they were patrolling. They wore black uniforms with white belts and trim. They’d formed their own units and did battle in the streets, pushing the mobs outwards up against the outskirts of town. Those units weren’t losing. The mobs just weren’t letting go so easily, and there was so much chaos that Ikals couldn’t help but feel the loss he’d been keeping inside surface with a vengeance. Was there any point? Who would he be saving if he did reach the door!? “So where’s this library anyway?” Lomnes asked. “You’re supposed to know this.” Ikals shrugged, Lomnes slapping him across the shoulder. “Get with it! The deal.” He glared across, and Ikals sighed. Trust Lomnes to keep him on track. “I know it’s down, under the city,” Ikals replied softly, “but my dreams never showed me what part of the city it was under, just down below.” Ikals’ gaze went to the heart of the city once more. The Castle Frol had stood for

generations against foreign onslaughts. Its shaped stone walls and iron grills showed scorch marks. Windows were cracked or broken, and part of the outer wall had fallen in, but other than that and a disorganized courtyard, littered with soldiers, the castle and its keep had fared well against domestic marauders as well. “Logically,” Ikals reasoned, “it would have been built under the castle, but getting inside that castle,” he added, considering the high number of soldiers staking claim a hundred feet from that stronghold, “won’t be possible. They’re housing wounded in the houses outside their lines. I could maybe use an excuse of needing a specialized medical treatment to get in, like Kileo did the once, but he could always fake being sick better than me, and even if I could get in, there’s no way they’d leave me alone to get under anything in there. I could use Tangue to get through, but then anything I had to do to get to the library would rebound on him, and I won’t do that to him.” “Then we find another way,” Lomnes urged, nudging him on the shoulder and leaning forward, his chin and mouth going through several flexes while he thought about things privately. “What about the sewers?” he finally suggested. “I was considering that, but there’s no telling what shape they’re in. How many dead ends are there now? They could be a death trap. If we were back in Atvian, I’d say, ‘yes, let’s do it’, but neither of us knows Davergen, Lomnes. We could lose days down there and get nowhere. We need our guides, but it doesn’t look like they’re coming.” They both looked to the horizon, all sides. “Not so it would seem,” Lomnes growled. “I know where you can go.” Ikals was consumed by inner questions and didn’t hear his friend’s last words. “I guess there weren’t people who died up here,” he mused wryly. Lomnes hung his head despondently. “What?” Ikals asked, wondering what he’d done. “What did I say?” Lomnes laughed sharply, then, waved it off. His friend hissed, his nose curled. “The spirits they’re using to be here, solid, when they choose it, in our world, are like me, Ikals. Every time I think about it, I can’t help but wonder what I’d be feeling and thinking if I was just shunted aside, if my energies, my whatever I am now, were sucked out for their purpose. What right do they have to do that

sort of thing? Eh!” “The right of saving the living?” Ikals tried. Lomnes’ grimace was scornful. “Maybe. It just makes me think. That’s all.” Ikals frowned heavy-hearted. He eyed the armed sentries walking their sides of the sleeping camp before returning his attention to Davergen. “Are you ready to listen to my idea yet?” Ikals screwed up his face. This of course was a particular tactic that always worked. “Don’t give me that!” Lomnes spat indignantly. Ikals gripped his chest, one eye closed, mouth open, and twitched on the ground a long moment before giving up the act and fending off Lomnes’ rather weak attacks. “I don’t know what you said,” he replied honestly. Lomnes scowled on, Ikals grinning. “I’m listening, Lomnes. Talk to me.” Lomnes finally landed a more solid slap that did hurt which left Ikals holding his shoulder. “It’s the stadium,” Lomnes boasted proudly. “You can go under it.” Ikals didn’t want to reply in case he got hit again. “What?” Lomnes asked irritably. Ikals shook his head innocently. “The stadiums are built on thick foundations,” Lomnes explained, “and they’re all tied into the best water lines and sewers. If any sewers have survived, they’re under the stadium, and your library would have been given the best systems to run off of too. So,” he prompted, eyes wide on a smirking face. “So they’re more likely connected than anything else,” Ikals reasoned, Lomnes nodding profusely. Ikals was happy to not get hit again. Every muscle was sore and exhausted enough without Lomnes’ further abuse! And what Lomnes said did somewhat make sense. And he could likely get to the stadium without too much trouble. But it still meant using the sewers. “I should go before Tangue wakes up in case he decides to follow. He can’t go through the door with me, and I won’t leave him down there alone; besides, his family needs him. At least someone should stay with their loved ones when they’re needed.” “It was Plythe’s choice. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I know, but why change now?” Ikals asked guiltily. “Let’s go.” He’d buried his guilt. Standing, knowing he needed to remain strong, he buried it deeper and found that nobility he’d summoned above the gullies. “I’ll see you there.” Ikals tied his horse up to a tree before leaving. The note, scratched onto a piece of paper one of the sentries had been carrying, writing with a bit of chalk he broke from a nearby rock, asked Tangue to look after the horse for when Ikals returned. He told the sentry the same, but in case the message wasn’t delivered, he wanted to be sure it got through and that the horse and his gear would be well cared for. And he pocketed Plythe’s blue hard covered book. “The road is long, but the heart goes on. Never far from home,” he whispered, patting his jacket where the book was now firmly protected again. He pocketed his journal as well. And then started his descent into town. Clay and wood houses, crowded and beaten down, filthy and badly scarred, soon surrounded him. Foundations were eaten through, cracked, or broken back. Walls were treated worse in some cases, and belongings were strewn about where mice and bits of glass gathered, and there were bodies, faceless, buried, or other, clothed and not. In all cases, the shoes and shirts were gone. Ikals covered his nose and mouth and hurried on, hunched over and cautious to not be seen. He scurried in between the crowded rows of houses. There was no clear line to walk. Inside city limits, the city layout made less sense, and he found himself hiding under some soiled and burned mattresses an hour later near Davergen’s northern boundary, listening carefully to make sure his armed pursuers had gone on. Cursing all the architects in the world, Ikals crawled out, made sure the scene was clear, and tried to find a route back south east. It would be easy to simply follow the main road, but people stalked those shadows, and the soldiers in their steady march to restore peace, were showing themselves more brutal than some of the muggers he’d seen since entering town. Someone else drew near, and Ikals hid under the raised corner of one house. The feet paused, turned a few times, and then took off in a run. Seven pairs of feet followed a second later, shouts and screams trailing after them.

There were families hiding under other houses, and he caught glimpses of families taken off in wagons for protection, so not all was lost. The in-between just wasn’t very pretty. Keeping low, he reached the back of the stadium, staring at the castle for a moment in awe at those majestic, white, stone walls. He reminded himself that he needed to get under that towering spectacle and that it wouldn’t be easy. And it wouldn’t happen at all if he stopped to stare at the sights! The stadium walls were cracked, and people walked between some fallen statues. They glanced around with hollow expressions and fingered the fine irons in their hands methodically. A small family stumbled to his far left, nearly on the other side of the stadium. The man, a father maybe, was near dragging an older man with two children in tow. Ikals took a few breaths and slipped inside through the nearest crack. He dropped back behind a column the second he got inside. There was movement. He couldn’t tell where, but there were people around him. Sitting, working to think and stay alert for trouble, Ikals reasoned that he had no interest in the playing field or bleachers. He was interested in the deepest part of the stadium. Food had been prepared, and the teams had gotten dressed somewhere in these places, and there had to be lower-yet rooms to make even that possible, but how to get there? In Atvian, there were a lot of areas fans couldn’t go. It usually had to do with where the locker rooms or stairwells to private booths were. Maybe that kind of place was where anything more subterranean could be accessed too? Ikals decided the locker rooms were a good place to start. He waited for the sounds to diminish before smiling. Wait, he told himself. Where were the locker rooms? Sighing, he rested his head back and waited longer. After what seemed like forever, Lomnes slid in beside him with a grin on his face and eye brows raised. Ikals mouthed his request, and Lomnes motioned a path. Ikals wasn’t sure it was the right one, but speaking was too risky. And Felige, and Felige stadiums were Lomnes’ specialty.

