The Journey Ahead: The World With No Name 334e6u

THE Journey AHEAD

The World with No Name

R. J. ABRAHAM

Copyright © 2017 R. J. Abraham.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-5127-7502-0 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-5127-7503-7 (hc) ISBN: 978-1-5127-7501-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017901826

WestBow Press rev. date: 03/16/2017

Contents

Morse

George

Morse

George

Morse

Grey

Morse

Harold

Grey

Morse

Periit

George

Morse

Grey

Morse

Mol

Grey

Morse

George

Periit

Morse

George

Morse

George

Harold

Morse

George

Morse

Jack

Morse

Periit

George

Mol

Morse

Grey

Periit

Harold

George

Morse

George

Morse

Brooke

Morse

Periit

George

Morse

Brooke

Morse

George

Morse

Grey

Periit

Morse

George

Morse

George

Periit

Morse

Brooke

Harold

Morse

Periit

Morse

Harold

Morse

Harold

George

Morse

Periit

Morse

George

Morse

Grey

Morse

George

Morse

George

Brooke

Morse

Periit

Morse

To Linda Abraham and all the inspiration from high school

Illustrations

• George’s illustration of the Moon • George’s illustration of Mt. Drowning • George’s illustration of the Trading post • George’s illustration of the Cork-Screw Fork • George’s illustration of the High Desert • George’s illustration of the Forget-Me-Not Grave site • George’s illustration of the Low Lands

There once was a world. It has no name of its own. Only a few from your world have seen it. I can’t say I’ve seen what it truly is with my own eyes. But I have lived it, for this world is my home. It all begins here. My adventure. Discovering more about myself, as well as life.

Morse

7:15 I could tell this was the time because of the sunset and its brilliant colors. It had been a few years since I had even seen a full, radiant setting as this, my nose in books and hands in various projects. I stood by the river, a familiar spot near the tall cedar tree. The sound was somewhat calming, considering all that I had been through at that point. The sky dimmed further as I waited for my friend Grey. I hadn’t seen him for three years. Before I left for Training he had asked me to see him, preceding graduation. At this point, graduation wasn’t an option. I was sure they wouldn’t let me back in after my so-called mistake.

7:30 I kept watching the colors blend in and out of the clouds. Orange, yellow, blue, pink, and everything in between splashed the sky. The heavens this side of my problems always blended with each other perfectly. Why couldn’t I be as perfect? I pulled at the sleeve of the jacket I made for Training, rubbing the beaded bracelet on my left wrist. I was sure to give these beads back as I said I would.

7:45 The sun soon disappeared over the edge of the far horizon of the legendary Lightning Woods, with no sign of Grey. Where could he be? I shifted my feet, balancing my weight on my other leg. I swayed back, being

impatient. I wasn’t sure I could wait much longer. To my knowledge he always knew when somebody was there, no matter if anybody had told him or not. How he possessed this knowledge, I knew not. I ran my fingers over my short hair, the regulated Training-style haircut. I never actually got used to the lack of hair, having it newly cut each year I was stuck in Training. I let out a huff of air, my imagination creating a reason Grey didn’t appear. Was it possible that he was eaten by fairy tale creatures? People-eating monsters? Throwing that thought away, I retreated from the river, and found a suitable spot to relax. Leaning straight-backed against an old tree, I turned my thoughts to Papa. How would he react, me being thrown out of Training? The reason I was placed in Training was the very same reason I was thrown out. I moaned, knowing all too well how Papa was going to react, even more so when I showed up home, late. He was going to be mad.

8:35 After much thought and lack of light, I finally decided to stay here for the night. In the woods. I would then continue on home, telling Papa my late arrival was due to the wrong turn at the Turnabout Fork past the Lilac Clearing. I was sure this would lessen the stress I knew Papa would have attained worrying about my frame of mind. Yawning, I bedded down for the night, slouching against the tree, not wanting to face my father.

Mid-night I opened my eyes to darkness. I can’t really say I planned to wake before the Sol had any chance to wink at me. I couldn’t see anything for the stars didn’t cast much light through the branches

of the trees. By the silence, I could tell it was only hours before daylight. If it was quiet, what had woken me? I heard a snap behind me. Behind the tree. It crackled in my ears and soon conformed to the drone of outdoor life. Turning my head, I spotted light, a flicker of flames. Floating. A floating flame? Standing up I continued watching the light source sway slightly, as if it were being carried. A soft shuffling of footsteps followed the light, approaching the tree I stood under. Feeling as if I was hiding I stepped from behind the tree, and glanced toward the moving glow of what reminded me of firelight. The mystery of it compelled me to look closer. I tried to make out the figure holding the light. Beyond the glow a quick breath escaped the life source. My curiosity grew in the dark, suspense causing me to hold my breath. I was about to take another step, feeling an explosive pain at the back of my skull. Everything tilted, slightly at first, uprooting from the ground. The tree beside me fell away. I swear color accompanied the cry that broke through the darkness. Everything faded to black, leaving only one thought in my mind. At least I have an actual reason for being late.

George

Week 1, Day 6 I t feels strange. Not only am I noticing that the moon has disappeared from the sky, but no one believes me. It was just last night when I looked up at the sky that I noticed only the twinkling stars staring back. I always thought of the night sky as a blanket with holes cut into it, drawn over the sun for the duration of the n ight. I had watched the moon since I was old enough to work. The first time was really the night my athair died. He had been sick for weeks, leaving me to look after the shop, though a family friend with more responsibility continued to make shoes to supply the shop and its customers. I didn’t really like the work I had to put into it. At this point, the moon was no longer sharing its phases, leaving me lost in wonder. Where had it gone? I somehow knew we were lost as we continued to travel onward to the Prayer Ground. What happened only a few nights ago didn’t stop our pilgrimage to honor the dead. Highwaymen believe it is okay to demand and take from anyone. It doesn’t matter who they take from, as long as they fill their quota, whatever that may be. We had encountered these highwaymen in the light of the moon. The last time I set eyes on moon beams was a couple nights after. All they had really taken were the horses and wagons, as well as the supplies within. These bandits would have taken sheep as well, had it not been for the little village boy who watches them, yelling as if a monster had appeared out of the ground to devour him. Not that I believe in any such thing, the Lord will know. I possibly question the fact. The moon disappearing from the dark world known as night. Could it be possible that the moon was stolen like our belongings and much needed tools? I still ponder.

I asked Mother whether it could be probable. “Ma? Do you believe that the moon could have been stolen? Just like the wagons and horses?” Mother looked at me from her tangled fingers, progress beginning to show in her knitting. The white yarn in her hands glowed in the bright light that the fire provided. Shaking her head, she sighed at me in her usual way. “Maybe so. If it be the will of the Lord.” “What if it is more than that, Ma? What if we aren’t where we think we are?” This thought is piercing my mind even now after considering the strange details of the continuing expedition. Only two days ago I had begun to take note of changes, including the absence of the moon, the hours of the day didn’t correspond with the calendar and certain trees appear to have grown bigger than anything I’d seen around this part of the world. Not that I have been anywhere other than our moderately small village. Ma put down her knitting and glanced at me, asking a favor of me before stirring the pot that had been boiling over the burning logs, a few birds charring beside it. “George, will you find your sister? The meal is ready and it’ll soon be time for bed.” I bobbed my head at the time, standing up from my perch and straightening my kilt before I began my search. It hasn’t been terribly hard traveling after the horses were stolen, but it has slowed the progress down. After finding Joanne, dinner was eaten in silence. I’m not much of a talker anyway. The sunlight faded completely before the meal was over and the evening prayer said. Crossing herself, Ma settled in for the night, making Joanne do the same. Now from the remaining light of the fire and the last murmurs of prayer being ed around by the sneaky hand of the wind, I write these words along side the pictures I’ve drawn. This isn’t the first time I’ve followed everyone else to Old Willow Crest to pray for those few souls long past. Truthfully, I didn’t want to

return to Athair’s grave this year as the tradition played on year after year. With Elizabeth left behind at home, not a day goes by that I don’t think about her. I’m missing her dearly.

Morse

I didn’t know how long I’d been out. The pain in my head woke me from a strange dream. I was waiting by the river, only to find a floating light behind the trees. It reminded me of a glow-fly, shyly dancing amongst the leaves in the branches. This image faded with the realization as the headache reminded me this wasn’t a dream. What hit me? This simple question helped me open my eyes. I could feel my head spin as I tried to focus on the tops of the trees. The world spun and the tops of the towering sticks seemed to fall toward me. I couldn’t have helped the groan that escaped my throat as I tried to sit up. I couldn’t get past the swaying of the world as if I were in a cradle being pushed. I fell back, jolting my head just right. I let out a sob. My arms tugged at the rope I didn’t know bound my wrists and coughed out a complaint to the world. I wagged my head, catching sight of people. Moving in and out, these forms blurred as my eyes tried to focus. Taking a breath, I closed my eyes for what I thought was briefly, falling asleep. A giant cloaked figure stepped out from behind one of the trees. It took a couple of steps, the cloak trailing as if it were a black mist. Slowly, a finger extended past the long mist that crawled up its arm, pale compared to the white stones at the bottom of the Charmed Stream. The steps started to echo, coming closer. Everything seemed to darken and the image burned. I felt something cold touch me. It frightened me beyond belief; causing me to pull harder on my bonds, to yell and rise from what could have been my grave. I could feel eyes on me as I fell back to the hard ground. Murmurs dropped from lips. Murmurs I couldn’t understand. Their words were slurring together, my ears not cooperating. The feeling of falling wasn’t so much of a feeling anymore. I groaned louder than needed, the ache not stopping. The pain was unbearable, making me feel

sick. It was around this time I heard more voices, louder than murmurs and easier to identify as a language I knew nothing about. They came from the shuffling crowd that had gathered and that would soon depart. A high voice broke above the rest, as if pleading to another. The next voice was rough, gruff, and angered. Somehow I knew the girl was coming toward me, yelling over her shoulder to the much annoyed guy. I opened my eyes again, the light suddenly blinding. I gasped in reply to the source of light, a blurry form crouching down beside me. I rolled my head over, focusing on her. The only thing I noticed was the color of her hair and the way it tumbled down to her shoulders, matching the quiet tone of her voice. Before my vision could fully focus I felt something cool touch my mouth. It reminded me of my nightmare, I panicked. I heard syllables spoken, softer this time, trying to calm me. I blinked as she placed the object to my mouth once more, a liquid flowing into my throat. Water. It tasted almost dry and somewhat limey. After the first drink went down, I coughed. I looked back at her, my eyes finally focusing like they should. Her blond hair was braided in various places, partially covering her rosy cheeks. She gave me a soft smile that didn’t quite brush away the frown that was there before. I didn’t try to smile, for fear of becoming sick. Her lips parted in words that I couldn’t understand. “I… don’t understand,” my dry throat let me sputter. She tilted her head, something dancing in her blue eyes, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you didn’t know the language.” She gave me another drink, keeping up the growing conversation. “I’m Sophia,” she said, the vowels heavy with her accent. Opening my mouth my first words of “I am” were lost without air; the only word not caught on my breath came out with a cough, “Morse.” It didn’t sound like my name as my mind started to drift out of the dark mist that let the cloaked figure leave without a sound. I tried to sit up again which was a

big mistake. I lay back down and fought the urge to vomit. So much for getting back home and making my excuse to Papa. By this time I’d be good as punished for being late, no matter if falling behind wasn’t part of the plan. “What were you doing last night?” Sophia set down the cup that she held in her hand. I looked up in the air, shifting my gaze around the invisible box I must have trapped myself in. I looked at her. “I was heading home, but I had to stop for the night,” I answered. “Is that it?” Her face held a questionable expression showing she didn’t completely believe me. “I was on my way home. I wasted time waiting for a friend and I decided to rest for the night and continue at daylight,” I shrugged like a schoolboy with my wrists rubbing at the rope, the beads pressing into my shaking left wrist. “Are you telling the truth?” “Yes.” “What were you doing in the dark—?” “Why am I here?” I lifted my tied hands as if pleading to be set free. Sophia gave a short shrug of her own, not telling me what she knew. This was followed by a crunch of dried grass and dust. The voice behind the stomping spoke in its own language, gruffly scattering dust and loose pebbles into my face. I couldn’t understand a thing he said. The fact is I didn’t have to. My ears only took in the anger, not the unknown vocabulary. Sophia spun around, leaving me in my dust. The bearded man pointed a calloused finger at me with a threatening glow in his eyes. I tried to cough out the moist dust from my throat, only to get more kicked in my face. My eyes stung, not allowing me to observe his exit from the prisoner zone. Not that I was considering myself their prisoner. By the way he accused me with his finger and harsh tone, I was the culprit.

Sophia came back down to my level, feeding the lip of a water bottle to my mouth, washing the familiar taste of dirt from the back of the throat. Then, I felt a dab upon my forehead, a wet cloth of some kind clearing away the minuscule dust particles. She rubbed softly at my eyelids, allowing me to look upon the world once more. “Don’t you worry a wit about Jack. He is blaming you for last night’s scare. He knows perfectly well it is also his fault. He knew exactly what I was doing. He knew that I wanted to be alone,” Sophia continued on. “His fault? What are you inferring to as ‘his fault’?” I tilted my head away from her hand, looking at her. “You were there, you should—He must have hit you harder than he said he had. Don’t you what happened?” Her accent dropped from her lips like a shivering feather in a winter breeze. “I…as I said, I didn’t have the light to make it home, so I settled down for the night. I woke up about Mid-night and saw a floating light.” “A floating light? You must mean my lantern,” Sophia paused my tale. “A lantern?” I asked. “You mean to tell me you’ve never seen a lantern before?” “I know nothing of what you call this ‘lantern’. I saw a floating flame. It was glowing as if by an unseen force. A spirit-like being, though I didn’t see its face…” “I was carrying that light. It is called a lantern. I was using it to look for herbs and spices. Anything that could help handle sickness. The only reason I was looking at night, mind you, is that I couldn’t find any in the light of day. It’s strange. It was easier to find them in darkness.” This stopped me. It was common knowledge to know that all beneficial plant life hid during the light cast by the Sol of the skies. If she knew nothing of this, could she be from another land? This posed as a clear optical clue to her background, other than the unknown language she speaks with the rest of her people.

“May I ask you a question?” I lifted my eyes as best I could, a headache creeping toward the front. “You may, Morse.” This surprised me, her using my name. The way she said it, the tone her accent allowed, sounded like a different name altogether. “Are you new to this region?” I watched how her expression changed as my question sunk in. Softly, her eyes beamed in recognition of the idea. Her countenance chanced to one of horror. She glared at me, suspicion screaming out of every pore. “How…?” “You just said that it was easier to find certain plants and herbs in the dark.” “Your point is?” I could feel her voice rising from its seat, ready to smack me. “My point is that people from around here know that the herbs blend into the surrounding plant life in the daylight. Really, you are standing on some now.” Sophia stood up, lifting her boots. Noise came from her mouth, an echo from the darkness I was sure she would put me in. “I don’t see any,” she looked at me as if I were crazy. Confusion beamed from her eyes, bleeding out. “But, it is there.” “I still don’t see it,” she was getting impatient. “I could help you, but, I’m a bit tied up. And this headache isn’t helping.” I stopped talking as I stared into the distant fingers of the trees. I could sense the look of amazement from Sophia burn into my face. This lasted another two minutes before Sophia thought it wise not to prod me for anything more.

The rest of the day was pretty much gone, boring into my wasted time as I sat there, feeling the sharp needle gaze that Papa would give me when I finally showed my face. If I showed my face. A hole crumbled in my abdomen, telling me that I was empty. On top of that, having to go made me squeamish. I was tempted on yelling out my problem, but how would that help? All of this for a Mid-night stroll, just to see a floating flame. How was I to know it wasn’t the sacred flame from the old tales? Picking out the leaves of the trees, I was met with a tall person. Actually, he was standing and I was glued to the ground. He called himself George. I only looked over him the best I could, hoping there was a way out of these ropes. Not that I thought he would help me, but did I have any other plan? No I had no plan at all. George was lanky with lightly tanned skin from what I could guess was outdoor work. He wore the same skirt-like outfit as the mean bearded man, known as Jack, did. His hair was a dark orange-hazelnut and wavy, with facial hair to go with it. I don’t think that is a natural color of hair. “I’m George. I’ll be watching you,” he said straight out, not bothering to talk in his homeland language. “Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not that bad, am I?” “No. It isn’t that. It’s just… you haven’t had a prisoner before have you?” “Uh. Why would you say that?” “Look, I need to go. As in, I need to refresh myself.” George looked at me. At my face and its lack of facial hair. I could see that he got what I meant. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait.” “Wait!” I yelled, “I’m sorry, but I’ve been waiting for a while now.” This surprised him, me begging to use a natural outhouse. He must have been expecting some kind of anger-ridden maniac who goes after people in the dark. “I…well, let me see what I can do,” George bumbled, turning to leave.

“Sorry I yelled,” I replied to his back.

George

Week 2, Day 8 I t isn’t everyday you are asked to guard someone. Namely one who likes to sneak around in the dark and scare people? Not that I believe everything I hear. Sophia and Jack came back to camp late last night, too loud for anyone to not know it was them. “I told you not to follow me. I know you are trying to help.” “Sophia. Do you know what he could have done to you? What if I wasn’t there?” Jack grumbled, lugging something behind him. It wasn’t very late, compared to the hours I’m used to. It just kept bothering me how everything changed. First, the moon. Gone. The hours of the day, diminishing rapidly. None of us knew what was truly going on until Jack brought that body into camp. At first, I thought he was dead. The way Jack had dragged him gave me the idea that he killed him. Thinking this, I gave the Sign of the Cross. Sophia’s father was just ending his meal, the fire in front of him crackling as if in conversation. I sat around the other side, my back to the argument and the deadlike body. Only then did I see him for the first time. Hands tied, mouth open, eyes closed as if he was drawing one last breath before dying. A hand twitched. Then his chest moved, signifying life. He looked strange to me. His outfit was closed, a neatly sewn cloth encasing his legs. His hair was short, shaved acutely in the back, growing longer in the front. I couldn’t help but rub my short beard, noticing that he lacked one. “What is this?” Sophia’s father glanced over the fire, not yet seeing the body I couldn’t stop staring at. “Dad. Did I not tell him not to follow me? I was just fine…!”

“No you weren’t. Not with this maniac lurking in the darkness. He was probably waiting for the right moment to—” “To what, Jack? To kidnap me and do what he well pleases? Is that what you were going to say?” Jack fell silent as Sophia’s father walked around the blaze, seeking that someone they were speaking of. That body that lay there in the dirt. He acted as if this little picture didn’t startle him, a slight nod of the head and a twitch of an eyebrow. “What happened?” he looked up from the unusual piece of art that Jack presented. “Dad, I was out gathering some more herbs with the lantern. I was nearly done when suddenly Jack jumps out of no where and knocks this wanderer out. I didn’t even notice that he was even there. This was after telling Jack that I didn’t want to be followed,” Sophia described. “You think I would let you walk off in the dark without some protection after what happened? Not a chance, I followed you. If I hadn’t, something would have happened. He could…” “I don’t want to hear it,” Sophia then took off with the basket of herbs. Jack took off after her, only to return with the identifiable sullen look breaking out on his face. It was the usual argument between them. It wasn’t that they couldn’t stand each other, but I like to think because it is their nature. It wasn’t long after this that our leader directed us to one edge of the camp, depositing the unknown intruder on the ground. “Are you sure this is okay? Leaving him here? What if he…?” “Don’t worry George. We’ll let him sleep here tonight and then deal with this whole thing in the daylight. We should be able to think better with rest.” Without further questioning, Jack disappeared to his corner of a campfire and Sophia’s father calmly retreated into his supper of chunky stew. And I, taking a breath to clear my mind, I took out my sketch book. This book here that I keep

drawing in. But really, I want to talk to Elizabeth. It has been days since leaving the village on this pilgrimage. I’m sure soon I’ll thumb these pages to the past, to the one picture I want to be real. My mind is crashing back through the last twenty minutes. The only thing that I need to pause at is that strange man, his hairless face and shaved head and new clothing. Who is he? Without answers to growing questions, I had to wait out the night and most of the next day. I had nearly forgotten about our strange visitor until an explosion interrupted the peaceful early hours of the light. “Sophia! I told you no. Stay away!” Jack’s voice stopped the ongoing work of gathering wood for the fires, “This spy…” “Ha. I doubt it. If he were a spy, he is a very bad one.” Sophia was standing over the alleged attacker, yelling at Jack. Jack went on a rampage kicking some dirt into the trapped man’s eyes. After much used words Jack stomped away like a little kid not getting his candy. Sophia turned back to the suffering and child-like prisoner we had acquired only last night. In softer tones, she spoke…differently. Using the other language we were taught as young children she spoke to him. It was almost rare to hear this other tongue spoken. I felt dumb just standing there and watching him lay there like a fish out of water. I dismissed myself from the scene, heading back to the pit full of ashes where Mother and Joanne were most likely sitting. They weren’t alone when I returned from my guarding shift. Ever since the Highwaymen ganged up on us, we’ve set up watches. I volunteered for early hours, so as not to deprive the others their rest. I wasn’t working as long as I should have been, but shorter shifts. “Hello, George. Have you gotten any rest since last night? A lot going on I could tell you.” “Sir, there is too much going on. Not only has the moon disappeared, but the time has also. No longer is there a measurement of time that equals a day, but merely half of one,” I set down my bow and the quiver of unused arrows that I take with me on watch.

“None of that nonsense, George. Do you actually believe what you are saying?” Mother stated plainly, making a blanket out of one of the only things that those thieves left behind. “Have you seen him this morning?” Sophia’s father asked me as I sat down, taking in the faded colors of my kilt. He ignored the question of what ‘nonsense’ I was referring to. “Just now, really. Jack was running over and ended up kicking dirt in the man’s face.” “I hope he doesn’t try anything else,” he said. “Then maybe we should start protecting the stranger,” I joked with a chuckle. There was a pause in the conversation where Joanne asked if she could go play with the others. It wasn’t much fun for her to travel back and forth to visit Athair’s grave. Mother simply nodded, looking up to watch which way she ran. “No playing with the sheep today, Joanne. I don’t want you bothering little Joe either. I’ve heard he has a cough,” she yelled for the whole camp to hear. Sophia returned from her good deed, kissing her father on the cheek and ing Mother with her project. Our leader then gave a low sigh as if coming to a conclusion. He left his spot and beckoned me to follow, guiding me from one end of the camp to the next, finding a reasonable spot. “Would you like to take the honor of guarding that man?” he asked me in privacy of a tall cedar tree. “Sir?” “Will you watch that man? Not only for his protection, but ours?” “But, Sir! I…” “You’ve never done it? Is that it? Then it is as good a time as any to learn.” He got me there. I opened my mouth, nothing coming out as my mind took in the thought of guarding a potentially dangerous man. How are we to know what

would have happened if Jack wasn’t there to stop him? “I can see that you are curious about this fellow. You might even make a friend,” he smiled and winked. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or could see more of this situation than I. He took off, no doubt to see to his own duties. Without further accord to the fact that I trapped myself into this small job I retraced my steps back through camp, only stopping in front of that figure whom I thought was dead the night before. As I introduced myself he wriggled around, looking like that dying fish once again. As it turned out, he needed to take a leak. I was taken aback, not sure what I could do. In order for him to ‘refresh’ himself, I’d have to untie his hands. I took my leave and found Sophia’s father again, trusting that he would tell me what I wanted to hear. “George. I trust you. If you feel that you can trust him, untie his hands and let him take a leak. The worst that can happen is for him to run away right?” “No Sir, the worst is somebody being killed over nothing.” “Don’t worry your head. We’ve checked him and he has nothing on his person. He can’t harm you.” Without further instruction I untied his hands and let him relieve himself. I was scared to do it, standing him up and finding out that he was taller than I was. How Jack could jump him was beyond me. This man’s build was similar to mine, only smaller. He wasn’t a twig, but he wasn’t a bulky mass either. I followed him closely to the point he stood after picking a spot. After that I escorted him back to the edge of camp, the sheep being brought back to their make-shift stable for the evening. As I was tying his hands, which he freely offered, he commanded my attention. “I’m Morse, by the way. Thank you for trusting me enough to, uh.” “Nothing to mention. I couldn’t let you explode,” I tried to act confidently, his name sounding new. Never had I heard such a name in all my life. I was sure I’d never hear anything like it again.

“What are those?” he asked in a quiet voice, glancing toward the baying sheep. I looked at him curiously. No longer was he the strange looking man with a shaved face, but a queer acting man, asking me what sheep were. “Those are sheep,” I said plainly, taking a step back after tying the knot. “Sheep? What are they for?” he sat down. “Sometimes we harvest their wool for thread to make clothing. We might even slaughter one for a meal every now and then.” This figure before me propped his back against the tree and looked back at the sheep. Then back at me. I could feel his eyes scan my clothing as I was his. “Wool. Are your clothes made of wool?” he asked me like a kid. I took a look at my kilt as if I hadn’t noticed it was hanging from my hips. “Yes. Though some are made of hides from other animals,” I answered in detail as if it were an everyday question. I didn’t know whether I could trust him, but somehow I knew he would keep asking questions. He seemed to trust me to tell him the truth. “What about your clothes? What material are they made of?” I asked looking at the heavy garment he wore over his shirt, the pattern on his back curious. “A variety of cottons I should say. A few skins from wild animals as well,” he told me matter-of-factly. I wanted to ask about the…article that he wore about his legs, but the easy conversation that was already going on shouldn’t have made sense. “You can sit down. I won’t run away,” he held his hands forward, showing me my handy work, “Why am I being kept here?” “I’m not quite sure,” I sat down. I wasn’t sure why I was even talking to him. It must be that he is different. I don’t know how to react to this person, who was said to lurk in the dark and go after

Sophia. I wanted to be suspicious of this character who so kindly thanked me while I was tying his hands. Jack has been wrong before, always the hot head and filled with drink. “All I did was wake up in the middle of the dark and happen to see a floating flame. I’d never known anything man-made to float all on its own. I thought it could have been a spirit or even a figment of a nightmare. How was I to know that someone could carry a flame? That shouldn’t be possible. I told Sophia about it and she looked at me like I was a mad-man. She said it was a lantern. I’ve never heard of a lantern,” the guy who called himself Morse story-told while fingering something around his left wrist. It sounded as if he were relating a fairy tale. One that he believed himself. “A lantern is an object that allows us to carry a light source, like a candle or even oil,” I picked at my kilt, the colors of faded blue and green in the crisscrossed pattern. “What is a candle? A lantern?” he creased his eyebrows in a questionable way, not able to comprehend everything I’ve said. “I’ll show you later, if Jack doesn’t end up killing you. I’m sure we have one hidden away somewhere.” I didn’t mention that I didn’t believe he didn’t know what any of these objects were. Tools of the current age. “I was talking to Sophia and I am convinced that you and your people,” he gestured with his tied hands toward the camp, one shaking, “are not from around here.” This stopped me, my mouth opening as my face lifted and my view point changed. How could he know what I’ve been thinking? Trying to find out for these past few days? I gripped at the material about my legs, realizing that somehow he knew more than I did. Than anyone here did. “How did you…? No, I’m not saying anything more,” I shook my head, my beard wagging as best it could. What if Jack was right about Morse? If that is even his real name, as queer as it is. “Why not?”

It was so simple. “How do I know that you aren’t really a spy, like Jack said?” “Is that what he said? I had no idea; I couldn’t understand anything he said.” I shook my head, not trusting him for his denial at being a spy. I turned away from him just to show that I wasn’t going to talk to him. It didn’t last long before he broke the silence that paused the conversation. “I’m not a spy.” “Yeah, sure,” I shrugged my shoulders. “I am telling you the truth. I’m not a spy.” “Like I can trust you. You could be lying to me right now.” “That’s the thing. I can’t lie,” he pleaded. I spun my head on my shoulders, getting a better look at him. I couldn’t see through his expression if he was lying to me just to get even more out of me. Someone who couldn’t lie. This stunt was new to me. Could I really trust his word and take the bait?

Morse

T he night was better, the thought of staying with these people not helping me get home. Papa wasn’t going to be in a reunion type of mood, even after that mistake I made at Training. He would never get over that. George didn’t move an inch from his spot, still not acknowledging that I was still here, being kept for yet another mistake of mine. There was a call emanating from the restless pond of people, that language that I couldn’t place or begin to understand. It wasn’t a second into the call that George answered back. He waved away an unseen figure and briskly got up from his dusty seat. Barely turning to me he gave what would be characterized as a sigh. “I shall be back with some vittles. Mother isn’t one to let me miss a meal. If Jack tries to pester you…,” he didn’t finish his thought, letting my imagination do the work in place of his silent words. I shifted in my rooted chair against the tree trunk that poked me almost playfully, sitting up straighter. The low light of the fires left me to imagine what the stars were talking about. Sometimes, they even related stories that I would attend as a younger kid. Even now I still enjoyed the distant company. A dragging sound drew my gaze from the growing darkness further into the balding trees, back to the light sources that I hadn’t had the time to understand. Footsteps followed a floating flame, just like the one I had seen the night before. It bobbed and swayed slightly from side to side, a terrible feeling spewing from my stomach. I pulled at my bonds, only one fear pressing its way forward to the front of the line to the nearest escape route. “Okay, I’ve got your meal,” the flame stopped in front of me. A pair of booted feet was planted under it. I heaved a breath; George’s face being illuminated from the flickering light. “That is what I saw. A floating flame. Is that what you refer to as a lantern?” I

pointed a finger, not reaching for the offered bowl. The face above the glow of the flame looked over the object he held, glancing back at me and my quivering movement. “Aye. This is a lantern,” George placed the curious object on the ground in front of me, sitting beside it. “Here. Eat this and I’ll let you view it,” my guard-like friend held out the bowl to me again. I gripped the wooden curvature that made the bowl, glancing between the three new ideals in life I never thought existed. The spell-like way to hold fire, a bearded man that I could have sworn was around my age and the meal that was set before me. The liquid that smelled of spices I couldn’t place, the remarkable shadows of lifeless tissues floating in the midst of the dark-colored puddle. “What is it?” my fear was overcome by my hunger, but not my cautious nature to ask before eating. “Stew,” his voice held that mystified tone again, looking at me with eyes I couldn’t see. I didn’t question what it was or what was in it. If they wanted to kill me, I reasoned they wouldn’t have waited this long to accomplish such a simple goal. Feeling the smooth wood of the bowl on my lips, I filled my mouth with the chunky substance. Surprisingly I couldn’t argue that this meal made up for all others I’ve had for the first time, though the presentation could have been better. “You’ve never had stew?” George must have noticed the satisfying look that drowned out my unsure expression that had been playing on my face. I shook my head, chewing what I could only guess to be a form of rabbit. “Do you know of anything? It seems as if you’ve lived in the woods all your life.” “I know things, just nothing about you or this power to hold fire or even how sheep give you wool for your garments. The only thing I know about you people is the fact that you aren’t from here. Where are you from if not from here?” I

gulped down even more stew, the heat burning my throat and the light of the flame almost blinding me in the accustomed darkness. “I really don’t know whether to trust you. You could still be that killer that Jack believes you to be. Or even a rumored spy.” “I am not a spy. Though in Training they did teach us such skills. You could call me a soldier, but I’m not.” “A soldier?” “Yeah, but I’m not a soldier. I never finished Training. I was kicked out. It is a long story and I find that it isn’t old enough to be told. It was just another mistake I made. I don’t want to it.” “But, it could clear this whole thing up!” George said. The shadows covering his face moved with the dancing flame. “Does this mean that you believe me?”

Grey

I f it wasn’t hard enough to keep track of all the secrets that he kept, Grey now had to help a family friend look for his son. Grey had always helped Morse in any way he could, but having to help him in his trouble was cutting it close to the heart of the matter. It was only the day before he was expected home. It wasn’t even dark before Grey opened his door to welcome that familiar friend from the crowded path of the woods that surrounded the house. Even if he couldn’t see him, Grey knew he was there. “What are you needing, Mol? It is nearly dark; your son should be home anytime.” “No Grey. That is the thing. Morse isn’t here yet, as he should be. How many times do I have to pull that boy out of the water? Every time he has a good chance to change his act, he sneaks behind me and plays that same trick. He is drowning in it. And he played this same trick again. Now he has disappeared.” “Mol. Give him time,” Grey watched Mol enter the clearing; “There could have been a delay that Morse couldn’t avoid. Let’s wait until morning. If he hasn’t showed up then, I’ll look into it.” Mol himself finally reached the garden’s entrance. His loud voice covered the silent clearing in a blanket of noise, the fact that this was his natural volume momentarily forgotten by Grey. “Calm down Mol. You know it isn’t all Morse’s fault. That fighting skill is just growing too fast for him.” “It shouldn’t be, Grey. He is 34. He should know of his gifts by now, but I’ve not had the patience with myself to show him. Every time I see him kill himself with that same old lie that it was another mistake. That is all he broods over, his mistakes and that these little flares of hate are all his life adds up to!” Mol spoke in his normal voice, that yell that could be heard perfectly without aid in the middle of a crowd in a noisy food hall.

Grey invited his friend in the house, encircling his arm around his shoulders. Pushing open the mossy-green door, Grey and Mol entered. “And now, he has been kicked out, and you know exactly what he is going to say about it, ‘it was another one of my already long list of mistakes, I don’t want to talk about it.’ That is word for word what he tells me each time he is in another fight. It isn’t that I’m mad at him for fighting; I just can’t stand it when he blames himself and doesn’t let it go. He just piles it on. Every time.” Grey let Mol rage further, giving him the seat by the fireplace under the mantel where pictures sat, staring at the rest of the room. Each picture held a single shot of a different scene, a different couple smiling back at the device that captured the view. Some of these pictures were even drawings, not every person who stopped in this world held the same technology. “You just have to tell him. Even if he wasn’t able to finish Training he will guide people. It is to be his job, as it is ours. I never finished Training as you know and look at this world, the world of today with its many visitors.” Grey gave Mol a smile, tapping the mantel and sweeping a hand over the pictures. Mol didn’t answer back, the light from the outside growing weaker as his eyes wandered over the book and map collections littering the shelves around the room, containing even more rare objects. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell his son the truth about his gifts that he was given. He really didn’t know how to get the words out. It was only Morse’s first ten years that he and his mother, Jun, discovered what gifts he possessed. The ability to fight without practice or knowledge was one of them. Such a thing in this peaceful world wasn’t of much use. The other gift was still considered a mystery. Grey was stacking wood in the fireplace, arranging it so the air would blow around it just right; to create the blaze he was looking for. Taking a well used tool he struck a spark, throwing the speck onto the placed wood. Without further coaxing a bud burst into flame, lighting the room in a red hue. Grey turned to look out the darkened window. “Jun is looking for you. I’ll tell her that she is welcome to me for the nightly

meal as well.” Grey nimbly sauntered around the chairs, reaching the door to invite his friend’s wife to the table. He was poised to yell for Jun, who was not yet in sight of the clearing when Mol shook his head. “No, Grey. I believe it would be better if we stayed at the house, in case Morse arrives a little late, as you say. Thank you though for the invite,” Mol shook Grey’s hand and exited the small building, leaving the only light left in the darkness of the clearing.

The next day went by and no word came from Morse. No acknowledged welcome was said. Mol came back the next evening, that same look on his face. “No sign from him all this time. I am beginning to think that he has skipped the country and wandered off on his own as he always said he wanted to. This was his perfect chance,” his loud voice broke the silence and scared the birds out of their nests. Grey put down his gardening tool, taking a breath before leaving the gate open to help his friend ease his mind. “I don’t believe he would take such a risk of leaving you without a word. There must be a reason he hasn’t appeared yet. Take your mind off of this. I will go look for him, whether he has gone mad or he is simply tied up in some business he wished to finish. Don’t worry your head. I’ll find him.”

Following the winding path of the woods that stood around him, Grey began to look for Morse. The darkness brought little light to the situation, but didn’t stop Grey from wandering from his clearing to the next, and then the next searching for the lost boy. Not taking a rest well on into the morning, when the birds changed their notes and the plants hid themselves among the drying grass Grey came upon a group, no smaller than a dozen people but no bigger than one hundred. They labored with sheep and steaming cooking pots with a curious smell. The men of the camp wore robe-like attire, the cloth hanging from their waists patterned with light colors and intersecting lines. Who these people could be Grey didn’t have

to guess, for he had seen people of the same quality before. They spoke with new words, the sequence understandable to him. He glanced around the fires, tents made with the hide of animals and tools made of unknown woods. The women worked hard, the men taking their part in small talk along with the assigned chores. Taking in the surrounding people who either took a long look at him or ignored him altogether, Grey renewed his search for Morse. “Excuse me. I am Grey. I am looking for a friend of mine. He is about your age, only he doesn’t sport a beard. I’m sure he has shaved his head in a similar fashion as my head of hair,” he asked a kid who was filling a bowl with dark liquid from the pot that hung over the fire. An old lady spoke to the young man whom Grey had just addressed, the language foreign. “George, what is he asking you?” “Nothing, Ma. He is looking for a friend. I don’t believe he will find him here,” George answered his mother before turning back to the stranger. “Sir, I am sure I haven’t seen your friend. I am sorry.” George looked the man up and down. His hair and short beard bleached from what could only be from outdoor work and age. His face was tanned and his clothes faded from use. Then, looking to the man’s feet, the cloth surrounding his legs caught his eye. It wasn’t everyday you saw pants. Grey thanked him and continued on his way through the camp, disappearing from George’s sight. “I pray he finds his friend,” George’s mother stirred at the pot. “I hope so as well.” George took his filled bowl and continued in the other direction. Not for a minute did he realize that this man was describing Morse.

Morse

I woke up to a tug at my uniform pants, a giggle helping the hand behind it. I was sure I looked suspiciously strange, sleeping against a tree and my mouth hanging open. My vision squinted with the blaze of the Sol above my form. There before me a thin and tiny body stood. I couldn’t tell if there was a look of surprise on her face or not, the shadows of the leaves waving, hiding her face from perfect view. This sweet vision reminded me of childhood. The few times I got to play hideand-seek with my only friend before she moved away. I missed being free, just running around and climbing the trees to see how big the world truly was. Trying to make a summoned yawn vanish I almost managed a greeting, only getting out the consonant sound before her tilted head and cute smile turned away at the sound of George’s voice. He appeared behind her, carrying another bowl of what I could assume was what he called stew. Faintly, this stew reminded me of the mush I was given during Training. Speaking to the little girl in their own language, George scooted her along back from where he appeared. After watching her depart at a skipping trot he turned back to look straight at me. With my tied hands I gave a wave as I blinked and yawned myself fully awake. “Don’t think that the conversation last night made me trust you. If you hurt my sister in any way…” he took a step towards me. “Hold on. Who is the one tied up here? I wasn’t going to do anything; I was only saying ‘good morning’. I’m sorry. I’m sure she was just curious. It must not be every day that she sees someone like me, clothes and all,” I held up my hands, George crouching beside me. He leaned in close, his face just a foot away from mine. At first I wasn’t looking at him but at the beads on my shaking wrist. He gave me a long look, waiting for me to look back. This look could have burst my gut if he wanted it to.

“You better not.” Pushing the bowl into my closely bound hands he stood back, retreating a few steps to his own spot. Though I had been fed no longer than six hours before I downed my morning meal, the chunks sliding into my mouth for a grind. I was glad to be awake. It was warm and calm, unlike the haunting monster that disturbs my rest. “You know, I’m not asking you to trust me.” George looked up from the thought he was writing in the dirt at the sound of my voice. With a twig pointing from his hand he poked it in my direction. “I’m not condemning you for telling me things I can’t understand. That mouthful of words you told me last night, I don’t understand. You are a queer one enough. Don’t press your situation farther in the corner just to prove something I don’t understand.” I rearranged myself, the seat of dead leaves no longer comfortable. “Just say you don’t believe me, then. You are not the only person here to have questions. I have plenty that I want to ask as well. Don’t try to hide that fact. It is plain to see from your attitude. Yes, I can read it on your face!” I gripped my hands, tension appearing. I was starting to feel trapped. More so than before. “Don’t start reading me like a book. I have reason not to trust you.” “How is that? Because you believe the word of one of your own? Because you know them to never lie for any reason? What is your reason?” I raised my voice to match his, a tone between seriousness and an argument. He jumped up dropping the stick by his boot, making me feel as if I walked into a party of giants. “You say you can’t lie. You tell me you are one thing, but deny it the next time you open your mouth.” “I said it, implying that if I was able to finish the training, I would be one. But I didn’t all because of that one mistake that I make every time I get even close to

pleasing anyone. My life is full of this one mistake that I make over and over!” I yelled back. Something happened, a wave ing over George’s face. The background noise froze as if the audience didn’t get the joke. “Don’t yell! I never said I didn’t believe you, but those people over there won’t go for any story like that. If I hadn’t noticed all these new bizarre occurrences I wouldn’t take the chance in believing you. I’m just… I don’t know if I should. Can I trust you?” He held out a hand, stopping me from further outbursts. “I just don’t know if I can trust you. I don’t know where we are and no one believes that we aren’t where we are supposed to be. I am frightened, I don’t like to it,” he rambled on, looking over his shoulder toward the camp, his vocal cords softening. It was my turn to lift my eyebrows, George taking it upon himself to make peace with this little conversation. Wiping my face with both hands, the left one shaking, I gave the growing calluses a groan. Maybe I was pleading that my life would end the look in Papa’s eyes growing darker as my mistake swallowed me whole. “If only Grey was here to see this. I’m sorry.” “Grey?” “A family friend. That is why I was out late. I was waiting for him and decided to ruff-out the night before continuing home. Well. Here I am,” I opened my hands like a book, looking up at my guard. “Grey?” he asked again, a realization showing on his face, “There was someone not so long before I got back. He introduced himself as Grey and mentioned he was looking for a friend. I didn’t even think he could have been talking about you!” he gripped his hair. He released it to comb it back, making it stand up. “What? He was here?” I leaned forward attempting to get up from my perch. All I managed was to fall back on my butt.

Hands gripped mine, a strong grasp enclosing my fingers. With little stress George hoisted me to my feet. I towered over him a few inches, his head to my ear. Still holding on to a wrist he pulled me from the spot I had dropped the bowl. It must have been a curious sight to watch a fellow member drag about a never-before seen prisoner. “George, where are you taking me?” “We are looking for your friend.” There was a hail from behind me, a thump at the back door of my head. Again a yell was issued in another language, causing George to spin around and face the one I came to recognize as Jack. It turned out that Jack was shorter than I. His muscles were bold, making an impression of over-confidence. Both spoke in their one tongue, leaving me to fill the empty spaces that the whole argument held for me. I had no idea what they could have been saying.

Harold

S ophia’s father was making rounds, dutifully looking out for the people he was guiding. At the start of the pilgrimage he had only one thought: To be able to see his departed wife. She had died only a couple years before from an unforeseen sickness. “How is the blanket coming, Megan?” Harold sat down by the smoldering ashes of the fire used for previous meals. He adjusted his fur pelt that hung around his shoulder as George’s mother paused in her work. “It is coming along. I would have had more to show, but an interruption occurred. A strange man came up and spoke in a way I couldn’t understand. Can you believe what he wore? No kilt, no battle armor. He was wearing a light cloth that wrapped about his legs. Such a thing I’ve ever seen. Anyway by the will of God, George was there and what do you know? He could understand the man! What the younger generation can do today,” she continued fiddling with her time consuming masterpiece, telling Harold her experience from this morning. “He wore…something which encased his legs?” Harold asked. Megan nodded, busy with her work. Thanking her, Harold returned to his walk-about. It wasn’t the first time hearing of such clothing, only seeing the product the other night. What did this man want? The boy in charge of the sheep herded his responsibility as best he could, stopping momentarily to answer the acting-head of the pilgrimage. “How are the sheep doing?” “Little Bet has a lame foot and Gabe won’t stop talking, but nothing that can’t be handled. Unlike the crowd over there,” the shepherd boy dangled a finger behind him.

Sophia’s father moved toward the noisy mass of villagers, loud words rising from the middle of it. Some of these words he couldn’t understand. Taking in a husky breath, he gave a loud whistle that brought the attention from the middle of the packed circle. Taking up the matter, Harold maneuvered through the tight huddle, breaking into the middle. There, George, Jack, and the mysterious night prowler stood. George was faceto-face with Jack. The odd one looked uncomfortably between the two, then to Harold. “Depart!” Harold spoke to the small crowd. Disappointed, the bored crowd shifted out leaving the reduced group of four alone. George took the well-shaved kid’s wrist, pulling him a safe distance from Jack. He even spoke to him in new words. “George. Why isn’t he at the edge of the camp?” Sophia’s father directed his attention to the guard of the stranger. To his surprise, the strangely dressed kid opened his mouth, a new rhythm interrupting the question. Harold watched patiently as George turned to the prisoner and answered back with the same smooth rhythm, finishing with a finger to his lips for silence. “George?” “Sir, this is Morse. He –,” George started. “You know what he has done, and now George has brought him to the center of the camp and has convinced Sophia that he wasn’t up to anything!” Jack interrupted the questioning, breaking the already taut string. “Jack, shut your mouth for a minute. Let us all have a share of this clean, fresh air without polluting it first. I want to hear the whole story, not just where you step in,” Harold held up a hand toward Jack before gesturing towards a more comfortable setting. “Sir, please. Not now. I was hoping to find his friend.”

“There is no need for that George. Follow me to my tent. Jack, go find Sophia. I want to speak to her.” Morse followed behind George, who in turn, followed Harold. They wove around the many tents and gathering spots where the work resumed without pause. The clearing where the camp had settled two days before began to look like a home away from home, the trees surrounding them in a huge hug. If this was the Lord’s will, Harold would help this young man find his way home, but not after connecting the correct events. Locking another prayer in his heart he invited the suspicious young man into his small tent, bringing in George as well with a pat on the back. “George, you’ve done well watching him. I knew you had it in you to keep this one out of trouble. It even stopped your moping over Elizabeth for at least a day,” Sophia’s guardian spoke in his ear as Morse noticed that there was more than just sleeping packs in that strangely constructed building. He fell to his knees in front of his friend who remained seated in the cloth structure, due to crowded head room. Speaking, the two friends carried on the conversation, only George having any knowledge as to what was being said. This lasted a few minutes, Harold looking over to George for news of their strange visitors. “How is it that you understand them speaking in their own tongue? Even Sophia mentioned his name to me and even what he claims he was doing that night. I’m a little surprised that this friend of his knows how to communicate in our language,” he crossed his arms and turned back to the scene before him, the strange kid showing his tied hands to his older friend. “It is that language we were taught while younger. Those travelers taking the time to teach us, taking the time to convince the chief how beneficial it would be. I can see how that has worked out,” George turned with a slight smirk, laughing at the memory.

Grey

G rey was now feeling the burden of always looking after this trouble-maker. After finding the head of the camp he was able to find out where Morse was. Thank goodness for good news, even attached to the sentence, ‘he is suspected of sneaking up on people in the middle of the night, attempting harm.’ But not to worry, Morse isn’t dead, yet. Even better, he hasn’t beaten anyone to death yet, either. “Morse, why are you here? Let alone tied up?” “Grey, it is another mistake on my part. I didn’t want to face Papa yet, so I wasted time standing by the river waiting for you.” “Why were you waiting for me?” Grey looked grim. “Didn’t you ask me to meet you?” Morse asked, afraid of the answer. “I said to see me after you got home!” He gave Morse that look, that one understanding glance, telling him that it was his turn to take care of himself. Morse must have seen this look before, slightly nodding with a frowning smirk. He got it, Grey knew. This little discussion was interrupted by the blue-eyed girl who stepped through the flap of the tent, calling her father. “You wanted me?” “Yes, Sophia. I want you to take Morse here out for a walk. Maybe he can help you look for herbs, point them out.” While saying this, Harold motioned for Morse to come over, Grey translating. Standing up as best be could in the low tent, Morse walked to the end, holding his hands before him, still tied. Seeing this, the leader of the camp chuckled, untying the bonds himself.

“These won’t be needed. Now go on. I want to talk to your friend a little more,” Harold told him, letting George translate the news. Morse looked a tad perplexed, but listened as George exited the tent with him. “He wants you to take a walk with Sophia…he talks to your friend…” The voices faded and left the covered space quiet. In the ing moments of silence, Harold took his seat in front of Grey. He rubbed his graying beard, trailing from his chin up to one ear. Warming his vocal cords, he started rubbing his ear. “How is it that you can speak our language, but young Morse can’t?” “Morse hasn’t met people like you.” “People like me? Meaning what?” Harold’s hand dropped. “Do you know where you are?” Grey asked. There was suddenly a breeze, shivering through the temporary living space. Grey knew his answer; just the questionable time taken to answer a simple query was answer enough. “My daughter, Sophia had relayed something that Morse had told her. He had asked whether we were new to this part of the country. This startled me, because we are new here. How he could have figured that out from looking for herbs is strange.” “It is the truth, that herbs here hide themselves during the day. You see, here in such a peaceful place weaker plants have to fight to survive. It happens everyday, this battle for nutrients and sunlight, even in this season of change.” Harold had nothing to say, thoroughly confused by this talk of plants battling for survival. Where were they, that actions among people were now the actions of plants? He stood up from his spot and fumbled around the enclosed space. Grey followed his movements, taking in how he reacted to this small observation made by both him and Morse. “Why not ask one of your people from outside for it. He has been waiting out there a while; he must know what you are looking for,” Grey stated, knowing

that this one person must have been listening in. Harold stared at Grey, turning to the flap of the tent and hoisting it open. There, standing with ear poised toward the confines of the tent was Jack. Startled, he straightened up in an attempt to look innocent. “Jack, how long have you been standing here?” Sophia’s father asked. “Not long, sir.” “Have you not any work to do?” “Yes sir, I do.” “Why not finish it, unless you have anything for me.” “Sir, why is Sophia with that spy?” Jack burst into a ion, his face becoming the color of deep orange. “Sophia is taking him for a walk while I talk to Grey here for directions. Now go do your work, and I don’t want to hear Sophia complaining to me that you have been following her again. Give her some space. Sober up,” Harold said. Bowing his head, Jack excused himself from the placement of the tent. Grey waited for Harold to turn back into the tent. It didn’t take long for the scared look to beam from his naturally hard features. Grey held up his hands and considered his options, taking the most commonly used. “Don’t be frightened. It is a gift that plagues me in this way. I manage to know when someone is there even before I take a look. But this shouldn’t be the topic to discuss.” “It isn’t you I am tiring over. Just finding Jack out there drove me to the edge a bit. How is it I can trust your word, but not his actions?” Harold retook his seat, adjusting his skirt-like clothes. Grey took in the colors of the kilt, looking up into his companion’s face. “If you are looking for a map, it won’t help you here. Where ever you think you are, you are not. Here, let me show you my own map,” Grey pulled out a roughed edge cloth, the dark lines that made the border of the land looking

faded. Hills rose from the flattened map, surrounded by tiny trees and deep bodies of water. Drawing his finger around the whole map and pathways marked out, Grey settled on a little area near the bottom, trees invading the area. “As you can see, this place, this land that you are now in, has no name. Just like this entire world,” his eyes left the surface of the worn map, directing themselves to the frown lines of Harold’s face. “What are you saying?” Harold exclaimed quietly. “You are no longer on your world.”

Morse

I was surprised, seeing Grey sitting there as if waiting for a sand storm to blow over. I couldn’t get that first word out straight, let alone thanks I wished to give him for finding me before Papa. “Grey! How long have you been here?” I asked, kneeling in front of him upon entering the tent. “How long have I been here? Where have you been?” his voice was stern, telling me it was my turn to spill the beans. I held up my hands, showing him my bonds. I couldn’t help but shrug as he glanced at the rope and then back at my face. The look in his eyes wasn’t new to me. It was the now normal look, telling me, ‘It is your turn to take care of yourself.’ And I knew this to be true. I couldn’t just throw that trust away, again. Giving a little nod, I heard a noise emitting from the front of the tent. I turned to see one of the people’s elders speak, was he trying to talk to me? “Morse. He is asking you to stand up. He wants you to follow him out for a second,” Grey told me. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he could understand them in their natural language. I twisted my neck, barely deciding what to do when Sophia appeared. Speaking to the elder, she exited the tent. He motioned for me to come. I obeyed with little thought in my brain. I stood in front of him, my wrists sweating under the rope. The man before me laughed under his breath. His nimble fingers plucked at the heavily woven twine, untying the knot. He spoke even more, leaving me to roll my brain over the possible translation of words. “He is saying that he wants you to take a walk with Sophia. She’ll show you around, or you can show her. He wants to talk to your friend,” George helped settle the confusion.

“That’s it?” George nodded, leading me out of the tent where Sophia stood waiting, holding a basket in her hands. After entering the cover of trees, George departed, leaving me and Sophia to wander the woods. Sophia threw the basket from one hand to the other, humming as if to fill the space. It didn’t take long for her to start talking. “Since you know where they hide, show me how to find these herbs,” Sophia smiled at me. “Is this really okay?” “If my father asked of it, it should be. Don’t worry; I’m sure he has told Jack to keep out of my hair. Plus, I don’t think you will run away,” she laughed heartily, twirling back and forth. Her smile was so big; a banana could fit between her lips. Her father must have been the one Grey was talking to. Thinking this I started pointing out the many hiding spots of the helping plants. The leaves falling according to the changing season were leaving the branches bare and no doubt, cold. “Your father is the leader?” “Acting-leader; the pilgrimage was going wonderfully, until those thugs that call themselves Highwaymen started demanding without asking. But, that is their nature, I suppose.” “Thugs?” “You know thieves. The bad side of the less fortunate. Sometimes they are less fortunate,” Sophia shrugged at the comment. The breeze of the wind spoke to the trees as we walked further off the path of the woods and into the little pockets of the unknown in the living fabric of the land. “Pilgrimage? Is that a sort of travel? That could explain how you came to be here, in this new place.”

“I am still curious to how you guessed that we were not from here,” Sophia paused to look at me and my strange attire. “It wasn’t a guess. One reason was your speech. Then, it was George’s and Jack’s wardrobe. It obviously isn’t what I am used to wearing. I’ve never seen anything like it. And then, there is your technology. Never before yesterday had I heard of or seen a lantern,” I stooped to poke out another hiding place of a spice. “Technology? I’ve never heard such a phrase,” Sophia continued plucking the plants and placing them in her basket, slowly reducing the filling space. “It is a word describing materials used to work something, possibly making one job in life easier.” Sophia stopped once more and placed hands on her hips, pursing her lips at me. I could tell all this must have been awkward to believe. Her worn boots were planted firmly in the ragged grass, standing on top of another herb. Not getting her expression, I ed over the conversation to proceed with the search of cowardly plants. “You are standing on top of one,” I let my finger guide her eyes to her booted feet. “This is the most magical place I’ve come upon, even with your weird talk and queer questions that everyone knows the answers to,” the girl bent down, collecting the fruits of her search, “It is almost as if you were trying to tell me I was on another world entirely. Not a day in my life on this earth have I heard such things.” “Earth?” “You joker, that is where we live! I suppose now you are going to be like George and go telling everyone that we aren’t where we should be. I know me and the camp’s lost, you don’t have to go telling me such things. We are not on another world, we can’t be. It isn’t possible,” she sounded unconvinced. There was a pause, the wind traveling from the tops of the vanishing canopy to the floor, brushing past my collar. I started to think. Was it possible to between worlds?

“What if it was possible? To find oneself on another planet?” I spoke aloud to the wind. “Things like that can’t really happen,” Sophia retorted, her normal voice pushing back the disbelief. It almost sounded as if she wanted to believe it. “What if it was?” I said again. “But it can’t be!” Sophia gripped the handle of the basket, turning to leave. Taking a few steps she stopped and began to whisper. Speaking in her natural language her words were unknown to me. Looking up at the covered sky, Sophia took her right hand, touching her forehead and shoulders, finishing her pleading monologue. “This isn’t the first time people have come up lost. There have been others.” “Others lost? Are you saying that they were from other worlds as well? Where are they now?” “I really can’t say.” I felt like a lost kid. Just telling her that her people weren’t where they should have been brought this terrible feeling over me. There was a pause once more, the wind blowing harder, taking the words out of our mouths. “I’m sorry. This is just all new to me and, I had asked the Lord to let me escape. I didn’t think he would take me this far. Why not tell me more about this place?” The thought of giving a history tour of any kind threw me off balance. I could feel myself toppling off that cliff into the dark hole below. My imagination even provided the hungry monster to push me past the edge. “I, uh. Follow me,” I motioned. I took a breath, clearing my head of all the evil that shrouded it. We ed a few familiar trees with guiding notches. Following these faint symbols, I led Sophia to a sacred grove of trees. A twitch in my hand slapped my leg, that urge to practice haunting me. The very mistake that got me in this situation to begin with.

“The world that we are on has no name. This section of the world sits on the main landmass along the north. This land has no name,” I relayed along the way. “How is it that it has no name?” “It is said that before there even was land, there was nothing. A bigger force created everything out of nothing. It could be that they wanted to that we appeared from thin air, so they didn’t name it. I really don’t know,” I itted. Picking more spices along the route and telling me of their pilgrimage, Sophia and I came upon the Dead Grove, the only part of the Lightning Woods that remained dead. These trees tilted, pale white from lack of bark, scorched from fire. Leaves no longer existed on the branches where life used to dwell. Coming upon this sad scene, I told of its recent history. “There is an old legend of great evil that comes with these trees. The legend says that about 400 years before this day and time, great evil possessed the people who tended this land. They lived among these trees. These people lost sight of a bigger world. They stole; they killed sacred animals and destroyed many people’s lives. The evil forces that possessed these people hid themselves in the weak of heart. Many didn’t see themselves as they really were. They were lost. These people were here to protect and save people who were lost, not to be lost themselves. The evil in them controlled their minds and bodies, leaving the lands in danger and leaving the forgotten ones lost.” Further into the trees the echoes of the birds seemed to fade as though nothing truly lived here any longer. The dead trees stood as monuments for that dark time. A time forgotten among the surrounding life. Sophia held her basket at her side, letting it sway freely with the movements of her skirts. Her eyes wandered the environment, a silent awe to her voice, “Are the evil forces still at work?” She made the same motion as before, touching her forehead, chest and shoulders in order. Top to bottom, left to right. She looked at me, my history lesson becoming a slight reality. I shook my head, the wind now climbing to my chin past my jacket. The dark row of trees in front of me waited in vain for their leaves to grow back. “No, these forces one day met a man. It is said that he traveled far from across the clear waters of the Ocean of Glass. He was possessed with one of these

forces and resisted its power. The power tore at his chest, fighting within him to get out. It still didn’t work. This man fought against the urge, even when the rest of these dark energies ed that one already inside him. He held those forces inside. In the end, somehow, he locked all the evil in these very trees. With them out, the man felt relieved, but empty.” I looked at each tree in turn, the blackened surface deeper than an empty night sky. I felt my hand twitch again, violently slapping my thigh. Grunting under my breath, I calmed the stupid urge to practice and continued with the tale. “One by one before the man’s eye, each of these trees were struck by lightning, setting them on fire. They are never to grow again. That is the best part of the whole story. You see, it rarely storms like that on this world. It is so rare to see a lightning strike at all,” I finished. I turned away from the black stained wood, clinching a fist with my tremor convulsing hand. “How were the forces trapped in the trees?” Sophia asked as we found a proper path leading away from the sacred trees. “I don’t know it was lost in translation or something.” “It was a miracle,” Sophia said. “What?” “A miracle that the man survived. A miracle that only God could give.” “God?” I turned to wait for the leader’s daughter to catch up, trying to clear my head as well. “God. The one who sent us here. Who has seen fit to give me my escape. He is the reason we are here. He has made each and every one of us.” I took to rubbing my forehead, not acknowledging that I had no idea what or who she spoke of. Without skipping a step, Sophia ed me on the path and continued to marvel over her escape.

“Nothing like this I’ve seen on Earth. Clearer skies and grand lands. Nothing like Scotland. The only thing that I always looked forward to on Earth was the sunrise, sunset and the deep blue sky in the middle of it all. If only I could see things like a bird!” Sophia sighed. I opened my eyes from the brief rest I allowed them, looking through the trees’ uppermost branches and looking at the sky. All I saw was the usual green of the atmosphere. “Blue?” I caught up with her. “Yes. Blue. Though I have never seen a sky as dark blue as the one you hold here,” she lifted her face to the light cast through the branches by the Sol. She kept walking down the path, leading to a clearing where a view of the heavens reigned down upon us. “No. The sky is green,” I corrected her. Sophia shook her head at me, the common sign for disagreement, “No. It is blue. The sky has always been blue. The grass is green!” Her eyebrows furrowed, her gaze questioning and confused as if I’d told her a riddle. I wagged my head again, her words coming from a dream. I waved my hands in front of me, warding off anymore unbelievable facts that she said. “The grass is blue. The sky is green. It always has been and I have never heard of the sky being illuminated in a bright blue. Why say it is blue when it is in fact green?” I saw a blaze in Sophia’s eyes as she looked up at me. “The sky is blue as my eyes are green, though brighter and livelier than the grass before us!” I puzzled over what this stranger was telling me, taking a glance back to where the crumbling trees should have been. How could the sky be blue, when it covered us with its perfect green? “Then what of the Sol? Are you going to tell me that is does not shine a brilliant purple?”

This testing thought blew into my mind as the wind wove around my neck and into my face. I watched Sophia’s face as it contorted some more, showing even more amazement than before. “Do you not mean the Sun? It must be blinding you, for it is yellow, not purple as you say,” her voice was stern and direct, reminding me of Papa and what he would do to me when I returned home late. She crossed her arms, the basket tipping to one side. “I don’t believe so. Like the color of your dress, the pale red dye,” I turned away momentarily from the look on her face which grew more angered. This time, she didn’t look at her dress. Instead, placing the nearly full basket on the ground she gripped her fingers tightly in her palms, placing them in their usual positions at her hips. “My dress. Is not. Red. It is orange. The sky is not green. It is blue. The Sun, not Sol is yellow. Not purple as you see it,” she gave a huff. I felt my hand convulse savagely, my urge to practice growling in my mind. My mistake will never leave me. Taking this into consideration, I held my hand steady, asking a simple question. Is what she saying true? “If you say so, I’ve lived with a green sky. I live with a purple Sol. I can’t find any reason that what you say is wrong. You believe it. We must have been taught differently,” I said coolly. “I don’t see how that separates us. I am as human as you are.” “I’m not saying we are not in the same form. I am merely saying that our backgrounds are different. I am from this world, while you are from…” “Earth!” “Yes, Earth. We have lived with different rules. Different lessons different beliefs,” I explained. Slowly her hands lowered from her hips, brushing the wrinkles in her dress. A silent O formed in her mouth as she thought about my reasoning, “I guess I can see what you say. I see colors differently than you. It isn’t that they are different,

we just name them differently?” “Yes. We give each color a different name.” Sophia laughed as she picked up the basket of herbs. Brushing her hair from her face she could help, but point out a simple funny fact. “So, if I were to believe you, that I am somehow on another world other than Earth, then my eyes are actually blue. And not green?” I shrugged, a smirk plastered over my face, “Yes. You are for once, correct.”

Periit

H e felt as he did 40 years before. Lost. Standing in the rough valley surrounded with vermilion stone, Periit rubbed his scarred face. Taking in the dry heat he turned to a body next to him, relaying progress. “It’s coming soon. It won’t be for another year, yet. Take a change of scenery and send a message to our good friends in River Village.” His company nodded, leaving the natural stone bench in the side of the cliff. “Any names I should relay to the Wise Famille?” he asked before disappearing into the floating dust. “They will know in time,” Periit turned back to the view in front of him. Adjusting his cloak, Periit followed his now gone company into the mid-day dust storm. It wasn’t a long walk to the barracks as he blindly walked away from the bench. The howl of the wind cried, cutting off the warmth of the Sol that beamed down from the heavens. Taking the home-made knob in his marked hand, Periit pushed open the door to reveal the interior of the barracks. The living space of the first room was average size, the fireplace in the far corner of the room leaving the bunk beds to be pushed against the wall on the opposite side. Closing the door behind him against the raging wind and dust, Periit unclasped his cloak. Lightening his shoulders of the weight, he hung the heavy cloth on the hall tree to the left of the door. “At least you made it back in time,” Guy sat down at the table, standing at attention in the middle of the room. “I’m not worried about the storm. It is small compared to what I came through when I got here. This is one of the many things it takes to be a Warder. The

ability not to worry for oneself. You first have to see to it that others are provided for,” Periit stated as he brushed the sand out of his graying hair, “They don’t teach that in Training. You have to find that out yourself.” Guy watched as his older companion maneuvered around the room, first checking to see that the door closed securely, then ing the table to the fireplace. Opening the chest that sunk into the floor to the left of the bricklayered fireplace, Periit began to pattern the wood among the cold ashes of the previous blaze. “Why are you setting up? It is hotter than anything out there,” Guy said, twisting around in his seat. “You must know that in an area such as this, the temperature is dependent on the Sol. When it is watching over us, the heat rises. When the Sol leaves, the cold feeling of the world sneaks back in. You will be comfortable with a fire.” Setting the neatly stacked wood ablaze, Periit took his seat at the table as the wind blew open the door for the returning traveler. Pressing the thin door closed he also took his cloak off and hung it on the hall tree. “How was your visit with the Wise Famille, Leo?” Periit asked. “They knew they would have a call soon. Jeffery said that there was bound to be more than one in need of help,” Leo sat down at the table. “There are always more lost.” “Like you, Periit?” Guy asked. Periit looked between the two other Warders. The truth of it was that everyone was lost. Most of these people never find out they were truly lost in themselves, not because of their unfamiliar surroundings. “You could say that, Guy. Though I was lost in more than one way. I had forgotten who I was, where I came from, among other things,” he answered. Excusing himself, Leo left the new recruit and his elder at the table, searching for the fourth Warder who was still in the make-shift cooking area. Moving past the bunks, Leo exited through a second door, leaving the small room.

“How did you come to be here?” “I thought they would have covered the legend in Training?” Periit folded his hands on the table. “Well, sure they did. I just didn’t buy it,” Guy stated. Falling silent, the room grew darker as the mood changed slightly. It was true that the legend had its flaws, the many holes that were never fully filled correctly. It wasn’t easy to keep the past buried. Periit closed his eyes in memory.