Nodding, he glanced down a slanted hallway, slipped out, and started down it, veering from statue to statue. The inner decorations on this level had remained nearly untouched, as had the food stalls. The food stalls, hutches built into the clay-stone walls with ovens and counters and various serving areas, did smell horrible that being said. Some meat had gone really bad, from several directions! Ikals’ stomach growled, and he stopped, making sure no one had heard it. After an extended moment, he crept on. Something broke down the way, hard clay shattering, and he slipped in behind a statue quickly, hugging the wall. Footsteps drew close, then, walked on. Something softer kept coming. It sniffed the air and strained on leather. They had a dog. Damn! Did the soldiers have dogs? He hadn’t noticed. With a start, the dog started barking, and Ikals shrunk down into the corner. A large, black hound took off past him, a much larger soldier racing after it with a hand on his hip. A soldier. Ikals shook his head. He would’ve tried to stop him anyway. “He’s gone.” The hoarse whisper hadn’t come from Lomnes. “I thought he’d never leave,” a lower, slyer voice replied. “Let’s make this quick. Grab everything you can, but that we share anything of value. The rest is fair game.” There was laughter and a shuffle of feet, at least four or five pair. Ikals was sure they’d attack him easily enough. He spied Lomnes motioning for him to stay put, but the footsteps were drawing nearer. A nervous hand felt the wall and found a loose board. It was a latch hiding where maintenance would be done! He quietly pried the board open and eased himself inside pulling the board back into place from inside, slanting it so no one would notice a change unless they managed a closer look. Inside the wall, Ikals found a ladder going up and down. Shrugging, he removed his boots and started down, boots in hand. The ladder groaned, and he stopped every so often to keep it as quiet as he could. Trying to balance his weight just right, he maintained his descent and ed three lit, outlined squares. If he was

right, if the numbers painted on the stone by the ladder were floors, he had three to go. Between levels, he found pipes and reasoned his crawlspace was there to keep the water flowing as it should. Fighting the feeling that his descent was endless, he kept going, even when light flooded in two floors above. He didn’t speed up. Someone was likely looking in to see if a person was hiding there, and indeed, something blocked the light for a moment before the bright white was complete again, then, gone like it had never been there. Another square ed, and running and swearing sounded outside. What if there were other people in the stadium, innocents? The soldiers were there to save them, but what if they didn’t? He didn’t want to abandon them like he had the fallen, like he felt he’d abandoned Plythe. He just couldn’t escape the feeling, not since Tangue had asked him how Plythe was. It seemed that was all he could think about now, and he stopped before his second last square. Clearing his mind, he climbed further down, but ing that next square, he felt guilt growing again, more powerful than before. If they hadn’t gotten away? If they were wounded or, worse, dying? He could sense spirits. He’d been running from them since he’d entered town. Here, surrounded by thick walls and countless dead, he could feel them even stronger, and he gritted his teeth against their pressure, his stomach turning a little and a dull throb reaching his temples. He’d made Lomnes a deal. He had to find that door, so Lomnes could choose his freedom and over to the Auswix Chaz. Steeling his mind, he climbed on. Reaching that final floor, the ladder came to an end. Tools were mounted left and right with small air tanks stored behind the ladder. Boots were pulled on again, and Ikals seized a rather solid long wrench about the size of his right arm. He decided to take it along. “Here goes,” he whispered to himself. “No one’s in trouble. No one’s out there. It’s just a simple matter of finding the sewers. Simple,” he repeated to convince himself he was right. To his surprise, this wooden plaque came off easily and fell

to reveal an empty, rather dim corridor with statues looming on both sides. He was seemingly surrounded by empty washrooms and locked storerooms. He started wishing there were people with friendly faces. It would be better than the feeling of doom those statues left him with. “Which way?” he whispered. There were no signs in sight, and a wrong way could be very easily made. “Not good.” Ikals went right first, but part of the way was blocked by a collapsed floor and the splintered remains of furniture from above. There was shouting ahead that way as well, so he turned back and went left. Even more washrooms and storage rooms came and went, and he found emergency doors leading to shaky stairs. There were ramps that wound down seemingly endless stair wells, but these ended in blocked archways for the most part. One of them had no bottom steps or floor. It was a one-way ticket down. He found his first spirits gathered in that dimly lit space. Ikals quickly ran up and off. They, a pair of older youth in ripped shirts and rustled hair, stopped and drifted back to the fallen floor, and Ikals settled back against a pale blue drink fountain with his head in his hands. Why hadn’t he learned how to communicate with the dead better? Other people seemed to do it well enough! Lomnes found him crying against that wall. Ikals wiped his eyes, waving off his friend’s questions. “I don’t know where to go,” Ikals explained, quickly changing the subject and wiping his eyes further “I have no rope and nothing to make it with, and nothing leads to any sewers I can use.” Lomnes fanned his arms and shook his head. “You’ll climb out on a spire and feed yourself to a dragon over a lot of nothing, but you won’t test a bit of a drop?” Ikals crossed his arms, and Lomnes laughed. “They’ll be fine.” “What do you mean?” “Those two,” Lomnes replied, thumbing back to where the pair of spirits had been found. “I traced your steps here.” Ikals sighed and wiped dry eyes for good

measure. “Don’t you get what’s going on? Why you can’t really understand them?” “No, I don’t, but that doesn’t matter here.” “It keeps you sane, and that stair well is your first good bet down, so facing them does matter.” Ikals didn’t respond. He couldn’t respond. He was listening. He just couldn’t speak or form a thought. “You don’t ?” Lomnes asked. “Do I have to whistle again?” Ikals put his head back in his hands. “Please don’t,” he whispered. Crouching, Lomnes rested a hand on his shoulder and nodded softly. “Spirits are emotional,” he conceded, “and I’m sorry for slapping you back at that camp by the way.” He cleared his throat and shrugged, then, smiled sarcastically. Ikals rolled his eyes. Lomnes was clearly not too upset about it. “The emotion is in you, Ikals. The spirits sense your fear and doubt. And dread, and their own is amplified, so they don’t make any sense to you, nothing more than babble at least or random words.” “How do you know this?” “I’m not sure,” Lomnes itted. “I think it’s the birds. I’ve been reasoning that they can sense the emotions in me clearer than they can a living person. The horse is the same. I don’t have all the pretence and guarded thoughts to cloud how I feel anymore, so the emotion is purer. I could be wrong, but it somehow makes sense. “Anyway, do you why you were running away that day, when the guards and soldiers found you in the square and took you down?” Ikals closed his eyes. “You had the food,” Lomnes continued without waiting for a reply. “You were walking away without detection, but you spoiled it, jumped, screamed, and ran. They were looking to help you until they saw the potatoes you were carrying.” “I, I don’t know.” Ikals was stumbling on a thought. It was nothing that was coming clear. “I guess I got spooked.” “I’d say so. You told me about them once, only once.”

Ikals ed now and closed his eyes harder. Hands, faces, tears, and words – they’d followed him. They’d been there and followed him a few steps before he’d run for it to get away. He hadn’t seen the same spirits again, not in all his years in Atvian. He’d run from his own parents, and it seemed they’d run from him! “I don’t want to ,” he mouthed, meaning it. “You don’t have to,” Lomnes noted, Ikals slowly exhaling. “The point is that you haven’t dealt with them or their deaths yet, so you’re filled with your own loss. You’re filled with so much loss that every spirit you see is a mirror of the same.” “They never showed again, Lomnes. I wanted to see my parents again so badly, and when they did show, I ran! And they didn’t come back, Lomnes. They hate me or are embarrassed of what I became! I can’t even tell you what they were saying. I ran so fast.” “You survived the streets, became a scribe in the Press, and are now off saving the world,” Lomnes mocked with a grin. “What are you embarrassed about?” “That’s not what I mean.” “You’re turning out to be a right, good hero, Ikals. You even have those beaten down, but still resilient regrets going for you, and the adventure’s still in its early stages.” Ikals laughed bitterly, and Lomnes smiled. “I don’t know why they stayed away. Maybe they were worried they’d overload you again. I don’t know, but I’m sure they loved you.” “I don’t know.” “As you wish, but it’s true. Now,” Lomnes added with a stand, his tone changing back to a dry, business voice. “Get up and get moving, so we can find your library already.” Brows raised expectantly. Sighing, Ikals stood and shot his friend a nasty look. Lomnes stuck out his tongue and pointed back the way of the stairs. “I’m going.” “Good.”

Ikals frowned. “Maybe you should have been carrying the potatoes,” he suggested, Lomnes staring him down. Their eyes locked for a time until Ikals finally blinked, and Lomnes leaned back. His friend crossed his arms with an air of superiority. “I let you win,” Ikals muttered, starting back towards the stairs. “I’m just trying to be nice.” “You’re too kind.” “I know.” Lomnes followed close behind, humming a familiar song, a team song, his team of course. As usual, he was off-key, but Ikals said nothing. He just kept walking on numb legs. He was too emotional. What could he do with that? Ikals paused on the top, marble step. Light blue continued down the railing and outlined the steps, and a sign half hung on the wall: main lines. He hadn’t noticed that before. The stairs and ramping led down in diagonal sections with landings every seven feet down, like any other flight. Why then, Ikals mused, did they feel so alien? Clearing his throat as quietly as he could, he started down. “I still don’t have rope,” he professed. “We’ll figure that out.” “I so glad you’re confident.” Ikals turned to find Lomnes looking around pensively. Facing back ahead, he rolled his eyes. Could he weave a spirit into a rope? Hm. “They still aren’t coming to help us,” Ikals whispered, wondering where his guides were. “Maybe they think me dead.” “Or they’re lost again.” Ikals laughed, but Lomnes didn’t. Elin had gotten lost in the mountains in that lightning storm. Ethan had had trouble finding him the first day out for that

matter. What was it with spirit radar that made it go awry at the worst possible moment? “The dragon fight might have sent them on a bad trail,” Lomnes suggested. “We’re here, and we’ll do what we have to without them. Don’t worry. You have me.” “I feel so much better.” On the last landing, Ikals felt them again, and he stopped. Lomnes continued down, about to speak, but holding off. They were coming up anyway. Ikals continued down, working at closing his mind, but wondering if he could speak to them properly if he did so. They came on, and Ikals closed his eyes. Their voices pummelled his senses, gaining volume and intensity by the second, and he felt like he’d out again, like he had on the farm! But he thought of what Lomnes had said. He went back in his mind to that street where he’d stolen his first pick of food to survive. It had been so easy to slip past that one alleyway. He’d done that so many times in his thoughts, but he remained. Standing there, he forced himself to stay and stare at them there in the shadows. There was fear, but they weren’t doing anything threatening. They weren’t pursuing him, the real him as he ran off. For a long moment, there was no street anymore. There was only him and his parents, and he saw his mother in her black dress and pearls, hand-me-downs inherited through the generations. She smiled at him, not his ed self. At him. His father’s grey suit was a borrowed combination for the musical they’d been attending the day the soldiers had taken them away and laid their charges. He knew these weren’t his real parents, but he nodded softly and took his mother’s hands in his anyway, and the three of them waited. There was fear. But Ikals didn’t run. His father nodded again, and they faded with the memory. Ikals was left on the

stairs with tears in his eyes, looking at the broken metal ends of that last flight and the studded wall beyond leading down into a fifty-foot fall. There were grips. Why hadn’t he noticed them either!? The ladder was broken, fallen likely when the shaking had collapsed the bottom of the stairs. Pipes ran up and down in the corners and along the wall horizontally every few feet below. “Wait,” Ikals muttered, holding up his hands. The spirits, those youth in ripped shirts and rustled hair, showing signs of blunt trauma, stopped their steady talk. They just, kind of hovered on those steps. Lomnes watched closely from below. One teen limped like he had a broken hip. Something else Ikals hadn’t noticed. “What is it you want?” Ikals asked, gritting his teeth. A torrent of shouts broke out, Ikals held up his hands again. Anger flashed in the youths’ eyes, but they held back at this urging, and Ikals took a deep breath. “I can’t hear you both at once,” he whispered, seeking softer, calmer tones, hoping the spirits would do the same by example. “One at a time, please.” The one pushed the other aside and pressed on, Ikals shaking his head. “Slow down,” he urged. The youth lashed out in anger, fists ing through Ikals in a frozen fit! The numbness filled Ikals’ upper chest, and he dropped to his knees! Lomnes was there, and the youth parted in haste. “I’m okay,” Ikals assured him when he’d recovered. “I’d be angry too.” “Let’s get going.” Ikals nodded and stood, feeling his chest gingerly. “We’ve something to do first,” he muttered softly. “I think I got part of that, and we’re headed that way anyway.” Lomnes nearly growled and threatened the youth who dared show again. They faded back as quickly as they’d reappeared. “Let’s get going.”

The first jump was risky. After that, clinging to the water pipe along that opposite wall, Ikals just had to put past experience to work. He had equally slippery ledges here, and the coldness growing in his fingers wasn’t as bad as it had been in the foothills. Or in some of his sewer swims. He was almost smiling as he kicked a little back and dropped, grabbing onto the next pipe as he ed and holding tight until he was ready for another go. After three such drops, he found the ladder angled against one corner. The bottom of it was still bolted to the wall, so he moved over, leaned across, and transferred to its solid, dry grips. The rest of the climb down was easy, and he found, at the bottom, what he’d expected to find. The stairs and bits of flooring, all rubble now, were in a jagged pile. The sewers were exposed to his right by means of a large metal pipe, its outer casing broken through. Otherwise, the walls were cracked badly, and steam hissed up through an exposed rupture. Rats crawled around the debris and in and around the sewer opening, ing through those cracked walls to whatever lay behind. Ikals ignored them, kicking them aside when need be. He ventured through that debris and found two bodies. On one, he found what he was looking for: an old sporting medallion. “Oh, lovely,” Lomnes mused, standing beside him. “Can we go now?” “Not until you return this up top.” “Why me?” “If you like, I can climb back up and do it myself, but you can do it faster and safer than I can.” “And we’re doing it … why?” Ikals traced the ball and people on the medallion with his finger. “It was his, I’m a little iffy on this part, grandfather’s I think. He doesn’t want to die not having returned it. They want people to know what happened to them, Lomnes. Eventually, someone will come down those steps to repair them and find the medallion. They’ll find the person who owned it, and those boys will at least have some peace. Their families will at least know what happened here.”

Lomnes took the medallion and huffed smartly. “What if I can’t phase with it on me?” he asked. “Then they’re lost.” Grumbling, Lomnes looked up with distaste. “I’m doing this for you, not them.” Ikals nodded and smiled. Lomnes faded. Sighing, feeling a weight lifted off his chest, Ikals sidled up to the sewer opening and peered inside. It was deep. The rounded walls came down to a flat bottom where small ledges had been crafted. He wondered why the ledges were always small. “It’s done,” Lomnes said, reappearing where he’d been. Ikals nodded and gripped the inside lip of that opening. “I’ll meet you inside,” he said. He took a breath and held it.

Chapter Twenty-Nine Intentions

The metal piping had Ikals stumbling in places and leaning against the filthy walls to keep from falling. His head was light. Thoughts were difficult, and his muscles were sluggish. At the first chance, meeting a large junction, he sat and wondered what was going on. Sitting still was worse, not only because the junctions smelled disgusting and had stagnant sewage curled around metal rebar, but because his head felt dizzier in that more confined space! He hurried on down a large pipe with slow-moving water. He almost fell in twice before switching to a smaller, dry pipe. The air was cleaner here, and he stopped to breathe in through some rectangular vents. It smelled mouldy and stale, but it was air. There was heat nearby too. It was becoming increasingly really hot. A factory? The pipes were reinforced by the same type of composite bolts they used in Atvian under their factories, so it was likely the same here. Had he ended up south? Damn! Taking more breaths, he turned back around and took the opposite pipe, trying to make up for lost time. Through the twists and turns, he lost all sense of direction, and the dizziness in his head didn’t go away. He only gained a throbbing headache! At one point, he had to sit again between junctions and rub his temples. He wanted to sleep. There were no blue stones, but he thought he heard a voice talking to him. Surely the dragon hadn’t followed him into town? Sitting there, it felt like his world was moving, like it was turning, or was it falling? There was a loud crash and a lot of flipping. Endless flipping!

When he awoke, his headache had doubled, and Elin sat to his left and Lomnes on his right. Rats crawled over his legs and nosed under his shirt. Lomnes shooed them away. “Where am I?” Ikals asked groggily. “Alive,” Lomnes replied with relief, “just barely.” “You’re in one of the original tunnels under Davergen,” Elin answered, motioning to the earth around them. “You’re lucky that metal didn’t crush you.” Ikals looked to a gap ahead. There was something shining on the other side. “There was more shaking,” Elin added, “and your chosen pipe let go. Which saved your life. The gases in that pipe were slowly killing you.” Ikals crawled up to that gap and peered inside. It was a crystal cavern buried deep in the earth, blocked up from above. The pipe he’d been in lay, crushed, with others on the shimmering blue floor. It was all so beautiful, but how had he survived that!? “This way,” Elin motioned, standing and moving off down the nearest tunnel. Lomnes shouldered his friend up and helped him along. “Why aren’t I dead, Lomnes? I should have died in that.” “I found you laying there,” Lomnes replied softly, “not moving, not dead, just not moving. I can’t explain it. More confusing, the moment we had you clear of that mess, the others collapsed right on top of it. Those last few collapses sealed up the crystals. It’s like someone doesn’t want them found.” “Someone?” Ikals asked softly. “You mean Millosai.” “Maybe,” Lomnes agreed grudgingly. “If so, we owe her a lot.” Ikals nodded soberly. A lot. “What’s all this shaking for?” Ikals asked, directing his question ahead. He noticed that Elin wore no sword this time, just his dagger. “It’s connected to the moons. Isn’t it?” Elin paused at an opening to their left and nodded. “Yes, the second moon’s about to go, and it’s tied to your planet like your friend is tied to you. What happens to one affects the other. Its pull is shaking your

world, causing the earthquakes and eruptions.” “So it will blow up too,” Ikals breathed, resigned. Elin nodded and led them forward. “Yes,” he confirmed, “and if we’re not successful, its destruction and the last one going will spell the end of the Millosel, just like it happened back when it all began. We’re almost there I think.” “Like it happened before?” Lomnes asked screwing up his face. The tunnel turned right and dropped a little. “Yes,” Elin replied, “like it happened before. He didn’t tell you that much?” Ikals and Lomnes shook their heads. “Not surprised. My brother’s overly protective, even to the point of not telling people what they actually need to know. We’ve been through this before, he, I, most of the rest of us. The world was on the brink of destruction to satisfy an old man’s lunacy, but we were pulled back to start it all again, and this timeline, the one you know as real and concrete, began.” “And it’s happening again?” Ikals asked, finding the concept a little much. “Yeah,” Elin grumbled. “We all figured we’d cheated death, but the old spell that started it all had a timer to it. When we came back, the timer came back too. You’ve caught up with that original ending point, and the world’s selfdestructing like it tried for us. We have a plan, but we need your help to make it work.” They stopped, Elin considering two options. Pointing, he headed off right, and the other two, Lomnes doing most of the work, followed. Roots and bugs crawled along the flooring, ceiling, and walls, but Ikals ignored them all. The webs were a little thick for his liking. “So that’s why I need to find this door?” he asked. “To turn back time?” “Not exactly. The door will take you the Veshod where time means nothing. We can’t turn back time again. They did that for us, but they’re not coming to our rescue twice. We have another plan, and with any luck, it just might work.” He stopped suddenly and held up a hand. Down the way, a growl sounded,