It was that fateful hour that he woke up, a lightning strike returning to the skies above him. How he survived the strike was dangerously unbelievable. How anyone could was a mystery itself. At this point, this man didn’t realize where he was, who he was, or that the lightning had chosen him of all the living, to transport him to another world.

George

Week 2, Day 9 O nly an hour had ed after Sophia took Morse on that walk, guiding him around the camp as if he were a lost boy at a winter festival. Minutes later, they couldn’t be found anywhere in the camp as they entered the w oods. I was left to ponder over my own thoughts of all that was said. Did I really believe his story? It wasn’t that I didn’t, but if? Could I trust his word? I even spilled my thoughts of being lost where we shouldn’t have been lost. Time didn’t as I felt it should have as I noticed Morse’s older friend leave the camp. Where could he possibly be going without Morse? Even Sophia’s father came out of the tent to see him off. “Sir?” I asked. “Yes, George?” “Shouldn’t Morse be leaving with him?” “Don’t fret over it. Grey has told me something interesting and I wanted to take it up with the boy’s father. He is simply going to retrieve Morse’s father. We will see him again, not to worry,” he sat down beside me. I held this book in my hands, contemplating what more I could record in it, taking in the conversation as it was said. “You know, actually, what Grey had to say was along the line of your theories.” “Really, Sir? Can I bother you for details? You know how everyone flicks away what I’ve been saying.” “I would rather be sure of this before spreading it further,” he said. “Yes, Sir.”

Joanne came bounding up, a line of her little friends following her like ducklings. Follow the leader was one of the few games that could still be played around the camp without disturbing the work among the community. Her single braid swung from side to side as she galloped past the tent. I could only wonder what made her go up to Morse earlier. Curiosity wasn’t a thing that would kill her like it would a feline. Among her little friends, Hunter was characterized as a brave one, though I’d never seen him take on a bear cub, let alone a toad. Being one of the older ones in the group he must throw around dares to feel older. Joanne always had this confidence streak, like Athair had. He would take it upon himself to prove his bravery and skill. No doubt Joanne inherited some of this quality from him. “Joanne, you be careful to stay nearby,” Mother looked up from her knitting briefly, giving her fingers a rest for all of five seconds. Joanne gave a meek giggle before riding off around the corner, her tribe following right behind. It was a sight just to watch her play. “This job is tedious work. I really don’t see the reason for me to heft all this water when everyone else can get their own supply. The creek is only ten strides from here!” I turned my attention to Jack as he rumbled up behind me and our leader, hefting the water pouches, his bearded face red from the effort. I could feel the drumming of his heart as his pulse raced. “Why call it tedious? I now see how you get all your fighting muscle. No wonder you always win,” a laugh escaped me as I looked at him. It wasn’t the muscle that helped him in a fight, but his stubbornness and his love of drink. “George is right. This work helps you keep in shape. You gain muscle and it keeps your back straight and makes you stronger,” Sophia’s father ed in, not seeing through my words. Jack grumbled, walking around our seats to stand in front of us, his breathing coming in huffs and wheezes, “Sure it keeps my back straight. As straight as any raging river.” The complaining man began to move off to deliver his water supply, stopping

once more at the sound of Sophia’s voice. Her yell surrounded us as she jogged in the middle from the direction Jack had come, her dress swinging around her legs as if in the middle of a dance. And staying close, the stranger I’d come to know as Morse, followed. “Dad. You have to hear this! You have to hear what Morse and I have figured out!” she stopped to take a breath, her golden hair and wild braids flowing into her face. I couldn’t help, but find this image comforting, it reminding me of Elizabeth when excited out of her wits. Jack was ready to throw down the water, but thought better of it, Sophia’s father giving him leave to finish his chore. Grumbling in his enemy’s direction, Jack left the circle. “Dad. You should hear these unbelievable words. How can I say this?” she placed the basket down, herbs spilling out one side. “Slow down. Take another breath,” her father placed his hands on her shoulders as if to stop her from flying away. “Dad. Morse says that we are no longer on familiar soil. That we are no where near where we should be, like George has been saying,” she looked to Morse, then to me. Morse looked to me, asking what was being said. ing the earlier confusion, I helped Sophia repeat her words. Taking in the translated speech, Morse defended his words. “Not in those exact words. I simply stated that you were in a new world, compared to the land you have come from. To say the least, you are no longer on earth,” Morse explained in his own language. “What? You can’t be saying that. You must be pulling our legs with this!” I said, not believing what my ears were hearing. I looked among the rest of the heads in this revealing conversation. Sophia’s father looked between us, his expression contorting ever-so-slightly. Realizing this predicament, I translated Morse’s explanation. “Truly? That is what your friend Grey had said to me, that my people were no

longer in the world where they belonged. How have you come to this conclusion?” Sophia’s father begged for one of us to translate. Sophia herself took this role, relaying her father’s words to Morse. Not long into this explanation, I then translated the shaven man’s words to our guide and leader. “I had corrected Sophia on the color of the sky, as well as a few other objects and such and she didn’t believe my words…,” Morse continued as I translated. To save a few lines of paper, I will summarize what I translated. There is a legend of a man who took on these evil forces and defeated them. I also found that lightning is rare and known as a type of miracle. Colors are named differently:

Red = Orange Yellow = Purple Green = Blue

Greed is not known as it is at home: There are no thieves or Highwaymen. War has not existed for thousands of years and no laws or armies are required to keep the peace. This stopped me. I kept my eye on Morse, not believing what he said. “Wait! You said that you were in training to be a soldier. Why be trained to be a soldier if there are no wars?” I asked. “I don’t get what you mean,” he shook his head. “Soldiers fight. If there are no wars, no battles or even conflicts, why is there a fighting force?”

“But there is no fighting,” Morse said this slowly, his voice stumbling over the word, ‘fighting’. He took a step back, holding up a hand to ward off any possible threat of . His other hand wiggled at his side. It twitched slightly, closing into a fist as if trying to stop the motion. Bringing up my eyes to his face, I could see that the current subject wasn’t the easiest to talk about. “Then what is a soldier?” Sophia then asked Morse directly. Morse looked at her, his hand falling back to his side and the twitching at his side coming under his control. Taking a breath, he proceeded to answer her question and settle my confusion. “A soldier is, in a way, a better class of living.” “Do you mean like riches and little work?” “No. Whatever riches are, they aren’t part of the bargain. Better living is the act of doing whatever possible to help the next person. Simply, instead of working for a living to sustain oneself, you can choose to do more.” “But couldn’t you do that anyway?” I asked, even more confused. “Yes, but this is a different thing altogether. Soldier is the Training term for Warder. You see…?” He stopped, a yell emitting from behind us. I turned to see who this loud exclamation belonged to, not seeing anyone. Morse didn’t move, eyes widening briefly. Then, groaning into his hands, he rubbed his forehead. “Hello Papa!” Morse yelled back.

Morse

G eorge jumped when Papa yelled. Feeling Papa’s mad gaze already, I took to groaning. Sophia looked at her father, not finding the yelling man anywhere in sight. Yelling back my greeting I waited for him to appear from the woods. “Your father?” George asked, still looking for him. “Yes. He likes to take his time while making an entrance. I’m guessing he knows that it tortures my nerves,” I said. Everyone looked to the woods, waiting. Sophia’s father looked between us and the trees, tapping on George’s shoulder to ask what going on. My bearded friend complied, speaking in his natural speech, leaving me to wonder what was really being said. “Morse! What are you doing here?” The loud voice of Papa came rising from the edge that separated the camp from the woods. I could feel the lines on my mouth contort, the ends dropping down, forming a steep hill over my chin. I waited to answer once he came closer, the sight of him not as terrifying as my imagination played it out to be. “Papa. It was just…” “Don’t say, ‘another mistake.’ That is always your excuse. Don’t tell me this little ‘curse’ of yours got you here in this camp. It got you out of Training, but did not get you here!” his voice rang in my ears even though he wasn’t yelling. I could tell he was mad, the hair on my neck standing on end. “No. It was a misunderstanding. I spent too much time–I was wasting time and I settled down for the night and…” I paused, not sure how to phrase the next part of my story. I couldn’t help being

more than a day late, stuck on my reoccurring mistake. And on top of that, being knocked over the head for being out late. I gazed around the small group, Grey appearing beside George as silently as he usually does. George jumped, recognizing a form beside him. His face opened up, a legendary and imaginative monster materializing in front of his eyes. “George, it’s only Grey.” Sophia’s father once again asked what was going on, though I could not distinguish any real words in his natural language. Instead of either Sophia or George answering him, this time Papa surprised me by calmly stepping forward, a new language falling from his throat. I stepped back, left out of the equation. I had no idea what was being said and if any of it was about the situation I was in. George inched his way beside me, Grey breaking into the conversation consisting of Papa and Sophia’s father. “Your friend can really sneak up on people,” George crossed his arms. “Yes. He always got a kick out of spooking me. I’ve gotten used to it,” I bragged, a laugh in my throat. “I don’t think I could ever get used to it.” I shook my head, the communication between us making me laugh. Even if he didn’t trust me, he felt comfortable enough to confide in me. “What are they saying?” I leaned over a bit, my towering form creating a shadow. “Sophia’s father was asking for details, because he can’t understand your language. Your father is telling him your relation and wanted to settle the specifics of your absence. Sophia’s father is explaining the misunderstanding and…” George paused, Papa started to laugh and turn his head to see my face. What he could be laughing at, I didn’t dare guess. “Now they are reasoning over the debate that we are on a different world. Now your father is saying how he is going to talk to you about it. Grey is agreeing

with this.” He stopped again. He looked at me, his arms still crossed. Taking his time, George looked down at my boots, moving up to the cuffs of my pants, up to my shirt. Then, he met my face. My clean shaven face. “Talk about what exactly?” I asked “Something about taking our people home.”

Grey

G rey left the camp, the new information concerning these people pulling at his mind’s string. Returning to his corner of the woods in the land with no name, Grey wove his way through the garden he brought back to life. The first time he came upon this space the small cabin was falling apart and empty. The garden was nothing but a mess of tangles and dying fruit, being picked over by various critters. Opening the door to his adopted house, he set down his travel gear. Feeling the distance between him and Mol and his son, he readied the table in the room next to the living space where the pictures sat on the mantle. Reentering the living space, Grey numbered off the books in the bookcase, pulling out the needed maps. Taking the selected books and map, he set them on the table in the next room, ready for Mol to bring Morse. With time to spare, Grey took a seat in front of the fireplace, taking time to rest from such a busy day. If it wasn’t enough to find Morse, the 34 year-old kid, he himself found a lost race from Earth. Talking to Harold, acting-leader of the camp, Grey managed to convince him that they were no longer on their planet.

“What do you mean?” Harold asked the typical question. “I am saying that when you were on your journey, your pilgrimage, you stepped through a age that brought you here. You possibly ed through this age when you were padding down for the night,” Grey had explained. To this, Harold gave the Sign of the Cross, praying under his breath for answers. “Is there a way, do you suppose, to help us back?” he asked. He rubbed his graying beard nervously. Grey nodded.

It wasn’t until Grey brought the subject to Mol, revealing Morse’s location that they pondered over the question. Grey stood up, walking over to the mantle and pictures. Taking an old Polaroid photo in his hand he paused. Someone was coming up the path. More than one. Knowing perfectly well who it was. Grey grasped the cold knob and opened wide the old, moss stained door. “Welcome back! It took you a while, didn’t it?” Grey yelled to the figures appearing at the edge of the woods. “No need to welcome us!” Morse’s father yelled in his normal volume. Still fingering the photo in his hand Grey left the doorway to greet his long-time companion and his son.

Morse

W ith a frustrated glare, Papa took my arm, pulling me away from the camp. I had no choice but to follow him through the woods away from the mass population of differently taught people. To think that they named their colors strangely. “Papa. They aren’t from here,” I tried to relay my findings. “Yes. They are not from here,” he said, his voice loud. Not saying anything else on the subject, Papa led me further into the woods, the leaves falling everywhere. I couldn’t place where he was taking me, the path growing narrow. Walking along this dirt path the wind brushed my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. I could only guess what the wind was trying to communicate with me. Even the warmth on the breeze brought on a cold touch, causing the cloaked figure to step from behind another tree behind me. Watching my steps. “Where are we going?” I stumbled along the path, Papa’s grim expression sending another cold shivery feeling down my back. “I need to tell you something, but first, Grey and I are going to explain something to you. Something that will help those people,” his voice sounding harsh. Not allowing a pause for thought, a sound broke the tension I could see in Papa’s face. Grey’s voice welcomed me back, though I had seen him at least forty minutes before. We walked up a slight hill, where Papa pulled me into a clearing. In the clearing stood a building, a small shack-like structure weather worn and humble, compared to the tall housing used at Training. I counted the plants that surrounded the building growing toward the Sol. Standing in the middle of the garden was Grey waving as if he hadn’t seen me only minutes before arriving. I glanced around the clearing, the area new to me.

“I didn’t know you lived around here. I thought you traveled everywhere, a nohome man.” “Not entirely true, Morse. I live here when I’m not traveling for work.” “It looks great,” I said. Papa finally let go of my arm as we ed through the gate into the garden. He waved his hand, beckoning me to follow him through the garden filled with budding flowers as well as herbs, legumes and fruit, to the front of the shack. Vines wound around the base of the building, climbing closer to the skies. Stepping through the portal I entered a new void. Everything that Grey possessed I’d never seen before. Mysterious technology that frightened me as the lantern had when George taught me its use. Two chairs sat in the middle of the room, staring at the cold fireplace. The wall behind the cushioned seats was lined with shelves, different objects organized on each level. The shelves were packed with vast collects. My head spun, the sight of stars invading my imagination as a dizzy feeling ed over me. Taking in even more shelves beside the fireplace I gaped at the mantle, more pieces of art catching my eye. What was all of this? “What is all of this?” “All of ‘this’,” Grey said, “Is only part of what we have to tell you.” “What?” “Just hear us out. Questions will be answered afterwards.” I pushed myself past the chairs and into the next room, a table covered in maps and piles of books. Besides the crowded table the room contained a relic barrel slumping in a corner and various papers plastered on all four sides of this live-in box. Across the floor and half-way down the painted ceiling, a window opened up to a backyard view. “Morse, take a seat.”

Pulling out a chair for myself, I sat straight and waited for a lesson. Both Papa and Grey sat down across from me, the papers covering the wooden slab with legs, creased and crinkled under their hands. Grey set down a thin plane of paper on the table, sliding it under a book. This action disturbed the dust on the materials, causing a plume of particles to rise up. My nose twitched, a sneeze coming on. “As you’ve…” An explosion interrupted Papa, dust rising from the cover of the book on the table as I sneezed. Taking a deep breath, I gagged, sneezing again. “Are you finished?” “Ask my nose,” I wiped my nose on my sleeve. After another sneeze, we continued. “As you’ve figured out, these people are not from here. They are of a different world,” Papa began. “Yes. They name their colors differently, they dress in strange attire that is made from the wool they get from their sheep, they have a way for carrying fire and speak of miracles and God,” I interjected, a finger lifted. “Thank you, Morse. Now please, wait.” I let my finger drop, tilting my head with a nod. I was never one to sit still for very long. “And they come from Earth. How do you suppose they got here?” Grey asked me. I opened my mouth, most likely to give a smart remark, but truthfully I had no idea. Without any sound, I shut my trap and let them continue with their lecture. “There are many ways that people can travel from one point to another. Around here, we use horses, wagons and our own two feet to get from place to place. On other planets in other galaxies and ponds of free floating stars, they have greater technology. A few pieces of this advanced technology are bikes and a motorized object known as an automobile,” Grey creaked open a book, flipping through a

few musty pages to land on hand-drawn art of what looked like a massive housing posed on wheels. I glanced at the real-life drawing, the materials of the model unknown to me. “But in this case, how these people got from point A, Earth, to point B, here, is a different kind of transportation altogether. You see, there are theories of Time Travel as well,” Papa put roughly, sorting through a few maps that lay on the rotting wood. “Are you saying that they are from the future or something? Are they from a time where we call this planet, Earth?” “No. This is another example of travel, but the travel that they used, we know as Tempus Portals. It could be said that it is a combination of travel through time and distance. How they form, we have begun to thread through,” Grey closed the book, causing me to sneeze. “A Tempus Portal?” “Yes. This is how every one of those other folks found themselves here. After they discovered that they weren’t where they should have been, a guide would help them find their way and…?” “And take them to the Warders to receive further directions to get back home,” I stated. Grey left the room and came back with something in his hand. Sitting down again he placed an object that stood tall on the table, flicking another contraption open in his hand. A flame appeared. I could feel my eyes go wide, Grey touching the flame to the object he placed on the table, causing it to light. I staggered back in my chair, two of its legs lifting off the floor briefly. I’m sure I gasped, but the momentary surprise knocked me senseless. “How? What is that? I didn’t…,” “You were kicked out of Training before this lesson could be reached. You see, everyone who enters Training learns a small amount of the technology that is out there and how it could be used,” Grey said, snapping closed the clinking thing in his hand, “This stick is made of wax and is known as a candle. It is similar to a lantern. And this little toy in my hand is called a Lighter. With a brush of a finger, instant fire. It was brought to this world by people whose world was

further along than we are at this point.” “This world wasn’t always this primitive when it came to technology,” Papa added. “I don’t understand. Are you saying…?” “We are saying that this world used to flourish with technology like this. People would build it up, invent things and promote them. All of this was before our time, you see. Nearly 50,000 years ago this world was said to be infested with bicycles and a lighter in each pocket,” the lecture bounced back to Grey. “What happened? Where did all these devices go?” I leaned forward in my chair, looking over the candle, the low light flickering over the lighter that Grey had set on the table. “Well, it is said that the folks back then had discovered these objects while exploring the untamed land. This must have been 500 years after the waters receded and revealed the mountains and valleys that surround us now. From study of these artifacts, they concluded that the population before them, before the waters, had progressed highly in the technological field, leaving behind these out-dated tools,” Papa leaned back in his seat away from the light, hiding his face. I felt his gaze on me, sending a tingle through my hand. A high-pitched whine slid through my mind, the gears in my head beginning to work harder. What were these two trying to tell me? What was all of this information about articles of technology and Tempus Portals? “What we are trying to tell you,” Grey said, reading my mind, “Is that these people need a guide if they want to get home.” “I know they need a guide. Everyone who shows up leaves with a guide, like you, or Papa. You’ve pointed people in the right direction before.” “Yes, we are guides. But did you know that everyone who goes into Training is meant to guide people? What I am saying is that it is your turn to take these people home,” Grey said. “What? No. I can’t. I didn’t even finish Training!”

“That doesn’t matter. At this point in time, neither I nor your father can guide these people. Only you can. It is your turn. Now, before you object any more, you need to know these people have a limited time to get home,” Grey said. I knew my mouth was hanging open. I could feel gravity weigh it down as it wagged. My vocal cords were too tight to let anything other than a whining squeak out. What was I going to do? I had no knowledge of guiding people from one world to the next. “Before you are due to leave I must tell you, you will have to learn a second language.” As he was saying this, Papa picked up the book that sat in front of Grey, a thick piece of paper floating from the bottom. Taking the book he dropped it back onto the table in front of me. Dust rose in the light of the candle, causing me to extinguish the flame with a sneeze. “Morse, I want you to skim the words in this book. I want you to take in these points. It will help you learn their language and be able to help your guiding skills.” I slid it off the table, not able to read the title from the lack of light. With a metallic click, a flame was again brought forth from the lighter, bringing the wick of the candle back to life. The title lit up, a sheen gliding over the hard cover. Time to Travel: The Journey to a Tempus Portal Turning back the cover, drawn pictures and various words came into view. They depicted a different lifestyle, leaving certain jobs to mechanical tools. A life time I didn’t live in. “Did you tell Sophia’s father about the Portal?” I asked, figuring it was too dark to start reading. Closing the book I listened to the rustle as one of the two older men sifted through musty papers scattered over the table top. “No. That is your job, too. Now pay attention. You will need to memorize this map as well. This is the only copy I have and we don’t have enough time to make another,” Papa said, pulling out his own copy. “Are you saying that the Portal is not around here?”

“No. You will have to go to the River Village and talk to the Wise Famille. Take the leader of the camp with you, they will tell him what he needs to know. The Wise Famille will tell you where you need to go.” I looked over the map, realizing how big this place was compared to the rest of the world. Taking in the situation further, I could feel the twitch in my hand progress, the mad-man in me wanting to come out. Trying to stop the twitch I slapped my other hand over it, making the thick book sound hollow underneath. “Morse, I don’t want you acting out again! Not like you have done in the past,” Papa stood up at the sound of my moan, “Pay attention to the map. Memorize it well.” I let go of my hand, the tremors calming down. I placed the book back on the table, the map smoothed out to one side. I held my breath, looking between the two figures across the table from me. “I already have the map memorized,” I said.

Mol

M orse’s father knew why his son’s hand was twitching. It had done that since he was younger. His son’s reaction to the mission wasn’t encouraging. “Morse, this task is important. Don’t act like a know-it-all,” Mol said, his expression gleaming in the candle’s light. Morse’s expression didn’t change the almost ghost-like lost glare. He would’ve looked hurt if he even allowed himself to slouch in his seat. The one thing that Mol could count on was Morse’s straight-back posture. “Papa. It was required in Training. I know every inch of this map,” Morse’s hand wiggled. Mol waved his hand, the flame dancing to the side, trying to stay alive. He could feel that frustration come back, a grim knot forming out of his eyebrows. “Now you are being a know-it-all, Morse. But that isn’t the only thing that has to be memorized. Follow my finger,” Grey calmly placed a hand on the map, tracing a path from the land that held no name, southeast toward Rain Shadow that ed into the Haunted Valley. Further past the valley his finger stopped at the Cork-Screw Fork. “At the fork you must go to the left and ride along the border of the Plains in order to get to the River Village. To guide these people to the fork you will need wagons and horses. You will get those at the trading post few days walk from here,” Grey instructed. “Is that all?” “No. A Tempus Portal stays open a year after the travelers fall through. In order to get back to Earth they have to go through that one portal,” Mol stated. “What if they don’t get there in time?” Morse’s hand started to tap the book that he placed on the table. Mol watched as the boy’s fingers danced wildly, the hand rumbling as if it had a mind of its own. Before something happened, his hand

would slow down. Morse looked at his father, the map gone and the resounding thumps of his hand growing. Not taking his eyes from Mol, Morse slapped his hand again, holding it still over the cover of the book. “Then they are stuck here. There have been a few cases where people have missed the opening and had to stay. There is always the possibility that they can jump another Portal, but it is unsure if they would end up where they belonged,” Grey said as he slid the picture of past travelers off the table and secreted it in the dark of his hands. Mol felt the floor rumble underneath his feet before Grey had completed his sentence. Beyond the candle Morse’s shadow moved across the wall and out of the room, the book left at the corner of the shaking table. With a huff, Mol bid Grey a reckless farewell and exited the shack-like house, following his son. “Morse. Come back here!” Mol felt his voice boom across the tops of the trees. “Papa. I have to tell Sophia. Tell George. I have to tell all of them before it is too late!” Morse’s breathless voice snagged on the branches of the natural columns he ran past. Mol felt himself gasp, realizing what his son was really doing to save these strangers from another world. In the waning light of the setting Sol, Mol put on speed, catching his boy’s sleeve. “Morse. Stop!” he yelled, “You will have plenty of time tomorrow.” “No, Papa. I…” “Do you intend on leaving without even thinking about your mother? She has been waiting to see you,” Morse’s father yanked the tall boy back, redirecting him to the path marked ‘home’. The dirt under their feet crunched, the claw-like hands of the trees reached to the heavens and the birds sang their lullabies. Mol stood behind Morse, the house looming before them. Walking around the brick circled fire-pit in front, Mol called Jun out.

Walking up the pebbled walkway, Morse embraced his mother. “Hello Mother. Did you hear?” “I’ve heard nothing yet. I still need to talk to your Papa for a minute,” Jun gave a glance to Mol, skipping the emotional greetings and getting down to business, “If you won’t mind, Morse.” Taking that as his cue, the tallest member of the house left, entering the home to leave the shorter adults to discuss his punishment in private.

Grey

A fter Morse ran out, guiding Mol with an invisible string, Grey was left alone. Just him, the lit candle and the photograph in his hand. It was quiet, even with the insects and night creatures chatting away. Piling the maps and books onto a corner of the table, Grey collected the book Morse left along with the candle and picture. Moving into the front room, Grey set the book down in one of the cushy chairs that sat before the fireplace. Setting the picture on top of the book, Grey took time to make a fire. Blowing out the candle, Grey watched as the new flames rose from among ashes. Bringing light into the room, Grey filled the other chair. Stretching out he picked up the photograph, gazing at it. It was only ten years after his first lesson in time travel that he had met up with his first free-lance lost group. The couple in the picture looked at the camera.

Their smiles couldn’t be more unique. The guy’s face was staring at the camera, uncertain about the picture it would take. “Is this good?” he asked. “Christopher, you know I love your smile!” Beside him his friend’s smile brightened the world, her eyes twinkling with confidence. She held the camera aloft in front of them, pressing the button to expose the film. With the metallic click, a flat paper-like square shot out. Taking the square in her fingers, she shook it. “It came out perfect! Look Christopher!” “Nah. Look at me, Lilac! I look paranoid,” Christopher laughed. “No. You look like you.”

Their irer sighed, tossing his head to one side, resting it on the padded corner of the chair. It had been a long day and he needed a rest before he hit the road. Thumbing the picture in his hand he glanced over at the other chair, ing that he had brought something else with him from the table. There was his sitting companion. The book that Morse forgot. Groaning, Grey got up from his easy chair and picked up the book. Slipping the photograph of Lilac and Christopher into the book, Grey made a hasty exit.

Morse

I n reality, leaving Papa and Mother to talk to each other was only half as private a conversation as they thought. With Papa’s loud ‘singing voice’ it wasn’t hard to figure out what they were talking about, even with more than one wall separating the irresponsible kid from his all-knowing guardians. I retreated down the hall to my room, finding it the way I had left it three years before. The walls were plain bare wood, brown stains from the imaginary mudpie fight oozing from the dry knotholes. I sat down, feeling my heartbeat swing in my ribs. The ropes of the bed frame sagged under me, the room looking as it had when I was shorter. Muscles tightened in my fingers, a spasm once again taking over the left limb of my body. Gripping the hand in a confined fist, I laid back on the cushion of the bed, overhearing Papa’s side of the conversation. “Yes. I told him so. It isn’t just that that really has me worried. It’s his hand. It has been wagging about like a dying animal. It’s been shivering like it is dying from the cold. How can I tell him, Jun?” Tell me what? This was the first I’d ever heard of Papa knowing something of the plague that infects my hand. The very reason I made that mistake at Training and why I’m back here. My life is one line with two points at each end. Sooner or later, instead of continuing the line that should be longer at this point, I turn back and hit the other end. And turning back is always labeled, ‘Mistake’. The ceiling lit up, someone lighting the fire-pit outside. The red hue roved around the empty space and into the far corners of the room. A groan raised my head off the bed, the window panes staring back in my direction. Outside, to the side of the clearing where flames of the fire couldn’t penetrate, was a light. A floating light. I could feel my body freeze as my feet took me away from the bed and closer to the glass. The floorboard sank, breaking the silence with a whining creak. I opened the window, the wind kissing my cheek as I stuck my head out.

Listening closely, the voices of my parents broke the crackle of fire as the breeze blew away the exact words. Knowing those two were still talking I felt I could make a break for it. I wanted to see what that light was. Or who was behind it. Pushing the frame open the rest of the way, I managed to squeeze out, only now finding out how much I’d grown since the last time I used this exit. Without the help of my tall form and gravity, my back ed with the ground, my boot sticking in the window frame as it came down. To my luck the window pane within the frame jammed, leaving my ankle untouched. Quietly struggling to release my foot from the nearly closed window, I anxiously hoped the two people talking about me didn’t hear my escape. Free from the house I peered around the corner, watching the shadows gesture to the building known as home. Turning away from the lively conversation, I followed the light in the woods as it bobbed and weaved. Entering the trees, the lack of light hid me as I neared the side of the clearing where I saw the light. Only looking back once, I stumbled away from the dim light of the fire. Falling leaves created shadows that flittered around me, sparking my imagination. With the wind touching my ear and whispering silence, the cloaked figure walked beside me, fading in and out of the dense fog it traveled with. I stopped, whipping away the fog in my mind and waving back the wind. Before me the floating light stayed stationary, hovering in front of the person holding it. The dark color of the cape seemed to glow in the light of the lantern, the hood drawn back from her bright hair. My foot fell down in front, a twig or some type of stick cracking from the pressure. Sophia spun around, anger in her voice as she spoke in her own tongue. This must be why I need to learn another language. Raising the lantern above her head to see my face clearly, she stopped. The smug lines falling away, the shadows that shrouded her face dissipating as well. The glow brightened her hair, creating a halo of blond. “Oh. It is only you, Morse. I about jumped out of my skin,” she laughed. “Who did you think I was? Jack?” I asked Sophia as she let the lantern fall lower.

“Aye. Jack is very protective of me. And his fighting ability, which is brought on by his love of drink,” Sophia shook her head. “Drink?” Sophia’s smile darkened, the flicker of the lantern bringing out a dimming mood. I could tell she was trying to figure out whether I was pulling her leg or genuinely lost as to what this ‘drink’ was. “Tis a type of spirit. A liquid with alcoholic properties, like wine or mead.” I still didn’t understand it. “Why are you all the way out here?” “I wanted to ask if there was any way for me and my people to get home, back to Earth. But truly, I still can’t grasp the whole situation, being somewhere other than Earth. It isn’t possible,” Sophia said. “I was on my way to tell you, but Papa wanted me home. Turns out that you came here by a Tempus Portal and it stays open for a limited time.” I answered the first question, not understanding how it was truly possible. “Limited time? Where is this…Portal?” “I don’t know,” I itted. There would have been more said. Both of us turned to look to the house, hearing the moan of a door opening. Behind it the face of Papa was shrouded within the flickering of the camp fire in the front of the building. The vision of him was fuzzy, the Sol totally gone from sight, taking its bright smile with it. “Morse! You should know that trick is getting old. I’m not falling for it again!” he said. “Yeah, Papa. I was just…,” “No more wandering off. We need to talk and your mother wants you to eat.” “I’ll be right there!” I raised my arm, waving him back into the interior.

I couldn’t help but chuckle, turning back from the memory of being able to sneak out of the house successfully. I stopped abruptly, Sophia’s face leaning into my personal space. I felt her eyes glowing at me, the reflection of the flames dancing around my face. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” her voice was soft. “I don’t know. The Portal is some other place. Look, in order to find the Tempus Portal, someone will have to go to the River Village to find the location.” I shuddered. The wind brushed at my hand, the unnoticed twitching slowing to a halt. Sophia leaned in closer, momentarily holding my attention, as if she wanted a closer look at my face. The lantern was lowered, casting the floating light around our feet. I wiped my infected hand along the seam in my pants, the fingers tapping crazily, helping the palm to play along. Then soon enough, I could feel my hand erratically vibrating. I held my breath, not sure what to make of Sophia’s leaning and proximity. Snap! I backed away, hoping my imagination wasn’t coming to life. Sophia jumped back, lifting the lantern above her, swerving to the abyss of darkness. “Jack! I told you not to follow me!” “You always tell me this, but should know that…,” “I should know what? That you don’t trust me enough to leave me to myself!” “I leave you to yourself and this is what I find.” Jack stepped into the low light, his finger pointed at me. I could feel his temper searing at me from his finger. “Jack, she…,” I started. My foot was allowed to fall before me before I was forced to stop. “Don’t you speak.” Jack stepped between me and Sophia. This allowed me to breathe normally,

despite the killer look in his angry eyes. Sophia gasped, grasping Jack’s shoulder with her free hand. “Jack. Don’t you start anything.” “It wasn’t me who started this. It is him. He is in the way,” Jack jabbed his finger in my chest. “In the way? You are the one standing in front of me,” I said. Jack growled, bringing up his now balled fist. I focused on his whitened knuckles, feeling my own hand tightening. The vibrating in my hand stopped, the tips of my fingers digging into my palm. “Jack,” Sophia said. The body before me got smaller, a feeling in my chest plucking at my lungs. The muscles in my face tightened and twitched. Somehow, I felt a twinge of anger. It started to rise in my… “Morse.” I felt a pat on my shoulder, my vision becoming clear. Jack jumped away, Grey appearing out of the dark like a ghost. With a yell, Jack fell back, trying to catch his breath. “It’s only Grey,” I informed Sophia who stood stalk still, the lantern swinging back and forth on its handle. I turned away from the pop-eyed statues and greeted Grey, returning his pat. “What are you doing here?” “You high-tailed it out of the house before you could to take this book with you,” Grey said, holding up Time to Travel: The Journey to a Tempus Portal. “Oh. I’m sorry. I forgot I was even supposed to read this.” I took the book, wishing Grey a good sleep before he left me alone to resolve the confusing dispute between Sophia and Jack.

“Morse!” Papa said, no warning from the door. “Wait a second!” “No, Morse. Now!” I turned back to Sophia, who was being pulled away by Jack, the floating light bobbing away. “Sorry. We need to be back in camp anyway,” Sophia said. “But, I haven’t told you everything!” “Come ‘round. Then you can tell everybody.” “Morse. Now!” Papa spoke louder. I cut through the foliage where Papa stood, holding open the door. Leaving the empty woods and blazing fire behind me I entered a room, brightened by fireplace in the corner where Mother was cooking the meal. “Morse! It has been a long time!” My mother wrapped me in her arms. “Yes. It certainly has, wouldn’t you think?” I tapped her on the back, waiting for her to let go. It was the custom that she nearly squeezes me to death every time I came back, whether it was for the week or for the mandatory five years of Training. I could finally breathe again, Mother releasing me from her bear hug. “Do you know what your father told me?” she asked. “Probably something about me mes, again. It was another one of my already long list of mistakes; I don’t want to talk about it.” “Nothing like that. He said that you will be guiding those people. To think, you coming into the family business. Won’t it be great?” She placed the food on the table in the center of the room, Papa already waiting. Pulling out my usual seat I managed to sit down before Papa started talking to me in his normal tone. It wasn’t the best tone I’ve heard from him. Mother

shoveled food into a plate, placing it in front of me. Listening as best I could, I slid the book onto the table beside the plate, picking at the meal. “Morse, are you listening?” “Yes, Papa. I am.” “You know you can’t just leave by your window. It has to be the oldest disappearing trick in your book,” he said, spearing the vegetable with his eating utensil. I did the same, turning it over in my hand as if making sure it was safe to eat. “Papa, why don’t you just get to the point? I’m only here because I was kicked out of Training. Why not come out and say it? I got kicked out because I was in a fight! One fight, so they tell me,” I said coolly. I shoved the food into my mouth before my hand could shake the morsel back into the plate. I stabbed another piece of food, the hand holding the fork twitching. “Yes, you had a fight. ‘One of your many mistakes’, as you say. That isn’t the point of this talk.” I could feel the muscles around my mandible tighten, my taste buds hardening. I looked at the moving fork, the food skewered on the tines. My hand wouldn’t stop its dance, the fork following the lead. I heard the clatter as the tendons in my fingers loosened, dropping the fork. My voice strangled with the gasp of frustration, slapping my empty hand onto the table. “Then what is the point?” I took up the utensil as if nothing happened and continued to rearrange the plate, my appetite gone. “I have something to tell you. About your… mistakes.” I stopped my fiddling, the food no longer of interest to me. I felt myself slouch in my chair, my vision zoning in and out. I could feel myself drift off again, my hand taking a break from its jazz dance. My breath slowed as if getting ready for lung-breaking activity. The feeling in my chest came back, the twinge of anger rising.

“Morse, it isn’t your fault that you practice,” his voice was lowered. I lowered my head, letting the dizzy spell subside and my stilled hand to resume its act. Sitting up I continued eating, the food shaking on the utensil. I didn’t taste it. Around the table the two older eaters watched me, possibly trying to discover what my reaction meant. I stopped and eyed Papa. “Not my fault?” I asked. He shook his head. “Then why do I do it?” I set down my fork. “Here is another lesson that…I’ve never told you.” “What is it?” I insisted. Papa set aside his plate, leaning on the table with his elbows. So much for manners. I waited for him to speak. “When we were born, your mother and me, we both received what is known as Gifts. You could say they are unique traits. Females receive one Gift and Males get two. Each person here has to discover what the Gift is,” Papa explained. “Who gives them out?” “The Warders of the Low Lands. Station Warders.” “What kind of Gifts?” “It depends on the person. Your mother’s Gift is a green thumb. It doesn’t matter where or what it is, she can grow it. One of mine is my voice. Some Gifts can be of strength or wisdom. You know how Grey can come up from nowhere? How he sneaks up on people? That is one of his Gifts,” Papa said, taking a swig of water from a nearby cup. “You are saying that my practicing has something to do with a Gift of mine?” “It is possible,” he said. I let my hand shake. I shut down for a time, wondering how this could make any

sense. “How will I know what my Gifts are?” I heard myself say. The world around me seemed to disappear, my head slowing to a stop for the fourth time that day. I felt my chest tighten and my posture slump. I no longer felt like me. My face tightened, my features changing. “Excuse me.” The chair under me scuffed along the floor, the fork lying in the middle of my unfinished meal. The door opened before me and closed behind me, leading me to the side of the fire. Whatever took me over left me staring at the flames, a story I couldn’t understand playing out. I shivered, feeling the wind wrapping around the fingers of my shaking hand as if to comfort me. It lingered, trying to grip my hand before traveling up my arm to my shoulder, then leaving. “Morse,” Papa snuck up beside me. I looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “I only found out about this after we found you practicing. You would have trouble sleeping and take walks near the clearing. The next morning, your hands would be bloody and you could never how this happened. It frightened us. We knew nothing of what you were doing, until I took leave and confronted the Warders of the Low Lands. They told me it was possibly one of your Gifts being rejected,” Papa’s voice was somehow quiet. “How can a Gift be rejected?” I heard myself ask. “It could be the holder never wanted it? They grow to hate it? It could be a number of things. We might never know.” “What are my Gifts?” I turned to him, the flames burning a hole in my vision. I couldn’t help but feel that even if he could give me the answer I wanted, I would still be plagued with this awful mistake-making Gift. From the sound of it, it was more like a Curse. “I don’t know what your Gifts are. Not even the Warders of the Low Lands know what Gifts they give out. They just know it is the perfect fit for you.”

Without further words, Papa embraced me. It was brief. It felt comforting in a way, leaving me to wonder why he never told me this life-changing point-ofview before. Before I thought of hugging back, he let go and retreated back into the house. He left me to myself and my wobbly hand, which had rested while he showed how much he cared.

George’s illustration of the Moon

George

Week 2, Day 10 I t was almost strange to see Morse around the edge of the trees early in the morning wearing entirely different clothing compared to his outfit when he arrived here. Or really, what I hoped to be around that time. Ever since finding ourselves among these trees of this new world, time seems to have shifted. No longer are the days as long as we are used to working, but somehow short ened. I was stationed about the set border of camp at point four out of twelve while the rest of the camp began their day with the usual chores. With bow in hand, I stood watch, trying not to feel droll. Athair, how is this going to help? Are we to believe these three men are mad for simply proving the changes we are noticing truly mean we have been placed in another world? Jack believes so, against Sophia and her father’s judgment. It is quite possible that standing here doing nothing will keep the unknowing others feel safer. Keeping my eyes open, despite lack of slumber, I looked around. I guarded my post, knowing nothing was to happen. At least this was what I was thinking before a body came into view beyond the lip of the woods before me. It was tall, staggering and dressed differently from the common cloth of the camp. My fingers brushed the feathers of the arrows in the quiver hanging about my shoulder. Plucking just one from the bunch, I strung it to the wire of the weapon in my hands. I held it taut and waited. “Hi, George. You’re up at this time?” I swung my body toward the sound. Toward that voice which I had only met the day before all this was explained. I gasped, seeing his face in my sights. I groaned just as quickly, retracting the arrow from the bow. “Please don’t you do that! Not while I’m on guard.” I replaced the arrow in the basket at my shoulder, letting the bow slide on my

hand. “Guard? Is that something compared to an army?” Morse asked, his hand twitching at his side. “Aye, something like that. Protection really. I usually guard at this time…what time is it anyway?” “It must be around four.” “But, that can’t be right,” I had said this to myself, Morse managing to turn to the pages of a book I didn’t notice he had with him. The pages were composed of a material all new to me. The cover was bound strangely over the pages, wording along the front. I really had no idea how he figured this. It had to be around seven, the sun coming up. “Oh, I see,” Morse muttered. I stepped forward, shouldering the bow. I gave him a look, silently asking what he was up to. “How long are your days on Earth? How many hours?” he asked me. I plucked at the string of the bow, not sure where this question was going. “On Earth, 24 hours a day. 365 days in a year.” “24 hours? You had longer days than we do. Here we have 12 hour days.” I’m sure my face was a sight, just hearing that we had lost half a whole day. This must explain the lack of hours of darkness, the offset of the roles and chores done around the camp. I watched as he flipped through the book, reading whatever must have been written about the change and time. It might also give more insight to the situation. “Sophia came spouting back last night, scolding Jack and talking about a way back to our homeland. Jack was steaming about you, saying how you weren’t right-in-the-head. Sophia’s father knew what she was doing. He knew what Jack

was doing. All that she said, was how it really works? Is there no other hope getting home?” I asked, rubbing the hair covering my face. “I didn’t even know about it hours before that. That was really the only reason Papa dragged me away. They gave me a crash-coarse lesson in time travel and the Tempus Portals that brought you here. They gave me this book to study. It is to help me guide you and your people to the right Portal. I’ve barely dented it.” ‘Dented it’ is new to me. I still can’t see how a book that thick could be dented at all. No wonder he hasn’t gotten far without a tool of any kind. A hammer or mallet would dent the pages well. “So, you are to be guiding us?” “Yeah. Not my plan. I was just thrown into it,” he flipped more pages, laughing at his own words. Or was he laughing at the idea? It wasn’t long before his father came through the trees, startling me because I wasn’t doing what was asked of me. With my bow strung over my shoulders, I wasn’t ready to defend against anything. Morse looked at me strangely, making me realize that I had forgotten that this world was peaceful. How this came about in their history isn’t clear. I didn’t ask. “Morse, are you ready?” the loud-voiced man said. “I guess. I really don’t see why I have to do it.” “I’ve done it. Grey has done it. It is your turn, my friend.” “Don’t you mean, ‘my son’?” Morse asked. His father patted his shoulder, breaking past me into the camp. I pointed a thumb at him, asking Morse where he would be going. Morse barely looked up to see my action, waving a hand at his departing father. “He must be planning on informing your leader. Papa says that the best thing to do right now is to tell everybody. Then leave as soon as possible,” Morse closed his book. Without saying much else he started to follow the invisible trail his father took. I followed behind him, not wishing to miss any new developments. Soon, Sophia ed us, jumping as she always seemed to since childhood.

“Morse, it is true what your father says? We are to leave today and that you are to guide us?” Her dress swayed with her giddiness, excited over something. I couldn’t begin to guess why she acted this way. But if I had to, it would be some attraction she had for Morse. This is not good news, if you know Jack. He is protective of Sophia, planning to ask for her hand. “What isn’t true at this point? I am to guide you, whether I like it or not. Papa will help me to the furthest edge of Rain Shadow. That should be a couple of weeks from here by horse and wagon. After that, I’ll be on my own,” Morse’s hand shivered. “We don’t have wagons, or horses. They were stolen by Highwaymen,” Sophia interjected. “Yes. That is the first leg of our journey. It will take at least three days to walk to get to the trading post. That is where the wagons and horses will be provided.” At this point, Morse gripped his shaking hand into a fist as if trying to stop its movement. Without much success he let out a groan under his breath. He looked over at me, noticing I had seen this action. He didn’t say a word as we met up with both fathers. This is where our journey began. It didn’t take long for the camp to clean up. The trees waved in the wind as if to wish us safe age from one point to the next. The sheep made noise. The children gave a cry of excitement, a new adventure being given to them. That was the picture, until we started walking. The trees slowly gathered around us, the clearing being swallowed up by the roots and covering of the branches. Soon, the bright light of day momentarily cast shadows through the hugging trees, leaving just enough light for us to see by. By the end of the short day we had cleared the trees, traveling into a new open space where the grass was beginning to die for a colder season. Dust hovered near the ground as our feet kicked it aside, walking closer to these promised wagons. When night came and the sun disappeared behind the blanket of stars, the people settled down. Fires were built and the meal was made. It was the usual stew that we had been surviving on for the past few weeks. Before eating we said our

prayers, making the Sign of the Cross. Morse and his father ed us at our fire, where Mother was willing to share her recipe and knitting activities. Sophia and her father settled beside them, Joanne not sure what to make of the two new of the pilgrimage. It was true that she had dared to stare at Morse that second morning, curiosity playing with her. But now that he was sitting in the inner circle, shyness took over. It is quiet this first night, walking having left our words buried under the thin layer of dust. I sat down for the night, my stomach full and my mind open. The fire played over the cover of this book. I knew I had more to write, opening up the pages. I looked up at the stars again, wondering really, where the moon had gone. I felt the loss of its watchful eye, the way it would tell me Elizabeth was alright without me. The moon wasn’t the only thing I was missing. Before writing these words I flipped to my favorite drawing. Looking at the picture I had drawn of Elizabeth made me feel lonely. I shouldn’t have left on this pilgrimage with everyone else. The face on the page looked almost real in the firelight, the way her hair seemed to flow. Even without color her eyes were just as hazel as ever, the light brown twinkle blinking into my memory. With that brought the smoothness of her complexion, the sun having the softest touch on her rosy cheeks, adding the lightest tan. I really miss her. “What are you looking at?” I had slammed the book closed, Morse and his curiousness sneaking up on me. I groaned a silent sigh, turning to the crouching figure beside me, a bowl in his hand. “This is my sketch book. I draw in it, I write.” “Draw?” He said this as if the thought sounded familiar, but somehow I was sure he had no idea what it meant. At this point, I really wondered if he were joking with me, asking about half of the words that came out of my mouth. He reminded me of a

kid, always asking obvious questions. “Draw. Sketch. It can be like writing, only with a different use.” I showed him a few of my pictures. I could see he was interested by the glint in his eyes, even as he pointed something out. “You must mean ‘tirer’. That is what you call draw? I was sure I heard of it somewhere…,” I looked at him, the word reminding me of the time Athair had taken me on a trade route. Along the way we had met a few traveling tinkers. Athair had proposed a trade with them. It was hard to understand anything they said, leaving us at a loss to communicate with them. I had pulled out my sketch book and began to draw. The one who hadn’t tried to speak with Athair, pointed to the page I was on and asked something. I couldn’t understand what he said, so I merely nodded and left it at that. To this point in time, I believe he had asked me: ‘You draw?’ Later, I made an attempt to learn the language, but gave up, only ing his question. “Isn’t that French for draw? Tirer?” “I’ve never heard of that. What is French?” “French is another language. On Earth, there are different types of people. There are the French and they have their own language. Like us. We are Scottish and we speak Gaelic. That is the language that the elders speak and you can’t understand.” The questioning stopped, leaving the conversations between everyone else to bleed into the space between us. I flipped the page and tapped it, “Tirer?” I tried to pronounce the word as he had said it. Morse nodded. “Papa said I had to learn another language. Yours apparently. Gaelic, was it?” he asked. I nodded. “If you need help, I’ll be glad to.”

“Thanks,” Morse said. “In return, you teach me something.” Morse agreed, shaking my hand to seal it. It wasn’t everyday I had to guard somebody, let alone agreeing to teach them to speak another language. “This still doesn’t mean I trust you.” “What’s not to trust?” Somehow he danced around my comment like it was a joke, but I could tell that he knew it wasn’t. Not taking his question as bait I returned my attention to the book, the next sketch bringing out the kid in him again. “What is that?” he asked, tracing the perimeter of the drawn circle on the well shaded background. I watched as his finger found its way around the moon again. “That is the moon.” It should have been obvious to me what his next question was to be. It only told me that I would not see the watching face of the moon for the longest time. “What is the moon?” he asked. “Are you telling me that you have no…,” I paused, “A moon is like a planet that… no it isn’t a planet. It holds no life. It orbits the Earth. It casts light onto the world at night,” I explained. I turned the page, seeing that he got the basic idea of the moon. A sun for the nighttime. The next picture was the one I had originally opened it up to. Her face searched mine again, trying to find me. I could feel Morse looking over my shoulder and before he could ask, I answered. “This is Elizabeth.” “Who is Elizabeth?”

I let out my breath, wishing even more that she was here, or even better, that I hadn’t left. I prayed silently in my head and my heart for patience with Morse and his never-ending questions. I wasn’t annoyed at him, yet. I was sure that time would come. “She is a very good childhood friend. She had to stay behind in the village and I couldn’t stay. I had to stay with my mother and little sister. Elizabeth had to keep working.” He nodded, the bowl now empty of the substance that was surely in his mouth. I could hear him swallow, a rumble in his stomach telling us that it got its fill. Morse settled down, stretching out his legs. “I had a childhood friend. We were always getting into trouble together. Climbing trees, pushing each other into the creek. And she was strong. It didn’t take much effort for her to push me,” he laughed at the memory, leaving me to wonder who this girl really was, “Then she moved just before I was sent to Training. That was three years ago. I haven’t seen or heard anything from her,” he looked at his shaking hand, the beads covering his wrist catching most of his attention as he remained relatively quiet. “You must miss her,” I said. I only said this to drop the subject of Elizabeth, not wanting to how much I missed her. In the midst of the silence between us, I took my turn asking questions. I couldn’t stand the silence. He just nodded. “How long is this going to take?” “The journey to the Portal? We have a little under a year before the Portal closes. For you it might be more like half a year, considering the time differences. That kind of plagues me, how your world has twice as much time in a day than mine does. I would ask Papa about it, but I’m sure he would just point to that book,” Morse tilted his head toward his book like a complaining kid. I hadn’t thought much about the time difference, only reasoning that we would have to change schedules and work less in a usual day. I watched as he set his bowl down beside him, a yawn emerging to the depths of his lungs. How could he be tired in half the time I usually work baffles me. Life here feels almost strange.

“Why don’t we get some rest? Won’t we have to wake early?” I asked, making Elizabeth’s face disappear under the cover of my handmade sketch book. Morse yawned again, lying back as if he hadn’t heard me. Without any debate for space I followed his lead, placing the book on my chest. “How does the moon look, up in the sky?” His voice changed, an actual kid asking something sentimental. He rested his head on an arm (the one with the shaking hand), letting the other flop on his belly; most likely still enjoying the stew. “It is bright and lights up the dark. It isn’t as brilliant as the sun, but it chases away the shadows and watches over us. It is like a father to the stars with a face for all of us.” “Sun?” “Oh, yes. Sophia mentioned that. Sol. On Earth, our Sol is known as the sun,” I explained, knowing he was looking over. “That would be something to see. A brighter night sky. It must be beautiful.” I debated in my mind whether his use of the word beautiful meant something different. I answered myself with a ‘no’ and prayed a restful sleep for all of us. I had to agree with Morse. The moon was beautiful.

Periit

H e could feel the travelers following the path. The Main Warder walked the distance between the healthy blue grass and the station, sensing those in need of help. It wasn’t just the lost travelers who needed the help getting home, but their guide. Guy waited beside him, listening as Periit told his story. “It turns out that lightning is rare. At that time, I knew nothing about it. I had only thought that I was struck and I merely blacked out. That didn’t turn out to be true,” he said, feeling a charge from relaying the beginning of his travels.

It was that fateful hour that he woke up, a lighting strike returning to the skies above him. How he survived the strike was dangerously unbelievable. At this point, he didn’t realize where he was, who he was, or that the lightning had chosen him of all the living, to transport him to another world. He watched as the clouds gathered themselves back in, grumbling at each other. Possibly wondering why they chose to erase this man’s mind. His memory. The light they bore shrank back into the clouds’ hidden pockets for safe keeping. Still yelling and complaining, the storm moved off, leaving the man to recuperate on his own. Who was he? He couldn’t ask himself that, let alone take the time to look around his surroundings. This was the last thing he was sure he saw before ing out once more, the energy too much for him to handle without rest.

“I woke up again, only able to turn my head. My body was paralyzed from the blast of power the lightning used to transport me. I couldn’t who I was, where I came from,” Periit ed.

“How did you find out who you were? Where do you come from?” the new recruit asked. The Main Warder shook his head. “I don’t know where I came from. I don’t who I was before I came here.” The dust from the towering rocks covered the border with a screen, reminding them both that their job was within the Low Lands. It would be a long while before they could leave their base for something other than guiding people back to where they belong. “Somehow, I feel that I will never who I was. It is just possible that my life now is the only life I’m supposed to know,” Periit turned back to the rocks. The cracked ground stretched before him. This was one reason why he chose to stay. If not for being the man of legend, then the dust before him. The people who were still lost out here. “Do you know why you chose to be a Station Warder?” he asked Guy. Guy followed his steps, the long walk back to the barracks. “To help those who are lost.” “Not your motto. Not why you’ve become a Warder. Why a Station Warder?” he asked again. Guy didn’t reply, not sure what this man walking away from him was asking. Periit stopped and looked back. “Why did you choose to bare those markings?” he gestured to the young man, to the symbols that played up and down his arms, “Why did you wash in the Pond of Choice?” Guy still didn’t answer. “Do you wish to be alone your whole life, somehow knowing that you will forever be alone?”

The young man shook his head, walking past his superior. He stopped, the wind picking up and orbiting the space around them, just the two of them in existence. “Why is it that I can see what others fear, but I can’t see my own? Is it too much to ask what I fear? I don’t even know why I ended up here. Why is it that only so few of us know what we want? To choose to bare these markings? What are these symbols anyway? These pictures around my eyes?” Periit stepped forward and brushed up his companion’s dusty cloak, pointing to one indented mark on Guy’s upper right arm. A mark each Station Warder had. “This is something each of us has. Though it is different from mine, or Leo’s, or even Ike’s, this is why we are here.” Guy looked at his arm as if he hadn’t noticed what was on it, but in fact had wondered about each picture each night. This one wasn’t new. It was still a mystery as the rest were. “What does it stand for?” Guy asked. Periit continued on, not stopping to answer. Guy caught up, maintaining the pace. “That is something you have to find out for yourself.”

Morse

T he days of walking seemed to grow longer for the camp people and their sheep. I could just hear them bay and whine as the kid pushed them forward through the tall grass, which seemed to wave us away. I had asked George more about these sheep, learning that the kid that guided them was known as a shepherd, and the long curved stick he held was a crook. How he used it was only a matter of watching him use it. This wasn’t the only thing that occupied my time as George came around asking me more questions about everything, even with his little sister bouncing on his back. What was he doing? I could only guess what it was, his sister giggling as he bucked and jumped playfully. “I’m giving her a piggy-back ride.” All I could think to do was nod, having a live example play out for me. This was our third day of walking, the trees thinning out and the grass becoming denser. It was a matter of time before we reached the line which separated my nameless homeland from Rain Shadow. Soon, the mountain would rise up and the climate would change. I felt my hand wiggle, doing its usual routine. I gripped my fingers together, the pressure only containing the rumble. I knew it would explode. Time counted off to the fatal release. “Are you ready for another lesson? It didn’t work that well yesterday, but I’m sure that book of yours is keeping you on track,” George cocked his head, a sly smile cracking his lips as he played with his little sister, bouncing her on his back. Her giggle sounded like hiccups, the sudden drops interrupting the high pitched joy. George had started working with me, teaching me basic words in his native language. I hadn’t gotten any of it. George must have been referring to the Portal book. Sure, it gives a few good points on why to learn another language, but not how. It also explains the differences between certain dialects and words. No help

there other than a brief history of the Germanic people. “No. That book doesn’t tell you how to learn another set of words, just that you should. I’m not even sure I got any of the words from yesterday,” I gripped my hand again. “Not to worry your head. If you keep at it, those silly words won’t leave your head.” I held up my hand to stop him, taking a moment to figure something out. Tapping my other hand on the side of my pants, I quickly asked my question, “Before you start, I noticed this movement you do and I haven’t been able to figure it out.” Taking my right hand, I lifted it to my forehead, touching a finger to it, then let the hand fall and do the same thing at my chest. Then from left to right, I touched my shoulders. I glanced at George as he told me of the significance. “That is The Sign of the Cross. We cross ourselves before and after each prayer. It is part of our religion, being Catholic. A prayer.” I nodded and allowed him to quiz me over the words I knew I wouldn’t . “What about máthair?” he asked. I felt my fingers drum my leg, a rhythm that I knew nothing about. My hand played on, adding confusion to the musicless piece. I only groaned as I did the last few times, trying to . “Come on. Even Joanne knows it, don’t you?” he asked his rider. Joanne giggled, George laughed and I struggled. “Could you give me a hint?” “A hint? Should I?” he asked the air, bouncing the laughing child higher on his back. I kept quiet, somehow knowing even if he did give me a hint it wouldn’t help.

“You know what? Why don’t I start speaking in only the native tongue, then you can try to translate. Don’t worry your head any. If you can’t figure it out, I’ll help you,” George proposed. He didn’t give me much of a choice. Still, I shook my head. I could always ask Papa for pointers, not that I would ever ask. “No. Not just yet. I don’t know, keep giving them to me. It will eventually sink in,” I said, dejected by my own brain. It just wasn’t working like Training had always promised. This may be because I didn’t finish Training. If it wasn’t for my… George had said something. He asked me something. “No. She can stay.” My feet pushed down the wilting grass as George’s stopped. I looked at the perfectly standing grass beside me, where the stalk in my path was now flattened, the rest of the people ing by, I made my way back. Joanne was standing beside her brother, her hand clasped in his. Her eyes searched both our faces in turn, as if she were looking for more than just the lack of hair in mine and the fullness of his. “She can stay. You don’t have to…,” “How did you? You understood what I said?” “Yes. Why shouldn’t I?” my shoulders bobbed up and down. The man in front of me didn’t say anything more as he let go of Joanne’s hand. He nodded his head forward, telling her that she could leave. It wasn’t long before she started running toward the front of the pack of travelers, no doubt looking for someone else to play with. “What?” I asked, George still looking at me. He said something in his own language. I shook my head. “No. I can’t understand what you are…saying,” I slowed down, “Are you asking me whether I can hear what you are saying? In your native words?”

He nodded. His eyebrows lifted, as did the corners of his mouth. “Yes. When I was asking Joanne to look for mother, you said that she could stay. How did you know what I was saying?” We had started walking again, the grass bending to our will once more. It was near time to stop for the night, the light from the Sol beginning to cool off and fade. “I really don’t know. When I first woke up, you know after the hit over the head, I listened. There were all these voices talking and yelling. Maybe I caught some of what they said,” I felt my shoulders lift again, “I really don’t what you were trying to teach me. Single words.” “Let’s see. Cén aois atá tú?” he asked. “How old am I? About your age, I believe. 34,” I answered him. “If you can understand me now, why couldn’t you understand anyone else earlier?” George wondered. As did I. “Maybe I needed a translation before I could fully understand anything. You had given me most of the basic words there are. Somehow, my mind filed them away for later use and didn’t tell me straight out. But just in case…” George stopped my mouth, grabbing my arm with a slight pinch. His expression was what really stopped my theorized explanation. “Wait. You said that you are 34 years old?” Another question. Everything I tell him must baffle him in one way or another. Not that I’m not learning anything new from him that has made me question the life he lead back on Earth. Opening the hole under my nose and taking a breath, I closed it again. I was confused why he was asking me this. Asking if I had relayed my age correctly to him. “Yes. I’m 34. That’s around your age isn’t it?” “Nay. It is not my age. How could you possibly be this age, you look about around my age,” he repeated.

“That is what I said. You are around my age.” “I am not 34. Not nearly close. I’m only 17,” he said quietly. “Not here. On this world you would have to be 34, like me. If we were on Earth, I would be 17, as you say,” I reasoned. I wasn’t sure why he kept insisting that he was still half his age when he clearly wasn’t. This argument kept us walking into the night, the fires coming to life and the people settling in for the night. They were joyful. An instrument was brought out and played, giving background noise to the conversations that lifted from around the fires like smoke. “Wait. I think I know why there is an age difference,” I stopped eating. The music drifted through the maze of people, tingling sweetly in my ears. George set his bowl on a knee, swallowing what was left in his mouth, filling his stomach. He waited. “It has to do with the time difference. Your world’s time tables are slower and this world’s is half that time. Same number of days, but shorter. Wouldn’t that add years here than remain the same?” I showed my hands in question. Someone else spoke, his words welcome as I translated them into the words I knew. I knew I was ready to tell him what I was saying, but couldn’t. He repeated his question. “What is being said?” Sophia’s father asked. I sat stunned, turning back to George. He gave a slick smile. “Don’t tell me you can’t understand him!” “No. That is not it. I don’t know how to communicate back,” I itted. Papa glanced over to me, his eyebrows raised as if in question, the bowl of stew warming his hands. The look he gave me was surprising to the point of having never seen that particular squirm in his facial muscles. I must have returned a look of my own for he proceeded to roll his eyes, forgetting about the vittles in front of him. Huffing his cheeks and letting out a breath, the loud voice of his came forward.

“You can understand him already?” I shrugged and nodded at the same time, believing that if I gave anything more, his mood would change. I was aware of the scowl on his face, telling me that he had expected me to fail in some way. Or was that my mind playing cruel jokes on me? Even as I thought this, my hand stilled, my vision blurred slightly and I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. I felt hatred. My imagination planned out how I would hurt him, maybe even destroy… The wind tried to grab my steadied hand, winding up my arm to my face. It brushed my neck and whispered in my ear. What it told me I couldn’t understand. In this wispy movement the invisible force woke me from my angered trance. “Morse.” I felt a tap on my shoulder, Papa appearing beside me as if by some unusual magic. Instead of the scowling face I grew up with a cheerful man sat beside me. I took a breath, feeling that I really needed it to calm my pounding heart. I couldn’t think why I was suddenly tired. “That is my boy! Somehow I could tell that you would pull it off. You have learned another language,” his voice rang out, bringing forth the people of the camp. The music momentarily stopped at the uproar. Though most could not understand him and his words, they knew it was a joyous occasion. “Yeah, sort of.” “Sort of? No matter how you do it, you’ve done it. What is this, ‘sort of’?” Papa asked me, George beside me looking on. “I…I don’t. I can’t communicate back, Papa. I don’t know how to form the words,” I shook my head. His face didn’t move as he looked to George. “George, is it?” “Yes, sir,” George said.

“You are teaching him his words?” Papa asked. “As best as I can. There has been progress.” “Good to hear. Keep it up I’m sure in no time you will be able to speak this language as well as you can understand it,” Papa turned back to me before returning to his seat across the fire pit. This turned out to be a long night as I continued my somewhat lecture-like theory of the age difference. As my words were spoken, George translated for the elders of the group. “When we spoke of the time difference, we didn’t include the age difference. We only age because of time. And time is measured by the rotation of the world, planet or whatever rock we could exist on. On Earth, you said that there were 365 days in a single year, the same as here. This doesn’t change anything, until you revealed that your days on Earth were 24 hours. That makes the difference. That is why there is a change.” George stopped. He watched me for a second, thinking. His mother glanced around the fire, asking if there was room for second helpings. This image of an old lady asking others if they were still hungry during a serious conversation reminded me of my own mother when she would break into an argument or simple talk to offer something or diffuse the sizzling bomb-like outbursts with something that wasn’t even remotely connected to what was being said. Either his mother wasn’t listening or wasn’t bothered by this bizarre talk. A few of us declined another bowl, picking up where the explanation dropped. “It has something to do with how we measure our time?” Sophia’s father asked in his own language. “You could say that,” I said, George translated, “We measure the same way. Only, this world’s days are shorter because the world itself rotates faster than Earth. Spinning faster means shorter days. Two of our days would be one day for you. Another way to count it is one of your years on Earth is two years here on this world with no name.” The elderly man nodded. Somehow he understood that he was considered older

here. To me, he looked about 100 years in age, which would have been around 50 on Earth. The group grew quiet, not in a confusing way but one filled with reflection. George’s face broke, his beard covering up his expression in the red hue of the fire. For him the hue would be orange, I suppose. “What does this have to do with us getting home?” somebody asked. “Nothing. It is merely a problem solved to a small misunderstanding.” I said through translation. I excused myself for the night, wondering how it would be to live somewhere with longer days and a moon to watch over the people while they slept. I picked a spot in the grass for a rest, supposing it wouldn’t be any different than living here. But how could I truly know this? With this in mind, I closed my eyes.