ending in a short shrill cry. “And he didn’t want me coming back alone,” Elin mused motioning that they should turn left, not continue on straight. “I’m the only one who knows these tunnels like the back of my hand. Spent most of my childhood crawling around under Davergen, back when it was a nice place to live. Any of the others would have led you straight into that thing.” “What was it?” Lomnes asked. Elin shrugged. “I don’t know,” he itted, “and I’m okay not getting its name.” Ikals nodded his agreement. “Why didn’t he want you to come back alone?” he asked as they climbed down a crumbling embankment, Lomnes and Elin keeping Ikals upright. Once down, they walked on. It occurred to Ikals that Lomnes was remaining present the whole way though Ikals hadn’t been this direction yet. Or had he been wandering in this direction in those pipes? “He was worried I’d say too much.” Ikals saw his chance. “How many others have you guided across?” Elin stopped, fully turning around. There was regret in his frown and too much knowledge in those eyes. “You have to understand,” he tried, pausing for a second to think more, “we didn’t know who was supposed to fulfil this prophecy.” “It’s a general fit for all people,” Ikals noted with a sneer. “I’ve been told as much by Aliis. How many? How far did they make it?” Elin nodded, hands on hips. “Twelve,” he finally replied, Ikals and Lomnes exhaling in unison. “Three were lost to those mountains, where you first met your dragon. Ethan almost saved the second one, but he wouldn’t listen,” Elin explained, shaking his head sadly. “The others were taken by wolves or the wild in general, land. Water. We only sent out about five people before. I think we’re doing a lot better this outing, and I think you’re the one.” “You hope I am,” Ikals groaned. Elin’s grin was comforting. “Maybe,” he accepted, “but none of the others even

got past Dwarf Peak, and one of them started in Nellot, so you’re doing well. But we do have a schedule to keep.” Ikals nodded, and Elin turned, leading on. They wound a path Ikals couldn’t have retraced for anything. Elin knew where he was going though, and a half hour later, having skidded down five crumbling embankments and one five-foot drop, the tunnel always there a few feet later, they came across wood and traced its length. Stone and metal formed braces and s. Lomnes actually found the dog-sized hatch. “For repairs and construction no doubt,” Elin suggested, freeing the clasps and lifting the hatch to look inside. “A bit of a drop,” he added, “but you should be able to make it. Make sure to land on the good leg.” “I’ll keep that in mind. Aren’t you coming in?” “There’s something in there that keeps us out,” Elin rued. “Just like there was something in that Press of yours that kept us from drawing too near. Don’t worry. You’ll find help inside.” Elin’s reassurance wasn’t helping. Something in Plythe’s Press had kept them away? Is that what had helped keep the spirits from harassing him so badly in Atvian, what Shanea had alluded to but not shared? Were spirts scared of black and white print!? Lomnes seemed to read Ikals’ mind. “I did feel a little better when we were away from the place,” he confessed, “but I can’t explain it.” Ikals added this to the list of mysteries yet to be resolved. He did get help lowering through the hatch, and he found stacks, row upon row of stacks of books: his library, his archives from his dreams! It was like coming home from a long trip. He realized he was standing on top of one such stack and felt immediately guilty! He removed his boots, letting them drop. His swung his feet over the side and very carefully climbed down to the actual floor. His body was ready for sleep and a warm bath, and a lot more than that, but

surrounded by so many books, all that kind of dissipated in a general sense of stunned awe. Being in a library, the word “euphoria” came to mind! And he smiled. He’d finally made it! Carrying the boots, musing that his socks were likely even dirtier, he started exploring.

Chapter Thirty Alshin’s Pride

It was amazing! It was like Plythe had suggested! There were books from all parts of the world, including the kingdom that had fallen in the latest political reshuffling. Tentefor, Teshellon, Ammoll, Sathiol, Zilmn, Gauo, and the rest - they were all there in scroll, text, and tome! He grinned as he walked their lengths and read the titles he could make sense of. It wasn’t just other languages at his fingertips. Some titles were written fancier than others. Some had pictures. Some didn’t have any title at all, and it was all organized by genre. Chemistry, geography, history, and all the possible subjects he could have dreamed to write about were there, and then some! The floor, like those stacks, was made of smooth wood. Tables had been positioned along the wall before painted-on windows. A faint light shone through grates under each stack with stale air coming in from the same small slits. After all the centuries, the library’s systems, air and light, still functioned. Ikals laughed at the thought of such a feat. There were statues too, tall and proud, armed and not, and there were smaller paintings on the ends of the stacks. People in those paintings wore clothes he’d never seen before. Horses, hounds, and birds posed on panoramic backgrounds, and at the centre of that floor, and there had to be more than one floor, he found a led section with glass doors. There was one led section per set of stacks, each with its own inner shelves. “Recordings,” he whispered, careful to respect the library, even if he was the only one there. “I’ve never seen this method of storage though. What do they play on?” There were hundreds of recordings on what looked like wooden spools. They

were stored in clear, glass cases. What was recorded on those spools? Ikals wondered if he’d find a machine to play them. He ed by one of the metal sinks built into the end of the stacks and had an idea. Taking the towel hanging there, a little threadbare, but preserved somehow, he sat and removed his socks. They were disgusting, no doubt about it! The tap sputtered at first, and not much more than a trickle came out when water did flow, but it did work. He carefully cleaned his feet and washed his socks as best he could. He cleaned his hands and boots as well. And his face. When he was done, he hung the towel back up, and he walked on feeling a little better that he wasn’t ruining the floors or books on his trek through. Circular stairs led down to a lower floor that was much the same. If the top floor was first, this would count as the second. Here, he found a large book open on one of the viewing tables before another painted window with its blue sky and suns and moons, all three of each. The book’s binding was near gone. The pages were fading, but he could make out a battle drawn out between the two topmost pages. The colouring was something like Plythe had done, would do. He felt bad thinking it, but it was better than Plythe what could do. Something drew him to a far wall before going further down, to a section of wall and broken table and window scenery. A flattened pipe end stabbed through the wall. Whatever hole it had made was otherwise filled in with dirt and nearcrushed rock, having spilled out onto the floor between two overturned chairs. Fearing he’d find more damage, Ikals took the stairs leading down and carried on. Where was the help Elin had promised? The third floor was much the same as the first two though its wall was intact. He did find a brown sack though, and looking a little more closely, he found a person. The man, maybe twenty, lay face down on the floor between two stacks. There was no sign of wound, but the man was armed: sword, knife, and crossbow. He simply seemed to have died, just died.

The only sign of trouble was the shock in his wide eyes and his wide-open mouth. And the odd shape to his short, scraggly, brown hair Ikals slowly realized. The head looked to be a little bent out of shape. Ikals peered around cautiously. If one man had made it through that break above, others might have as well. And he’d left his gear with Tangue. He drew his long knife and crept on. A thought occurred to him: the archives were stable with their systems working. That could be believed, but the books should all be in a horrible state by now. Something, or someone, was keeping them together as well as they were. He reasoned that same someone was keeping his fatigue and pain from slowing him down. The thought helped a little. He found two more bodies on the fourth floor down. An older man wearing grey overalls and layered shirts, white, green, and blue, lay on his side. His expression was the same as the first. The second body on that floor showed no expression at all. He simply sat back against a stack like he might get up at some point. Ikals wasn’t alone. He stood, fighting the need to run. He sought a sense of calm, and looked the spirit in the eye. The man sat in a chair opposite a familiar stack. Brown robes of the Faith parted to reveal comfortable, beige pants and dark brown, leather boots. His hands were finger-locked across his chest, and the hood was back. Long black hair hung down in an older style of braid: his hair was tied in five places until it finally stopped mid-back. The weathered face and weary eyes suggested a man of forty or fifty, but it was hard to tell. Like the rest of the library around them, albeit he was dead, this man looked ageless. “Hi,” Ikals managed, feeling it was wrong right after saying it. The man, spirit, didn’t converge or look offended. The spirit, so different from the others before him, just sat there and stared at him. It was both comforting and disquieting.

“I’ll be on my way then,” Ikals added, nodding anxiously. “I’m supposed to find the door.” The man bent one brow. It was almost like he was trying to figure out who Ikals was or how he’d gotten there, and adding to Ikals’ wonder, he kept looking to his left, ever so subtly as if he expected someone to come from between those stacks, but Ikals couldn’t hear anything. “Maybe I’ll be back,” Ikals suggested softly, backing away. The man opened his mouth, then, shut it and nodded, too confidently for Ikals’ liking. Ikals turned and walked on. He was happy to find the rest of the floor clean and clear, and he was happy to get some space from the spirit that wouldn’t barrage him with a storm of words. The irony was too much. He walked the stacks, avoiding the spirit whose eyes followed him when he neared. There was no next set of stairs. And there was no door. Other than the bodies, there was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing except …. “What is this?” he asked, of no one in particular. Where the central glass vaults had been above, there was only a breath-taking painting running all the way around that circular, central point! There were no recordings, nothing but paint that looked as unscarred and brilliant as it must have the first day it had been painted! “What are we looking at?” Lomnes asked from behind, eyeing the mysterious spirit suspiciously. And glancing up and around in odd fashion, like he was following an invisible fly in a very distracted flight. It made Ikals wonder what he was missing. “Who’s he?” “I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me.” Lomnes shrugged, flexing his hands over and over, then more slowly, finger by finger. “So?” Ikals had to wonder if Lomnes had finally gone mad, but what was normal and sane anymore? He refocused on his own situation and opened his arms wide. “It’s a painting, Lomnes. Look at the detail. There are Riders on those dragons, Lomnes, and that water almost glitters. How could they get such quality!? We

don’t have anyone who can paint like this.” Ikals wasn’t sure why the dragons were fighting, but flame streaked across the blue sky like lightning, and he could imagine their roars like thunder, rolling and crackling in deep, resonant tones! There was a nobility to the dragons, and their Riders commanded with weapons in hand. Kneeling, Ikals gently touched the grass. It looked as real as the water, as real as those people, some soldiers fighting in armour, others, traders and civilians fleeing from trouble. There were forests, mountains, valleys, and lakes. There was everything, and it flowed so evenly into itself! Ikals checked with his friend again. He found Lomnes screwing up his face and rubbing his arms. He even touched his cheeks and stared at his hands. “There’s something here,” his friend whispered, “something like there was in Plythe’s Press. It’s a lot more powerful though, a lot more tingly. Whatever we’re after, we’re close.” Ikals turned back to the mural. “Do you feel it everywhere here?” he asked. “Or just here, this here?” He meant in front of the painting, but he was sure it hadn’t come out that clearly. “I’ll check,” Lomnes mumbled, vanishing. “This place is amazing, Lomnes,” Ikals shouted, unsure where his friend had ended up. “Just think of all this knowledge, ages of details and histories, tomes of stories no one in our age has ever read or heard about! We’re standing in history.” “Yes, but we need to be moving through it.” It sounded like Lomnes was three floors up, but Ikals couldn’t tell for sure, and there was the sound of feet stomping on the floor on the other side of the library a second later, one floor closer. Lomnes reappeared with a frown. “Pretty much everywhere, yeah.” Ikals had hoped for more. But he felt convinced he was right. “It must be on this floor, Lomnes. It wasn’t on the others. This space was shelving above, open,

well, locked in places, but open to the eye. Down here, it’s this. This part of the spoke should have the same as above. Four of these would be amazing.” “The door?” Lomnes reminded him. Ikals cleared his throat and nodded. “Right. It’ll be hidden. I wouldn’t want random people to find it.” Lomnes just nodded, looking seriously unimpressed. “The switch could be anything,” Ikals continued distractedly, “a book, a chair, a pressure-point of some sort, maybe a song, from one of those spools above that we don’t have a machine to listen to.” “Helpful,” Lomnes mused dryly, still distractedly flicking his fingers. Ikals frowned. So did Lomnes. “You’ve no idea what this is like for someone who’s dead and hasn’t felt anything real for what feels like forever.” Ikals had to give Lomnes that much. “There’s trial and error,” he suggested, “but there has to be logic to all this. It’s only luck the others didn’t get this far down and find a way further. Who knows what their reaching the door first would do?” “Save us the trouble?” “There has to be a solution, Lomnes. It’s a puzzle, and we’re in a library, so the answer’s right here. If this painting’s a clue, and it seems to be the only thing out of place around here for a clue, then we’re looking for something in it.” “Revealing,” Lomnes drolled. There was piece of everything in that painting. If it was a clue, or the door itself, it could be saying anything. Ikals went back up the stairs, up the floors and down again even, and he lined where the glass doors were positioned above. Measuring with feet and hands, he found where they’d be on that lowest floor. But which set of glass doors was he supposed to be lining things up with? He was surrounded by symmetry on all floors, all stacks, but there were no numbers and no other clues. Where was the help he’d been promised! Unless the help Elin had been referring to was the spirit who wouldn’t speak.

“Hi,” Ikals tried again, making his way back to that familiar stack with rising anxiety. Why did he feel like he’d seen the stack before? Why did this spirit bother him so? “I was wondering if you could help me?” The man had returned to his original seat. He even read a large book of architectural diagrams. Was this his clue? Ikals smiled warmly, doing his best to appear calm. “I was sent here.” Ikals stopped to reword what he’d said. “I came here to find a door, but I can’t.” The man just kept reading where he sat, eyes and fingers tracing lines on the blue pages. “I was hoping you could help me,” he tried, tension turning to bitterness. The man looked up for a moment, then, sighed and kept reading. Frustrated, Ikals walked away and sat facing the lower mural. “The first time I want to actually speak to the dead,” he spat, Lomnes smiling, “other than you, of course, and he won’t say anything! What’s the use of this thing, of being able to speak to the dead if I’m not supposed to use it!? I should have asked what the description for this prophecy was. That way, I might have some idea what kind of skills I’m supposed to be using to solve this.” “Left, three rows,” Lomnes whispered. “Be casual.” Ikals glanced quickly up before staring at his feet again. “For a spirit that doesn’t want to communicate,” Lomnes noted with a grin, “he sure seems interested in what you do.” “But he won’t say anything,” Ikals repeated sarcastically. “Maybe he can’t.” Ikals’ and Lomnes’ eyes locked. “Sworn to not help?” Ikals asked mockingly, Lomnes nodding. “What kind of help is he going to be for me if he can’t say anything!?” Lomnes smiled along, and Ikals leaned his head back. “But it almost makes sense,” Ikals added tiredly. “To prove I’m this one and only person, I should be able to do this on my own. Right?” “Right,” Lomnes agreed. “Any advice?” Ikals groaned.

“What did your dreams tell you? You said you were walking through this place. Was there a path you took or something like that?” Ikals thought for a moment, drawing a blank. “Was he in the dream?” “Not a one. There was her, drawing me on, down, but there was no sense of direction for where the door could be. The stacks are all the same really, just different headings, and they didn’t show up in the dreams, just books and stacks and floor and ceiling.” “No painting?” “Nope. There was this sense of dread, of being stalked through the stacks, but this man doesn’t give me any sense of dread. It’s not a comforting feeling, but. Wait, there was one dream. I had it more than once. I focused on … one … stack.” Ikals smiled. “Maybe he was helping.” “What do you mean?” Lomnes joked, leaning a little closer. “He could have been sitting anywhere.” Ikals laughed and stood. “Follow me. Actually, no, wait here. If I’m right, something’s going to happen. Let me know what that is. Okay?” Lomnes nodded, and Ikals hurried, as respectfully as he could, to where the spirit had been sitting. He found the man sitting where he’d been, reading his book. He could have been sitting anywhere, and Ikals did know that stack. He ed now! In a few dreams, he’d seen it. In those dreams, he’d been focused on one book in particular. Now where was it? Ignoring the spirit, so that he could keep his train of thought, he traced the titles and different spines. And he found it! Ikals held his breath like he was drawing the bowstring back and taking aim, like any deep breath could shatter the binding and ruin his every chance at success! The old green text was bound with loose, brown twine – as gently as he could, he drew it off the shelf and held it with care, and he smiled further. A large, dark brown symbol had been inscribed on its cover. What did it mean!? “Anything happening?” he called.

Lomnes’ faint voice returned. Nothing. Ikals sighed. Not the book then. He looked where it had been and nodded. Reaching in, he grabbed the thin bit of wood sticking from the shelf backing. A metal wire held it tight. With a little work, he managed to turn it to one side. The cable started to recoil, snaring the wood sideways, and the sound of grinding started coming from where he’d left Lomnes! Ikals laughed, replaced the book, and hurried back. He got there in time to see the flooring in front of the painting where two dragons fought slowly angle downwards. It was a ramp! He laughed again, Lomnes laughing as well. It was a ramp, but it wasn’t all the way down. But he could slide through. Picking up his boots where he’d left them, he slid down the ramp and through the partial doorway showing below! He found himself in a large circular room with older stacks around him. This space was lit by torches on the wall, a blue fire burning on each. “The Histories,” Ikals breathed, shaking his head in awe. “They aren’t myth either!” He walked around the central core. That core was a solid wooden axle with faded, wooden stacks built into the wall around it. There were countless volumes of the world’s oldest history known to myth and rumour under the very floor he’d been pacing! That wooden axle, as large as a room itself, was replete with carven animals: eagle, badger, snake, horse, hound, wolf, mouse, and dragon! Those animals were so realistic that he thought for a moment that they might move. Those outer shelves allowed a break from volumes – a break just large enough for a large wooden wall plaque with soldiers engaged in battle with one another. The sky, ground, forest, and river in the background - they were so well carved! Of the swords those warriors held, three were made of metal and looked very much real.