George’s illustration of Mt. Drowning

George

Week 2, Day 14 D ays have ed and still we haven’t reached the trading post that Morse spoke of. The trees have wandered away and the grass has sprung up under our feet like a fur rug during the winter months. Joanne was off with a couple of the kids today, chasing each other or even a flying insect. I can still hear their laughs from this morning drifting into my current vis ions. Morse ed me again trying to memorize our words with his mouth. Each word, each day was new and he had to learn everything twice. It has nearly driven me to push him away. He simply can’t form the words with his mouth and them the next day. And he knows this. Lord, I pray he learns something. But, this day was different from the rest of this walking journey. Today Sophia appeared, interrupting the ongoing lessons. “Morse! I haven’t seen you in days,” she said, linking her arm in his. Morse opened his mouth and produced the only universal word in any world, “Um,” his hand shaking limply from the position Sophia’s linked arm held it. He looked at their linked arms and tried to squirm his way out of her grasp. In doing so, she looked down at his hand, the fingers weaving through the gust of wind. She gaped, air escaping and next words falling silently to the ground. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know there was…” “No really, Sophia. My hand has done that since I can .” “Oh,” she said. I was waiting for Jack to come over and argue with Sophia and her choice of

company. “Well, I only came by to ask how much longer we need to walk. Everyone is getting tired and it feels as if it is getting hotter each new day,” Sophia walked with her arm still linked within his. Morse looked back down at the entangled arms. “What is this?” he asked, looking to Sophia and then back at their arms. She followed his gaze and smiled. Her lips curled up and she threw back her golden hair with a twist of the neck, several braids flipping to the back of her scalp. “It is a sign of friendship, in a way.” Morse didn’t speak as he concentrated on the sign of friendship. It was several moments before he gazed over the flowing expanse of the clearing in front of us. “We only have the rest of today and half of tomorrow before we reach the border separating this land with Rain Shadow. The trading post will be there. With wagons and horses, the trip should go smoother,” Morse answered, wriggling his arm from Sophia’s. The day was the usual back and forth teaching each other, except for Sophia’s interruptions. It has always been like this, Sophia grabbing everyone’s attention when she felt like it, especially after fighting with Jack. This was one of those occasions. “Rain Shadow? Why is it known as that? Does it rain a lot?” Sophia asked, clasping her hands behind her. As she walked, she seemed to sway from one foot to the other. I glanced around for Jack, as did Morse, I’m sure. Jack stalked us from behind, like a hungry bear looking for berries. This was like him to keep an eye on Sophia. Even with his rough exterior, Jack really cared about Sophia. It was hard to believe that these two kept arguing each day of their lives. Morse saw the kilted bear and bowed his head with a slight groan. Before Sophia could pout over him, he sped his pace and answered her, “It is named for an effect. The rain shadow effect. The area has little precipitation because

moisture is lost before it can reach the area. This happens because of Mount Drowning. The mountain blocks the age of rain-producing weather systems. Moist air comes up the side of the mountain that faces the Ocean of Whale and before it can reach the other side, the moisture is lost. Something like that.” Morse said this like he was a walking historian, only saying ‘something like that’ to diffuse his knowledge to little amount. Tonight the heat dissipated with the sun. The night fell as we sat down around the cook fire. Mother spooned out the lamb stew, a few other guests ing our fire for the night. Sophia sat beside Morse, causing Jack to take a seat across the fire. He stared at the cleanly shaved man and his promised gal next to him. “Jack! Leave me be!” Sophia cried. Jack didn’t stir. He didn’t even open his mouth other than to stuff his face with the stew or take a swig of his drink. Mother just laughed, not seeing the tension around the circle. “No worries. There is plenty to go around.” Sophia’s father must have seen the looks around the fire, agreeing with Mother, “Yes, Megan. There is a lot in that pot of yours and it smells fit enough to eat. Nothing should spoil this meal.” Morse noticed the new texture in the soupy mixture and asked me what it was. “It is lamb. You know, sheep,” I said. His eyes darted to the bowl in his hands, then to the shepherd and the baying sheep. His chest rose with a big breath as he chewed the remaining morsels in his mouth and swallowed. With a grimace on his face, he accepted the idea. “It’s nothing like Wild Hog, that’s for sure,” he commented. I laughed, enjoying his surprised expression. “Why is it called Drowning?” Sophia asked of Morse, probably to mess with Jack.

“It may look like a huge surface, the biggest mountain ever created, but it isn’t. It is called Drowning because in the old, unwritten times, it was believed that the land was filled with water. Flooded the whole area. An ocean. This mountain was the smallest among them all and was completely submerged under what is now known as the Ocean of Whale,” Morse said, pausing every other sentence to take bites of his lamb stew. The circle quieted down, everyone taking the time to eat. “Miss Sophia, Miss Sophia! What is that behind you?” Joanne asked, pointing to the shadows where the light of the fire couldn’t reach. “I know not,” Sophia said, feeling something tap her back, “Is there anything there?” she asked Morse. He leaned back a little, taking only a quick glance at her back. What he said surprised me, scared Sophia out of her wits and infuriated Jack. “It’s only a bat.” “A bat!” Sophia screamed. She scrambled to her feet, trying to get the beast of the night off her back and out of her hair. Jack jumped up as well, spilling his bowl in the grass getting over to Sophia to help. The bat flew away before Jack got to take a turn in scaring it away. The rest of the campers must have caught a glimpse of this frantic dash, for I heard laughing and small panicked prayers from all around. This whole time Morse sat there. He didn’t move a muscle but to watch the display before him. After the show was over, he went back to his food as if nothing had happened. His father laughed at this whole scene, a few others ing in briefly. Sophia looked at him, a lot more than fear glowing in her eyes. “You tell me there is a bat on my back and you do nothing?” Morse’s jaw slowed his chewing, stopping as he looked a Sophia. He swallowed, “I had to do something?” Here was the child again, playing with fire and not knowing the danger. Sophia’s expression grew annoyed, Jack’s becoming dangerously grim.

“Yes! Would you have let that creature of the night bite me!” she motioned to her heaved chest, her annoyance quickly becoming hysterics. “Bite you? Bats don’t bite people,” Morse shook his head. “Yes they do!” Sophia screamed. “Where did you hear this? Earth? Because they certainly don’t go after people here on this world,” Morse’s voice rose above its normal calm. “Not so! They hunt people to drink their blood, immortal creatures to the world that gave up their souls for such vile power!” Sophia kept going, not hearing what Morse said. Morse set down his bowl and stood up, causing Jack to move closer to Sophia. “Where are you, Sophia? Earth? Because here, bats don’t bite!” Morse almost yelled, Sophia’s company finally driving him to the edge, “He was probably looking for warmth.” There was silence. Jack looked as if he were going to tear Morse apart. If he didn’t have Sophia to comfort he would have. Morse turned to leave, taking a second to apologize to Sophia, “Sorry I frightened you.” As he left I took a glance at his empty hands, seeing that his shaking hand had stopped.

Morse

I t was black. Pitch black without the stars. I couldn’t tell where I was, if anywhere. All I could see in this void was a lump. A moving, hobbling, slinking lump. At first it stayed at a distance, leaving me be. This thing didn’t take its time to sit still as it rumbled around in its own realm of the dark hole. Instead, it started to grow. Its back uncurled. This pulsing creature grew taller and fatter; the hair on its back slicked back with what could only be some slimy substance. Therefore, after growing to what was way beyond the size of any normal thing; it wheezed a breath and moved towards me. Its eyes opened and behold, the beast… I choked, gasping for air that didn’t seem to come until I opened my eyes. I heaved for a true breath, looking around me. It was no longer night time as the Sol was nearly minutes from rising, a light green hue covering the heavens, unlike Earth’s blue. My eyelids fluttered as I tried to banish the nightmare from my minds eye. Trying to kill off that ugly monster. Catching a lung full of air, I rose from my grassy bed. I let my eyes take in the sight of the mostly sleeping camp, a few guards still on duty. I looked over, seeing Papa. He sat beside me, stoking a fire too small for warmth or even food preparation. I was ready to stand up, pushing the ground with my hands. I felt pain along my fingers. I caught myself, thinking my hands were still asleep. I shook the wrist of my right hand, bringing it up along with my already shaking left. The pain was leaving as I shook them, a pulsing heat stirring around my knuckles. I looked at my hands, feeling them burn as if I held them over a fire. Papa stopped stoking the burning wood. He took my hands in his and slowly turned them over, revealing the cause of the burning pain. His face was calm as he examined my palms which were red and scratched. He turned my hands again, my knuckles bloody and bruised. I winced at them, the pain pulsing stronger.

“Morse. How did this happen?” Papa caught my eye. My eyes found his. I could feel my left hand twitch in his grasp. I tried to ignore the pain by concentrating on the various snores around the cold ashes of each fire circle. I listened to the rustle of Papa’s shirt, how it rubbed against itself as he watched me closely for any lie I might tell. As if I could. He waited for the answer I felt I couldn’t give. The answer I knew I couldn’t tell him. I didn’t say anything. “Here. Keep holding your hands out,” he said. Letting go of the raw and fleshy meat, he turned back to the fire, where at first I had failed to notice his reason for stoking such a small flame. Poking a blackened stick into the dying blaze he fished out a burnt pot. Black chips peeled off the curved sides of this pot as he set it down between us. “This is a mixture of herbs and thickened water. A healing salve. You will feel a burn as I apply this remedy to your hands, but it should wear off quickly,” Papa dipped his hand into the warm pot bringing out a sticky solution with his fingers. I swallowed as he took my left hand, trying as best he could to keep it still long enough to slather the healing salve over it. I winced, sucking in a ton of air once he succeeded in covering my entire hand in the non-too-nice-feeling remedy. I groaned at the burn, noticing Papa waiting until it subsided to repeat the sticky process with my other hand. “Ahhh. Why does it have to burn?” I asked, waiting for my right hand to cool down. “If it doesn’t burn, then it won’t work. There is a secret as to why it has to burn and I don’t know it. It must be one of the world’s secrets that won’t be discovered. We’ll see in time. One thing I do know is that this stuff works. In a few days those scratches and bruises won’t be there.” After the warmth in both hands subsided and the pulsing pain nearly disappeared, Papa wrapped my hands in strips of cloth. Tying each off he leaned back and looked over me for a second, standing up. Holding out his hand for me I took it and was hoisted to my feet. I grimaced at soreness that appeared to cover nearly every inch of my four limbs.

“I can’t help you with those bruises. You’ll have to suffer those for a couple of weeks,” Papa said. More bruises? I rolled up a pant leg and pulled off a boot, peeking at a bruise that bloomed under my knee and down the whole of my shin. I glared at Papa. “How did you know of these?” I asked. “I didn’t. From experience I took a lucky guess.” I waited for more, but didn’t press him. “Do you what you were doing? Do you what happened last night?” he asked me again. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, not ing how I would always wake up with my hands in this same condition. I must have been practicing again. I shook my head a little, letting words pour out of my mind onto my tongue. “I had left the fire and got ready for bed. Ready to fall asleep I felt like going for a walk. I don’t know why this urge came over me. I was terribly tired, but I couldn’t go to sleep. So I took that short walk into the woods over there and…,” I stopped, staring at my hands and trying to come up with something more. All there was was a blank. I couldn’t even bring back the memory of returning to camp. “I can’t anything else. Sorry, Papa.” He just nodded. He knew I couldn’t anything. This scared me, the younger me having only done this three years before. That must have been just a week before he sent me away to Training. Nothing like this had happened in the three years I was gone. It was a matter of minutes before everyone else rose for the new day. I heard groans all around, walking becoming outdated among the youngsters. My aching muscles helped me the sad rebellion. It must have been an hour walking before I started feeling dead tired. George had

noticed this as he continued to pester me with language lessons. “Didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, did you?” he asked in his own language. I yawned before answering, “I’m not sure. I can’t if I went to sleep or not,” I lifted a covered hand to catch another yawn, George spying the neatly wrapped cloth. “You sound like Jack after he’s had more than enough spirits. Are you, sporting a new type of glove?” I watched my hand fall back to my side, a silent groan reminding me of what I couldn’t . I knew George meant it to be funny, but I was too tired to laugh. “No.” “What happened?” This was Sophia. She came out of nowhere beside me, hands holding mine. I pulled my hands away, her grip stronger than it should have been. “I don’t what happened,” I told her the truth. Sophia glared at me, this expression of disbelief on her face lasting a flicker of a second. I could tell what she wanted to ask. Before she did this, Sophia again took my hands, only this time her fingers started picking at the coverings. I took back the hand she was stealing, wincing. “Speaking of Jack, I haven’t seen him,” George said, taking a gander around the walking people. “He’s still red in the face,” Sophia said shortly, her voice sounding like a dropped stone. “Has he stopped stalking you? That isn’t like him,” George continued as I concentrated on my hands. “I very much doubt he will ever stop, you know how he takes our promise so

seriously,” Sophia sort of grumbled. “Promise?” I turned to her and asked. “Aye. Me and Jack are promised to each other. He intends to marry me. This is why he acts as my shadow. He doesn’t want anything bad to happen. He says this to me a lot and won’t let me forget it. I’m getting tired of it. It’s as if he doesn’t know I can take care of myself.” Sophia wrapped her arms around herself as if suddenly cold. I had no knowledge of what to say or if I needed to. I turned back to George, but he just shrugged. I turned my head back in the other direction. “I imagine you know how to speak to people, being able to take care of yourself pretty well,” I said. She tilted her head towards me, “Aye.” “In that case, why not help George here. He can’t beat the words in my head like he wants to.” Her eyes flickered; a hand brushed back a strand of braided hair as she took her time to stare between her kilted neighbor and the uniformed stranger. This duration didn’t last long, a smile breaking into a doleful look. I’ll take this look as an ‘Aye’. She started speaking in that language she shared with her father and the rest of her people. “I can understand what you are saying. I just can’t communicate back. It is very strange how it is working out,” I rolled my shoulders back. After doing so, a breeze smoothed over the crease in the shirt. That strand of wind wasn’t leaving me alone. Before Sophia could respond, a one-man cheer went up, bringing out more from the tired crowd. “It sounds as if we’ve reached that trading post,” George said.

George’s illustration of the Trading post

George

Week 3, Day 15 T he day started the same, waking up to the sky that was supposed to be green, but still brightened to a familiar blue. I almost went the whole day not noticing Morse with his wrapped hands. I must be getting used to his company to start taking him for granted. To think that he would still be there even after we all got home. This makes me think. I know I keep telling myself that I don’t trust him, but there is a feeling that is telling me that this isn’t true. Mother was always right, telling me that I am just like Athair. I am stubborn. It couldn’t have been half of the daylight hours when Morse kept stopping to yawn and groan. This is when I looked over him, watching the new cloth bunch around both his hands. “Didn’t sleep a wink did you?” I asked after he groaned behind a yawn. “I don’t falling asleep or what I did before that.” I might be writing this wrong. Conversations can only be ed to an extent. “You sound like Jack after he’s had a few. New gloves?” I tried to keep the lessons going, speaking in my language. I think he forgot his words. It isn’t any surprise to me that the words don’t stick in his head. “No,” he told me. I wasn’t ready to ask what had happened. Even if I had really wanted to ask, Sophia beat me to it. She bounded up beside Morse with the only question that was on both our minds, her dress playing in the wind.

“What happened?” Sophia then took his hands into hers as if she wanted to help ease the pain when she didn’t know how. This could have been a way to redeem her behavior from the night before. I wouldn’t really know. “I don’t what happened.” This strikes me as odd how one can’t one whole night. With sudden thought, maybe he sleepwalks at night, causing little rest. This is merely a theory of mine. Lord, if this is so, help him rest easy. This wasn’t the only thing worth writing of today. There is only so much I can stand and pants are not one of them. This subject came around once we arrived at the building Morse kept describing as a trading post. The building was structured like a lean-to, whole tree trunks standing on end giving it such an odd shape. Even the door hung a little crooked on its leather type hinges. Green life climbed the front of the closed lean-to. Morse would then remind me that the color is in fact blue. The stable was built in the back, a warped fence closing off the area for the horses to roam and graze. Here we were to get the horses and wagons for the rest of this trip to the other half of this world. Not only the horses and wagons did we receive, but also these strange pants. Morse’s father went in and gathered the clothing items that we had no idea we would need. “Please,” he told us in his loud voice, “Will the men come forward?” We did so. In his arms he held a bundle of cloth. Drab colors folding into bright ones in a huge stack. “Each man takes one. In order for less disruption among those who do not know of you, if you should ever meet them, you will have to change your clothing.” The group I stood in went haywire, the thought of giving up their kilts and homemade weaves and animal pelts not a happy one. The wave of men seemed to push me forward, a war cry being raised.

“My friends! People!” Hands rose above the crowd. The people stopped to listen to their leader. “Why this cause of war-like behavior? We are not at war. Do not lose your heads over such a silly matter!” I don’t what else was really said, a buzzing from the gathered men drowning out all other words. Then there were the pants. While the women loaded the wagons with the provided supplies and tired children, we changed out of our kilts for those rough things. If Elizabeth saw me now—in this strange attire. I can just see her laugh at the bunch of us, carrying on without the warmth of our kilts and pelts. The look of them isn’t the worst thing. The fabric rubs just so, causing very little comfort. I shall never get used to this thin material that is now enclosing my legs. Just sitting here and writing hasn’t eased the friction. At least our kilts weren’t given away. Each set was wrapped into a bundle and given back for us to keep once we returned home. Thank you for at least this small miracle. Lord, help this pilgrimage be quick, for we are all a bit homesick. Athair, if you are watching, keep Elizabeth safe and tell her not to worry for us, even in these tight uniforms.

Harold

H e suffered just as much as the rest of the men, taking back his kilt for safe keeping. Harold followed the grumbling men, Jack the loudest mouth of them all. The way he projected his voice helped Harold imagine him as the little kid he used to be. Loud, active and annoying. At this thought, Sophia’s father couldn’t hold back the laugh that broke from his lips. Why they had to wear these seemingly constricting ‘pants’ was lost on him as he walked to the prepared wagons. Not only pants were distributed, but shirts and jackets as well. The one thing they didn’t have to take off was their boots. He threw his kilt and fur pelts in the back of the wagon where Megan sat with her threads as she continued with her worthwhile work on that blanket. “Now we shall no longer walk this trip,” he said. “That is so. Now I may finish this thing,” George’s mother didn’t look up as she said this. Joanne bounded up from the yelling kids, their energy suddenly back from the surprise of the provided wagons. Her braid waved in the air as she tried to hoist herself onto the back of the wagon where her mother sat. Just like her father. He never gave up or asked for help. Harold’s lungs let go of a loving sigh. “Do you need help, little miss?” he crouched beside her. Joanne had to think about this, letting her arms rest as she glanced around the rest of the wagons. Her little eyebrows creased as she looked back at him. She shrugged. He laughed at this, interlocking his fingers so she could take a hoisted step. “Joanne, what do you say?” her mother asked. The little girl bowed her head a moment, taking that timid stance of hands folded

in front of her standing stationary. “Thank you, Mr. Harold,” her voice was quiet. “You are very much welcome,” he told her in that respecting way. It didn’t feel like it took very long for everyone to settle down with the horses and wagons. They were overly tired of walking, and Harold had to agree with many of the satisfying groans. The wagons would feel better on his stiff ts. “Dad. I’m going to ride with Morse and George. I’m helping him learn to speak,” Sophia rushed over before the caravan started moving. “Who? George? Sure, he may learn how to yell, but speak..,” Harold laughed. “No, Dad. Morse. I’m helping George teach Morse to speak,” Sophia whined. “Yes, darling. Be off with you. Teach him well.” Sophia’s father patted her cheek before she left, Jack not far behind. Harold wondered if that boy would ever learn that a girl needs time to herself. He shook his head, ing that even he didn’t learn such a thing when he was younger. Walking to the front of the wagon Harold produced what little grain he could snatch and held it under the horse’s noses. Both horses gladly took up the offering, letting Harold rub their muzzles. Then a yell from the lead wagon started the procession. Stepping up to the front seat of the wagon, he took the reins and clucked at the horse. They were on the right path.

Morse

P apa kept the people going. He raised his hand when it came time to leave the trading post. Sophia came bounding up, Jack right behind her in his broad stride. She jumped up beside me in front, Papa next to me guiding the horses. Jack jumped on back alongside George. George acknowledged him with a simple wave, not taking his eyes from his sketch book. I looked back and caught Jack’s eye. I didn’t say anything and Jack didn’t need to tell me how he felt about Sophia sitting next to me. I could feel it. “What was the payment for these provisions?” Sophia started in, not taking the least interest in Jack. “Payment?” I asked. The wagon started moving and the horses whinnied to each other. I felt as the wood shifted under me, the whole wagon groaning as if the weight of the five of us was too much. “You know…money? Did you trade something for them?” “No. Nothing like that. We do trade, but not at this post. This trading post was made for the transportation of people like yourself. People from other places.” “You don’t pay? At all?” Sophia leaned toward me. “No. What is ‘pay’?” I looked between Sophia, who sat to my right and Papa, who didn’t take his eyes off the path, on my left. Papa didn’t say anything. He didn’t give any sign that he was listening to anything that was being said, but I knew he heard all. “When you pay, you give money for something. It is type of trading,” George said from the back of the old wagon.

“Oh, money. Currency. It said something about that in the book,” I said. I looked at my hands again. I wriggled my fingers and the wrappings creased with them. My left hand flapped around in its usual way, making that side pulse savagely. From the side of my eye, Papa moved. He looked at me. At my hands. Then back to the grasslands that grew before us. I didn’t look at him until he looked away. Unlike the few moments before, his face took on a worried gaze. Almost pained. “Morse, let’s get on with the lessons,” Sophia tugged at my sleeve like a young child. “Why not?” George ed in, scooting closer to the front seat. “Yeah. I should not neglect it,” I groaned before turning on the wooden bench for a better sight of the extending bed of the wagon, “Jack? Would you like to them in teaching me how to form my words?” I asked. Jack grumbled at me, his glare flaring up. Other than that, nothing came out of his mouth for the rest of the ride. “Okay Morse. Repeat what I say,” Sophia patted her own shoulder, “Fáilte. Welcome.” “Fai – Failte?” “Try again – Fáilte,” Sophia said again. This was repeated with the same results. I couldn’t pronounce the word correctly. George tried to break it down after each attempt, Jack continuously burnt holes into my back, and Papa couldn’t stop laughing. I had only successfully learned the word after two more days on the road. By this time my tongue was tied and George had gotten into the habit of silently praying for these lessons to move faster, the Sign of the Cross being made out after every failed word dropped from my mouth. Jack’s mood didn’t change and Sophia barely acknowledged his existance for the first day. I let my left hand shake while I stacked wood in the crook of my arm for fires. The wood trembled in my hold as I bent over to pick up more twigs. The pain

from the practice I couldn’t made my back and legs ache. Papa was gathering wood as well, only a handful of other people willing to break their backs on such a simple chore. I bent over to grasp another weathered log, my nearly healed knuckles pulsing. My heartbeat matched the pain. A groan fell from my mouth as if I dropped it along with the wood that I had just picked up. “Morse, take a break,” Papa said. I ignored him. I flexed my hand and went to grab another hunk of wood for the slowly growing pile already in my arms. “Take a minute-break, Morse. You are going to need those hands when you take over this expedition. I won’t be following you the whole way,” his voice carried from behind a gather of trees. “Why should I? It will just get worse along the way won’t it?” I asked, “I’m sure sooner or later, this will happen again. Something will cause this stupid urge to surface again and I will go ahead and practice my moves. Maybe even on another person. What would be the point to save my energy when I would be wasting it on a memory that I will throw away?” I dumped my fagot, my bundle of sticks. I watched them explode and settle where they wanted to. I could hear Papa stop his gathering, his feet stepping through the fallen leaves and smaller-than-dirt twigs. Seeing him made my frustration grow. In his arms he held fast to the tangled wood meant to fuel the fires of the camp that I would be leading within the next week. “Why do we do anything, Morse? It is a universal question I’m sure everyone faces. We do things because they are right. We do them because we have to,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. I rolled my shoulders back as my hand stopped its shaking again. This tense feeling coming over me. As before my vision became foggy, fists forming from my hands. “Morse,” his hand was on my shoulder. I grabbed my head, the dizzying feeling leaving. I closed my eyes as he eased me down on a nearby stump. When I opened them, everything was back in focus

and my left hand back to normal. “Morse? Take it easy.” I let my lungs fill and deflate, a shiver coming over me. “How are you feeling?” he asked. My frustration left. I dropped my shaking hand into my lap as if it had turned limp and lifeless. My eyes blinked in the low lighting of the woods where the leaves slowly fell where I had dropped the firewood. “I don’t know. Why is this happening?” I asked Papa. As if he knew what I was talking about. “Why is what happening?” “This strange …” There were screams, curdling yells coming from the camp outside of the trees. The sheep were bleating, frightened as the people were. It didn’t take a second for me to respond to the cries for help, running from the dying wood to the illuminating fires. Havoc now ran the camp and the people in it, shadows moving fast past my vision. Then I saw the cause of such bedlam and fear. Two loups hunted the cowering crowds for their next meals while another found its first victim among the sheep. My body forgot its sores and decided to take action before asking permission from my mind. My feet pummeled the ground, the energy I needed coming from an unknown source within me. The eyes in my head searched out the loup that was serving as the greater threat. The cry from a short being gave my ears something to search for, my head spinning toward the terrifying noise. The loup chased after a girl, her braid trailing behind her as she ran for her life. Her eyes were wide open, the snarling beast licking his jowls as its four paws took off after his prize. No time for fear. I changed course, cutting the loup off from the screaming girl as it was about to close in. It skidded to a stop in front of me, taking on a stance of defiance. The beast growled at me, saliva oozing from its wicked smile. He crouched and snarled at me, showing me his endless gullet

baring his sharp teeth. His hungry eyes burned with the desire to eat as he crouched before me. With a roar, he pounced. He sprang, knocking me to the ground before I could make the necessary move to safety. The starving loup stood over me, panting its rank and death-like breath in my face. Its jaws snapped at me, at my exposed face. I swung an arm over my face and looked away, shying from those wicked teeth. He snarled at me again, hunger written plainly over his furry features. It wasn’t even a matter of seconds before he went for my face again, my arm swatting at his snout, trying to keep him from me. The tall grass scratched at my back, wanting me to get up off the ground. I swatted at the loup as he lunged for my neck. I felt his teeth tug at my shirt sleeve, the vibration of his menacing growl causing me to realize it was more than my sleeve he had in his mouth. He was ready to chew. The vision in my eyes clouded, my left hand taking a shot at the loup’s snout. The open palm quickly turned into a closed fist, the wrappings coming back dark. This hit caused the beast to stumble off me into the tall grass to my right. The pressure on my arm was gone, leaving the pain to grow and the sleeve to become soaked. I rolled to my feet, my eyes readjusting. The grass opened up, the jumping loup catching me off guard and knocking me off my feet again. I took to swatting at it again, my hits not making any progress as they had before. He came down for another bite when I put up both arms and managed to push his jaws away. I began to feel cold, vision spinning with my head. Without any hope of getting out of this mess, I forced the loup off my heaving chest, throwing him back onto the matted grass. I prepared myself this time for the loup’s counter attack. I jumped to my feet, taking off toward the woods. I knew the loup was taking the bait from the hum of hunger coming from his throat. I wasn’t waiting for a standoff with this evil beast as I ran from the light of the fires. At this point I didn’t have any idea what I was doing, running away. I didn’t care to look back towards those glowing eyes and slimy tongue, but I did anyway. I danced around the trees, trying to think of a way out of this. A place to hide from this creature and its instinct to kill me.

All the while the sounds and voices of the camp faded away, making me realize that they still existed even through the pounding in my ears. The path before me was becoming short, a deep ravine appearing out in front. What was I going to do to get away? Jump in? This struck me as odd that I would consider such a move to get rid of a wild loup. I didn’t know what I was thinking when I didn’t change course. I still had no clue when my legs took a leap toward the dark hole in the ground. Then I saw it. My escape. I grabbed hold of the vine that swung freely over the ravine. I gripped the vegetation, not wanting to give myself up to the yawning hole now under me. I tried to look behind me wanting to know if the loup took the leap as well. I glanced at the ledge I jumped from, not seeing the beast. Crack! My nose jerked up, bringing my eyes to attention at the other end of the vine. The branch that held the vine was dead, the bark chipping off and falling down onto me. I took a slow breath, trying to listen for a bigger break in the branch that meant life or death for me. I felt a jolt as the branch drooped down, a crack in the wood above me. The cracking continued as I held on, giving me only one choice.

George

Week 3, Day 18 S o much for an easy trek from here to our next destination. Rain Shadow was to be next, the wagons helping us get there faster than our feet would have. Lord, thank you for that much. Then the big, bad wolves came. Three wolves appeared out of nowhere, looking for their next meal. The smartest of this small pack went straight for the sheep, marking one for its own before going in for the kill. That one wasn’t much of a threat. Neither was the second one which appeared around one of the guard posts. Both of these wolves were easily taken down with one shot of a bow and arrow. That wasn’t all that befell us on this dangerous evening. I was stoking a cook fire as Mother got ready the ingredients for another night of stew, seasoned with strange herbs Sophia found a few days back near the trading post. The tinder for the fire was nearly gone. This was the reason for many people volunteering to scout for logs and twigs. It wasn’t quite dark enough for a big fire when I heard it. The noises of thrashing bounding from the woods a short distance from the direction we were leaving. Howls rushed through the wilting grass and dry dirt floor. All three were of good size. The first one, the one who went straight for the sheep, hacked out his howl, causing the shepherd boy to cry wolf. This is when everything became crazy. The children ran for their mothers and fathers, the shepherd boy ran for his crook, giving up hope to save that one little lamb, the smallest of the flock. The second wolf walked up to the guard closest to the sheep. His actions were

more of curiosity than of hungry temper. The rest isn’t much a mystery, so I’ll leave it at that. Then the last. The one with that evil growl and matted fur. The crazy one. Once I noticed the ruckus and what was actually going on, this was the one I saw. I stopped feeding the fire, a shiver fighting down my back when I heard that scream. The sound was new, but I knew where it came from. I knew who it came from. I jumped to my feet and didn’t waste time grabbing my weapon, looping the quiver with its arrows around my shoulders and planting my bow in my hand. It was only seconds after the scream that I spotted the unmannered wolf and its intended prey. The shepherd boy cried wolf five times, the yelp of that first wolf being drowned out by the cries coming from Joanne. “George!” Mother grabbed my arm, seeing me ready for the action. I didn’t say a word as my eyes caught the last wolf chasing after the child. “Joanne!!” the elder beside me gripped my arm tighter when she saw who the child was. I ran into the throng, able to tear my arm from her grasp. I wasn’t thinking of myself. I was only thinking of my baby sister. I managed to send out a silent prayer as I ran from the gathering crowd and to the aid of scared Joanne. I stood my stance and strung my bow, the fire near me casting a ghoulish glow over the whole scene. The pants given were rubbing strangely, giving me a bit of trouble finding a comfortable footing. Though it felt queer for my legs to be enclosed in this thin material I was aware of the freedom of movement I had. I took aim, pulling the string taut and watching the wolf’s every movement, ready to shoot it down. I let go, the feathers flying through the air with speed. I missed. The wolf gained speed, fear playing with the beat of my heart.

Before I could reload, a shadow blocked the path of the evil fur-ball. He was tall, his legs taking charge as he spun to face the wolf, letting Joanne run free, out of sight of the beast. Shouldering my bow I ran for her, picking her up and folding her in the safety of my arms. I ran back to Mother with my precious bundle. I handed over my sibling before running back to help in any way I could. “Ma, stay here.” I left before she could protest. I’m sure she did so anyway. I spotted Jack, Sophia clutching to his arm. Both were staring into the grassy field where the dark figure stumbled with the wolf. Yelps ensued, as did yells of pain and determination. “Jack! You should be helping him!” Sophia pulled on Jack’s sleeve, her angry voice laced with fear. “I believe he has everything under control, Sophia,” Jack stood fast. “Help! You could do more than help, Jack. You can save him!” I stated rather strongly. “I am not helping that sissy-boy,” Jack faced me, referring to Morse. “What? That’s Morse out there?” I grabbed my bow from my shoulder and turned to the battle between the rabid wolf and Morse. I was ready to run out to help when both fighters broke apart. The human turned and ran. Away from the beast whose instinct was to follow the bigger meal. Now it was a hunt. Sophia murmured a prayer. I watched the scene being acted out as the man ran into the woods, the wolf following, and a man following both. I gave Jack a light slap on the back of his head, running after the party of three heading into the darkening woods. “Come, Jack. You can help,” I yelled to him as I started to run.

The woods took on a dark demeanor, the crunching of leaves helping the effect. I prayed the Lord’s Prayer under my breath, tripping after the man who ran before me. My feet dodged around the trees, the way to the heart of the woods, a maze I could not begin to memorize. “George. Get up here and be quiet,” the man in front of me said. It wasn’t who I thought it was at first. I held tight to my bow and slowed my pace, standing beside Morse’s father. “Why do I have to help this guy?” Jack rambled on, not bothering to see who the man beside me really was. Morse’s father put a finger up to his mouth, telling Jack to shut his trap. Jack did so, taking in the view of wild vines and overgrown growths. “This way,” Morse’s father said in his loud whisper. Jack and I followed close behind, not seeing Morse or the wolf anywhere. “Where are we going? Trying to get us lost, aren’t you?” Jack stumbled behind me. “No. I know where we are headed. And I know the only place Morse can be. A dangerous move,” the loud man said, still jogging up in front, “He is heading for the ravine. Foramen nigrum ravine.” The three of us ran, being led by Morse’s father to the point where the trees parted. A dirt path showed us the rest of the way to the ravine, where the ground suddenly dropped off into a dark hole. Blacker than black if I had ever seen such a place. We stood in front of the stretching hole, a broken structure, which I’m sure was at one time a bridge. The wood was rotten and hanging down into the crevice. I saw no sign of Morse or that wild beast. “They must be further down the line,” his father said. “More likely he jumped in,” Jack mumbled. Whether Morse’s father heard this comment or not, he didn’t take the time to show it. He turned to the left and followed the crooked edge of the ravine, looking for Morse and possibly another way to cross.

A panting growl insulted the silence, giving us reasonable doubt that Morse jumped into the dark chasm. My legs kept close to the man in front as he leaned around a tree lining a trail of broken twigs and crushed leaves. I looked over his shoulder to see what his eyes saw and there they were. Morse, dangling from a vine over the ravine and the wolf pacing back and forth growling from hunger. “You weren’t too far off … Jack, was it?” Morse’s father said without glancing back. And to think that he hadn’t heard Jack’s comment! This is what struck me as funny, though it was the wrong time to think so. The vine swayed, a resounding snap of the branch above setting it in motion, with Morse still holding on. We all saw his eyes look up at the break in the dead branch that the vine held onto. It was only a matter of seconds before he started to swing. “That branch won’t hold him much longer,” his father said. I took my sights off of Morse and his plight, placing it on the wolf that drooled at the lip of the dark ravine. “What is that sissy doing now? Planning on jumping in?” Jack glanced between me and the elder as best he could. “Not in. It looks like he is trying to get to the other side,” I said as Morse gained a higher swing. It wasn’t easy to see the other side in the gathering darkness of the overcrowding trees and vines. If I had known that jump would be impossible…

Morse

I threw my weight slowly from one side to the next, making the vine sway. Even with the loup waiting for me, I had to jump before the dead branch broke free from the rest of the tree. I looked to the other side of the ravine, too far for me to risk a jump. I spun around to look where I jumped from. This time I could see the loup drooling, watching me with his glowing eyes. The shaking in my left hand caused both hands to slip down the vine when the branch finally broke away from the tree. No thinking was involved when I forced my spring to the ledge with the gathered momentum. My body was airborne and gravity wasn’t helping. I landed feet first, the ground breaking away in chunks under me. I began falling back in, batting the air. I desperately reached for any hold the dirt would give me. I was slipping into the deep dark hole of the ravine. I grabbed at the loose soil above me and managed to tug tight at a root poking over the side. Steadying myself, I took a deep breath to gain strength to reach the top. The rest of my body shook along with my hand, making it all the more difficult. My heart beat in my ears as blood rushed to my brain, making my dangling feet cold. Without waiting I started to pull up with my deadly tired arms, little by little, my left hand slipping and wriggling out of its hold on the woody root. Adrenaline kept me going those few seconds as I reached up to grab the new ledge at the side of the ravine. That’s when those eyes found me. The loup’s snout curled in a wicked snarl as he looked down into the hole where I was hanging. Its eyes glowed dangerously, taking the time to sniff at the sample I willingly gave him. He snapped at my shaking hand, causing my mouth to open and my arm to pull away from the level ground. I dropped down. My chest swung away from the side, my fingers screaming to my brain to let go.

I heard a yell. I swung back and grabbed the level ground again, the loup coming back for a better portion. I cried out as teeth bit at my hand. I felt his hot breath stick to my skin. My hand steadied and shot up, smacking the loup across the nose. The hole beneath me was spinning, my right hand becoming weak. I tried to pull myself back up, needing to take back the high-ground. I peeled my eyes from my intended fate and made eye with the beast. He was leaning over the edge, ready to take his repast. His neck craned out, snapping its powerful jaws at me, my flesh and exposed skin of my right hand. I closed my eyes and made the world go away, the life in my body feeling completely gone. The sweat on my forehead reminded me how I got here. The brawn side of me taking over the brains, reminding me that I hadn’t thought any of this out. The world returned, the loup taking a nip at my right hand and missing with a yelp. The spinning continued as my head lifted from its fallen position, the loup falling over the edge, in my direction. In the beast’s furry neck stuck an arrow, tongue licking the air as it fell closer. I knew I had to get out of this alive. My whole body was telling me so in those few seconds the loup’s dead body loomed over me, coming closer. But, I couldn’t move. The dead weight caught me, the aching fingers and arm holding onto the tree’s root suddenly letting go as the tendons in my arm were about to break. My strength didn’t hold. My shaking hand grabbed the ledge of the ravine. “Morse! Hold on!” A voice steadied my hand. The sound pushed the loup from me. I didn’t know who it was. My mind wouldn’t work for me. But my body knew better, making my arm pull my dangling body up. I was almost out when another set of hands grabbed me. They pulled me up out of the bottomless hole. I glanced at the faces surrounding me, my mind falling into an unattached sleep.

Hands helped me to my cold feet, the lack of adrenaline and strength causing me to collapse in Papa’s arms. George and Papa laid me down, Sophia’s face appearing close to mine. Their faces faded. Their lips moved as if they were talking, saying something I couldn’t understand. All I heard were breezy whispers. The eyes in my head wandered around the circle of people, the vision of Jack’s stubborn face to the bow in George’s hand. I couldn’t answer their worthless questions when everything darkened slowly. I was tired and beaten. Taking a rasping breath, everything faded out altogether.

Jack

J ack was stubborn. Jack stood back and watched the action that took place between the three men and wolf. No. It was two men and a sissy-boy. The eldest ran out from behind the tree as the younger one took aim. Arrow in bow, fingers pulling back the wires and zoom, off went the arrow into the fur around the hungry wolf’s neck. “Morse! Hold on!” he reached for his son’s hand that was beginning to slip. Jack didn’t want to show his human side when Morse’s father started to pull his son from the depths of the black hole. He didn’t even help when George did. “Morse!” The sissy-boy couldn’t even stand on his own two feet. Instead George and his father helped him down to the leafy floor of the woods. The kid’s eyes roved around, looking as if he didn’t recognize anything. Jack just stood there, crossing his arms over his chest. Even this pose he took didn’t make him feel any better, but it looked smarter than crying over a kid who was taking an interest in… “Where is he? Is Morse okay?” Sophia appeared from the trees, out of breath and frantic. “Sophia! Go back to camp!” Jack spun toward her. She wasn’t listening to him. She never did. Sophia rushed to Morse’s side looking into his eyes and face before he closed his eyes for the last time. He didn’t open them again. “Morse!” Sophia shook his shoulder. He groaned weakly.

“He’s out,” his father said, looking over the bloody wounds, “He has a bite on his arm. Bad. It will need stitches. Another on his shoulder, not as deep. Sophia, please go back to camp and set up a fire and start warming some water,” he demanded calmly. It took Sophia a second to respond, a slow nod bringing her to her feet. “Sophia, go,” Jack patted her shoulder. She nodded again and left without even looking at Jack. She didn’t acknowledge him as if he wasn’t there. This made Jack feel lost, more so than the whole stupid travel situation that made them all lost. “Jack, can you..?” “I am not helping carry him,” Jack stated more harshly than needed. “Okay. George, will you grab his shoulders and prop his head? I’ll take his legs and lead.” George replied with an affirmative, shouldering his bow and aiding the father in transporting wounded sissy-boy of a son. Before Jack followed behind the slow going procession, he walked to the edge and looked over the side into the dark hole. He gave a short whistle, not able to see the bottom. The light in the woods was growing darker, the flames of the fires bringing out the brighter glow of the open world. After being under the cover of trees chasing after a dangerous beast, Jack’s eyes needed to adjust as he stepped back into the camp, guards now posted around the set border. There was a slight uproar from the women of the camp when they saw Morse’s body being carried into the camp. Even the guards had to stop to watch as they carried him past. “Hey, Jacky-boy! Is he dead?” the eldest of the guard asked. “Unfortunately, no,” he answered.

Morse

I couldn’t breathe so I gasped, opening my eyes. I was seeing that cloaked figure again, looming over me in the dark shroud. I almost felt myself falling into that ravine. My mind slowly woke up from this nightmare, the dark sky meeting my tired eyes. The stars were watching over me as a mother watching her child. At the edges of the night the red hue of the fire burned beside me. For a while all I could do was stare at those stars. The atmosphere between each shining orb seemed hollow and more distant than the rest of that darkness, covering the bright green of the sky. I must be in camp, the only place where the fire would still be burning just waiting for me to wake up and acknowledge that I was still among the living. It didn’t take long for the memory of the fight with that distasteful loup to return, bringing the dull pain with it. I was tired, drained from the whole affair. Papa’s footsteps crept to my ears. As always his features didn’t portray any emotion other than that annoyance every father must have for his mistake-prone son. “How are you feeling?” he squatted by the fire, poking at the blackened pot, no doubt full of that burning ointment. I hummed, not wanting to speak too soon. It would be only a matter of time before I did something else that would do more than damage me. Beginning to wake up I was able to prop myself up on an elbow before Papa gave warning. “Morse, be careful of your arm and shoulder.” “What? What’s wrong with my shoulder?” I bounced forward to gain a better seat on my butt, crossing my legs Indian style. The bloody wrappings on my right arm told me all I needed to know about the bite the loup had given me. It also informed me of my shirtless condition, no doubt so Papa could treat and

dress the bite. My neck turned up from the covered bite to the right shoulder. Not seeing anything wrong with this side of my upper body, my neck spun the other way, only now feeling the wrap that rounded my upper arm and crossed the chest to keep the shoulder covered. “The bite on your arm was deep, so I went ahead and stitched it up when you were out. Your shoulder wasn’t as bad, but I had to stitch it up as well. The nips and scrapes on your hands will just need to be treated like last time,” Papa said. It wasn’t a big surprise that he pulled the pot out of the fire to rub on my hands. Here comes the burn once more. The only way it works. Once the rubbing ointment was applied Papa then moved to the bandage at my arm. “Now, we have to treat your other sores. Same process.” I groaned at this, tired of the burning in my hands and all the pain I was being put through. “Why didn’t you do it when I was out?” I complained like a kid. “If I did, I wouldn’t know if it was working. It’s not like you would start talking in your sleep and tell me so.” This got a short chuckle out of him, the rumble from his throat causing the nearest guard on duty to look over. “Why do they put people on guard duty?” I asked when he started applying the salve to the closed bite on my arm. I closed my eyes in reply to the burn that sank through the thin thread he used to stitch. “They are afraid of attacks,” he said simply. I shivered despite the burning sensation from the ointment, the wind tickling me around the midsection. It wrapped its invisible arms around me, drifting away with the next breeze. “How long since I’ve been out?” I asked. The old man in front of me wrapped a clean cloth around my arm, tying it off before he moved to my shoulder.

“I’d say about eight hours. It was a good thing we stopped to set camp earlier to pick wood. We haven’t lost any time.” “Good thing,” I repeated, “Where is George, Papa? I don’t…,” I waved my head around and stopped, noticing him asleep only five feet away. His sketch book was open, his arm holding down the page he was writing in. By the position he was laying down, it was reasonable that he fell asleep writing. “Good boy, he is. You should thank him. He did all he could to help. Helped me pull you from the Foramen nigrum Ravine. Stayed awake to be sure everything was in order. It is a lot more than I could say for Jack,” he shook his head. I knew what he meant. “Don’t I know it? George has been helping up to this point. He was the one who shot the loup?” Papa nodded, as he unwrapped the crusty cloth from around my arm and chest, revealing the shoulder. I watched him work, dipping his hands into the warm pot and rubbing the substance over his fingers before applying to it. It was working, the slight burn penetrating the torn skin on my shoulder. “It’s working.” “Good. You will need to keep these wrappings on for a few more days. It won’t be for another three weeks before I advise cutting the stitches. But I’m sure you got through this lesson in Training,” Papa continued to place a clean cloth over my shoulder. “Yes, Papa. I at least got that lesson done with.” It was quiet after that. Conversation was never easy for us. I took this time to look over the sleeping camp. The only ones who weren’t at rest were those posted around the barrier making sure there were no attacks. Either of the loup kind, or man. The quiet time between us didn’t really last all that long as Papa sat beside me. “When you were out, Harold came over and held silent prayer, blessing you,” he mentioned. “Harold?” I asked.

“Sophia’s father, their acting-leader,” Papa nodded, trying to keep his loud whisper a near mime. I nodded like a kid, not able to think of a response other than, “Oh.” Papa tossed a stick into the fire, watching it eat it up, consuming its energy. “I was considering leaving as soon as you were pointed in the right direction. Let you have it the rest of the way, but in your condition, why don’t I stay on until you heal over a bit? Make sure those stitches actually keep your flesh bound,” he tossed in another stick, the flames licking at it. After he did this he went to the lead wagon pulling out a wadded bundle, throwing it to me. I held the shirt out, pulling it over my head to ward off the wind. “I guess if you’d think it best. I’m sure I can make my way through Rain Shadow on my own,” I said, “What you were saying earlier, about doing something because it was right. How do I know that this is right? How do I know anything is right?” Another piece of wood was devoured by the red flickers, the little blackened pot being pushed back into the embers. “You were right. When you said that things would get worse. This is one reason why we do this. We do it to make things better. Everything gets worse before it gets better. That is a way of life. We work at it. We do our best because we have to, not always for ourselves, but for others as well. That is why I am a Warder. We all are,” Papa said, standing to leave before I could question his words further. By the looks of it, it was nearly dawn, the world filling with light. It was Papa’s turn to wake up the world, one traveler at a time.

Periit

T he chair settled under his weight, the other Station Warders waiting for the meal as well. Leo sat to Periit’s left, his uniform dirty from the dust storm he had come through an hour before. His dark hair was even speckled with the vermilion toned dust, smudges rubbed across his face over one of his face symbols. To the right, Guy sat at attention, Training still fresh in his mind. “Guy, you don’t have to be so formal. Even in Training you never had to be formal, just, attentive,” Leo laughed from across the table. “Says you.” “You two, please, wait patiently for the meal. Ike has worked his best today under the pressure of extra catag and counting,” Periit said. The room grew quite reasonable, both younger Station Warders changing the subject, leaving the Main Warder to take in the interior of the room as he so often did. No matter how many times he had memorized each corner, every inch of the building, he could never pry his eyes from looking over it again. The front room was small, the bunk beds pressed against the north wall leaving room for the hall tree by the door and table set in the center. Pressed in the opposite corner of the door the fireplace lit the room, the lack of candles for light reducing the ability to keep working. “Sir? Can you tell me how you got to the Mainland again? You were waking up, and managed to travel through the dangerous swamps of the island, and you managed to find the shore. How did you secure the boat?” Guy turned to him, Ike setting before each of them an improvised menu meal. Instead of the unlimited mush always served in Training it was fresh cut vegetables cooked with strips of desert bird. He didn’t say a word, being the silent one of the group. Leo looked from Periit to Guy, trying not to look interested in what he would

say. Ike sat down at the end of the table, having given everyone their meal. He waited as well, though he was usually the first to start stuffing his face with mush. Periit folded his hands on the table before the shallow wooden bowl, “I did not struggle through swamps and there wasn’t any real danger. I was simply not in good health from the mode of transportation I had just taken.”

The sky was still dark when the man woke up from the sickly sleep. The lightning had gone and so had the clouds, leaving the starry sky to watch over the land. He groaned as he opened his eyes, sort of wishing he was dead, the aching pain still throbbing all over. He lay there, staring at the sky. It wasn’t as if he had lost the ability to function or even move. This lost man didn’t want to. It was nearly morning by this time, the bright light in the sky rising over the world, revealing all to the man. The environment and life of the place he had landed. Cold. This was the first thing he thought, taking his eyes from the blank sky above him and turning his neck so that he could look in another direction. Now, he was looking into the dying foliage that poked from the dried soil. The grass no longer had its color. Neither did the sky have any color. It was all gray. Drab and gray. This tired man slowly got up, still dizzy. At first the landscape was level, flat. But just as suddenly it tilted to one side, falling the other way and back. Even the growing light was fading, the world becoming dull and foggy. He fell back down, resting fitfully. He sat like this, feeling like a sickly, broken man until the blazing light rose above him, warming the land. Time ed rather slowly before he got to his feet again. Then he started to move. One foot before its mate, moving forward. He dragged his feet through the dust and dying plant life, finding his way to a set of trees. It was more than a set of tall trees. These trees were wild, curving this way and that, the grass and vines just as brown as the place he had come from. It felt as if he were walking forever before he hit a wet spot. Moist in a few places, the dirty waters coming from the ground muddied the soil, making it soft.

The traveler was still confused, not sure where he truly was or even where he was going. Just that he was moving. Days ed as the light in the sky fell and came back the next day. And the next, then the few days after that. It had to have been at least a week since he last woke up, this lost man. If not memory or knowledge to his location, he gained strength, able to keep moving, find food and water and shelter. Even his head was clearing, able to think. Able to seek. By this time, the world was beginning to seem smaller. No matter that he was lost in this field of dying life away from civilization; he felt he knew where he was going. And in a way, he did know. After that week, he found a shore. A place where the dusty soil met the water, weaving in and out from the extensive bowl known as a sea. And, this wasn’t all he found.

Periit looked among the other Warders and watched them double task, eating and listening to every word he spoke. He took a pause and rested his voice, taking a breath for the lowered darkness of the fire illuminated room. “I had been walking to the North of the island and managed to find the only shore that held a dock. A place where a boat waited for me,” he took a bite, chewing thoughtfully, ing back to the sight of the water. Such a welcome sight it was at the time and what a beautiful view it still had to be. “Do you miss your other life? In some way, do you wish that you your past?” Guy asked. He put down his eating utensil, finished with the unique meal. Leo looked around the table again, a slight gush of a smile causing him to slightly choke on the partially chewed meat. Covering his mouth with a hand, his throat almost didn’t succeed in swallowing what was on his tongue, “Excuse me.” Ike didn’t bother with the question asked of Periit, using his attention to eat the meal he cooked. He stayed silent.

“How can I miss what I don’t know?” he answered simply.

George

Week 3, Day 19 I woke up, my face planted in this sketch book, the entry I was writing left unfinished. I had to blink a few times before realizing that my view of the world was blocked by paper neatly crumpled under my hand. If I were home, I wouldn’t have been caught falling asleep while writing. Mother would always rush me to bed, no matter if I was busy or not. Elizabeth has always laughed at this. But we aren’t home, now are we? After waking up and closing the pages of the sketch book I ed the small gathering around the fire, the morning meal beginning to cook. This time though, it is Morse’s father who is doing the cooking. I rubbed an eye, searching for Morse himself, seeing him asleep a matter of feet away. “Good Day, George. I see you’ve finally pulled your nose out of that book of yours,” Morse’s father laughed at his own joke, the rest of the camp stirring to the volume of it. “Yes. I must have been dead tired,” I sniffed the air. “I’ll say so. You slept like the dead,” he laughed again, “Thanks for your help yesterday. It was more than I can say about your friend, Jack.” I settled beside him, watching the various foods he placed among the small fire warm up and cook down. I have to agree with him. Jack was never one to help people he couldn’t stand and that were a lot of folk. “He isn’t a sociable person. He doesn’t like much folk and Morse is on that list.” I shook my head as I told him, looking for any sign of Jack.

“I could see that in Jack.” “He believes that Morse is planning to steal Sophia away. Not that I take that as truth, to say that your son…,”I stopped. “Morse? Steal another man’s gal? That isn’t in him. He doesn’t even know the difference between the two.” I question this. “Truly?” “Truly, right enough. The only gal he has ever really known was Brooke. Childhood friend who was as rough as any boy. As strong too. A bit of a tomboy after her father died,” he shook his head, thinking a sad memory. “He’s mentioned her. Not by name.” “You must not have asked him. He doesn’t say her name, because there is no one else. He knows of no other. Anytime she is mentioned he just looks at those prayer beads she gave him before she moved off.” “You speak as if they were promised.” His father stopped with his preparation of the meal, taking a look at me. His expression didn’t change, but I could tell he wasn’t thinking about this. He knew his answer. “In a way, they are promised. If not by mankind, then by another nature.” I glanced at Morse, signs that his body was waking up. First his hand twitched the motion of bringing it to his face, followed by a wane yawn. “It is about time you woke up again. I really don’t know how you could fall asleep whenever you feel like it,” his father scolded him. Morse himself didn’t take his time in returning his father’s words. I began to notice the change of clothing as well, the shirt he was wearing last night long gone, stained with blood and whatever else he stumbled through.

He took his time in stretching out the soreness he was sure to have from all that terrifying work he achieved. Before he could even utter a full sentence and before either of us could wish a ‘good morning’, Sophia popped up. At this time she wasn’t as fearful as earlier, but graciously calm. And there was Jack, right behind her. I’m sure he groaned, because of the company. “Morse? How are you feeling?” Sophia came up, ignoring Jack behind her. His face scowled, a grim mood he no doubt was in, seeing that ‘sissy-boy’ Morse survived the night. “Fine.” This is all he said, no doubt not wanting to bother with Jack’s mood and Sophia’s frantic questions. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose or bother you,” Sophia continued to try to communicate with the tired soul. And I had to help out. “Sophia, please don’t take it personally. I really think he isn’t in the mood to converse this morning. Why don’t we give him space? He’ll come around. And Jack, no punching today,” I pointed to him over Sophia’s shoulder, my gaze set rather seriously. I watched as his eyes widened a little, a grunt and nod provided as an answer to my challenge. If Jack wasn’t a friend, I was one of the few that he actually respected. I doubt he would have listened to the simple statement, ’back off’. By this time Morse had retreated to the fire, watching as his father mixed the ingredients for the meal. I’m sure after last night he needed more than the usual stew to eat. He deserved the meal. I sat quietly, ing the stages of last night’s events and cringing at the most heartbreaking reality for me. The wolf. My little sister. And Morse. If Morse hadn’t faced that wolf, risked his life to save the youngest member of my family, today wouldn’t be a triumph. There wouldn’t have been a new meal. Mother wouldn’t be asking for the recipe and Joanne wouldn’t be running around with her friends. Everything would have been different.

This brings me to a darker idea. What if Elizabeth had come along? What if it was she the wolf had placed in his sights? I can’t bear to think of it, even as I write these words and thank God that she isn’t here. Lord, thank you for Morse. His courage saved my sister and protected the rest of us. I pray you bless him. I sat with him throughout the day, the wagons pressing forward further into Rain Shadow. I didn’t suggest continuing with the language lessons, giving him a break to rest. He sat next to me in the back, giving up his space up front to Jack, who in turn left him alone. He sat up straight. He didn’t even slouch for a comfortable arrangement. I didn’t speak. I didn’t ask how he was doing. I didn’t even open my mouth. Nearly halfway through the ride, he was the first one to speak. Though he sounded tired his voice carried a happy tone. The tone of a curious child. “You saved me, didn’t you?” he asked. I couldn’t think of any words to form, giving me a dumb look, I’m sure. “I did?” “You were the one who shot the loup, right?” he rubbed his lower arm with his shaking hand, no doubt where he needed stitches. “Loup? Wolf? Is that what you call them? Loup?” I asked, bringing out the confusion. “Must be. That is what chose to visit,” he shrugged. “Then, yes. I shot him. But, really that was only half of the saving. Your father knew where you were headed. He pulled you out of the ravine. Other than shooting the wolf, loup, I helped carry you back to camp and stayed up to help in any way I could. It was the least I could do after you saved Joanne,” I confessed. “Joanne? That little girl?” he asked. I’m sure he felt dumb, having to ask. I nodded, “Joanne, my little sister.”

There was a pause between us, the normal mood becoming a little darker. I could hear various shouts coming from the wagons following behind. Laughter mingled with complaints in these many conversations. Even Jack and Sophia were talking softly to one another, a rare scene to watch. I took a good look at Morse, the stranger who saved my sister. This strange being I had begun to trust even more. “Thank you for helping her. If you hadn’t taken action she – I wouldn’t know how I and my mother could live through it, just…,” I lowered my head, moisture forming in my eyes. I pressed a hand to my face, swiping down as I brought my head back up. I let my fingers fall away, tapping the cover of my sketch book which sat in my lap. Morse didn’t say anything. At first. He didn’t really move from his spot beside me, staring out into oblivion. “I’ve never really done anything that didn’t involve a mistake. I’d always do something I thought was worth while, but then… I’d mess it up,” his voice lowered by the end, “Thank you, for saving me. For wanting to help someone who you no doubt don’t really trust.” He didn’t laugh as I thought he would, like the joke he made at least a week ago. I just nodded, trying not to cry any more than I wanted to. The more I think about it, I am grateful that Elizabeth didn’t come. I wouldn’t want to see the fear in her eyes. The rest of this time in the wagon, nothing else of last night’s fright came up. “I didn’t ask before, because of the speculation that I was a spy. What did you do on Earth?” Morse asked me. I fingered pages of my sketch book, memories engraved in every other page. It wasn’t a matter of trust that crossed my mind. I didn’t bother to change my mind. “I made this sketch book myself. My athair was a shoemaker and he taught me everything he could before he ed away,” I rubbed my fingers over the several stitches in the cover of my book, “After that I started working his trade. I didn’t take over the store though. Athair had entrusted it to one of his friends. So, for these few years that he has been gone, I have been making shoes, boots,

anything that would fit on the foot of man. And, I made this book.” I stared at my boots, one of the few pairs I had made with Athair. “I had started collecting scraps too small for even child sized shoes and put them together.” I was sure Morse would ask more of me. Instead, he sat there in quiet thought as if this were a riddle. “I had asked Papa why you stood guard. Is it that you and your people fear attack? Even here?” This time he turned to me. “Even though you claim that this world is safe from wars and thieves, we come from a different world. We can’t trust everyone and sometimes we don’t even risk trusting outsiders. Before we found ourselves here, the camp was attacked by Highwaymen.” “Yes, Sophia told me as much,” Morse said, his voice low, his shaking hand slowing down. His back slouched forward and his eyes closed half way. “Well, it was during the night. We had set up camp and were by this time resting up for the next day’s journey to the Prayer Ground. That is when they attacked. Not only did they take what was in the wagons, but left us stranded. Taking everything but what we held onto. Fortunately, several of us, including me, still had our bows and arrows. But the rest of the supplies, the horses, other weapons, food, were taken. Stolen from us. This is one reason these people have a hard time trusting a place like this,” I said. Morse’s left hand started shaking rapidly again, his gaze returning to me. It had looked as if he were falling asleep, staring at nothing. And now, he has just awoken. “You said ‘these people have a hard time trusting,’ and not, ‘we can’t trust,’ like before. Why is that?” Morse asked, his hand drumming out a beat on his crosslegged lap. I opened my mouth to speak, “I tend to see everything differently. Mother says that was just like Athair. To see the good in everything and not condemn them for the first look they give us. I suppose this is true. I didn’t see these Highwaymen

as a big threat. They didn’t take any lives, just what was needed. What they needed to survive. Not all thieves are just that. Some of them must be people who took a wrong turn somewhere and don’t know how to get back, so they continue what they were taught by the rest of the world.” “So, you do trust me,” a meek child-like grin appeared smothered on his face. I nodded, “Honestly, I probably trusted you from the start.”

Mol

H e stopped the wagons for the night, leaving the promised couple to sit up front while he helped unpack the necessary equipment for the fires and preparations for the meals. Mol beckoned help from both his son and George. It wasn’t his usual custom to listen in on his ailing son’s conversations, but this one had caught his attention. Trust. It wasn’t a question of who you could really trust, but what it was. In a way, without war, there really isn’t a definition for peace. Without any conflict, there isn’t a question of who you can trust. You trust everyone. Mol knew this was one thing that they didn’t teach in Training. Who to trust was always a life lesson. But, for Morse, he trusts everyone. Mol didn’t voice any of this, the progress in moving the small logs from the bed of the wagon pausing. “Ma! What are you doing up here?” George jumped off the back of the wagon, tossing his to the growing pile and scooping up the little girl in his arms, “And how are you doing Joanne?” Joanne, the little girl with the braid running down her back sort of nodded, rubbing an eye as if she were tired. She looked back at the older lady who was no doubt her mother. “George, we’ve come to thank that young man. If it weren’t for him, there would be no happy reason to continue,” their mother gestured to Mol’s son, standing up in the back of the wagon, ing down a log. Mol looked over at George, his sister Joanne and his mother, whom he heard called, Megan. Taking the log from Morse, he pulled him down as well. “Here Morse, one lesson you won’t learn at Training. Textbook work isn’t the same as fieldwork,” Mol whispered in Morse’s ear.

Mol watched as Morse stepped forward. George put Joanne down, still holding her hand. “Ma, this is Morse. And Joanne, I’m sure you’ve already met Morse,” George crouched down to talk to her. “Young Man, thank you. It is with a full heart that I thank you for saving little Joanne from that terrible beast,” Joanne’s mother stepped forward, standing beside her children. This made Mol somewhat proud of his son, seeing what his action did for this family. If there was any doubt whether Morse would make a Warder, none remained. “Thank you, mister,” Joanne said herself, shyly. Then, what Mol saw was more than proof enough that Morse could guide these people, with or without the Training lessons he missed. Morse himself crouched down, a smile on his face. Not a fake smile that good manners pull off, but a genuine breaking of the lips, “You can call me Morse.” He even offered his hand to the little girl. Joanne’s face cracked a little, a look that she no doubt wanted to disguise but couldn’t. A giggle escaped, the smile breaking open as she accepted his hand. “Nice to meet you, Joanne,” Morse shook her hand. “And you!” Joanne squealed, the hand shake becoming bigger. It wasn’t until later that Mol was able to really speak to his son, Joanne asleep from the long day. Mol wasn’t the best person to show how he felt. And trying to tell Morse that he would be good on his own was beginning to sound hard. “Morse, you keeping up with that book?” Mol asked his son. Morse shook his head, the little kid in him confessing that he didn’t do what he was supposed to. Mol let out a heavy sigh, which sounded like an annoyed groan.

“It isn’t that I didn’t try. I don’t see the point in reading it. If I really have to, I should read it when I have time. I don’t have time right now. I am not caring if I know that book forwards and backwards or even upside down. It won’t help me now. They aren’t rules. It doesn’t give me a step-by-step instruction from start to finish. If you were to ask me, I would tell you that Time to Travel: the Journey to a Tempus Portal is out dated,” Morse grumbled. Mol knew this was because he was sure he was in trouble. Morse had always taken an unkind look at his own lack of not doing what he was told to. “Morse. You don’t need to read the book. As it turns out, you didn’t need to,” Mol confessed. It wasn’t like him to it when he was wrong. “What?” “We gave it to you to read, because, I didn’t think you were ready for the responsibility to take your turn at guiding people. It turns out that I was wrong. You can lead these people home,” Mol rubbed his hands together, looking away from his son and into the fire, “I should take it back with me when I leave. Grey will want it back.” “No, Papa. I should read it. If you are telling me that I don’t need it because I know when to take action, you are wrong. I only ran toward the action and did what I saw that I had to do. I don’t even find myself qualified to take these people home. What if you weren’t there? Would I still be here? Alive? If I really was ready to lead, I wouldn’t have done that. Once I fall down into that ravine, I won’t be of help to anybody. What good am I if I end up killing myself?” Morse grumbled, standing up to leave. Mol looked up to his son, the fire making his tall figure seem slimmer, shadows gathering around him. Morse didn’t move from his spot as if he were glued, waiting for a reply. No, that wasn’t it. Not for Mol. Morse’s father noticed something more. Morse’s posture was different. Slouched, not stalk straight. And Morse’s hand wasn’t shaking. It wasn’t beating against his leg. “Morse,” Mol stood up beside him, looking into his son’s face. That was different too. “Morse,” Mol shook his shoulder. His son straightened up and looked at him. Morse’s hand rapped against his leg

when he turned his eyes to his father. “Yes, Papa?” Morse asked. “Go. Get some sleep. I’m going to let you guide the horses tomorrow,” Mol sent off his kid with a pat on his back. He knew something more was happening to Morse. Bigger than the shaking hand. More dangerous than his practicing and chasing after loups. Mol was really praying that they had started this trip in time. Before Morse did anything else to himself.

Morse

A fter that first day of taking the reigns from Papa, I’ve been driving the herd. Papa watched me from the back where George and Joanne were. Joanne had been ing us in the lead wagon ever since I told her my name. Even tried to teach me the alphabet. This was after she begged her mother and George reassured her that he would be in the same wagon. That was at least six weeks ago. And only two weeks have ed since I started to think of my Gifts. The only Gift I knew of I couldn’t bear. My practicing was no Gift to me. It is my reoccurring mistake. It is a Curse. It is my personal Curse. If my Curse, my ability to fight, is one of my two given Gifts, what is the other? I usually have my own time to think of this, the few moments guiding the horses and wagon before George reminds me about the language lessons. Even trying to how to form the words I know is a struggle. “Repeat after me, Morse. Conas atá tú?” George prompted me. “How are you?” I repeated. “No, Morse. In my tongue. Try it. Conas atá tú?” I grumbled, not wanting to learn any of this anymore. Even if I could understand it, I couldn’t speak it. I rolled my shoulder, getting used to the full range without the stitches. By this time, my sore muscles had healed and the scratches on my hands were completely healed as well. “Saoire dom féin. Ní féidir liom a rá aon cheann de seo ceart.” There was a pause as if my protest was new, which it wasn’t. I tried to give up at least once everyday since a week after failing every word. “What? Morse, say that again,” George finally said. “Leave me alone. I can’t say any of this right.”

I glanced in the back where George sat behind Sophia and Jack, Joanne perched in his lap taking a needed nap. Papa was sitting beside him, a strange look of satisfaction on his face. “What? Do I need to repeat it again?” I looked back to the horses in front of me, making sure to follow the path. In doing so, I caught the looks on both Sophia’s and Jack’s faces. Amazement. “What?” I asked again, not getting an answer the first time. “Do you realize that you spoke to me in my tongue, perfectly?” George ask me, slowly. This didn’t . “Cad é?” “There! You did it again!” Sophia burst in. Jack didn’t even object to her talking to me, dumbfounded that I was saying something in his language that he could understand. “I did? Does this mean that I don’t need any more lessons?” my neck twisted to look at each of the wagons occupants. “No, Morse. You need a lot more work,” Papa said. I’m sure I grumbled again, making my aggravation known to the rest in the wagon. This made George laugh and Jack turn away, finally getting over the sentence that I had said. This lesson felt like the longest one ever, after those correct pronunciations of words. My hand shook, the beads around my wrist jiggling from side to side. Looking at the beads I wore always made me think of Brooke. The night wasn’t very different as the lessons became extended, including little Joanne teaching me to speak the alphabet correctly in her language. This really was the only time I had to show any progress, having to communicate, or try to,

with Sophia’s father, who was the most interested party in everything going on. Why he didn’t ask Papa for the world’s history was lost to me, making my brain as tired as my butt. Sitting on a wooden slab known as the front seat of the wagon wasn’t very comfortable, even with my perferred sitting position. Even the small rationing of the two loups caught in camp were clearly diminished at this time, the stew thinned out for another night’s meal before having to make another batch for the next week. On this night the lessons were cut short, Papa advising everyone to rest easy for the night, drawing me away for a talk with a hand on my arm. Another talk. Instead, this one was stern, serious. I could tell it wasn’t anything he was angry at, including me, but concerned for the future. “Morse, I’ll be leaving tonight. I’m handing full command over to you,” Papa let go of my arm. “Really? Do you need a horse for the trip back?” I offered. Papa shook his head, “No. No need for a horse. I’ll be back home before you and your flock begin riding tomorrow.” I opened my mouth, stunned at his answer, trying to think of a way that was possible. It couldn’t be. “How will you be able to do that?” I asked, finding words. “It is my other gift. It is a sort of Portal, like that of a Tempus Portal, but not for time or space, but merely distance,” he patted my shoulder. I could feel my hand shake at my side, the wind brushing against the palm as if to comfort me in this parting. Instead of letting the wind slide through the drumming fingers, I placed my hand on Papa’s shoulder. A sign that I should be okay by myself, though I didn’t believe it. I don’t think he did either. “I would continue with you, but it isn’t how it is to be played out. Every guide has to complete their first run by themselves in order to . It is your turn,” he let go of my shoulder, “I will still take back the book if…,” “No, Papa. I should read it and I will. I don’t know everything and I need to

learn all I can. If not for this journey I’ll do it for the next one.” The old man before me nodded, his face remaining the usual fatherly-blank expression. Whenever he displayed this expression, I knew there was more to it. He turned to head to the tree line that grew at the bottom of the mountain which was gradually becoming smaller the further we traveled south. “If I’m supposed to do this myself, then why have you come this far with me?” I asked. Papa stopped to look back my way, not fully turning around. “Could it be that I wanted to help you through the steps? I came to show you the way. Not just by pointing out the directions on a map, but to hopefully show you the bigger picture. Sometimes, these trips aren’t just for the travelers. Not every wandering traveler is lost.” He left before I could come up with a reply to his riddle. The trees grew around him, and he was gone. I returned to the settling camp, George writing in his sketch book, Sophia and Jack hanging out by the fire with her father and George’s mother. Instead of ing either I went back to the main wagon, digging out the book Papa and Grey had given me before we left. Before I was pushed to lead these people astray. Time to Travel: The Journey to a Tempus Portal. The title stared at me as I opened the cover. I played with the edges of the pages, flipping from one to the next thin plane filled with small hand-scripted words. My hands pressed together, hearing the slight thud as I closed the book. Tucking the collected paper under one arm I lowered myself to the ground, resting my back against a back wheel of the wagon. Scooting back I straightened my posture, softly dropping the thick book in my lap. My left hand drummed at the hard cover as I rubbed it over the surface. The cover swung open revealing the first couple of pages. It wasn’t quite night, the Sol having left me too little light to actually read anything. My eyes fell over the words, scanning the blurred lines as if I were really reading. I closed the squiggles from sight.

I let my head fall back, bumping into the wheel of the wagon. Closing my eyes briefly I lowered my head back down. Opening them, even in the lower light, I saw a corner. Two lines coming together, poking from the bottom of the book. Pinching the thin corner, my fingers pulled it further out of the book. Releasing the item from the book, I brought it closer to my face. It looked like a small window, two smiling faces staring back at me. Young. The girl to the left smiled brightly, showing off her best smile. Her companion, the young man beside her smiled as well, but not as wide. Not as confident to stare straight into the camera. Almost, unsure of himself. I set down the book, the weight of it resting on my outstretched legs. In order to stop my left hand from shaking the curious object, I took it in my other hand, able to observe it closer. What was this window? My vision spotted words written on the bottom that framed the couple’s faces. Tilting it towards the light, a wavering red and orange hue, I read them. Christopher and Lilac. “What have you there?” George came down beside me, resting his arms on his knees while still clutching at his home-made book. “I was wondering the same thing. It was poking its way out of this book.” I handled the thin window carefully, somehow knowing that it was old. Bringing it closer to my face, the smiles became clearer, but not clear enough. “May I see it?” George held out his hand, waiting to be handed the window. I complied, handing over the item. At first he looked over it, studying the couple. He tilted it towards the light of the fire, hoping to see it better. “No idea,” he said under his breath, shaking his fiery head. He handed it back. “There might be something in this book about it, but no telling where it says anything about it,” I said, opening the cover and placing the window inside. George agreed, setting his sketch book down beside him. “Better to start reading, then.”

“I couldn’t now. It is dark and I have to rise early and wake all you people up.” “Your father usually wakes the world,” George leaned back on the rest of the wagon wheel, crossing his ankles. “He is gone. Left before it became completely dark. It is my turn to lead on my own,” I ran both my hands through my slowly growing hair. I even rubbed at the neat stubble on my chin. “He is gone? That fast? He must not be more than ten minutes away.” “Nope. Papa is back home by now. With the help of his distance-jumping Gift,” I groaned, combing my hair again. “Distance-jumping Gift? What is a Gift?” George asked after a pause. He turned to me, shadows hiding his face. “On this world, everyone receives Gifts. Women, one Gift. Men, two. We get these Gifts from the Station Warders in the Low Lands. Papa’s Gifts are his loud voice and apparently this distance Portal. I hadn’t even known about any of this until he told me before we started out.” All George did was nod. Possibly because he didn’t get a single thing I said. “I should be able to read it tomorrow,” I said. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, ready to go to sleep for the night, knowing the stars would be watching. “Oíche mhaith,” I told George. “Good night,” he echoed back in his language, leaving me to rest.

Grey

G rey followed behind. It was beginning to feel as if he had been following these travelers for a long time, not nine weeks. Before Mol left that evening, Grey had the time to intercept him. “Mol, I see you find it an appropriate time for Morse to fly from the nest by himself. How is he holding up?” Grey asked in the slight cover provided by the trees. “He may need more work, but I trust him. Not just for getting them home, but finding his own way as well. I believe he can do it,” Mol said, his voice rustling the leaves still hanging onto the trees. Grey looked up to the tops, waiting for any night birds to talk out of turn. None did. This reminded him of Christopher and Lilac, guiding them through calm nights like this one, and even the bad ones covered in storms. He looked back to Mol, “Why do you trust him so well, even when he can’t trust himself?” he asked. Mol looked at the Wandering Warder that stood before him, partly lost in the shadows where the stars couldn’t cast their light. His voice remained even, knowing each Warder had their duties. “He cares for them. When loups invaded the camp, he didn’t wait to see what would happen or let the people take full charge. He ran into the action and risked his life, saving a little girl. Even if he doesn’t know every rule, he knows that there are more important things than himself. He is taking the responsiblity that we pushed on him and helping them. When I offered to take the book back, he insisted on reading it. To learn by it.” Grey listened to his friend’s words, knowing everything he said was true. Not because he trusted him for it or that they were taught not to withhold anything, but because he saw it himself. As a Wandering Warder, it was his job to watch and observe other Warder’s progress, when he wasn’t out on his own.

“I’ll watch him the rest of the way, Mol. Be sure of that. But, I won’t interfere. Even if he has another practice session,” Grey held out his hand for confirmation from Morse’s father. They gripped their fingers and palms, giving a short shake before Mol bid him a safe journey and left.

Periit

T he days ed somewhat slow, the story of his path to this landscape slowly unraveling with each new question asked by Guy. Taking in the morning light from the Sol, the Main Warder walked the cracked ground to and from the barracks, waiting for the next day to appear. “Periit, how will I ever discover the meaning of each of these markings?” Guy insisted again. Periit looked at Guy, standing still from his slight pacing, feeling something was going to happen. Not here in the Low Lands, but out there, further north in the world. In a valley. “Whatever you can. Research, memory and even experience. Some of these markings,” he grabbed Guy’s hand and pointed to multiple symbols, “Are family history, while others personify a personality.” “I don’t get it,” Guy started to trace a vine that lead up one arm. “What don’t you get?” the lost man asked. His arm fell back to his side, dust blowing around his hooded cloak. Both Warders started pacing toward the direction of the wind. “Personality. History.” Periit stopped again, Guy pausing beside him, draping a side of his dust covered cloak to reveal one symbol-covered arm. “What is your favorite color?” Periit asked the young man. “What does this have to do with these markings?” “Just… what is your favorite color?” he asked again. “Blue. I still don’t…,”

“Color can be part of a personality. If I were to disagree with you and say that my favorite color was purple, would you demand that I change my mind?” “No,” Guy shook his head, “It is your opinion. It is your right to have a different color in mind as a favorite.” “Exactly. Everyone is different. This is what makes people themselves. These differences in opinion make up personality. Do you see?” “I guess I see what you mean. These markings are different from the others because it tells of my personality. Not theirs. But, what of the history?” “History is a telling. A long story of what has ed, but it doesn’t just tell you what you already know. It also shows you where you and your family came from. These markings and designs can show you your heritage,” Periit started up again, his feet carrying him away from the newest recruit. This was nearly like when he had come upon that boat, mastered by the first person he saw in this world.

The man found a shore. A place where the dusty soil met the water, weaving in and out from the extensive bowl known as a sea. And, this wasn’t all he found. Up the shore to the right of where the man stood, was a wooden structure. The only word that came to the man’s mind was ‘dock’. And tied to the end of the firmly placed dock was another structure, only this one was floating on top of the water. It was rounded near the front, pointing out to the open body of water. “Can I help you find your way?” a voice coming from behind him startled him into a near jump. He turned to the sound of footsteps. Behind him, following up an unseen path was a man younger than he. Short hair that was awry and messed up from lack of combing and eyes that saw most everything. How could he suddenly sneak up on a soul like that? “If it isn’t any trouble.”

These were the first words the lost man had said. The first words he could saying after finding himself in the middle of nowhere. His own voice sounded strange, but vaguely familiar. “No need to ask. I could tell you were lost just by the way you look. Have you a name?” the stranger ed him, heading to the dock and boat. “Where am I?” “You are on the Macabre Island. I like to call it the island of lost time.” The man followed the other on the dock to the edge where the boat waited. The stranger motioned for him to step in, knowing more about what the lost man wanted better than he himself did, as if he had done this before. He stepped in, the younger one following. Pushing off the dock, the boat began to sway further into the darker waters. “What is your name?” he asked. There was silence, the water lapping the sides of the floating vessel. “I don’t know.” “How can one not know their own name?” the younger man laughed slightly, taking an oar to push the boat out even farther. “I can’t ,” and this was the truth. The other looked at him strangely, pushing the wooden stick into the water. The lost man looked about him, finding the sky lighter, not as dull and gray as he had seen it on the island. The waves made the strange boat moan, and the breeze started to fill its sails. “It isn’t the first time I’ve found someone lost on Macabre Island. It’s sort of, like my job, you see. I’m a Wandering Warder. I travel the world and look for lost ones. And the island is one of the hot spots. But, I’ve never come across someone who didn’t who they were. First time for everything, huh?” the stranger said, setting the sails to catch the whispering breeze. “Where are we going?” the man asked.

The Warder looked him over, smoothing out his wild hair, “The Mainland. Always walk through the Low Lands to get back home.” “Where is home?” The Wanderer laughed weakly, “I don’t have one, really. I just call it home. Past the mountains and through the trees.” The lost man glanced up to the top of the mast, then back to his companion quietly. He contemplated him, his clothes and shoes. How different they were, from his own clothing. “What of me, then? Will I follow you home?” he asked. “Maybe. If I can’t help you find yours.” Even his dialect was strange to the ears of the lost man, carried here by the lightning. “What is your name?” the lost man asked.

Periit was, by now, back at the barracks, another dust storm blowing in from the direction of the ocean past the high and flat peaks of stone. Just thinking back to that meeting made him brush his fingers over his scarred face.

Harold

T he days almost seemed to run together, the new routine becoming habit. Harold rode with Megan and a few of the other elders, giving little time of quiet. Megan would go on making her project blanket, talking amongst the rest about plans, the strangeness of this pilgrimage and even about their guide, Morse. Before the wolves had invited themselves in the camp, she would question his place at the head of the caravan, trying to keep Joanne occupied by teaching her the art of knitting. Harold took over the task of driving his wagon, guiding the horses through the grass and trees that hid the base of the huge mountain. When he was not guiding the two horses to follow the rest in front, he took care of them. He would brush them down with handfuls of dry grass and feed the creatures with what grain could be spared. Even Sophia took a hand in this, realizing that someday she would have to take over the family trade. On this particular night, before the sun fell behind the horizon, father and daughter tended to the horses. “Sophia, how are those lessons going?” Harold asked his little girl. “Well, Morse is getting better, being able to pronounce most words correctly, but I’m sure he will need more practice,” Sophia brushed a brown coat of a bay, looking around its neck at her father. “I hope that is a good sign,” Harold answered back, rubbing the muzzle of a black horse with clay-red highlights, “I truly like this one. A remarkable beast he is. He looks more of a runner, not one for work as we have him doing. What say you, Sophia?” Sophia stepped around the next horse, looking up at the horse Harold was iring. She nodded her head once, turning to the stomps of Jack behind her. He looked the usual with his brooding face. No doubt still fuming over that young Morse.

“Sophia, the meal is nearly ready,” Jack stated, nodding to Harold. “Yes, Jack. My nose can smell. I am nearly done, dear one. Wait,” she smiled over the back of the horse. Harold patted the black horse, turning to rub down the next. A sleek, dapple-gray. The spots seemed to have been placed on the horse’s hide by the wind. This one nickered at the black one, speaking softly in its own language. “No doubt you will continue helping George with the lessons tonight,” Harold said, not bothering to stop his own conversation around Jack. That one needs to learn respect, and even a little trust. “Aye, Dad. George can only break words down so much,” Sophia answered, ignoring the gasping expression playing over Jack’s face. Even Harold saw this; sure that sooner or later his promised son-in-law would blow another fuse. “Why not just talk in one language tonight, push him a little,” Harold suggested. “Aye. I’d like to push him over a cliff,” Jack crumbled his hand into a fist, ready to punch out the next shadow. “Jack, what nonsense have you got rattling in your head? What has Morse done to deserve your remarkably negative attitude?” Harold witnessed his daughter stop rubbing down a horse to turn on Jack, the grass still sticking out of her clasped hand. “It isn’t a matter of what he has done, but what he will do. I’m sure he will steal you from me.” “Are we back to that stalker-in-the-night theory of yours again? That he will suddenly run off in the night with me, to do what he wishes? Truly, I’m wondering what made you think of such…,” “What about me finding you with him? Alone?” Jack asked. Harold stopped his inspection of the dapple-gray, stepping forward. It wasn’t the first time that Jack had pointed fingers at Sophia for wandering off on her own. And it wasn’t the tenth time that Jack insisted that Morse was up to no good. “I was only asking him about our situation. About the Portal or… what he called

it. I was looking for more information about this whole thing and you think that…,” Sophia placed a hand on her chest, that gesture that Harold knew all too well. A sign that she didn’t feel trusted. And this gesture was mostly brought on by Jack and his protectiveness. Harold shook his head. “It may have started like that, but what of your learning?” Jack pushed even more, leaning in himself. Sophia stared at him in the face, not giving him any ground to come closer. She sniffed and Harold knew why. It was the usual case between these two. Drink. “Have you been drinking, Jack?” Sophia asked. But both she and Harold knew the answer. Harold watched Jack straighten himself, rolling back his shoulders as if to confirm a challenge, but this one he usually lost. He didn’t say anything to ease her mind. Jack knew better than to lie to Sophia. “You must know that the water here is better,” Sophia said, her voice even, not letting her emotion bend the words she said. Harold looked at them both, taking up his inspection of the horse again. It was always like him to let the two promised ones conduct their own arguments, though there were many at this point. “That sissy-boy must have played with your mind,” Jack grumbled. “Nothing of the sort. This has nothing to do with him!” “Yes. It does!” Jack raised his voice. Harold didn’t think it wise to listen in any longer, finishing brushing down the horse, then leaving them to themselves. Sophia’s father ed Megan at the fire, the pot steaming with stew. The same usual stew. But this evening, mingling with the watery smell was that of bread. Fresh and welcoming. “Is that bread I am smelling?” Harold asked of Megan.

George’s mother looked up from her work-in-progress blanket with a nod. “I decided why not make a little filler to go with the dreary meal? Liven up this night’s meal.” “It should be good.” “If our taste buds agree with it. A new recipe for fireside loafs from that young man, Morse. Such a thoughtful lad,” she returned to her work, others ing the circle. Morse sat next to George who crossed his legs beside Harold. George persisted, Morse slowly pronouncing each word. “How is the language treating you?” Harold leaned forward to glance at Morse. “Really, really…struggling. I believe it to be getting…better,” Morse navigated himself with the words, a few sounding off. “As anyone can see, Morse here has a few more words to work through,” George turned to Sophia’s father, laughing at Morse’s progress. Taking up the spoon, Harold was soon distributing the stew, having to wait for the bread to be done. “Dad,” Sophia came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “Yes, little one?” he turned to look at her. “I am going to head off for the night. I’m not that hungry,” she said. “I shouldn’t let you go without something in you,” Harold went for another bowl. Sophia stopped him. “No, really Dad. Not tonight.” “Wait a while until the bread is done baking. A new recipe,” Megan insisted, helping Joanne settle down for the meal. Sophia started to protest again, leaving George’s mother no choice. “No, darling. Come here. Sit down and eat. I won’t let you go off without something in you!” Megan demanded, patting the space between her and Harold.

“Your mother has a way about her, doesn’t she?” Harold leaned closer to George to whisper. “Well. You might say that, having already enough practice to sit anyone down whether they want to or not,” George shook his head, watching Sophia comply with his mother’s wishes. “Never you mind what Jack is doing. He must have enough drink in him to last the night. If he comes over here, he’ll have to serve himself,” George’s mother said, trying to comfort Sophia as she began to sob. Arguing with Jack was always hard for Sophia. Harold had to wonder why she hadn’t given up on him yet.

George

Week 10, Day 65 J ack took his place in the back of the wagon today, Sophia not letting him sit up front. Not after he took to his usual drinking. So now, I have a place between Sophia and Morse, separating them so Jack wouldn’t complain. Morse didn’t mind, Sophia didn’t say a word abou t it. I have had this spot for the last three days, bouncing Joanne on my knee whenever she wanted to the group. All the while, bothering Morse with the much needed pronunciations of words. Except today. Without Joanne to provide distractions and Jack snoozing in the back, Morse gave me the reins, asking me to guide while he fingered through his book. What better time to do it than now? I didn’t question him as he turned his back to look for the book in the back of the wagon. “What is he doing?” Sophia leaned forward to ask me, watching Morse sift through a few bundles near the front. “No idea,” I said simply, keeping my eyes on the horses. Athair, I pray I don’t have to do this tomorrow as well. There is always the option of asking Jack to guide the horses, but I doubt he would do so, seeing as he hates Morse. “Here we are. Where did I leave off?” Morse spun back around, placing the heavy book in his lap, flipping open the pages. “Last night you were reading something or other about direction,” I said, taking a quick look at him. He nodded, looking for the thin paper we have been calling a window, though I don’t believe it is anything of the sort.

“Ah. Right here. Direction. ‘Most other worlds have different polarity, giving them different directions than here. For example, if someone from another world were to have a com or other instrument to point the direction, it could point north where as you are actually looking south or vise-verse.’” Morse read, holding the window in his right hand. “What? Polarity?” Sophia asked. “I think it has something to do with magnets, but I’m not going to get into it,” Morse dismissed her question, moving his finger down the page and turning to the next, silently reading on. “No mention of this ‘window’ yet?” I asked, not bothering to watch the horses. Morse shook his head, turning another page. “Why not let me look?” Sophia asked, reaching in front of me to grasp the book. Morse looked up as if for the first time, looking at Sophia and her outstretched arm. At this point all I was really doing was holding the reins, Sophia blocking the room for necessary arm movement. “I don’t believe you can read it,” Morse said lowly, his left hand shaking less, his straight posture slouching forward. The fingers on his right hand palmed the window, nearly closing a fist around the two smiling faces. Taking both reins in one hand, I patted Sophia’s arm, motioning that I would hand it over. Retracting her arm, I opened my hand, asking for the book. “Morse,” I tapped his hand holding the scene of the smiling couple, getting him to look at me. Slowly, his hand opened slightly, letting the nearly crumpled window lay flat in his palm. Near the same time, he readjusted his bad posture and his left hand started to shake more violently. He looked at me. At the book. Then back to me, blinking as if he had just awoken from a good-night’s sleep. “What?” he asked me, placing the window in the book to mark his place. He sounded as if he didn’t know what was wanted. “Sophia wants to look at the book. Maybe she can find what we’re looking for,”

I said, repeating the request. “Oh. Okay, sure. Why didn’t she just ask me directly?” he closed the pages and handed it to me where I handed it over to Sophia. After doing so, I gave back Morse his responsibility. “She did,” I said. The lines on Morse’s face changed, confused as he took the reins from me, straightening the horses out. I kept my eye on him, listening to Sophia flip though the pages of the book, no doubt skipping the words and looking over the diagrams and drawings, knowing she couldn’t actually read it. I only knew this to be true because I had taken my turn trying to read it a few nights before, with no success. With language comes an alphabet. And to my disbelief, Morse’s alphabet was different from ours. I couldn’t even read the title that was stamped into the hard cover. “Anything?” I turned my attention to Sophia and the book, Morse not picking up the conversation. “No. I can’t read any bit of it. Morse, you were right,” Sophia itted. “Right about what?” Sophia softly closed the book and tried to squint her eyes at Morse on the other side of me. “You were right that I couldn’t read this,” she said slowly. “I never said that,” he looked over. I watched as Sophia’s hands formed fists on top of the book, her knuckles briefly turning paler than the rest of her skin. Her face even darkened a shade as she widened her eyes. “I get it from Jack, I certainly don’t need it from you,” Sophia said, sounding threatened. “Get what?” Morse asked.

Sophia’s mouth gaped open, “Lying!” Morse’s mouth opened, a small laugh escaping, “Lying? You are saying that I am lying to you?” “Yes!” Morse dropped his smile, looking from Sophia to me. Then down to the beads wrapped around his wrist. There they sat, shaking from his quaking hand, smooth sphere shaped wood. What is about those beads he finds comfort in? “I can’t lie. I’ve already told George this. I can’t lie!” Morse said. Sophia turned her eyes away, not giving Morse a chance to explain. He looked at me, a child not sure why he is in trouble almost pouting back. I rubbed at my beard, looking at his scruff. Even his hair was becoming longer. “Morse,” I began, “You had just told her that you didn’t believe that she could read the book. Do you that?” “I did? I don’t saying that,” he said, gripping and releasing the reins a little, trying to think. His eyes flickered up, and then back to his hands, glancing past me. He leaned forward, trying to catch Sophia’s attention. “Sophia. I’m sorry. I don’t – I shouldn’t have said it and then go back on it. I don’t know why I did that,” he blinked, sitting up straight and returning to his job of steering the horses in the right direction. Sophia didn’t answer back. The rest of this day’s ride was quiet, lessons halted, the book put up and Jack taking back the stage, comforting Sophia the best he could from the back of the wagon. He even glared through me at Morse. Lord, I really don’t know if I can believe Morse. I had heard him say those words and then deny them just as quickly. I pray that you can help him with these situations, problems, if any. Amen.

Morse

I didn’t say those words, ‘I don’t believe you can read it.’ At least, I can’t saying them. Just a few seconds. Wiped clean from my memory. All I am really sure of is a brief moment of silence. Then, a breeze woke me! It brushed up my neck and whispered in my ear. “Morse.” Of coarse the wind didn’t actually tell me anything. After that ride, I took time to myself, not wanting to disrupt Sophia’s emotional state, trying to calm my own, staring over the beads wrapped around my wrist. I keep thinking, maybe it was for the best. Sophia is talking with Jack again, giving him a reason to apologize for his behavior. Not that I was eavesdropping. George seemed to step away from me once the wagon rolled to a stop, leaving me to uncouple the horses and set them grazing. I must have said those words. I can’t lie. These three words didn’t help. I couldn’t have lied. I’m shaking my head, hoping that the monster nibbling at my brain will stop messing with my thinking process. I rubbed at my unshaven face and head. The last week riding through Rain Shadow and the rest of the crumbling mountain side and sinking trees, Sophia didn’t acknowledge me, taking up her seat in the back of the wagon with Jack and Joanne. I even put the book away, not reading it any further. I wasn’t finding anything and every piece of information given to me was about the landscape and history of the world. Nothing I didn’t already know from Training, except a few given cultural pieces. Joanne jumped from one spot to the next once she came back to ride with us. She sang, played with Sophia and even helped me correct my pronunciations. George didn’t move from his seat in the front, watching Joanne while she ran

from one person to the next, leaving me to solemnly lead the way to the next border. He didn’t even mention my words, leaving the wind to pick it up and swiftly leave. The last day of Rain Shadow left Joanne hyper. She jumped up to the front of the wagon with George and me in the early morning before departure. I guess that the fun in the back of the wagon had finally drained out, leaving George and me to occupy her without leaving her seat between us. “Where are we heading to next?” George asked me, now bouncing the growing Joanne in his lap, exaggerating the bumpy landscape that the wagon was roaming over. “Now, the border of Rain Shadow and the Haunted Valley,” I said. This stopped Joanne’s laughing, a curious look spreading from one ear to the other. Even George stopped the bouncing, letting Joanne climb back into the spot between us. She kept smiling, turning around in the seat to face the couple in the back. “Miss Sophia, Miss Sophia! Know where we are going next?” she started to hop up and down, excited. “No, Little Joanne. Where?” Sophia asked, giving Joanne her full attention. “The Haunted Valley,” Joanne squealed happily. Sophia came forward in the wagon, making the old wood moan. I’m sure Jack didn’t move from his spot, legs hanging over the back side, watching the rest of my flock following the path I set. “Haunted Valley?” Sophia posed this as another question, directed at me. I could hear the amazement in her breath as she settled in the empty corner behind George. George turned in his seat as well, waiting for me to confirm that Joanne had correctly said my words. My neck moved, bringing my head up and down, nodding. “Why is it called that?” Sophia asked. The wagon creaked behind her, Jack moving closer. “It came to be called the Haunted Valley, because it is said that these travelers

had gone into the pack of trees toward Occasus Mountain, looking for Fog River, but didn’t return. There are even strange noises, like moans and cries coming from the cover of trees. Not one bird lives in those trees. Mysterious things have happened in the actual valley as well. Mornings clouded with mist, objects disappearing and, of course, people vanishing, never to return,” I gave a small chuckle, listening to Sophia gasp. “You aren’t trying to just scare the living wits out of me are you?” the voice came sternly, a little frightened. I turned my head to look back, seeing Jack throwing fire at me through his usual gaze. “No. That is the story of why is it named as much. I don’t believe in such mystery. They probably found a place to settle down,” I said, trying to ease her fright, and stop Jack breathing heavily behind my back. Soon, the border rose in front of the horses, an invisible wall that separated Rain Shadow from the Haunted Valley. In Rain Shadow, the trees were nearly gone, leaving little shelter left for shade and the grass was sickly, dying for the new season. As if there were really a wall, trees shot up from the soil standing in a straight line as if on guard. Down the middle, a path was cleared for people ing through, like us. The grass a different shade, compared to Rain Shadow’s dying vegetation. It was pure blue, showing even more distinctly the border line between here and there. The clearing of the trees grew gradually bigger, giving space for setting camp for the night. It was also dropping in temperature, moisture giving life to what used to be a dry breeze. Before settling down for a time of reading to myself, I ed down the last of the wood for the nightly fire from another wagon, feeling the air drop and rise around me. The wind blew in my ear, causing a brief shiver to tumble down my arms, making the hairs rise, goose bumps to stand up. It grabbed at my arm, leaving it cold. Before setting out for more wood, my legs raced to the lead wagon, where Jack and Sophia still sat, talking to each other as promised ones do. Made up at last, leaving me out of Jack’s constant death stare. Climbing to the front seat, I ransacked the back, piling the various bundles of clothing, what George told me were kilts and fur pelts, looking for my own stack

of clothes. There, near the bottom, sat my uniform from Training, clean but wrinkled. Pulling out my uniform jacket, I slipped into it, warding off the wind. “What is that?” Sophia had turned around, much to Jack’s distaste in me. He watched me like a hawk, angry for taking Sophia’s attention away once again. I glanced down at the jacket, looking at my wrist where the beads were wound. “It is my jacket,” I said, adjusting the sleeves, smoothing out wrinkles. “It is peculiar.” “I made it myself. It was part of Training,” I jumped down from the wagon, rounding to the back, leaving my jacket open. Sophia nodded. Jack grumbled. I just sucked in my cheeks, looking at them sitting there, letting their legs and feet hang free over the end. “We are going to need more wood. Jack, would you help gather some?” I asked, getting down to business, recruiting the one who thought me his enemy. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move, except to find Sophia’s hand with his. Most likely to claim her as his own. Some reason, this made me think of Brooke. She wouldn’t have put up with me like that. Instead, she always pushed me in the stream, soaking me to the bone. I stood there waiting for an answer, knowing I wouldn’t get one out of Jack. “I’ll help. I will even get someone else to help,” Sophia breathed in a smile, looking at Jack. “You don’t have to, but thank you. I’ll go find George,” I nodded as if in salute and left them to start talking in private again, playing with Brooke’s beads that hung on my arm.

George

Week 11, Day 71 T he last day ing through Rain Shadow wasn’t the best day. The only part of it I found productive was Sophia finally talking to Morse again, though I’m sure he knew not to push it, Jack taking in everything that ed between him and So phia. I don’t understand why Jack resents Morse. Joanne was enjoying the front seat of the wagon. I have to watch her constantly when she sits up front with me and Morse. On this day, she couldn’t sit still, the language lessons I was forcing Morse to repeat weren’t entertaining her as they had a week before. Even after we stopped for the night, Joanne was jumping everywhere. “George. Would you be able to help gather firewood? The wood wagon is empty. I asked Jack, but he didn’t answer,” Morse shrugged, watching Joanne pull at my sleeve, begging for a piggy-back-ride. “Jack was never one for helping people he hates. If Sophia was there, I’m sure she’ll badger him about it,” I knelt for Joanne, who happily jumped on my back. Morse just nodded, playing with a sleeve of the cloth he wore when I first saw him. The material was some-what heavy, the sleeves reaching over his wrists and a hood lined for possible cold weather. Wrapped around one shoulder and under his arm was a coil of braided leather, looking like a short length of rope. I bounced Joanne a few times, watching as he peeled back the sleeve covering his shaking left wrist, watching the beads shake as well. Heartsick, I say. “Yes, I’ll help. Let me take little sis’ to Mother,” I said, not sure if he heard me or not, gazing at those prayer beads as if in a trance. Joanne even waved, Morse just looking up, as if still waiting for me to say something. He waved back, a little smile playing on his face.

“I’ll see you by the wagon!” I yelled back, waving as well. He looked lonely. Sad just standing there, eyes cast down to those beads. I galloped past the other wagons, making Joanne laugh and play along, no longer riding piggy-back but horse-back. The other kids flocked around the sheep, helping the shepherd boy gather them in for the night. I stopped with a neigh, playfully setting my sister down by Mother. “Ma, I’m going to help Morse gather firewood,” I said, picking myself up from where I knelt, letting go of Joanne. Mother nodded, glancing up briefly from her yarn tangled fingers, just to show she was listening. Joanne giggled before realizing I wasn’t staying to play. Then she clamped onto me, hugging the pants that surrounded my legs. I only then ed I wasn’t wearing my kilt any longer. “Joanne.” “I want to help. Let me!” she whined, not letting the cloth go. I stood there, not able to move without taking her with me. I placed a hand on my face, rubbing at the hair that covered it. My baby sister rested her head against my thigh, her arms wrapping slightly tighter around my leg. I sighed, the air around me feeling cooler. “Ma? Is it okay if Joanne helps pick kindling?” Mother looked up, her hands still moving with the yarn. A smile formed on her lips as she saw Joanne’s protest. I heaved a huff of a laugh, a frown hiding the humor. “Will you do what George and Morse tell you?” she asked Joanne directly. I felt the fabric wrinkle and crease as she nodded. Then mother turned back to me. “Be sure she stays out of trouble. Nothing she can’t handle either.” “Yes, Ma.”

Without waiting for Joanne to let go, I picked up my leg and carried her, one slow step at a time. By the time I reached the wagon where Morse looked gloomy, the leg that held Joanne had fallen asleep. He glanced up, hiding the beads under a sleeve and stepping away from his seat on the wagon. His gaze landed on Joanne, silently asking me the reason for her presence. I shrugged, “She wanted to help.” He nodded, his mood changing from lonely to constructive. He settled down on one knee, smiling as Joanne stood at attention, letting go of my numb leg. “Okay. We are picking up wood for the fire. What I want you to do is pick up twigs and leaves,” Morse said. Joanne looked almost disappointed. I sat down and beckoned her to sit in my lap, “Joanne, Morse is telling you your part in the game.” At the word ‘game’ she perked up, her eyes brightening. “What you do is, see if you can gather more leaves and twigs than we can wood,” I bounced my leg, making her squeal. Patting her back I sent her off to start the game. Morse watched her run off to the edge of the trees where the leaves sat. I followed her, Morse following after me. Breaking the invisible boundary between the clearing and the line of trees in the valley, I shuffled my leg awake, picking up good size limbs. Morse ed in, quiet. Joanne ran about, scooping up the leaves and throwing them in the air, watching them fall. With a heavy stack of wood bundled in my arms, I headed to the empty wood wagon, thumping it down in a small pile. It wasn’t a minute later when Jack appeared from the direction of the lead wagon, Sophia pushing her way further into camp. “Didn’t think you were going to help,” I tell him. All he did was grumble, falling in among the trees and bushes to help pickup dead wood. Sophia did her job. After him other men came to help, properly

stacking the limbs and bark in the back of the wagon. Thankfully, within a little more than half an hour, the wagon was full. And Joanne had pushed together a small pile of leaves and twigs, throwing more onto it to make it bigger. I picked her up from behind, twirling her in the air before kissing her on the head and setting her down. “You are grand at this game, Joanne! I can’t believe you beat us!” I laughed, tickling her for winning the ‘game’, “Why don’t you run back to Mother and get some vittles? Maybe even a prize!” I widened my eyes at her, creating an excited look on her face. Smiling widely and laughing, Joanne ran off. Jack threw more sticks into the back, shoving Morse out of the way, knocking him down. Morse looked up from the ground, watching as Jack stepped over him and away from the wagon. “Jack,” I was about to ask him his reasons, stopped by a sound. A terrified scream coming from beyond the tree line. Two screams died away, Jack looking back. “Sophia!” he yelled, pushing Morse back down to the ground before dashing off into the dimly lit interior. Morse sprang up, running after Jack as if mad. I knew he wasn’t. He was doing just as he did the night the wolves came to dinner. Running to help. Before I felt I could follow, I sprinted past the gathering people who also heard the cries for help and reached the front wagon. Digging my arm over the side I pulled out my bow and the quiver of arrows, shouldering them both before turning around to find Joanne crying for me. “George!” I picked her up, letting her wrap her arms around my neck. “What is it?” “I couldn’t find Mama!” she wailed. I didn’t ask what she meant, clutching her closer to me before running toward the cook fire where Mother was at least an hour before. She wasn’t there, the

knitting folded neatly on a spread cloth. “Mother!” I yelled, looking around for her. I didn’t see her, half of the camp still working at their fires. “George!” I spun. There, Harold waved his hand, walking toward me and Joanne. “Sir, have you seen our mother?” I asked, Joanne crying against my shoulder. “She went with Sophia, to gather more herbs,” he pointed behind me where the others disappeared, looking for the sources of the screams. Not wasting another moment, I pried the crying Joanne from my neck, placing her in Harold’s arms, surprising him. “Please, Sir. Watch her,” I said. Before I let him answer, I ran for the forest of trees. I ran past several trees, hoping I was heading the right way. I wasn’t sure until I heard another scream. The wind seemed to push me along. My feet tripped over the dead and rattling leaves, almost slipping into a hole. Avoiding the forces of gravity, I ran ahead, finding the rest huddled in a line, standing still. I paced up, noticing over their shoulders the show that they were watching. Along the far side of a small puddle, most likely a mud hole, huffed a big creature. The hog’s tusks gleamed, even in the low light. He snorted, digging a hoofed foot into the soggy ground before him, smoldering across the murky watering hole at two figures. The two ladies stood stalk still, statues holding a pose meant to last forever. Sophia clutched at Mother’s arm, the half-full herb basket hanging over her other arm. Mother just glared, masking the worried grimace with a disgusted frown. “Look at Jacky-boy,” one of the huddled group pointed past the wild hog, a lone figure standing in the middle of the scene. No one else moved from their spot, likely not willing to risk their lives. Not like Jack. I watched him step around a tree, careful not to alarm the tusked creature to his left. Mother crossed herself in silent prayer, Sophia pulling her arm, craning her neck in Jack’s direction when she saw him. Someone in the watchful group quietly prayed as well.

“Jack. Don’t,” Sophia’s voice shook as she tried to whisper. The hog wagged his head like a dog with fleas, pawing at the ground some more. Jack broke from his cover, slowly stepping in front of both Mother and Sophia directly in the wild hog’s way. Lord, get them out of this. Keep them safe. I crossed myself before walking to the far end of the stunned watchers, taking my bow, stringing it with an arrow. I was ready to angle myself behind the hog, pointing the arrow’s head at the target. Closing one eye, I focused on the wild beast, pulling the wire taut. The hog sprang to life, a sound exciting him into a charge, straight at Jack and the two behind him. The target flew from my view. “Jack!” Sophia screamed from behind him. I shifted, shooting off my arrow. It shot over the raging tusks into the darkness to the left of the potential victims. I missed. But, the wild hog went down anyway, its tusks hitting the muddy ground. Its legs buckling as it fell down dead. An arrow stuck out of the hog’s thick flesh. No sooner had the animal hit the ground did the small group hiding behind the stretch of trees cheer. It must have been a show to . They spilled around the dead beast, a few patting Jack on the back for being the brave one. Until they looked at the lodged arrow, pinpointing the direction it came from. They turned around; looking at the spot I hadn’t moved from, my bow still in my hand, the quiver of arrows at my shoulder. The few that saw me cheered, coming over to pat me on the back as well. They must have thought that I was the one who killed the hog. With the bow and arrows at my disposal, it made it look as if I did it. When I didn’t. They didn’t hover around me that long as I broke from the cheering ring to my mother and the others. Jack held onto Sophia, breathing as if he ran over a mile, making sure that the wild hog wasn’t playing dead. Sophia clung back, sobbing into his borrowed shirt. I grabbed Mother’s arm, the bow circling my chest. I watched as the group of curious boys and men kicked at the tusked beast, leaving once satisfied that it was truly gone. Leaving us alone.

“Who shot it?” Jack turned to me. I shook my head. He must have seen that the arrow wasn’t mine. As I was doing so, a form landed in front of us, behind the carcass of what was the hog. A bow was clutched in their hand. “I did,” this person answered. She answered. The first clear look was her dark red hair, wavy and loose. She walked around the body, crouching to pull her arrow from the back of the animal’s neck. The little light that wasn’t held back by the thick branches of the trees fell on her. She wore pants, similar to what we were given. This looked strange to me; to see a girl wear enclosing fabric and not a long skirt like what Sophia and Mother wore. “I was out hunting when I heard your yells. I didn’t want to frighten the wild hog into charging you, so I found a perch in that tree,” she pointed back to where she came from, my gaze landing on a branch that stuck out of the trunk at least twenty feet from the wood’s floor. “I wasn’t going to shoot unless something happened. I was sure those cowards that hid among that line of trees were sure to cause him to move, but it only took one step. One step on a twig from your friend here,” she gestured to me, her strong voice hardening, “From that one small noise, he broke free. And if you were able to pull off that shot…” she stopped, walking forward with a hand to her face. She sighed. She shook her head. “And you,” she turned to Jack, “What were you thinking placing yourself in front of that beast? Did you think that if he saw you he would stop?” her hair wagged again with a shake, “No. The only thing a wild hog is interested in is food, mud and survival.” “Jack was just trying to protect us,” Sophia broke in, her tears dried. “That is the only purpose it would have brought if the hog reached you,” her voice fell, suddenly tired. Morse.

I don’t what made me think of him, just standing there being lectured by this dark red haired girl. I looked over at Jack, Sophia still clutching his arm. I glanced at the hog, through the surrounding trees. I didn’t see him there. “Where is Morse?” I looked at the group again, Mother’s eyes closed for a breath, Sophia’s face, red from weeping and Jack twitching up a smirk. “That sissy-boy? He must have run away.” “No. I saw him follow you in. You haven’t seen him?” I asked them again. The newcomer lifted her eyes from a hand, a curious look slightly bringing her features to life, not looking as tired. Her hand gripped at the bow in her hand, her mouth gaping slightly. “Did you say, Morse?” her words hinted familiarity. I nodded, taking in a long tread of air. “Come on. If we are going to look for him, we don’t have much time,” she positioned the bow over her head and shoulders, taking control of the situation.

Morse

I felt the tendons in my left hand twitch, waking me. Opening my eyes a pain pulsed at my temple, causing my vision to tilt slightly. I felt the whole world spin, my head thumping the ground underneath me. It didn’t feel good. I squeezed my eyes shut, cutting out the light. Taking a breath, the air smelled wet, cold, overwhelmed with the scent of dirt. I let my eyelids open, letting in the low light that blinded me at first. After a few blinks, letting my fuzzy vision adjust and focus, I saw what reminded me of a tunnel. The tunnel curved up around me, leading to the tops of the trees, the leaves flying toward me. The tunnel struck me as odd. Even my fingers tingled when I moved them, lifting my palm from the ground under me. I let it drop down again, digging through the loose soil under me. Soil, dirt and dead leaves. No grass. Trying to keep my eyes open and my vision straight, I rolled my head to look at my hand. Where my hand sat was dirt. Beyond it was more dirt, rising and crumbling from a wall of broken stone. My left hand lifted itself above my head, shaking more soil loose, it falling in my hair. Only after both hands found the surface of a wall did I realize I wasn’t in a tunnel. My gaze met with the low light that streamed in above me, lifting my head a little. I felt dizzy. This wasn’t a tunnel. It was a hole. Painfully, I sat up, the dizziness overwhelming me, the feeling of being sick coming over me. Sliding back I met the wall, leaning back for . I looked up. How did I get here? It wasn’t hard to what happened before I found myself here. Stacking wood with Jack and George and others. Joanne playing in the leaves. Jack pushing me. Then came those screams.

I felt like jolting awake from this buried dream, knowing that wasn’t possible. I felt so foggy, searching for the cause of me ending up here. In the ground. An empty grave. Just the thought of filling this hole with a body made me shiver, a hacking cough escaping my throat as if my body wanted to vomit. I covered my face with the shaking hand, holding my stomach with the other. I ran after Jack, following him towards the screams, I ed. Dead leaves scattered themselves around me, a current of wind following me, guiding me through the maze of trees littering the Haunted Valley. Then, there was a force. I felt a hand push me from the side before I even knew I was falling. I the rush, the wind brushing at my face, whipping my face as if it were slapping me out of anger or frustration. Then, up there. It stood. A mist-like figure standing over me, over the hole as if ready to bury me. I looked up to the direction of freedom, another shiver causing me to gasp. What was that? By this time, after realizing I was alone in the dirt and lost in a hole, my eyesight cleared. The vertigo of being several feet below ground zero left, only feeling sick. I rubbed my hands through my hair, wincing at the bump at my temple. A pulsing heat burning the side of my face. Gingerly, I touched it again, feeling it flare slightly, a headache slowly erupting. Letting my head fall forward into my hands, I closed my eyes to think. Thinking through my options wasn’t the hardest part of this situation. Fighting the nausea was taking most of my attention. The only thing I could do was sit there, which made me feel that this was my personal grave. Or, would be, if I didn’t get out. Fighting off the sick feeling, I pushed myself up, standing, back to the wall. I felt sick, the monster guzzling down a substance in my brain, making me feel even worse. Examining the wall, I saw the dirty surface was covered in chipped stone. It must have been a well at one time, now dried out and useless. Except for trapping people and living things. From one side to the opposite, it grew about

seven feet. Too wide for me to shimmy up the round, dirt shaft. The stone was crumbling, so I couldn’t very well climb up the four extra feet it stood over me. Resting my forehead against a big stone, the coldness calmed my sick feeling, the aching in my head subsiding. How would I get out of here? “Hey! Cabhair!” It was a surprise to me, my voice catching and scratching at my throat as if I hadn’t used it in forever. “Help!” I can’t be sure how long I broke my pride to yell at the top of my lungs for any living soul to hear. But, by this time, I was giving up any hope for help out of this dugout. I plopped down, feeling my jacket rub me, the bead work in the back pressing against me, no doubt getting dusty and scratched. Automatically, my hands found the ties to the right, tying them and closing the jacket. Wait. The shaking in my left hand touched the coiled braid at my shoulder, reminding me when I made it. This could help me out. I opened the cloth bar, the epaulet that held it there, slipping the rope down over my arm and into my hand. A nicely coiled, leather rope. This should work. If I could manage to throw the rope up over the ledge…. I didn’t have time to conclude that it wouldn’t work without anyone topside to catch it and hoist me up. I remained sitting, the rope I made at Training feeling heavy in my hands. Useless. The only thing my body wanted to do was climb that wall and escape from this abandoned well. Abandoned. That hit me, making the headache bulge at my temple, making me feel sick. I felt as good as dead. “Cabhair! Cuidigh liom!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

Silence followed the echo of my cry, leaving my hope to die. “Morse!” I startled, jumping from my uncomfortable spot at the bottom of the well, viewing the world above me. The voice woke me, reminding me of the last three years I lived without it. Hearing her voice reminded me of how much I missed her. “Hey! Cabhair! Thar anseo!” I yelled. More yells filled the bigger world outside. “Morse! Cá bhfuil tú?” “Where are you?” Winding the rope over my neck, resting it on my shoulder, I cupped my hands around my mouth, “Thar anseo! I’m stuck!” I projected. “Morse!” a shadow covered the hole. A face peered into the well, looking at me. “George,” I said relieved. “How did you get down there?” he leaned over, hands on his knees. “A scéal a insint duit níos déanaí,” I pulled the rope from over my head, letting its full length fall to my boots. “Why can’t you tell me now?” he watched me work with the braided rope. “It will be dark soon and I don’t think I can stand it down here any longer. A story to tell you later,” I told him, tos one end of the leather braid, “Got it?” George gripped the end in his hand, stepping back out of view. The end rose up a little, vibrations causing the rope to shiver back and forth like a snake. He must have tied the other end around a tree, the rope hanging over the edge still in my reach. I rubbed my hands together, trying to calm my shaking left hand while listening

as voices rose from above the ledge where I couldn’t see. “Jack, did you push Morse in?” my ears caught the argument as I started to pull myself up. “What? No, I didn’t push that sissy-boy in! I would have liked to,” Jack stopped with a sudden exclamation of pain. I climbed up the wall, my feet pushing off jutting stones as my arms strained to keep me from slipping back down. My head pulsed, making me feel sick to my stomach. I reached up, tugging with what little strength my arms still held and grabbed at the grass. My foot dropped, the stone under it giving way and tumbling to the bottom. The shaking in my left hand caused me to let go of the rope, my right fingers digging into the dirt above me. I pulled up, my arm tensing and my feet looking for any foothold available. “Cuidigh liom! I can’t hold on!” my arm was ready to give out, another dizzy spell overcoming me, making me feel ready to hurl. I needed to get out of here. “Morse, grab onto the rope!” George rushed over. “My left hand won’t do,” I said, the shaking extending up my arm. He looked at me, the fingers on my right hand tearing out grass and dirt. It couldn’t hold on. “Just grab it!” he yelled at me, his voice commanding and serious. He grabbed my right hand, stopping gravity from pulling me back into the deep well. I forced my left hand up, clutching the rope between my fingers, trying to keep it from shaking all over the place. Once I took the braid in my hand, he let go, telling me to switch hands before my left failed me again. I did so, my legs hanging free down the side of the dry well, my right arm helping me gain a better footing. My throat let out a groan, resting my head against the dirt wall with closed eyes, my vision unfocusing, my temple pounding. I need to get out of here. “Morse?” she asked me. That voice I have so long missed.

“Are you okay?” George asked me, still crouching beside the hole. I tilted back the head on my neck, peeking through half closed lids. “I feel sick,” I itted. My head shook as I rested it again. Then I started my climb once more. My right arm pulled, my feet climbed just near the top. I slipped, the spinning scene in front of me dimming, my foot holds crumbling. “Hold on,” he told me, a hand grabbing mine before my body could follow the instructions of the oldest trouble maker of any history pushed me back down. He held my whole weight. “I can’t hold you!” I faintly heard from my daze. “Jack! Help him!” Sophia cried from somewhere. “Like I’m going…,” he stopped. Someone else grabbed my other hand, calming the shaking with a firm touch. Small hands pulled at my left hand while George’s hands pulled at my right. I was no longer falling into that grave of mine. I tried to see who it was, my head falling back, my face upturned to the sky and trees. The eyes in my head wouldn’t focus, the light of the world darkening too fast. I held on the best I could as they hoisted me over the edge of the well, laying me down. My lungs heaved, my stomach rumbled, making my nerves rattle in my arms. I shook my head, dropping it to the ground with a sick moan. “Ní féidir liom a bhraitheann go maith.” The temple on my head pulsed, everything dizzying even with my eyes closed. “What did he say?” someone asked. That nearly forgotten voice asked. What did I say? I lifted my head as George translated, my vision suddenly working when I looked at her face. “Brooke?” I asked. Her dark, red hair was longer than I ed, it cascading freely over her shoulders, covering a bow and set of arrows. “Morse,” she said, sitting down in front of me.

“Long time.” I raised myself to my knees, the muscles in my arms ready to give out. George gathered up the leather rope, coiling it before handing it back to me. Wrapping the rope around my shoulder and tying it back to my jacket, I ran a hand through my hair, rubbing my face with the other, conscious of the scruffy beard that was appearing. “I’ll bet. Three years. Aren’t you supposed to be at Training?” Brooke asked. “Got kicked out because of one of my many mistakes. A terrible story.” “Then I won’t ask. Where did you get the shiner?” she pointed to my face. I glanced over, Sophia ran over, breaking away from Jack’s arm, “What happened?” Brooke lowered her face, her hair covering her expression in the low light. I touched the pulsing bump on my head as if I forgot it was even there, gasping at the slight pain. I shook my head again. “Not sure. I probably hit my head on the way down the hole,” I answered, looking back to Brooke. My eyes couldn’t help but stare at her, trying to how she looked three years before she left for Whispering Woods with her mother. “You fell into the hole?” Sophia asked. I didn’t answer her, tiredly lowering my head into my hands. Someone patted my head, making me lift my eyes. “Come on. We’d better get out of here before the night is upon us. It is a task to get out of here in the dark,” Brooke said. “Okay. Let’s get back to camp.” I stood over Sophia, Brooke standing up alongside George who now held his mother’s arm. Jack stomped over as I helped Sophia to her feet, taking back her

arm. “May I you?” Brooke said, pulling up a wild hog behind her.

Brooke

M orse stood there with a look on his smudged face, reminding me that he was no longer the kid I used to push into the stream. He was taller, only by a couple of inches, his hair shorter than when I followed Mama to the new homestead. He was even growing a beard, though the shadow extending over his face wasn’t as impressive as Pop’s. “No, I’m not letting you take this prize from me. I’ll pull it,” I was hoping I sounded stern and not laughing as I watched Morse look at the hog. “Why not? I can carry it,” Morse bent down to take the dead thing in his arms, stumbling forward. “No, you are not carrying it, not when you can barely hold yourself up. Are you okay?” He placed his left hand to his head. It was shaking as it had the year before I left. “I don’t know,” he shook his head. Just as Morse said this, the world seemed to get darker. “Come on,” I punched his shoulder before wrapping an arm around him in a half hug. He wrapped an arm around my waist, completing the embrace. We fell into step behind the rest of the group, Morse’s mood changing for the better, little by little. “You’ve gotten taller. Won’t you ever stop growing?” I ask him. “Possibly not. But look at you, you’ve grown as well. Even your hair has gotten darker. Have you been standing out in the rain to get it this rusty color?” he took a strand and dropped it back playfully. “Oh, do stop your joking!” I laughed, pushing him a step back. We both took a pause, letting the air sway the branches as we headed off. Morse beat his left hand against his leg, the tremor playing out a rough tapping tune.

“I missed you,” his voice sounded softer, losing the humor. “I missed you, too,” I matched his tone. “How have you come to be here?” he asked, looking around the trembling wood. I pulled the hog up, tilting my head in a gesture at my target practice. Letting it fall back down to the leafy ground, I relayed the tale of the hunt. “I was out hunting for this next week’s meals. Grabbing up food can be a little hard around this time. I had already taken down a rabbit for mid-day meal and was out for more. Then, out came those two ladies, picking herbs and such. They had spooked this wild hog from its mud hole and started screaming off their heads as if it were the dirtiest thing they ever set their eyes on. I’m rather surprised that the hog didn’t charge them right then and there. “I was already in the tree, higher ground has always been easier for me to hunt from. With all that noise they brought all those boys, the first one going right ahead and risking his life for them two. The other boys just stood there as if waiting for anything to happen. Cowards, I say. Then comes him, the red bearded fellow. He comes around the back and takes aim, snapping a twig beneath foot and causing the hog to stampede. The rest should be clear. We both shot. I hit the beast while he missed. And he got credit for my hit,” I shook my head at that, feeling my forehead drop and my eyebrows press together. “Really? George, is that so? Did you miss?” Morse called ahead. “Aye,” George said, not stopping, but merely turning his head slightly to glance behind, “How can you manage to pull that hog, or even pull Morse’s weight without strain?” he asked me, his heavy accent telling me he wasn’t from here. “It is my Gift. I have muscle. Even as a child I could always push Morse here into the stream without much effort,” I laughed. “Don’t tell them that,” Morse whined like he used to. Humored and embarassed at the same time. He knocked his shoulder to mine, his friend George laughing at his reaction. “I told you he was a sissy-boy,” someone else said out front.

The shadows grew darker by the time we reached the clearing, several fires spotted throughout this side of the valley floor. The last light reflected off of Occasus Mountain before disappearing over Solis Ortus Mountain. “This is camp. You can our group for the meal,” Morse guided me to a fire near the center of the talking storm, words and sounds I couldn’t understand coming from mouths all around. Before setting myself down a little girl with a long braid swinging down her back ran up and clutched the man Morse named as George and the woman beside him, crying. “What is everyone saying, Morse? I understand none of this.” “They aren’t from here. Only the younger ones can understand us and be able to communicate. I’ve had to learn their language and am still trying to perfect it,” Morse said. I nodded, dropping the pig by the fire, watching everyone else sit down and stare at me. Morse remained standing beside me, speaking in that strange language to an elderly man of 100 or so, along with the woman that sat beside George, now holding the little girl as if to comfort her. Morse then turned to me, “Brooke, this is Harold. He is acting-leader of this whole camp and there is Sophia, his daughter,” he threw his arm forward, pointing over the fire where she sat with another man, “Beside her is Jack. You know George, and that is his mother with his little sister, Joanne.” The little girl’s face turned up at the sound of her name, a tiny wave given by her baby-like hands. I waved back. “Everyone, this is Brooke.” “How have you come to know her?” the one he named Sophia, the one with glowing hair asked him with that accent, barely looking my way. “An old childhood friend.” Sophia just nodded, her smile fading slightly. Jack put his arm around her, a look in his eyes telling all that Sophia was his. My head twisted, Morse’s face in my sights. Did he like her? I didn’t bother to ask aloud, sitting down between Morse and George.

“Who might these people be?” I asked openly of Morse. “They aren’t really from here. They are from another planet called Earth. Right George?” he leaned forward to ask around me. “Aye. Not a thought in my brain how we got here, but here we are,” his accent jangled in my ears. “Why are you here with them? Family business?” I asked, feeling a little out of place. “If you can really call it that. I haven’t even finished Training and Papa threw this job over my head with my…mistakes,” Morse looked at his shaking hand, clapping it down with his other, trying to hide it. Pushing off his right hand, I took hold of his shaking left. I wasn’t even aware of the rest of them watching as I held his hand. Only the dancing fire reminded me that there was more than me and this childhood friend. “Cad é seo?” This was said behind me. I gave Morse a confused look. “He asked what that was,” Morse gestured behind me where the carcass of the hog lay, ready to be cooked. “Oh, yes. Would anybody like wild hog to eat?” I asked around the fire’s circle.

Morse

I sat with Brooke through the meal, watching as she prepared the hog’s body to be cooked. Even now she had that same strong attitude as she did three years ago. Doing everything herself. She was never one to ask for help as long as she could do it. “It will take this hog at least eight hours to cook, given that the charcoal is hot enough throughout,” she stated to the gathering group of those few who prided themselves as chefs. First, she pierced the hog’s hide, slitting open the middle, revealing the innerworkings of the animal. “These shall be cooked separately. They can be placed in the fire now or even boiled for that stew,” she said as I translated. All the while she worked with the meal, I watched. Or rather stared. “Now, that the intestines of the wild hog are out, take the already burning-hot wood and charcoal and stuff it into the carcass before burying the rest in the fire pit. Then you wait, watching closely that the meat is cooked from the inside and out.” Then the fire was fed, the flames blazing over the meat, cooking it. It wasn’t long for the rest to head off, back to their own fires or even to their settled spots for nightly prayers and sleep. George helped his mother get Joanne to bed before he took out his sketch book to write. Half way through he had to stop, Joanne too excited to fall asleep. Soon enough, the rest of the world grew quiet, leaving the guards to stand at their assigned posts and Brooke to watch the cooking hog, poking it here and there to be sure it was actually cooking. I stayed beside her, filling the time as well as my curiosity. “What have you been up to, since you left?” I fumbled with the beads at my

wrist. Brooke looked up, over the fire to the point where the stars were floating in the dark heavens, “Really, just traveling. Not very far, mind you. Over the mountain. Mama and I had settled in Whispering Woods. Quiet there compared to the old homestead. Not many people ing through, if you know what I mean. About a year ago, Mama ed Pop, leaving me to survive out here on my own,” her shoulders fell at the mention of both her parents, now gone. “I never thought I would have to fend for myself,” Brooke added. “I’m sorry. It must be really lonely, living out here alone,” I folded my hands together as I’d seen George do while silently praying for his supper. “Yes. It gets lonely most of the time. I had to scratch up the lessons Pop used to push on me. How to hunt, build the cook fire, even repair work around the place. Luckily I picked up a few more skills along the way,” Brooke continued, her eyes closing to the stars and her chin dropping down. The look of her in the hollow flicker of the fire made her seem more fragile than she was always portrayed as a child. She didn’t look like her head-strong self, letting herself go slightly. I placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently as she covered mine with hers. “I can’t imagine living by myself for so long, having been surrounded by people for the past three years. Would you… Brooke, if you like, you can me in transporting these people. Help me guide them. I barely know half of what I’m doing.” That did it. From a fallen darkness to a soaring bird that was set free, Brooke’s face lifted, brightened. A smile broke loose and even the fire seemed to beam a brighter, dancing light. She turned to me, her face cracking that familiar smile. With the laugh I ed as a child, she embraced me in a hug. Even her cheeks glowed a flowery hue. Taking back her arms and continuing to poke the cooking hog, Brooke’s smile didn’t fade.

“So, what can you tell me about them?” Brooke nodded her head in a round-about fashion, trying to motion to the whole camp and its sleeping people without her hands. I felt my face smirk, watching as she asked. “As you know already, they are from Earth. Uh, I have to get them to the Low Lands in order to find the Tempus Portal. Really, even with the book that Papa and Grey pushed at me, I am playing it by ear,” I shrugged, clapping my hands together silently, my fingers dancing in the air, “George tells me that they are Catholic.” “Religious. Pop was one to pray, even though he didn’t define himself as a man of faith,” Brooke said. “You know of religion and faith?” I asked. “Even if I can’t go to Training as you boys do, I know a few subjects. Pop taught me all of this before he ed on. Mama kept it up, telling me all that he told her.” “I didn’t know,” I’m sure I sounded a little confused, only now finding out that Brooke knew more than what Training taught me, “You are more qualified than me.” I combed my fingers through my hair, putting it down as if I needed to catch my breath from crying too much. Somehow I knew that I wasn’t the person for the job. The fire I gazed at began to bleed, becoming fuzzy outside its invisible lines. My shoulders fell and my hand became still. The light dropped a few degrees, the darkness overwhelming me. The figure sitting beside me disappeared as everything else did. The breath in my lungs almost failed, causing me to suck in cold air, freezing me to the bones inside of my body. I shivered, my hands gripping nothing. I woke up, a breeze blowing through my hair. What was happening to me? “Cad atá ag tarlú dom?” I caught my breath. “What?”

I looked over, ing Brooke. “Sorry. I must be speaking with an accent,” I tried to make it a joke. She didn’t follow. “What did you say?” Brooke asked me. “What is happening to me?” I repeated, shaking my head in my hands. This time, Brooke turned to me, beckoning me to look at her. I did so, both hands falling into my lap. “What are you saying? What are you talking about?” she asked me, playfully punching me while her voice turned serious. She could see I wasn’t joking, laughing at envy. “I can’t say. Do you when I would one day just wake up with bruises everywhere?” “Yeah. Your Papa would always say you had one of your sleepwalks. You would practice your moves while sleeping. Has this anything to do with what you are trying to tell me?” I nodded again, raking my fingers through my hair and around my ears, “Yes. I had been given the Gift of technique. I could always fight rather well. Papa told me that this praticing was an outbreak of my rejection. I don’t like fighting!” I heard myself start pleading. I froze, realizing what I said. How did I know that I was fighting? Practicing techniques for fight? “When did I figure that out?” I whispered under my breath. “What? You have the Gift to fight? What is any of this about? Morse?” “My praticing has been a reaction to me hating fighting. You know I don’t like to fight, right? But, recently after returning home, I’ve been having these strange… I don’t know what. I’ve zoned out, my eyes not working correctly. There are pains…in my chest and my mood changes on a dime. What is happening to me?” Brooke didn’t say anything.

Averting my eyes, the first thing I looked for was comfort. The first place I looked was my wrist, the beads shaking along. Brooke’s beads. Pulling at the uniform jacket sleeve, I showed her them. “Your beads,” I said. “You wore them?” Brooke sounded surprised. “As I said I would. I wore it all through Training and each time they reminded me of you. I also said I would give them back,” I slipped them off. Brooke took them from me. “Why don’t you take them?” she counted each bead before speaking. She held them in her hand toward me, “I don’t need them as you do right now.” “Why would I need beads?” “Morse, these are not just beads. They are Prayer beads.” When I didn’t take them, Brooke took my left hand in hers, rolling them back onto my wrist. I didn’t object. I just watched her hands holding mine. “Don’t you worry,” was all she said. “How could I not worry when all of this is happening to me?” Before letting go of my hand and returning her full attention to the cooking hog, she gave a little laugh, “Maybe, your Papa had a bigger plan for you when he gave you this job. Don’t you think?”

Periit

T he days seemed to blend as he waited for the travelers to arrive. He knew they were closer to their mark, to the Tempus Portal. Leo and Guy marked a ring in the crust of the cracked soil, a line down the middle. “Are you ready?” he asked them as they stood on opposite sides of the line. Leo nodded and Guy complied with an acceptable answer. They took stances. They watched each other closely, willing to be ready to score a point. “Prove so,” Periit said. Both Guy and Leo began to circle. Ready to strike. Periit watched them start the fight, one of the first practices they had on this loose soil. Guy was the first to strike, barreling toward his co-worker with a hook. Leo bounced out of the way, ducking any way he could to avoid a black eye. “Guy, this isn’t about beating him down. When the time comes, it will be about defense, not knockout. Got it?” Periit yelled into the makeshift ring over the dusty cloud. He didn’t hear Guy give any notice to his remark, Leo outsmarting him, tapping him on his shoulder when he sidestepped yet another swing. Guy’s face was beginning to turn red. Leo kept laughing. “And Leo. This isn’t about showing off, either. Work with each other. Guy, show Leo how to attack. Leo, show Guy how to have fun with it. This way, you might not kill each other.” The match continued, Leo still playing around with Guy, and Guy chasing Leo with what little energy he had left. Taking in the next few minutes, Periit gave them a break, knowing very well they wouldn’t change their tactics.

“Why isn’t Ike wasting his time with us?” Guy could barely catch his breath. “He doesn’t take part. Not his area,” Leo answered him, flicking Guy in the ear. “Would you stop making my ears throb?” Guy kept rubbing at the sore lobes of each ear, ready to go back to bed. Periit stood by them, “Ike has his own ways. He doesn’t practice to fight because he has no use for it. Why fight when the only wars here are within yourself?” He pressed the question to each of the younger Warders. “Like fears?” Guy asked. Periit agreed, “Yes. Fears are one of the personal fights that many people face.” “Like you, afraid that you will never where you came from. Who you were before all of this.” “True,” he said.