In fact, they looked very much familiar! One man in a hooded cloak swung at a soldier. The handle of his blade was black with a golden butt. Another man, poised to defend a fallen friend, bore a sword with an ornate hilt. Red animals and castles came across clearly. They were Ethan and Elin’s swords! Were these men Ethan and Elin in their own time? It was a battle between soldier and commoner: they’d been part of a rebellion!? The third sword had a dragon rearing its head for grip and a short, fine point. He hadn’t met that person yet. But she was fighting five men at once, and it was a she. The details were unmistakable! Ikals turned his attention back to that central spoke. And found himself staring at a door. He was a little disappointed. And confused. It wasn’t a stone arch with runes like he’d been dreaming about, but he quickly recovered because it was definitely a point of interest. This door was similar to what they’d had for the old clock tower in town, very basic, very well made. That one hadn’t been anything much to look at, but they’d tried shouldering through into the tower the one storm. Not even five of their tallest had been able to break it down. He had no doubt this one wouldn’t budge by force either. As for a lock to pick, this door was a lot more particular. There were three concentric dials, like on the printing machine back home: one central dial turned with two outer dials around it, each dial turning independently to control the exact amount of ink to use and the other fineries of producing a printed manuscript; only, this outer dial was as large as him, so he figured these were more like wheels! Each wheel turned on its own, like those much smaller dials. They seemed to be able to, he corrected. They were locked. They wouldn’t move clock or counterclockwise at the moment no matter how hard he tried, and there was a design

painted into each wheel. Clearly, he was supposed to line up all the broken lines into a larger picture that made sense - by turning the wheels just right. And then what? “Lomnes, you should see this!” he shouted. Where was Lomnes? Why wasn’t he there yet!? “I can’t,” came a weak, defeated swear from up the ramp. “What do you mean?” Ikals felt a wave of panic. “I can’t get any closer,” Lomnes complained from his distance. “That, whatever it is feeling – it’s too strong. I can’t go down there. You’re going to have tell me about it.” There was such insult in Lomnes’ voice that it made Ikals’ heart ache. They’d been through so much, and now, at the end, he couldn’t even see the door himself! What was he looking at to have such power! It was a doorway to somewhere else, to a world between worlds. To a spirit place. Is that why spirits couldn’t go near it? Because it led somewhere teaming with others? What could Plythe have had in the Press that would in-any-way have come close to that to keep even his guides at bay back in Atvian!? What kind of connection existed between the two? “It’s a puzzle door,” he mumbled, “three concentric dials with.” He shrugged. “Lines on them. I have to turn them around and make the lines hook up, I think.” There was a particular carving like the butt of a sword in the door itself: top left. This at least gave Ikals something to line the outermost wheel up with. It was something. “Then do it!” “I can’t. They don’t move.” “So unlock them,” came Lomnes’ droll distanced groan.

“I don’t know how yet,” Ikals groaned back. “I only just found the door.” There were arm-sized holes in the outer-most wheel Ikals realized. Right now, they were blocked, but he figured, when the wheels were turned just right, those holes would line up with others. When he had all three wheels turned and locked into their proper place, he’d reach through one or all three of those holes. To grab a lever? Pull something out? “What have you got down there?” Ikals shrugged. Whoever had built all this wouldn’t want him reading the Histories. They’d surely not survive being tussled about. The plaque wasn’t out of the question for manipulation, but he wasn’t sure just how yet. Which had him reconsidering that inner spoke once more. “There are animals carved into the wall,” he related, pressing on a few. “They push in,” he realized. There was a sound as the bear carving was depressed. He cautiously let it go, so whatever he’d almost done wasn’t fully realized. “They’re connected,” he called up, “but I don’t want to go pushing too many in case I push the wrong ones.” “They likely unlock the wheels,” Lomnes suggested. Ikals could imagine Lomnes pacing anxiously above, back and forth in front of the ramp. “Like at Jukfy’s.” Ikals nodded. Yeah, Jukfy’s – where they’d found the most ornate treasure box any of them had ever seen! All that brass hinging and corner work, silver inlay, and pearl accents! There’d been no lock to be found, but there was this scene of a bear eating a fish, and both bear, fish, and a few carvings around the outside of the box had pressed in. Their one friend, not a very close friend mind you, but he’d started pushing them in at random and had his fingers stabbed into from inside! He’d let out such a scream that had woken the whole house, and they’d had to make a run for it! Ikals didn’t think spikes would come out to stab at him in this case, but he figured something bad would happen if he didn’t do things just right. “How about I find some parchment to copy down what I’m looking at,” Ikals

suggested. “We can work on it up there together.” “Yeah,” Lomnes groaned, his voice trailing a moment. “How about we do that.” The dead people up top were likely his best bet for something he could write on. He certainly couldn’t use an existing book for his scribbles! But they must have a Wanted poster or hastily drawn map of some sort amongst them. Anything would do! He’d figure out where to find ink after that. Ikals turned back to the ramp, but he stopped in his tracks before worming his way back up and out. “Lomnes,” he called up the ramp. He allowed a hint of concern in his voice. “Yeah? What is it?” “There’s chalk under the ramp.” Ikals knelt and examined it closer. If the ramp had come down all the way, it would have landed right on the chalk and covered it up. He wouldn’t have seen it at all. “What’s your point?” “It’s not marker’s chalk, Lomnes. It’s too fine, wrong colour.” “Get to the point!” Ikals cringed. “It’s human, Lomnes. Someone died and turned to dust down here.”

Chapter Thirty-One History

“They’re constellations,” Ikals was saying a few hours later, leafing carefully through the green text that had hidden the trigger. “Who do you think they were? Never mind, please.” He bit his upper lip, then, shook his head. “The animals on the central wall represent the animals of the constellations from a few centuries ago. I’ve never seen them all together so, I ….” Ikals lost complete track of what he was thinking, no matter how many times he in and exhaled to calm himself. “He said none of the others made it this far. Right?” “Right.” “And we were the first ones to open that door. Either that, or they sealed it after leaving, already dead, and put that bit of wood back into place.” “Right,” Lomnes agreed flatly again. He hadn’t done much but agree since Ikals had returned and traced out what he’d found below. “One of those other two we found down the one aisle didn’t have both arms.” “The constellations?” Lomnes prompted irritably. Ikals frowned and looked back to the text. “It’s not that I’m not interested in this, Ikals. I find it intriguing, but we didn’t come this far to figure out how this place pushes air around or where the machine that produces water from taps is located, or how they got down there. Let someone else deal with that.” “I haven’t been going on about all that.” Lomnes rolled his eyes. Clearing his throat, Ikals tapped the table distractedly. “Well, you’ve got to want to know.” He stopped under Lomnes’ glare and returned to the text again. “They hid down there.” Ikals and Lomnes turned to find their mysterious spirit standing by the end of the stacks. He was considering Ikals closely and choosing his next words carefully.

Ikals swallowed and nodded. “When the construction was done, they hid. It wasn’t until the door was sealed that we noticed them missing. By then, it was too late. No doubt, they tried to open the door from the inside and failed.” “Why couldn’t I sense them then?” Ikals asked, wondering, again, why this man made his skin crawl. “There were no spirits down there.” “I don’t know,” the man replied rather simply. The spirit laughed. His smile was somehow knowing, but whatever he knew, he wasn’t sharing. “The machines are breaking,” he noted, changing the subject. “They’re below, locked up behind the Histories, but lower than that. They’d be doing better if the world wasn’t taking such a hit up top. We’re connected, water and air, to the castle you see. Our fates are intertwined.” “Can you help me open the door?” Ikals asked, eyes wide and chest tight. The man winced. “It’s a test. You’re supposed to solve it yourself, and like your friend here, I am unable to get near the door. Its magics are too strong.” “But I don’t know astronomy,” Ikals pleaded, tossing aside whatever was playing on his mind. “I read the names and see the dots, but recognizing what constellation is what doesn’t help any. I don’t know what order they go in, not for the door. How many do I need to work into it? Clearly, it’s a combination lock. Knowing that just really doesn’t help though. A clue!? The answer?” The man laughed. “I can’t help you. I’m sorry, but if you think carefully, you’ll understand what you need to do, just don’t do it wrong. There are traps built into the door to stop people who would try to trick the mechanisms. The ashes downstairs are proof of that.” “Thanks,” Ikals grumbled. “Why are you here? Why didn’t you ?” Maybe he could find clue as to why this man caused such a reaction in him. Lomnes had wandered off to a nearby stack. He turned at this question and waited for the answer as well. The man hummed. “My library is peace for me,” he explained. “I don’t need to when I have these things, and even if I could, and were offered the chance, I wouldn’t want to leave these archives untended. Just as I wouldn’t want a world