The man spent the weeks it took to travel from Macabre Island to the mainland to learn what he could. Nothing he did, or helped with reminded him of home. Even his new friend couldn’t tell him anything. “It could be possible you were sent here for a reason. Lightning is rare ’round here,” the strange friend worked the tiller. “What reason then, to strike my memory from me?” the lost man asked. His companion shrugged. “Though it may have struck your memory clean, it hasn’t erased you completely. Those clothes you wear are modern times. Not modern here. That era doesn’t exist here and might never. Those shoes with the ties, laces were designed in the latest century of the time and place you came from. Even if it doesn’t tell you anything about who you are, it can give us a clue as to where you belong.” The man glanced down, taking in the dirty clothes he wore, the sneakers

partially covered in dried mud. His jacket was worn, the end of his sleeves frayed as if from excessive use. Even the pockets along the front had holes. “How do you know about all of this stuff?” he asked the man at the tiller. “I was taught. Before I came to be a guide, I was trained. Didn’t finish Training though. History of other worlds is mainly what they taught. Histories of different peoples in various time periods. I tell you, all of these cultures make up this world,” he answered, swinging the boat around, a wave crashing against the bow. “So. I’m not the only one to be…” “The only one to discover themselves in a different world from what you’ve grown to know? No, you are not the only one.” He considered this, the fact that he wasn’t the only one who arrived here under strange circumstances. Taking this in, his eyes wandered over the rolling waves that bumped the boat. The sky was clouded over as if a storm were brewing. “Did they anything?” he heard his voice ask. “Yes, everything. First case I’ve come across where the traveler has forgotten everything,” the other man looked to the sky as well, “Better get down below. Storm is coming and it doesn’t look nice. I’ll be down.” He nodded to the captain, climbing into the boat’s small belly. A lantern swaying from the ceiling lit the enclosure, casting a single beam over the short table that was secured to the cabin’s floor. Grabbing a chair, he sat down with elbows on the table. The room tilted back and forth on the waves that carried the floating structure across the Ocean of Glass. The other one came down, sat down and remained silent as if in deep thought. Almost as if he were reading something that wasn’t there. The lost man even watched his fingers trace an invisible squiggle along the stilled table. “The storm won’t take us that far out of the way of port. We’ll be able to make it to the mainland in a few weeks, at most,” his friend said, coming out of the trance.

“Then, after that?” the modern clothed man asked. “Then, we’ll see if we can get you home.” “Maybe I’ll something then,” the man said. The Wandering Warder shrugged.

Periit watched the two younger fellows start another practice round, Leo actually swinging at Guy. Guy trying to dodge and duck from Leo’s various strikes. He needed work. Leo laughed at Guy. Guy started swinging back, barely coming close enough to hit Leo, let alone give him a handshake. “Leo, teach him. Guy, have fun. It isn’t about killing each other or making a fool. It is a test. You are testing each other’s abilities,” the Main Warder stated. He turned away and thought how this would go when the travelers got there.

George

Week 11, Day 72 T he first thing I about the day was the tantilizing aroma of pork, cooking. I’m sure my nose twitched like any hound dog’s would, smelling that wild hog still cooking in the fire pit. Morse was sitting by the fire when I arrived, his childhood friend, Brooke, napping against his shoulder. Did they stay up all night? “Did you even sleep?” I asked him, sitting down. He turned his head, trying not to jostle the sleeping lady at his side. A grin was stamped all over his face, fading from lack of sleep. “How did you guess?” Morse asked. Most likely joking as he had with Brooke yesterday. He seemed happier. “Well, by the look of it, guessing wasn’t an option,” I laughed alongside him, still smelling the roasted hog. I gestured my head to the fire, Mother and Joanne ing us around the dying flames, “How much longer?” Morse sort of shrugged, knocking Brooke’s head waking her up. “Well, thank you for the wake up call. That was the best two minutes of sleep I’ve had in forever,” she yawned, lightly punching Morse in the arm. “Sorry. Really,” he smiled at her, most likely with a sappy look all over his face. “What is that wonderful smell?” Sophia’s father came ambling over from his visit with the horses, threads of pulled up grass sticking to his pants. “What did he say?” Brooke looked at Morse. “He asked what smelled so good,” Morse translated before answering back in our native tongue.

The acting-leader rubbed his hands together, sitting down, ing the growing circle. Soon, the aroma invited the rest of the camp, a steady crowd gathering around us and the fire. “I’d say this hog is ready. I’ll bet everyone is starving for a taste,” Brooke stood up, addressing the crowd. A few kids raised excited squeals, knowing very well that it was time to eat. When the rest didn’t answer, or stared blankly, or kept smelling the air, Morse stood up beside her and tranlated her words. At this, several sighs erupted from the elder people. “And along with this feast, we won’t be moving out today. Today, is a day of rest,” Morse stated perfectly in our tongue. Several men roared with laughter. I smiled with a quick breath. Everyone needed a rest from the daily travel, and why not have a feast as well? Sophia’s father nodded, a grin on his face. Beside him, the priest folded his hands in a silent prayer, I’m sure. He was always praying. At this time he stood up and raised his arms as if he wished to hug the whole camp. “Agus anois, in iúl dúinn guí,” he spoke to the people. Everyone bowed their heads, Morse and Brooke the exception. “What did he say?” Brooke leaned closer to Morse to whisper. “They are praying now,” he said. Brooke bowed her head, closed her eyes and listened to the prayer. Morse didn’t move or fold his hands for the prayer. Really, I haven’t seen Morse even participate in any prayer that has been said or sit in to listen to the weekly service.

Bless, O Lord, this food that it may be an effective and salutary remedy for mankind. For thy name’s sake, grant that all who partake of it may obtain health of body and safety of soul. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

I opened my eyes, Morse no longer sitting beside me or Brooke. She looked over as well, looking for him. We both looked around the crowd, not seeing him amongst the people. “That’s just like him. Wander off when you aren’t paying any mind,” Brooke finally said, mostly to herself. “He always wanders away?” I asked her. She smiled and shrugged. Standing up again, she beckoned everyone to eat. Digging out the cooked meat, I helped her cut and serve it. A rather awkward line was formed, the younger adults holding out more than one bowl while their elder family waited by their own fires. The younger children played around, kinder older kids pushing them forward in the line, patiently trying to wait their turn. Joanne came up beside me, hopping up and down, giggling with excitement. “Come here,” I patted my lap for her to sit and wait while everyone else got their share of pork. She couldn’t sit still. Soon, the camp was talking between bites. Possibly even talking with their mouths full of the welcomed new taste. “Shouldn’t we look for Morse?” I asked, having served Mother and Joanne, cutting my own portions off of the nearly bone bare skeleton that once was the wild hog. “I never did. He always came back when he was ready. Though, he usually disappeared at night, practicing.” “Practicing?” I asked. Brooke took a bite of her cooking, chewing thoughtfully before changing the subject, “What was that prayer? What did he say?” she asked me, fingering her food, not looking at me. “It was a prayer for food,” I told her, translating the prayer for her. Brooke nodded. She must not have had anything to say about the prayer, taking a

glance behind her. Looking for Morse. “Why is it that you know of prayer and religion, but Morse doesn’t as much?” I asked after a time. Jack was talking to Sophia, sounding actually happy. Sophia’s father conversed with Mother while Joanne enjoyed stuffing the meat into her mouth. “I’m not really supposed to know of it. Pop had learned of it in Training and it grew for him as he traveled, like Morse is doing here. Helping people get back home to their worlds. He taught me everything he knew, everything he learned. There are other religions. All are different and see things differently. Like everyone is different. But, they all have a similar root. One connection,” Brooke held up her pointing finger. One thing. “This is what he told you?” I asked again, forgetting the food. “This is what he believed. What he saw. It really started to grow on him when he came upon this one group of lost travelers. Everyday and night, every meal, they would pray. Not only that but they were joyful for the least of things. He had asked them why they did this. And they told him, ‘We are thankful to be here. The Lord has sent us here for a reason. Even if we don’t know of this reason, we thank him that we are alive. And if he doesn’t get us back home, we will still be thankful, because we know that he wants us here.’ From then on, Pop began to study. To live. That is when he came upon the book. The Bible, he said it was called. And he shared his faith with me.” Brooke stopped, almost as if she might cry. “Before he ed, he gave me his prayer beads. He wanted me to keep going, to be thankful. To have faith,” she looked into her half empty bowl. I glanced into mine. “And you gave them to Morse,” I said. Brooke nodded, “Yes. I wanted to share with him what Pop shared with me,” she said quietly. Even now I’m pondering over this as though I didn’t know what faith was. For how it felt to lose a father. Around this point in silence, Morse appeared looking tired.

“What have I missed?”he sat down in the empty space between me and his childhood friend. The low mood somehow shifted, Brooke picking up where he left. “Feasting without you after the prayer was said. Where did you disappear to?” Brooke asked. “I took a walk,” Morse said shortly, filling his own bowl with the pork. I watched his hands pull at the meat, his left slightly shaking, unable to properly grasp it. “Is that all?” Brooke asked. “I didn’t want to…I’m not the best in crowds,” he said to me as if I asked him, and not Brooke. He sounded cold, almost angry. She looked away from his back, having no where else to really look but at the food and smoldering ash that kept the pork warm. The low mood returned. Morse didn’t turn to look at her. His shoulders slumped forward and he rested his stilled left hand on a knee. He stared into the fire solemly before taking hold of the beads at his wrist. “What is the point? It is pointless to have faith if there is a possibility that it doesn’t exist,” his voice scratched while his fingers plucked at Brooke’s prayer beads. Brooke turned back from the invisible point in the fire to look at Morse. She caught my glance, gasping. I could see in her eyes that she saw the difference. That change in Morse. She shook her head as if she might begin to cry, cautiously touching his shoulder. At once, it seemed, he sat up straighter, the eyes in his head focused as he looked over at Brooke. “What’s wrong?” his natural tone came back. He covered her hand with his. Brooke shook her head again, taking in a shaky breath. “What is it?” he asked again. He turned his head. “Do you know what you just asked?” I asked him.

“I said something?” The guide looked between us, a blank expression stretched over his face. “Aye, you did.” “You asked what the point was of faith, if there was any possibility that it didn’t exist,” Brooke pulled her hand away from under his. Morse didn’t move his hand. “I did?” he asked again. Lord, help him and his head. I hope the knot he recieved on his head isn’t the cause for this odd memory loss. Help him lead us as he should, to get us all home safely. “It’s happening again. It happened again! What is wrong with me?” Morse raised his voice, breaking up the several small conversations around the fire. Jack glared at him while Sophia seemed to pity him in a way. Her father glanced over, catching my eye, silently asking me what was going on. I couldn’t give an answer, not knowing what was wrong with our travel guide. Mother was the only one to keep on talking, not giving mind to the interruption brought on by Morse’s small outburst of confused emotion. “You know that was very good pork. Aye, it was,” she went on as she usually did, complementing good cooking. “Come on, Morse. Why don’t you walk with me? I still need to pack a few things if I’m going to you,” Brooke stood up, her voice strong like yesterday, “You can tell me more and I could push you in a stream if you’d like. Just like old times,” she joked. Or tried to. Morse smiled, taking her hand before departing the circle around the fire, leaving us dumbfounded. Or rather, leaving me dumbfounded, Jack red in the face, Sophia almost in tears and her father praying under his breath for help. Mother kept on talking lowly, minding her own business as was her way. After a smaller group came begging for seconds of the wild hog, our priest asked us to gather for service. A thankful service for survival and the blessed meal. We

gathered as a group, our shepherd boy applying his crook to round up the flock, hoping they would graze closer. Week by week, these sheep become fewer, as we were able to harvest the wool and add meat to the pot. The children didn’t want to sit for the service, their mothers and fathers having to hold them down, squeals and crying causing half of the camp not able to hear what was said, though we were thankful for this day. For this meal and the Lord’s son. Near the end, Brooke ed me to my right, her dark red hair falling around her face and shoulders. She sat quietly, listening as if she knew what the man with his arms raised was saying. Morse sat down beside her a minute after, looking somewhat improved from the confusion earlier. He didn’t say a word. “What is he preaching?” Brooke asked softly. She looked at me. Morse didn’t answer. I did, “He is thanking the Lord for this day. For the giving up of his son to wash away our sins,” I answered her, leaning as not to disurb everyone else listening over the brief wailing of kids. Morse raised his head to look at me. It didn’t last a second as he changed his mind and stood up again, leaving the crowd of mostly quiet people praying and listening to the message. I didn’t follow him to ask. After the service, the ending prayer and out of tune hymn released us, I ed Morse at the main wagon, sitting down beside him as he read from that book, holding the two smiling faces in his shaking hand. Something was going on with him and Brooke, I felt, as she sat down by the fire, not ing me with Morse. “Have you found anything?”I asked him. “Many things, indeed, but nothing remotely about what this window could be,” he marked his place and closed the book. “Is it possible that Brooke could know?” I played with the material at my knee, wondering how I ever got used to wearing them. “I couldn’t say, really. She knows more than me already and she wasn’t even

allowed Training. She has gotten better than me,” his tone got a little bitter, his hand smacking at the cover of the book that sat in his lap. I wondered if this was the reason for the change between them. “Why would you think that she is better than you?” Extending a hand toward the ring of people around the fire, Brooke mingling with those who could understand her, “She understands this more than I do. Brooke knows of religion and faith and follows it. She even trusts me to keep these beads close. Her prayer beads. And, I know nothing about it as she does.” Morse choked, stopping to take in a breath. He fingered the beads at his wrist as I had seen him do tons of times before, counting each piece with his fingertips. “She knows of this because she wants more. She studies it the best she can with what little there is. And just now, she wanted to know what was being spoken. Brooke had to ask,” I said, “She had to ask me because she couldn’t understand the language. Brooke can’t understand half of the conversations out there. But you can,” I poked a finger in his arm, making him look at me in the face. “What does understanding have to do with it?” Morse asked. “I am saying, if Brooke was better than you, then, why can’t she speak my native tongue? Why must she ask for a translation?” “Brooke doesn’t know the language. She has only now come upon it. It isn’t like she can learn it just like that in a few hours,” Morse snapped his fingers, an action to go along with his words, “Brooke couldn’t have known.” “And, you know this, why?” I poked him again. “Because, if it worked like that then it wouldn’t have taken me this long to be able to communicate with your native tongue. I would have already known it.” “Aye. You would have, wouldn’t you? So really, she isn’t better. Brooke just has knowledge of something that you haven’t picked up on yet. Like you can understand what all these people are saying and she can’t. You just haven’t learned what she knows yet,” I said. Morse didn’t say anything this time as he averted his eyes and stared at the book.

He sat there as the rest of the travelers sat around, laughing and joking, not ready for this day to end and wishing that the pork wouldn’t be gone. I let what I told him be worked into his head, silently watching Joanne play among the other children and thinking of Elizabeth back home. “Is that why you left the service? That she has knowledge of something that you don’t?” I finally asked. His head moved, “Yes.” “That is one thing about life. Everyone is different because they come from different ways of life. If I lived here, I wouldn’t know God as I do now. We all come from different places, but we all can learn the same things. We just have to keep working at it, learn the trade.” Morse looked glumly down at the book, closing his eyes, ready to sleep. He sat like that a while, leaning his head back against the wagon, eyes still closed. For a second, I thought he had fallen asleep. His hand slowed, but didn’t stop shaking. Opening his eyes he groaned. “I can tell you haven’t gotten any sleep.” “Nope. Stayed up with Brooke, watching the hog roast and haven’t had the time to really close my eyes. We talked the whole night, catching up. I didn’t want Brooke to stay up alone,” he itted to me. “Why not try to get some rest now?” I said. I didn’t ask him if anything else was wrong. If he wanted to tell me, I wanted him to trust me with it on his own. With that, his head bobbed and he closed his eyes. Taking a breath I left him to fall asleep and went to the others around the feast fire, the last of the pork being handed out. I sat by Brooke, starting to pull apart more meat for the next person in line. “Where is the sissy-boy? Not willing to help?” Jack glanced my way from the other side of the smoking pile of ash. “He didn’t get much sleep, so…,” I stopped, a shadow sitting down beside me. He groaned in my ear, dumping something heavy sounding in an empty space nearby. He was rubbing his eyes when I looked over.

“Morse, I thought you were going to catch a few winks?” I stated. “I can’t. I’ve tried and I can’t. I’m so very tired,” he said. Brooke stared past me to Morse, looking perplexed. I couldn’t fathom why until the obvious answer came to me. I translated for her, realizing that he had slipped into the language he struggled to learn. “He says that he can’t get to sleep. He tried. Morse says that he is very tired,” I weakly translated to her. Her mouth gaped open slightly, finishing giving out the pork. “What?” She just shook her head, her eyes briefly closing as if she were ready to fall asleep as well. It is true that she didn’t sleep either the night before. “Something is going to happen tonight. It always starts out this way,” Morse said in my language again. “What did he say?” Brooke pulled at my sleeve. “What is that sissy-boy complaining about now?” Jack asked. “He says something is going to happen tonight. It sounds as if this has happened before.” I ignored Jack. “It has. Ever since we were kids, this has happened. He is going to practice tonight,” Brooke said, kneeling at Morse’s shoulder. He glanced back at her, looking ready to out from exhaustion. Now, I pray, that our guide can find some sleep. And that we can get back home. That I can get back to Elizabeth.

Morse

I only began to really feel tired as I left with Brooke to help her pack a few items for the road. I followed her through the trees to the base of Solis ortus Mountain to the homestead she had to herself for the past year. Brooke remained quiet, not mentioning what I couldn’t . What I didn’t know I said. The clearing was messy, the grass tangling at the roots of the close-knit trees surrounding the overgrown path. The fallen limbs were piled up, lining the side of the building like firewood. The building itself was in good repair, the term ‘shack’ non-existing. It was beautifully trim, the touch of a woman very visible with one look. Stones lined the house, beds of sulking flowers under each window. The whole structure reminded me of Training, though made of wood and not stone. In a way, it was of the fairytale variety, the Sol gleaming over it in the right way as it relflected off the mountainside through the remaining leaves stuck on the trees. “It’s homey,” I commented from behind her. “Stop lying. It looks like it is about to fall over,” Brooke joked. “You know I can’t lie. It is my honest opinion. Besides, it has been holding up for a while hasn’t it?” I walked up next to her, bumping the shoulder of my jacket into her’s. “Pop would be proud. I was able to repair each little problem and call it home. Me and Mama,” Brooke tried to smile. She was somehow reposed, not acting like she did earlier. Not acting like herself: strong, humorous, ready to remind me who was more active and confident.

“Still your tomboy self,” I replied. Brooke just nodded, looking over the place that had served as her home for the past three years. Walking up the path she stepped over the hidden gaps in the ground, natural pot holes that appeared with the rain, whenever that was. I stumbled along after her, the crab grass hiding the dents. “Watch where you step,” she didn’t pause, knowing I was ready to trip over the various obstacles caused by mother nature. I rubbed at my eyes, stopping just before entering the door she held open for me. Once inside, her fingers uncurled, the old wood swinging shut with a bounce and crack. “Don’t mind the door. The whole space was built on a tiny hill and the front faces down. The door just can’t help itself,” Brooke breathes a ‘ha’, moving through the semi-dark into the next room. “How am I supposed to see?” I asked. I had started to follow her general direction, suddenly being stopped by an object hitting my shins. Or rather, I ran into the squat stool before ever actually leaving the entrance. “Oh, right. I’m terribly sorry!” Brooke laughed, her footsteps coming back into the front room where I was dumbly staring into the dark rubbing my shins, “I’m sorry Morse! Wait there.” Not long after the pounding of her short boots stopped a fraction to the right of me, light came flooding in. She was pulling open a sheet that covered one of the windows, filling the room with furniture that I hadn’t seen before. “This place is bigger than what Papa and Mother live in. How can you live with all this closed space?” I asked from behind her down the hallway. “I can’t really. The only closed space I can live with is the wide open of the forests and trees with them. I’ve been spending most of my time outside. Too dreary in here,” her voice dropped, almost allowing a sob to come through. I went to her with a big hug and she took it. Only for a few seconds before closing off the water works and breaking from my arms. “That’s enough of that. Let me gather my things and we can head back.” I yawned to that.

“And then you can get some rest. You’ve never pulled an all nighter before, have you?” Brooke woke me back up from the seat I had settled in. I blinked, somehow feeling that I hadn’t actually fallen asleep as much as zoned out. “Yeah. Let’s go,” I shook away the faint wind that had found my ear. We stepped out the door, Brooke swinging her filled pack over a shoulder with me following close by, glancing back at the house. “I packed Pop’s old shaving kit, in case you wanted to clean up a little. You are looking a little rugged with those whiskers covering you up,” she said, probably looking back at me watching the building become smaller the further we walked. “Oh. Thank you. I might leave it a while, see how it turns out,” I rubbed my face as I’d seen George do several times these past weeks. I yawned, feeling even more drained from the short walk to Brooke’s homestead. “You must be tired. Why don’t you get some rest when we get back?” her free hand swung limply at her side. I took it in mine and swung it forward, yawning again. “Okay,” I didn’t argue. I was ready to fall asleep walking, my eyes feeling heavy and my brain’s functions working on back-up power. All talk went quiet as if we didn’t have three years of unspoken words between us. My childhood friend walked on beside me, only taking snap shots of me once every two minutes. This must have lasted for ten minutes, me yawning with every haggered breath I took. I was ready to fall over, dead tired. “Is that what you meant, something was happening to you? In you?” Brooke asked. I shook my head, trying to focus. Trying to what I said and what she could be talking about. “What?” I asked. “Just before we left. Last night. You confessed to me that something was going on with you. That, these….,” Brooke stopped walking. Her voice stopped pushing through her mouth. My eyes found hers and my feet tapped the dirt floor beneath me flat. “These pains. Your mood changes and whatever else has been going through

you. You might even have connected it to your practicing. Is that what you meant last night? That time you sat silently as if you were concentrating on something that wasn’t there? Please, Morse. Tell me,” her voice was as strong as I ed it, before she left and before I even began to grow up. But, it was also pitched higher than she would normally allow, giving me the impression that her protective front was breaking as it had last night. I rubbed at my eyes, groaning at the spasms in my left hand. “I can’t .” “How come you can’t ? It wasn’t but hours ago, just after the Sol had left us and the fire lit the circle and roasted the hog. I know you are tired, but this has never stopped you before. I the little boy you grew from and he could everything that happened. Everything he said. Such a good memory up in that head of yours,” Brooke lifted a finger to my temple, lightly tapping the bruise that I was given falling down that hole. She sounded mad, using that Pop used, irritated at my giving up. And she was right. I had never forgotten a thing, no matter the length of the conversation or what new vocabulary word meant what. It was there. But now, I came up blank. Like that day Sophia and George asked for the book. I couldn’t a word of what I said or what set off Jack. What was happening to me? “This isn’t the first thing that I can’t ,” I muttered, suddenly feeling a gurgle in my chest.

Brooke

“W hat?” I asked. I watched his careful posture change, his shoulders falling as if someone had broken his spirit, his left hand still. Morse drew in a breath as he turned to face me head on, a nasty grimace coming over his face. He had never looked so menacing and mad as he drew in a breath. His eyes looked hollow and cold as his arms worked, taking his hands on a rather strightforward journey from his facial hair covered chin to his slowly growing scalp. He looked in pain as he stepped closer to me. I felt my tough fingers massage the strap of the pack I filled with extra pairs of clothing and mementos I wanted to Pop and Mama by. I gripped the well-worn leather in my hand. “Cad a dhéanann tú faoi chúram?” he yelled. He leaned in closer and growled. Then, this new image of Morse stopped, breathing angry breaths in my face, ruffling my wavy locks of hair. He stopped. His eyes widened and all movement stopped, his hands still gripping his head and hair. This strange man before me yelled, almost as if he were in pain or suddenly very much afraid. His fingers twitched in his hair. He huffed, releasing a whimper of a cry, spinning away from me. He cried out again, taking his hands from his head to the front of his body where I couldn’t see without moving. I didn’t dare move. I silently watched him as he raised his fingers closer to his face, looking over them as if they were new and queer. He was crying in pants. With that, his left hand closed, tightly holding a tiny pocket of air in a fist. His whole arm swung, the power behind it coming from his core, his whole torso twisting with it. The tree blocking his way took the blow, not moving an inch out of his way. His hand didn’t shake and he didn’t turn back around to me. He just punched the tree once and let it stand there. That’s when it stopped.

Morse stopped, his left hand starting to shake again. His back straightened and his shoulders rolled back. Bringing up his arms, his shaking hand and fingers covered his face. He was rubbing his eyes as he fell down to his knees as if in prayer. He knelt there, facing the tree, softly pouting. Then it was as if he snapped out of it. As if nothing really happened, he stood up. His dry crying stopped as he yawned. “I’m sorry. I must have dozed off,” Morse said with no hint of anger or recognition that anything had happened. I didn’t move as he stepped forward to stand beside me. Then he stopped, taking in my face, a reflection playing over his own. He reached for me with a kind hand. I stepped back away from the usually comforting gesture. What was happening with him? Was this the same kid I used to play with and throw pine cones at? “What’s wrong?” Morse stepped forward. “What just…what did…do you what you just said?” I finally asked, ready to run, feeling knotted bile coming up my throat. Morse let his hand drop, his arm swinging down to his side. He stepped back, his own fright showing through the expression he mirrored off of mine. He shook his head. Morse kept shaking his head, his mouth opening. He said nothing. It was as if I had become deaf, watching him mouth words I couldn’t hear. “No. No, I can’t anything. What did I do? Did I? What happened?” The muscles in his throat finally sang out in a rush. He stepped away from me further, pacing frantically. “You said something. I couldn’t understand it,” I said more to myself before I started to tell him what happened from the beginning.

Morse

I kept my distance from Brooke, a fear of myself growing on me. I could see it in her eyes when she told me what I did. What I couldn’t doing. The night was growing and the stars were ready to peek through the pool of the heavens. Brooke was holding my hand, kneeling beside me. My lungs expanded and deflated, barely a big enough breath to satisfy my body. I so wanted to fall asleep where I sat. “What do we do?” George asked. I shook my head, “I fear it is more than the lack of sleep. Don’t tell, Brooke, but I think it might have something to do with what has been happening,” I told him. “Do you want us to watch you?” Brooke asked me. “I don’t know,” I told her directly, “I’d say, let it run its course. I’ll just come back with bloody hands and sore legs, like every other time.” Brooke let go of my hand, sitting back as if what I said or my sounding tired caused her fear to rise up again. I couldn’t blame her, seeing how the monster was munching at me. “I should keep trying,” I said quietly, leaving everyone to look after me as I left the circle and the cooking fire. Brooke didn’t move, didn’t follow my footsteps back to the wagon and the book I left by the wheel. Sitting down beside the book I hefted it into my lap, my legs stretched before me. I waited for the dark to come. Eyes closed, breath expanding my lungs with a yawn, I waited. My ears caught subtle conversations around the fires. Jack raged on, naming me in his usual condescending way. Sophia was quiet. As was Brooke, the only time she opened her mouth was to ask George what something meant or who said what.

“Jack! Stop your drinking!” Sophia’s voice rose from the bunch, her father sounding off a groan. “Oh. Get off! I’ll drink if I please!” Jack boasted. I peeked out, yawning somewhat quietly. Or so I thought it was a quiet yawn, drawing Jack’s attention, “What are you yawning at, Sissy-boy?” he called. I yawned again, my shaky hand tapping the book. I didn’t answer him even as he stood up and addressed me, projecting his voice with cuffed hands. I just sat there. “Aye, that’s it Sissy-boy! Stay where you are!” “Jack. Leave him be!” Sophia stood up beside him, linking her arm in his, trying to sit him down. He didn’t budge. “Jack! Mind your own problems! Sit yourself down!” another voice broke the crackling sound of the fire. Sophia’s father didn’t stand to direct him, just simply raised a finger and pointed it down to his knee, showing Jack to sit. Sophia’s promised man grumbled and took another swig of his drink before dropping back down to his seat, not saying another word the rest of the night. I closed my eyes again. Nothing else really happened that night as I remained awake waiting to have my usual urge and disappear into the dark of the night to the towering trees where the light of the stars couldn’t find me. Brooke retired to the back of the wagon, setting up a makeshift bedroll to soften the hard wood. “Morse? I’m sorry for .…” “For what, Brooke? For not being able to help me or that it’s happening?” I asked her, “You shouldn’t worry about that. It is happening. I should be fine.” “I hope so, Morse.” “Hey, I’m glad you are ing me in this…,” I held my palm up and out, waving

it at the whole camp ready to bed down for the night, “I’m really glad.” Brooke looked down at me from over the edge of the wheel, her nose inches from my head. In the dying firelight, her eyes glowed timidly like a child’s. Her cheeks filled out under the dark streaks of already dark hair that bled over her head and face. She looked beautiful. “I’m the one that’s sorry,” I itted. She nodded in the dark, a smile breaking the flickering pattern of flames on her face into a better image, “Good-night Morse. I’ll pray for you,” Brooke whispered before leaving my line of vision. I closed my eyes again.

George

Week 11, Day 73 L ast night I watched Morse sit there, eyes closed, searching for s leep. When I awoke this morning, Morse was already awake and not looking any better. Truly, he was dragging his legs as he decided to me for the meal. Mother was stirring in the remaining scraps of pork in a new mixture of stew. A thick stew. “Stew once more?” Morse asked. He wiped his face with his hands, combing back his already disheveled hair. His eyes were swollen from lack of sleep. He looked almost a dead man walking. I just nodded, really staring at him. Morse started to laugh tiredly, watching me watch him as I would study my sketch of Elizabeth, hoping each was okay. He rubbed his eyes, sighing. “Do I look that bad?” he asked, smiling. I took his hands, checking them for the scratches and bruises he said he would have. They were clean, the skin untouched but firm and calloused from work. I turned them over, seeing nothing. “No. Nothing happened,” Morse answered my questioning looks. I let go of his hands, scratching my beard and head, still taking quick glances over at our guide. “How is that?” He shrugged, “I’ve no idea. I usually take time to practice, but that didn’t happen this time for some reason. Anything could happen,” he groaned. By the time we set off in the wagons, Morse was trying his best to stop yawning,

guiding the horses off the nearly straight path that we had been taking for the past few weeks. Brooke and I sat in front with Morse, with Sophia and Jack taking up the back. The sun was shining, clouds were floating overhead and Morse was ready to fall over. “Are we headed north?” Sophia popped her head between Brooke and Morse, holding a com in her hand. Morse glanced at her, yawning as he looked back ahead. “No. We are headed south.” “That isn’t what this com tells me. It points north, the way we are facing,” Sophia insisted. “No. South. I can tell by the mountains.” “Is that so?” “Yes,” Morse agreed, “This one, to the left is Occasus Mountain. It reflects the remaining light of the day. And to the right,” Morse pointed either way, “is Solis ortus Mountain which reflects the light of the Sol when it rises.” Sophia squinted down at the com, then to the brightening sky. I could tell she wasn’t convinced by Morse’s directions. “Are you saying that these mountains reflect the light opposite it? The Sol rises from the east. Not west,” she shook her head. “It does rise east,” Morse looked around at her, glancing at Brooke and me before turning back around, blinking his tired eyes. “But, you are saying that the east is to the right, when it should be to the left, because we are facing north, not south.” “No. No. We are facing south, no matter what that ‘com’ is showing,” Morse took a deep breath, sounding almost annoyed. I took in Sophia’s reddening face and Jack’s already red face as he came up

closer to the front, drink in his hand. He took a gulp, wiping his mouth before settling down behide me, glaring at Morse. “Sophia. Where are you? Earth? The last time I checked, you were lost, stuck here, on a planet that has no name and is different in many ways compared to yours!” Morse raised his voice, irritated now that Sophia was arguing with him in his directing skills. I could feel my eyes widening and Jack tense up behind me. Brooke laid a hand on his arm, his hands gripping at the reins too tightly. “Morse! What has gotten into you!” Brooke raised her voice at him once she saw the expression change on Sophia’s face. When she touched him, his hands loosened and his eyes closed tightly. He groaned a grumbly-like sigh. This whole time his hands shook. He lifted his head from where he had bowed it to take a breath, closing his eyes again facing the sky. At this point I was ready for him to turn to us and ask what was going on like he did before. Instead, he looked at Brooke, looking more than tired. He glanced at me, turning to face Sophia in the back of the wagon, the com resting in her hands and her frown deepening as if she were about to cry. “I’m sorry, Sophia. I haven’t been at my best lately and haven’t gotten any real sleep. And I always assume that what I know everyone else will understand it like I do. I’m sorry for raising my voice and trying to prove you wrong,” he said softly. Sophia sniffed. The com trembled in her hands. “Thank you. I’m sorry as well,” she said. “Sophia, no reason to apologize to that sissy-boy,” Jack pointed out, taking another drink. Sophia ignored him, leaning forward again, “But how is it that this com says north?” “Well, in the book, it explains that the polarity here might be switched from other worlds. So, really, your com reads the right direction, but we recognize

it differently. I guess,” Morse shrugged. I was ready for the day to end by the time we unloaded ourselves from the wagons to set camp. “The fog will be rolling in tonight. Just the right weather for it,” Brooke observed, her eyes roaming around the sky and the tops of the trees, watching the wind push at the unfallen leaves. “How can you tell?” I asked her, pulling out my sketch book. “I’ve lived around here only about a year, but I catch on quick. With a brisk breeze like this and the dropping temperature, I can tell what is coming in,” Brooke questioned herself. “How soon?” “Oh, really. It could be half an hour from now, possibly sooner,” she said. Brooke continued to sort through her pack, grabbing up a jacket. Morse stayed up front, yanwing to himelf. I didn’t think anything of it when I saw Jack stumble up to the side of the wagon. He stopped just behind where Morse sat, trying to stand still. His face was upturned toward Morse as he swayed back and forth on his feet. “What makes you so… What makes you think you are better than any one of… us?” Jack asked. “I don’t think that,” Morse yawned. “I don’t believe a word you say,” Jack took a drink. Morse didn’t answer back, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t get you. I can’t stand you.” Morse didn’t move at these words coming from Jack’s mouth. I could tell Jack was drunk, talking like his usual loud-mouthed self. The seconds were ing, Jack waiting for Morse to acknowledge him. It didn’t

take long for drunk Jack to blow his fuse. Taking another drink the man stumbled back a few steps from the wagon, almost tripping. “Come on! You know you think you are better. Come on!” Jack yelled. Morse took to his feet and jumped down from the front seat, causing Jack to trip backward. Morse paused to glance down at him, blinking his eyes as if irritated, then started to move off. Jack jumped up, regaining what pride wasn’t broken in his drunken stuper. He sized Morse up and rushed at his back. Morse’s jacket rose up from his back as he was forced to the ground, his arms spread out to catch himself. It caused more of an impact than a cushion of safety. Jack gripped his legs, not letting up once Morse regained an understanding for the cause of his fall, “Come on Sissy-boy!” Jack yelled again. Morse lifted and looked under an arm at his clinging pursuer. “Jack. Please, not now,” Morse shook his head before looking forward again, fnding me watching as well as a gathering audience. Some yelled for a fight. The elder ladies were scolding him, crossing themselves as if in prayer while a few others bowed their heads. Morse was looking haggard, tired and ready to out from exhaustion. With what effort he could muster from a deep filling of the lungs he rolled over to his back, taking Jack with him in the circling motion. Taking back his legs from the drunk man was less of an effort now than it would have been if he hadn’t rolled over. Both got up as the fog Brooke had predicted started to appear. It lingered around the bases and trunks of the trees. No one had noticed it coming around the wheels of the wagons, all eyes still on the interaction between Morse and Jack. Jack jumped to his feet, anger now taking over, no longer drunk. Morse stood in front of him, stepping back, his feet spread apart. He put his hands up, palms facing his potential attacker. “Jack, I do not want to fight you,” Morse said calmly, no longer looking as tired as he had a minute before.

“I can’t take it any longer,” Jack said, the fog swirling up to his ankles, his fists turning white, “how can nothing bother you?” With that, Jack swung around his arm, aiming for Morse’s ear. Ducking just as fast, Morse blocked Jack’s right hook with his forearm. He stepped away, placing his open hands back up in front. He waited for Jack to attack again. “Truly, Jack. I don’t want to fight,” he pushed his hands out in the sign of ‘stop’. “Too bad Sissy-boy!” Jack grumbled, picking himself up. He rushed forward again as the fog rose higher and thicker, covering the sight from view. I could see nothing in front of me past the length of my arm. “Please, calm down. It will in a few minutes!” Brooke spoke aloud. The people acted cautiously to the spreading fog. “Just… Stay where you are!” I turned to yell, no longer sure where the people were. I couldn’t even pick out the direction I had seen Mother and Joanne walk off. I stood there, panicking myself over losing sight of Mother and Joanne and hearing several grunts from the last known location of Jack and Morse. I was fearful that Jack was pummeling Morse down to the ground. Where would we be then? The grunts soon turned into yells, raw and almost animal-like. The sound of knuckles hitting skin, the crunch of grass being trampled down in haste. Then, the noise just stopped. The silence was deafening, sounding final in a deadly way. Lord, let it not be that bad. I spoke this in my mind over five times before the thick fabric-like fog lifted, revealing something even more unbelievable to me. There stood one figure, instead of two. I thought the other had run away, getting lost in the cover before itting defeat. I searched the area for him, not catching sight of him at all. Then, I looked back to the lone figure, trying to catch some air, trying not to appear light-headed. He was looking around too, lost in the moment as if the fight didn’t happen at all. He moved slowly, suddenly stopping as he kicked something with his foot.

I followed his gaze down to his feet. There was a lump in the grass, the heap of clothing unmoving. I walked to both men, rushing to aid the fallen one. Morse saw me coming, now crouching beside Jack as if he was just realizing something he hadn’t before. His chin dropped, his mouth opened to say whatever he could. Before I could reach either of them his head shook as he choked back his words, taking to his feet and running away. “Morse!” I yelled, reaching the still form of Jack. Morse didn’t look back. He didn’t stop as he tripped over his moving feet, scrambling out of sight. I knelt down, the crowd suddenly pushing in around to see what happened. Brooke managed to push through, viewing Jack’s badly beaten face. Sophia came through as well, dropping down beside him. “What happened?” Brooke asked. She didn’t know. Brooke hadn’t seen Jack causing the scene before the fog covered our eyes. “I wish I knew. Jack had started spewing nonsense, pushing Morse for a fight. The fog hid everything from sight before anything could be started. I could hear it, but couldn’t see it,” I said, amazed. Brooke’s eyes flashed. Then she took off through the crowd, “Morse!” I listened as her voice became softer the further she ran. “Water!” a man yelled, bringing around a canteen. Sophia took it upon herself to wake Jack the best she could. Instead of the usual splash anyone would pour on his head to wake him, Sophia dumped the whole case in his face, almost drowning him. He sputtered for air and his eyes opened as best they could. Before anything else was done or before Jack could say anything in his own defense, Sophia’s hand dropped. Smack! “How dare! You and your drink! And your fighting!” Sophia yelled in his ear

after slapping him. This startled him even more, waking him up faster. His face turned sour, his usual stern expression coating his face, his eyes darted from Sophia to me, then back again. He opened his mouth, closing it again in a wince. Groaning, he was sure he would have his say before she rejected it as she had so many times already. He stopped. The fire of anger in his eyes softened when he settled on her face. Sophia’s cheeks were stained from her crying, and her eyes were watering with a dark and serious gleam. “I’m sorry,” he finally grumbled, defeated.

Morse

T he fog had rolled in, hiding everything. All the people were gone, but Jack. I wasn’t sure if I could call him drunk. The way he moved to punch me was fluid, natural looking as if it were by instinct. But by the smell of him and the way he slurred his words, even with his sloppy use of his accent, it wasn’t a question. He was drunk. I stayed away from him the best I could, adrenaline waking me up. Then came that feeling. The shaking in my hand stopped, a gurgle and splutter in my chest breaking free, making my stomach roll. Then, it went to my head, that image of smacking him sober. Of getting Jack off my back and out of my face. I was mad, the emotion boiling from my chest to my face. I felt my fists grip. Then, Jack appeared. He caught me by surprise. With one swift move of his arm he punched at me, but missed. I spun away in the white cover. He came at me again, finally making some sort of combative hit. I didn’t feel anything. Pain wasn’t something I usually detected or paid attention to. I moved away, turning my back to him behind another swishing curtain. As if by instinct I looked back to where I left Jack. I spun around, bringing up my foot as he rushed toward me. I kicked him in the gut. Although I hadn’t felt his punch to my abdomen, I felt my foot in his stomach. I let out an uncharacteristic growl. Then, everything was gone. What happened, I didn’t . The only thing that stood out was pain. Reoccuring pain. What I next didn’t make me feel any better. The fog was lifting, being blown away from the valley floor back through the low hanging branches of all

the trees. Everything was different. Something had changed. I examined everything as it came into view. The people were still setting camp, or starting back up from the brief pause given by the pea-soup. Then, George caught my eyes. He started to glance down, and my head followed. That’s when I saw the lump in front of me, near my feet. The lump on the ground was curved with organic lines, giving me an idea what it could be. It wasn’t long before I realized that it wasn’t just a lump that magically appeared out of the fog. It wasn’t what I thought it could have been. It was Jack, lying there as if dead. Dead. This word scared me as I knelt down at his side. His face was bigger than before the fog appeared, marked and black with bruises. What happened? I shouldn’t have asked myself something I already knew. I did this! Taking to my feet, I watched George start toward me. I wanted to say something, anything. My lungs wouldn’t let me. My voice wouldn’t catch and my mind couldn’t think of anything other than the truth. That was surely going to condemn me. I turned and ran. I didn’t look back when he yelled for me. His voice was hard in my ears. I kept on, taking my cursed-self away from these people. Another mistake for my already growing list. Another fight I couldn’t , that I wasn’t able to control. I moved through the dim light shining through the broken canopy. I heaved. My vision blurred, but I did not stop running. “Morse! Morse!” I could hear Brooke yelling, her footfalls following mine. By the look of the trees and the near silence I was well beyond the camp. I couldn’t keep running, even from Brooke. If I ed her well, she would never stop chasing after

me. I stopped, near a breakdown for what I had done. I didn’t it, but I couldn’t hide it. George knew I did it. And Jack was there first hand to see me punch his gut out. I fell down near a pair of fallen trees, one crossing over the other one in the sign of a broken X. I took the cramped spot where they both crossed, letting my head fall into my hands. My ears caught a snap and a crunching of leaves somewhere in front of me. Twigs shuffled under foot as she stopped in front of me. “Morse, are you okay?” I shrugged my shoulders and rubbed my face further into my hands as she sat down beside me on the rotting trunks spotted with fungus and moss, “How can I be okay? I beat someone up. I don’t doing it but I did. I can’t hide from it. I did it!” I didn’t lift my face. “Maybe it wasn’t you.” “Didn’t you hear what I just said. It was me. I did it! How else could I get a bruised jaw? How else could Jack get a black eye if I was the only living soul standing near him? How else? Stumble over him in the dark?” Brooke was quiet, possibly considering this. I listened as the wood creaked under her light weight. “Don’t…fret over it none. How did it start?” I’m sure she leaned foward. “I…I don’t know,” I brought my hands down to my chin, holding it as I looked over at her. She was perched up on the fallen tree, her legs crossed, helping her balance in the middle. Her eyes flashed. “How could you not know?” “I don’t . Like all the other times,” I sighed. “How could you not ? How is that possible?” Brooke asked as she crossed her arms. I shook my head.

“This is what always happened, ? I would go to practice and wake up, not ing anything. Nothing I did. This is why I was kicked out of Training. Someone wanted to pick a fight when I didn’t want any part of it. Then… It just happened. I couldn’t prove it wasn’t me and I couldn’t deny it either. Just like now.” I let Brooke sit there and stare at me. Instead of saying anything to me or trying to comfort me, she remained silent for a brief time, patting my back with a small hand. A strong hand. “Why don’t we get back to camp? We need to clean you up,” Brooke said. “No,” I shook my head as she stood up. “Why not?” I didn’t say anything at that moment. I was hoping she would see the reason in my face. It felt obvious enough to see. Brooke had begun to walk back the way we both came. She stepped back and looked down at me, a sorry excuse for a Warder. “Morse. If you believe hiding from a job that you have yet to finish is going to help, it is not,” Brooke took another step back, fully facing my way now. She came down, now looking up into my face as if we were both standing. “The only time it will be done and over with is when you get them safely home. To Earth. Not before then.” Her voice was stern. “It isn’t the job. It’s… it’s me, Brooke. Even if they did try and come after me, they would end up like Jack. Possibly worse.” “Morse! That isn’t going to happen. If what you did to Jack is that bad, they might hate you for it, whether or not Jack is an angered fellow among them. Some might want to, but I won’t let that happen. George wouldn’t let that happen.” She gripped my shirt, pulling me up from the rotting trees, keeping her eyes trained on mine. Once I was standing, Brooke let go, taking a firm hold of my

hand. Without room for protest Brooke pulled me along. She stopped only tree lengths from the edge of the forest and the people who would be ready to kill me. “Morse, look at these prayer beads. Do you know why I gave them to you? Why I didn’t take them back?” she held up my shaking hand, the beads clicking against one another. “A sign of friendship?” I asked, knowing this wasn’t the best guess I could have come up with. She sighed. “In a way, yes. Pop had given these to me to remind me that there is always hope. And hope usually comes with faith in a power other than yourself. I gave it to you to remind you, to show you that there are bigger things out there. A bigger power. Faith.” We waited. Or really, I stared at her as she held onto my hand, waiting for me to agree. For just that moment, everything was isolated, separated from every other thing in the world. “Will you…,” I started, the feeling of claustrophobia rushing at me. “Will I what?” “Will you…would you help me? Teach me what you’ve learned from Pop?” “Why wouldn’t I? We’ve known each other for nearly all time and you have to ask me,” Brooke laughed, her strong voice coming out clear. “I…” “Don’t fret, Morse. Before I pull you back to camp, let’s pray.” “Pray? Like…” “Yes. Like these people pray. For thanks. For peace and for help,” Brooke said. I agreed. Brooke took my other hand and bowed her head. I lowered mine as well, listening to her talk under her breath to the Lord as I’ve seen George and the rest do for the past weeks. My tongue didn’t move, not sure how or really

what to pray for. All I could manage to say I repeated in my head, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” “Amen.” Brooke let one hand fall and she smiled at me. Then we broke through the rest of the remaining tree line and headed into the camp, where I was sure I was going to die. Whether by the hand of Jack who was sure never to quit or even a few of his buddies. But walking behind Brooke into the working people, nothing seemed out of place. It was as if I went to relieve myself and came back to see everything as I had left it. Tired travelers working to the last minute of daylight for the breaking of the day’s fast and preparations for the next day. “Morse! Brooke!” George waved us over. I was surprised by his expression. It wasn’t of the anger I thought it would have been, or even that of terror. It almost looked of wonder. “I can’t believe it!” George said in his usual quiet tone as I ed him on the ground. “Believe what?” though I had my ideas. “That was the first time I’ve seen anyone beat Jack in a fight.” “What do you mean?” “Truth be told, I didn’t see a thing.” “No not… about beating Jack,” I tensed up just by itting it was in some way me who fought with Jack. “Jack was always the fighter, especially after he had some drink in him. He always started them at home, proving he was the best. That he had muscle.” I relaxed a bit, hearing George confess a tale or two of Jack’s history with fighting and getting in more trouble for it.

I shook my head knowing my mind wouldn’t open up that locked door no matter how hard I tried to wedge it open to see what was hidden inside. Was it really me? “To tell the truth, I thought everyone would turn ‘angry mob’ on me.” “What? Did you think we would all be mad? Everyone is used to Jack receiving black eyes. Yes, a few are mad at you. I just think they wanted to see it for themselves,” George waved his arms around as if praising the natural beauty, shrugging, “He has learned a lesson this time, being the hot-head that he is.” “Where is he now?” I rubbed the stitched design of my sleeve. My friend nodded his head back to the wagon where the horses were no longer tethered, only a lone figure slumped at the front. “Brooke, would you…” “Already ahead of you,” Brooke poked at the kindling she had lit, starting up the fire around an already blackened pot. “Go raibh maith agat,” I got up to leave before George grabbed my arm. His grip on me was strong, but not threatening. “How did you do it?” he asked. I wagged my head at him. It was another one of those few memories that have disappeared from my mind, forgotten. It was like a tightly locked door that I had lost a key to. No matter what tool I used to try to wedge it open or knock it down, I would never be able to do so, just to peek in to see what had been stored without that one little key. Did I really do it? “I can’t ,” I dropped simply at his feet before moving on. It didn’t take any longer than half a minute to walk into Jack’s standing space, but my brain calculated the trip a longer process. Even the Sol had dropped a few inches down the sky line from where it was stationed half a minute before. I stopped in front of him, a section invisibly marked out in front of me in case the drink and fight wasn’t out of him. “Hey, Jack.”

His head jumped up to peer at me the best he could. His face sported a black eye, puffed out dramatically in yellow and purple bloom. He jumped back away from me, fear playing on his face for another brief second which felt longer. He didn’t look the same and it frightened me, knowing I did that to him. I felt the pain in my face rise up, the few cuts starting to burn. “Are you mad at me?” Jack asked. His feet shuffled, but he didn’t move forward or back. His voice had lost its usual hate and malice as he directed it toward me. Instead of the strong man I was beginning to know him as, strength wasn’t present in those words. This man standing opposite me reminded me of a still growing school boy wanting to be something more, but not sure where to start. “Why would I be mad?” “Why wouldn’t you? I wanted to kill you. Rip you to pieces and leave you to rot.” “You were drunk.” “Even if I weren’t, you came after me like the devil.” “Did I?” Jack watched me with questioning eyes, “Why are you asking me? You did it all.” “I can’t a thing about the fight. Just that you came after me as the fog came in. That’s all.” “That must be a lie. Don’t you be lying to me like you are to Sophia!” Jack stepped forward, the fire back in his eyes. I didn’t move. “I can’t lie,” I said slowly, wanting to make sure he heard me properly. He stayed silent for the time being, blinking as if he had to think about what I had just said. I was sure he was ready to boil over. But he didn’t get outwardly mad at me. His face didn’t even change color. “I don’t believe you.” “That must be the main reason you hate me. Or is there more?” I asked him,

feeling that there was more to this tension between us since that night he hit me over the head. “That and Sophia.” “Sophia?” “Don’t you go acting all innocent. You love her!” My face tightened with what I’m sure was a stricken look. What made him think that I liked her more than a friend? I moved forward one step, my nose pointed down as I waited for Jack to look up the two inch difference. “What makes you think I love her?” “Don’t you lie to me!” Jack answered the silent challenge and looked up, the fire growing hotter in his stare. “I’m not lying! I’m not! Why do you suppose this?” “Sophia is always around you, following you like a little pet. The first time she saw you I could tell that she saw you differently,” Jack said, the tone in his voice calming down once more, the pain from the bruising making him wince. “Jack. You must be mistaken. There is no connection,” I stepped back. The man started to shake his head at me, those words he was thinking rolling out on his tongue. “I cannot lie, Jack. Believe me. I only like Sophia as a friend. Nothing more,” I whispered, almost pleading. I let my head fall, taking in the beads Brooke had placed on my wrist. I didn’t like Sophia as I did Brooke. Jack watched me, most likely ready to hit me. “Like friends?” I nodded. He nodded. “I’m sorry I beat you up.” “So, you it it.”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve itted to doing something I couldn’t doing. All the evidence is against me.” Jack took his time, looking me over and crossing his arms. The sky at this point had gotten darker as the Sol started to leave by way of its usual path. The valley was growing colder, a breeze pushing up from the grassy floor. “When did you hit my eye, and what with?” he finally asked. “I have no idea. The best answer I can come up with would be, with my fist,” I held up my right hand, the fingers curled in to show him the red welts left around the knuckles. “Who knows when?” I said. He gave a little laugh which surprised me. I had never heard him really laugh. It was deep much like his voice with a catch like an old man’s. “Are you trying to prove that you aren’t a ‘sissy-boy’?” he winced at the pain in his face, unable to stop laughing at my new reaction. I shook my head and ed him in his fun. “No. But why should you believe me? I could be faking it.” “No need to prove anything anyway. You’ll always be a sissy-boy to me,” Jack said. “Fine with me. Does this mean we are on ?” I held out my hand. “Aye,” Jack grasped it and squeezed in the shake. “Thank you. Now, let’s put something on these bruises. I’m about annoyed at these pains.” We walked together to the circle of gathered people; Sophia’s father speaking to George’s mother, George playing with Joanne, Sophia taking a turn at cooking the meal and Brooke poking at the fire, bringing out the blackened pot full of ointment. “Did you sort everything out?” Brooke began, taking the lid off of the pot, the

black soot covering it crumbling. “Aye. That we did,” Jack said, sitting down beside Sophia. He wrapped his arm around her, groaning at the soreness in his arms. Without a word Sophia smiled and leaned her weight into him. “That is lovely to hear,” Sophia sighed. Brooke smiled as well, dabbing a hand in the already cooling mixture, rubbing it through her fingers, walking around to Jack. She sat on her knees, offering a hand over to Sophia, a good sized glob of ointment standing on her palm. “What is this?” Sophia leaned forward to squint at the odd substance in this person’s hand. “It will help with the bruising and sores. Quite a common blend here. Just rub it on the bruises, scratches. Whatever is ailing really,” she turned her attention to Jack, “If it starts to burn, it is working,” she said this seriously, that strong tone becoming dominent for the moment. While Sophia worked on Jack, Brooke took the remaining healing solution and applied it to my face and hands, the only places where I took the most beating. By the time the burn of the cream wore off, the meal was ready and the Sol had hidden itself away for the night. My body was even telling me how tired I truly was. Excusing myself from the group, Joanne ran up, wrapping her little arms around my leg in a ‘sleep well’ hug. Scooping her up, I did the same, hoping that whatever was happening inside me, would leave me be for the rest I rightly needed.

Grey

M ol’s friend felt the wind shift, something was surely happening in the Haunted Valley. He took his place near the camp, unpacking for the night when screams drifted from the nearest tree line. Grey took to his feet and found the problem, knowing the hog would take his time to really take aim at the women and young sir. Watching everything, he made mental notes to file in his book later. He peeked around the sharp edges of the bark, watching as Brooke led the party around the patches of briers and fallen branches, looking everywhere for any sign of Morse, George calling eagerly with his mother at his arm. Following the rescued party plus one, he made sure they found Morse, who had toppled into an old well. Grey hadn’t seen it happen himself, but it was the history and ghost stories that told him what was what and how this certain drop on Morse was performed. The Haunted Valley was named wisely. “How had you ended up in that well, Morse?” Grey listened to Brooke’s words from his hidden perch. Both were sitting close to the fire where the wild hog had been filled with burning coal and buried to roast. The night was growing darker though the Sol had departed hours earlier, but to Grey’s entertainment, both stayed up to watch the prize of the hunt cook, filling in the lost dates of the past three years. “I couldn’t tell you even if it did make any logical sense to me,” Morse replied. Grey watched as his young friend turned his head to look at his recently rediscovered childhood friend. “You know me, Morse. I won’t make fun of you,” Brooke’s voice still rang confidently. Strong like her father’s was before he left to the rest of the departed. “I know you won’t. I just can’t seem to believe it myself.” “What is the use of telling fairy stories then?”

The young man just shrugged with a tired laugh. “No matter how crazy the tale is, it can prepare you for even crazier realities.” She sounded just like her mother, bringing out the brightest details of everything no matter how dim the subject. “I suppose,” Morse straightened his back, “ Well, I was pushed so you know.” “Pushed?” “Yes. A sort of invisible force knocked me in.” “An invisible force?” “Something like that. I ed it felt like a wind current, a breeze. It whipped at me like it was slapping me. After that I was in the hole.” Brooke sighed a laugh, “What a story. They don’t call this the Haunted Valley for no reason. This isn’t the first telling I’ve heard of people being pushed by unseen beings.” “Is mine the craziest?” Morse asked Brooke. “What is crazy about it? There have always been lost souls out there, looking for a way. No story is truly outlandish, Morse. It is the listener who deems it so. Why would you ask me?” “I don’t believe this story is over yet,” he said, playing at something on his wrist. Grey took this time to gather together what he was to write in his book for future references in his mind, settling down for the night to be ready for the continuation of the pilgrimage to the Low Lands and the nearing Tempus Portal. The next couple of days would keep him busy. Only to guess what was changing in Morse was weak for Grey. At this point in time, it could have been anything. The feast day ed and Grey continued just to observe and not interact even in the change of script between Morse and that older man, Jack. A grumpy fellow indeed, Grey could see. Even without the drink in him, Jack saw everything in two lights. His and Sophia. What a lovely girl she was.

But currently Jack’s only light to see by was his own, which was foggy with all that fermenented drink in his body’s system. What would happen from this dot on the map, Grey couldn’t guess. And he didn’t try to guess, but waited as the only Wandering Warder should.

Periit

H e caught his breath sticking in his chest. One of the many reoccuring symptoms making itself known as Periit walked through the barracks. Exiting the front room and ing the door to the kitchen area he crossed the threshold of the collection room. The biggest room of the whole building. Shelves sitting on brackets lined the walls all around, reaching from left side of the door frame to the right, from floor to ceiling, leaving no room for a window for the extra light. Amongst the shelves, collected items of the past and future of all the other worlds that existed beyond this one. In the middle an old style table stood overflowing with even more of these strange and interesting artifacts. The shelves at the back, the furthest from the door and natural light were the old tomes that were discovered at the beginning of this world’s time. Periit wasn’t there himself to find all of these objects of historical value. Some of these thick books he couldn’t even read, the text of a different language of a different world or country. Many were in good working condition where the Warders could open and study them while a few others were too far gone, too old and falling apart. The pages would simply crumble under the slightest weight change of a single finger. The Main Warder walked to these several old volumes, glancing over the titles and faded covers, turning to the shelf just underneath, many curious toys lurking in the light shadows: a ball with several jacks, a cracked bank shaped as a pig, a little ragged teddy bear, a metal lunch box and dozens of other lost toys. And further down to the left sat the snow globes. A few cracked and lacking water while others still held their beauty as if new. Periit couldn’t place where he heard this certain name for these glass orbs filled with liquid and white cut chips that covered the small figurines inside. None of the others had known their names, merely calling them ‘bulbs’. Coming to the snow globes, the lost man picked one up.

The storm blew harder, hitting the floating vessel with more force than the lost man’s new friend thought it would. The boards quaked and groaned in despair under the menacing clouds that brought the thundering rain. The tones of the sky grew darker, a sickly brown and green bleeding about the edges. “This is harder than I read.” The ship’s captain roamed from the entry way that led to the outside world. He sat down on a bunk away from the table and glowing lantern that swung above it. “Are you frightened?” the lost man asked. “You could say so. Indeed.” “I know I should be, but it isn’t bothering me one bit.” “A sign of experience or contentment,” the warder said. He just shrugged at himself, not knowing if he was in any way like this before he arrived here. Instead of keeping up with the conversation, the man found that he was yawning and tired from sitting down in the boat’s hull for days without a peek at the sky. The rest of the time in the ocean, he slept. It wasn’t until he woke for the third time in a crashing tidal wave rocking of the wooden structure that he realized the sudden stillness of it all. The storm was over and the curious ship had survived, now sitting in port. He sat up in the bunk, waiting for his memory to return. Nothing. Just as before. “Come on, Periit. The only way you will find answers is to search for them,” his friend poked his head down from the top deck. Taking in the fresh air and the beaming sun, he paused to stretch out his cramped arms and wobbly legs. He looked over at Grey with a questioning look. “Periit?” “Do you like it? I couldn’t imagine not calling you without a name, so I picked one out. That is until you your own,” the Wandering Warder said.

“Or ‘if’.” “Why lose hope now? This journey has only begun,” Grey said, shouldering a bag over the finely designed jacket he wore. The man now known as Periit found out that this particular jacket was one of a kind. Cut and sewn by none other than Grey himself. Grey had told him that this was the first project in Training. It showed the soldier, or future Warder, their personality and even hints of ancestry. “How could that work?” Peritt asked as they jumped to the dock. “The Elders never would say, but I believe it has something to do with our blood, our genes and really what we like. Style.” The images on the jacket stood out, the many stitches of the com rose on the back, the most noticable. “There were guidelines to picking and choosing what and where designs would be placed. Like, on this shoulder you could only choose a shape. The freedom given here was the style. You could sew it in, brand it depending on the material. It didn’t matter how it was placed on there or how it looked, this shoulder had to be a shape,” Grey pointed to the right shoulder, a common circle darkened in the middle. Following the sewn edge, Periit followed the line closely. All the way around, spinning in toward the center of the circle. A spiral like that of a dirt devil or a coin sliding along a set ramp into an unseen bucket. “What do the shapes stand for?” “No idea. It might not be about the shape, but how we present it on the cloth or leather of the sleeve. The design. The shape could just be our favorite,” Grey shrugged as they walked along the straight dock to solid land. For a minute or so, Periit viewed the scenery extending beyond the dock in front of him, watching as Grey started forward without him, the com rose on his back. The land looked dry, lifeless and dull. Sand bordered the rough stone that led the way from the shore line to the deepening rock formations that shone red and orange in color. The lost man’s feet rocked, one ahead of the other as he caught up with the Warder.

“What of the back?” “It has something to do with where your people originally come from. I didn’t buy it, really.” “What would the com mean if it told your history’s origin?” Periit asked. Grey gripped at his pack, scratching at his head as if he had to think it over, “It is said that my ancestors were from all over. One began in England, another from India and yet another from one of the Americas. All based on Earth.” They kept walking, Periit asking more of the world and everyone in it. “Where are we going now?” Periit asked as the sand became solid and the rock formations became gigantic towers reaching toward the skies. And the weather changed as well, the soothing breeze being replaced by the rays of the sun, hot and zapped of all the welcoming moisture. “We are heading to the Warders of the Low Lands. They shall have an answer as to how to get you home, if it is at all possible.” Grey paused, taking off the pack he had brought with him from the boat and opened it up, revealing a small load of items. Each item was different and well worn. Shuffling these aside, he pulled out a thick book and handed it over to his friend. “This should answer anymore questions you can think up. It isn’t finished, but it should help you see certain things in new light.” Periit held the book with both hands, gazing at the cover and the strange writing it bore. Flipping open the book, he came up with the same result, a jumble of letters he couldn’t begin to decipher. Grey must have seen this in his face, even the gesture of his hands as he closed the pages. “That is just perfect. I didn’t consider that you couldn’t read it. We may use the same alphabet and all but when it comes to writing, it doesn’t help. Sorry.” He took the book back, making it disappear into his bag. Periit didn’t say anything. In fact, this day of travel was one he was sure to

, even if the memories he had before were no longer with him. He laughed at this little thought, a smile following. Though the confusion was sure to set in, he was just happy to have a name. It wasn’t but two days until the small party found themselves at a reasonably sized cabin-like building, built just so, where the wind and various dust particles wouldn’t bother it. Grey called the structure, ‘the barracks’. Coming up to it, Periit saw the Station Warders. These beings were dressed in long cloaks, hoods pulled over their heads to block out the sun and whisking dust storms.

The Main Warder shook the globe, watching the shaved flakes float around the figures trapped inside. Then they dropped back to the bottom, settling around the feet of a man in a white beard, a red coat and a large bag of toys hefted over his back. Santa Claus, as Periit ed him. A man who made toys and spent one whole night traveling the world, just to give what he had to kids. Setting down the snow globe, he continued around the room, knowing that the collection of books, toys, electronic items and even weapons would grow. No matter when or where the object came from, it would always end up here or some other storage cabinet of another Warder. “Sir.” Periit turned to the door, Ike’s form filling the frame. “What, Ike?” he asked. “I managed to produce a batter and I have no knowledge of what to do with it. I was hoping you could come up with a recipe for it. We wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” The young Warder was holding a bowl in his hands, one of the newer metal ones forgotten by a few travelers. Instead of directly placing them on one of the cramped shelves, Periit thought it would be wise to use it. Reuse it, in fact. “Okay, Ike.” The Main Warder exited the dim room and followed the other to the kitchen.

Morse

A fter the meal was eaten, I sat back with Grey’s book, opening the pages to the bookmarked spot where I left the window and two smiling faces. Brooke looked over my shoulder into the book and at the couple. “Who’s in the picture?” she asked. “Picture? Is that what this is?” I held it up between my fingers. “Yes,” Brooke laughed, patting my head and taking a seat beside me. George waved from across the yard as if asking for help, to escape playtime with his little sister. By the look on his face, he was enjoying it. Joanne was giggling all over, sitting on George’s back and not letting him up off the ground. Pushing up on his hands, he started to carry her around, a princess on her horse. “It says ‘Christopher and Lilac’.” Brooke cupped it in her hand, gazing at it as if it were like the fire or even someone telling her a story. “Who are they? Do you know?” “No real idea. It was in the book when Grey gave it to me. It must be his also.” Brooke seemed to smile at the thing, the picture. Maybe the way the guy smiled, not sure whether he really should. Or comparing herself to the girl, confident that it was a nice tie. “What is the book?” With the pages closed and the cover turned over, she read the title. “Who wrote it?” Brooke then asked me. Shaking my head, the pages were opened once more to the last page I read, symbols drawn all over it. Some of these faint sketches were familiar while

others were altogether new. Turning the page revealed even more of them: the Sol, stars, wings, plants, as well as others. “This one looks like the one on your jacket.” Brooke pointed to a bird made of straight lines and various designs within the wings. “Looks like, but it isn’t. These look like copies of the books I had to look through in Training while deg my jacket. I did use this one as a model, but I didn’t care for how it looked, so I improvised a bit.” I leaned forward and pulled on the shoulder of the jacket to show Brooke the difference. The wings extended straight out instead of bending down toward the tail. The feather design was gone, replaced with various lines of different colors. It had taken me a while to finish the bird on the back of this jacket, having to sew in each individual bead to create the bird. I even took extra precaution to make sure that they wouldn’t be torn out, tying and knotting in such a way I didn’t have to worry. “They let you use books to help design your jacket?” “Yes. It is supposed to tell you something about yourself. Like here, it says, ‘Each design and placement of that design can tell you of your personality and ancestral history. Where your family came from and so on.’ It sort of means that this bird means something. All these little symbols do.” “But what does each one mean?” Brooke herself looked at the jacket she was wearing. I recognized it as the one her father wore, the symbols slightly faded and worn and the measurements altered to fit her figure. She must have wanted to know more about Pop and where her whole family came from. “It might tell us more the further we read,” I said. Sharing the book between us, we took the rest of the light of day to read by before heading off for the night. But, I couldn’t. As tired as I was from the lack of sleep and the fight with Jack my mind wouldn’t calm down and something didn’t feel right. The urge to practice was growing in me as if fighting Jack wasn’t practice enough. I tried to banish this feeling to head into the darkness of the woods for a time. My eyes could even see the dark cloaked figure pointing me to the path that led

past the trees. Ignoring the mirage I let my eyes close for the night. Instead of falling alseep my ears kept my mind working, listening to the guard yawn at their posts and mothers quieting their crying children. By the time the Sol came up and the campers were ready to move on, I was beginning to feel sick. “Morse? Are you ready?” Brooke didn’t seem to notice how tired I was. I didn’t even acknowledge that I couldn’t get any sleep or that I really wanted time alone. Just shaking my head and groaning gave her a story I was too tired to tell. “Did you get any sleep last night?” I shook my head again. “Why don’t we wait this day out? Really, I am surprised that you didn’t get any rest after two days already,” Brooke crouched down beside me, the trust I was afraid she was losing showing through. Taking her arms she wrapped them about my neck and over my shoulders from behind as if she were ready to choke me when the time was right, “You should have been able to rest. I don’t understand it.” “It doesn’t always work so smoothly, Brooke. The only time this happens is when I have an urge to practice. I was having it before Jack came at me,” I said. “Well, you fought Jack. It should have reset.” “It doesn’t work like that. I rest after I practice. After I fight is when I feel like beating up a tree. Papa said I would always do this as a kid every now and then, ? It never made sense.” “You still have to practice then.” Brooke had said this so plainly, she sounded disappointed. I was feeling disappointed too. “I can’t hold the feeling back forever. I’m going to have to give in before I out or die from exhaustion. If that happens then I won’t be able to get any one of these people home. I don’t want…”I felt ready to throw up, choking on the very thought I wanted to forget.