without a library to tend.” “There’s so much happening up there,” Ikals rued. “You’ve no idea! Wait.” Ikals might be overthinking this, but. “Your library? You mean, you’re Alshin?” The spirit chuckled smartly. “Your name’s still spoken. The buildings you designed, your theories, astronomical work.” What did a person say to someone who was still talked about centuries after their death? “Your library is wonderful.” “Thank you.” Alshin hummed softly. “It is good to know my efforts weren’t wasted. Two days ago, I wouldn’t have.” He frowned like he’d said something he shouldn’t have. He even smiled that polite smile people use when trying to cover something up. Before Ikals could ask the architect what that meant, he quickly nodded a farewell. “Good luck.” And that said, he turned and left. Lomnes rolled his eyes and did the same. Ikals turned back to the text and rubbed his temples. It didn’t help, but at least he was doing something. Plythe would be the same. The stray thought held for a moment, and Ikals smiled; Plythe would stay to tend the library, his Press, after death, even given the chance to leave and beyond. If they burned it, he’d find a way, spirit or not, to rebuilt it brick for brick. He wouldn’t leave that Press or Atvian. Ikals hadn’t abandoned him. Ikals had left him in the only world he wanted to know! Ikals had known it. He’d always known it. Some things just don’t have weight until you cross the world and aren’t there to see them visibly. And yes, he mused, he still loved the Press and this library, even without a Plythe to inspire such dedication. It was in his blood now too. He returned to his study. There were seven texts on astrology on that one shelf, and Ikals read them all. There were likely a hundred texts on astronomy in total, but none of them were helping any.

“You have the animals,” Ikals was mumbling hours yet later, tired, way, way past sleep. He closed the latest book he’d found and rubbed his eyes. “Then, there’s the order they’re in, but where’s the clue telling us how many or what order? What am I missing?” Lomnes lay back on the table to Ikals’ right. He just shook his head, not bothering to look up. “None of the dreams showed the paintings, the ramp, the door like this, the animals,” Ikals grumbled, frustration creeping into his voice. “Does that mean they don’t hold meaning? Or does it mean that whatever’s driving the dreams doesn’t care about the details, or can’t control them!? I don’t know.” He started to pace back and forth. He stopped to hold up a finger, then, dropped it again and continued his pace. Ikals took to walking all the floors, inspecting the bodies and stacks. The invaders didn’t seem to be more than random people who’d been dropped and forced down there. They were just unlucky, wellarmed, yes, likely looters or worse, but unlucky just the same. Who’d killed them? How? Except for the few scraps of rigid wrapper he’d found in the one man’s pocket, what had at one time been used for cured meat, initially from a Davergen packer, there were no identifiers for these people whatsoever. He toured the far reaches in the Old Histories as well, and he wondered at the marvel of machinery, gears and chains and all, that kept him breathing: Wendarin Gears. What he wouldn’t give to see Wendar’s spirit and speak to him! This version of that man’s gear system was far beyond anything the flyers used in Atvian. And on these walks, he’d stop before the door. He could name the constellations by their location and chart them in the sky, if he could see real sky. But the man with one arm haunted his mind. Ikals would have his arm inserted into that door to unlock it, if he was right about those three holes in the outer wheel. He studied the wooden plaque. It did look like they could move, just like the animals. And he studied the paintings on the fourth floor, above and around

where the ramp opened. They had to be connected, but how!? It was on one of his walks through the Old Histories that he saw the title and considered its implications: Dragon Wars. Had they fought? He wove his way up the ramp and turned, staring fixedly at the painted above the ramp. Two dragons engaged in battle. Dragon Wars. Constellations. He might be wrong, but he saw a connection forming, and he hurried to test his theory. “Here it is,” he was saying some time later. The tome he’d brought up from below sat open, taking up most of the table. “It gives the date of the Dragon Wars as, wait, there’s more than one listed.” He hung his head low. “The last one is pretty small, Qilanna Year.8. They weren’t using our notation system then, about four hundred and fifty years ago I guess. The other one took place in something called a Darkening, whatever that is. “I should be able to plot the main constellations that were in play back then, maybe in both cases, but which one. The shows a fight with Riders. It’s not specific enough! It’s a good thing we rushed here.” Lomnes laughed and covered his face, groaning. Ikals only wished he could do that same. To his surprise, there was a time match. And a star match. There were constellations mentioned by their location of great battles, and one battle, of all the others, matched with the other s. In a great, deciding moment, when Dragon Riders had been reborn and the Darkening had been ending, dragons that hadn’t wanted a union with man had fought back and waged a war the likes of which the world hadn’t seen! That deciding battle, when the Riders had won, and the other dragons had yielded, was his battle. Constellations marked time and place. He had three puzzle wheels and a series of three constellations: badger, horse, and dragon. And he had an order!

“And you’re sure this will work?”

Standing at the door armed with his new, concrete knowledge, no, Ikals wasn’t sure anymore. “Not really,” he called up. He’d have felt so much better if Lomnes could be standing there with him! “I keep thinking about the one-armed man. I think the door has blades in it, triggered to cut an arm if you don’t have it set properly.” “If you’re right about that.” Ikals still figured he was. “Any suggestions on what I’m making of these wheels yet?” Ikals ventured. “Hoping we’re right and this works, that would be our next hurdle.” “Got you covered.”

One of the wrappers Ikals had used as a transfer skipped down the ramp and lifted on a soft breeze, flipping once and spirally to the floor. Ikals gathered it up and turned it over and around a few times before he could make sense of what Lomnes had drawn thereon. Being only partially solid made for very hard-to-recognize characters, but finally turning it right, Ikals felt a shudder. And he knew Lomnes was correct. Yet it couldn’t be, could it!? He found that door again and stared. The wheels, the lines on them, and the outside design of a sword handle butt. “You think he knew?” Lomnes called down from above. Ikals just stared at the wrapper and Lomnes’ bad hen-scratching. And closed his eyes. “He told me,” he tried, clearing his throat, his eyes welling up. “When I left,” he started again, sucking in a breath. His fingers found the gears hanging around his neck. “He told me to solve his mystery that he’d spent his life working on, but never understood.” “What he got on that farm,” Lomnes reasoned above. Ikals had been figuring Plythe had been shown the need to be in Atvian to save him and Lomnes, but maybe not. Maybe what Plythe’s vision had shared was just this, unscrambled. Not knowing what it all meant, he’d found that piece of honey-glazed oak with its black crack running diagonal, and that infernal work table with the large and many smaller gears had been born! Had the more diagonal cracks been there originally, to form that kind of off-kilter “x”? Ikals had to wonder. “You do recognize the symbol?” Lomnes called down. “From the table in the Press.” “No.” Lomnes chuckled a little. “I mean the symbol on the table, under that gear he stuck on it; the three lines? Three swords.” Ikals glanced around at the wooden plaque with its three very real swords amid all that carven wood.

“Plythe never said anything.” “It’s an old symbol for the Dragon Clan,” Lomnes mumbled above. “I tried telling Plythe about them the once, but I don’t think he was listening, or not hearing.” Ikals stared back at the wrapper, then the puzzle door. He traced the lines on each wheel and saw where and how they’d line up to form that one gash, diagonal form top left to bottom right, and those two other gashes from bottom left toward the focal point and from top right again into that central turning pin. “I’m listening,” he offered. “Tell me.” There was a pause. Ikals wasn’t sure if Lomnes was shocked Ikals had asked so politely, or was he searching his memory for details? His friend had said his distant memory had been acting up at one point. He prayed this wasn’t one of those moments! “They had different symbols,” drifted down. “They sang a lot of music. That’s how I know of them. We used to copy some of their songs for the groups in town, those trying to bring back the old ways.” Another pause. And a few swears. “I can’t.” “It’s good enough, Lomnes,” Ikals insisted. “You’ve saved the day, I think. I think he was given that vision, not for him, but for me. Now I really have to get back there and let him what he spent his life doing it all for!” Ikals hung his head and took in some careful breaths. “I will come back,” he more softly vowed. “I will come home.” “Have you done it yet?” Lomnes called down. Ikals wiped his eyes, grinning. “Nope,” he called back. “Doing it now.” He pushed on the different constellations, one at a time, pausing between each. He paused longer before the third, Lomnes calling down another impatient challenge. “It’s not your life on the line,” Ikals grumbled. “Nope, just my soul.” Ikals grimaced. “Right. Never mind. Pressing the third one now.”