My childhood friend’s arms tightened about my shoulders before being lifted away. In no time she was in front of me. “Hey, Morse. We will rest for today and move on in the morning,” Brooke’s voice was being stubbornly strong, a sign she wanted to come off confident instead of frightened. Her face tilted slightly, catching my attention. This could have been Brooke trying to see through me. “In that case, you should watch me tonight. You and George.” “Watch you?” I let my head fall forward, being extra tired made it feel at least ten pounds heavier. With little else to do I waited a minute to breathe and listen to the bustle of the working people: the crackle of fires, gulps of water being poured, sheep talking over the yelling of the shepherd boy and the native language of these people blending together in a storm of mumbles and hums. “Make sure I’m just beating up on trees and no one else. I don’t want to cause anymore damage. But, whatever I do, however I practice, do not try to wake me up.” Brooke sat before me as if I was telling a ghost story. Her eyes and mouth were wide and frightened, her lips closed with a tremble. “I don’t know what would happen, if anything. I could wake up and everything will be fine or another fight will ensue.” I finished this thought before she could catch her breath and ask why. The lids closed over my eyes to cover up the world around me. Although my mind was blank, I seemed to be caught on a question that I couldn’t yet answer.

George

Week 11, Day 75 J ust seeing Morse like that stunned me. I knew it wasn’t him when I saw those eyes. The figure before me was of Morse’s height and shape. Even the same face. But those eyes… I set up watch with Brooke the night before, hoping Morse wouldn’t do the worst to himself, saying a prayer for my newest friend, of safety and peace. I even said one for Elizabeth, that everything was going well for her while I’m gone. Mother and Joanne were asleep by then, Sophia and Jack taking a few more minutes to talk over a private subject with her father. And soon the land was quiet, the only sound coming from the neatly built fires to keep the rest warm as the cool wind made its presence known to us all. The stars were out, willing to help us watch. Brooke sat beside me in a brooding silence, the fire making her hair glow brightly in a menacing way. This bouncing hue of light made her worried expression grow to one of manic pain. “Brooke. It shall be alright,” I whispered. “I know it will be, in some way. But right now, even praying doesn’t ease this darkening thought that something will go wrong. That this will never end.” She looked as if she were suffocating as she looked at me. The strong edge to her voice was gone. “Keep praying. With God’s will, everything will come out as it should.” “Yes. I believe it so. I know it. I just…” “Brooke. I feel just as worried. Even more so if it were Elizabeth,” I said, taking out my sketch book and handing it to Brooke. Opening the pages to Elizabeth I continued to distract Brooke’s mind, “I don’t want anything to happen to her and I keep praying that we will be able to make it home without any one hurt. If I’m

not able to return, I can’t protect her like I would like to. I pray every night, every minute that I think of her, that she will be watched over. Even if the moon can’t see me, it can still watch her.” Brooke traced the lines of Elizabeth’s face. The ripples in her hair bounced with her ready smile and her eyes were shining brightly in the fire’s glow. Brooke looked up to me, knowing she was seeing how I really felt about beloved Elizabeth. “If you are still afraid in anyway, look at me. I am here. I am here tonight because of Morse. He saved Joanne’s life and mine. He will get us home. I am sure we were sent here for a reason and the reason I am here right now is to help Morse. I believe he was sent here by the Lord, our Father to help and be helped.” She scowled as she looked back into Elizabeth’s eyes. She began to weep openly. Bringing her closer I let her rest at my shoulder as a father would a daughter, her sobs becoming heaves for air. “Let’s pray together.” Taking her hands, I led a quiet prayer.

Brooke’s cries faded as she began to fall asleep, leaving me as her pillow. I carefully placed her upon the rough bed she had prepared for the night before settling down once more to watch Morse sit in front of the wagon. I watched her chest move with life before I began to feel somewhat cold from the brisk breeze. I waved my arms and paced around the fire to regain warmth, trying too hard to stay awake. Athair, help me stay awake long enough to write down this whole event. The soft crunch of drying leaves and grass rushed to my ears from the other side of the fire. Morse was steadily coming forward. Before he reached the circle, he stopped and looked down. Watching Brooke sleep. “Morse.” I walked around to stand in front of him. He didn’t move, not even to look up at me. I waited, watching as he stared at her as if in a trance.

“Morse? An bhfuil tú ceart go leor? Are you alright?” Still not answering, Morse turned around and walked off into the trees. It was as if I didn’t exist. Taking a second look at Brooke to make sure she was still resting, I set off into the darkness after Morse. The further from the fire I traveled the colder I got as if death were following me. By this point I had lost Morse as well as adequate light to see by, so I was wandering aimlessly in the dark of the woods. Then to my ears came a soft thumping noise as if someone were beating awkwardly at a drum. Following it I found a sad sight. Morse was standing in front of a tree, his arms throwing his fists into the trunk as if he was a baker kneeding bread dough. By the strength he put behind each blow it caused the sound to become almost sickening. “Morse.” I was still too far for him to hear me and it was really too dark to tell if this person was actually Morse. Rounding another tree I drew closer, my foot catching a twig, snapping it. The noise caused him to pause in his efforts to beat up the unfortunate tree and turn to look in my direction. I was ready to go forward and greet him, only stopping as he started toward me. And just as suddenly I looked at his eyes as they seemed to glow. I stopped, stunned to find that these eyes weren’t Morse’s. I didn’t recognize them. In these eyes I saw fear, an evil that wasn’t used to sleep, clouded in pain and hate. This man before me was not Morse, though he looked like him. Morse would always stand tall, while now he slouched in a defeated attitude. This person’s hand was steady rather than spilling the air he held in his tightly closed fist. As frightened as I was I turned to go, a hand on my shoulder stopping me. I was spun around to face him, the image of a fist busting into my nose causing me to block the attack. Being too slow I lost my balance, a new pain spreading over my face, a spark of fire bursting behind my eyelids. And just as suddenly, the fire was blown out.

It wasn’t the light that woke me, or Joanne pushing at my shoulder or even the water they nearly drowned me with. I startled awake, ing that face. Morse’s face when it didn’t belong to him. Athiar, this does not make sense to me

right now, but help me understand it. Lord, I pray I’m not turning crazy. I woke and opened my eyes this morning to see the face that I had seen last night. I groaned with the idea of running away. I only managed to prop myself up and keep looking at Morse, trying to convince myself he wasn’t going to hit me again. “Why did you hit me?” I asked. The throb rushing through the right side of my face stopped me from asking more or lashing out at my attacker. I didn’t feel in good shape to beat him up, even if I wanted to. Truly, holding a bad temper with someone isn’t how I am. I wasn’t mad before and I’m not now. Joanne giggled at my first words, climbing on my stomach and filling my view with her adorable face. “Joanne. Do you want to help me look for feathers?” Without a pause in her giggling Joanne bounced up from her perch on my belly and walked off, hand-in-hand with Brooke. Sophia was to the left of my head and Jack beside her, that usual scowl replaced on his face as he stared at Morse. Morse still looked the same as he always did, not like the hunched being I had come into with the night before. “Get some rest, George.” This was all Morse said, the relieved smile on his face fading away, no doubt because of what he did. I closed my eyes, the ache in my head becoming somewhat overwhelming. Lowering myself back down I was expecting the grass to cushion my head, only to feel hard wood under a bundle of cloth. The wind seemed to pick up, drying the water that was splashed on my face and cooling it. The next time I opened my eyes the position of the sun, or Sol as Morse says, was further over. Time had ed as the sun had, and as we had. While I was out, the camp continued the travel plans toward the Low Lands that were somewhere in the Far Lands beyond this valley and these mountains. Feeling better I wandered out of the back of the wagon, everything going on as usual. Sophia’s father was talking to Mother, Sophia was bickering with Jack and Morse was sitting by himself. I don’t believe he even moved from the seat at the front of the wagon, keeping an eye on me. Maybe looking for another target

to hit. “How are you feeling?” Turning the page of the book in his lap, Morse seemed to hear me move more than see me. “Nothing rest couldn’t repair.” “I’m sorry for whatever I did,” he closed the book. “It is harder to trust you. I never know when you will just turn your head and become someone unrecognizable.” “I’m surprised you are so understanding. Really, I don’t blame you for not trusting me anymore.” Instead of ing him I moped around the front where the horses would have been and back again, not meeting my eyes with his. Lord, I was afraid to see that dark gleam in those eyes as I had that night. “I didn’t say word to that effect. I didn’t say I didn’t trust you any longer, just that it is harder.” He laughed at that. His laugh was something familiar. As it reached my ears I could hear the friend I knew. Not the slinking man who cowered in his selfloathing and pain. I looked up. Upon seeing the same bruised face Jack had given him and how he sat straight up in his seat, I shook my head. “What is with your head?” “It’s not… You are just so different from last night.” “How so?” I didn’t say anything about the weird encounter at first, wanting to leave it be. Lord, help me to forgive and forget. Release me from this darkness. “Where is Brooke?” I asked instead. “Oh! Joanne has a new friend. This morning after we got you back to the wagon

and woke you up, Joanne wanted to help. And, she did.” “I her giggling at me,” I looked down with the memory of my little sister wanting me to get up and play. Her usual exciting request. “Brooke offered her a hunt for bird feathers before we left. Once we got going, Brooke ran alongside the wagons with Joanne and they picked at feathers. They are gathering them now.” Rubbing at my head I hoisted myself up into the empty seat beside our guide trying to imagine Joanne dragging Brooke around to look for feathers and clover. “Thank you.” Morse said this. Not I. My neck pivoted to him. “For what?” He shrugged as if embarrassed by his thanksgiving, “Thanks for comforting Brooke. She told me this morning why you are sticking with me even after everything that I’ve done. For still trusting me, though I make it terribly hard for anyone to get close enough to me to do so.” “It was the least that I could do. Pray with her and help as best as I know how. It is what the Lord tries to teach us all.” This time Morse looked away, trying to hide his embarrassment before asking me for one lesson I least expected, “Would you…will you show me how to pray?” “You want to learn how to pray?” My lips stretched wide at hearing this. Thank you, Lord! He nodded. “Before and after each prayer you show the Sign of the Cross, if you are Catholic. Not everyone does this. Then, you either recite an already written prayer and or pray for something needed. Prayers can also be for thanksgivings.”

He nodded again. “Some people fold their hands when they pray. Others hold them out or up.” I gave an example of this, first folding my hands together then raising them, palms open as if I was wanting to catch and hold the whispering air. “Do we say these prayers out loud?” “You can if you want to. They can be said out loud, whispered, or even thought. God can hear it in all ways.” “And, asking for forgiveness?” “He has already forgiven you.” There was a pause, Morse considering this as if it were something too hot to touch, but beautiful for the eye to watch. I was silently asking for peace in my own way. This uneasiness about who Morse was last night still tugged at my mind. Not being able to understand any of this was making it all the more frightening to me. “Morse. Last night…” “Last night, what?” “I saw something that I can’t….” “Saw what?” Morse asked me. “Am I assuming that you can’t anything from last night?” I asked him, stalling. “No assuming necessary. I nothing from the time I closed my eyes, to finding you sprawled on top of me.” I’m sure my mouth fell open for a brief moment. “How…I was on top of you?” “Yes. I woke up with you on top of me. I couldn’t even get up. If Brooke wasn’t

already up and looking, I would have been stuck until you came to.” My throat groaned at this, my head reminding me that the other Morse swung a hit at me and ed. “No knowledge how that came to be,” Morse held up his hands to show me he had nothing in his palms. No weapon to convict him of attacking me. The only evidence there was, was me out cold from one hit. “I’ll start from the beginning then,” I heard my voice say from a stunned stare into space. Rather than starting just then, I just sat there and stared at nothing. Morse just waited for me to explain. “Brooke had just fallen asleep. You had walked up to the circle near the fire and just…stood there and looked at Brooke. Just watched her sleep. I had said your name but you weren’t responding at all. It was as if you were somewhere else. Then you turned and left. And I followed you. I didn’t wake Brooke. I didn’t…” I took a breath, feeling as if submerged under water and about ready to drown. “Then, I came upon you and you were, punching a tree. Brooke had said not to try to wake you, so I was retreating and something snapped. You stopped. You turned around and I saw…It wasn’t you. As before, your posture was weak, slouching. But when I looked at your eyes…they weren’t your eyes! They couldn’t have been. Before I could turn, the creature who possessed you started to punch at me…” There was nothing else I could say. The story that came out of my mouth no longer sounded real, but a make-believe dream that could only be characterised as a nightmare. “Then, I hit you,” Morse finished. “Must have.” “Then, this other me isn’t very strong?” “Other you? You believe me then, right?” Morse just shrugged, his shoulders popping up and falling back down. The rest

of the motion was lost once Joanne came bounding out of the trees pulling Brooke out as well by her hand. Her smile was filled with laughter and Brooke couldn’t help it if she followed suit and laughed as well. “George! Look, look!” Joanne let go of the hand she was holding and ran up to the wagon’s side, begging me with open arms for me to take her up. Once in my lap Joanne pulled feathers and leaves out of nowhere, showing me all that she found. “Oh, Joanne. Look at that!” I brushed the feathers she held. This brief intermission from this scary turn of events was a relief for me. I didn’t want Joanne to notice how terrified I felt. Not just what I saw but that she wouldn’t come out of it the same. At my praise my sister giggled even more. Brooke stood at ground level. She waited silently. Even through her smile I could tell she knew something had changed. “Joanne. Why don’t you show Mother? She will be amazed at your collection.” At this she jumped from my lap and with Morse’s help managed to get safely to the ground, running off for the makeshift galley. After running off, we three were left alone. Brooke, Morse and I. Morse’s childhood friend rounded the front and settled in beside Morse, trapping him in the middle. Only now had I taken notice that Morse wasn’t completely there. Not crazy. He just looked dumbfounded. “What happened?” Brooke asked of us. “When? Last night?” “Though I am curious about last night, I mean now.” Brooke made this clear just by the expression on her face as she leaned forward to peer past Morse and his slowly growing scruff to ask me directly. “I believe it has something to do with everything. Not just last night,” Morse’s voice was rough as if he had been yelling, taking a glance over his sore hands. The bruise on his face seemed to darken with his mood. “What?”

Morse lowered his head, wagging and shaking it in his trembling left hand. I’ve come to know that Morse could never any fight he had been in, adding this one punch to the list he was no doubt checking off. I continued to fill Brooke in. “After you fell asleep, I followed Morse and he attacked me,” I paraphrased. Brooke leaned back to look at Morse, her expression changed yet again to fear. “Brooke. That isn’t it. Before he did this… I didn’t recognize him. It was like he was somebody else. Same face and body, but… his eyes. They weren’t his. He was no longer there as he is now. He wasn’t standing tall and his hand, wasn’t shaking.” “His hand wasn’t shaking?” I shook my head. “The only thing I ever before these…outbreaks…are these pains in my chest,” Morse broke in, lifting his head to look between my face and Brooke’s. He stopped his gaze on her’s. “You’ve had pains in your chest? Then, after that you can’t anything?” Brooke asked. He nodded. He watched her rub her neck and try to laugh, not able to keep it going as it turned sour. “Pop would tell me the legend of the Dead Grove and of the man who brought peace to this world. He would add that such a thing did happen. He knew the Warder who guided him, so he would say. And this Warder told him how such came about. The Warder had found this man on Macabre Island and took him across the world to the land with no name. This man had pains…Pop said that this man had Hate, that this is what had possessed him and all those people. Hate.” The world was darkening, Mother calling us to come over to the fire and eat the evening meal. Morse didn’t seem to hear, nor Brooke. I remained seated and waited for both of them to respond to either my waiting or Mother and Jack making idle threats to eat our shares. “Are you saying… that I could have Hate?” Morse’s voice cracked. I couldn’t

see or hear Brooke’s response, a little hand tugging at my pant leg. Mother had sent over Joanne to fetch me and these two friends. Lord, let this situation grow clearer. “Let us eat,” I patted Morse on the shoulder, beckoning them both to follow me to the light of the fire, “Isn’t it possible that such a subject is in that book of yours?” I added before jumping from the wagon to scoop up my little sister and float her back to Mother. “You could be right.” Morse’s face broke out into a tiny smile, trying to hide everything that was going on in that curious mind. Morse left the wagon and wandered off to settle in early after the meal. Brooke stayed rooted to her spot, piling more food to eat as if she had to eat as much food as Morse usually would have. “What is Hate?” “Pop always said that it was… basically he is unbalanced. Everything has a balance. Good and evil. Light and dark. Wrong and right. You know, balance. And, in this case, apparently, Morse is unbalanced,” Brooke said, fingering the food in front of her. “But, how is he unbalanced?” “I do not know. This is one thing we will have to find out.”

Morse

T he journey continued after a good night’s rest and little else. Despite the uncovered condition of Hate, I was able to sleep well. It has been weeks since the uned fight, the bruising on Jack’s face fading and my sores relaxing. For these few weeks my curse disappeared, leaving me free to conduct this pilgrimage with little worry. Both Brooke and I continued perusing the book, finding everything but any mention of this Hate or even the local legend of that one lost man. “So, the circle at your shoulder is supposed to mean something?” George asks from the seat next to me in the wagon. “Yeah. Favorite shape and how it is designed are supposed to say something, but the book is a little fuzzy when it comes to it,” I said. “What of the words along this cuff? What is said?” “It says ‘Never Forget’. I was most caputured by these words so I threaded them in. I haven’t seen anything pertaining to that yet,” I glanced down at the threaded words sewn into the right cuff of my jacket, then looked over at Brooke’s jacket. The words I’d always ed upon Pop’s sleeve were ‘Always Faith’, now worn by his daughter. Brooke’s jacket was ed down to her, tailored to fit. The shape her father chose was a triangle, the lines connecting the three corners sewn in a vibrant green, intertwined with a fashionable vine and leaves. “Have you not found anything concerning…your outbreaks?” George asked. I shook my head, wanting to leave that one subject to itself. Nothing has happened for a while. It seems to have left me for the time being. Thus came the last day spent traversing the floor of the Haunted Valley. Morning broke through early mist. This mist was unlike that pea-soup which concealed the fight between Jack and ‘out-of-my-mind’ me. This was merely haze, easy to see up to twenty feet. The continuation of the journey was easy at hand. This day we ed by the trees that had begun to shrink, the mountains at

either side already sinking into the world’s soiled bedrock, nearly disappearing altogether. Without the towering rock acting as a boundary to the growing wind, the world’s breath turned into various sudden gusts of cool air. The further south we went, the wind gathered up all the more, winding around the grassland-scape performing a mummer’s play. Fallen leaves started to spin and twirl into the atmosphere as the wind sprang up, creating various eddies. These harmless spinning masses of leaves distracted the children, causing them to jump out of the wagons and chase the dry and crackling leaves. Joanne led the pack, running up and down on either side of the line of wagons. Her giggles were the loudest of all as she danced and spun with the current, reaching up and out hoping to grasp bundles of the floating plant life in her small fingers. She even pulled Brooke from the wagon to help in the capture of collectible leaves. “Morse. Keep your eyes ahead! Look!” I broke off staring at Brooke and Joanne playing, finding the horses up front running askew into the low foliage and sticker bushes. Loosening my grip on the reins I pulled the horses straight and back onto the over grown path. I felt a smack on the back of my head, Jack chuckling at my expense. “Did you hit him Jack?” Sophia turned to look over Jack and his unusually smiling face. His head and beard shook. “No. Not I.” “No, I did so,” George’s voice rang behind me. Without worry I turned back, finding him with that sketch book open, a face staring up at him. “Up front,” he said. I turned back to my duty, knowing perfectly well the mood he was in. The past few weeks had turned dull and with little worry or danger occurring to keep the mind satisfied, his mind turned to Elizabeth. The day was done, my mind split between the job and the other matter I wasn’t sure how to deal with. It wasn’t a doubt that it would turn up, but when. Hate was something I knew nothing of but its preceeding reputation. This simple terrifying subject was one I wasn’t going to discuss. Soon enough the Sol left us to do our bidding with the night, the wagons lined

up to the side, fires bursting with that warm joy that they wouldn’t lose until the fuel was all spent. The vittles were cooked and distributed among the people, the supplies now being what animals we could hunt and cure for the remaining stretch of overgrown highway. “Where is our next point, Morse?” Brooke asked of me, the bowl in my hands half empty of the meal and half full of the night air mixed with soft smoke from the fire. “Yes, where to next now that we are out of those cursed woods?” Jack asked. Since the question was brought up, the noise of the other fires surrounding ours became quiet and curious. I let the question build a following before answering, several men coming to the circle to hear the newest plan of action. “In a week or so, we will be at the Cork Screw Fork,” I stated. Then came the flood, the silence of the crowd broken by complaints and strange words. With a hand raised, the lot simmered down. The hand raised was lowered, Sophia’s father speaking a few words to those who remained. After doing so, he turned to me. “Is this Fork the Low Lands?” I listened carefully to his words and his accent, his language becoming a little more understandable. I replied back in his words with a shake of the head, “No. There are two ways to go once we reach the Fork. We need to go both ways.” “How so?” Sophia’s father asked me. “After we arrive at Cork Screw, both you and I will take a couple of horses and head out to the River Village.” I spoke my words as best I could in his language, the lessons having started over for Brooke. She had to review the last lesson at least twice. Unlike me, Brooke could say the words, she just couldn’t which word meant what. “What?” Brooke whispered to either me or George for a translation. George nodded for me to continue to converse with their leader while he provided the needed commentary and extra lesson.

“What business is there in River Village?” “We shall seek the Wise Familie for information. Where to go and what needs to be said. Something like this.” Many of the men standing behind our seats took up a word or two, trying to direct several questions in two different directions in the seconds between my answer and taking a breath. “How long should this quest be?” Sophia’s father held up his hand to quiet the somewhat dwindling, but still curious crowd, asking them to wait. He turned to me for my answer as peace was restored, only George relating what was being said to Brooke. “From post to post along the way through the High Desert it will take a week to get there, if we don’t have any interruptions to deal with. And we should only be staying a day in the village. And then it would be a week to get back. It may be a few weeks, give or take a day.” The man before me simply nodded.

George’s illustration of the Cork-Screw Fork

George

Week 15, Day 104 T he nights seem to blend the longer we are out here, the time either ing by slowly or simply stopping. By this time the convoy has crossed the border. No longer are we in the Haunted Valley, surrounded by mountains and covered in mist, but rather in a grass plain making headway to the Cork Screw Fork. Today began like the others with the sun, or Sol, rising in the east which is our west on Earth. Hitching the horses to the wagons and piling everything back into them, people included, we set off. The further we go, the colder it becomes, the breezes overwhelming at times. The clothing given us at the Trading post provided warmth. With the cold coming on and the clouds rolling in from all around covering the heaven’s natural color, I was sure it was the onset of winter. A time for shelter rather than wandering around in open grasslands, wouldn’t you say, Athair? At this thought I sent thanks to our creator, praying silently while watching the clouds that masked the sky. Here on this world without any name, the only weather this troupe of travelers have come through is that of near drought along the warm stretch in Rain Shadow and the windy isolation caught between those two mountains in the Haunted Valley. The wind now brushes past the leaves to comb the grass, making it ripple like water. The wagon gave a jolt, waking me up from the slight daydream I was beginning to have, the possiblity of finally being home dashed away as it has been for the lifetime we’ve been here. This sudden realization even reminded me how much further from Elizabeth I truly was. She wasn’t just down the dirt street that I had always walked through to reach the shop. Instead, she was home and I was here in the middle of an empty grassland. Joanne would have ed us again if Mother hadn’t wished her to help with her

handy knitting work and yarn. With all the thoughts of winter shivering at my mind, my fingers played over the pages of this sketch book. “Morse? How much longer, would you say before winter comes upon us?” I waited for Morse to give me a definite number of days, hearing Brooke answer instead. “Winter has already started, I’d say a couple days ago.” “Well, when does it usually snow?” My eyes shifted between the two natives of the planet, Morse’s head jerking slightly to the side trying to look around at me. At the same time, Brooke’s expression was one of confusion. Possibly even surprise as she quickly slammed the book she was reading closed rather suddenly. My mind started to play a fond memory of childhood, one of happy faces and laughter. Elizabeth and I were only nine and ten, the morning we woke up to a white village, the land pure white and the windows covered in frost. I didn’t wait for Mother’s approval to rush outside and down the street toward Elizabeth’s home. I found her pressing her face to the pane, the frost that was covering it now dripping. Hearing her giggles I pulled her out with me to watch the white lace float down from the sky, laughing with her. This miracle was a joy to watch, even as the sky slowly became darker with the setting of the sun. At night the sky was still bright when we went to bed, knowing our wish for more snow would come true. Just staring at this substance float down to us and the surrounding ground was enough to emit the childish excitement we felt. “Snow?” It was my turn to be startled with surprise, the memory fading out as I heard this one word answered back in a form of a question. It wasn’t long before disappointment filled me, a feeling similar to my emotion when Athair first put me to work in the shop to make shoes. I was not a kid to be excited by the slow processes of making and mending leather footwear.

“Tell me not that you’ve never had snow!” Sophia spun to face both of them. Her face showed disbelief, her lips falling open in a dumbfounded look. Jack looked about too, keeping silent to the lesson that was being taught. “What is snow?” Morse asked. “Snow is similar to rain. Only it is more fragile. Splended white flakes sewn like lace that melt when touched,” Sophia said. “That should be a sight to see, would it not Brooke?” Morse looked back, locking eyes with her. Brooke said nothing, casting a stunned silence compared to Morse’s curious outburst. “If it were at all possible, I would gladly see snow. Wouldn’t you Brooke?” Morse glanced back at her, a smile coming back to her face. But this smile was different. “That would be a sight to come across!” Brooke said. Morse paused. I did so as well, looking upon her with the knowledge that something had changed. Something was bothering her. “Brooke. Are you alright?” The rest of the wagon seemed to stand still, though the horses were still trotting forward. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Brooke got defensive, her voice rising in slight volume to make a point. At this our guide gave a nod before turning back. As he did so I came to find a worried panic pressed into his expression. Sitting in that wagon grew gloomy, Brooke opening the book, trying to find her place with no luck. Near the last hour, she just gave up with a sad moan. Then came the time to unload the people and make headway in preparing the meal. Jack had to pull Sophia along with him from the wagon, either knowing it was a matter to be kept amongst the fewest possible, or he didn’t seem to care. Soon as the wagon was left empty, not including us three, Morse moved to the back, taking a seat facing us, making the triangle complete.

“Brooke?” “No, really…” “Please, don’t act as if it be nothing,” I said. Brooke looked at me. “It is nothing,” she said. “This ‘It’ must be about me!”Morse said rather loudly. “About you! Hasn’t this whole thing been about you? I think not!” Brooke answered back, equalling his volume. “Have I done anything to make you think that about me?” “In ways…” Brooke stumbled. I kept quiet, this subject between them. Lord, help these two. I pray Morse grows in his new faith and that Brooke does not stop in teaching. “Right now, I don’t care… if this is in any way about me, about what could be happening, just…,” Morse had brought down his voice, the harsh feeling replaced with that of affection, talking as one would to a crying child. “Do tell us,” I spoke. This was a time spent in waiting, Brooke being drawn to open the book to search for the words she had read before, not finding them once again. “I had come across something about Hate. It had outlined what is to happen to one who discovers it. And, it described every bit of what has been happening to you for years, Morse. It wasn’t just that though.” “There is more to come?” I asked. Brooke nodded, trying to appear stronger than she was feeling. “What hasn’t happened yet?” “No clue. I had read that one age and simply didn’t mark my place.”

Morse’s expression became blank. His toned face sank in thought, clearing away what emotion he had always expressed. The color of his eyes darkened to the effect that night had already fallen and the stars had acted out a disappearing act. His demeanor had dramatically changed, leaving Brooke and I lost in the dark. “I believe it is time the meal was ready.” The usual respecting tone in his voice was gone. Without so much as consoling Brooke, he got to his feet, stepped to the end of the wagon and jumped down, leaving us two staring at his departing back. Whatever could have been on his mind, he didn’t want to share it. But at times like these Mother imagines this is what men think is the best way possible to relieve the worry pains of their family and friends, mainly their women folk; shutting off the communication banks. If he didn’t want us to worry a wit about him, he was conducting this business the wrong way, so says Mother. I felt the dejection as much as she. It was hitting her heart like a point of an arrow. “It shall be alright, Brooke.” “I know it will be, but how long I have to put up with it, that it should never end is nearly draining me empty. It feels that he…” Abruptly, Brooke turned off her emotions as well, stalking to the end of the wagon, following Morse’s invisible path and leaving me. Please, let there be hope and trust among these two souls. It wasn’t much later that I was able to catch that troubled boy alone. “In times of trouble, it is always better to tell the sorrows on one’s mind,” I said. “What are you speaking of? Nothing is on my mind but that of getting out of here,” Morse replied coldly. His hand had stopped once again, his posture that of a decaying old man. Even that cold glare was coming through his eyes, Morse’s double appearing. “There is something more and you’re bringing Brooke along with you. Do not

lie to me.” At this his tense face tightened further, the grim hold of his jaw becoming slack and the smile lines turning to those of frequent frowns. The little boy was coming out once more, the once strong thought of keeping everything hidden was crumbling. As quickly as this other Morse had revealed himself to me to say this one sentence, the true owner of the mind came back. “Hide behind it all you want,” I continued as if I hadn’t noticed. Morse looked over at me, around the area he sat, blinking as if just waking up. “If you…,” “No. Don’t tell me those problems. Tell God. Pray and keep praying. Not just for yourself, but for all of this craziness.” I stopped him, somehow feeling he hadn’t heard the hard tone I had given the demon within him. “But… could it be that simple, George?” “If you let it be.”

Periit

T he Main Warder had picked at a book, curious to the words written on the cover as well as the idea of reading it. It was a relatively small book, a couple hundred pages set between the hard covers. “Is that any good?” Guy came up to him, a bundle tucked under one arm as he closed the door. Hanging up his cloak, he sat beside the elder man, tapping the dust off of the neatly folded fabric which he then set on the table. “It is a fun idea, the subject matter which these pages hold.” “Truly, how can you do that? Just read that book?” “How do you mean, Guy?” Periit folded a finger between the pages, giving the younger his attention. “I can’t even read the title. How is it that you can read that strange language known to us as plain English. I only know as much. I know not enough to decipher one curved line to the next.” “I am able to do so, because I was taught to read by this alphabet. Simple as that,” Periit answered Guy’s curious glance at the cover of the book. “How is that possible?” “Have you just now forgotten that I was not born here as you were yourself? It is one of those few skills that I .”

The Station Warders looked upon the two new arrivals, inviting them inside out of the dust. The front room in which the Station Warders resided was nearly empty, the furniture pushed to the far wall to leave the center of the room vacant.

The fireplace in the back corner stood dark and cold, no need for a fire in this warm weather. The lost man, now so named Periit stood in wonder at the way the Warders conducted themselves once inside. Taking off their cloaks and hanging them upon a hall-tree, all but one left the space, exiting by another portal at the back wall. Once the cloaks were lifted, Periit saw something even more curious than the way the room was set or where the others were going. Inscribed all over these people’s arms were such delicate lines, pictures and fancy art forms. Even around each eye there were symbols. “What so brings you here, Grey?” the remaining Warder asked of Periit’s companion, pulling out the chairs that sat by the table. He offered them to the two travelers, resting his weight in the one closest to the fireplace. This man was older than the others, shining gray hairs combed through the thinning hair that covered his head. “I have just come back from Macabre, finding this one lost among the trees and himself.” “Lost upon himself, you say?” “Yes, sir. Claims he can’t any facts pertaining to his life, his own living space and how he came to be here. Not even a name to call him by.” “And no doubt you have named him yourself, have you?” the Station Warder smiled at the Wandering one. Grey then laughed at this, leaning back in the seat offered him. “And what so has he named you?” The lost man looked about the room, the sight of the laughing Grey and the face of the other, the lines becoming clearer to make out around each of the Warder’s eyes. The questioned man took a breath, feeling a tightening in his chest. “Periit.” It was the other Warder’s turn to laugh, slapping Grey on his shoulder in place of a compliment, “That is what you have begun to call him? How you think of these names is still a mystery to my mind. But, before we get too caught up in

this subject, is this man all you have found?” “No, Maximilian. No. I have also come across these trinkets.” Periit then watched Grey open up his pack, bringing out a few dozen small sized items, the largest a mass with loose paper sewn together at one end, what he knew as a book. “Remarkable finds!” the one named Maximilian played with the items placed on the table, “What are these curiousities?” “A few I can point out, but the rest are a mystery.” Grey named the ones most common in the small pile, the rest left unnamed. Periit looked on the items with a bored eye, these things normally used for the day’s entertainment. That was, until he lost all memory of them. Just seeing the objects spurred the brain in his head to back-up energy, the energy one always needs to finish that math homework. Generally boring in an easy way. “This is a music player and these are headphones,” Periit pointed. The other two sitting at the table picked up each of these items, taking turns looking them over and trying to study its mechanics. They didn’t show any surprise that Periit knew more than they had concerning this new technology. “Are you from the era of these advanced technilogical devices?” The Warder with the ripple around one eye and a single dot above the other faced him. The lost man was lost for words, the idea that this question was supposed to be second nature to him brought him to shrug a shoulder. Before he thought to explain why this was, Grey tried to remind his friend why he had brought him here. “He can’t anything. I’ve tried several times to spark a flame in that memory bank of his with no success. This is one that cannot who he is, where he came from or even that of his eye color. Without a looking glass, he is lost to what his irises reflect. This is the only thing that he has identified with since I have found him. Other than common knowledge that every living creature was so made for. Natural functions as you well know.”

“You said you have found him on Macabre Island?” “Yes, Sir.” “In what state?” “I had found him near the coast just as I was ready to load up and leave. I had knowledge that someone was around, but hadn’t caught sight of him until then. This was after a lightning storm came and went. It is believed that the rare form of storm had delivered him. Struck his life from him.” This whole meeting was becoming serious. “And this is why you have come to call him, Periit?” Maximilian asked. “Yes. What better to call one in this state, but ‘lost’?” “Is that what Periit means?” Periit asked. There was a nod. “If I may, what is to become of me now? Will I always be lost?” The two looked to each other the way parents or friends do to try to either force the other to give the bad news or as most often happens, questioning what to say to the subject that has no answer, or that of multiple answers. This silent look conducted between the Station Warder and the Wandering Warder lasted a brief minute, the blame resting on that of the elder authority. “We do not know. This is the first that we have found one such as you, given to us by lightning. We can keep asking these questions and wait it out which could last quite a long time.” The man stopped speaking and shrugged. The teacher was stumped by the student’s intelligent question, which does happen, if only once every couple of years. The lost man could tell even before his question was answered, that these people didn’t know. “If I am not to acquire back what I have lost, what am I to do?” Periit asked.

“The only thing that you can do as of now without a past thought is to stay,” said Maximilian, locking his fingers together in his lap, “I don’t suppose that you will help him to adjust, Grey? I would rather not send him to live among the others of this world without proper history lessons. Take him back to your abode. You aren’t really supposed to be living in it yourself according to your chosen course as a Warder.” Grey seemed to pale at the mention of the living quarters that his friend had mentioned. Periit could see it was a delicate subject between those two, only just now seeing how it caused one to question the other while the silent one would have rather been hidden inside its walls instead of in this small room in the middle of towering rocks shaded in red and orange sand. “Yes, Sir.” Grey nodded his understanding. “What is wrong with having a house to live in?” The Station Warder turned his gaze toward the newest member of this mysterious world. His expression didn’t betray anything but coolness, gesturing to Grey when he chose to answer. It appeared that this friendship earlier shown was a false respect. “This Warder here, Grey, has chosen a path, one that is rather lonely. A Wandering Warder isn’t the most popular path taken by any Warder and in this case, it is a path for one. If one chooses to be of the wandering type, they give up the tradition of not only building a family, but also that of possessions. The only items that they are to own are the supplies given them in each port or village and the clothes on their backs.” “Why is that?” “Grey never finished the required Training. He wasn’t even dismissed, he just simply left. Rules provided, if you are in Training and kicked out, you must be taught differently rather than from books and other people’s expriences. But, leaving as Grey did, you are still appointed a Warder, but stripped of your choice.” Periit remained silent, more confused by what Maximilian was trying to say.

Grey shook his head and gave Periit a pat on the shoulder. “Even in Training you couldn’t explain anything straight, Max,” with that Grey closed his bag, got up from the offered chair and set off to the door, “Periit, you can come along. It was never a question of if I would. And Max, keep that grudge in check.” Grey turned the knob and opened the door to a wind storm full of dust. Allowing Periit to head out before him, Grey began to close the door. Periit watched Grey start to pull it shut, only to fling it back open before it had a chance to latch. Taking off at the sound of a slam, Grey beckoned his companion of the past few weeks to follow before the Station Warder decided to run after them. At a reasonable pace away from the barracks building, Grey slowed down, allowing Periit to walk on beside him. “What did he mean, about all of that?” “Training? Not everyone on this world goes to Training. It isn’t the public school of the late 20th century or early 21st century. Only the children of elder Home Warders go. Family business. And each soldier (that is, an ungraduated Warder), gets to walk his own path. Either become a Station Warder and give up family or a Home Warder to provide for a family. Do you see Periit?” The lost man looked at Grey closer, trying to see more of him, but naturally only seeing the outer skin of the man instead of the contained soul. “What of you? What of the Wandering Warder?” “That is something more,” Grey said.

Guy gazed at the unreadable words on the cover of the book, “I haven’t forgotten, but I just assumed it was everything of your past that was erased.” “True. It was all gone at one point. For a time I was a kid just beginning to learn. I thought I had forgotten everything. It wasn’t but a full year later that I recognized such things that were taught to come as second nature, like reading and counting. All my lessons from the primary school grades were there, but

memories of being taught or of the environment I grew up in is still lost.” Periit said this with simple words. “How can this be so? How does one forget?” Guy went on. The Main Warder listened to this new recruit’s growing curiosities, knowing all too well this was the way of those gaining a new post. Leo was once like this and so was Ike. “Everyone is different. Life’s story is written in more than one style. Though you do not see this yet, in time you shall, Guy. You learn something everyday. Before you come up with more questions about this book and me, what have you learned today?” The other Warder stopped at this, closing his mouth for a minute to think about the day’s stresses. “You don’t need to say a thing, Guy. There are still a couple of hours left so that could mean that you haven’t hit upon the lesson yet.” “I suppose so,” Guy said slowly. With that, Periit opened the book to the marked place, being able to read a few more lines before Guy interrupted to ask another question. “What is the book?” he asked. The Main Warder marked his place once more. “The title of the book is The Hound of the Baskervilles. It is a mystery, written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.” “A mystery?” Now Guy was acting like a child. But to his defense, Periit knew Guy wasn’t one yet exposed to the various collectors items that had been found over the years as this world had began to function as that of Earth. Periit himself had only a few years before, taken it upon himself to study the objects which were in the collector’s closet down the hall from the kitchen. The older items were what astonished him, having only the knowledge of the newer high-tech toys that became few here.

“A mystery, young one, is a story like any other only it asks you to think. In such case, it gives you facts to start the cogs and gears of your mind to turn. A mystery could be as simple as who took what, where this one person went or who killed who. One clue should lead to another and so on. And this will lead you to the solution of the mystery. In this book, as far as I have gotten, the detective, Sherlock Holmes has come upon a legend of a Hell Hound, in which some Lord dies,” Periit discussed. “Who killed who? What such generation has written this?” “I believe this subject of murder has been around for the longest time, the first such recorded murder was in the Bible.” This time the lost man watched as the young Warder shook his head, a slight melancholy dimming his face. One living in such a peaceful time and place such as this, isn’t so aware of the grim scenes set around the Earth. Periit only felt that this much was true, having lived in the middle of it before being transported here. Though he still didn’t a thing, the history he was able to collect from the elders of the River Village and Mecca City gave him a picture to paint in his mind, some histories mainly presented in red and black. “How can such bad things happen? You must be thinking this, given to your silence and long gaze. Yes, there are terrible things outside this world. These traps were invented by the mind of men, infused with dark thoughts, such as greed and power. We are blessed to be raised here, Guy. Just so.” The younger of the two nodded his head, excusing himself to check on other duties he was sure to get done, “Enjoy the mystery, Sir.” “Thank you, Guy,” Periit said, going back to reading the book that sat in his hands, knowing that Guy was sure to this one lesson.

Morse

T he weeks ed rather slowly, the concern for my ‘curse’ growing. But with prayer and the distraction of leading these people back home, I’ve managed to remain calm. Please, help me to protect those whom are in my care from me, whatever creature I might turn into. Today we stopped, the signs of the Cork Screw Fork poking up from the middle of the spindly branches of the Cork Screw bush. One sign pointing to the left, the other pointing right. The night came on rather briskly, leaving me to gather the needed supplies and choose two horses that will conduct Sophia’s father and I through the desert to the River Village. After finishing this task I laid down for the night, taking my time to watch the stars stream about the night sky. “At least your nights have stars,” George sighed beside me, resting his back on the ground, an arm holding his head out of the grass, “Now that we have reached the Fork, which way are we to go?” “I will be setting off tomorrow with Sophia’s father. Everyone else will be resting here until we return.” “Why is that?” From the sound of it, he turned his head to look at me. I looked back at him in the dark. I couldn’t see his face, even in the dancing light the flames of the fire. “We have to meet up with the Wise Familie for more intructions. Papa told me as much before he left. From everything that has happened, I know not whether…” “Be it so. There might be some words for both of you. Lord keep you on this quest.”

“Yes, Lord, I pray that you not only help us cross the map, but to keep an eye out for these people who will remain. Let no harm come upon them,” I finished the prayer George started. After murmuring a few more words between us, we both closed the prayer with an “Amen”. Making the Sign of the Cross, George wished me a goodnight’s sleep, turning over. And before I thought to worry over anything more, I was out.

Then came the day that I was to leave. Waking up, I left the grass I slept on wilted and crushed. The Sol lit up the sky for all the world to rejoice that a new day had dawned. “Morse, have you come across Joanne?” I had just sat down at the fire, the morning meal being prepared by George’s mother. George came around from another fire to ask me this. Shaking my head I helped myself to the food. Joanne’s older brother continued, Sophia coming around with a shake of her head, “I haven’t come across her. It seems no one has seen her yet this morning.” “Morse, help us look for her before you go.” “I still have to gather the leader and…” “No Morse. Go ahead. I will inform my father to wait for you by the horses. Go help George in the search,” Sophia interrupted me, taking the empty bowl from my hands before I could go for seconds. I stood and began my day looking for Joanne as if I were a pirate searching for the buried treasure. Starting by the wagons I asked her little friends if they had seen her. They shook their heads. Not having any luck in this direction, I went the opposite way, headed toward where I had left the horses the night before. This track lead me near the Cork Screw, my attention looking off to the right of the plant. I stopped. The Cork Screw shivered, a giggle making it come to life. I watched it rustle, two tiny eyes staring back at me. Not fully aware of the dangers in finding the hiding place of an energetic little girl, my legs moved me closer. My lungs let go of the air within, the surprise of Joanne jumping out from behind the twisted vegetation. At the same time, George snuck around the swaying bush

as well, appearing behind Joanne. He snatched her up, a laugh escaping his lips. This was the first time I had noticed him, the two causing a riot of noise. Tripping backwards I felt a dull pain in my rear as I landed on the ground, the grass doing nothing to cushion my fall. My eyes beheld their laughter, the little sister patting the older brother’s cheek as he raised her up in the air with a twirl. “Morse, what is with that look spread clean across your face? I didn’t think any game would knock you flat from your feet, yelling,” George laughed, setting Joanne down as she giggled even harder. “I yelled?” “Aye, and it was a sight that was amusing the see,” Jack said. He presented his hand out to me, a smile plastered about his face at seeing me stumble. Taking his hand he hoisted me to my feet. “It is not a game I am familiar with,” I said. “It is so for us. Seeing you fall over like that is the best of my day,” Jack continued to laugh at me. Sophia sauntered up to the group, Joanne pointing me out to her with a giggle and Jack taking his place beside her. Brooke even ed us, her hair bobbing loosly around her face, shading her eyes. “Dad doesn’t like to be kept waiting, Morse. You had better make your way over before he finds his way over here,” Sophia stated. At the mention of my having to leave, Joanne’s joyful countenance changed, saddening. “You’re going? For how long?” her face glanced up at mine, a pout beginning to form even before I managed to explain myself. Kneeling down to her level I watched that usual bright face dim down. “It shouldn’t be too long. A fews weeks, maybe. We shall be back. I will come back.” Joanne’s frown opened up with a wail, her cheeks becoming rosy and her eyes tearing up. Before I could escape it, she ran into my chest, wrapping her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder. Hugging her back I picked her up as I had seen George do so many times before along the trail.

“I’ll be back, Joanne. I will,” my voiced cracked. The emotion of Joanne spread over me like a disease or a yawn. That contagious feeling was ed around, the reflection of my own situation caught in George’s face. I couldn’t fight that. This was the first real show of emotion I’ve let an audience see in weeks, the curtain falling suddenly. Everyone saw this when I looked around the group, still comforting George’s little sister in my arms. Jack stood beside Sophia, knowing that he belonged there with his arm around her. George stood opposite them, stepping forward as Brooke came into view from behind me. “Morse, Sophia’s father is waiting. It’s about time you get going,” George held out his open arms to retrieve Joanne and send me on my way. Before doing so I ed my gaze to Brooke, a smile spreading over my face. I looked down at Joanne, searching for her face that was hidden at my shoulder. “Would you do me a favor while I am gone?” I asked Joanne. She lifted her face from my shoulder, leaving the seam of my jacket soaked. Wiping her eyes and nose and face, that pretty girl faced me, “Will you take care of Brooke for me?” I looked over at Brooke who was watching attentively, “I don’t know if I can leave her alone,” I teased as the younger me would have. Brooke’s face skewed slightly, her pupils and colorful irises moistening. The kid in my arms straightened up, trying to show me she could gladly take on this task. Joanne smiled. She nodded. Then George received her from my grasp. I in turn slowed my departure even more so, saying good-bye to the others. Then, facing Brooke to say as much my smile failed, replaced with a fake one mirrored off of Brooke’s. The beads at my wrist shook with the rest of my hand, reminding me I would be taking a piece of her with me, a small thought of what I didn’t want to lose. “It should be quiet for once around here, once you have left,” Brooke spoke first, joking in that low voice she always adopted when she felt left out or didn’t want anyone to know how she was really feeling. “I hope that is a good thing,” I continued the joke. “It might be,” she replied, crossing her arms in front of her.

“I’ll be back Brooke,” I said, “Now, keep up with Joanne.” “I’m sure I’ll be able to, even if it rains. But, if it does so, I can’t promise that this hair of mine won’t rust anymore than it has already,” her voice broke, reminding me of the joke I told her on our reunion. Then the words disappeared, the only sound that kept the world alive was that of the working people in the background and the clicking and tapping of the prayer beads at my side. “Morse, Dad won’t wait forever. Shake a leg,” Sophia broke in. I was about to turn to go, catching Brooke’s eye before I completely turned away. “I’m sorry for the past few weeks,” I apologized before stepping back to leave. I couldn’t help but lay my eyes once more on Brooke, turning to look at her face before I disappeared from her view for the next couple of weeks. I found my way to the two horses, Sophia’s father standing before them, patting their noses and combing their manes with his fingers. By the sight of him with these horses, it was easy to tell he was comfortable around them. Without turning his head or looking about, he said to me, “I was ready to send a search party for you. It is time we departed, I’m sure.” “Yes, I believe you are right,” I said in his native tongue, “I am sorry to say that I have forgotten the saddles. We will have to proceed riding bareback.” In response to this, the camp’s leader jumped on the back of the big black horse, whom he seemed to favor. He did this with such ease that he was no longer the old man of 100, but an active young buck, needing no help from me whatsoever. I myself didn’t waste time, mounting the dapple-gray. Grabbing the reins, the leader gave his horse a kick with the confidence of an athletic racer, leaving me behind for a brief second. With the supplies already gathered and tied for travel, I kicked off as well, following behind this man, the pathway already marked out by the sign that pointed to the left of the Cork Screw Fork. Soon enough we would be in the desert.

Brooke

A fter telling what was found in the book, Morse seemed to turn to stone. All the years I had known him, he couldn’t hide anything from anyone, let alone how he was feeling. He just went cold. His face tightened and his eyes dulled. No longer was he that curious kid that I was beginning to reconnect with. He was no longer the kid I could just push into the stream for fun. He was well grounded. A man, I could say. Now I am watching him walk off in the direction of the horses he chose for the ride to the River Village. My face is burning and my throat dry, watching him stop to look at me one more time. I didn’t bother waiting around to see him and Sophia’s father depart from the rest of the camp, going off to take time to myself. No sooner had I left the small group than Joanne came bounding up to take on the task, the small promise Morse had issued to her. The promised had well brightened her weepy mood after the mention of him going off on another adventure without her. Without me. “Brooke! Brooke! Want to play?” Joanne’s face regained its cute grin, where my face dropped and darkened. Before I could reply to her question she grabbed at my hand and pulled me away, past the watchful eyes of Sophia and Jack as well as George and his mother. “What are we to play?” I asked her when she stopped. The voice in my throat seemed to drop, my eyes watering. The little girl simply shrugged with a giggle, not seeing my face. “Can I play with you?” Sophia snuck up behind me. “If you wish, though Joanne has no idea what we are going to play. Have you any suggestions?”

“Really, I was hoping to fit you for a dress,” Sophia said. “A dress?” “Aye!” Sophia affirmed, crossing her arms behind her back and rocking to and fro on her feet like a kid hinting for something. My eyes followed the folds of the dress that she wore, the swaying motion mesmerizing the girl in me. Mama had always wore a dress, though a different cut to that of Sophia’s. I allowed my arms to hug myself, noticing how the waist of the dress was brought in, showing off her figure. Dispite my sadness and anxiety, I smiled. Smiling was better than crying. “Why not?” I said. Taking me by the hand, Sophia pulled me along behind her, Joanne ing in the excitement. Rather than living out of the wagons for a day as they had done since beginning their travel, the people of the camp had set up tents to provide the needed shelter for the next two weeks. Sophia pulled me into one of these tents. The cloth ceiling hung low, my head just nearly rubbing it as I entered. “I’ve never worn a dress before,” I itted in the enclosure. “Never?” “I might have when I was a younger girl before Pop died.” I must have sounded sad about it, Sophia remaining silent for a measured time as she rummaged through a bundle. Turning she held up a loose dress, the fabric somewhat dirty. The dress she held wasn’t new, but it didn’t look old either. “This is an extra that I brought with me, in case anything terribly damaged this one. I would rather have it be worn than sitting in a dusty pile for the rest of the way. We aren’t the same size so I will have to alter it to fit you. Would you try it on?” Sophia pressed it over me to estimate how it would fare. I took the cloth in my hands, taking a glance at Sophia and then to Joanne and around the tent. I glanced down at myself, at my own clothing. The shirt that I wore was of a man’s style, the fabric baggy about my waist where I had tucked it into the top of

the neatly patched pants. “My mother died when I was younger, too. I miss her dearly, like you miss both of your parents, I’m sure,” Sophia said. I could feel moisture building up in my eyes, more so ing that Morse had only just left earlier, “Thank you, Sophia.”

Harold

T he sun was behind them, the grasslands no longer in sight. Harold rode alongside Morse down an unmarked path toward the desert. “Before the day is over we should be hitting upon the first check point,” the young man said. Harold watched as the dapple-gray trotted forward a step or two of the dark horse he himself was riding, both animals throwing their heads up and down in a way to converse. “What is a check point?” the elder in this group of two asked as he brought his horse equally closer to the other. Morse answered, “A check point, in this case, is a building where we can rest for the night and replenish supplies. There are eight throughout this desert road, each a day apart by horseback.” The words spoken between the duo were few. Sophia’s father spent the time riding between each post looking off into the distance at the unfamiliar sand dunes and the general lack of live green vegitation. The only plant life Harold noticed were various shrubs that reminded him of a child’s imagination; poking sticks and twigs in the ground as if planting a grand garden. The first check point they came upon rose up from the ground as if it had been there on that spot from the beginning of time. The exterior was a coarse dirt-like tan, the whole thing constructed of dried mud. Out front a well fell down into the sand, cemented there by red sandstone. Morse pointed out the stable connected to the back of the building, dismounting his steed. Harold followed suit, taking the reins from the younger man’s hands to lead the two creatures to the back. Morse entered the building, the same rough clay of the outside spanned the inside walls as well. Across from the door a crudely shaped fireplace sunk into the wall, a stack of wood to the left. Past the wood was another door, most likely leading to the stable area. Two cots, Training issue, stood at attention to the right perpendicular wall to that of the fireplace. Opposite the cots a table with chairs sat, a bowl of fruit placed atop, a jug and cups accompanying it.

Closing the door Morse crossed the room and set the pack that he lugged with him from the camp onto the table. Before opening it and setting the table with what was needed he stacked the wood for a fire. Soon it would be dark outside, he reasoned. While the troubled kid did this, Harold had remained outside to tend to the horses in the back stables. The stable itself was spacious, only having two horses on hand to take care of. At the doorway there was fresh hay and a water trough. Harold found this pleasing, giving both horses a ration of hay before rubbing them down. All the while he sang:

There is fear in here, The darkness shrouds the light, Making day into night. Clouds roll in, Rumbling into a maddening grin. We shall wait, ’til morning comes. What we find becomes.

There is fear here, In these woods so dark. The slow whispering of a lark. The wind blows high, In the hidden sky. Tossing the falling leaves into the air.

They will fall where they dare.

The back door of the building opened, Morse sticking out his head, hearing the words all the clearer. Peeking around the corner of the doorway of the stable he found Sophia’s father brushing at the big black horse, supposing that this one was his favorite of the beasts. Harold didn’t notice he had an audience, singing these words in his low tone of voice. Before Harold was done and satisfied that both horses were comfortable and fed, Morse had left, closing the door behind him. The elder man entered the check point by way of the back door, directly ing Morse at the table where the cups waited, full of fresh water from the well and the bread set beside the bowl of fruit. Sitting down in the other chair, Harold began his prayer making the Sign of the Cross and asking for a blessing of the meal. Morse followed the leader, trying to hold his shaking hand still. “Sir, what was that?” Morse asked not long after the prayer was said. “What was what?” Harold asked. “That tune. The song you were singing earlier?” “I learned it a long time ago. I don’t when. I used to sing it to Sophia when she was a younger girl.” Morse didn’t know what else to say to that. The elder watched Morse quietly let his head fall to the table, no longer able to keep up that guide act much longer. Sophia’s father could tell that this young man was trying to be more than he was used to, even to keep up a conversation with a graying beard like him. This kind of interaction went on for the next few days, the ride through the desert becoming less favorable to Harold. The sun grew brighter and hotter, the sores he was recieving from riding that horse hurting. Even the horses slowed down, rather wanting to share the company and conversation between one another than the wants and comforts of their two riders. Harold didn’t mind and Morse didn’t seem in any hurry.

Morse

I brought the left hand up, the fingers connected to it twitching slightly, brushing over something that sat loose. I shivered, dropping the hand flat over the sand, letting it lay still. The eyes under their lids glanced back and forth in the darkness, searching for something. I was looking for something as well, allowing them to open and reveal to me where I was. The body took a shuddering breath, waking up the rest of me. The stars looked down on me from outer space. What happ ened? I rolled the eyes in their head, able to recollect that Morse fell off his horse. His body shivered again despite the fire that was burning nearby. I kept his eyes on the fire, knowing that he was still somewhere in here with me. Slowly his left hand started to shiver again as it always did, telling me that he was waking up. I’m not going to allow that. Taking control, I closed that hand into a fist, grabbing at a lump of sand to calm the tremor. The sand was cold to the touch, as everything is for me. I released the tiny grains, letting them crumble from that fist I made out of Morse’s hand. It no longer shook. He wasn’t coming to yet. This isn’t the first time I have woken up his body and kept him in the dark, I keep reminding myself. Every so often I let loose, wanting to pummel something in, the pain keeping me alive. Not that I wanted it that way. I’m not always going to be here. Some night I am going to escape. Taking one piece of it at a time, like plucking a brick from a wall. No matter where I take it from, it won’t fall; it just becomes unstable. I’ve been doing this for years already, this body of Morse’s nearly ready to be knocked down with one solid hit. “Tá tú. Cén chaoi a bhfuil tú ag mothú?” I turned Morse’s head over to the voice, the language not familiar to me. Each time I have the strength to open these eyes by my own will, there is something new to be had. And none of it I like. No fire warms me, no smile amuses me. There is nothing in this world that brightens me. The only thing I know is pain and suffering, that is what I spread around no matter where

or when I wake up. I didn’t bother to answer the man that stood over the sore body of Morse. The legs ached from the long rides, the muscles ripping from overexertion that wasn’t of my doing. They burned, melting like that of warm jello or butter. His body shivered again, most likely from fever. The only thing I wanted to do was get up and walk away from this prison. The figure above me was nothing but that of an old man, no life worth messing with like I was already doing with Morse’s. That man’s soul was too strong and healthy to bother with. I could see it in his eyes and hear it in the scratch of his voice as he prayed. He said something else, his hand pressing something to the lips of Morse. Water. I didn’t bother to spit it out; just letting it slide down Morse’s throat. If I was ever going to be free, I would rather have him in good shape to do so. The only way to loosen these sore muscles was with a fight. I wanted Morse to be fit to fight. One punch to a face, a slap to another. One fist at a time, a broken nose to every struggle, I am going to tear his heart out. After swallowing the water to regain strength for this vessel the guy lowered my head back to the sand, ing a hand over his face and chest in a religious gesture. I turned the neck, rolling the head and eyes away to look upon the dark and dry milieu beyond the sickening smile of the fire. This man was concerned. Not for me. But for Morse, that weakling! “Anois, an chuid eile.” I didn’t bother that with an answer either, giving him a groan. I closed Morse’s eyes, making the light of the fire go out. The way I like it. Dark.

Periit

P eriit entered the kitchen, Ike slaving over a hot surface in preparation for dinner. The technology he was using wasn’t state of the art, but it did its job in cooking and heating the food as it should. The kitchen wasn’t too big, but held enough air and room to accommodate at least ten people at a time. The floor was made up of various pieces and sizes of collected tile. Most were broken into fragments, glued together with other pieces to fit to the floor’s plan. Only a few rare tiles had been found whole and in one piece. A table sat in the corner at the end of a counter, designed by a previous Warder. A bowl and pitcher sat at the other side of the room on top of another counter. The stove that Ike was standing over was a discovery found over the years. One of the heaviest objects to be found from another planet, from another era. “What are we having this evening, Ike?” Periit asked the young Warder. “Oh, this…this isn’t for dinner, Sir. I am making jam.” “What is the jam for then, if not for dinner?” Periit looked over his shoulder at the boiling pot of colorful and sticky liquid that Ike was stirring. “Whenever I am able, whenever I can, I boil down the fruit we don’t care to touch, and with some sugar, I make jam. After boiling and mixing, I place the warm mixure into jars and seal them for later. We could eat it with bread for light meals,” Ike explained. “That is interesting. Did they teach you this in Training?” “Wouldn’t you know, Sir?” “No. Not rightly. I wasn’t one fit for Training, not being one born or raised here from birth. After having the adventure of a lifetime and receiving this terrible scar for my effort, I was left with a choice. Leave through one of the many Tempus Portals, all leading back to Earth in different time periods, or stay and help guide.”

Ike stopped his stirring and glanced over his shoulder at the elder in the room. The boiling was the only noise emitted for a few seconds, the surprised look on Ike’s face stopping him from saying anything. Periit waited for him. “I’ve been here almost six years and haven’t known any of this. Why is that?” Periit considered Ike’s question, knowing very well how long he had been stationed there as the cook. “It could be a simple reason why. I have shared this barracks with you for at least six years and I hadn’t known, until today, that you could make jam. Everyone has secrets, it seems. Whether or not they are trying to hide them, there is always one subject or other that the next person doesn’t know. Not until they ask or are told, that is,” Periit observed as he leaned back against the counter that was trapped between the stove and table.

The lost man followed the Wandering Warder down the worn path from the Low Lands, the danger of falling rocks becoming less. “What is a Wandering Warder?” Periit asked Grey to tell him for the fifthteenth time since leaving the barracks of the Station Warders. “I shall like to save this bed-time story for another time. The details of my choice I would rather leave under lock and key for the time being. Please, ask of anything else except that.” The follower took these words into consideration, leaving the unanswered subject for a later attempt. “Okay. What of the history?” “What history?” “This…place,” Periit gestured around at the landscape, grass now growing from the cracks in the ground. “Haven’t I told you as much while sailing?” Grey asked.

“I don’t recall it. Maybe you had, but just refresh my mind for me, will you?” Grey stopped to take a long look at the lost man he had picked up at the island of lost time. It wasn’t that he was regretting bringing him back, it was more or less the strange company the extra body gave him. Being a wanderer, this Warder wasn’t the type to share everything to everyone. Periit was the first to ask so much of the very secrets he was working to discover. “Why don’t you read it for yourself?” Again, Grey opened his pack, pulling out the thick book and handing it over to his friend. “But, I can’t read it.” “Then I will teach you,” Grey said, continuing on into the horizon before him. “If you will teach me to read this, won’t you tell me what that man meant? The reason behind…” “Please, Periit. I am not in the mood to be telling past life histories, let alone mine. Let us first get home, then I might feel up to it.” Periit just nodded, feeling that he should give this guy space. Taking the book up he opened it, seeing what he had to learn. The written form was strange. Though vaguely familiar. Not able to learn much from a book filled with scribbles still undecodable, he closed the cover. The way to home was unknown to the new arrival, no map inscribed anywhere in the book or any sign posts that they ed. Just out of the Low Lands, they came upon a trading post, the building open to the breeze and sky. No roof was needed in this area, the climate always fair. Here, Grey saddled up two horses, packing supplies until they reached the next post or check point. “Where is home?” the lost man asked as they were leaving the trading post. “Home is in the land with no name. So named after the whole world.”

“Why hasn’t the world a name?” “That is one of the many truths I am wishing to find.” “Is that why you became a Wanderer? To find truths?” “If you want to put it that way. But wishing is only half of it. The other half is what you do to make the wish come true. No, truth is only half of that wish. It might take more than me to get at the whole truth, faith is the bigger word.” “So, home is how far from here?” “It will take several weeks, longer if I am going to teach you a few things. I was thinking of hitting a few hot spots on the way back, dig up some more artifacts for the collection.” “I need to learn everything I can, in case…” “Yes, in case,” Grey kicked his horse into gear, riding off from the post and down a path of beaten grass and dirt. Periit followed, curious to see where this path would lead. Whether it be home or somewhere else.

“Sometimes time tells. There is a right time for everything. It could be that it was time to reveal a new subject. You making jam and I exploring the world without a degree of any kind,” Periit was now looking in the pot that Ike had just stopped stirring, watching the sugary mixture bubble and possibly clot. “Yes, Sir. I believe you are right. I can see that not everyone needs classes to be smart. Some of us come by it naturally, I guess.” “Ike, no one needs lessons. We each have a talent that we are born with, whether it is of the heart, the hands, the mind or a combination of two or more. We grow in it because we have ion for it. Like, you and your cooking. You didn’t need a class for that, but you took it anyway to learn more.” “Yes, but I am not the best.” “No one is. Sure, another can cook a certain dish better than you, but you can

make a different meal better than they could. All artists are talented. They are all creative in their own ways. But, they all don’t draw the same things. Some might not even be able to draw stright lines, while others can. I can’t draw a detailed picture worth much like Leo can. You know this to be true, a sketch of his hanging out over the bunks like a prize. I can’t even create a portrait,” the Main Warder stated to the younger, who started stirring the contents of the pot before it burned. “No, that is true, Sir. But you can sketch the best landscapes I have seen. We even hung it up beside the hall tree. You are not all bad. Leo couldn’t create a landscape perspective that you have,” Ike mentioned, now pouring the liquid into a few jars standing open on the counter beside the stove. “Ah. So you see, none of us are better than the other. Yes, you can do something that I can’t and Leo can whip Guy in a fight, but that doesn’t make one better than the other. If it doesn’t make us equal in all activites, it gives us equal personalities, for they shouldn’t be copied to begin with.” Ike then poured the last of the warm substance into the last of the open jars, capping them in preparation of sealing them. “Yes, Sir. Though I can’t follow your reasoning very well.” “Don’t overthink it, Ike. Just , we all have secrets whether we want to keep them or not. And no one is the same, but equal in their own ways.” With a pat on Ike’s shoulder, Periit left the kitchen, another feeling coming up in his chest. The worst was yet to come.

Morse

I ’m sure I moaned with the effort to get up from the ground. Behind my eyelids, light bled through brightly. I must have dosed off on the horse. The check point shouldn’t be far off by now. It wasn’t until opening my eyes to the blinding Sol that the realization struck me, for I wasn’t on my horse where I should have been. Instead, I was lying on the ground in the hot sand, a pile of ashes stacked beside me. Who built a fire? I even rubbed my eyes to be sure this was what I was really seeing. A pile of ashes, cold. “Good. You are up. How are you feeling? I was worried the heat did more damage.” Finding Sophia’s father beside me reminded me how I ended up on the desert floor, but how long it had been after, I had no recollection. No Idea. “What do you mean, ‘the heat did more damage?’ Damage what?” I started to get up, my legs stumbling from lack of use. Or was it lack of strength? I felt drained. Sophia’s father sat me back down, his eyes examining my face, my eyes. He shook his head behind his beard. “Don’t you your tumble off of your horse?” “I fell off of my horse?” I was having trouble ing certain words, shaking my head as if the understanding I wanted to reach was trapped in a tall tree. I wasn’t totally convinced of anything this man said. I felt sick at that moment, everything coming in and out of focus, my stomach feeling ready to heave. “Stay seated. You are not well,” he said. He placed his hand over one shoulder to keep me from getting up. I wasn’t

feeling up to following the doctor’s orders, getting to my feet before he thought to hold me down. “Please, Morse. Sit down. You need to rest.” Feeling more confused, I backed away. It didn’t feel right as I drew my hand through my hair, brushing the bangs out of my eyes. I needed to . This shouldn’t be happening, “No. Let’s keep going. The check point shouldn’t be that far off.” I directed myself to where I was sure the post was and started off. It wasn’t much more than a snail’s pace, the leader’s hands stopping me from walking much further. He told me to sit down, a fatherly tone finding its way into my thought process. I shook my head against the ache, the dull numbness that spread through my mind. I must be out of my mind. “No. I can’t,” my legs stumbled, the weight of my body too much. As much as I tried to leave, the man resisted my prompt to defy his command, holding me in place. As he asked me to sit down once more, my legs gave out, refusing to move. “You are as much a handful as Sophia can be,” Sophia’s father said. He gave me a canteen, watching me to be sure I didn’t make any attempt to wander off on my own. “Better?” I didn’t answer his question following the water running down my throat. “I am not letting you get back on that horse in such a condition. After you’ve rested and have something in your stomach, we will walk the rest of the way to the ‘check point’, as you call it.” I heard what he said, but I didn’t respond, a wave of dizziness coming over me again, the water feeling heavy in the pit of my stomach. It seemed to consume me, possibly even control my action to lean forward to vomit. The water came out as a wet hack racked my body, the lack of anything solid hitting my stomach causing the revolting sound to come out of my mouth. This fit of being sick lasted at least five minutes. The feeling that I might throw out my whole organ system frightened me.

“You can’t keep anything down…,” he said mainly to himself, the rest of his words lost to lower tones that could have been assumed as a prayer as he patted my back. I didn’t bother drinking more water, another pain coming over me. A grumbling gurgle in my chest rolled over. It was only when I wiped my mouth with my left hand that my eyes saw that it wasn’t shaking. I sat there dumbly, waiting for it to resume its usual spasm. Nothing happened with my hand. The only movement I was becoming aware of was that of the pain in my chest. It roamed from one side to the other as a man would pace, hoping for better news. The gurgle increased in size, a bubble ready to pop at anytime. A stab to my ribs and a choking of my heart brought me out of my silent stuper, a cry of pain erupting out of me. A prayer ran around in my head, caught on a single line of script in which I could not what came after. My body hit the ground, my back being poked, the feeling of my ribs splintering and cracking. The pain didn’t stop, the mass in my chest moving from one organ to the next, my chest ready to explode. Gritting my teeth and closing my eyes I willed it to go away, to disappear. My eardrums split open at the screeching that came from my mouth, the very demon housing in my body sucking the life out of me! Whatever was inside me wanted out. My fists beat at my chest, the fighter attacking the punching bag. Extreme anger rose up in me, my shaking body unable to control itself. My sore legs danced, my back arched and my arms flailed like that of a wild man on fire. Just resisting this possessed urge to pummel that man standing over me caused me pain. Even after a cold numbness spread over me the pain continued to haunt me. I felt cold fingers fight to grip around my wrists, forcing my arms down beside me. An unnatural cry came out of me; a lion roaring at its downed meal; a monster moaning at a blinding Sol; a mother wailing at a fresh grave. The nasty creature fighting inside me brought me up from the sandy floor, throwing me back down with more force, my crying wails of anger becoming infused with tears and wimpers of a scared child.

I opened my eyes to what I was sure to be that familiar alignment of stars, only to be faced with cross-hatched lines of a ceiling. The roof cut out the only

natural light of any clear night. All was calm, quiet. I couldn’t be sure where I was, brief thoughts that heaven was not as bright as I thought it would have been, light in the room too weak to read by. Any way to determine where I was flew out with the rest of me, the strange feeling that I wasn’t here to begin with. Just opening my eyes and heaving a breath reminded me that something had happened, a vague idea of the nightmare I went through. I moaned from the pain that exhausted me was, a creak of rope, or worn out springs from the mattress of a bed, sounding. A vision before me covered the dull scenery the ceiling provided me, a whispy beard coming into view, followed by a nose that led me to the eyes of a face that had become familiar if not unforgettable. A smile creased the old paper skin of his face as he placed a hand over my forehead. “Thank you, Lord!” he said. I didn’t move, the muscles hidden under my skin tied up in various knots. “You must be hungry, am I right?” Even my jaw seemed to squeak from lack of use, words failing to form on my tongue. Patting me lightly on a shoulder he disappeared from view, returning with something steaming in his hands. “Come here. Sit up as best you can,” he set the bowl aside, helping me to a sitting position, my back resting against a rough wall that backed the head of the cot. I glanced about, the room being that of a check point building. The door across from the cot and behind Sophia’s father was open, allowing in cold, crisp air. “Can you feed yourself?” Letting my head fall forward I brought it back up in a small nod, not feeling that I could talk and not wanting to cast myself as a helpless child. He took the bowl up and handed it to me, the rounded surface warm in my cold fingers. At first handling it I nearly spilled it, my left hand overpracticing its acrobatics. It was back to normal at the moment. Taking the bowl in my still right hand, I looked over the contents. A heavy soup

barely filled the bottom. I didn’t care if there wasn’t much in the bowl, my stomach clo in a fight against starvation. I quickly gulped down the warm substance, Sophia’s father watching me silently. I gazed at the now empty bowl, wanting more to fill up the dry well in my body. Sophia’s father still watched. I couldn’t think why he did so until my stomach clenched, a sickening burp ri into my mouth and onto the floor beside the cot. This measerable feeling lasted longer than I wanted it to, the food remaining in my belly wanting out the same way. The old man cleaned up the mess I made without a word, assisting me back down on the cot. Dipping the bowl into a bucket, he placed it at my lips, urging me to take a few sips of water. “What’s wrong with me?” I gasped after heaving up the water supply that wouldn’t have filled a thimble. I stared at the floor, wanting this to be over. “I would say heat stroke, the way you fell from your horse.” “I fell from my horse?” He guided my shoulder back into the thin cushion of the cot, giving me more water to swallow. “Aye. Now, try to keep this down.” “I fell from my horse? How long ago was that?” I forced myself to ask, the little energy I had, now spent. “A few days. Now, get some more rest, Morse.” I wasn’t ready to accept that answer, a faint idea that I had to be somewhere else by this time. Instead I let it go. It was time for lights out.

Harold

A day’s ride into The Grove, it started to rain heavily. According to Harold’s traveling companion they had entered The Plains the day before, leaving behind the High Desert and hot sun. Sophia’s father was grateful for this rain after the extended stay among the sand. What should have taken only a week to through the desert had spanned to two, Morse having fallen from his horse. Harold at the time had assumed heat stroke, only to see that there was something deeper going on inside the young man.

After taking Morse to the check point, he waited for the boy to regain strength and hoped for a bit of understanding of what had happened. “Here I add another check to the already long list of my mistakes,” Morse said. This was day four, Morse feeling well enough to Harold at the table away from the cots. “A mistake, you say?” “Yes.” “How can falling from a horse be a mistake? It could have been a blessing in disguise, wouldn’t you say?” “I can’t see how something bad could be good,” Morse laid his head on the table, exhausted from the effort to sit down at the table, not entirely sure he could keep his food down. Harold cut open a fruit from the bowl, dividing the pieces between him and the recovering man sitting across from him. “How can it not be? Suppose something else were to happen? Just a day ago there was a storm, dust everywhere. We were safely tucked away here.” “I don’t get it,” Morse covered his head with his arms, his voice projecting from under the table and across the floor.

“What if you hadn’t fallen from your horse? We would have been riding out in that storm. Something worse could have happened to delay us indefinitely,” Harold stated. Morse rested his chin on a fist, looking at the camp’s leader eating a piece of fruit. “But, you are only supposing. It didn’t happen that way so how do you know it would have?” “I don’t.”

A few days later, the two continued on, riding at night, rather than giving the sun another chance to make them sweat. The feel of the rain was refreshing to the elder man, the sight of trees reminding him of home. Though it was day, the canopy of the trees blocked out the remaining light. By the lush green color reflected in the leaves of the surrounding moss, Harold reasoned that the season of change hadn’t reached this part of the world. Even the smoosh of the horses hooves could be heard over the soft patter of rain on leaves. Harold felt his mount shiver under him, the rain having fallen for more than a day, soaking his coat to a glossy shine. Rubbing the horse about the mane, he looked over to watch Morse wiping water that ran from his scalp into his eyes and down his neck to the fur lining of the jacket he wore. Morse straightened up in an attempt to stretch out his cramped back, struggling to reach around to massage his backend. The dapple-gray looked around at him, noticing the squirming movements of his rider. The animal slowed down, Morse unknowingly pulling at the reins. The young guide grunted, still trying find a comfortable position on the back of that horse. His horse tossed its head, drawing taut the reins that Morse held, pulling him forward. Not being ready, Morse slid to one side, falling to the mossy ground off of the slick hide of the horse. The dapple-gray stopped, turning his head again to look at his downed rider as if to ask what he was doing on the ground. Harold stopped his mount, looking down at Morse.

“Do you suppose this is a blessing in disguise?” Morse asked, rather in a bad mood. He looked up at the older man, waiting for him to say something. Harold didn’t do so, leaving Morse to ponder over this situation himself. The elder watched as the young man picked himself up, groaning at the aches he received from riding. “I’d rather walk anyway,” Morse said, rubbing his sore rear-end, now soaked through. Grabbing his horses reins, Morse followed closely behind Harold. The rain lasted the rest of that day, ending at a drizzle once they left the confines of the forest. The Plains then stretched forward, the moss dwindling and the trees becoming bigger, more space required between them. The next day it didn’t take long for them to dry out, the sun beaming with more radiance than it had in The Grove. Giving the horses a rub down, they moved on through the winding path set out front.

Morse

A nother hour of riding and I was sure to fall from that horse again, the sores I was rubbing raw starting to itch and burn. I was waiting for Sophia’s father to say something, the conversation of the last day becoming stale. Saying that one action can change a whole future still had me stumped, never thinking that was even possible. ‘A blessing in disguise,’ as he kept saying to me. “I’m going to walk for a while. Relieve my horse,” I dismounted, grabbing at his reins. I tugged, the horse stepping back with a complaint I couldn’t read. I wobbled back to the horse, petting his muzzle and nose with my knuckles before going forward once more. Again the horse stopped, jerking my arm back, the rest of me following. He wouldn’t budge, his ears perking up as he turned his head to that of the dark horse Sophia’s father was still perched upon. He was hearing something I couldn’t. The other horse and rider stopped, searching the treeline as well as watching me interact with my dapple-gray, “Come on,” I said to my mount, my grip tightening about the reins as I cautiously glanced forward again. I found it too quiet for my liking, the birds’ chirping having stopped when the horse refused to move. Even the wind stilled. The only sound came from the horses as they continued to toss their heads and use their ears like radar. The pulse of my heart went up, my back rigid; a rustling disturbing the leafy bushes to my right. I swung around slowly, watching as a space opened up between the prickles and limbs of a bush, two eyes peering through. To my relief they weren’t glowing hauntingly like those of that starving loup. Then came a laugh from behind the bush, a kid half my size stepping up. He was at least 22 years of age (11 on Earth), his face not yet showing the strain and lines of hard work. Over his dark curly hair he wore a cap, patched in a few spots. Walking around the bush to the path the boy pulled his cap lower over his curls making them curve up from under the slouching rim. “Say, what is with that face of yours? You think I was a loup or somethin’?”

He slapped his knee, a bright grin accompaning his laugh, “You must be headn’ to the River Village, wouldn’t you say?” “Yes. We have business in the village.” The boy took off his cap and smoothed out his hair, walking off to the dapplegray, then to the dark one, eyeing them with a meek curiosity. As he was doing this, Sophia’s father dismounted and ed me in watching the young kid marvel at the beasts. “Cad tá á rá aige?” he asked me. The kid looked over at us, the horses’ tails swishing by his head. Another curious look came about, a weird smile appearing, “He isn’t from around here is he?” Not waiting for an answer he walked past us, swinging his arm out wide in a wave, indicating for us to follow, “I’ll take you to the Wise Famille. That is why you’ve come, I imagine.” “Cad tá á rá aige?” Sophia’s father asked again. I told him all that was said, the horses following us and the boy with the cap. The walk wasn’t long, the trees spanning further away from each other before the ground became full and empty. And in this empty space was the bridge, built over the roaring river for which the village was named. No doubt in my mind that this was the Anchor River. The dirt path that we had been following for the last few days was now covered in pebbles leading to the bridge. By the look of it this road had been well used, considerable traffic having come through this way at one time or another. Our short guide stopped at the lip of the bridge, projecting his voice with the help of his hands. “Hey! Jimmy! Can we cross?” the kid hollered to the other side of the river. From the other side came an older man, stepping onto the bridge out of nowhere, “Why, hello Jeffery. You’ve come back sooner than expected. I see you have some friends with you.” “Found them wanderin’! Is it okay to cross?” the boy asked again.

“I’d say so! The steam won’t be making a showing for a couple more hours.” “Thanks Jimmy!” Jimmy was older than Sophia’s father, hair that used to cover his head, gone, a gray mustache the only sign of hair. His facial hair contrasted to the color of his skin, a dark wood stain. The kid named Jeffery now stepped onto the bridge as Jimmy disappeared back into a small outbuilding that stood nearby the opposite edge of the bridge. I followed Jeffery onto the wooden structure, the noise of the river drowning out all other noise. Not even the click of hooves could be heard echoing from under the floor. It was even louder than rainfall on a tin roof. The bridge itself looked kept up, despite the well worn boards of the floor. It was wide, able to herd two full sized elephants across, side by side. The bars and barriers on either side were unique, branches curled and twisted about one another, like that of the Cork Screw, braided from one side of the river to the other. After ing the small house where Jeffery waved once more to old Jimmy, we climbed the slope to where the trees regrouped. It wasn’t until we hit the treeline on top of the rocky hill that Jeffery introduced himself to us, still walking ahead of us. “By the way, I’m Jeffery.” “I’m Morse and this is…,” I stopped. This whole trip I had only known this guy as Sophia’s father, not ever thinking to ask him what his name was. “Tá mé Jeffery. Cad is ainm duit?” Jeffery asked Sophia’s father directly, turning around to face him. What came out of his mouth stunned me, no doubt my jaw falling slack. He spoke Gaelic? The fact that this kid knew his language didn’t seem to surprise this older man. He asnswered back, “My name is Harold.” Harold. “A new name to me. I haven’t had the privilege to know one by that name, ’til

now,” Jeffery continued to talk to us in this other language, making the correct assumption that I knew it as well. Switching tongues I began a new line of conversation, wanting to know a little more about my surroundings, as well as the Wise Famille. “How much further is the village?” I asked. “Not far at all. Just around this giant rock here and past the anchor, and straight on through the old bumpy road.” Jeffery pointed out the big mass that loomed before us, not exaggerating the size of the boulder. Giant was the right word. This giant rock was worn smooth, rounded like a worry stone. No doubt from the rain this region of the world gets. Moss covered the flat top, falling over the sides like a natural bedspread. Rounding the big skipping stone we hit upon the ‘old bumpy road’, a section of the path dipping in several spots, the gravel and dirt not able to fill in the holes. This must be another result of rainfall, I suspect. And there, looming up beside the path was a huge anchor, rusting from lack of polish and use. “This here is the anchor in which the river gets its name.” Jeffery stated, speaking the only way everyone in this little group could understand. “This anchor made the river, didn’t it?” I asked. “Yep. Sure did. How it was transported here, I couldn’t say. Pa hasn’t told me that part yet. Don’t reckon it was easy,” the boy shrugged his shoulders. After ing a few more good sized rocks, we were there. At last and finally. The River Village stood before us, the sudden impact of noise noticeable past the line of gathered trees and boulders that had made a terrific sound barrier. There wasn’t much to see from this vantage point, the buildings taller than I first thought they’d be. Even the colors and paints of these dwellings were brighter and bolder, the sight I had been picturing in my minds eye vanquished. Jeffery directed us to the left, not entering the busy streets of the village. Instead he guided us down a quiet side street, one side open to view the woods and rocky hills. It wasn’t but a few more steps until I saw the house. It was two stories tall and of a French cottage design. Creeping ivy and grape vines intermingled, covering nearly all the fine stone work of the exterior. The pale color, like that of the sky, matched that of the wooden door.

“Go ahead. I’ll place the horses in the stables out back.” We handed Jeffery the reins of both animals, watching him as he rounded the side of the house. Out of eyesight we walked up the stone walkway to the pale green (blue on earth) door. Lifting my hand up to the wooden plane, I knocked, hearing a shuffle of feet behind the door. The door parted from the frame, creaking from age. A kind face of a woman appeared in the opening, her expression somewhat blank and confused. The concentrated stare gradually grew into one of recognition, beginning with a twitch of an eyebrow, to a slim curve turning into a smile at the lips. “Oh, my. We’ve been expecting you, and here you are. Come in, come in.” The lady waved us in, shuffling back to her place at the table that sat in the middle of the room. The table was covered in a nice cloth, designed with vines and blossoms. The woman herself was fair haired, white strands having come undone from her complicated braid. Her face was showing signs of wrinkles, laugh lines forming around her mouth and eyes. She was thin, the veins in her hands standing out from hard work. Upon entering I took in the size of the room. It was bigger than I had first perceived, the walls a pale pastel color, reminding me of Sophia’s bright hair. The only light source came from outside, the use of candles reserved only for the night hours, I reasoned. The table had been placed in the middle of the room. On one side of the room stood a cabinet, standing floor to ceiling as if it were built in. No room for dust there by the look of it. Harold followed me inside, closing the door behind him. “Come, sit,” she motioned to two chairs placed around the table. The chairs were hand designed, carved beautifully about the back. Pulling out a chair I eased myself into it, the sores from riding the horse still affecting how I walked and sat. Harold did the same, moans coming out of both of us as we felt for a comfortable position in which to sit. This slow action of taking our seats didn’t seem to alarm our hostess any, sitting down herself at the far side of the table. Behind her seat was a door, tightly shut. The walls around the door’s frame were covered in more frames. In each frame was either a picture, a photograph, or a sketch. I was curious of these, a few wonderful in craftsmanship while others lacked skill; almost as if a kid had made them.

Many were of landscapes, the mountains and trees, the ocean and rivers. A few were of people, profile sketches as well as photos of these designs. One photograph caught my eye as the door we had entered a minute ago swung open, Jeffery springing through with a broad smile on his face for his mother. “I told ya, Ma, they were comin’.” The lady at the end of the table smiled, the creases that had sagged on her face disappearing, “Yes, Jeffery. We all knew they were coming.” Jeffery pulled out another chair and plopped down, pulling off his cap and setting it on the table. I momentarily forgot the photo on the wall, looking between the other two at the table, trying to figure out how they knew we were coming. “You’ve met my son, Jeffery. I am Jacoline Wise and this is my husband, Drew Wise.” Mrs. Wise said this to where Harold would understand, somehow knowing he didn’t speak as we did. As she introduced Mr. Wise, she waved her hand at the empty space behind her. As she replaced her hand on the table to smooth out a wrinkle in the tablecloth, the door that had been closed, opened. And in stepped a big man, baring the same look as his son. There was no doubt that Jeffery was this man’s son. “Am I to understand that your friend here is a traveler?” he asked me directly after looking between the two of us quietly. I gave the affirmative answer, Drew Wise pulling out yet another chair to sit down. “Is this the only reason you have come?” His gaze had landed on my trembling left hand that I had set down on top of the table. This man’s look was one of similar concern that had already been presented by that of Sophia’s father when we were still out in the desert. Seeing that he was staring at my hand, I placed it on my lap, his gaze returning to my face to watch me answer the question. “I assume so, Sir. I wasn’t told anything else,” I answered. He just nodded and folded his hands on the table.

“I’m Morse and…” “I know who you are Morse. Been friends with your father for years,” Mr. Wise told me, “Jeffery, would you please get my book?” “Sure thing, Pa,” the youngest member of the family then alighted from his chair, leaving the room by the second door. The big man nodded to his son as he left the room, leaning back in his seat, taking in more of me and my traveling partner. “When exactly are you from, Harold, is it?” Drew Wise asked. “I am from Scotland.” “Not where, Sir. When. What year?” he asked again, his Gaelic flawless from what I could hear and knew of this language. Harold answered him as I sat, wondering what the other reason for coming here was, if not for directions. It wasn’t much longer before young Jeffery returned, a book bigger than he was clasped in his hands. If he was smaller that book would have knocked him over. Coming around the table to where his father sat, he placed the book onto the table top with a slam. It wasn’t a sign of anger or annoyance, just the weight of the sewn pages. Dust flew up from the book, creating a cloud of fog over the table. A tickle started in my nose, annoying and itchy. I took a breath in, hoping to ward off the growing urge to sneeze. “Okay, let us see here,” Drew Wise blew the dust off the book and started to flip through pages, more dust flying up into the air, “Thank you, Jeffery.” The particles of dust started to invade my nose, making it twitch as a rabbit’s does, the sensation not going away. I let out a silence-breaking explosion, making the dust spread even further. The room seemed to pause as I rubbed at my nose, “Excuse me.” I sneezed again, the suspended dust not letting up. Mr. Wise let out a low, throaty laugh, Jeffery ing in with his childish snort when I couldn’t stop the sneezing. “Oh, vous deux!” Jacoline Wise ed in, scolding the other two into stopping.

“I’m sorry. It has been a while since this book here has been opened.” “It’s fine. My nose isn’t use to so much,” I sneezed again, “dust.” After they finally stopped their amused laughs, Jeffery sat back down and watched his father turn from one page to the next, scanning from the top to the bottom of each page. What this book held I didn’t rightly know. Mr. Wise didn’t say anything until he placed his finger on a line in the book and looked up. “Here we are. ‘Earth, Scotland, 1600s. You will find the Tempus Portal you need in the Low Lands. The Station Warders will direct you.’ But, you alreay knew this, did you not?” he was looking at me when saying this last part, somehow knowing everything that I knew compared to what I didn’t. Harold glanced over at me, possibly trying to see in my face if I had known or not. “Not completely. I knew as much that we had to head over to the Low Lands, but other than that, I knew nothing of this. Papa told me to head here for directions, then to the Low Lands. If there was another reason for coming here, Papa didn’t tell me, so I don’t know of it.” Drew Wise sighed. Closing the book he tapped it for a time, no one daring to break the silence. After a few minutes of this, he stood up, scraping the feet of the chair across the wood planked floor. Mrs. Wise stood up as well, hefting the book off the table, ing it on her hip before exiting the room through the door her husband had come through. “Jacoline, if you will, show Harold around the homestead and begin the meal for tonight. Jeffery, please set the table. The hours have gone by too fast, it is nearly night-fall. Wouldn’t want you two getting lost in the forest. You will stay here tonight.” Mr. Wise said. Jeffery jumped up, “Pa, can’t I show Harold around?” “Sure Jeffery. Why not.” Jeffery smiled wide, taking Harold by the arm and exiting the room by way of the door that led further into the house. I was ready to follow, only to have Drew Wise stop me with a hand. “Morse. There is something I need to talk to you about.”

“What about, Sir?” I asked. Not answering, he pulled me to the door where I had entered the house, and grabbing his jacket, headed outside into the front yard of the cottage. The sky was dimming as Jeffery’s father led me from the yard and down the side street that we had followed, guiding me to the main road. “Morse, your father sent you here for another reason, not to get directions.” Mr. Wise said. The big man whom I had only met a minute ago talked as if we had been acquainted years ago. “What am I here for then?” I tried not to sound surprised. My left hand trembled even more, trying to play a whole set of musical notes from an invisible sheet of music. By this time we were closer to the noise of the village, yelling and laughter taking over the natural soundtrack of nature. “Follow me further and you will see,” he smiled at me. It wasn’t much further when the world opened up, the tall buildings that had towered on either side of the road receded, a town square coming alive. Kids ran about, each one decked out in different pieces of clothing. The adults were the same, wearing different fashions of different eras and ages of time. The height of French fashion, the classy skirts of the 1950s, Japanese hats and Chinese silks, and many more designs I knew nothing of. I’m sure my eyes were popping out, a laugh being choked up by the tough looking Mr. Wise, Home Warder of the River Village. The town square was a mixture of culture, a small fountain in the middle, the creation of artists from many backgrounds. A piece of it was of carved marble, the base covered in mosaic and the head piece molded and cast from a collection of metals. It was like an art project where everyone contributed. Itstead of it being a mess, the fountain was the work of art it was. Beautiful. Even the giant goldfish that swam in it gave it life. “Do you see?” “What am I looking at?” I asked, amazed. “This is the River Village. Home to the growing generations of those who first discovered this place and settled.” “The first to…”

“So it is said. We know not how long it has been since. Not all of these cultures came at once. It is like the party you are guiding. The first families of these people. Lost and in search of a Portal back to Earth, but instead of leaving, they stayed. History isn’t always correct so we really don’t know if certain things are true or not.” “Were all of these people from Earth?” “Yes and no. There is no other planet than Earth. The stories of space men and other planets with life forms I find to be made up. Most of these people are further generations born here.” Throughout his small speech we kept walking, more buildings coming up in the distance. We wove our way out of the square and down another street, the brick road now cobbles. Each street was different from the next, all the buildings built of a distinct style. We walked down a market street, small vendors yelling their products and fruits. Each street changed and became more curious the further from the square we traveled. Small huts, tall apartments, rough abodes made of logs and mud, and even structures that I had never come upon in any studies I have conducted. “Most of their stories are wrapped around the escape of war and poverty. Our family came from . A time of revolution.” “I only know as much as I’ve read from Grey’s book. No time to really read it, with everything happening. I really don’t know how reading that book will help me become a Warder.” “Keep reading that book your friend gave you and you will learn more of this place. You have to become aware of more than just this one small village. That book will teach you of our history. The history of these people here and where each Portal is. You will also have to be aware of the Tempus Portal situated in Mecca City.” Drew Wise looked over at me, his expression serious. “Mecca City?” “Yes, Morse. Mecca City. It has more technology, for those born and grown in more modern time periods on Earth. They have electricity and telephones, unlike

here in the River Village.” I thought this over, walking down the street where the buildings grew up, apartments made of rough wood and stone work, signs hanging over doorways to business. The more people I saw, the more languages I heard, the less I understood. “I see that you notice more and more. I’m sure that there are more walks of life than these villagers. The only person I know that has the knowledge of all of this is Grey. The only Wandering Warder out there.” My vision focused rather suddenly once Drew said this, a burning coming to my face and neck. A prickling sensation not all comfortable. I wanted to ask him more of this place and why I had to know this, but a lump in my throat stopped me. I shouldn’t have to ask him anything! “Morse. This is what your friend Harold could have looked like where he comes from in Scotland.” He presented a house that stood alone in a rough patch of rocky ground. The house was made of stone, the roof a set of lumber and sticks. It was most likely a one room dwelling. Around it was a family, the men wearing kilts as the whole camp had when I came upon them almost a year ago. “Did they come from Scotland as well?” I asked as we stood there. “Not directly. These people were born here, but their great-great-grandfather was the first from Scotland to settle here. He had come from a different clan than Harold, only a few years younger.” “How could that be?” “I believe it has something to do with time travel. This man was younger and lived around the same time of Harold, and one day, found himself here and never went back. When it comes to time travel it doesn’t seem to matter what time period you come from or what time period you go to.” “No, not time travel. How could this man have come here and not go back to Earth? I thought that these people had to go back.”

“This is why Warders aren’t supposed to bring the people here or any other village or city or town. Warders are supposed to know where each Tempus Portal is. We don’t want to give them the choice to stay unless they have nowhere to go, like the man of the legend, Periit. These people were simply here before we decided to keep this choice under wraps.” We continued on down another street, heading further from the River Village’s noisy square and to a calmer area. I remained quiet, trying to shake everything into place, the right pieces not wanting to fit in the proper places. There was more that I needed to know, but again I couldn’t make myself ask this Warder anything more. By now we were alone, the buildings around us sounding hollow and empty as we walked further, the sky growing darker as the time came for night. “Morse, look at your hand. Here is the other reason why you were sent here. Why you needed to come. Not for directions, but for an explanation. Why do you think your hand is shaking like that? Has it always done so?” He pointed to my hand as I lifted it to the level of my face. I didn’t answer him, ing how long these fingers connected to this palm spasmed so violently. It seemed like forever. Drew Wise stopped and faced me, the dirt road becoming one lined with rounded bricks. He held my gaze with his. “Have you any idea why your hand is acting in this way? Do you know what is happening to you? It doesn’t have anything to do with your gift. It never has. Do you know what it is?” he asked. “I suppose that I have a tick, being expressed in this way of shaking. I don’t know why it does this. I don’t know what is happening to me. All I know is that it is frightening. I’ve been doing things that I can’t doing. I’ve had fights my whole life and I never ed them, not even how they started.” My head started to pound, the pain in my chest appearing again. It gurgled, rubbing at my ribcage. The man beside me kept talking. “What?” I winced as the dark form within me started roaming around, the gurgle now burning and grumbling. It was looking for another way out. The light of the world waned in and out, my eyes not able to focus.

“Morse? Morse?” “It hurts,” I fell to my knees on the smoothly dirt-paved street, the creature fighting inside me, punching at my chest. There was a flash of heat, rising to my face like the light of the desert sol, hot and blinding. My lungs searched for air, a pressure in my head making me dizzy and disoriented. Anger started to seep out, my jaw tightening and my hand becoming still. I knew what was coming, the force of it throwing me back with a cry of pain. A sob echoing from the ground where I was now, shaking and seizing as my body had in the desert. Drew Wise knelt over me, his lips moving as if he were saying something, telling me to remain calm or whatever was supposed to be said in a time crisis such as this. Lord, help me get through this once again. What was happening to me?

The ceiling above was new to me, extending over me with wood carved braces and painted with a mural of angels and crosses and shining stars, clouds gliding over the heavens. The place smelled of some type of perfume, incense. “Morse.” Mr. Wise was standing over me. “What?” “You scared me.” “How did I do that?” I asked, not ing anything that had happened. Only a fuzzy and faint memory of falling hit me. “Merci. Cela devrait être tout,” Mr. Wise nodded to another man that stood on the other side of the pew I was laying in. He had a collar at his neck, showing to me he was a priest. The man nodded back silently, gazing down at me before leaving. “Do you not ?” Mr. Wise asked me. Sitting up in the pew I racked my brain over what he could mean. What I had to . And as before, nothing came to mind; only a slight tightness in my chest.

“No. Just like every other time. There is nothing there. I can’t recall a thing.” “Come on.” The father of the Wise Famille lead me out of the church into the night. I must have been out a time, the whole village quiet and tucked in tight with the blanket of stars. By this time oil lamps and torches were lit to keep the roads bright and clear, though I’m sure everyone followed some type of curfew, except those I saw roaming around from one house to the next. A possible game-night. “Whatever is happening to you is connected with your hand.” “I know not what is wrong with me. Brooke has read that it could be Hate,” my voice lowered, emotion draining out of me as it had before when Brooke had first mentioned the condition. “It is.” He said it without missing a beat. Not letting the words sink in completely, he continued, “Morse, you are possessed with something. You are letting your mind get to you, convincing yourself something about you is wrong. That something has to change. It isn’t pretty and I’d rather not have to tell you, but you need to know. It uses your gift of technique against you and might even affect your other Gift.” Nothing more was said from me, leaving the stage empty and the conversation hollow between us. I didn’t want to it that I felt it in my chest, even at that time, gnawing at me like a monster scooping portions of my brain out with its messy claws. I was afraid. “There is a way, Morse, that this thing can be drawn out of you. Change your state of mind. It will help.” This was the last thing I ed hearing from him, other than that the Station Warders of the Low Lands would help. The morning dawned a few hours later. Before exiting the house to head back to the Cork Screw Fork, I found the photograph on the wall, watching Christopher and Lilac smiling at the camera. Same people, different pose and scenery. There was something more to these

people than just being a few lost travelers. Jeffery placed his cap on his head and showed us out, bringing the horses out of the back stables with saddles cinched up on their backs. “Pa saw that you came in without saddles and gave you these two. Not to worry though. We have plenty more. You aren’t the first ones to come here without saddles on your horses,” Jeffery said as he handed the reins off to me and Harold. The River Village was wide awake, the noise of the people singing out as it had the day before. It was one of the things I wasn’t expecting, coming here. There was a lot I knew nothing about. Jeffery showed us back to the bridge, ing the namesake anchor and boulder and fir trees and finding ourselves back at the Anchor River. Our horses huffed a good-bye when it was time for the kid to leave, no doubt liking the stables they stayed in for the night and the snacks they nibbled at before having to leave. “Now, I’ll be leavin’ ya. I hope those saddles will ease your trip a bit. Don’t forget to ask Jimmy if it be okay to cross and be careful. That steam can rise up anytime it feels like it. I don’t know if I’d be seeing you again Morse. I pray you get that problem fixed,” he shook my hand, “And a good luck to ya, Harold.” After messing with each horses’ mane, Jeffery gave a short salute with his cap as he walked back under the cover of the trees. The sound under foot faded away with him, Harold and I left standing alone with the horses and the rushing river behind us. I faced the bridge and let my feet start forward, Sophia’s father following quietly, guiding his horse along. The path came to an end, Jimmy standing out in front of his small shack. “Whoa, hey there again! Met that family of Jeffery’s, did you not? Nice folk. But where is he now? Don’t tell me he up and left without saying ‘hi’ to me!” Jimmy chuckled as he had before, placing a hand over his chest, playing a dramatic part in a play. I shrugged back my shoulders, not used to any old men who acted as he did. “I’m afraid so,” I said uncertainly.

“Can’t say I blame him. Who would want to talk to someone as old as me?” he laughed to himself again, shaking his head. “Would you say that it is okay to cross?” “I’d say so. That steam shouldn’t be coming up for another ten minutes. You’d better make haste then. I hear that you are behind as it is.” He bid us well and retreated back into his home without another word. My eye wandered over to Harold’s, the expression on his face hard to read. He started forward with his horse as I nodded that we had a green light. Stepping onto the bridge the quiet sound of nature and wind diminished, the water overpowering. We weren’t halfway across when the sky started to darken prematurely for the morning hours. It took me a second to realize that a mist had come over the wooden structure, rising over the twisted railing. The whole area was masked in a warm white fog, blocking my view of Harold and his horse, only a few steps in front. From lack of vision my dapple-gray panicked, making me stop to hold him still. He stomped, yelling in his own way. His ears were working again, turning every which way to the whinny he sent to the other horse. I paused as well, hoping that I too might be able to hear Harold’s horse answer back, with no such luck.

Harold

S ophia’s father and Morse’s riding companion was lost in the steam. It had come upon him so suddenly that he didn’t think much of it, continuing forward with his horse to the other side. “Hey! If you two are still out there, don’t move ’til the steam calms down! It’ll be safer if you can see!” Jimmy yelled through the fog. Harold didn’t seem to pay any mind to what he said, not being able to understand one word of it. So, he kept walking, thinking that Morse was right behind him. “Harold, chuala tú?” Sophia’s father stopped a moment, that young man yelling for him. In which direction his words came from, Harold couldn’t tell. His horse looked back, his ears turning to listen as well. His mount pulled away from him, trotting forward into the unknown space beyond the curtain of steam. He allowed his legs to follow, hoping to catch the horse before it lost itself. The horse stopped, taking up a whinny and bucking up. Harold, trying to grab the reins felt a panic come over him. He wasn’t able to do much, having gotten hold of the reins, not able to calm the bucking creature. Then suddenly, Harold felt a jab in his stomach, gravity taking him head first over the rail that he ran into. He reached out, his fingers grazing the rail before he managed to grab on and hold tight. He wasn’t frightened, having lived through many scary sights as a kid, but the fear of being lost in a raging river, he didn’t want to experience. “Cuidigh liom!” he yelled. Harold could barely hear his own words above the rough currents that sped underneath his dangling body. His mind went blank thinking of a prayer. Anything that would help him from this troublesome spot. He looked down, his mind telling him that it was never a good idea. His arms ached, the steam making him sweat, his palms not being able to grip as they should have. A shiver went down his back, the sight of the water below his dangling legs not fading away. It isn’t always easy to clear one’s mind of any

and all stress in present danger. “Cabhair! Cuidigh liom!” Harold yelled out for help from anyone who would give it. It was the only prayer that came to mind. The wood under his palms began to scratch, his hands slipping an inch closer to the river, like an acorn ready to fall from a tree. The acorn was sure to fall soon. “Sir! Where are you?” a voice came from somewhere above him. Harold yelled harder, louder, crying out with a fear that was breaking his pride. He was sure to fall. He felt his fingers start to slip even more, a thought of Sophia popping in his mind. What would happen… Then, there was a pressure on his wrist. Fingers wrapped about his thin skin, making him look up into the face of his savior. The face of Morse appeared above him, his arm extending out toward him. By this time Harold’s strength was sapped out as he let his hand fall from the railing. There was a sudden drop, Harold’s weight becoming a higher risk factor once he had let go. Morse pulled up with the shaking hand he had already grabbed the elder man’s wrist with, the process slow and painful. “Sir, grab my other hand,” Morse said through gritted teeth, the fingers of his left hand not wanting to remain still. Harold started to slip down again, his own fingers weakened from the effort to keep holding on. The leader’s heart skipped a beat, the rush of the river no longer the loudest sound in his ears. “Harold!” Morse sprang into action, jumping forward and extending his other arm further, grasping the sleeve, regaining a better grip on the endangered man’s other hand. Doing so he was able to pull him up and back over the railing of the bridge. They both fell over to the floor of the bridge, sucking in air like fish out of water. Harold began to feel light-headed, the near-drowning experience not leaving him. He wrapped his arms around himself, still shivering dispite the warmth radiating from the misting steam.

“Thank you, Lord,” he said to the sky, turning to the young man who saved his life, “Thank you. Thank you, Morse.” The old man took a peek through the railing back down to the Anchor River. Then he glanced about the bridge, the steam becoming lighter. As the fog lifted, Harold spotted the horses huddled together, their reins tied together. They seemed content that the pea-soup was gone, talking and swishing their tails at each other. “Why are their reins tied together?” Harold asked. “When I found your horse and not you, I automatically tied them together. I don’t why. Maybe to be sure that if they wandered off they would be together. Easier to find,” Morse was breathing heavily, shrugging as best he could while leaning against the strangely shaped rail. “Couldn’t argue with that.” After saying this, Harold laughed, loosening his nerves from nearly dying. Morse ed in as well. Both remained there laughing for half an hour, Jimmy coming out to see what was going on. It was possible that if they didn’t laugh they would have cried. “Oh. Nothing. We were just taking a break when the steam came in. I guess we’d better head out,” Morse said. Both men got to their feet, legs aching from the fright and continued to the other side of the bridge. Harold gazed back only once to see Jimmy go back into his house. A safe place to be. And that is where Harold wanted to be most. Back home in Scotland, on the planet where he belonged. After freeing themselves of the shaky feeling, they mounted up on their horses, the feeling of saddles under them, comforting.

George’s illustration of the High Desert

George

Week 22, Day 150 I t has been too long since Morse and Sophia’s father left. That guide of ours said it would only be a few weeks that they would be gone. We all have waited. Two weeks have come and gone. No sign of either of these two men. Whatever happ ened? I have been here fretting over it, Mother not buying into the grief that I was feeling, telling me that the day will come when they return and if they did not, it was the will of the Lord. That didn’t satisfy my fear that something terrible happened. I wasn’t the only one to think this. Brooke took to looking gloomy, trying to put on a confident face. It wasn’t hard for me to see. Just like Elizabeth, she could never hold in emotions. In the hour of him leaving, Sophia pulled her away and put her in a dress. Brooke wore pants like the men, a loose shirt and fitted jacket, one similar to that of Morse’s. Sophia stood guard out front of the tent, waiting till Brooke had put on that extra dress she had been carrying around since the start. Joanne had ed in the fun too, borrowing some thread and a needle for alterations. It hadn’t taken long for Sophia to bring in and let out a few places around the waist and hem of the dress, with the help of Mother. Then came out Brooke in that dress, looking more like the girl she always was. I was surprised to see her in those skirts. “Come now, Brooke. Spin,” Sophia urged. She twirled around to show off the rippling fabric to the world, though the only audience there were Joanne, Sophia, Jack, Mother and I. The material was a dark shade of green, bringing out the bold red of her wild hair. At first she

picked at the new sleeves encasing her arms. Even the skirt was heavier than she was used to, having worn pants. Morse might have to deal with a few of the guys in camp, seeing as how her dress has caught a few eyes. Joanne kept her word and watched Brooke whenever she could, Mother keeping her half the time to help around the tent with the knitting project she had started at the beginning of this trip. There wasn’t much else she could think to do to give Brooke some time to herself. And when Brooke was alone and had time, she would take that book and read through it, certainly searching for that one age that had frightened her that night. What could Brooke have read to make her worry so? She stayed pretty much to herself when she wasn’t working; chopping wood, hauling water from a hidden stream that ran yards off of the grasslands, and even putting up with Joanne. Even then she did more work than Jack. Leading up to today, everything has seemed to slow down. Jack and Sophia haven’t had time to argue, Morse not there to stir up rage from the pit of Jack’s stomach and anger from Sophia’s sorrows of being thought of as an incapable girl instead of a woman. Without any of that mess, they take their time walking about to be alone. After praying for the meal and filling our stomachs, Morse and Sophia’s father still hadn’t come back, like the day before. Like the week before. What could have happened, Athiar? Please, nothing fatal. I thought this at the time. In an another hour, they rode up, each seated on their horse, saddled up unlike before. It didn’t take long for Joanne to make a beeline to the two riders. Morse dismounted as Joanne settled in front of him, tugging at a pant leg in greeting. Morse then knelt down to hoist her up in a hug and was ready to set her back down, only to find that she had her arms clamped around his neck. “What have you been up to while I was gone, Joanne?” Morse asked her, trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. “I’ve been watching Brooke as you asked me to!” she said to him, jumping about in his arms. By this time I had walked up to welcome both men back and to retrieve Joanne for the mid-morning meal. Morse spotted me and waved as

best he could, a smile turning into another yawn. “Am I glad to see you both back in one piece! Did something happen?” I asked both of them. I watched them both, Morse glancing over to Sophia’s father and back to me, wondering if he really wanted to tell. “We were just about to start eating. You can relay it around the fire.” Morse shook his head and told both of us, bouncing Joanne up again for a better hold, “I’d rather keep it under wraps for now. Please. I don’t want Brooke to know. Please, Harold? George?” Sophia’s father, Harold, blinked in thought for a minute after I nodded my agreement and nodded himself. Joanne layed her head on Morse’s shoulder, tired of the conversation that was going on. Morse thanked us, yawning. He also told me he would inform me of everything later. “Come here, you silly,” I held out my hands for Joanne, taking her from Morse, “It’s time to eat.” And we all walked to the camp fire, Jack and Sophia already digging into the meal Mother had cooked. Morse took the horses to where the others stood grazing at the grass. Seeing her father, Sophia nearly spilled her ration getting up to smother him with a hug and kisses. “Dad! You’re back! What happened? Why weren’t you…?” “Sophia. Sit down. There is time to tell you all this. Let us first eat. It has been a long ride,” her father hugged her back, shaking Jack’s hand in greeting before turning to Mother for a simliar welcome. We sat, Jack slapping Morse upon the back. Brooke hadn’t ed us yet, Sophia taking to her heels to find her and pull her over with the joyous news. Brooke entered the circle, keeping quiet as she sat down beside Morse whose attention was still on his food, though he hadn’t started to eat any of it. “Morse. I see you are sporting those whiskers again,” Brooke said when he still hadn’t said anything. His eyes glanced over at her, a sly smile forming over his face. The way he looked at her wasn’t as I had seen before, the color of his eyes darker, the emotion frozen over. It isn’t easy to forget that look which I had come

upon that one night, tucked in the darkness of the trees and night sky. Hoping it wasn’t what I thought it was, I took point to check his left hand, only to be proven right. The hand that always shook was now still, fear gripping at my stomach. Then, that feeling momentarily released as his fingers started to play, his palm taking up the dance as well. The emotion was back in his eyes, his smile real as he took in Brooke for the first time in weeks. “I can’t seem to keep up with grooming myself when on the move. But look at you!” Morse took in the dress in which Brooke had been fitted for only a couple of weeks ago, “When did you become a gal? Where have you gotten that dress?” Morse sounded surprised as he took in the dark color of the material under her jacket. Brooke’s smile fell a little as she glanced over to Sophia and back at her childhood friend. “Sophia had been holding on to it,” her voice had dropped. “Well, thank her for me. You look beautiful, Brooke.” As he said this, her face brightened even more, squeezing him in a strong hug, “Morse, I missed you.” “I missed you,” Morse echoed. Just watching them reminded me of Elizabeth. How I really wanted to see her and tell her that I love her. Please give me the chance to do so. The rest of us remained quiet, watching these two joke with each other over the meal, no mention of the trip between them. And I’m sure the delay wouldn’t have been mentioned at all among the group if Jack wasn’t one to keep pushing for details. “So, why were you two late?” Jack finished his food and asked this of Sophia’s father and Morse. “I’ll let Harold tell you. I’m beat. If you will excuse me,” Morse stood up.

“Morse? Are you all right?” Morse assured me that he was. I watched him closely, his hand becoming still at intervals, the shaking slower. He left before Jack could pester him even more for the rough story. Brooke followed her friend to the wagon before returning to the fire to let him sleep. Coming back, she looked happier than she had in weeks. I’m sure her disposition would have been back to normal as well, if Morse hadn’t been the cause of troubling thoughts. If I had anything to say about it, she could tell there was something more happening with him. Harold obliged in relaying the story to the group, “We had to stay cooped up in one of those check points for a few days while we were riding the desert. These dust storms had risen from the dunes and covered everything. It was too much to continue through.” If I hadn’t asked earlier what had happened, I would have believed what Sophia’s father said was the whole story, being none the wiser to a bigger problem having gone wrong. The rest of the day was rather busy, Sophia’s father informing everyone that we would be continuing the next day. At this, we got to packing up the supplies that we wouldn’t need that night. One last night at the Cork Screw Fork and we would be on our way. Before we bedded down for the night, I couldn’t refrain from telling her what I saw. “Brooke, about what I saw that night when Morse…” “Yes,” Brooke said rather sadly. “I saw it again, those eyes. When you sat beside him, he didn’t seem to recognize you. When he looked at you, he didn’t seem to see you. Those eyes weren’t his. They couldn’t be,” I rubbed at my beard and combed a hand through my hair, not sure what to do with my hands. The girl in front of me just nodded. “I know. I could tell. It wasn’t just his eyes. It was his whole being. How he sat and turned to look at me. Morse wasn’t the best at greeting someone, but he was one of manners when we were kids. He wouldn’t just sit there and wait for me to

speak first. He would say what was needed to be said to get the ball rolling. But, when I walked around to sit beside him, he didn’t turn to look at me or anyone else. He wasn’t even sitting as he usually does, you know?” “Aye. And his hand stopped shaking,” the fire dimmed down behind me, the whole place becoming unnaturally quiet, as if everyone were already asleep and in bed. I knew better than to think that, the older folk were always ones to stay up and talk over other matters. Even the wind disappeared, though a shiver still ran up both my arms. “What?”Brooke, for a moment, acted as if she stopped breathing, terror filling her face. “I’m sorry. I noticed this and thought to tell you.” “It isn’t that you noticed. It’s that I didn’t. I read that age again and it said, ‘Even before one is struck down, their hands should be the only sign you need. If one’s hand shakes and so stops before any action, any attack, be wary and watchful. Dangers to this person’s health.’ I can’t believe I didn’t see it!” Brooke covered her mouth, struck with what she had read and what I had told her.

Lord, bless this day for Morse and Harold have come back safely and that we may continue on our way home. Thank you for this. Please, be watchful of Brooke, who wishes to help Morse in any way she can. And help Morse. That he may regain control over his evils. Amen.

Morse

“M orse, Wake up.” I was shaken softly from sleep, only a voice penetrating the dream I was having. Hands shook me again when I didn’t respond. I’m sure I mumbled in this half sleep before fully waking up with someone standing over me. “Morse?” Half asleep, I looked into her face. I stared at her eyes as she patted lightly at my cheek to speed the process. Her wavy, dark hair fell into her face and past her shoulders as she shook me again. “Come on, Morse. Wake up!” “I am. I’m awake, really.” I sat up, rubbing at my eyes and stretching out the soreness I knew would still be there. Brooke crouched beside me, the heels of her boots digging into the soft dirt and the new dress she wore almost hiding the curve of her legs. It wasn’t until after taking one last yawn before I really took a look. The line on her face I had taken for a smile wasn’t as much. That supposed smile was weak, fake with a few pinches rather than dimples. “I would have let you sleep most of the morning, but I think it is time we get going. Everyone is ready when you are,” Brooke said. Standing up, we both moved to the fire where George, Jack, Sophia, Harold, Joanne and George’s mother sat, eating breakfast. They all looked up at me, George’s expression not much different from the one that he had given me the day before. Concern. Jack pulled Sophia closer to his side upon seeing me. “We’d better hit the road,” I told them. I turned toward the wagon and packed my things, not bothering to take any time

to shave the whiskers I had grown to and from the River Village. I didn’t even bother grabbing anything to eat before I stepped up to the front seat of the wagon. I groaned at my sore spots as we started off from the Cork Screw Fork, shifting in my seat. It wasn’t ten minutes into the trip before George reseated himself near the front of the wagon, “Morse, are you sure you are okay?” He asked me this again as he had the previous night. I turned in my seat to face him while I answered him, “I’m still sore from the long ride back. Nothing I can’t stand for another day.” The look on his face told me he wasn’t satisfied with my answer as he glanced back at Brooke who was watching Joanne. He then glanced at Jack and Sophia who were watching me. I hadn’t even turned all the way back around before Jack took up the interrogation. “Is that all Morse? You’re just sore?” “Yes! That is all. Nothing more. I’m just peachy!” I told him rather loudly. But this time I didn’t feel satisfied with my answer either. After staring at Jack for a minute I went back to watching the two horses that pulled the wagon. Then I watched my hand. It had slowed down from the minute before, the grip on the rein tighter than it should have been and the prayer beads shifting to an awkward stop. “Morse…” Sophia placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, setting me off. I screamed in pain. The pain ed around my lungs, something inside me squeezing the air out of them. With a gasp I let the reins fall from my hold, a spasm racking my body, my chest taking full force of the disease I had. The monster picking at my insides and throwing a tantrum over the meager pickings presented to him. A gurgle rose up in my ribs, every organ I possessed tightening into a knot, then released for a harder blow. The spasms grew stronger, pushing me from the wagon to the ground beside it.

“Morse!” The grass grew up around me, the only thing I was sure to identify as everything blurred. My face cringed under the sudden feeling of anger welling up in my chest and climbing into my throat. No doubt looking for an exit to escape through and force me into giving the demon in me control over my very being. Gritting my teeth I held it in, crying from the pain it was causing me. “Joanne, go sit with Mother. Joanne. Go.” I kept shaking in pain, punches thrown at my gut and into my spine, throwing me about the tall grass. I kept flailing violently, hands holding me down. “Sophia! Get your father. I’m sure he knows of this! Go!” My nose flared in anger, the emotion conveying itself without my consent. Trying to break free from the hands that held me down, more hands appeared on either side of me. “Morse! What’s wrong? Morse?” Even with the fearful cries around me, anger overwhelmed me as the early morning dimmed down to darkness. Black as any stormy night.

Periit

T he Main Warder sat down at the table, tapping his fingers on the wood as if impatiently waiting for someone. Indeed he was waiting for the young guide and his followers to show up. They should have been here in the Low Lands a few days earlier, provided that nothing had waylaid them. But, Periit wasn’t only waiting for them to appear. He was also waiting for a certain Warder. The door burst open, a dust storm in action mode, Leo stepping in with his cloak’s hood pulled up and over his face. Closing the door he shook his cloak off and hung it up on the hall tree. “What have you heard, Leo?” “They met with the Wise Famille. Came and left about a week ago. At least a week behind, so says Jeffery,” Leo sat down and rubbed extra grains of sand from his hair onto the table. Periit himself leaned back into the chair that he was filling, letting out a grumbling sigh. “Mr. Wise said he was holding it back as best he could. He wasn’t very specific about what he meant. Hoping that helps, sir.” “Yes. It does help a little bit, Leo. Thank you for checking with them,” The Main Warder then sunk deeply into thought. Whatever that boy had, he was putting up a fight with it. Periit felt he knew more of it than he wanted to it. This dark source is what made the legend grow to what it was today. A mere adventure story compared to what really happened to him and Grey.

The two travelers ed through the rest of the Low Lands, coming upon the Forget-Me-Not Meadow. Grey pointed out the few plants that surround one another into the colorful field. “This here is a Violet. And there are some named so, Bluebells. Though you can tell that they are indeed green, by this world’s standards. The colors will be

explained in the book once you’ve begun to understand the writing,” Grey settled down in a cleared patch of grass, the flowers knowing better than to take up the whole space. The lost man opened the book Grey had commissioned him to carry, the lines and scribbles not becoming any clearer with each perusing he gave it. This was so for the next three borders ed, the path leading behind the mountain. He followed the Wandering Warder, the only man of this kind anywhere. They had been walking that long day, giving the horses time to rest up for the next couple of weeks that would take them closer to Grey’s home turf. The trees of the land weren’t as tall, the towering rock not hidden as it would have been along the other side. It was open compared to the towering rocks of the Low Lands and calmer, compared to the high winds at the other end of the mountain. “The ocean expands past the prairie yonder. The Indians inhabit this part of the world. And why shouldn’t they? This part of the world has everything they need without having to move with it. The Buffalo are plentiful and so are the plants that these tribes grow.” “Indians? Like, ‘Cowboys and Indians?” the lost man asked. “Yes. In a way. It is suspected that they had come upon one of these Tempus Portals and were transported here. Many of the newest generations know nothing of it; only the wise chief, now nearing the oldest age recorded among them re it.” “Why is he the only one to know?” “He chooses it.” “Why doesn’t he tell all the others?” “It could be that he doesn’t want them to know of all the dangerous histories that were left behind from his birthplace. The conflict between his people and those equipped with dominating technology,” Grey stopped beside the tree nearest the plain which they had left an hour before. Periit hadn’t known why Grey wished to follow an unmarked path within the strangled light of the trees until he too stopped to take in the sight of what Grey’s hand was pointing out.

There standing in the light of the sun was an array of tents, teepees as Periit ed from a long ago forgotten lesson. Smoke wafted about the clear atmoshere, taking with it smells of a meal. Children with long black hair played, the adults of this tribe going about with what was most likely the days chores and relative conversations. “Is this…?” “Yes, this is that one tribe. Combined tribes from all about the nation they came from on Earth. Comanche, Apache, Shawnee… all that you could think of.” “Shouldn’t there be more then?” Perrit asked. “Of each different tribe, only a few people were transported. Finding that they weren’t alone, they combined each separate type into one, and here they are. It wasn’t the easiest idea to combine opposites, but they needed to survive.” “How is it that you know all of this?” “Being what I have created, I broke a general rule. Rule 54, or of some such number, ‘stay out of territories in which those people of lesser knowledge or technology reside.’ Ignoring it I have made with these people. Made peace and have become friends. More of a working relationship between these darker skinned people.” Periit stood watching for what could have been at least half an hour, Grey taking his horse and tying both sets of reins to a low hanging branch, setting up a campsite for the night. “If you are friends with these Indians, why are we hidden among the trees?” Periit finally asked, turning away from the waving grassland beyond. “I am the only one they know. I am the only one they have seen. If they see you, the rule I have already broken will be torn further. Plus, I know not which time you come from. If it was of the time of their conflict with the land seekers, it would not be good. You could have a relapse in memory and start out to destroy them. They know nothing of those times and I don’t want them to, for the respect of the old chief.” Periit couldn’t help but keep thinking of these Native Americans for the next few

weeks riding out of the grasslands and past the mountain. It wasn’t until they nearly reached the border before the pain began. That is when the twitch of his fingers became noticable to him. It wasn’t unusual for his fingers to play about like that. Periit hadn’t even given this sight a thought, until his whole hand started moving along with the fingers, the movement becoming even more frantic each day. “Has your hand always done that?” Grey asked him. “No. Ever since waking up to that lightning, my fingers have moved, but my hand wasn’t a part of it. I hadn’t even noticed it till the week before now.” “Most curious,” was all that Grey said to him, riding further ahead with his horse upon the sands that had taken over the dirt and grass. Instead of trees, patches of dry looking beach-life spotted the expanse of the environment they had come into. Grey called it the Lonely Tide Beach. “Off the shoreline of Reaching Sea. None of us know what is beyond it. I’ve been planning to take a trip out to see, but didn’t see fit to go it alone. Once I’ve found someone who doesn’t mind breaking the few rules that I have already twisted, I’ll take the first dive in exploration.” “Haven’t you already taken the first step to exploration?” Periit asked him as they paused to watch the sun glide over the horizon of the deep sea. “No. I haven’t even made a dent in it. The first step, yes. A dive? No. Not hardly. It takes time, planning and knowledge to pull off what I plan to do. A bigger boat as well,” Grey laughed at this. And it was a laugh no man could forget. A big throaty laugh usually reserved for old folk and wise misers had been given to this young man, not old enough to be considered wise by most standards.

“Sir, the meal is ready.” The Main Warder looked up from the spot on the floor he had been starring at for the last hour. Ike and Leo sat at the table, Guy poking at the fire in its brick-

layed foundation. “Ah. Thank you, Ike. Leo, was there anything else said to you when you met up with the Wise Famille?” “Mr. Wise had said something about an ‘attack’, as he called it. The guide took to convulsions and yelling in pain. That is when he said that the kid was holding it back as best he could, that it would only be a matter of time before it grew too hard to fight.” “Thank you, Leo. That is all I needed to know,” Periit nodded and proceeded to eat in silence, the rest of the Warders taking their share in a conversation among themselves. Periit felt the conflict coming closer to its end. Which party would win was still a mystery to both.

Morse

I knew I had fallen. It was only a matter of time, or duration, before the pain caused me to out from holding it back. Another curse given me; one I felt I couldn’t stop. But I had to somehow. The best I knew I could accomplish was to hold it back and keep it in. Even falling off that wagon told me I wasn’t able to hide it anymore from the eyes of these people I so needed to help along. All I could do was hold it back; whatever monster lurked inside me. As one does every morning, each time a body wakes up to the world, I opened my eyes. Only, it wasn’t morning and the world seemed to have disappeared in the darkness beyond the glowing hue of red and orange light. The fire ate at its dry fuel, growing taller with each breath it took. Shifting my head’s position told me all I needed to know about my chronic condition: sore all over, my stomach turning in on itself in a ready attempt to empty out anything I put in, my thoughts momentarily glazed over with fog and cob webs. Lifting my head, the fog thickened, a brief feeling of sleepiness wanting to overcome me. “Morse? Do you feel any better?” Her voice rose above me, softly cracking from lack of comfort and rest. Brooke leaned over me, showing her face in the firelight, reminding me of all the times we would camp out under the clear night sky whenever we could. The stars were flashing like signals, the wind crisp with the fragrence of the fruit coming into bloom in the gardens both our mothers’ had weeded and watered earlier in the day. Brooke would always wake up before me, before the Sol even, and stare into my face until I woke up. Sometimes I would feel her stare and play oppossum and not ‘wake up’ for hours, or until I couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“Why do you ask?” I couldn’t help but smile, not bothering to play the oppossum game that night. “Come on. No joking. Sophia’s father told us what had happened. Everything. I want to be sure you are okay,” Brooke’s good humor was gone. “No doubt Harold would do so,” I said to myself under my breath as I sat up, meeting Brooke’s face at eye level. I took my time taking in the darkness beyond the fire. Across the pit George held Joanne in his arms, both looking as if they stayed up as long as they could. Both created a peaceful picture, brother and sister sharing what I hoped was a calm and beautiful dream. “Morse.” I retraced the lines that I followed and found Brooke sitting off to the side of me, the form of her legs hidden behind the yards of fabric used to make the dress she now wore. The deep color it had reflected in the day’s light was now a dull and vague shadow in the gleaming light of the fire. Even her face had changed tones in the man-made light. Her eyes were wide, her skin and cheeks pale as if drained of any warmth as she waited for my answer. “Brooke, at present I feel fine, I…” I never really finished, something hitting my face on either side with a force that moved the air with it. Brooke smacking me brought on a brief confusion with a dumbstruck facial expression. “What was that?” I rubbed at my face as if an insect had stung me. “You really should stop thinking about yourself. Stop lying to me and everybody else by telling us you are okay. That you are ‘fine and dandy’. You are not any of those things, I can tell. Everyone was worried and you go on as if what happened was only a bad dream we all had at the same time,” she expressed this with forced calm, trying to keep her voice down in case it should wake any of the others. “I can’t lie!” I insisted as if she didn’t already know. “And don’t you go on saying that! I am done believing that,” Brooke paused to smack me again and I didn’t stop her, “You can lie. If not with spoken words,

then with those few you haven’t said at all. Even when you keep something from someone it might be lying. It is not telling them the whole truth which is a form of lying.” Emotion was seeping through her calm demeanor, filling her voice like a waterfall fills a lake or stream, splashing and spilling over at the edges. How she was handling this showed me that she wasn’t the little tomgirl I knew when we were younger. She had become more than that. Lowering my face and shutting my eyes I made the dark world become even darker. I felt where she had hit me start to burn. She was right, even if I didn’t agree with her reasoning. I didn’t tell her everything and assumed that would keep the subject closed. I was being selfish trying to keep her out. She was right. Her arms wrapped about me, her whole form warm and small. The sudden shelter from the cold night released a shuddering sigh from me as if I had been holding back a sob. My arms found her, returning the embrace Brooke had given. She needed this hug as much as I did. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to worry about me. I’ve just been selfish,” my throat dried out at my own words, a knot already choking me. Brooke’s shoulders racked with sobs too, her hands wiping her face free of the tears that had gotten too heavy to hold back. Watching her do this my neck started to wobble, my forehead pounding and my ears numbing from a cold breeze. My chest tightened, the heart under my ribs pumping harder, quicker. Next followed the fingers on either hand, stiffening from frozen weather. Then, Brooke said my name. Once more she was staring at me from above. I had fallen back, my head feeling heavy, my chest pounding. The feeling in both arms was gone, a sudden paralysis taking hold. I couldn’t even sit up, trying to do so without the use of either arm. “Morse? What’s happening?” I shook my head, the fog returning uninvited. I let my head fall back to where it had been resting, my breath coming in rasps. It was getting harder.

“Brooke. It’s happening again.” The fire’s heat stung at my back, the creature playing a tune on my ribs as it started climbing its way up to my throat. “I’m sorry…,” My heart seized, pumped harder as I struggled to keep it controlled. I was getting angry, the emotion becoming bigger in my mind. The more I fought to hold it in, all the more the monster pounded, the more it roared. It wasn’t long before the dark cloaked figure made his appearance out of the dark. I couldn’t breathe. He pointed his finger and came closer, snuffing out the remaining light.

George

Week 22, Day 152 T his day has been long, the early morning wake-up call making it feel lo nger. Everyone had already gone to bed, Joanne wanting to stay up until Morse was able to say good-night. What else could I do besides stay up with her? I woke up. I wasn’t alarmed at first, the noise not nearly as loud as any panicstricken scuffle would be. Then came the moaning. My eyes burst open, a cry disturbing the peace of the night. I jumped up, only ing Joanne was still asleep in my arms when she stirred. Thankfully she didn’t wake. Taking her back to Mother, I returned to the noisy patch where Brooke was calling Morse’s name without any response. I felt a chill even as I ed by the fire, Morse’s body trembling and seizing. Brooke did her best to hold him down, his back arching up from the soil, his shoulders following suit. He cried, wimpering at the pain we all knew he had. Then it stopped. Morse just stopped, the trembling of his limbs ceasing. Brooke knelt there silently, taking her hands from his shoulders with a shivering breath. I stood there quietly watching when something else broke the new silence. A grim and nasty chuckle arose from the still form of Morse, his arms shooting up and grabbing Brooke as she was about to retreat. That laugh startled both of us. His fingers tightened about her arms, pulling himself up from the dirty soil, standing her up as well. “Morse?” Brooke sounded more frightened that relieved.

He didn’t answer, but coughed, pulling Brooke closer to him. He glared at her face. “Before I can be free of this weak-minded fool,” he said with a haggard voice, his breathing coming in rasps, “I have to be rid of him!” He growled and hacked, struggling to keep Brooke from breaking free. She broke away, falling back down and scooting back a safe distance from that man who couldn’t be Morse. I felt this was so, seeing him move and speak. This man before us stood, limping closer to Brooke, glared down at her with a wicked smirk and that nasty laugh. Then he turned to glare at me, the firelight catching his eyes just right, revealing to me what I was afraid to it. This was not the Morse we knew. It was the one I saw that night in the woods, that bad posture and still hand giving him away. “But, in order to free myself of such an honorable person,” this monster of a man gave a mocking bow, “I must first weaken the one he most cares for.” He stepped toward Brooke who still sat stunned on the ground and took her arm, yanking her up to her feet. Brooke stumbled back, trying to release the hold this monster had on her arm. The other Morse smirked, choking up with a snarl and yanked her closer, bringing his other arm up. I didn’t move, stunned by the violent act this man was about to do. I was still frightened to see that this one looked so much like Morse, but truly couldn’t be. He tilted his head as he wheezed for air, snapping it back as he brought her face even closer to his, “You must be the one he truly cares for,” he poked his nose into Brooke’s face. My stomach dropped as he began to chuckle, everything I had eaten wanting to come back up. I didn’t wait to see more, I wasn’t stunned anymore. Jumping forward I took a swing at the monsters face, Morse’s face, and grabbed his wrist, twisting it till he let go of Brooke’s arm. I took my place between them. He hit off two punches before I let loose one of my own, planting it right on his jaw. Unlike the night in the woods, this hard hit didn’t phase him. Instead he came forward with another punch, sending me backward. Morse’s hands took hold of my shirt, yanking me up to my feet before my body could hit the ground.