He instantly backed up, worried for the worst, but nothing came. He walked around the spoke and considered the puzzle door closely. “Well?” Lomnes hissed from above. “The wheels turn now,” Ikals shared, carefully turning each. They did turn both clockwise and counter-clockwise, but they made strange, wire-trap-tripping sounds on the counter, so he just turned them clockwise, and slowly, achingly, the lines and wheels were lined up. And the background symbol Plythe had made sure to have and carve into his work table, the symbol of the Dragon Clan as Lomnes had pointed out, was in exact display before him! Minus the large gear and many, many web-like smaller gears Plythe had worked into his table. Ikals figured those gears had been the turning wheels, just represented by gears – because that’s what had made sense to Plythe? “I was right,” he called up. “About what?” “The hand-arm holes. They line up.” Ikals peered into each of those three holes in turn. “There’s a hand grip, connected to a lever maybe, one per.” “Don’t guess wrong,” Lomnes groaned. Ikals knew his friend well enough to know he was washing his face with his hands and cursing under his breath, and Ikals agreed that there was no way of knowing which he should choose. In part, really, because they were all wrong. This wasn’t exactly a surprising add-on. All the old puzzle doors, however they were constructed in all the old texts he and Lomnes had flipped through that one long winter, maybe the following spring and summer too, had had the same. Most of the books Ikals had taken from the Lower Magistrate’s attic had been to help them learn something useful after all, alongside those just for fun reading. They’d all shown these similar three choices, and it was always based on what you valued: strength, wisdom, or power.

Ikals figured this choice was related directly to those three swords behind him in that wooden plaque, which was tied to Elin and Ethan, and the third sword bearer of the past. Each sword marking had its own revealed arm hole. Ethan exercised strategy but seemed more wounded when he wasn’t in command over others, so Ikals figured his sword represented Power. The others did look to Ethan for instruction more than not. Thus, pulling the lever handle inside that revealed arm hole would be choosing Power. Elin would be the sword choice for Strength, since he had skill but didn’t really use as much strategy as his brother. Pulling that handle would be choosing Strength. Which meant the third sword, and third swordbearer Ikals had yet to meet, was Wisdom. On the plaque, that third sword was shortest, so that blade was reasonably represented by the shortest crack of the Dragon Clan symbol. He’d been told he wouldn’t need fighting skills to complete his task. Though he’d certainly needed them to get to the library alive. And a lot of sheer determination. And. Ikals stopped. He needed to focus. Clearly, Power and Strength weren’t what he should choose. That left Wisdom, but that didn’t make sense either. “Wisdom,” Lomnes called down. “No,” Ikals grumbled. “It’s one of three.” “The one everyone would choose,” Ikals grumbled back. He gestured wide in exasperation even if Lomnes couldn’t see him do so. “Anyone could figure out the constellations like I did. After enough turns of the wheels, they’d likely have figured out what we already knew, what Plythe had already done for us.” “What I figured out for you,” Lomnes reminded him. “What you figured out for me,” Ikals allotted respectfully. Then screaming

silently to work off some tension. “Choosing Wisdom is another simple choice, Lomnes. How would relying on such simplicity prove I was this chosen one they want? It would just show I was as good as anyone else.” Lomnes made some sounds that suggested he was wondering if that assessment wasn’t accurate, just to get under Ikals’ skin. “Which makes Wisdom a trap and just as bad a choice as the other two,” Ikals finished, curling his upper lip. “Which means there’s something we still haven’t seen.” Lomnes growled up the ramp, and Ikals replayed his last rambling. Was it arrogance? Was it vanity, the thought that crossed his mind? He knelt to peer more closely into those arm holes. There was the hand grip in each. There was also something else, something he’d mistaken for a craftsman’s flaw at first since it was only in the one. Wisdom. “I’m a thief, Lomnes. I’m an educated, printing thief who doesn’t have enough brains to know when to run sometimes, a thief who runs when he shouldn’t otherwise.” “Not arguing,” Lomnes snickered above. “What’s your point?” “I can see the dead, but that spirit up there with you wasn’t supposed to help us, so that part wasn’t planned. It was part of the whole, but not the real point. The prophecy was for a thief who could read basic text, then, think things through and see what others wouldn’t.” “Did I just lay up there listening to you read out all that astronomical garbage for nothing? If so.” Ikals pulled the dragon sword free of that wooden wall plaque. It wasn’t easy, and he nicked the carving in the process. “I’m not saying that.” Ikals turned the short sword over in his hands. It was exquisite! The sword was so well balanced, and the dragon carved up and along that katana-style weapon was so well done. “I’m saying that everything before this, anyone can do, but that only someone like me can do what comes next.” “I can’t see what you’re doing,” Lomnes reminded him. “Use your words!”

Ikals smiled. ‘Yes mother,’ he quietly mouthed. “If you had a door like this hiding a glorious place, a treasure, anything worth anything,” Ikals explained, “would you trust it to someone who could just read a few books and solve it!?” “A further trap the normal person fumbles into,” Lomnes reasoned above. “The ramp shuts, the door resets to something else, something impossible to solve.” Lomnes’ ramble slowed to a more pensive series. “And the person ends up dying of starvation, clean. Just gaping mouths and silent bodies.” Lomnes issued a few simple clicking sounds. “No evidence of what just happened and no damage to the books.” Ikals guided the Dragon Sword into the Wisdom arm hole until its point was fixed securely inside the indent just off from that hand grip. He made sure to handle it just right. It was sharp! “This blade should stop that final trap from triggering,” Ikals reasoned, “the next parts won’t happen, so the door won’t reset. The door should, in fact, open.” “And if you’re wrong, and the ramp closes?” “Then you do something and help me out, or you’ll be trapped, not ing over, ending your spiritual existence with me and the rest of the world.” Ikals ended his reply with an uneasy grin. Lomnes paused above, possibly weighing his words, or just trying to harass Ikals! “I could likely do that,” he ultimately returned. “Just don’t think I like you. Got that? I mean, all you’re worth is trouble. You know that I’m right?” “Likewise.” “Pfft. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you!” Ikals rolled his eyes. His counter stopped in his throat. “I’ll miss you too, Lomnes.” Ikals reached in and grabbed that handle. “The road is long,” he whispered, “but the heart goes on. Never far from home.”

What had become his mantra gave him added resolve, and he pulled on the hand grip. It didn’t want to pull at first, but it angled out after a long-held breath. And it turned a quarter turn. Tumblers fell into place and gears sounded from inside the door! Ikals imagined all of the small gears from Plythe’s work table spinning as one. Making the largest gear spin in turn. Hopefully unlocking this final barrier to him so he could see this quest through. The grinding ended in three successive, progressively louder clunks. A fourth tumbler fell, and metal teeth bit out inside the arm mechanism. The sword barely recognized the hit, and the grinding stopped. When noting more had happened for a few seconds, Ikals stepped back, preparing for the worst. Almost without a sound, the door swung in! A blinding light flooded the room before fading into a dull grey! Uncovering his eyes, Ikals felt a little disappointed. All he saw was something like a pool with grey-silver water. Granted it was upright and not falling out at him but after all that work, he’d expected golden statues or gems or, something grand. The shards of what looked like a sword were positioned around an inner boundary. The shimmering grey metal was like living shadow. He felt sure those shards were the source of power behind the portal before him. Those shards were no doubt linked to Millosai. “Time for you to go, Lomnes,” Ikals called. “I did it. It’s opened. It’s a pool of grey and silver. It’s like water that’s not falling on me for once. I don’t know how to say it.” He was feeling a mixture of joy, dread, and awe! He’d made it. He’d done it! But what lay ahead, and what horrors would the next leg of this quest take on? And he felt awe – what wonders would we find there? He hadn’t found any arch with runes, and Plythe had given him those gears with their strange words that likely meant a lot. He’d yet to realize either of those which meant they were still to come. There was so much he might still do and

learn! “Lomnes!?” Ikals almost ran for the ramp to see if his friend was alright! But the floor groaned above, and Alshin’s step was never heavy or forced, so he knew his friend was still there. “Lomnes?” he asked again, this time more concerned than panicked. “We’ll meet on the other side.” They’d made a deal! Lomnes had vowed he’d cross over. Ikals wasn’t going to let him renege on that promise now for anything! “You’ve done what we set out to do. You’ve met them, Ethan and the rest. They’re in there. They can take care of me now.” “Maybe I don’t want to leave you to them,” Lomnes rued softly, his faint voice so eery to Ikals’ ears. “You’re family, Ikals. Maybe I’ve been staying around more out of fear than loyalty.” What!? Lomnes hadn’t ed … from fear? And Ikals was just hearing about this now! It felt good to know he wasn’t the only person worried about what awaited, but still, this was horrible timing! Ikals’ thoughts were racing, and he stumbled over quite a few random arguments to keep his friend on task. Was it fear of being alone? Of how he had no honest family? That had come up a few cold nights shivering by the fire tin for warmth. “Maybe you’ll meet your real family when you ,” Ikals tried, knowing it sounded lame as he said it. “I’m sure Millosai can find them, Lomnes. If anyone can, it’s her.” Another awkward pause. “Have you ever been north?” Ikals laughed, forcing a smile. “No.” “Why do I feel such a pull?”

Nothing. “Lomnes?” Ikals asked to eery silence. Ikals ran for the ramp and peered up. His friend wasn’t there. Lomnes had ed over. Ikals told himself he’d ed. He had to have! Ikals did pause though. Lomnes hadn’t said goodbye. That kind of hurt a little. Ikals replaced the Dragon Sword as best he could and faced that portal door again. “If you can do it, so can I.” And he stepped into nothing. There was sweeping darkness like a torrent of dry water that swept him away as he was drawn deeper into the portal and left his own spark behind!