“And you,” he coughed, “you must be a faithful friend. Loyal. If only I could say the same of myself,” a scowl accompanied his disgusted laugh, contorting his face, “so what if there is another body to count? You won’t be in my way for long.” He hissed this threat in my ear, pulling back a fist, making my already aching face his target. I scrambled to raise my arms and block the punch, pushing him back only a few inches. His hand still grasped my shirt, pulling me with him to the ground. Then ensued a grapple, Morse grabbing at my shirt about the collar to bump and roll me over, gaining the upper ground. Pinned down, the best I could do was swing punches, only to have the monster squeeze the circulation from my wrists pinning them at my sides. Now I was in a useless spot, the form on top of me taking control. “I won’t stop until the job is finished. I won’t stop until he is gone. But first, there is you to contend with.” He lifted his arm again, ready to smite me with a powerful and destructive smack to my head. I closed my eyes and waited for the hit to come, only to feel a sudden breeze and have the burden leave, taking its weight with it. A blur rushed at Morse’s contorted form, pushing off and away from me, another fight starting among the new comer and Morse’s monster. Both rolled over one another, grappling in the dirt, sending dust and grass up in the air. The action didn’t last too long, the bad posture of Morse ending up on top of Jack. He snarled down at Jack, taking his shoulders and pushing him to the ground repeatedly. “You? Who would have thought! The drunk bozo has come to save the day. How touching,” the monster tilted his head to the side, another disgusting laugh releasing a line of nasty coughs. Any sound this creature made sounded awful, as if no matter what he did, it would never get better. After the chronic hacking he looked about, as if momentarily forgetting what he had been doing. He took a breath, shivering from the cold and looking even more haggard and for a second, I am sure Morse had come back. Taking his chance, Jack pushed at Morse, sending him up and over and to the ground beside him. Taking his place on top, Jack in turn pinned down the man’s arms. Then came back the monster, struggling to get the upper hand and regain power, snarling at us, “I won’t stop.”

Then he stopped. His eyes closed, Morse’s head dropping down to the ground. He was still, a frightening picture. I was afraid the monster had won, taking his life before he had a fair fight. Lord, this is a sad part to tell, terrifying to . I watched him closely, Jack hesitating in releasing his hold on Morse’s arms and body in case he wanted to perform an encore. Brooke came forward as close as she dared, looking over the still form of her childhood friend. A cry came from her lips when Sophia ed her, taking hold of her shoulders as if to steady her before the fall. Whispers came to my ears, giving me reason to turn around. A crowd had gathered to watch. How much they had seen couldn’t be debated, the whole of their words lost to me as I looked at them in a dumbfounded trance. “Is he dead?” “What happened? Who is that?” Rubbing at my beard and neck I broke my stare and moved forward, the crowd wanting to come closer to the whole affair, curiosity looking to catch fish to bait the cat, “Please, go back to your fires and get some rest. We have an early day tomorrow!” I said with outstretched arms to keep them where they were. Then there came a moan. I turned to see to head of the man move, his chest heaving and his whole structure shivering. I gave a look at Jack, his expression no doubt reflecting my relief. “What happened?” someone asked again. I turned back, not able to answer from a sudden exhaustion. “It was just a misunderstanding! Now go,”Jack appeared beside me, leaving the limp form of Morse directly behind him out of sight of the crowd. These words didn’t satisfy them, more questions being shot out. “Is that our guide? Is he dead?” “No! No one is dead. There was just a brief disagreement. Now, please, get some rest!”

Even this explanation wasn’t enough for the few who stayed behind for prime gossip, shooting out questions for any scrap thrown out. “How are we to get home now if he goes off like this. A disagreement, as you say. How can we count on him to keep up?” “We are going to get home. He is going to get us home.” “Somehow I can’t take your word for it, George. How can…,” “I trust him! Isn’t that enough!” A hand rested on my shoulder, Sophia’s father stepping forward to address the few still standing about the disarrayed campsite. “Go on back to your fires. Everything is fine. If you still have something to say, then come and talk to me in the morning,” he said calmly, but firmly enough for those listening to obey. It didn’t take long for the rest to disperse, leaving only Brooke to silently cry. We turned back to the scene, Brooke having knelt down and rested Morse’s head on her lap. Morse himself was squirming as if having a nightmare. “How did it happen?” Sophia’s father knelt beside her, Sophia having taken to Jack’s side. “I was just talking to him. He had woken up and… then he was in pain, started shaking and fell back as before. Then he… he grabbed me,” Brooke held together, stopping the tears and sobs to tell the rest of her story. After he started seizing, he stopped as before, falling into unconsciousness only this time to come back up and grab her. Then came those words we both heard him say, ‘before I can be free of this weak-minded fool, I have to be rid of him!’ The rest was told before Sophia took Brooke to another fire, leaving Jack and Sophia’s father to take care of Morse. At this point there wasn’t much more we could do but watch and pray. Lord, I prayed this wouldn’t happen again. That Morse wasn’t in any real pain, dreaming up nightmares and scaring us all. Give him peace. Give Brooke peace. That both will get through this with your will.

“Is he sick?” I jumped at this tiny voice that spoke beside me, the night having drawn on longer than I had wanted it to. Joanne stood beside me, no longer asleep as I had left her with Mother. It was true the noise must have woken her up again, only to have her see Morse still asleep and in a sick-like fever that none of us could explain. “Yes. In a way, he is sick.” I took my little sister in my arms and held her, taking in yawns as we watched Morse breathe in fitful sleep. Even now she is here asleep with me. Sophia’s father is by the fire, praying and counting beads. Jack stood guard, too active to go back to bed. After today, I just want rest. I want to be home with Elizabeth and the rest of the kids. Even now I’m taking time to peek at her picture and wishing we were together again. Lord, keep us safe. Watch over Elizabeth back home. Teach us not to worry and trust fully in you. Amen.

Morse

“B rooke.” I shot up out of sleep, the aches and pain overwhelming. The dark cloaked figure was conducting the hungy monster in a tune being played on my rib cage with arm bones, the fingers tinkling over the bleached bone keys. Even the slinking lump made an appearance, turning inside out and back again, growing and uncurling as if trying to dance. Maybe on my grave. The day had dawned without me, the Sol moving up and over. The camp was bustling, everyone who ed looking back at me. Few had wide eyes, others an untrusting glare. “How are you feeling Morse?” I spun to look at George, Joanne in his arms with an excited grin on her face to see me awake. “Sore,” I moaned, “What happened?” George turned around as if he hadn’t heard me ask. Maybe he didn’t. He set down Joanne who ran to me, stopping a foot away like she had that first day, taking a dare from the other kids to get even a foot near. “I’m sorry you got sick last night,” she tottered on her feet, heel to toe and back again, her arms tucked and folded behind her. My eyes widened at her mention of me getting sick, a tale I had yet to hear. “What happened?” I asked her. The little girl just shook her head with a weak frown, too concerned with wanting to play than bother with details. Without getting an answer out of her, I hoisted her off her feet and swung her around as I had seen George do so many times. She giggled and laughed out into the open air. I put her down to the ground, resting up my sore limbs. “Joanne, get in the wagon. Mother wants to talk with you.” George reappeared,

his bundle tucked under an arm. “I want to…,” “No, Joanne. Now!” George used a stern voice to send her off, a tone I hadn’t heard him use when talking with her. She ran off in the direction of her mother, leaving George with me. He looked over, a slight glare appearing before heading off to dispose of the bundle he held. I went after him. “George. What was that?” “What was what?” he asked, his tone borderline normal and blocking. “Your tone,” “I had a tone?” he kept walking. “George, something happened last night. Even if I can’t it, I can tell that something has you on edge.” “On edge? You think that I am on edge? Try scared,” he stopped to face me, his tone dropping, a thin layer peeling off of the mask he had been wearing. “Scared of what? Of me?” I asked him. He started to walk off, a small nod bobbing on his neck. “What happened? What did I do? Who did I kill!” I cried out, a ion of sorrow taking hold of me too quickly for me to think sensibly. What was worse, I was afraid I killed Brooke, the nightmare playing over in my mind, the cloaked figure trying to tell me of the deeds I had done when I was checked out. “Morse! You didn’t kill anybody. It hasn’t come to that yet,” George had dropped his bundle to grab my shoulders. I looked up from the hands I had pressed to my face, Brooke’s prayer beads shaking on my wrist near my chin. “And you didn’t do anything. It was the other you. The one I saw that night in the woods,” George seemed to plead with me.

“What happened?” He told me, plainly and without delay as if he wanted me to know everything, whether it was too painful to tell or not. The story carried on the whole ride forward even after George had stopped talking and when we hitched the horses to the wagons and left. The whole world was quiet as I sat in that seat and guided the horses. I knew what I was doing, I knew where we were going and I could feel the eyes and strange looks every other person gave me. Brooke remained in the back of the wagon, Jack and Sophia ing her where as George and Harold kept me company up front, even though I didn’t feel I was really there.

Grey

M ol’s friend watched Mol’s son. What he watched wasn’t the happiest. For the next two weeks after the attack on Brooke and George, Morse took to wandering off alone, spending each night as a pariah at the edges of edges of each camp sight. Grey followed closely as he said he woud, tracking the wagons a distance off. The last attack gave little relief to him, the journey nearly done and the sickness becoming stronger. Researching this disease was the least enjoyable task he took, having written everything he had observed down, later to be copied into his book. To Grey’s knowledge, this wasn’t an illness of the body, but of the mind. He only concluded this, seeing that the symptoms were never the same from one host to the next, Periit being the first he had seen it grow in. Periit first had pain, different places every so often after they had ed through the land left to the Native Americans. A few of these pains were similar to those Morse was currently having, the chest, the ribs, with the crawling sensation of something inside wanting to come out. Other than this, the cases between both Periit and Morse were different. Morse’s symptoms were easier to spot, having known him from the day he was born into this world. Morse showed signs of memory loss, changes in mood and mannerisms, recognition almost nonexistant. Grey watched Morse, how he acted. And how the creature acted. Total opposites in every which way possible as if he had more than one personality. Grey knew this wasn’t the case, given that this other personality hadn’t come out when the symptoms first made an appearance. ‘It seems the disease takes over the Gifts of each host,’ Grey thought to himself this same observation each time he saw a change in Morse.

The next weeks were rather dull, nothing really going on beyond the business at hand, everyone of these Scotsmen and women making their way closer to the Tempus Portal, steps closer to returning home. It seemed Brooke wasn’t sure

what to do, staying away from Morse the majority of the time. And George was the same, keeping Joanne busy with other games. This tactic lasted the first week before George considered that everything that happened was out of sight, or in the dark of night. With this thought, he renewed the friendship. Even from the distance Grey followed at, he could see the bruises upon George’s face. It wasn’t much of a mystery how these bruises came to be. Even if Grey hadn’t watched the whole ordeal. Harold was the only one keeping a firm connection with Morse throughout the whole situation, taking time to talk with him and pray with him. Harold and Morse took their time rubbing down and pampering the horses as they did at each stop. “I’ve no idea why I am even doing this. Why is everything happening to me? No matter what I do it seems to get worse. If I leave it alone, there it is, getting worse. If I try to make the situation better, even more so,” Morse rubbed down the horse in front of him, practicing his growing language skills. Grey kept an eye on the two, Harold only two horses away, looking over his shoulder to answer back. He turned about, the horse he was fussing with turning with him to nuzzle him with his nose. “You could be trying too hard, overthinking it. Sometimes what seems like a burden, when you feel like you’re failing, could be a path to something better. Something bad could become good,” Harold said. “How so? It isn’t like you can climb out of a hole when you’re still falling.” Harold paused, finishing brushing off the horse, walking to the one Morse had his attention on, “You have to stop falling before you can climb, that’s true. But you can still make the best of the fall and lay a cushion at the bottom so when you have hit bottom, it isn’t such a hard landing.” Morse looked up long enough to nod and shrug, still not sure what this old man really meant, not seeing how this could be possible. Grey could see this by the way Morse acted, always the one to question everything even once it is put into simple . The hidden man watched them move to another horse each as the rest grazed for the evening.

“Sophia’s mother had these pains. Headaches. These headaches affected how she went about her work, sewing seams and tailoring dresses. You can see where Sophia gets her skill. It was nice of her to fit the dress to Brooke. Beautiful design,” Harold said. “Yes. Beautiful. I’d never seen her in a dress. When we were younger, she was always wearing hemmed hand-me-down pants of her father’s. I always thought of her as ‘one of the guys’, though there was only us two and I knew she was a girl like both our mothers. She just didn’t wear a dress,” Morse stopped to stare into space, no doubt ing old times playing around the yard and helping in the gardens, just to save the pulled weeds to throw at each other later. “Brooke is a nice girl.” Morse just nodded sadly to Harold’s reply as Harold then continued to draw out his story, “Anyway, these headaches caused her to stop, pricking her fingers with those sharp sewing needles. For her, this was a problem, having had to re-sew several dresses. Like your supposed curse, these headaches were terrible for her. They wouldn’t go away, even with the herbs she got to ease the pain enough so she could sew correctly. Each week she would buy another bundle of these herbs at the corner shop, next to the stables.” “How was this made good?” “She always ed by the stables on her way to the corner, greeting the young man working there. He shoveled the stalls and fixed shoes and cleaned and washed the horses. One week, she didn’t by. She didn’t appear to buy these herbs and the stable boy noticed,” Harold paused. “What happened?” “It turned out she was at home in bed. The pain had gotten more powerful to where she didn’t even want to fight through it anymore. She was ready to die, it seemed. That day, she hit bottom.” There was silence, Morse not asking anything and Harold watching him to see if he was listening or noticing how the story affected him. Taking a breath, Grey watched him continue. “I stopped at the shop at the corner and inquired where she was. The provider

didn’t know, handing me a bag of herbs that I then paid for. Taking the herbs with me I went around the village and asked where she resided, where she lived in order for me to give her these herbs. A few couldn’t tell me, not receiving much of her business. Taking this into thought I went by the abode she worked at, the owner telling me all I needed to know,” he rested a hand on the horse’s back, taking a breath. “I had gotten there as her mother was coming out, heading down the street to the corner shop. In need of further directions, I stopped her to ask. Realizing what I wanted and that I had the needed herbs, she invited me in. And there Sophia’s mother was in bed, suffering terribly. If it wasn’t for me or her headaches, I would never have met her. Sophia wouldn’t exist.” Grey could hear the emotion coming from Harold’s voice even from his hidden perch amongst the rocks that began to jut and poke from the ground and extended scenery. It wasn’t his first time listening to a heartfelt story as this. Lilac and Christopher had one that was memorable, the picture that was given him bringing back such a love story. Grey took this time of silence to gaze at Morse and his reaction. It was one of consideration, morphed with a tad of confusion. Most likely wondering how bad acts could be turned into good results, even with his mysterious condition. “I really don’t see how that will work for me. I see no way of cushioning my fall, and I really don’t see how I can climb out of it once I hit bottom,” Morse justified Grey’s thoughts, knowing how the boy’s mind worked under stress. “It may not be visible now. All I am telling you is that curses can be blessings in disguise. It depends how you look at them.” There was a quick smile on the elderly man’s face before he returned to his work rubbing down the horse with a low hum. The conversation died down, leaving both men to concentrate on their own horse, Sophia’s father taking up a tune with lyrics that could be considered curious. Morse was considering this quietly, better than how he took the whole situation the few weeks before. After George and Jack told him what he did, or rather what the other him did, he wandered off to the only patch of trees visible in the grasslands. Leaving the

group he took his place in dark solitude. Grey watched as Morse started to take it all out on one of the many trees. He grunted, a whine Grey came to know as one associated with the subject of his ‘many mistakes’, as Morse called them. All it took was a few punches to the trunk to get him started. “No, no. I won’t let you!” Morse growled to himself in the dark. Grey heard him kick the tree, shaking the whole foundation of the living object. He spun and kicked at the already fallen and loose leaves in disgust. Morse was hoping to get a chance at this monster inside of him. To have the means to beat the pulp out of it before it did any more damage. It wasn’t long before the boy started to slow down, punching a tree before leaning into it and sliding down. Grey could hear Morse’s shirt snag on the tree’s rough bark. Then a clicking of beads announced that Morse was thinking of Brooke, playing with those prayer beads on his shaking wrist. He let out a shuddering cry. A sob that Grey felt was for everything that was happening. Morse was now a ten year old once more, whining over a skinned knee. Not long into this boy’s cry George appeared, making his presence known to Morse through the crackle and rustling of the dead leaves. “Morse?” “What?” he answered dolefully. “I wanted to be sure…,” “That I was alright? No. I’m not. George, I’m pathetic. I can’t do anything right,” Morse rubbed his eyes, his voice sounding like a child’s to Grey. He looked blankly at his hands and clinched them a couple of times, as if testing them. It wasn’t easy to see in that dim lighting. Neither boy cared as George sat down next to Morse. “That is not true.” “Go ahead. Call me a liar. It has to be true though. I said it, didn’t I?”

“It is only true to you, because you believe it,” George felt his own voice harden, hearing the annoyance he felt in it. When Morse didn’t answer him, George stood up, “You aren’t doing yourself any good as long as you accept that. Believe it or not, you have done something right. How can you whine over such a little thing? Yes, you have to fight through it. True you know nothing about it except that it wants to destroy you. That can only happen if you let it.” “I couldn’t do anything right before,” Morse continued. “Stop with that excuse!” George yelled at him, “If that was so, how could we have gotten this far? Not that I have to remind you that you have saved all of our lives. Possibly more than once!” “George, that was before all of this happened. That isn’t because of me. Brooke got us this far!” “Stop lying you dolt!” Then there was a quiet that Grey didn’t take lightly. It could be considered a dangerous few minutes, not knowing what either party would do. “George, go. Leave me alone,” Morse said almost threateningly. This was the beginning of Morse’s solitude and separation from the rest of the group, given Harold’s fatherly talks and prayers. All led to this gathering week. It wasn’t long before they found their way to the Forget-Me-Not Meadow, a stronger respect becoming apparent between them. Grey just hoped that each would make it home safely.

Morse

I wasn’t wanting to ride another day, Brooke still keeping mainly to herself. I really want to see her smile as she always has. Big and toothy as if she were trying to out-do a clown. Today Jack and Sophia took a seat beside me at the front of the wagon as they had the day before. George was in the back, Joanne poking at him and Brooke. It was always playtime in the back when Joanne ed us. As we started I glanced back at Brooke as the horses followed the pathway in the overgrown grass and jutting rocks. She was rather calm, happy playing with Joanne. She didn’t even look up toward the front, leaving me to feel once more as the pariah I was making myself. I turned back and let my head sag a little, allowing my usual straight back to bend and slouch. Rubbing my face I looked over at the couple beside me. Jack looked back, making eye . This was the only thing shared between us for the last weeks we’ve traveled. Sophia watched our eyes meet, looking tired as she leaned into Jack. In response Jack wrapped an arm about her and let her head rest on his shoulder for the sleep she needed. I was feeling lonely, Brooke only coming into when she wasn’t reminded of the other me. The ride was quiet, giving me more than enough space to think. George had been right about me making excuses, though I didn’t see how anything I did made things better. Harold’s words kept plaguing me, the meaning behind them too obvious for me to really take hold of. “All I am telling you is that curses can be blessings in disguise. It depends how you look at them.” I’m not even bothering to understand it. “What is all of that?”

I glanced over to see what Sophia was asking about, the jutting rocks and waving grass disappearing to a sea of color to the right and left of the path the wagons followed. “We are now in the Forget-Me-Not Meadow,” I said. Sophia’s face lit up, just the sight was enough to wake her up. “It is the biggest meadow of this world. Most calm in the world, too. There aren’t very many anyway,” I added, stopping the wagon. Sophia kept gazing at the array of flowers, whole waves of color as if it were a body of water, rippling in the breeze. “Truly? They are so beautiful! Can I pick some?” She turned to me with this question, a look of excitement, her eyes dazzling. I motioned with my head, nodding to her. I even smiled, the first real smile in weeks. Jack helped Sophia down from the wagon, ing her when he couldn’t detach himself from her grasp. He gave me a begging look before leaving the wagon with an overexaggerated sigh. What a day it was to pick flowers. After that the whole of the caravan wandered from their sitting places and ed them. The kids chased one another amongst the various patches and around the stone formations that peeked through the colorful vegetation. Joanne played among them, laughing alongside all the others. Many women picked and ired small bundles. The men simply walked about, stretching out the kinks and knots in their arms and legs from sitting so long in the wagons. Only a few stayed behind, mainly those who weren’t interested in the sights that sat on either side of the path. George and Brooke remained in the wagon with me. We didn’t talk. For the past week Brooke had been acting more like herself, talking and joking with me as before. Up to today, she had a hint of life. Today she hadn’t really spoken all that much to me or anyone. I had an idea of why this was. There was more than one reason for me stopping the wagon in the Forget-Me-Not Meadow. It wasn’t long after the crowd moved into the meadow on either side of the wagon line that Brooke left the wagon herself to them.

“Do you know where Brooke is going?” I spun in my seat to face George. He asked the question I hoped I had the right answer to. “Why do you ask?” “She just left, but she isn’t staying in the meadow. Do you see?” George pointed out past the meadow to where Brooke was walking alone. “I feel I have an idea. You can me if you like,” I offered, jumping from the front seat to the ground. “I wouldn’t want to…” “George. I’m not… I want to show you something.” I left the wagon myself, hearing George start after me through the tall grass and plant life. My feet followed the general path Brooke took through the meadow and around the mounds and rock towers that the kids were now occupied climbing on. It wasn’t a long walk once I rounded the corner of one of these crumbling rock formations, finding Brooke where I knew she would be. “What is this place?” George asked. The space was open, various stones and sticks marking resting places of several people who once lived here. Wooden crosses, arrows, sticks mixed company with the dull and scratched faces of stone and rock headstones. Brooke sat before two of these, her parents names chiseled out with care. “It’s a graveyard. This one is rather small compared to the others.” “Small? How do you know this?” George gave the sign of the cross. “I read it in Grey’s book.” This was why Brooke was so quiet this day, knowing where she buried both of her parents. A sad task. I can only imagine not being able to see a loved ones face again. Just their name on a rock. I turned back with a silent prayer and left

Brooke to her visit. “I didn’t think such a place like this would have resting places,” George said. “I think that is a fact in life you can’t change. People die. Everyone dies sometime. One day we will die.” The rest of the way back we made in silence.

George’s illustration of the Forget-Me-Not Grave site

George

Week 26, Day 180 T he day had started normal as coul d be. The day started the same. I woke up. I’m still here. I want to be home with Elizabeth. I am still here for a reason I have yet to know. Whether I know it or not, the Lord sent me here. Sent us all here. Today was usual, except for the change in Brooke’s mood. Instead of the happy countenance she was known for, she was plain. This day Brooke was keeping to herself. It was nearly mid-day as we stopped at the Forget-Me-Not Meadow. Sophia pulled Jack out into the flowers with her, not letting him go one second. Just from the sight of the meadow, Sophia brightened, giving Jack a better mood. It didn’t take long for the rest of the people to wander out away from the wagons for a walk. “Where is Brooke going?” I asked this, bringing Morse around in his seat. From the look on his face he had an idea. Even if I didn’t feel it was proper, I followed Morse through the blanket of flowers in pursuit of Brooke. She had wandered through the meadow and around the rocks that came up from the ground, like that of Scotland. Beautiful Scotland. The further we came along this trail, the bigger these rocks would grow. And there she was. Amongst the space Morse brought me to, Brooke was kneeling before the headstones of her parents. The whole graveyard was a mismatched area. Sticks formed markers, mossy rocks made unnamed headstones. Only a few tombstones were marked and carved. A few flowers were strewn here and there upon almost random graves. Flowers were before Brooke on the ground.

“This is why she has been quiet today, compared to yesterday. I’ve never seen this place myself, but Brooke had mentioned it,” Morse said in a near whisper. I didn’t say anything, knowing very well how it feels to visit one who was no longer alive. Especially someone you knew as a family member, a friend. Back home we would try to make the pilgrimage to the resting place every two years out of respect. I wouldn’t have gone this year, but Mother insisted that we all visit Athair’s grave. With Mother’s hand, I didn’t have too many choices. Elizabeth wanted to go, her family having lost a little boy before, her mother following not long after. She couldn’t leave her father with three kids. And I found myself here. It isn’t the best time to start feeling alone and homesick. If I think about it I know I’m not the only one ready to complain. Morse excused himself back to the wagon and I followed. And along the way I grabbed a couple of flowers as well, examples for my sketch book. After retrieving everyone from the meadow, we moved on down the road. The rest of the day was spent with light and curious conversation about the flowers Sophia picked. “What flower is this?” Sophia held up a flower for us all to see. It was abundant of petals, colorful with a faded red and wavy movement from the tip to the base. Brooke glanced over from her quiet stare at the wagon floor. Morse looked also, managing to catch her eye. “Brooke, why don’t you tell them?” Morse asked with a light tone as he turned back forward. Brooke gave a smile and complied with a sigh. “It is a Midnight’s Light.” “Ooh! Why is it called that?” “During the day it is as you see it now. But at night it shines like the stars,”

Brooke said. Sophia was amazed by this, twirling the flower in her fingers before replacing it in her colorful bundle, “I wonder, shall it still shine after I’ve picked it?” “For a while. You could always plant them for more,” Brooke continued. The rest of the day has been rather calm. Camp has been set and the meal cooked and eaten. Prayers have been said and most have already gone to bed. Lord, give me patience.

Morse

T hree days after we left the Forget-Me-Not Meadow we found the border separating us from the Low Lands. After the visit to the meadow and the graveyard, Brooke took to herself once more. It must have been a down day just to that death comes to everyone, lonely or otherwise. An hour before coming upon the border we hit the trading post. The building itself was carved out of the stone, towering above the lone tree that stood out front. Emptying the wagons and unhitching the horses we walked the rest of the way to the border. We started this trip walking, we were going to end it walking, as it turned out. The air was crisp, the raised rocks of the land guiding the breezy currents about and around the group. Then came the border entering the Low Lands. It wasn’t hard to find, the tall grass having suddenly stopped upon a crack that ran along the ground. Past the line was the Low Lands, a dry surface full of cracks and void of moisture or any sign of living vegetation like that of the line of grass. The cracks were jagged and curved in several places, channeling deep into the ground like a system of bone-dry river beds. “Here we are. The Low Lands. It’s a lot drier than I expected,” I joked. To my laugh I received a punch to the arm from Brooke, a good sign that she was herself, “It should only take a couple days walk to find the Station Warders.” So we moved on, the wind picking up and dusting the ground. There was a vermillion tone to the whole environment of towering stone and crumbling rock, including the dust that was swept up by the wind. This made me and many others sneeze on several different occasions. Dust can be such a pest, finding its own way to the sinuses. The last day of our walk ed slowly, almost as if we had only just started.

Soon, George and Joanne along with Jack, Sophia and Harold will be home at last. I had to wonder what it was really like there on Earth. Could it really be any different than it is here? I didn’t give myself time to think of this, knowing well enough why I was sent here Why Papa insisted that I guide. Brooke was right. I am guiding these people for another reason. Mr. Wise was right. I needed to go to the River Village for more information, for myself. I needed to face it. By the time the Sol was ready to set, lighting the textured rock surrounding the Low Land Valley, I could see the Warders’ building. It didn’t take long to find them. The building stuck out from the rest of the scenery. The Station Warders themselves stood in the middle of the dry valley as if they had been carved out of fine stone. Dust from the wind covered them from head to toe. It looked as if they had been waiting for a long time just for us. Their dress was of woven cloaks the color of the rock and dust. Natural paint the color of the desert and shadows that hid within the cracks at their feet. Under these they wore the common gear of any fully graduated soldier of this world. The three stood there in a line, arms crossed and faces somber. From what I could see, their skin was tanned from the Sol, only light marks and shapes were what distingushed them from one another. These symbols were of lighter skin, traveling up and down each arm and covering their faces. What were these strange designs each bore? My head gave way to a dizzy spell as my eyes landed on the Warder that stood in the middle, the only one to have his hood pulled up and over his face. Even in the remaining light, I couldn’t make out any detail of his face. This one reminded me of the dark cloaked figure. He stepped forward and spoke. “Why have you come?” I stepped forward, stopping again to turn about and look through the crowd. I had been about to answer, ing that I wasn’t the one searching for home. Making eye with the person I was looking for, I turned back around and waited as Harold broke through to the front of the people.

“An bhfuil tú réidh le dul abhaile?” I asked him, “Are you ready to go home?” “These people are. What they need I work for.” And he stepped forward, approaching the Station Warder who had also stepped forward. “What have you come for?” the Warder asked. “We have come for the way home,” Harold answered. This Warder nodded and turned to the other two. Speaking a few words one nodded and waved to the crowd, “Follow me, if you will!” The crowd started to move off, following the Warder. Harold turned to me before following after the rest of these moving feet. “Thank you so much. You have sacrificed yourself and your time to get us here, Morse. And I am sorry.” “Why are you sorry?” “For the troubles you’ve had to face this past year. I pray you find the answers you need.” Without much more to say, I stuck my hand out for a shake. Harold accepted it. “No. Thank you Harold. For this whole trip I have been asking myself what the point was for my having to guide you. Why I was here. Why I was sent this far and why I needed to go to the River Village with you. If we hadn’t gone, I would never had met you. I wouldn’t see things as I do now, if I hadn’t gotten to know you. Thank you for the time.” I watched him walk off with all the rest, only Brooke having stayed beside me. Brooke and I watched as breaths collapsed in relief and the sound of the dust and dirt crumbling under foot as they followed the Warder. “What is with that face? Did you really think we would leave without a goodbye?”

Both of us turned to see Sophia, Jack and George standing there. I felt Joanne wrap her arms around my legs. I let my head wag. “Let’s not prolong this with tears,” Jack said gruffly, sticking out his hand. I enclosed his with mine, feeling his squeeze harder in a strong grip. “Always the one who has to be the stronger,” Sophia laughed rather bitterly, emotion seeping to the surface. Her eyes were just as bright as they were the first day we met, tearing up at the edges as she hugged me, “We’ll miss you Morse. No matter how Jack acts, he is going to miss you as much as I am.” After she released me I pried Joanne from my legs and picked her up, holding her as everyone gave their good-byes to Brooke. Joanne herself was ready to cry, only now getting the hint that they would be leaving. I gave her a slight smile. This only made her frown deepen as she started to sniffle. She grabbed at my neck and I hugged her back. “Joanne, we have to get back to Mother. Come here.” George spoke softly as he retrieved her from my arms. “Say good-bye, Joanne.” She held up her hand with a weak wave and a tiny sob, “Bye-bye…,” “I’ll miss you too, Joanne. Thank you George, for everything.” “No, Morse. Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without her. You’ve done us all a great service.” We shook hands and he departed with his little sister. I gave one last wave as they disappeared along with the rest of their people. They were on their way home. I would miss them. With the Sol nearly gone, I turned back, finding the Warders still standing there, waiting. Where the remaining two stood, a third ed them. “And, why have you come, Morse?” the hooded Warder asked me, one more step forward than before.

“I suppose you already know, given you know my name.” “Yes. But do you know?” I glanced at Brooke and her rusting hair, a feeling churning in my chest, “I believe there is something wrong with me. With my Gift.” “Yes. Your fighting ability. It isn’t the problem, but the force hiding behind it.” “Hate.” “It has been called that,” the Station Warder said, “This, Hate, uses and discards the host’s Gifts as it sees fit. It is after one thing. Freedom to run havoc. In this case Morse, it is playing with your skill of technique and has discarded your other Gift.” “My other Gift. My not being able to lie.” The cloaked figure shook his head, dust sliding off the cloth, “No. You can’t never lie. You can lie without speaking. Things you don’t say can be interpreted as lies whether you think keeping it a secret is good or not.” I stayed silent, the churning starting to rumble in my chest, making my stomach quake. I took Brooke’s hand, “How do you know of Hate?” “I’ve had it. A form of it,” he said. He slipped off his hood, revealing an incomplete face. One side of it was scarred, burned and deformed. The other side of his face a symbol emerged in light lines, creating a sign of water that circled around his eyes down to his cheek bone. His hair was graying from age and hard work from its original dusty black. Brooke gasped. The gurgle in my chest leaped at the sight of him. I suddenly wanted to punch him, just my hand clinching at my side. “Don’t keep lying to yourself,” he said to me. My chest hurt, the thing inside me pummeling at my ribs, slinking into my throat. It was growing, breathing heavily, wanting out. It tore at me, the other

two Warders pulling off their cloaks and dropping them to the ground, dust rising in a puff. My heart skipped a beat, causing my lungs to lose their breath. My legs became paralized, sending me to my knees. Pain seized my whole frame. “Brooke.” She grabbed my arm only to be yanked away. “Morse!” I shook my head, the desire to hit this guy growing. A fire blazed to life, the remaining light of the world suddenly less than I ed it to be a minute before. I choked, an unsettling laugh rising from me, “No!” My head shook of its own accord, the laugh turning into a nasty cough. The pain grew, driving me further to the ground before I forced myself to my feet. A hiccup broke from my throat, that laugh returning with a mocking salute to the scarred Station Warder. Control over my limbs was no longer mine. “What are you waiting for?” my voice asked. The two other Warders took their places before me, the fire outlining their forms in the growing dark. Then a fight ensued. My fist gave out the first punch to the light haired one with the symbols of the Sol and stars branded in his cheeks. He blocked me, the other Warder gaining up on the other side of me. Now both were striking at me. At the other me. I laughed and swiped at the other one, knocking up side the face, just the sound making my body giddy. I kicked and blocked, moves I never wanted to use suddenly sending enjoyable tingles through my limbs. This wasn’t me. It lasted a long time, this fight I had no control over. The creature laughed, the Warders fought and Brooke cried. Of this I was painfully aware. Even the fire looked on, the flames tossing out silent yells brought on by the wind. How this could have worked, I wouldn’t know. But just watching this and feeling everything that was thrown out whether my hand had hit them or they hit me, I couldn’t keep letting whatever was inside keep using me. Where I got the

will to overcome it I didn’t know.

George’s illustration of the Low Lands

George

Week 27, Day 185 I didn’t think we had been this close to the end. The last thing I really ed was saying farewell to Morse, taking Joanne from him and leaving with the rest following that Warder. Big fellow. The Warder led us past the towering boulders, a soft breeze blowing up the dust and remaining sand. “Here you are. Camp here tonight and you will find yourselves home next day,” the big Warder said to us before turning back the way we came. By this time it was nearly completely dark. “Wait!” Joanne ran up to him, “Please, give this to Morse.” She held up a blanket made from srcaps of yarn provided by Mother. The Warder took it with a smile and a nod, “Will do,” he said. Then, he left. This was the first and last of hearing of this small blanket in which Joanne had made for Morse. One last farewell. The Low Lands was a rocky place, the deep red of the stone, the dust scattering. The glow of the land in the low light was the last imprint of the world with no name, like that of a footprint in the snow. Once you’ve left, its gone. But I know it was there. “Time to rest, Joanne,” Mother sat down with the now finished masterpiece of yarn. Joanne sat beside her, not willing to go to bed. I didn’t wait for her to, wanting to be back home already. Not that I wasn’t missing everything that had happened this partial year. Here comes morning, the sun hanging overhead as if we all overslept. And there were the trees swaying above us with their leaves… This was when I realized, we weren’t in the same place. The Low Lands no longer existed. There were no rocks. No dust. The wind was still remaining, but we weren’t where we had been. I sent up a yell, surprising Mother with it.

“We’re back Ma! We’re back!” “What are you up to you silly boy? What are you saying?” “Don’t you see, Ma? We aren’t in the same place as we were the day before,” I opened my arms to the expanse of trees growing around us. Mother just shook her head, leaving me to wander off, finding Sophia and Jack in the same condition, overly excited to to find that there were trees and other familiar sights. Such simple splendor of woodland nature. “Home!” Sophia twirled about, Joanne ing her in a bout of laughter. “This looks to be Straight Path. Going this way it should only take us a day or so before we find the village,” Jack pointed out the way, giving all of us better bearing to where we actually were. “Somehow it feels as if nothing really happened. But I know it did,” Sophia said, pulling out her bundle of flowers from the Meadow, wilting from lack of water, “I still have these, even the Midnight’s Light.” With that the day really begun. After the meal, we headed out, Sophia’s father acting as guide. This took the whole day and half of the next, finding the boundaries of the village before us. The stone wall lined the field beyond, the gate open wide as if in a long awaited welcome. We walked in, Joanne catching a piggy-back ride the rest of the way. Then came the beginning of the welcome back. “Hey! You’re back!” “Back early, aren’t you?” “Didn’t expect you back so soon!” It was rather a calm welcome compared to what it would have been if they knew what we had been through. Athairs friend came out of the shop, hearing the shouts and seeing me and Joanne walking down the way toward home. “You decide to turn back? The weather hasn’t been that harsh out there has it?” he asked me.

“No… how long has it been, then?” “Not even six months yet. Thought you’d be wise to that, one that keeps that there journal with you.” I nodded with my thanks for a correct date and time, taking off once more with Joanne falling asleep at my back. I followed Mother the rest of the way home, putting Joanne to bed. “George, don’t you have something to do?” Mother asked me. “What Ma?” Picking up my sketch book she held it out to me, “Elizabeth’s waiting for you. Don’t keep her waiting any longer,” she smiled, enjoying sending me out. I didn’t complain. For an old Mother-goose, Ma knew who was on my mind. Taking the book I left the house and ran down to the shops, Eilzabeth busy at work keeping track of the kids running about her and the shop. Upon seeing me she left her work, another village girl nudging her in my direction. “When did you get back? Shouldn’t you still be out there? It hasn’t even been half a year and here you are.” “I couldn’t wait that long. No one else could for that matter.” “No matter. Now you are back,” she wrapped her arms around me, “I missed you, George.” “I missed you.” And the rest I’ll save for later. It isn’t everyday you return home.

Brooke

I could barely watch, Morse turning back into that beast. The other two Warders took their places on either side of him, knocking him back as the creature came forward and pounced. Even with the fire burning, the night deepened, outlining the fighters in pitch. No starlight could be seen by me, the whole situation more than I wanted to see. Even the wind died, leaving the dark landscape even colder, dead and hollow. There, all three ran into one another swinging punches and missing, kicking and hoping to at least make . Nothing really happened until Morse caught a punch to the gut and a knee to the forehead. The cackling laughter stopped briefly as the monster took to hacking for breath. “Morse!” I felt myself lunge forward, wanting to help Morse. I didn’t get far as the last Warder took me by the shoulders, holding me back. “That isn’t Morse. I’m sure you know this, Brooke,” he said. “How is it you know this? All of this?” “Mutual friend. He keeps me up to date.” “Who is this friend?” “I’ll tell you soon enough, Brooke.” I stood watching, crying. Even the night seemed to grow longer, the rally between the fighters not stopping for a rest of any kind. Covering my eyes, I stood there and prayed, wanting this all to be over and done with. This wasn’t what I thought it would come to. “You don’t have to watch.”

“I can’t just leave him, either.” Even as I said this, after so many hours of watching each of these men bouncing up and down just to get at each other, one of my prayers was answered. The fighting had stopped. The dust had risen up, covering the scene from my sight and that of the scarred Warder’s. The scraping of feet and the pounding of fists had stopped, leaving the Low Lands at a loss of sound. It felt gloomy, almost as if something more should have happened. But nothing did. When the dust settled, the sight was of heartache. The other two Warders stood still, no other form equaling their height. Skipping a beat and catching a quick breath I ran forward, finding Morse lying on the ground. As before he laid there shivering, shaking his head as if in a nightmare. I ran forward, the others huddling around the prone, yet antic person. The scarred Warder checked his eyes, patting his face and calling his name. No response. “Let us take him inside, Leo, Guy,” he looked between the younger Warders, pulling me up by the arm. The ones so named Leo and Guy took Morse, one at his head and the other at his feet and carried him like a hammock swaying between them. I followed behind, the elder Warder walking beside me. “He’ll be okay in a few days. It is hard to really tell whether all the fight is out of him right now. But I should be able to tell tomorrow,” he told me. “What do you mean? Whether that thing is still in him?” “You could say that.”

Morse

E verything felt weird to me not being able to grasp what was happening. The light was weak at times, noises disturbing my agony. It was so hot. And there were voices, speaking softly to me. More like at me. Not that I could understand anything in such a feverish state. “I didn’t…want..,” “Morse, just rest. You need to rest.” That must have been a dream, everything else becoming rather dull and indescribable. Then, it was dark. Quiet for the time being. No one knows what the exact time ever really is. I had no way of knowing. I opened my eyes wide, too suddenly, too aware of everything in front of me. Or, at least above me. I was no longer outside, finding a ceiling to be watching me. My limbs shivered, a sore feeling coming over me and ing through my muscles. I felt nearly paralyzed. With difficulty I rolled my head to the side, my neck stiff from lack of movement. There to the side of the bed sat the scarred Warder, the scar standing out on his face. It wasn’t long for my brain to click everything in place. Everything that had happened. I ed it all with an anxiousness I was not used to feeling. “Awake, I see,” he turned to look at me with a smile. Fear pulled me back, the bed squeaking under my moving weight. The Warder wasn’t wearing his cloak. Now the symbols and various lines making up more shapes and vines shown clearly along his arms. “The intense feelings will . Not to worry. You didn’t hurt anybody, but I’m sure you will be able to all that now.” “What? How… but each time… how is it I can it?” “I will explain all of that in time. But really you must be hungry. The meal

should be ready soon and I don’t have to ask you if you are hungry. A strapping young lad like you is always hungry.” Even without him saying it, I knew I was starving. “How long has it been?” I asked him. “Since you have fought? Two days,” he got up from the seat beside the bed and motioned for me to follow him to the table in the center of the room. At the table sat two more Warders, younger than the one I followed. The symbols stamped on their faces and arms were unique to one another. The only thing each one of these three had the same of, were the keys placed at the right shoulder. “This is Guy and this is Leo. You’ve met them, even if it was under critical circumstances. I am Periit. At least, this is the name I go by,” Periit motioned to each in turn as I stumbled over to the table as sore as I was. Leo and Guy kept quiet, watching me groan across the floor and to the chair nearest me. Even standing on my rubbery legs was a workout I didn’t want. “Here, let me help,” Leo offered, getting up from his seat to pull out the chair. I went to sit down, waiting for the feel of the hard chair against a sore bottom. Instead I felt a jolt harder than I was expecting from any chair. The floor slapped me hard as I landed. Leo started to chuckle as I glared up at him from my hard seat on the floorboards. “What’s so funny?” I spat from the floor, surprise turning into annoyance. Anger flared from me as this guy kept up his laughing, “A joke.” “Really? A joke? You call this stunt a joke?” He stopped laughing at my pronounced words. I could feel my eyebrows squeeze together, the idea of wanting to pound him into the floor not disappearing as it would before. Leo stayed where he was as if he were waiting until I was on my feet. It didn’t take long for me to comply with this, taking to my feet with a fist formed out of a still hand ready to hit my target. “Morse!”

I heard her call my name even before my fist missed him as he ducked out of the way and Guy grabbed me in a bear hug. No one was laughing now. I wasn’t stopping even after Guy squeezed me harder to keep me grounded. “Morse!” That is what stopped me. Brooke stood in the other doorway, food in both hands, watching me rage on like a wild beast. I looked over as she backed away from the scene. Grunting, I struggled harder to get free from the Warder’s hold. “Brooke!” I yelled after her. Backing away she left the room, the food still in hand, “Brooke?” “Morse. Calm down,” Periit told me. “Brooke?” I was no longer struggling, the anger leaving me to be replaced by sheets of cold rain. Guy let me go, letting me fall to the floor like any little kid crying over not getting what was truly wanted; a feeling of being shut out and left behind. “Come here, Morse. Sit down and I’ll tell you what is going on.” Guy helped me up, letting me pull in my own chair. I glanced around the table, Leo taking his seat furthest away from me. “Morse, look at your hand,” Periit said. Placing my left hand on the table I watched it and waited. It wasn’t moving. It didn’t tap out a tune or tremor as it always had. “It’s not shaking,” I observed. “No. This is one sign that you are recovering. Another is that you can everything that has happened these past fights. And yet another is that act you put up a minute ago.” “What? Trying to punch out this guy for playing a joke?” my voice hardened at mentioning Leo’s dumb joke.

“Really, Leo was testing you. To see how far you would go.” “How far I would go? I was ready to knock him flat. I still want to!” I itted. “That is good.” He said this plainly as if what I was saying was good news. “It’s good?” I was getting mad again. I was ready to jump from the chair, more frightened now than mad. I didn’t want to live a life with anger issues. I didn’t want Brooke to run away each time I did something like this. “Morse, you won’t be hurting anyone anymore. Unless you really want to. No more blackouts or attacks. No more not ing. You can control it,” Guy said, looking at me very closely. Another Warder entered by the way Brooke had left, bringing food around the table with a tray. “How’s Brooke, Ike?” Periit asked him. “Brooke is okay. I’ve explained everything to her. She just needs a minute,” Ike sat down at the table. “Can I see her?” I asked, feeling exhausted and ready to cry. “Let’s leave her be for a minute. We all need a minute, Morse.” I just nodded, leaning on my elbows trying not to let it get to me. What a kid I am, crying over a girl as if I would die. “Why don’t you eat, Morse?” “I’m not hungry.” “Now don’t lie, Morse,” Ike said, scooping food for himself. “I don’t want to eat.” “Morse, just eat! You’ve been through enough and I’m tired of you acting as if one little thing will make everything better. In this case you not eating won’t

help anyone, let alone you. So eat. I’m not going to tell you again,” she said. I opened my eyes to find Brooke across the room in the door way with her arms crossed in front of her. I got up and rushed to her, like a kid happy to see his mother. Instead of a loving hug though, Brooke raised her hand and slapped me. “Ow… why…?” “Don’t give me that! Go sit down and eat,” Brooke leveled her voice at me, a mother threatening more chores, “Go or I’ll whack you again.” This was said with a bit of sarcasm, the stern look of a mother still plastered on her face. She pointed my way back to the table, smiles spreading around between the Station Warders. I ed in, extreme delight in finding Brooke as she was before we had parted ways the first time. Laughter spouted in the air, Brooke taking a seat beside me. “Now stop acting like a kid and eat,” she laughed with me. Through the meal the people at the table took turns explaining everything to me. Having seen Periit’s scarred face, the creature recognized him. Abandoning destroying my life for a brief time, it fought with Leo and Guy, leaving me awake for the ride. The thing could only mess with my Gifts. The Gift of technique and another I thought was never lying. That Gift never existed. “If that Gift doesn’t exist, then what is my second Gift?” “Memory. You see, you’ve always had a way of ing everything,” Periit said. “Yeah. when Pop read to us from that one book? The next day he couldn’t the page or line he stopped on. You went over to him and opened that book to the correct page and pointed to the correct line. That has to be more than ten years ago,” Brooke broke in. “Sure, but anyone can do that.” “I couldn’t. I bet you the line we stopped on,” Brooke stated, raising

an eyebrow at me. I just shrugged, hoping they wouldn’t keep pressing me into itting that I did which sentence we had stopped on word for word. “‘Every time he resolved within himself, after mature inquiry, that it was all a dream, his mind flew back again like a strong spring released, ...’ It was a ghost story,” came a voice from the land outside. In the open doorway stood a man covered in dust, taking the doorknob in his hand, closing out the raging wind that brought in the smoky smell of the land. “What?…” “Our mutual friend. Hello Grey. Come and us,” Periit stood up to welcome Grey like a very old friend. This surprised me beyond belief, just the sight of Grey and this scarred face talking as if they had been in the same room for more than these few seconds. “What are you doing here?” I asked Grey. “Oh. Taking in the sights. Checking up on your progress…” “You’ve been spying on me?” I asked them. Both friends glanced at each other as if they hadn’t expected me to catch on. “If you want to call it spying. Grey, here has been following you, keeping tabs on everything that went on,” Periit said, giving me time to stand up and move away from the table. I did this rather surprised. I didn’t bother to hide it, not thinking to. The thought that someone could stand by and not lift a finger to help or even take the time to explain the situation frightened me. “But, if he’s been watching…” I stopped when I found a wall behind me, sliding down to take a seat on the floor, the excitement taking all the energy out of my legs. I felt sick to my stomach. “What’s wrong?” Brooke was at my side, touching my shoulder and breathing in my ear trying to find out what was wrong with me. I had no idea, that whole room becoming vaguely dim, Grey and the elder Warder walking over and

kneeling before me. “Morse?” “What?” I answered Grey. “I didn’t help because I wasn’t supposed to interfere. Do you see?” “No,” my voice quivered, the faces in front of mine beginning to fuzz over, the line being erased. I felt my head shake with growing weight and pain. “What is…. happening?” I asked anyone. “Just relax Morse. You need to rest.”

Periit

T he young man’s head lolled forward, his breathing slowing down. “He’s ed out. Help me get him to the bed,” Grey hoisted Morse up by an arm, the lost man taking the other side. “Will he be all right?” Brooke asked, kneeling beside the bed. “Nothing wrong. He has overwhelmed himself.” Brooke nodded simply, leaving the two old friends to return to the table, the others in the room not sure what to do. Periit wasn’t sure what to do either, but this didn’t stop him conversing with the first man he ed meeting. “What do you think?” “Morse is in the clear. He just needs more rest and has to adapt to everything, but that shouldn’t be hard for him, as young as he is,” Grey sat down, glancing over at Morse in the bed with Brooke beside him, “As close as they ever were.” The lost man agreed with that.

Both companions had continued forward, past the mountains and through the trees, each week Periit’s hand becoming more violent in movement, bringing on a pain that spread from his wrist up to his shoulder and further on. Neither knew what these pains meant, whether they were from the constant slapping of his hand or some bigger underlying cause. Taking notice of this, Grey kept relating all that he had seen and come in with, various sects and tribes living high in the mountain tops. These people had built tall structures for a longer reach to the god they worshipped and had great knowledge many others hadn’t the thought for. All the while telling this, Grey noted the gravitation of the lost man’s pain from his arm to his head, flares of

anger and general change in mood. “What could this be?” Periit asked Grey the night they arrived in the land with no name across the world and past the fork, from the Low Lands and the island he was found on. “I’ve no knowledge what it could be. From all the traveling I’ve done and everything I’ve seen, I haven’t come across anything like this. New to me. But from the progress in moods and strikes you’ve had past weeks, I can’t say anything good,” Grey shrugged with his answer, watching the eyebrows of his friend arching rather dangerously. His lips twitched from a thin line to a deep frown. Not a good sign for either party. “Nothing good? The smartest person I’ve come to know. The only person I know and you tell me there is no hope?” his mood changed on a dime. “I didn’t say anything to that effect.” “I am in pain! Whatever I have wants out. It pounds on my chest, chokes my throat and pulls at the strings in my arm. It’s working me like a puppet and it won’t stop! It plays with my brain, I can feel it. It winds up my back bone and into my head where it takes over one day at a time. It’s using me as a punching bag from the inside out. There is no hope no matter what you tell me! It is going to kill me!” Periit sprang forward, Grey in his enraged sights. This wasn’t the lost man who found himself somewhere he shouldn’t have been. Macabre Island in the middle of an unknown ocean in a world that shouldn’t exist. Grey skidded back, landing on the ground with this man on top of him, breathing in his face, stretching out his arm with a fist attached, ready to bring it back as the master of the puppet commanded. This man of legend was out of his mind, not able to control his actions as he wished, this thing inside him lashing out at the world, wanting to cause more havoc than it ever had. Starting with this one uncertain mind from another time.

Periit took to his feet, taking the object Grey found along the way. Artifacts from all other time periods of Earth. In his hand he held another book, the title

familiar, the pages aged and creased from many uses. “You’ve been busy, Grey. These are remarkable,” Periit entered the storage room full of collections and placed the book with the others on the shelf. “I’ve been working hard. I only came back to help Morse get from point A to B. I’m nearly done with that boat.” “Gonna really do it then? Sail away to the next horizon and find the undiscovered seas and growing civilizations?” Grey nodded, walking around the little room to gaze at the various pieces of technology. It wasn’t like his collection, Periit knew. “A snow globe. when I brought this by? Ike was amazed at the sight of it,” Grey laughed, picking up the glass globe and shaking it. “Ike amazed? Not like you when you pulled it out. Your eyes popped when you showed me. Only I knew what it was and that didn’t surprise you as much as the discovery of snow did,” Periit stood beside his friend, watching the snowy scene calm down only to be shaken again. “George had mentioned snow to Morse. When he is stronger, you could show him this. He would be wiser for it. Even if it isn’t the real thing…” “You can’t compare the real thing to this,” Periit said, taking the globe and replacing it to its spot on the shelf. He ed snow rather faintly.

Morse

A gain I was alive. Awake to the world. Brooke was asleep in the chair next to the bed, the table across the room empty. There wasn’t a fire in the fireplace, so I gathered it was day. That, and light streamed from the outside. Somehow, the cloaked figure didn’t haunt me as he had before. Though it had been dark and foggy and he still stood there, watching me. He had lifted his hand and pointed to me, behind me to the light. And he was gone. “Morse. You have awoken again. As we all should each morning. The best way to celebrate life.” I sat up, finding Grey standing at the other end of the room, bowls of food in each hand. He crossed the room and set them on the table, sitting down. “You? Why are you here?” I asked. “I followed you,” he answered me very simply. “You followed and you didn’t help?” “I couldn’t. It wasn’t my job.” I gave a huff to his answer, getting out of the bed despite the soreness in each limb and staggered over to the table. Brooke remained asleep, the yelling I had begun not disurbing her rest. “You Couldn’t? I don’t believe that,” I smacked my hands on the table, mad that someone like Grey could just sit there and not be guilty. “Morse. Sit down. You must be starving,” he said calmly. Taking his food, he began to eat whether I sat down or not, “Calm down and eat. I know you are angry at me for not telling you I was there.” “Angry?”

“Yes, that emotion where you want to punch someone out. Where you feel you have to prove something but you can’t or don’t know how. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.” Now I was dumbfounded. A bit confused that I even asked about being angry. I felt angry, but I hadn’t recognized it. Feeling this uncertainty I sat down and took the second bowl. “How is that book of mine? Do I write well?” Grey asked me. “Your book? Oh, yes. Good reading, I guess.” “You haven’t read it all have you?” “No. Busy with…everything,” I said, waving a hand in the air. “Well. Busy or not, you will have to read it all before you become any kind of Warder,” he pulled out the book from my pack that must have been brought in at the same time I was. “A Warder? But I didn’t even finish Training! I was kicked out while still in Soldier status. I can’t be a Warder,” I said. Grey leaned forward in his seat, setting his elbows on the wooden edge of the table, giving me his look that told me ‘you should know this’ planted on his face, “It isn’t written. It isn’t taught. Training is just the basics. Training is just like a textbook. It tells you what you need to know. What you need to memorize. You don’t have to live by it, but it gives you ideas on where to start. How to start. Look at me. I didn’t finish Training and I’m still a Warder.” “But you didn’t graduate…” “All that does is tell you you’ve learned everything by their . They don’t know what you’ve learned or even if you anything they tried to teach you. You know you. You know what you learned and retained. Get it? Being a Warder is what to do with what you learned and realizing that you still have a lot to learn. Not graduating was my choice, not theirs.” Grey leaned back into his chair and waited.

I continued with my meal, getting what he said. “Any questions about what you read?” “No, but I found a photograph in the book. And it was…,” I opened the book that sat in front of him, shoving my food to the middle of the table for more room. “Christopher and Lilac. A lovely couple, they were,” Grey smiled sadly. “Who were they?” Grey gave a sigh, rubbing at his neck as if debating whether or not he wanted to tell me anything about them. “They were one of the many lost people I have found over the years. Only, they weren’t like any of the others. They weren’t confused about where they were, they didn’t even act like they were lost. Lilac carried a camera with her, one I had never seen. This one developed and presented the photos as you took them. They were time travelers. Only this time instead of just jumping time, they jumped space as well. I took them to the River Village, not sure which Portal to take them to since they hadn’t traveled by Tempus Portal. Amazing though as it was, I had found them where their Portal was so I just took them back to the same forest to the same alignment of trees,” he chuckled at his own confused amazement, nearly tearing up at the sight of the photograph. “That was before my time,” a voice came from the doorway behind me, footsteps leading up to the table. The scarred Station Warder pulled out the chair on the other side of me, ing us. “Yes. I telling you about them after I found you. You weren’t like any of the others either.” I stopped a moment, taking in the sight of both of these men talking around me, “What? You found him?” “Yes. I found Periit on Macabre Island.” “But if he came by Portal…”

“But he didn’t, Morse. Periit is the man of Legend,” Grey informed me. The room seemed to drop, the story these two were handing me couldn’t be on the level. I glanced between them, finally taken to stare at the man named Periit. “But the Legend…” “The Legend has been ed on for more than 30 years. And really the story has been lost and mixed and rewritten. It isn’t the true tale anymore. The legend going around now states that it happened, what? 400 years ago? In truth, it has only been 40 years,” Periit said. I stopped again, wondering where I went wrong, “What happened?” “Truthfully, I was transported here by some means. Commonly we all assume it was the Lightning, but we might never know. During this course I lost all my memory of where I came from and who I was. When Grey, here, found me, he gave me a name and took me across the world and showed me everything he could. And then, I started acting strange. My hand shook like your’s had and my manners became dangerous,” the man before me said. “He hadn’t always looked like that either,” Grey put in. This remark caused me to look closer at his scar, a mass of melted skin over the side of his face, neatly continuing at the shoulder down the arm on the same side. “No. I don’t believe I looked like this. Once Grey had taken me to his country, I was no longer myself. I was attacking anything I could, finally turning on him one night in the patch of trees.” “The Dead Grove?” “I suppose so. It wasn’t named such when I was first there. I was no longer myself. Grey could no longer help me. I was oblivious to everything.” “But, how did you get that scar?” I asked. There was a moan from the chair by the bed, Brooke stirring awake. Periit stood up, beckoning me to follow him to the next room through the door. I looked at Brooke as she proceeded to wake up, wiping at her face and stretching one arm before the next. My legs complied with the Warder’s request, leaving Grey to

watch Brooke wake up. I didn’t want to leave without letting her know where I was. Not giving myself another option to this, I walked down a tidy hallway, entering another room down from the kitchen area where Ike was busy at the makeshift stove and Guy leaned against a counter, talking his mouth off. Entering the room I was stunned. Surprised at the curiousities that lined the walls and shelves. The piles on the table in the midst of the room were over flowing with everything I never thought existed here. “Before I got ahead of myself, I wanted to show one thing,” the Station Warder moved about the room, small and crowded from all the hanging bookshelves and tightly packed tables and free standing statues. “Where did all of this come from?” “It came from everywhere. Grey found most of these, before my time here, naturally. I’m sure you’ve seen more at his house back in your country.” “Not like this. Like those things there…” “Books. Rather interesting ones there. Imaginative and nearly impossible. But that is what fairytales are. Wishes and dreams of the heart?” He turned from me to a shelf on the back wall, the books filling half of the right side. And there, perched close by was an object I hadn’t had the knowledge of. No name came to my mind, the thing completely new to me. Taking it from the shelf, he walked around the table and to me, holding it where the light was strongest. It was oddly shaped with an orb sitting on top of a round stand, attached in another odd manner. “Grey had shown me and taught me all he knew when we were headed to the ‘land that bears no name’ and along the way he picked up and traded various items to give to the other Station Warders at that time or put up in his house. When you were asleep, he told me of George’s words and how he described snow. This here, is a snow globe. It won’t be like real snow, but it is the best any of us can do here,” while saying this he turned the globe over and twisted it back up, shaking it for better effect. And up rose white flakes in the round glass frame, flitting and floating in crazy fashions to the bottom.

Snow. The sight of such an unbelievable act of weather amazed me, making me forget that this display was in no order the real thing. “This is snow?” “A form of it. To see snow in real life is a lot different than watching it in such a small globe. Real snow is cold and wistful. A miracle to people of all ages. It’s hard to forget.” “You have seen actual snow?” “I reckon so, before I came here,” he shook the globe again and let me watch the fake snow fall once more before turning back to the shelf at the back of the room and replacing it in its lone spot. “To get back, Grey had taken me as far as his house, emptying his bag of finds and then continued into the woods to start another walkabout. By this time, I wasn’t myself. In the midst of this grove of trees, I attacked him. The sky that was bright that day suddenly turned dark. Gloomy. And came down a spear of light to the first tree, not two feet from me. Still my mind didn’t recognize the danger as I kept my hold on Grey and continued to let this thing inside me pummel him into the ground. Then the next strike and the next, hitting all the trees I ed before it finally caught me by a lifted fist. It was a true miracle that this force didn’t shock Grey as it ed through me, leaving this scar on my face and arm and killing a bundle of trees for a reminder. And, the thing inside me was gone.” This man had taken me back to the front room where Grey and Brooke sat at the table. Brooke, eating a meal and Grey talking something over. I took a seat beside Brooke, making her pause at the sight of me. Her eyes widened, the same as her lips into a smile at gazing at me next to her. “Morse! How do you feel?” her voice dropped with a slight concern at asking this, dropping the eating utensil to turn toward me. “I feel… I should apologize. I’m sorry.” “Sorry? For what?” “Everything.”

“It wasn’t as if you could do anything about it. It was one of those things you had to work through. Pray to the Lord and everything will work out,” Brooke said. “Yes. You’re right.” Taking my arm I wrapped it about her shoulders in a side hug. It was one of the best moments I from this whole trial. I even felt vaguely overexcited. “Morse is coming around nicely,” Periit sat at the table across from me and Brooke, taking a glance at each one of us as he said this. “As far as I can tell, he is acting as he should, though his emotions are getting away from him still. It should be another day before he is in complete health. What say you?” Grey looked over to Brooke, who had laid her head on my shoulder, exhausted from sleeping in the chair, no doubt. She looked up at me, at the Station Warder, to Grey and back to me. “I’ll need to get used to his outbursts, but I’m game. He is looking in better health than he has in a while,” she leaned away from me, giving a playful jab to my shoulder, “What do you think of yourself?” she laughed like her kid-self, a giggle no parent should forget. “I wouldn’t know. I feel the same, without the constant nudging at my insides. And I’m so used to my hand shaking, I’m not sure whether I’ll miss it or not.” “You won’t miss it at all, Morse.” It didn’t take long for the whole room to become more talkative. Grey relayed everything that he saw and heard while following close behind; Jack and Sophia arguing over drink, George playing and swinging Joanne in the air, Harold keeping everything in order. He told us everything, giving me a new fear that I wasn’t really cured of any illness that I fought through the whole way here. I didn’t want to hurt Brooke anymore, nor anyone else for that matter. I hid from the others in the room, resting my head on the table and my arms over my head. The lack of light didn’t help, their voices seeping in. “Morse. You won’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“I just can’t grasp it. What if…?” “No matter what if. We are here to help and always will be. Don’t forget that, Morse,” Brooke tried to comfort me as any girl could. “I had the same fear as well after I woke up for the first time without the feeling of wanting to kill someone. What if it wasn’t truly gone? Even the pain I sustained wasn’t helping me realize that you have to work through it. No matter what happens next,” Periit said. I lifted my eyes to him, watching him stare at me as if in deep thought. “Morse, you aren’t too different from me. You were lost. I was lost, for a time. You could become a wonderful Station Warder, if you would…” “No. No way. I’m sorry, sir. I’d rather not be stuck alone the rest of my life when I already have someone,” I straightened in my chair, looking over at Brooke and her kind, strong face. I wasn’t going to give up my best friend for another chance at Training. “I’m glad to hear that. Not everyone can say that. That tells me that you would rather start another chapter than turn back to one that was already read.” “Thank you, sir.” “No thanks needed. You can go back home when you feel like it. I’m sure you two will make it,” the Station Warder stood up from his seat, Grey following suit. “And Morse, finish reading that book. It is the best I have written. Everything I have written. It will teach you more than any Training could. Be sure to memorize it, both of you,” Grey added as he paused in the doorway where the Warder had left by, giving us time to ourselves, I guess, “And don’t forget to give it back when you are done. I can’t make my voyage without it.” “Will do, Grey. I should read it but once and have it down.” “I knew as much, from the day you could walk,” he nodded a good-bye and smiled, leaving the room empty of any other living body, save mine and Brooke’s. It didn’t take a second of time to start discussing everything, ing jokes between us as we planned our journey home. And before the last light that

the Sol provided we hoofed our way to the trading post across the border of the Low Lands. “I wonder how the clan made out. I hope they got home alright,” Brooke said, placing the chosen saddle on her choice horse for the ride home. I paused cinching the saddle on the dapple-gray, “I hope so too. I miss them, really.” “Me too. Who wouldn’t miss them.” “If only we knew.” “But we don’t. Let’s pray that they have,” Brooke suggested, tightening the saddle on the horse before coming over to mine. ing hands we said a small prayer for their safety and a happy reunion with their families and friends.

Lord, help them find their way home, to realize that you will always be there for them. And that you are here for us. Keep them in good health and happy spirits. Amen.

“Now. Where do we go first?” I asked, mounting the animal, Brooke trotting over to my side. She shrugged at me, gazing off in the distance, the wind picking at her hair. “Why don’t we just follow where ever the land takes us?” “Which path?” “Does it matter? I’ll race you!” Her face beamed as she kicked the horse and sped off with a laugh. I protested her cheating start, giving my own horse a kick, racing after her. It was the best I’ve felt in a long time.

The End